The Silent Scream (3 page)

“Yeah,” Ian said, his voice grim, “sometimes
too
much. And not always good, either.”

Jess, in the process of lifting the last soggy slice of pizza from the flat cardboard box on the porch floor, looked up. “What’s
that
supposed to mean? Do you know something about old houses that we don’t?”

The highway hum had ended. The hill lay in silence. Except for the pale glow of the flickering candles, darkness shrouded the house, erasing the rest of the world. Ian, his legs stretched out in front of him, his back against the wooden porch railing, returned Jess’s gaze. “Not
all
old houses, maybe,” he said. “But
this
one definitely has a history.” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Jess shrieked, “You can’t
do
that! You can’t start something and not finish it. You have to tell us now. You
know
something about this place. What
is
it?”

“No, I …”

Jess glared.
“Tell!”

“Well … it’s just … someone died here last spring.”

Cath gasped. Linda’s eyes opened very wide, and Jess stared at Ian. “Died? Here?” No wonder Mrs. Coates had looked so sad.

Ian nodded reluctantly. “A girl. Giselle something. A freshman.”

Jess swallowed hard. “Was she sick?”

“Um … no. Never mind.” Ian reached for the cardboard box. “Let’s start cleaning up this mess …”

“
Ian
! How did she die?”

“Okay, okay. But I never should have brought this up. I guess you all would have heard it on campus, though. The girl … she hung herself.”

A shocked silence captured the porch.

“Hung herself?” Jess whispered. “Here?”

Ian nodded again. “Upstairs.”

Jess sat back on her haunches, her eyes fastened on Ian’s face. “Upstairs?” she barely breathed. “
Where
upstairs?”

His head down, he mumbled something.

“I can’t hear you. Where?”

Ian lifted his head. “I said, isn’t your room purple?”

The pizza cutter Jess had borrowed from the kitchen dropped from her hands. “Sort of. The bedspread is purple. Why?” The pizza she had just consumed suddenly felt like a fire in her stomach. Why was Ian asking about her room?

“I’m sorry, Jess,” he said sincerely. “I wish I’d kept my big mouth shut. I guess I can’t back up now, can I?”

“No, you can’t.” Her mouth was very dry. “So tell me where this … Giselle? … hung herself.”

Ian’s voice was very quiet, but she could hear him clearly. “The kid who brought the pizza told me a girl named Giselle committed suicide last spring in the purple room—that’s what he called it. She died in her own room. The room that’s yours now.”

T
RUCKER EMERGED FROM THE
outside cellar door to find the six housemates sitting on the floor of the porch in stunned silence.

“Whoa!” he cried with a grin, “this is your idea of a party? I’ve seen people having more fun at funerals.”

Ian flushed. “I told them about the girl who killed herself upstairs last spring. Bad move on my part.”

“We would have heard about it sooner or later,” Jess said quietly. “I’m glad we heard it here instead of on campus.” But she didn’t
look
glad. Her face was very pale.

Trucker took a seat on the top step. “I heard that girl was really popular, and smart. Not the kind of person you’d think would do something so …”

“So stupid?” Cath finished for him. “Maybe,” she said softly, with a hint of bitterness, “she just got sick and tired of trying to please everyone. I know what that’s like. If I ever got a grade lower than A, both my parents would have a heart attack.” She laughed without humor. “The first simultaneous heart attack in medical history. His and Hers heart attacks, like matching bath towels.”

“I don’t think it was like that,” Trucker disagreed. “Seems to me that someone said one of her parents had died. That girl’s, I mean. Maybe that’s why she was depressed.”

The thought of a parent dying, even one who expected too much, silenced Cath. She leaned back against the porch wall and began gnawing on a fingernail. Lost in thought, she failed to notice when Jon sent her a sympathetic smile.

His handsome face registered disappointment, and then annoyance that she hadn’t been paying attention.

Linda’s voice quavered slightly as she commented, “I don’t understand someone giving up like that. Every swimming coach I’ve had always hammered into us that you never, never give up, no matter what! You keep going.”

“Maybe this girl Giselle wasn’t a swimmer.” Jon took a healthy swig from his soda can. “Sounds like she didn’t even know how to stay afloat.” Then he added absentmindedly, “I wonder if she was pretty …”

“Jon!” Jess cried in disgust.

“I wasn’t working here then,” Trucker said, “but I heard she was a knockout. Drop-dead gorgeous. Long, blonde hair, blue eyes …”

“Geez!” Milo cried, surprising everyone, “this is supposed to be a party, not a wake! I’m not wild about parties, but I’ve been to a few, and one subject that never came up was suicide.”

As he uttered the word “suicide,” a window somewhere above them slammed shut with a violent bang.

Everyone jumped.

Jon laughed. “The house doesn’t like our topic of conversation any more than Milo does.”

“Maybe this place is haunted,” Milo said. “I’ve read that people who take their own lives have restless spirits and can never find peace. They don’t know where to go to find it, so they hang around the place of their death. Maybe that girl’s spirit is still around here somewhere.”

“Now who’s being morbid?” Jess said, and Linda and Cath nodded agreement.

And although Milo smiled to imply that he wasn’t really serious, Jess wasn’t convinced. He had certainly
sounded
serious.

She stood up. “I don’t know about anyone else, but my party mood has disappeared along with the last of the pizza. Let’s clean up this mess and call it a night, okay?”

Although Jon grumbled under his breath and Linda hung back near Milo, hoping he would notice her, the others began picking up crumpled napkins and tomato-sauced paper plates. The mood of excitement and adventure brought on by their arrival in a new place had been broken by Ian’s depressing story. The party was over. Each of them took a load of trash and followed Jess into the house.

They were on their way to the kitchen when their housemother’s voice called from above, “Party over?” Mrs. Coates was standing at the top of the wide, circular staircase.

“Yeah, we’re beat,” Jess answered. “But we’ll clean up our mess.”

She was never sure exactly what happened next. One minute, the elderly woman was standing at the top of the stairs in a faded green bathrobe, her graying hair festooned with pink foam-rubber rollers, and she was smiling down at them.

And the next minute, she was spiraling out into the air, her arms waving frantically, her body slamming down upon the stairs with a sickening
thunk.

Jess screamed. She dropped the load of paper plates she was carrying. In one mass movement, the group rushed to the stairs.

Mrs. Coates hadn’t fallen far. She lay sprawled awkwardly across the fourth and fifth steps from the top. Her face was twisted in pain, but she was conscious.

“My land!” she gasped as they reached her side, “how did
that
happen?”

“Don’t move,” Ian ordered. “We’ll call an ambulance.”

Cath rushed to do just that.

“No, I …” Mrs. Coates struggled to sit up, but gasped in pain and sank back against the step. “Oh, mercy, maybe you’re right. I think it’s my hip …”

“I don’t understand,” Jess whispered to Ian. “She was just
standing
there. What happened?”

“Must have tripped,” Milo said, staring down at the injured woman. “I didn’t see it happen, but she must have.”

“Maybe she slipped on something,” Linda said, tears of sympathy pooling in her eyes. “I’ll go see if there’s anything in the hall. We don’t want anyone else falling.”

But she found nothing in the hall that might have tripped Mrs. Coates.

They waited for the ambulance to arrive. “What am I going to do about you children?” Mrs. Coates moaned. Ian had covered her with a blanket and Jess had placed a pillow behind her head in an effort to make her more comfortable. Her face was an alarming shade of gray.

Under other circumstances, they might have bristled at being called children. Milo surprised Jess by saying calmly, “We’ll be fine. Not to worry.”

“No … no, I’m responsible for you.” Mrs. Coates struggled to concentrate, although it was clear to everyone watching that pain was draining her strength. “You must call my friend Madeline. Madeline Carthew. She’ll come and stay with you if they keep me in the hospital.” She gasped then, and fell silent.

“You won’t be there that long,” Jess said, hoping it was true. “We’ll be fine here, really.”

“Call Maddie,” the housemother insisted. “The number is in the back of the telephone book. She’ll come.” Her eyes were closing. “Can’t … you can’t stay here alone.” She was fading fast. “Promise … promise you’ll call Maddie. Need … someone in charge. Promise.”

Jess would have said almost anything at that point to give Mrs. Coates peace of mind. “We promise.” A siren’s scream approached the house. “We’ll call your friend. Please don’t worry.”

“In the back of the telephone book,” Mrs. Coates repeated. “Maddie’s number.”

Trucker went with Mrs. Coates and the ambulance. Jess reluctantly dialed the number of Mrs. Coates’s friend, Madeline Carthew. Because she had promised.

There was no answer.

When she realized no one was going to answer, Jess hung up. I’ll try again tomorrow, she told herself, and went into the kitchen. Her housemates had gathered around the small round wooden table in the center of the room. No longer brightened by daytime sunshine, the kitchen was now almost as gloomy as the rest of the house.

“I don’t see why we can’t fend for ourselves,” Ian said when Jess reported what had happened with her phone call.

“Me, either,” Milo agreed. “We’re adults, right?”

Cath groaned. “Are you kidding? If my parents found out I was living in this house without a chaperon, they’d yank me out of here so fast, my hair would fall out.”

If Jess hadn’t been so depressed, she would have smiled. With all that hair, it would take one superhuman yank to render Cath bald.

“Who’d
tell
them?” Ian asked. “They wouldn’t have to know.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Jon protested. “Mrs. Coates was supposed to fix nice, home-cooked meals for us. Meat, mashed potatoes, gravy, you know, all that good stuff I’m used to. I’m a growing boy. I need nourishment.”

“Why can’t we all cook?” Linda suggested. “Simple stuff, like soup and sandwiches and pasta. We can take turns, or everyone can fix their own.”

“I don’t know,” Cath said doubtfully, glancing around the dimly lit kitchen as if she expected something unpleasant to leap out of the shadowy corners. “Maybe somewhere else it would be okay. But this place is pretty creepy. Do we really want to be here alone?”

“There are seven of us,” Ian pointed out, “including Trucker. I wouldn’t call that being alone.”

Cath’s eyes moved to Jess. “You’re the monitor. What do
you
think?”

Jess was thinking that it might be interesting. It might even be fun. No adult supervision … hadn’t they all come to college to grow up? She felt terrible about Mrs. Coates’s accident, but wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity to take charge of their own lives, with no adult telling them what to do and how to do it?

Before she could answer Cath, Trucker returned from the hospital. “Dislocated hip,” he told Jess. “The doctor ordered bed rest. She’ll be there for a while. She’s okay, though. Worried about you guys. Did you call that friend of hers?”

“Yes. No answer. I’ll try again tomorrow.” She hesitated. Should they tell Trucker what they’d been discussing? They would need his help. If it turned out that he was the sort of person who felt compelled to call the university and fink on them, they’d simply give up the idea and send for Mrs. Coates’s friend Maddie.

But Trucker didn’t strike her as the “finking” type.

He wasn’t. “Sounds good to me,” he said when she’d explained. “But you can go ahead and invite Mrs. Carthew to move in without worrying that she’ll accept. I’ve
met
her. If she agreed at all, it would only be out of a sense of duty. She
hates
everyone under the age of fifty. She’d be miserable here. And so would the rest of us, and that’s the truth. Handle it right and she’ll turn you down, I promise.”

“I
will
call her tomorrow,” Jess announced. “That way, we won’t be breaking our promise to Mrs. Coates. Maybe we can strike some kind of deal with her where she just pops in occasionally to make sure we’re all still breathing and Nightingale Hall is still standing.”

Cath looked doubtful, but when everyone else began chattering about ways to make things run more smoothly, she joined in.

Jess ignored her own doubts until everyone stood up, ready to abandon the kitchen for the night. As she left her chair, the wind outside suddenly picked up speed. Leaves and twigs flew at the windows, clawing and scratching at the glass. One of the loose shutters began banging angrily against the brick. The whistle of the wind strengthened, became a wail with a lonely, desolate sound to it. The kitchen light flickered uncertainly.

Cath jumped to her feet. “I don’t know about anyone else,” she said in a shaky voice, “but that wind shrieking around the house is giving me the creeps!” She hurried out of the room, calling over her shoulder as she left, “If that girl spent nine months in
this
house with that awful wind howling at her, no wonder she committed suicide!”

And then the kitchen light went out, plunging the entire room into darkness.

T
RUCKER’S VOICE CUT THROUGH
the sudden darkness. “It’s okay. It does that sometimes. Loose wire or something, I guess. It’s only this kitchen light, though. It won’t be dark upstairs. There’s a flashlight right here in the drawer.” There were fumbling sounds, and then the relief of a flashlight’s glow.