Don't Stay Up Late (12 page)

Another blaring horn blast. “N-no,” I stammered. “I think I have to go. Next time—”

“Well, what did you want to tell me?” Brenda demanded. “Is it about Harry? Is he misbehaving?”

“Not at all,” I said, gathering up my backpack. “Harry is an angel. Totally. We can talk when I come back. I—”

She followed me to the front door. “No. Wait, Lisa. Tell me what you wanted to talk about. I won't let you leave till you tell me.”

“Well…” I knew I should tell her. But I didn't want to just blurt it out. I didn't want to sound like an insane person, seeing monsters in the living room. “I just wanted to ask if you have an iPhone charger,” I said. “My phone went dead tonight and—”

“No problem,” Brenda said. She pulled open the front door for me. Cool air rushed into the front entryway. “I'll leave one out for you next time.” She shook her head. “I thought you had something serious to tell me.”

I forced a laugh. “Well, a dead phone is pretty serious.” She smiled. I said goodnight and hurried out to the driveway.

I stepped up to the driver's side of the car and tapped on the window. Nate slid it down halfway. “Why are you being so impatient?” I asked.

He started to answer, but I interrupted. “Hey—what are those scratches all over your face?”

He rubbed his cheek. “You won't believe how clumsy I am,” he said. He winced and put his hand down. “I went to pick up my brother at his friend's house, and would you believe I fell right into a rose bush? There were like dozens of thorns. My face is killing me.”

“Are you serious?” I said. “You got those deep scratches from rosebushes? That's hard to believe. Whoa. Look. You have some dried blood by your ear.”

“That's why I'm in a hurry to get home,” he said. “Come on. Get in.”

I started around the back of the car to get into the passenger seat. But I stopped when something caught my eye on the ground across the street. Something on the curb in front of the empty lot.

I squinted into the dim light. “Hey, Nate—” I called into the car. “Come with me. There's something weird across the street.”

He frowned out at me. “I'd really like to get home, Lisa. My face—”

But I jerked open his door and tugged him out of the car.

We were nearly to the bottom of the driveway when I saw clearly that it was a body lying in the curb.

A human body.

I sucked in a deep breath. Nate and I stepped up to it, walking side by side. “Oh, nooooo.” A long moan escaped my throat. I covered my eyes. “A girl!” I cried. “Nate—it's a girl.”

“I don't believe this.” His voice came out in a muffled whisper. “She—she's been clawed up. I mean, clawed to pieces.”

I opened my eyes. The girl's clothes were ripped open. And … and … her stomach was ripped open, too. Her guts spilled out onto the pavement. And were those
bite marks
up and down her body?”

“No. It can't be. It can't be.” The words gushed from my throat. “No. No way.”

And then my eyes slowly traveled up to the girl's face. And I recognized her.

Summer Lawson.

 

PART FOUR

 

32.

The walls of the little square room were a sick vomit green and the paint was peeling near the ceiling. Two lights hung from the ceiling inside gray cones. One of the bulbs was out.

It was Tuesday morning, the morning after we found Summer's body. We sat on folding chairs around a long table, the top covered in names and initials that people had carved into the wood. The room smelled of stale cigarette smoke despite the stenciled
NO SMOKING
sign tacked to the wall.

Of course, I was tense. I'd never been interviewed by a police officer before. I kept clasping and unclasping my soggy hands under the tabletop and clearing my throat.

My mother sat a little behind me to my right and kept petting my shoulder with her good hand. Guess she was tense, too.

Nate sat across from us. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt over dark khakis. First time I'd ever seen him not in jeans.

“Are those your dress-up clothes?” I asked, my voice sounding too loud in the tiny, windowless room.

He nodded. He kept his eyes down. He kept scratching his hair, brushing it back, then forward.

Sam Goodman, Nate's father wore a navy blue suit, a pale blue shirt, and a dark bow tie. His head is shaved. He's very pale. And he wears thick black plastic-framed glasses that slide halfway down his nose. I think he looks like a lightbulb with glasses, but he's very nice. He was busily texting on his phone as we waited for someone to come in and talk to us.

“Hot in here,” Mom murmured. She shifted her cast uncomfortably.

“There's no ventilation at all,” Mr. Goodman said, raising his eyes from his phone.

“The police like to sweat confessions out of people,” I said. I was trying to make a joke, but no one laughed.

Finally, the door swung open and a tall officer in a starched black uniform, gold badge tilted on his shirt pocket, stepped in. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said in a hoarse, gravelly voice. “I'm Captain Rivera.”

Rivera was in his thirties, probably. He was tall and wiry except for his belly, which stretched the front of his uniform shirt. His black hair was shaved close to his head. His face was tanned. He had a broad forehead, tiny, serious black eyes set deep, and a carefully brushed black mustache that curved down the sides of his mouth.

He pulled a folding chair up to the end of the table and dropped into it. He placed an iPad on the tabletop and tapped a few things on the screen. “I'm going to record this meeting,” he explained. “You know. So we can all be sure of what was said.”

The four of us watched him without saying a word. Mom stopped petting my shoulder and settled back on her chair. Mr. Goodman slipped his phone into his suit jacket pocket.

“Let's go around the table and say your name and age,” Rivera said. “For the record.” His eyes were on me. He chuckled. “Don't look so frightened, Lisa,” he said. “We're all friends here.”

I could feel myself blushing. “I'm just a little stressed,” I said. “I mean, I can't stop picturing…” My voice trailed off.

“Lisa has some emotional issues,” Mom chimed in.

“I can't stop picturing Summer's body,” I said, glaring angrily at my mother. “I saw a dead body, Mom. That girl was murdered. It has nothing to do with my emotions.”

Rivera motioned with one hand. “Let's all try to be as calm as we can,” he said. “If we can continue…”

We took turns giving our names and ages. For some reason Mom said she was thirty-nine. I know for a fact she's forty-two. She stared at me as if challenging me to correct her.

“You and Nate are our first eyewitnesses,” Rivera said, pushing the iPad to the center of the table. “You were the first ones at the murder scene.” He rubbed his chin. “It must have been horrible for you.”

I nodded. “I … still see her lying there. I can't get the picture out of my mind.”

“It was an unusually gruesome murder,” Rivera said. “I'm sure you've heard what the media is calling it. The Cannibal Killing.”

Silence. Then Nate's dad spoke up. “So, it's true? Whoever did this to the girl … did they really
eat
parts of her?”

My throat tightened. I suddenly felt like I was about to lose my breakfast.

Rivera frowned. “I know you two saw the bite marks on Summer Lawson's body. Well, our lab guys say they are from human teeth. And parts of the torn-off flesh … well … a lot of flesh was missing … skin and meat and bones. It wasn't at the scene. She was torn apart and eaten.”

“But no human could do that,” Mr. Goodman said, his voice cracking.

“Right,” Rivera agreed. “No human could do that—or would want to. But the bite marks—they were human.”

He turned to me. “You were there, Lisa. You were at Brenda Hart's house all evening. Can you tell me what you saw and heard?”

I cleared my throat. I clasped my hands over the tabletop. “Well … I didn't see anything,” I started. “I heard screams. Frightening screams. Right outside the house. Like a girl screaming for help.”

“Did you recognize who it was? Did you recognize it was Summer Lawson?”

I shook my head. “No. I … I couldn't tell. I was on the front stairs. I stopped and listened. She screamed twice. The second scream—it was cut off.”

Rivera toyed with the badge on his pocket. “And what did you do? Did you run outside to investigate?”

“No,” I said. “I ran to the front door and I looked out. But I didn't see anything at all. And the screams had stopped.”

“So what did you do next?” Rivera asked, his dark eyes locked on mine.

“I hurried upstairs. To make sure Harry was okay. I mean, that was my job. To make sure he was all right.”

“And was he all right?”

I nodded. “Yes. He was in his bed.”

Rivera frowned. “So you didn't see the body until Nate arrived to pick you up.”

“Yes,” I repeated.

“And did you see anything suspicious at all? Anyone on the street? Anyone who was outside or walking by or anything at all that caught your eye?”

“No,” I said. “No one. It was ten o'clock at night and—”

“Go ahead, Lisa. Tell him,” Mom interrupted. She squeezed my hand. “Don't hold back. Tell him about the creature you say you saw.”

“Creature?” Mr. Goodman said, blinking behind his black eyeglasses. “Nate didn't say anything about a creature.”

Rivera leaned over the table as if to get closer to me. “What kind of creature? What did you see?”

My stomach suddenly felt like a rock. A wave of dread swept down my body. I took a breath.

“Some kind of creature appeared in the house,” I started. “It … it was the second time I saw it. He walked on two legs like a man. But his face was all twisted and ugly. Kind of green-tinted. With pointed teeth and huge pig ears poking up from a strip of fur on his head.”

I saw the shock on Mr. Goodman's face. His mouth dropped open. His eyes bulged.

Nate avoided my gaze. He kept his head lowered.

“It started to attack me,” I continued. “But I turned on it and chased it. It ran up the wall and across the ceiling, and—”

“It ran upside-down on the ceiling?” Rivera interrupted.

“Yes. I chased it out of the house. I was so frightened. Then a minute or two later, I heard the screams.”

Rivera squinted at me. “And you thought…?”

“I couldn't think. I was so terrified. I couldn't think straight. I was shaking. I could barely breathe. Later, I put it together. I figured the creature I saw had attacked Summer … had killed her.”

I gripped the edge of the table. My hands were wet and ice cold. The room was silent. I kept my gaze on Captain Rivera.

Does he believe me? DOES he?

 

33.

Across the table, Nate and his father stared at me. Their faces had no expression at all.

I turned away from them and waited for Captain Rivera to react. Silently, I begged him to believe my story.

He rubbed his fingers down his mustache, his eyes trained on me. Finally, he spoke: “This was a movie you saw?”

I let out a long sigh.

“Not a movie,” I replied through gritted teeth.

“You fell asleep and had a nightmare about chasing a creature around the house?”

“I was wide awake, Captain Rivera,” I said, unable to hide my anger, my disappointment that he wouldn't believe me. “I saw what I saw and—”

My mother squeezed my arm. “Lisa and I were in a terrible car crash,” she interrupted. “Lisa had a very bad concussion.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Rivera murmured, studying me.

“I'm afraid ever since the accident, Lisa has been seeing things,” Mom continued, biting the lipstick on her bottom lip. “She is working with a very good doctor, but…” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Rivera was silent for a long moment, rubbing two fingers down his mustache.

I felt about to burst from frustration. Whose side was she on?

“Mom, please—give me a break. The creature was real,” I cried. “I wasn't
seeing
things. I didn't dream it. It had flaming red eyes. It had pointed teeth that looked like they could rip apart human flesh.”

“Like some kind of comic-book demon?” Rivera said.

He didn't give me a chance to answer. He turned his gaze on Nate, who hadn't said a word. “Nate, you told us you were in the house earlier that night.”

Nate nodded. “Yes, I was there. I dropped in to see how Lisa was doing.”

“And did you see any funny-looking monster in the house?” Rivera asked.

“No,” Nate replied.

“Did you see a monster running across the ceiling?”

“No, I didn't.”

“It showed up right after Nate left,” I said, my voice shrill and angry. “Nate didn't see it. I was the only one to see it. But that doesn't mean—”

Rivera raised a hand to silence me. He kept his attention on Nate. “Later, when you and Lisa discovered Summer's body, did you see some kind of creature running around the front yard? Or maybe running down the street?”

“No,” Nate replied softly.

Rivera nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. He studied me for a long moment. “Do any of you have anything else to add?” he said finally. “Any detail that might help my guys? Any little thing you saw?”

“I can't remember anything else,” Nate said. “I … I've never seen a dead body before. I mean…” He lowered his head. He still refused to look me in the eye.

He thinks I'm crazy.

They all do.