Wrong Number 2 (12 page)

They made their way through the darkness to the kitchen. Stepping over the trash on the floor, Deena thought, I hope I never, never, never see this horrible house again!

And then a light flared. Yellow light. Outside the kitchen door. Flickering in through the filthy window.

“Someone's out there!” Chuck exclaimed.

They ducked behind the kitchen counter as the door opened.

Wind howled into the room.

The light revealed the silhouette of a tall, heavy man.

The silhouette of Stanley Farberson.

D
eena's legs turned to rubber. Her entire body shuddered.

Farberson stood in the doorway, his stern features reflected in the glow of a big camp lantern.

“Quick!” Chuck whispered, and shoved them through a door right behind them.

“Careful!” he cautioned after he silently pulled the door shut. “It's a stairway to the basement.”

Huddling on the landing, Deena heard Farberson lumber into the house. She stood squeezed between her brother and the wall, terrified, almost afraid to breathe. Behind her she could feel the damp chill of the basement.

She glanced at Jade on the other side of Chuck. Jade stared straight ahead at the door, stiff as a mannequin.

Farberson's heavy footsteps came nearer.

Was he going to pull open the basement door and find them standing there?

No. The footsteps faded. Into another room.

Why did he come back? Deena wondered. He already has the money. What made him come back to this dump?

“Let's go downstairs,” Chuck whispered. “There's got to be a way out from there.”

He took the flashlight from Deena and aimed it on the stairs. They were old and splintered. Several steps were missing.

They made their way down slowly. Deena ignored the scuttling sounds, the pittering of tiny feet.

The rats can run around all they want, she thought, shivering. I'm going to be out of here in seconds.

The basement came dimly into view as Chuck swept the beam of light along the walls and floor. Trash cluttered every inch—rags, papers, machinery parts, a shovel without a handle. Along the walls, battered cardboard cartons reached to the ceiling.

“I don't see a window,” Jade cried, her voice shaking.

“There's got to be one!” Chuck declared. “Follow me.”

A loud noise behind them made them freeze.

It's him! Deena realized.

The sound repeated. She raised her eyes to the basement ceiling. Farberson was walking above them.

He'll leave soon, she told herself. He'll find what he
came for—and he'll leave. And then the three of us can leave too.

“Come on,” Chuck urged. “Where's a window?”

The clomping footsteps stopped.

“I think he's gone,” Jade whispered, eyes raised to the low ceiling.

“Probably went upstairs,” Chuck replied, listening hard. “Don't think about him. Let's find a way out of here.” Once again he swept the flashlight around the dark, cluttered basement.

“Isn't that a window back there?” Jade asked. She pointed to the back wall, where the old cartons were piled the highest.

Deena squinted and could see it too—a dark rectangle peeking out from behind a stack of cartons.

They hurried to the back wall. “Come on,” Chuck urged. “Let's move the boxes.”

The top box was too high to pull down. Chuck piled two cartons beside the tall stack. Then he climbed up on them.

As Deena and Jade held his legs steady, he reached up—reached—reached—

“Look out!” he cried.

Deena and Jade stumbled back as the carton toppled to the basement floor.

“You okay?” Chuck called, jumping down. “It was so heavy. It slipped out of my hands.”

“What if Farberson heard that?” Deena wondered out loud.

They listened.

Silence. Except for the wind battering the house.

“With the carton out of the way, can we get to the window?” Deena asked.

“Let's see.” Chuck boosted himself over the pile of boxes and climbed up to the window. A moment later he dropped back down to the floor. “No way,” he said glumly. “It's painted shut. And it's too small to climb through anyway.”

“But it's the only window!” Jade cried, her face pale in the flashlight's glow.

“That means we're trapped here,” Deena said. All at once she felt hopeless. Last year was repeating itself. They were trapped here, here in this frightening house, trapped with a killer.

“Take it easy, Deena,” Chuck told her. “The basement's a dead end. So we'll just go back up through the house.”

“Are you crazy?” cried Deena. “He's up there.”

“It's a big house,” Chuck replied. “Farberson is probably upstairs. It's only a few feet to the kitchen door. All we have to do is make sure the coast is clear, and make a run for it.”

“I—I guess,” Deena stammered.

“Hurry,” Chuck urged. “Let's go back up.”

“Chuck,” Jade whispered, grabbing his arm. “Better turn off the flashlight. He might see it shining under the door.”

“Good thinking,” Chuck agreed. He clicked off the light.

Deena shuddered at the thought of climbing the rotted stairs in the dark. But she knew Jade was right.

They slowly pulled themselves up, leaning on the narrow banister.

They were nearly to the top when the door swung open and a bright light washed over them.

“Who's there?” Farberson bellowed.

His eyes narrowed as he studied them. And then an unpleasant smile spread over his round face.

“A welcoming party!” he croaked, laughing. “You shouldn't have. Really. You
shouldn't
have.”

D
eena couldn't take her eyes off Farberson. He had changed a lot in the past year.

He was dressed in a faded blue shirt and baggy gray trousers. His face, covered in a growth of whiskers, was leaner. Dark circles ringed his eyes.

“Get out of our way!” Chuck demanded, stepping in front of Jade and Deena. “Let us out of here.”

Farberson didn't budge. He shook his head, his smile fading slowly. “Are you for real, kid?”

“I mean it!” Chuck insisted. He took another step up the stairs.

“Not one more step,” Farberson said softly. Deena saw something gleam in the man's hand. A small automatic pistol.

He raised it slowly and gestured with it. “Downstairs, everyone,” he instructed. “Quickly.”

“Wh-what are you going to do?” Deena choked out.

Was he going to shoot all three of them and leave them in the basement? Had he been thinking about them all the time he was in prison, planning to take his revenge?

He didn't answer Deena. “Hurry, everyone. Watch your step,” he called almost cheerfully.

Chuck scowled and started to resist. Then Deena saw his expression change. He sighed and led the way back down to the dark, cluttered basement.

“Good,” Farberson said when they had reached the bottom of the steps. He stood a few steps above them, holding the gun steady in his hand.

“All right,” he said. “This won't take long.”

He raised the pistol and aimed it at Deena.

T
he gun gleamed in the lantern light. Farberson held it steady in his right hand, pointed at Deena's chest. His eyes moved from Deena to Jade to Chuck.

“I think I've got your attention,” he said, snickering. “Let's make this short and sweet, okay?” He cleared his throat. “Just tell me where it is.”

“Tell you where
what
is?” Jade demanded in a quivering voice.

“Don't play games,” Farberson replied without any emotion. “The money. Just tell me where the money is, and I'll let you go.”

“Huh? The money? But we don't know where it is!” Jade insisted.

“Why are you asking us?” Chuck broke in. “You took it!”

Farberson stared at Chuck thoughtfully. He moved the pistol so that it was aiming at Chuck's chest. “I'm very disappointed,” he murmured. “I don't like games. I really don't. It's been a long night, and I'm sure you'd like to go home, right? So tell me where the money is.”

“We don't have it!” Deena cried. “That's the truth!”

“Then why are you here?” Farberson demanded. “What are you doing in my house?”

No one spoke.

Deena glanced at Chuck and Jade. They looked as frightened as she felt.

Finally Chuck broke the silence with a long sigh. “Okay, okay,” he told Farberson. “We came here to look for the money. At least, I did. But I don't have it. That's the truth. I swear.” He raised his right hand as if taking an oath.

“You're a bad liar, son,” Farberson replied.

“I'm not lying!” Chuck protested.

“If you didn't take the money, then where is it?” Farberson demanded. “It's not where I hid it.”

“Maybe—maybe someone else took it,” Deena suggested in a choked, frightened voice.

“Like who?” Farberson shot back. “The tooth fairy?”

“We don't have it!” Chuck cried. “We—”

“I told you I don't like games,” Farberson said,
stepping into the basement. “I told you I'd let you leave as soon as you told me the truth.”

“But—but we are!” Deena sputtered.

“I bet I can make you tell me the truth,” Farberson said grimly. He pointed the gun at Deena. “You!” he barked, startling her by raising his voice for the first time.

“I—I don't know anything!” Deena stammered.

“Go over to that workbench,” he ordered, gesturing to a litter-covered table against one wall. “You'll find rope there. Bring it over here.”

Deena continued to stare at him.

“Now!” he snapped, raising the gun as if to hit her.

Deena turned and stumbled in the darkness over to the far wall. The bench was covered with rusted tools, stacks of papers, and stained rags. At one end of the table she found some short coils of rope.

“Here,” she said, handing the rope to Farberson.

“Good,” he snapped. He took one of the lengths and tossed it back to Deena. “Take the rope and tie up buddy-boy here.” He squinted at Chuck. “What happened to your head, kid? A truck run over it?”

“I got in a fight,” Chuck muttered, feeling his wound. “
And
someone just knocked me out.”

“Guess I'm not the only one who doesn't like you,” Farberson growled. “Aren't you hurting enough? Don't you want to tell me the truth about my money so I don't have to mess you up more?”

“I
told
you—” Chuck started to say.

“Tie up his hands and feet,” Farberson ordered Deena.

“No—please!” Deena begged.

Farberson waved the pistol. “It's got real bullets in it,” he said dryly. “I know you kids think this is some kind of Nancy Drew adventure story, but it's not. It's all real. And if I don't get my money, I'm really going to hurt you.”