The Long Sleep (5 page)

As soon as I said it, I wondered if it could
be one of Rhoda’s crazy—er, unhappy clients.

The thought ended right there. She would
never in the wide world have given out her home number. So it must
have had to do with what we talked about at the meeting. But we all
left at pretty much the same time. How could anybody get armed and
in place so fast? How could they have known Hank would be getting
into my car?

She didn’t say any more as we both got dinner
ready for the rest of the family.

I used to wonder why Ben didn’t have to help
in the kitchen. The truth was, he often did, but mostly his
household duties ran to cutting grass, shoveling snow, and fixing
cars. Better him than me.

I was setting the table when the phone rang
again. I let the machine answer it that time. They were still
playing music but it wasn’t “Over the Rainbow.” The dirt bag had
gone on to some bouncy, goofy thing with a chorus of voices. I
didn’t recognize it.

Rhoda picked up the phone and pressed off a
couple of times. “I don’t see why you don’t think it could be
Evan.”

“But—”

“I know you said he’s away at school, but
telephone lines reach all over the world.”

“I know that.”

“This kind of thing is more playful,” she
said. “It’s more like the things he used to do, rather than someone
who would shoot somebody.”

“He wasn’t playful,” I reminded her. “He
hit
me.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Of course she knew.
It had been ages before my shiner disappeared.

“He tried to drag me away that time he broke
into the house,” I said.

She knew that, too. She’d been there. “It
still doesn’t add up to shooting.”

I didn’t see why it couldn’t. But she was the
psychologist.

Still, I knew a few things. “Everybody’s
different. People can’t be pigeonholed.”

She smiled. “Maddie, you are very wise. Just
stay alert. That’s all I ask.”

The phone rang twice during dinner. It was
cordless, so we couldn’t leave it off the hook. We had to look up
the instructions and find out how to turn off its ringer.

“It’s your boyfriend,” Ben muttered.

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“A person like that,” said Rhoda, “finds it
hard to move on.”

“He’s obsessed,” I said.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“What makes them that way?”

“Maddie,” she sighed, “I would love to give
you a very knowledgeable answer. Unfortunately I don’t have one. It
might have something to do with insecurity.”

It seemed that way to me, too. On the
surface, what would Evan, a handsome, blond, hunky football star,
have to feel insecure about? Maybe he thought he wasn’t living up
to himself. Or to his parents’ expectations. Sometimes parents
could do that to a person.

I had known Evan for ages, or at least knew
who he was. We’d both spent our lives at Lakeside. He was a grade
ahead of me. I used to see him in the halls and on the football
field. I played French horn in the school band, so I was there
during games. I didn’t think he knew I existed. All I could do was
drool from afar.

Then one day last June I saw him in the music
store. I turned away and pretended not to notice. He was browsing
through Country Western. I was looking at Beethoven, for Daddy.

I felt his eyes on me and got all shivery. I
still didn’t look, but I sensed it when he moved closer. He said,
“Hey, how are you?”

Ordinarily I’m not a shy person, but for a
few seconds I was tongue-tied. Mostly from surprise. Evan Steffers
talking to
me?
“Doing okay,” I said. “How about you?”

His eyes followed my arm down to where my
hand was. “Classical! Is that what you’re into?”

He said it as if it was weird. I liked all
kinds of music. The band played classical and light classical for
concerts. Marches for parades and football games.

“Father’s Day,” I said. “My dad likes
Beethoven’s Ninth. He never got around to buying it for
himself.”

That led to a long discussion about music. I
found the Ninth Symphony and got ready to check out.

Evan abandoned his own search and followed me
to the register. “How about catching some pizza?”

I couldn’t believe it. Lakeside’s star
quarterback was asking me out? I wasn’t even a cheerleader.

That was the beginning. I lived a dream for
the rest of June and July.

Then he started getting possessive. It began
with him resenting every time I talked to anybody, even Ben.

“I want you to keep away from other guys,” he
said, and clearly meant it. Even though I told him I wasn’t with
any guy except him. We were in the record store again when he said
that. He’d been sorting through the latest selections.

He grabbed the back of my neck in a pinch
that nearly cut off my blood supply. “You’re mine, and don’t you
forget it. I don’t want you talking to anybody.”

I’d read about guys like that in advice
columns. I had never actually seen one before, and tried to get out
of his grip.

“Like yesterday,” he fumed, holding tightly.
“You made a big scene in the hallway with that long conversation.
Everybody noticed.”

“It was only a minute and it was my brother.”
And I didn’t think anybody noticed or cared.

“Your brother’s adopted, right?” As if that
was a reason for me to steer clear of him.

How did he know so much about us? “Yes, but
what’s it got to do with anything? He’s my
brother.
It
doesn’t matter if he’s adopted.”

“He’s not related to you. I don’t like you
getting cozy.”

“What cozy? Evan, he’s my
brother.
So
what if he’s adopted? I never get cozy with any guy except you.
Don’t be so insecure.”

He started breathing hard. “I don’t like you
spreading yourself around. You’re my girl, now and forever.”

He made it sound as if I was a slut. That was
insulting, but with him in such a jealous frame of mind, I didn’t
argue.

The next fuss he made was about my friendship
with Glynis Goode. She saw me on the sidewalk and came running over
to talk. I got rid of her fast because Evan was waiting, his face a
thundercloud.

“Why is that bitch always hanging around?” he
demanded as we got into his yellow sports car with the giant
tires.

I said, “Glynis is the least bitchy person I
know.”

He nearly swerved off the road just to land a
punch on my face.

I gasped. My eyes flooded with tears of shock
and humiliation. I couldn’t see anything.

“Evan. You hurt me.”

He didn’t answer. All he did was stare ahead,
still angry. But why?

We crossed the Vanorden Kill and started up
the steep hill right after it. I kept quiet. If he blew up again,
we could go right over the edge into the river. He
was
over
the edge, psychologically. What was wrong with him?

I didn’t want him in my home unless Ben was
there, and I already knew he wouldn’t be. I’d seen him in the
village going toward Radio Shack.

I didn’t know what to do. Before I could
think of anything, we reached my house. Evan shut off the motor and
opened his door.

Quickly I took a scrap of paper from my bag
and scribbled a note.
If I disappear, grill Evan.
Where
could I leave it? Someplace inside.

Evan was crazy enough to kill me, but he
would certainly hide the evidence. When they questioned him, he
would get all oily and pretend to be concerned. Evan could be very
oily at times. I knew they would believe him and his fabricated
story. It was why I used the word “grill.”

That was the point at which I realized he was
a psychopath. Rhoda had a book on psychopaths, sociopaths, and
antisocial personalities. It all meant the same thing. I’d read it
because it was interesting. And scary.

I didn’t want any more to do with him.

He came around and opened my door. “Why are
you just sitting there? What’s your problem?”

I climbed out and started up the front walk.
What if I refused to let him in? He would wrench the key out of my
hand and unlock it himself. I knew what I had to do, what I had to
say, but I was afraid.

I opened the door. The dogs came running to
greet us. With them in the way, I couldn’t slam it in his face.

Our entryway had a little table with a vase
of autumn branches. I’d always thought that table and vase were so
cliché, but now I was glad of it. I pushed my note down among the
branches. In time the leaves would shrivel and Rhoda would take
them out to put in something new. She would find my note. By then I
would be long gone, but at least they’d know to hunt down Evan.

He went to the kitchen as if he owned the
place, and opened the fridge. I stood in the kitchen doorway.
“Evan?”

He had me so upset I couldn’t help the
question mark. I tried to be firm.

“Evan, I think you’d better leave.”

He turned and stared at me. “I just got
here.”

“I know you did. But now it’s time to go. I’m
not feeling well. I might throw up.”

No excuses. Just say it.

He straightened his football shoulders,
closed the refrigerator, and faced me. “When did this start?”

That forced me to be more specific.

“It started back on Grand Street. When you
hit me. I don’t like to be treated that way.”

“I—don’t—like. . .” He waggled his head in
mockery.

I felt trapped. By my own stupidity. I could
have handled this much better if I weren’t such a wimp. And if
there were other people around.

Knowing I was probably doomed, I plunged on
anyway. “I know you don’t care what I like. You only care about
yourself and what you want. That doesn’t make for a good
relationship.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,”
he said.

Cool it.
I had to stay calm and not
get into a screaming fight. He could win any fight if it got
physical and, with him, I knew it would. Thank heaven the dogs were
there. They would do their best to protect me.

Having gone this far, I kept it up. “I think
it’s time we call it quits. It’s not working out.”

“Who says it’s not?”

“I says.” I backed a little way into the
dining room. “It might be working for you, because you get to kick
me around and treat me like dirt. That suits you just fine, but for
me it sucks. You don’t care anything about me.”

He took a step toward me but kept his hand on
the refrigerator, as though it were an anchor.

“What do you mean I don’t care about you?
You’re the only one I care about. I told you that. You’re the only
girl for me.”

Typical psychopath. He was turning on his
charm as he felt me slip away.

“If you care that much,” I said, “then you
can leave right now. I’ll see you in school, maybe.” When all this
happened, I was still at Lakeside.

“Are you
crazy?
” The charm was wearing
thin. “You can’t just break it off like that. What about me?”

“What about
me?
” I countered. “Aren’t
I half the equation? Or are you all of it and I’m just a thing you
can push around?”

He took another step. One of the dogs
growled. I wasn’t sure which one.

“Dumb dogs!” He drew back his foot to kick
them.

I blocked his way. “Don’t you dare hurt those
dogs! Or me either. Just get out of here.”

He didn’t. I waited a beat, then said, “I
know this is sudden. I’m sorry to spring it on you, but you
clinched it when you hit me. I’m sick and tired of you being so
possessive. You don’t even see me as a person. I’m nothing but an
object that belongs to you.”

“Shut your
mouth!
” He gave me another
punch, right on the jaw.

The blow knocked me down. I cracked my head
on a dining chair. I felt the cold floor under my cheek.

The dogs snarled. Evan cursed. The front door
slammed.

I tried to sit up. My head wouldn’t stop
spinning. Pumpkin licked my face.

Outside, a car started. I knew the sound of
that engine and so did the dogs. He was leaving, thank God. I could
scarcely believe he actually heard me.

Moments later, a car door slammed.

He was coming back! I struggled to get
upright. To go and lock the door. My head kept on whirling and I
fell down again.

I couldn’t see the door, but heard it
open.

Chapter Five

I held my
breath.

A familiar voice said, “What in hell’s going
on?”

Ben. Thank God. The breath whooshed out of
me.

He came around where I could see him. “What
did he do?”

Cree always said Ben’s eyes were like
chocolate syrup. Deep, dark chocolate. He was six feet tall, with
dark wavy hair and classical features. Having grown up with him, I
didn’t think about his looks all that much. When I did think about
it, he had Evan all beat. Evan was nice-looking in his own hunky
way, but he had no soul. Only an ego. You could tell by looking at
Ben that there was more to him than met the eye.

I held out my hand. Ben hesitated, afraid I
was broken in several places. Then he helped me up. I wobbled. He
sat me down on the chair that had cracked my head. I would rather
have been on something squishy in the living room, but who was
complaining? I still had my life.

“How did you know it was him?” I asked.

“He passed me out on the road, going like a
bat out of hell.”

“You got the hell part right.”

“What was it this time?”

Ben knew all about my history with Evan. He
had told me several times I should dump the creep. His opinion of
Lakeside’s football hero was extremely low.

At first I thought it was a nerd’s resentment
of a jock, which I assumed to be sour grapes. But Ben wouldn’t have
that problem. He didn’t go in for jock-worship, as a lot of people
did.