The Vanishing Game (7 page)

Only twenty minutes inside Seale House and already a freakazoid kid with a switchblade was chasing me, I'd had a run-in with the phantom in the cellar, and a childhood ghost reminded me of something I must have really wanted to forget. It was too much, and I started to feel like I'd fallen through some sort of time-warp wormhole in a cosmic joke. I almost laughed until I tried to open the window and it didn't budge.

Out in the hallway I could hear some doors banging open as voices wafted and waned like an angry wind. Shoving my full weight against the window, I got it to creak, but it didn't slide up. Another flash of lightning and the glass glowed bright, my reflected image vanishing for that second. Thunder followed and I shoved harder. Had Hazel Frey learned the truth about our secret exits and nailed this one shut? But if that was true, then why had the cloakroom door opened so easily? What if Seale House let me in but didn't want me to leave?

I grabbed the small stool with both hands. The lightning came again. I anticipated the thunder that would follow and swung hard. The stool hit with a crash that was swallowed by the boom. Glass flew everywhere, one piece slicing the side of my hand. It stung but wasn't serious. I knocked the shards out with the stool and climbed out onto the narrow ledge just as the bedroom door banged open.

The cold wind stole my breath. I pulled myself up onto the roof the same way Jack, Noah, and I had done dozens of times. Of course on those nights the moon usually lit our way and there was no strong wind. I scrambled up to the peak and walked carefully along, telling myself not to look down because that was what Noah had always cautioned. The wind tugged at my feet and whipped hair in my face, but I inched forward, determined.

I took in several gulps of air, refreshing after the smell of smoke and damp ashes. Glancing back, I saw the silhouetted shape of the boy, like a large, hunched-over monkey, scrambling up to the top of the roof. It skittered across the
worn shingles with no difficulty at all. Was the kid insane, going that fast? I pushed myself forward, trying to hurry along the peak even though the wind made my legs tremble. I was making good progress toward the familiar place where the peak met a second overhang. Just then, the toe of my shoe snagged a curled shingle and I fell forward, landing hard.

Charred boards snapped and a portion of the roof gave way beneath my hands. I cried out, my arms flailing for a handhold as shingles and weakened rafters fell with a loud clatter to the surface below. Barely able to steady myself, I grabbed wood that crumbled away like blackened match-sticks. The dark maw threatened to swallow me. I backed away from the hole. If I hadn't slipped and hit that place on the roof with my hands, I would have stepped on it and fallen through the attic to the second, or even the first, floor below.

My pursuer laughed like a crazed hyena. The inhuman sound spurred me to clamber around the cave-in. Thankfully, the hole also slowed switchblade boy and gave me time to reach the second roof.

I crossed the next peak, then headed down the side. It was nearly impossible to see, as heavy clouds smothered the moon, but in an odd way it was also like reading a long-forgotten map. Next stop was the huge birch tree with branches that met the roof and made a natural ladder. Unfortunately, the map had changed in the years I'd been gone. I stood at the edge of the roof and shoved the wind-whipped
hair off my face. Far below was a pitiful tree stump, all that was left of the big birch.

Before I could think what to do, I was pelted in the back by something hard. Spinning around I saw the boy throw a shingle at me like it was a Frisbee. I ducked and moved sideways. A third glanced off my shoulder, stinging, but it barely registered because just then a burst of wind lifted me off my feet. I lost my balance, fell forward, and hit the roof. Suddenly I was sliding down the steep eaves, rocketing earthward as my cheek, jaw, and hands scraped against the rough surface of the shingles. The hem of my shirt was snatched up, the roof scratching my stomach too, until my feet slammed into the gutter. It stopped me from going over the edge.

A white knife of lightning sliced the sky and thunder boomed overhead. I clung to the roof, my palms stinging. Another hyena laugh drifted down from somewhere above me and I sensed he was coming. I imagined his knife brought down full force through my back, puncturing my heart.

Scuttling sideways like a frenzied crab, I moved to the corner of the house and slid over the edge. Windy dust stung my eyes and my vision blurred, but I focused on the vibration of the guy's tromping boots. I swung my feet back and forth in the empty air, trying to feel for the oversize water pipe attached to the gutter. Once I connected, I let go with my right hand and grabbed it. Cautious, I transferred my weight to the pipe just the way I'd done years ago. It had been scary back then. Now it was terrifying.

I clutched the pipe and started to slide down, but it pulled away from its rusted fittings. Weighing quite a bit more than I did at age twelve, and also knowing the brackets were a lot older, it shouldn't have surprised me. And yet, when Seale House's water pipe tossed me away, I took it personally. Fear and anger collided as I experienced the gutclenching sensation of falling. The pipe slowed my descent but not enough for an easy landing. I hit the ground hard, my hip taking most of the blow, and had the air knocked out of me. For a few horrible seconds I struggled to get my lungs working again, finally pulling in a painful lump of air.

I sat up, my body shrieking in protest as I studied the line of black sky and gray roof. If switchblade boy was up there, I couldn't see him. That worried me more than if he'd been shouting and waving his knife. I forced myself to my feet; my legs trembled from the shock of the fall. Thankfully, nothing seemed broken. I moved as fast as I could, but my legs felt like rubber. Heading around the side of the house, past evergreen bushes and beneath giant maples, I finally reached the front yard. I sprinted across the soggy lawn to the sidewalk.

Behind me the front door banged open so hard that one of the glass panes shattered. Over my shoulder I saw the kids scurry outside like cockroaches swarming from a hiding place. Some leaped down the steps two at a time; others hurtled over the porch railings. They were coming after me.

I took off running, my gut screaming:
Get out of here!

The kids chased me, and though I couldn't figure out why they were so hostile, I didn't dare stop and ask. I had long legs and a new burst of adrenaline, so I was able to keep ahead of them. Again I felt that strong blend of fear and anger. What did they want? Were they mad because I'd crashed their stupid campfire party?

Their boots clunked on the concrete behind me, but that was all. They didn't swear or yell at me to stop. Any of that would have made it less scary than this silent pursuit.

I turned a corner and sprinted across two unfenced yards, the grass making a squishy sound beneath my shoes. The wind died down, and the nighttime world now seemed a black-and-white canvas of abstract shadows. My heart and legs were pumping as I pushed forward and tried to ignore the scrapes that stung my face, stomach, and palms. I
zigzagged my way through the neighborhood. My lungs felt like they were bursting.

I hit a physical wall, but hearing the footsteps behind me pushed me beyond it. I didn't dare stop because instinct said they meant to hurt me. Glancing behind I saw that even though they'd fallen back, they were still coming. What were they, mindless alien zombies?

The residential area merged into business streets. This end of Watertown had definitely received a facelift since I'd been here last. Although some of the buildings were familiar, enough had changed that I felt like a stranger. I desperately hoped my pursuers would get winded and fall back. Trying to lose them, I darted between buildings, through an alley, and around two more corners. After another block I couldn't see them, so I stepped into the deep recess of a door belonging to a closed art supply shop. The large awning made it dark inside the shadows, and I doubted anyone could see me. It was a good place to hide and catch my breath. My lungs burned as I swallowed and tried to shake off the tremors in my arms and legs. I couldn't explain, even to myself, why their chasing me had taken on a creep factor beyond anything I'd felt in a very long time.

I squatted down to rest and listened for the thump of approaching boots. The only sound I heard was distant thunder rolling away and the drone of a passing car or two. I shivered. My chest continued to heave and my lungs felt seared, but relief washed over me. I'd been able to elude those kids, which seemed a miracle. Like the blustery wind
and thunder that had moved on without leaving rain, maybe they were all hot air, too.

I slowly stood and eyed the dark scene. My mind raced. What should I do now? Going to Seale House had turned out worse than I could have imagined, and I hadn't even been able to open Jack's hiding spot. That meant I'd gone into the cellar for nothing. Frustrated, I raked my fingers through my wind-knotted hair.

Careful to make sure no one was watching, I slipped from the doorway and stayed on the darkest parts of the sidewalk. After passing a long row of closed businesses, I turned down an alley and skirted a smelly Dumpster with mounds of soggy newspapers next to it. Glancing at every suspect shadow along the way, I darted across an empty street and ran down another alley. This one was darker than the last. Too late I saw that a chain-link fence and a jumbled mountain of cardboard boxes turned it into a dead end. I started to retreat.

“Why did you come back?” a reedy voice said.

Startled, I spun around. A gasp died on my lips as someone surfaced from behind a rusted Dumpster. Like a stalker in a bad dream, the boy who'd chased me across the roof now stood blocking my way. His build was thin and wiry; I was taller and outweighed him, but had no illusions as to any advantage I might have. Draped in nighttime gray, his face was hidden, though there was enough light from the street for me to detect a vicious glare. Behind him four others emerged like wraiths from the gloom. I backed away
and scanned the alley. Buildings on either side were lightless, the steamy smell of fried rice and hot oil coming from nearby.

“Who are you?” I was surprised by how calm my voice sounded.

“You don't remember me?” His tone was hurt, though whether it was sincere or faked I couldn't tell.

“You seem familiar. Wait, I know. Did you star in the
Village of the Damned
remake?”

He pulled the switchblade from his pocket and pressed a button. The blade shot out, glinting wickedly in the dim light, and I said, “Guess not.”

“I've missed you, Jocey.” Strange shadows streaked his numb face like tears on a mannequin.

“Jocelyn,” I corrected. “Which one are you? Martin or Georgie? Or maybe little Evie dressed like a boy?”

He moved closer until I could see his features more clearly. Looking past the heavy eye makeup and piercings on his lip and eyebrow, there seemed to be a familiar overlay. He'd been so little back then, a blond boy wearing Spider-Man jammies. A weird sort of sadness touched me.

“Georgie. You've changed a lot since the last time I saw you.”

“So have you.”

“I've been gone a long time. How did you know it was me?”

“You were standing across the street and then sneaked around the house. You went in the cellar. What other girl would do that but you?”

The others were inching closer, hesitant now because of our conversation.

“But why were you at Seale House? There hasn't been foster care there in years.”

Georgie's face was still blank and he didn't answer. Now that I'd stopped running the cold had started to seep into my bruised joints. I shivered.

“What do you want?”

He lifted the knife like it was a prize. “Your heart.”

“I'm guessing you don't mean that as a figure of speech.”

“You shouldn't have done it, Jocey.”

“Done what? I shouldn't have given you my dinner roll under the table? Or checked behind the toilet for earwigs before you went pee-pee? Maybe I shouldn't have said I was the one who chipped Hazel's china bowl so you didn't have to spend the night in the cellar.”

Georgie took a step forward and I stepped back, hesitant dancers. He faked a lunge with the knife and I jumped.

“What's wrong with you, Georgie? You're not a killer!”

Maybe he was, though. The others were coming closer, and a sinking sense of my fate came over me, the heartsick surrender in a nightmare when there's no way out. Worst case scenario: I wouldn't wake up from this black dream. Georgie lunged with the knife for real this time.

I leaped away, barely escaping the blade. Stumbling into the waterlogged boxes, I fell backward and gazed up at Georgie. His mannequin features broke into a nasty grin, his eyes full of hate. He raised the knife. Desperate, I kicked out, my foot connecting with his knee. He howled
and staggered back. I turned and scrambled over the boxes, going for the fence as the roaches swarmed. One of them slugged me in the back so hard that it knocked me against the chain link, which rattled.

Georgie raced forward as I tried to climb. The fence wire cut into my fingers, but I pulled myself up anyway. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him swing his arm in a fierce arc. The deadly blade headed straight for my back and I braced myself for the blow.

A loud gunshot rang out and Georgie spun around like a marionette on twisting strings. He collapsed, his knife skittering across the pavement. One of the girls started screaming. I vaulted over the top of the fence and dropped onto some metal barrels with a painful thump. Rolling off, I crouched behind the barrels and peered through the jumble of cardboard boxes. At the far end of the alley there was the outline of a man backlit against the sulfur glare from the streetlight. I couldn't see his face or make out much else, but when he fired another shot the kids forgot their fallen friend and vanished. My heart hammered so fast that my breath came in tiny, terrified gasps. For just a second I studied the distant silhouette of the man who had saved me until he disappeared around the corner.