Silence (11 page)

“Who’s Patch?” I managed at last. The question seemed redundant, but I wasn’t about to let Marcie race on ahead until I was caught up—at least as much as I could be. Five months was a lot of ground to cover in a quick trip to the bathroom.

“A guy I dated. A summer fling.”

Another potent stirring within that felt eerily close to jealousy, but I shoved the impression away. Marcie and I would never be interested in the same guy. Attributes she valued, such as shallow, unintelligent, and egotistical, didn’t pique my interest.

“What did he give me?” I knew I was missing a lot, but it was a
really
far stretch to think Marcie’s boyfriend would have given me anything. Marcie and I shared none of the same friends. We weren’t involved in any of the same clubs. None of our extracurricular activities overlapped. In short, we had nothing in common.

“A necklace.”

Savoring the fact that for once I didn’t have to play defense, I
gave her a gold-medal smirk. “Why, Marcie, I could have sworn giving another girl jewelry is a sign that your boyfriend is a cheat.”

She tilted her head back and laughed so convincingly, I felt that same uneasiness settle back into my gut. “I can’t decide if it’s sad that you’re so completely in the dark, or funny.”

I folded my arms across my chest, aiming for a subtle show of annoyance and impatience, but the truth was, I was cold on the inside. A cold that didn’t have to do with temperature. I was never going to escape this. I had a quick and terrible feeling that my run-in with Marcie was only the beginning, a subtle foreshadowing of what lay ahead. “I don’t have the necklace.”

“You
think
you don’t have it, because you can’t remember it. But you have it. It’s probably sitting inside your jewelry box right now. You promised Patch you’d pass it along to me.” She held out a scrap of paper for me to take. “My number. Call me when you find the necklace.”

I took the paper, but I wasn’t going to be bought that easily. “Why didn’t he just give you the necklace himself?”

“We were both friends with Patch.” At my look of deep skepticism, she added, “There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

“I don’t have the necklace,” I repeated with finality.

“You have it, and I want it back.”

Could she be any more persistent?
“This weekend, when I have some free time, I’ll look around for it.”

“Sooner rather than later would be nice.”

“My offer, take it or leave it.”

She flapped her arms. “Why do you have a stick up your derriere?”

I kept my smile pleasant, my way of giving her the finger. “I might not be able to remember the last five months, but the sixteen years before that are crystal clear. Including the eleven we’ve known each other.”

“So this is about a grudge. Very mature.”

“This is a matter of principle. I don’t trust you, because you’ve never given me a reason to. If you want me to believe you, you’re going to have to show me why I should.”

“You’re such an idiot.
Try
to remember. If there was one good thing Patch did, it was bring us together. Did you know you came to my summer party? Ask around. You were there. As my friend. Patch made me see a different side of you.”

“I came to one of your parties?” I was instantly skeptical. But why would she lie? She was right—I could ask around. It seemed foolish to make such a claim when the truth was so easy to prove.

Apparently reading my thoughts, she said, “Don’t take my word for it. Really. Call around and see for yourself.” Then she pushed the strap of her purse up onto her shoulder and sashayed out.

I hung behind a few moments, gathering my cool. I had one equally bewildering and aggravating idea bouncing around in my head. Was there any possible way Marcie was telling the truth? Had her boyfriend—Patch?—cracked years’ worth of accumulated ice
between us and brought us together? The idea was almost laughable. The phrase
I’d have to see it to believe it
danced in my head. More than ever, I resented my faulty memory, if for no other reason than it placed me at a disadvantage with Marcie.

And if Patch was both her summer fling and our mutual friend, where was he now?

Leaving the restroom, I noticed Marcie and her mother were nowhere in sight. I assumed they’d asked to be reseated, or made a statement to Hank by leaving altogether. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.

As our table came into view, my stride slowed. Hank and my mom were holding hands across the table and gazing into each other’s eyes in a deeply private way. He reached out to tuck a runaway strand of hair behind her ear. She blushed with pleasure.

I backed away without realizing it. I was going to be sick. The biggest cliché, but painfully accurate. So much for dousing Hank with his wine. So much for morphing into a diva of epic proportions.

Changing course, I ran for the front doors. I asked the hostess to relay the message to my mom that I’d called Vee for a ride, then hurried into the night.

I swallowed several deep breaths. My blood pressure stabilized, and I stopped seeing double. A few stars glinted overhead, even though the western horizon still glowed from the recent sunset. It was just cool enough to make me wish I was wearing an extra layer,
but in my rush to leave, I’d left my jean jacket hanging on the back of my chair. I wasn’t going back for it now. I was more tempted to go back for my cell, but if I’d survived the past three months without one, I was pretty sure I could handle one more night.

There was a 7-Eleven a handful of blocks away, and while I considered the possibility that it wasn’t wise to be out alone at night, I also knew that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life cowering in fear. If shark attack victims could get back in the ocean again, surely I could walk a few blocks by myself. I was in a very safe, well-lit part of town. If I wanted to force myself to break through my fear, I couldn’t have selected a better location.

Six blocks later I entered the 7-Eleven, the door chiming as I did. I was so caught up in my own thoughts, it took me a few beats to figure out that something was wrong. The store was eerily quiet. But I knew I wasn’t alone; I’d seen heads through the plate-glass window as I’d crossed the parking lot. Four guys, from what I’d been able to tell. But they’d all vanished, and fast. Even the front counter was left unattended. I couldn’t remember
ever
walking into a convenience store to find the front counter neglected. It was asking to be robbed. Especially after dark.

“Hello?” I called out. I walked along the front of the store, glancing down the aisles, which stocked everything from Fig Newtons to Dramamine. “Is anyone here? I need to make change for the pay phone.”

A muffled sound came from the hallway at the rear. It was unlit,
presumably leading to the restrooms. I strained to hear the sound again. Given all the false alarms lately, I was afraid this was the beginning of another hallucination.

Then I heard a second sound. The faint squeak of a door closing. I was pretty sure this sound was real, which meant someone could be hiding back there, just out of sight. Anxiety pinched my stomach, and I hustled outside.

Rounding the building, I located the pay phone and punched in 9-1-1. I heard only one ring before a hand reached over my shoulder, clicked the receiver, and ended the call.

I
SWUNG AROUND
.

He had a good six inches and fifty pounds on me. The lights from the parking lot did a poor job of reaching back here, but I ran down a quick list of identifying features: reddish-blond hair gelled and spiked, watery blue eyes, studs in both ears, a shark-tooth necklace. Light acne on the lower half of his face. A black tank top that showed off a muscle-y bicep inked with a fire-breathing dragon.

“Need help?” he asked with a twist of his lips. He offered me his cell phone, then braced an arm on the pay phone, leaning into my private space. His smile was a little too sweet, a little too superior. “Hate to see a pretty girl waste money on a call.”

When I didn’t answer, he frowned slightly. “Unless you were placing a
free
call.” He scratched his cheek, a show of deep contemplation. “But the only free call you can make from a pay phone is … to the police.” Any hint of the angelic vanished from his tone.

I swallowed. “There was no one inside at the front counter. I thought something was wrong.” And now I
knew
something was wrong. The only reason he’d care if I was calling the police was if it was in his best interest to keep them far, far away.
A robbery, then?

“Let me make this simple for you,” he said, slouching down and putting his face close to mine, as if I were five years old and needed slow, clear instruction. “Get back in your car and keep driving.”

It dawned on me that he didn’t realize I’d walked here. But the thought became a moot point when I heard scuffling coming from the alley just around the corner. There was a slew of curse words, and a grunt of pain.

I considered my options. I could take Shark Tooth Necklace’s advice and leave quickly, pretending I’d never been here. Or I could run to the next gas station down the road and call the police. But by then, it might be too late. If they were robbing the store, Shark Tooth and his friends weren’t going to take their sweet time. My
only other option was to stay put and make an either very brave, or very stupid, attempt to stop the robbery.

“What’s going on back there?” I asked innocently, signaling the rear of the building.

“Look around,” he replied, his voice soft and silky. “This place is empty. Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody’s ever going to remember you were here. Now be a good girl and get back in your car and drive away.”

“I—”

He pressed his finger to my lips. “I’m not going to ask again.” His voice was gentle, flirtatious even. But his eyes were icy pits.

“I left my keys on the counter inside,” I said, using the first excuse that came to mind. “When I first walked in.”

He took me by the arm and hauled me around to the front of the building. His stride was twice as long as mine, and I found myself half jogging to keep up. All the while I was mentally shaking myself, ordering my ingenuity to think up an excuse for when he figured out I was lying. I didn’t know how he’d react, but I had a general idea, and it made my stomach flip upside down.

The door chimed on our way in. He forced me over to the cash register and flicked aside a cardboard display of ChapStick and a plastic bin of key chains for sale, clearly hunting for my lost keys. He moved to the next register and repeated his rushed hunt. Suddenly he stopped. His eyes drifted idly over me. “Want to tell me where your keys really are?”

I wondered if I could outrun him to the street. I wondered what the chances were that a car would drive by when I needed it most. And why, oh why, had I left Coopersmith’s without grabbing my jacket and cell phone?

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Marcie,” I lied.

“Let me tell you something, Marcie,” he said, tucking a curl behind my ear. I tried to take a step back, but he pinched my ear in warning. So I stood there, enduring his touch as his finger trailed over the curve of my ear and along my jaw. He tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet his pale, almost translucent eyes. “Nobody lies to Gabe. When Gabe tells a girl to run along, she better run along. Otherwise it makes Gabe angry. And that’s a bad thing, because Gabe has a short temper. In fact, short is a generous way of putting it. You feel me?”

I found it eerie that he referred to himself in the third person, but I wasn’t about to make an issue of it. Instinct told me Gabe didn’t like to be corrected, either. Or questioned. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t dare turn away from him, afraid he might mistake such a movement for a sign of disrespect.

“I want you to go now,” he said in that deceptively velvet voice.

I nodded, backing up. My elbow bumped the door, letting in a rush of cool air.

As soon as I was outside, Gabe called through the glass door, “Ten.” He was slouched against the front counter, a warped smile on his face.

I didn’t know why he’d said the word, but I held my expression in check as I continued to back away, faster now.

“Nine,” he called next.

That’s when I figured out he was counting backward.

“Eight,” he said, pushing up from the counter and taking a few lazy steps toward the door. He placed his palms on the glass, then drew an invisible heart with his finger. Seeing the stricken look on my face, he chuckled. “Seven.”

I turned and ran.

I heard a car approaching on the main road, and I began shouting and flagging my arms. But I was still too far away, and the car zipped past, the drone of its engine vanishing around the bend.

When I made it to the road, I glanced right, then left. On a hasty decision, I turned toward Coopersmith’s.

“Ready or not, here I come,” I heard Gabe call out behind me.

I pumped my arms harder, hearing the obnoxious slap of my ballet flats on the pavement. I wanted to throw a look over my shoulder and see how far back he was, but forced myself to concentrate on the bend in the road ahead. I tried to keep as much distance as possible between me and Gabe. A car would come soon.
It had to.

“Is that as fast as you can go?” He couldn’t have been more than twenty feet behind. Worse, his voice didn’t sound fatigued. I was struck by the horrible thought that he wasn’t even trying. He was enjoying the cat-and-mouse, and while I grew more and more tired with every step, he grew more and more excited.

“Keep going!” he singsonged. “But don’t wear yourself out. It won’t be any fun if you can’t put up a fight when I catch you. I want to
play
.”

Ahead, I heard the deep rumble of an approaching engine. Headlights swung into view, and I moved into the middle of the road, frantically waving my arms. Gabe wouldn’t hurt me with a witness looking on. Would he?

“Stop!” I yelled, continuing to hail what I could now see was a pickup truck rolling closer.