Chain Letter (27 page)

“No,” Alison said. “You’re going to shut up and sit here and wait with Fran and me.
This letter may be a joke. It probably is. But it might be serious, and if it is,
we have to stick together. That’s what we learned last time. All right?”

Brenda sat down with a big huff. “I didn’t learn anything last time—except to stay
away from the mailbox.”

It may have been a coincidence, or the dog may have been psychic and known he was
being discussed. In either case, Fran’s
puppy suddenly ran into the kitchen and began to lick his master’s hands. Fran reached
down and patted the cute little brown cocker spaniel on the head. An anxious smile
touched her lips.

“It must be a joke,” Fran said. “No one could want Barney dead. No one could think
I’d actually drown him.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Alison replied. But a chill went through her as she thought
about what Fran had just said. Alison stared at the letter again. The
small service
was absolutely unthinkable. Perhaps this Caretaker wasn’t the least bit interested
in seeing Barney dead. Maybe he was only interested in having an excuse to harm Fran.

T
ony Hunt didn’t leave Alison Parker’s house and drive straight to Kipp’s. He stopped
at the mall near his house first. He was hungry, and there were a dozen different
places to eat there. Also, at the back of his mind, he hoped to
accidentally
run into Alison, who was supposed to go shopping with Brenda. He thought this was
pretty ironic since he had just walked out on Alison. But he was beginning to accept
as normal the contradictions between his thoughts and his actions. Nowadays his whole
existence seemed one vast vat of confusion.

Tony didn’t know what was wrong with himself. Alison was leaving town, of course,
but if he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he had been feeling
anxious even before her invitation from NYU arrived. He tried to rationalize that
the pain in his back must be throwing him off
more than he realized. Yet he had been hurt before and hadn’t lost his sense of inner
stability. As he examined his feelings, the clearer it became that his sense of confusion
and foreboding had started with the arrival of Neil’s chain letter. Yet his anxiety
hadn’t culminated with Neil’s death and then begun to heal. It continued even now
to hang over his head. He missed Neil terribly, sure, but why the continuing feelings
of anxiety and foreboding? Why not simply sorrow and loneliness? Those emotions would
have been natural and easily explainable. It was almost as if nothing had ended with
Neil’s death, except Neil.

Tony parked in the warm sun and walked into the mall. The cool air and shopper sounds
enfolded him like a hug. He liked malls, which was odd because he seldom bought anything.
But he could walk around in a mall for an hour and just observe people—so preoccupied
with their latest purchases, so delighted with the silliest little things. He watched
them but always felt separate from them. In fact, he felt closer to the mannequins
in the windows. The silent observers. Hadn’t that been a line from Neil’s chain letter?
I am the Observer, the Recorder. I am also the Punisher.
Tony felt as if he were still being punished for a crime he wasn’t even sure he had
committed. This was another feeling that had only begun in the last few months, long
after they had buried the man in the desert.

Tony went to the food circle. His tastes were uncreative. He ordered a hamburger,
fries, and a Coke from the McDonald’s—he figured he couldn’t go wrong with that. He
had hoped Fran
Darey might be working. The cashier told him that Fran had already left for the day.
Fran was a high-strung worrywart, but she always had a smile and a kind word for him.
Tony could hardly remember the last time Alison had looked happy to see him. God,
girls changed when you got to know them. They turned into people with problems. People
who wanted you to solve their problems.

Tony took his food into the center of the tables and sat beside the good-luck fountain,
where for a tossed penny and a silent prayer all your wishes might come true. Tony
pulled a nickel from his pocket and threw it into the splashing water. It was a good
throw; it landed on the top circular tier. Alison was right—he had a hell of an arm.
But no wish came to his mind, only the desire that his unhappiness be gone. He picked
up his hamburger and took a bite. They had cooked it well done, just the way he liked
it. A soft laugh sounded to his right.

“I make a wish every day at this time,” a girl said. “I don’t know if they don’t come
true because I don’t know what I want or because I only use a penny.”

Tony looked over and was surprised to see a beautiful young woman at the next table.
Her hair was long and shiny, an odd maroon so deep red it was almost black. Her green
eyes shone bright above her full lips, which were painted a warm red. Her face was
pale, but cute freckles played around her shapely nose and her innocent dimples. She
was drinking a cup of coffee and reading a magazine. Her dress was entirely
white, like that of a nurse. She smiled as his eyes met hers, and he found himself
smiling in return.

“Maybe we should use quarters,” he said.

She nodded. “Then we could do a month’s worth of wishing in one throw.”

He gestured around them. “You come here a lot?”

“For lunch, yeah. I work near here. At the hospital.”

“What do you do?”

She made a face. “Today I’m drawing blood. Exciting, huh?”

“You don’t like your job?”

She shrugged. “It’s a job. It pays the bills. What do you do?”

He didn’t want to sound as if he’d just graduated from high school. He put her age
at about twenty-one, two years older than he was. “I’m in college,” he muttered.

“I was in college once. Where do you go?”

It was his plan to attend a local junior college for the first two years. Without
an athletic scholarship, he couldn’t afford anything else. But he gave Alison’s first
choice of schools because it sounded more impressive. He didn’t know why he wanted
to impress this girl. It wasn’t normally his style.

“UCLA,” he said.

“That’s where I went to school! It’s a neat campus, isn’t it?”

“I like it.”

“What’s your major?” she asked. She had a wonderful voice. It conveyed warmth and
excitement at the same time.

“I’d like to be a teacher,” he said. “But I haven’t settled on a definite major.”

“It’s a bitch having to choose, isn’t it? I’m not even in school, and I’m still changing
my major.” She nodded to his food. “Your hamburger’s getting cold. I should leave
you alone and let you eat.”

Tony paused. She was right. He should finish his food and get on with his day. Kipp
would be waiting for him. But he suddenly realized he was enjoying himself, chatting
with this stranger about odds and ends. He used to have fun with Alison like this,
back when they could communicate.

“I can eat and talk at the same time,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Sasha.” She offered her hand across the five feet that separated them. “What’s yours?”

“Tony Hunt.” He shook her hand. Her skin was soft, like Alison’s, but her grip was
firm. “I’m pleased to meet you, Sasha.”

She smiled again. Her teeth were a little crooked, but still nice. “You know, you
look kind of familiar,” she said. “Have I seen you before?”

He suspected she had seen his picture in the papers, extolling his accomplishments
on the football field. He didn’t want to tell her that though. Then she would know
he had just graduated. Besides, she might want to talk about football, and nothing
bored him more.

“You might have seen me here,” he said. “I come here often enough.”

“I suppose.” She frowned slightly. “Is there something wrong with your neck or your
back?”

She had caught him off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“The way you hold yourself. You look stiff.”

His chiropractor had been able to spot the problem just by looking at him, but no
one else had ever commented on it before. Sasha must be a very perceptive young woman,
he thought.

“It’s an old sports injury,” he said. “It flares up every now and then.”

“I’m considering being a physical therapist,” Sasha said. “I’ll have to go back to
school to get certified, but I’ve been studying a lot on my own about deep-tissue
massage. You should get a massage. It can give tremendous relief.”

Tony smiled shyly but spoke boldly. “If you ever want someone to practice on, give
me a call.”

Sasha surprised him. “I could give you a massage.” She reached for her purse. “You
can give me a call if you want one.”

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Although he was pleased that he might be seeing
Sasha again, guilt weighed heavy on him. If Alison had solicited the number of another
guy, and he caught her, he would have been furious. On the other hand, he thought,
Alison would probably be giving out her number soon enough—in New York. Besides, it
wasn’t like
he was making a date with Sasha. She was just going to give him a massage. . . .

“That’s very nice of you,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind trying it—What did you call it?”

“A deep-tissue massage.” She scribbled down her number on a scrap of paper and handed
it to him. “It was nice to meet you, Tony.” She grabbed her purse and stood up. “Call
me any evening. I’m usually home.”

He studied her number. It was local. He stood to say goodbye to her. “It was nice
meeting you, Sasha.”

She smiled one last time and tapped him lightly on the shoulder as she turned away.
She had a sweet smile, innocent and carefree.

“Later,” she said.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. He watched as she disappeared in the crowd. He had been
so enchanted with her voice and face, he had hardly noticed her excellent figure,
much fuller than Alison’s.

Enchanted.

There had been something enchanting about Sasha. Tony looked once more at the number
in his hand and stuffed it in his pocket. He left the mall without finishing his lunch.

· · ·

Kipp Coughlan was pulling into his driveway when Tony Hunt arrived at his house. Tony
parked behind him and got out of his car.

“I’m glad you weren’t waiting for me,” Tony said.

“Were you here earlier?” Kipp asked, his expression good-natured as usual. He had
fair hair, a big nose, and even bigger ears, which made him appear silly. But his
dark eyes were sharp, and so was his mind. Kipp was heading for MIT in a couple of
weeks to study aeronautical engineering. He had been the class valedictorian.

“No. I stopped at the mall for a bite,” Tony said.

“Too bad, I was hoping we could eat together.” Kipp walked toward his front door,
a brown paper bag in his hand. “I’m watching Leslie.”

Leslie was Kipp’s little sister. They were devoted to each other. She was seven years
old and every bit as smart as her brother.

“Did you go out and leave her alone?” Tony asked, following Kipp into the house. Kipp
gestured to the bag he was carrying.

“I had to,” Kipp said. “She found an injured bird in the backyard. Its wing is broken.
A cat might have got hold of it. Anyway, she ordered me to go get it birdseed while
she tended to it. She said if she left the bird, it would die.”

Just then Leslie appeared in the living room. She didn’t have her brother’s ears,
but she had his nose. She could best be described as charming rather than pretty.
Her fair hair was the same shade as Kipp’s, and they had similar mannerisms, the most
noticeable being the tendency to talk with their hands when they were excited. Leslie
was excited now. She hurried to collect the birdseed.

“Hi, Tony,” she said. “Did Kipp tell you about the bird with the broken wing that
flew in my window?”

“Yes,” Tony said, glancing at Kipp and smiling. “He told me you were nursing it back
to health. That’s kind of you—helping the poor thing.”

“Did you get the baby bird kind?” Leslie asked Kipp as she peered into the bag.

“I didn’t know baby birds ate different food from big birds,” Kipp said. He gave the
bag to his sister. “I bet the bird doesn’t know the difference, either.”

“I bet he does,” Leslie said seriously, running off with the bag.

“Cute,” Tony said, watching her go.

“Yeah. Too bad we can’t bottle it and sell it.” Kipp headed for the stairs. “Did you
see Alison today?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“How was what?” Tony asked, following him up to the second floor.

“The sex.”

“We didn’t have sex.”

“Why not?” Kipp asked.

“We don’t have sex every time we get together. I’m sure you and Brenda don’t, either.”

“Yeah, but we have an excuse.”

“What’s that?” Tony asked.

“Brenda isn’t attracted to me.”

They entered Kipp’s bedroom. Tony noticed the faded bloodstain on the carpet. When
Neil, in his Caretaker craziness, had abducted Kipp, he had soaked the bed and surrounding
area with blood. Only later had they learned that the blood had been Neil’s, slowly
siphoned from his veins over a period of time. It still boggled Tony that Neil, in
his weakened condition, had had the strength to kidnap Kipp. Neil had done a lot of
amazing things back during the days of the chain letters—some were almost supernatural.

“I’m always happy when I come in my room and see that someone’s called me,” Kipp said,
reaching for his phone. “Usually it’s just Brenda or you or somebody trying to sell
me life insurance. But just before I check the messages, I always have a hope that
a gorgeous babe has seen me on the street, somehow found out my number, and has called
to ask me out. I don’t know why I never stop hoping.”

“Aren’t you and Brenda getting along?” Tony asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“We’re going through a rough period right now.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I think it’s because she doesn’t like me anymore.”