Mister Death's Blue-Eyed Girls (6 page)

We're back in the woods again. The path is splashed with sunlight and birds are singing from hidden places in the trees. Ellie is walking with Paul. I'm walking with Charlie. We must look like a mismatched couple. But for once I don't care. I like Charlie. I like him a lot.

Charlie's telling me a funny story about his father coming home drunk one night and going into the wrong row house. "He can't understand why everything seems backward, turned around, like a mirror image of our house with everything in the wrong place. He starts to go up to bed and sees Mr. Evans at the top of the steps, pointing a gun at him and shouting, 'Stop or I'll shoot!'"

Charlie pauses to control his laughter and goes on. "Dad looks at him and says, 'Bob, what the hell are you doing in my house?'"

We're all laughing now. "After that," Charlie says, "Mr. Evans made sure he locked the door before he went to bed."

We come to the edge of the woods and step out into the morning sunlight. The heat hits us in the face. I can almost feel the starch in my crinoline dissolve.

"Whew," Paul says. "It's going to be a scorcher."

"It already
is
a scorcher," Charlie says.

We cross the park, so ordinary in the daylight. A Rolling Rock bottle catches the sunlight, a reminder of last night. Paul picks it up and tosses it in the trash with the others. "We don't want cops thinking kids hang out here and drink beer," he says.

Charlie nods. "They'll start cruising by every night, shining their spotlights, hoping to catch some juvenile delinquents." He looks at me. "And I'll never get another kiss from Long Tall Sally."

We all laugh, but something moves inside me at the thought of kissing Charlie again. Can you be in love with two boys at the same time? Suppose it had been Don I kissed last night? Confused, I turn my head, afraid I'm blushing. I don't want Charlie to know what I'm thinking. Or Ellie either.

At the corner, the boys go their way and we go ours. Charlie shouts, "See ya soon!"

I hope so, I hope so, but I just smile and wave. If I let myself like Charlie, really like him, he'll stop liking me and fall for Bobbi Jo.

At Ellie's house, we expect to see Cheryl and Bobbi Jo perched on the steps waiting to tell us where they've been, grinning, full of secrets, but they aren't there.

Bobbi Jo's little sister Julie is pushing her doll carriage up and down the sidewalk. Ellie asks her if Bobbi Jo's home.

Julie shakes her head. "She's at Cheryl's school."

No, I think, no she's not. Where is she? I look at Ellie. She shakes her head and we go inside. Even with all the windows open and a fan running full blast, it's hot. Mrs. O'Brien is at work and the house has a quiet, empty feel. You can always tell when no one's home.

We go to Ellie's room and strip off our sweaty school clothes, limp and wrinkled from the heat, and put on shorts and sleeveless blouses. Then we search the refrigerator for cold drinks. At my house we'd be lucky to find Kool-Aid, but Mrs. O'Brien always has sodas in the refrigerator. She's left a note on the kitchen table:
Hot dogs and buns for the picnic in the refrigerator. Have fun!

"Your mom is so sweet," I say.

Ellie smiles. "Most of the time. She has her bad moments."

I must have looked like I didn't believe her, so Ellie laughed. "If we'd waked her up last night and she'd seen the state we were in, she would've killed us both."

We take our sodas down to the basement, where it's cooler. Ellie loads her little record player with forty-fives. We loll around listening to the Platters, the Penguins, Fats Domino, J erry Lee Lewis, Elvis, and Little Richard while we read old magazines. In
Life,
we find an article on Grace Kelly's marriage to Prince Rainier, and we wonder what it would be like to marry an old ugly guy and become a princess. Would it be worth it? We don't think so.
Modern Screen
has a story about Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds's honeymoon. He's got a nice voice, we think, but he's not all that good-looking. We find some good photos of J ames Dean in his last movie,
Giant,
and wish as usual he hadn't died. So unfair that people like him have to die.

Just as we're about to find out who Marilyn Monroe will marry next, we hear sirens. Lots of them. It sounds like they're coming down Ellie's street, passing right by her house.

"What the—?" Ellie stands up and starts toward the stairs. "Somebody's house must be on fire."

I hate the sound of sirens. They cry out danger, they scream bad things are happening, someone's hurt, someone's sick, someone's dying. It's not you this time, but maybe next time it will be.

I follow Ellie upstairs. She opens the front door. Police cars and ambulances are speeding across the park toward the woods, sirens screaming. A fire truck follows them, bouncing over ruts in the ground, kicking up clouds of dust.

Some kids are running after the fire truck. I watch Charlie and Paul and Walt disappear into the woods along with the others, some I know, some I don't. I don't want to go to the park. Something's wrong. I can feel it in my bones.

Bobbi Jo's mother stands at the fence, watching. She holds a toddler on her hip; her other arm encircles Julie. She's so young, I think, almost like a teenager in her short shorts. Not a
mother
mother like mine in baggy women's jeans with a side zipper. But there's something about the way she's standing there that makes me worry. Tense, watchful, holding her children so close that the little one squirms to free herself.

"Hi, Mrs. Boyd," Ellie calls. "What's going on in the park?"

She turns toward us, her face pale. "Have you seen Bobbi Jo?"

Ellie crosses the lawn and stops at the fence. "Not since this morning. She and Cheryl came to get us, but Nora and I weren't ready so they left for school without us."

Mrs. Boyd turns away. Her eyes follow the flashing lights into the woods. She holds the struggling toddler tighter, pulls Julie closer. "Something's wrong."

To avoid seeing the worry, the fear in Mrs. Boyd's face, I study the grass, already turning brown from the June heat. Her words echo my own thoughts.
Something's wrong.

"You mean all that?" Ellie gestures at the emergency vehicles disappearing into the woods. "It's probably nothing. A kid playing in the water or something. You know how the firemen and the police are. They overreact to everything."

"Did you see Bobbi Jo at school?" Mrs. Boyd asks.

Ellie hesitates. "No, but—"

"Something's wrong," she says again.

The words are almost a wail this time, a child's cry. Julie puts her thumb in her mouth, her forehead creased. The toddler says, "Down, I want to get down."

My skin prickles and my chest tightens. All of a sudden I want to go home. I want my mother.

But Ellie says, "Don't worry, Mrs. Boyd. Nora and I will go down there and see what it's all about."

"No," I whisper, but Ellie doesn't hear me.

"Come on." She runs across the road, hurrying to meet what's waiting for us. I follow her, not because I want to but because I'm afraid to be left with Mrs. Boyd.

The short dry grass is sharp under my feet and I realize I forgot to put my shoes on. Ellie's barefoot too. We run in a limping way, our feet still tender from months in shoes.

"Ellie," I cry. "Ellie, wait. Don't go down there."

Ellie turns, puzzled. "Why not? How often do we see this kind of action in the park?"

"Mrs. Boyd is right—something's wrong."

We face each other in the blinding heat. Insects buzz. Crows make a racket in the woods. Somewhere a dog barks. Slowly Ellie's eyes widen. She stares at me, her cheeks pale under her freckles. "You're scaring me," she whispers.

"I'm scared." My voice is tight and small. Sweat trickles down my spine. I take her arm, tug at her. "Let's go back to your house."

"It's Bobbi Jo and Cheryl," Ellie says. "You think something's happened to them."

I nod. My mouth is dry. It's all around us, in the silent trees, in the hot June air. The crows make my head ring with their cries. A murder of crows, a murder ... Something's wrong, something's not right.

Then we hear them. Kids burst out of the woods, run toward us, shouting, crying.

"Cheryl's
dead!
" a girl screams. "They shot her, they killed her!" My bones are melting. The trees spin, the world turns upside down. Speechless, Ellie and I cling to each other, hold each other up, afraid to let go.

The kids run around us as if we're trees. I recognize Cheryl's little brother, Davy. They're little, too little for this. Especially Davy. He's Billy's age. Ten. Just ten.

"What about Bobbi Jo?" Ellie shouts after them. "Where's Bobbi Jo?"

Gary comes out of the woods. Paul and Charlie and Walt are behind him. All four are crying.

"Bobbi Jo's dead too," Gary cries. "Somebody shot them both. Killed them. They're dead, both of them. Dead." Tears run down his face.

Ellie grabs my hand. "No," she whispers, "please God, no no no no." Pulling me with her, she runs away from the woods, across the ball field, toward Eastern Avenue.

"Wait," Charlie calls. "Come back."

Ellie doesn't wait, she doesn't stop, she just keeps running and I run too. We don't look back. We cross the park on a diagonal, come out on Eastern Avenue, run uphill. Behind us we hear the sirens again. An ambulance speeds past us, then another. Maybe they're not dead after all, maybe they're being rushed to the hospital, maybe we'll visit them tomorrow, bring them flowers and get well cards.

At the top of the hill we run past the Parkside apartments, a maze of two-story brick buildings, courtyards, and parking lots. We see Buddy's car. He's leaning against the door, looking toward the park. His friend Gene is with him.

"What's wrong with you two?" Buddy asks. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"If we have, you know whose it is." Ellie's voice is cold with fury.

I stare at her, shocked by her anger.

Buddy looks puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

At the same time, Gene asks us what's going on in the park.

"Ask
him,
" Ellie shouts, and pulls me away. Without giving me time to ask why she's acting so strange, she keeps running.

I'm hot, I'm tired, the soles of my feet burn with pain. Most of all, I'm scared and confused. It's as if the whole world has changed. Nothing is what it used to be. It will never be the same again.

I'
VE
been looking for Cheryl all morning, and here's Ellie acting like I should know what she's talking about when it doesn't even make sense. Shit, how should I know what's going on in the park? Man, it's too hot for this crap.

I glance at Gene. He's still leaning against my car, smoking, his eyes narrowed against the sun, sweating in the heat.

"What the hell's wrong with Ellie?" I ask.

"Females." He shrugs and exhales. "Maybe we should drive down to the park and find out what's going on. Didn't you notice the ambulances and cop cars coming up Eastern Avenue?"

I light a cigarette. "An accident on Route Forty or something. Happens all the time."

There's nothing else to do, so we get in my car and head for the park. Just in case there's something to see. Just in case Cheryl is there. I grip the wheel a little tighter. Who am I kidding? She won't be there. She's gone somewhere with Ralph in that big goddamn fancy convertible he drives. Girls—is that all they want?

When we turn down Thirty-Third Street, we see at least six patrol cars. Cops stand around talking and smoking in front of Bobbi Jo's house. Inside, someone's crying, wailing, almost screaming. I start sweating. Something's wrong, you can feel it everywhere. I see Charlie and Paul and some other guys on the corner, all huddled together.

I park the car and Gene and me walk over there. "What's going on?" I ask Charlie.

They look at me. Their eyes are full of hate. I step back. "What's wrong with you guys?"

Paul hits me hard enough to knock me flat. I sprawl on the ground, too surprised to get up. What the hell's going on, what did I do? I look up at Gene. He's standing there, not doing a thing to help me. I start to get up and Walt spits in my face.

Gene comes to life then and grabs Walt's arm. "Cut it out, you little shit."

I'm no sooner on my feet, ready to fight all of them, when a cop comes up to me. "Harold Novak?" he says.

"Yeah." I give him a look I learned from watching old crime movies on TV, sort of a sneer and a smirk combined. I don't want him thinking I'm the kind of guy who gets knocked down all the time.

"We want to ask you a few questions."

"About what?" I'm getting a little nervous. There's something about the way the cop's looking at me, like I'm dirt under his feet. Scum.

"Get in the car." He takes my arm. I can smell coffee on his breath. His face is red and sweaty. "We're taking you down to the station house."

"What the hell for?" I'm scared shitless now, but damned if I'll show it.

"You know why," Charlie yells. "You goddamn bastard SOB!"

"That's enough, son." Another cop has appeared. He pats Charlie's shoulder. "Go on home now."

The boys back away, muttering and cussing at me. If the cops weren't here they'd jump me, all of them. I can feel their hatred like fire in the air, burning me.

"I haven't done anything," I yell at them, but the cops are leading me away, handcuffing me, shoving me into the back seat of the patrol car. "Why are you doing this? What did I do?" I ask them, but they just look at me like they hate me, like they'd like to beat me.

Out the window, I see the people in Bobbi Jo's neighborhood. Women with their hair in curlers, kids with their mouths open, kids crying, kids shaking their fists at me, Gene standing by my car as confused as I am. It's like a movie you start watching in the middle and you don't know what's going on but you know it's bad.

The driver turns on the siren, the car speeds up. Eastern Avenue flashes by in a blur of traffic getting out of the cops' way.

"What did I do?" I ask them, but they keep the backs of their heads to me. So I sit there, scared out of my mind, trying to figure out what's happened and why everybody thinks I had something to do with it. I hope Bobbi Jo's okay. And Cheryl, too. Christ, where is she?