The Dead Boyfriend (14 page)

The guy raised his head, and the hood fell back to his shoulders. I leaned forward, studying his face, his dark hair.

“Oh no.”

Blade.

It
was
Blade!

He raised his eyes to the Shadyside bleachers. He was gazing right at me. The game started up. He didn't look away. He stared at me intensely from across the gym.

Before I could even think, I had shoved my way past Miranda and I was rushing to the aisle, stepping on feet, brushing kids back, everyone a blur, just a blur because I had the red hoodie in my eyes.

“Caitlyn? Hey—Caitlyn?”

“What's wrong? Where are you going?”

I heard my friends calling after me in alarm. I didn't turn back. I stumbled into the aisle, hurtled into a few kids blocking my way, and dove past some others.

I made it to the gym floor just as the half-time buzzer rang out. A groan went up from both bleachers. No one wanted the game to stop. My shoes slipped on a wet spot on the gym floor, and I nearly fell onto the team bench.

I took a deep breath and ran along the sidelines.

Blade is back.

I didn't ask any of the obvious questions. Had Deena Fear brought him back? Did he come back to haunt me? To accuse me? To let everyone know that I was his murderer?

I ran past the team bench where the players were grabbing towels and water bottles and heading to the locker room. I darted between two striped-shirt referees who were mopping their faces with towels, heatedly discussing some penalty call.

I ran against the crowd of kids coming down off the visitors' bleachers, making their way to buy hotdogs and drinks at the stand outside the gym.

“Blade! Hey, Blade!” I breathlessly shouted his name, my chest about to burst from running, from my shock. “Blade!”

My eyes ran along the bleachers. To the second row. Empty now. Empty.

No red hoodie. No Blade. He was gone.

I spun around, my eyes searching every face.

I'm not crazy. I didn't hallucinate him. He was here.

I felt a hard bump from behind. “Blade?”

I turned to see a big red-headed kid in a green-and-yellow Green Valley jersey. “Hey, sorry,” he said. He had a large cup of Coke in each hand. “Didn't see you. Sorry.”

“No worries,” I said.

Then Julie and Miranda appeared beside me. “Caitlyn? What are you doing over here?” Julie demanded.

“You got up before halftime,” Miranda said. “What's wrong?”

“I-I saw him,” I stammered. “I saw Blade.”

They both gasped. Julie wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You mean someone who looks like Blade?”

“No.” I stepped away from her. “Blade. I saw him. He was sitting right there.” I pointed to the middle of the second row, now empty. “He … was staring at me. Staring across the gym right at me.”

Miranda and Julie exchanged glances. They weren't prepared to deal with an insane person. They brought me here to snap me out of my depression, and now here I was, ruining everything.

Miranda shook her head, her face tight with concern. “Caitlyn, you know it couldn't be Blade. What made you think—”

“He was wearing the red hoodie,” I said. “That's what made me look at him. The hood slipped off and … and…”

“Do you want to go home?” Julie asked. “Where's your car? I could drive you—”

“No!” I cried. “I have to find Blade. He's here. I'm not making it up, Julie.”

I pictured Deena Fear. Pictured Blade's empty coffin once again. He was here. I knew he was here.

I broke away from them and ran toward the gym doors. I pushed through the double doors into the hall. Nearly knocked a girl over. “Sorry. Didn't see you.”

My eyes searched up and down the hall. Several kids were lined up at the concession table. No. No sign of him. Their faces all blurred in front of me. No red hoodie. No Blade.

Back into the gym, the roar of voices ringing in my ears. The scoreboard buzzed. Almost time for the game to resume. The visitors' bleachers were filled, but no sign of Blade.

I waved to Julie and Miranda who were starting up the aisle of the home team bleachers. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted: “Hey, I have to go!”

No way I could stay. No way I could watch the game knowing that Blade was back, knowing that he saw me, stared at me from across the gym.

My two friends rushed back over to me. “You're going home?” Julie asked.

I nodded. “My car is in the student lot.”

“I really think you should let us drive you,” Julie said, her eyes searching mine, as if trying to decide if I'd gone crazy or not.

“No. I'm fine,” I said. “It's such a short drive. Really. I'm fine.”

Miranda gave me a hug. She couldn't hide her distress. “We'll talk later,” she said.

They turned to go back to their seats. I hurried from the gym, into the hall. Only a few stragglers out here. I heard the game start up, the drumbeat of the basketball on the floor, the roar of voices. The sounds followed me as I pushed open the back doors to the school and stepped into the night.

The air had turned cooler. The moon was hidden behind low clouds. I felt a few cold droplets of rain on my hair and forehead.

I turned toward the student parking lot, jammed with cars. The halogen lamps along the tall iron fence made the lot nearly as bright as day. Someone with a blue Toyota RAV4 had left the headlights on.

I saw my car halfway down the back row, facing out. And I saw the red hoodie.

Blade, leaning casually, his back against the driver's door of my car, waiting for me.

 

30.

I stopped and stared into the harsh halogen glare. Stared until the hoodie became a red glow in my eyes, and the rest of Blade vanished ghostlike behind the ray of red.

He pushed himself away from the car, standing up, his eyes on me. He didn't move toward me. Just waited there, still casual. Did he expect me to go running to him? To throw my arms around him and tell him how thrilled I was that he was back?

I forced my legs to move. Took a few steps toward him. And then the words tore from my mouth: “You can't be here. You're dead! You're dead, Blade. Why are you here?”

He gave a slow shrug. His greenish eyes glowed under the lights. He didn't say anything.

“Blade? What do you want? Why are you here? You know you can't be here.” I couldn't stop myself. I knew I wasn't making any sense. I was talking to a dead person.

But he was there, leaning one hand on the side of my car. He was there. I wasn't imagining him.

“Blade—say something.” My voice trembled on the air. Raindrops pattered the parking lot, the cars. “Did you come back to hurt me? What do you want?
Tell
me.”

The wind ruffled his red hood. He didn't reply. He didn't move. He stood there. Waiting. Waiting for me to come closer.

And then what?

I had to get to my car. I had to get away from him. I didn't want to talk to a dead person. I didn't want to know why he waited for me there so silently, so patiently.

I wanted him to go away. And stay away.

Fear choked my throat. I brushed raindrops off my forehead.

I was only a few feet from him now. “Blade? What do you want?” I asked in a tiny voice. “Blade—please.”

He didn't answer. He grabbed my wrist.

“Hey—let go!”

He pulled me close. He gripped both of my wrists and pulled me against him. His hands were hard and cold as ice.

“Let go! What are you doing? Let go!”

The blank green eyes glowed. He grabbed my face with both frozen hands. Spread his hands over the sides of my head and drew me to him.

He pressed his lips against mine in a hard kiss. An angry kiss. He held me there, held my face against his, pressed his lips, so hard and cold, against mine, grinding them against my lips until my mouth ached.

I finally pulled my head back, gasping for breath, the taste of his icy lips still on mine. And then I uttered a horrified gasp.

His lips were still sewn together.

I started to gag. I forced myself not to vomit. I rubbed my mouth but I couldn't get the cold of his lips off them.

He held my shoulders, breathing heavily into my face. His breath was rotten. It smelled like spoiled meat. Like death.

A twisted smile spread on the stitched-together lips. I could see the black thread clearly. Some of the stitches at one end had popped.

I struggled to back away, but he was too strong for me.

He slid both hands around my head and pulled me forward for another kiss. Choking, I struggled to breathe normally as he moved the cold dead lips over mine, caressing my cheeks with his thumbs as he held my head.

Held me in a kiss with a corpse. I thought it would never end.

The stitches scraped against my lips until I cried out in pain.

I stuck one leg behind his—and gave him a two-handed shove in the chest. He toppled backward and fell to the pavement. His eyes flashed with surprise.

I grabbed my car door and swung it open. I had the ignition key in my bag. I only had to push the
start
button to start the car. I dropped behind the wheel, tugged hard to close the door.

But Blade was on his feet. He grabbed the door by the handle and held it open. Grunting like an animal, his glassy green eyes gleaming, he reached for me with his other hand. Slapping at my shoulder, trying to get a grip on me.

He was grunting like a dog through his stitched-up lips, grunting and growling and grabbing at me. I struggled to shove him back. Then I grabbed the door handle with both hands and jerked it hard, pulled it with all my strength.

The door slammed on Blade's hand. He didn't even scream. Could he feel it?

One more hard pull and the door clicked shut. I pushed Start. The car revved up quickly. The chest of the red hoodie was pressed against my window. I ignored it. Slammed the car into Drive. Shot my foot down on the gas, and took off with a squealing roar.

I saw Blade tumble back. He sprawled over the hood of the car in the next space.

My car roared into the aisle. Too fast. Too fast. I had to brake hard to avoid crashing into the wire fence.

I was crazed. Heart beating like crazy. My head throbbing. My lips ached from those horrifying, sick kisses. I swung the car toward the exit. Nearly scraped the Rav4 with its headlights on at the end of the row.

And then I bumped out of the short driveway, onto Division Street. Made a wide right turn, forgetting to look for traffic. A horn honked angrily close behind me. I sped away. Sped through a stoplight. More horns honking.

I just had to move, had to get as far away from the living corpse as I could. Rain spattered the window, but I didn't turn on the wipers. I stared out through the shiny droplets, little diamonds sparkling against the dark night. Like driving through a dream.

Only this was a nightmare.

Somehow I made it home. I slammed on the brake in front of our garage. An inch or two from the garage door. The glare of the headlights off the wide white door filled the windshield with eerie white light.

I sat there staring into the light with my hands gripping the wheel. Sat there as if I didn't want to open the door and step back out into the world. My throat still tight. My lips scraped and burning.

I'm home.

Safe … for a while.

I cut the engine and started to reach for the headlights switch. But my hand stopped in midair.

What was that in my lap? Something sitting in my lap.

What was it?

I reached down and picked it up. I raised it to my face to see what it was.

Blade's hand.

Blade's cold, dead hand. I'd sliced it off when I slammed the door.

I opened my mouth and started to scream.

 

PART FOUR

 

31.

I tossed the hand into the alley behind my house. It made a sick soft
thud
as it bounced off a fence and hit the gravel.

Should I hide it under something? Should I bury it? I couldn't think straight. “No one ever goes back there,” I told myself.

I couldn't breathe. My stomach churned. The hand felt hard and cold, curled into a fist. Sliced cleanly at the wrist, it didn't bleed at all.

It didn't bleed because Blade was
dead
.

I trembled in the light from the house that swept over the backyard. My eyes darted back and forth. Had Blade followed me? Had he come to take his hand back?

He won't leave me alone now. He'll want his hand and he'll want revenge.

I slipped into the house through the kitchen door. My parents had gone to bed, but they left a few lights on for me. I tiptoed silently up the stairs and to the bathroom across from my room.

I felt sick. My throat tightened. I leaned over the toilet and tried to throw up. But the waves of nausea faded.

I washed my face. I washed my lips. I could still taste those dead, hard lips on mine. I washed my hands three times.

I darted into my room and closed the door carefully behind me. I dropped onto the edge of my bed, clasping my hands together tensely in my lap.

I needed help, and there was only one person who could help me.

Deena Fear.

I wished I didn't need to see Deena again. I
never
wanted to see her. I pictured the man and woman in the glass cases. Were those really her parents? Did she really stuff them and put them on display there?

It couldn't be true. It
couldn't
. But I saw them there in that frightening room. And Deena actually bragged about it. Joked about using her taxidermy lessons on them.

I hugged myself to stop shivering. I suddenly realized I was
terrified
of Deena. Was she totally psycho? A crazed killer? I didn't want to go near her again.