Snared (6 page)

She didn't want Jack to know she was there. He scared her. Both of Mark's guardians did.

Finally the stubby man left his place by the stairs. He walked across the sand toward the surf. When he reached the tide's edge, he removed the slicker, and Lindsay saw he wore a loose, boxy bathing suit. Black, of course. Across the man's back were numerous dark lines: a tattoo. Lindsay couldn't tell what the design was (or if it was several individual patterns), but it covered his entire back.

So much for being a respectable authority figure
.

Jack dropped the slicker on the sand and ran into the surf. Water crashed against his shins. He dove forward, disappearing beneath a white curtain of froth.

“I hope you drown,” she mumbled. “Or sharks
chew off your legs.”

For a moment, she thought her wish had been granted. She searched the ocean for any sign of the man, but he seemed to have vanished into the waves.
Is he some kind of fish-man? A sea creature that can make itself look human?

That's stupid. But where did he go?

The explanation was simple enough: It was too dark for her to see. Still, Jack's disappearance creeped her out.

Lindsay decided to go inside and put a locked door between herself and the freak. She stood, but a second later a sharp click sounded in the night. She turned quickly to the source of the noise.

On the porch of the house next door, a tiny flame flickered. In its dancing light, she saw the face of Mark's other guardian, Doug. The tall, bald man was lighting a cigarette, and he was looking right at her.

Terrified, Lindsay raced inside.

The Redlands Mobile Home Park was half a mile south of the house Lindsay's uncle owned. Farther south, rocky outcroppings broke the beach with jagged black ridges, jutting out into the frothing surf. In the early morning hours, a white Jeep owned by the Redlands Beach Patrol rolled over the sand in this area, doing a nightly sweep. Sometimes they caught teens making out, drinking, or carrying on so loudly the patrol was forced to run them off. Often enough, they found nothing.

Tonight was terribly different though. As the Jeep approached the shore, its headlights fell on what one of the patrolmen initially thought was a pile of wet clothes. It only took him a few seconds
to see the arms poking out from beneath the soaked fabric, and what he'd mistaken for a damp woolen sweater was actually a knot of thick knotted hair, covering the head of a young man. Always hopeful, the patrolman considered the possibility that this young man had fallen asleep on the beach, and was perhaps too drunk to notice the tide coming in to douse him. He finally accepted the dreadful truth when he noticed a group of crabs climbing over the boy's bare legs and feet like large armored spiders, already at work on him with their pincers.

The patrolman parked close and leaped from his Jeep. He ran to the body and shooed away the horrible crabs. He reached down for the boy's arm, lifted it, checking the wrist for a pulse, but found none. That was when he noticed the cross carved into the boy's palm.

 

In the morning, again woken by bright sunshine, Lindsay dashed from her bed to the window seat. She couldn't help herself. She looked down into the yard, scoping the sand to see if one or both of Mark's guardians were there. They weren't. She
looked at his window, and her heart sank. The black shade was still drawn behind the glass.

“We're going to the beach this morning,” her dad said when Lindsay went downstairs for her coffee. “Gonna stake out a good place before all the riffraff take over the shore. You interested?”

“Maybe,” Lindsay said. “I promised Ev I'd hang with her this morning. But I think she might be hurting today. We'll see.”

“Sure, honey,” her dad said, his Winnie the Pooh happy-face changing to a look of concern.

In her room, Lindsay took her coffee to the window seat. The shade was still drawn over Mark's window. She thought about calling Kate. Talking about Mark might be a sufficient substitute for seeing him, but it was way too early, especially if her friend's party had been a success.

Where is he?

Lindsay opened her laptop and powered it up, casting quick glances at the house next door as she waited for the machine to boot. She sipped her coffee and heard her parents moving around in the hall at the top of the staircase.

She settled in to read through emails when her
dad knocked on the bedroom door. He waited for her to say “Come in,” before poking his head in the room.

“Just want to make sure you've got everything you need before we head out.”

“I'm fine, Dad.”

“Oh, and I want you to be careful if you decide to go swimming. A young man drowned last night.”

“You're kidding?” Lindsay said, horrified. “Here?”

“Down the beach by the rocks,” her dad replied. “The news made it sound like he was some kind of druggie, and he just got caught in an undercurrent or something. Couldn't fight it because he was high. Anyway, just be careful.”

“I wasn't planning on swimming anyway. But thanks. You and Mom have a good time.”

“Well, we'll have your mom's cell.”

“Dad,” Lindsay said, smiling and shaking her head. “It's not like you're going to Canada or anything. The beach is like five feet away.”

“I just thought that if you changed your mind, it'd be easier to find us.”

“Easier than stepping out on the porch and
looking for the biggest dork on the beach?” she asked, just joking.

“Hey,” her dad said. “You shouldn't talk about your mom that way.”

“You can leave now,” Lindsay said with a laugh.

Alone in the room, Lindsay felt a pleasant kind of sadness. She knew this feeling had a name but couldn't remember what it was called.

As she glanced out at the house next door, she remembered her childhood visits to the beach. Back then the vacations were exciting. Despite her uncle's noisy friends and his smell, she really liked the family trips. In the mornings they all sat around the table and ate a big breakfast of pancakes or eggs with tons of sausage or bacon and lots of English muffins just waiting for gobs of jelly. Pleasantly stuffed, she went with her parents to the beach and played in the sand and surf, building little fat castles and digging ditches to create medieval landscapes for her dolls to roam. In the afternoon her parents would take her shopping or to a movie at the theater in town. And every night, just around sunset, while her mom and her uncle cleaned up the dinner dishes, her dad took her
hand and led her back to the beach, right up to the shoreline to collect shells and pretty rocks. Once she'd had boxes of the souvenirs tucked under her bed at home.

She tossed most of those out last year, except for three really cool shells that sat on her bedroom windowsill. Like her anticipation of the vacations, her interest in the souvenirs had faded.

Already this morning, she'd received six emails from Kate, three from Trey, and several from other friends. Apparently, Kate's party had turned into a full-on crisis. Four of the popular boys from school, including Nick Faherty and his brother, got so drunk they were puking in the kitchen sink. Kate got into a big fight with Constance Turner, who was making out with Chad Olivieri on Kate's bed. Of course, Kate liked Chad, so that made it blow all the more. Matt broke a lamp—“which is totally irreplaceable”—and Funkster, Kate's terrier, got out and disappeared until morning. The police even showed up because the Jacksons next door complained about the noise. In later emails, Kate wanted to know where Lindsay was and why her cell phone was turned off: “I so need to talk to you!!!”

Trey reported on the party as well. He thought it was the coolest party
EVARRRR
! But of course, he didn't have to clean up the house or endure the wrath of Kate's parents.

Lindsay looked away from her computer, and her heart beat faster. Kate and her party were forgotten.

The shade was up in Mark's room. He stood in the window, looking at her.

 

Waiting for Mark's guardians to leave was like teetering on the edge of a cliff. She busied herself with emails and spent thirty minutes putting different outfits together on the bed. It was nearly an hour after first seeing Mark in his window before Lindsay heard the car next door pull out.

Excited, she ran downstairs and out the front door. In the alley of sand between the two houses, she slowed her pace and smoothed down the fabric of her blouse.

At Mark's window, she noticed the strange metal corner pieces driven into the wood again. This time, she touched one out of curiosity. It felt ice-cold to the touch, despite the fact it had to be ninety degrees outside.

“Hi,” Mark said. He still wore the distressed jeans and the black shirt that hung loose from his shoulders.

“Hey,” Lindsay said. “How's it going?”

Mark shrugged. “Sorry about yesterday,” he told her. “I feel like a total geek for freaking out that way.”

“They're really strict, huh?”

“You can't imagine,” Mark said. His face changed, and he looked happy. “You look really nice today.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

“No, I don't,” he said. “Don't have any clothes that fit me here.”

“I hate everything I brought,” Lindsay said.

“How's your vacation so far?” Mark asked.

“It's okay. I met some kids yesterday. They're cool, I guess.”

“If I could get out of here, I'd make sure you had a good trip.”

“Oh really?” Lindsay said a bit too loudly. She got her voice under control and said “What would we do?”

“I don't know. I'd teach you how to surf. You said you wanted to learn. Then we could find a
nice place for dinner, and after that walk on the beach for a couple of hours. We could build a fire and talk and stuff.”

“That sounds great,” she said.

“Yeah. Right now, anything sounds great to me as long as it doesn't involve Doug, Jack, or this damn room.”

“Why don't you come out here?” she asked. “Maybe we could talk out back. You'd totally make it inside before they found out.”

Mark looked at her like she had just sprouted a snout. His eyebrows scrunched and his head turned to the side like a curious dog.

“Can't,” he said. “It's like, the window. But maybe you could come in?”

Before she knew it, she was climbing over the sill. Once her shoulders were well into the room, Mark grabbed her gently and pulled her the rest of the way. She glided over his desk and felt how strong he was.

“There,” he said. “That's better.”

The first thing that struck Lindsay about Mark's room was how stark it seemed. Outside she'd noticed the lack of wall decorations and the minimal furnishings, but standing in the room made
her feel the emptiness of the place. It could have been the tidiness. The pile of clothes she'd noticed yesterday against the closet door was gone, leaving the floor spotless. Mark's bed was made, blankets smoothed down tight and flawless. The desk by the window, a simple wooden top with narrow legs, looked brand-new, as if it had never been used. No papers littered the surface. No scratches marred the wood. To her left was an open door, leading to a bathroom, and against the same wall as the window was the piano she'd noticed before.

“Do you play?” Lindsay asked.

“Sure,” Mark said. He crossed to the piano and lifted the cover off the keys. He hit a key with his index finger and the note chimed crisply. “Well, I used to. I haven't felt much like it lately.” He sat down on the bench. “Any requests?”

“I don't know much piano music,” Lindsay admitted, feeling foolish.

“Hmm.” Mark stared at the keyboard for a moment, and then his fingers came down on the keys.

The music that followed was classical, Lindsay knew, but she didn't know the piece or the com
poser. Still, to her it sounded amazing. Each note and chord meshed together in a beautiful weave of sound. But it also sounded kind of sad.

Mark stopped after a couple of minutes and said “Chopin.”

“What?”

“The piece is by Chopin.”

He returned his attention to the piano and started banging out a high tempo piece that sounded like old-time rock and roll. This only kept his attention for a minute though. “And that was Jerry Lee Lewis.”

“You play really well.”

“Thanks.” The compliment seemed to brighten Mark up a lot. He played a few more snippets, identifying each artist when he finished. “The Beatles.” “Elton John.” “Linkin Park.”

The only song Lindsay knew was the last one. She liked it a lot, and though she didn't know the others, she liked them, too, but probably only because Mark had chosen to play them.

And there she stood, in Mark's room. Alone with him. Her thoughts raced and collided, leaving her without anything to say. She supposed she could comment on the room or something. It
wasn't so bad. It felt a little chilly to her, but it was okay. Still, it was no place to spend your summer.

“You're shaking,” Mark said, rising from the piano bench.

“Too much AC,” she replied, hugging herself.

“Do you want another shirt or something? Doug and Jack keep the place like a refrigerator most of the time. I guess I'm just used to it now.”

“No, I'm fine,” Lindsay assured him.

“Do you want to sit down?” Mark asked, indicating the desk chair behind her. “You might be warmer if you stay by the window.”

“Thanks.”

“I'd offer you something to drink, but I think Doug or Jack might notice.”

“Don't worry about it,” Lindsay said.

Then they fell silent. Lindsay sat in the desk chair, found it comfortable. Mark stood in the middle of the room, looking a little shy and uncertain. She could have just looked at him for an hour, but it was totally weird not saying anything. It made her tremble more.

“I like your room.”

“Thank you. It'd be okay if I could get out of it every now and then.”

“Well, they can't keep you locked up forever. How long are you grounded?”

“Forever,” he said with a smile. “It's really complicated. And they're going to be back soon.”

Lindsay watched the sad expression leak over Mark's face. She again wondered if his guardians hit him, and the thought made her chest hurt.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean, they aren't hurting you, are they? Because that's totally illegal.”

“You can't get involved,” Mark said sharply. “It's not what you think.”

“It just seems so unfair.”

“Look, Lindsay,” Mark said, turning his head a bit as if looking for spies in his nearly empty room. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone else? I'm serious. You
can't
tell anyone. Not your friends or your parents or anyone!”

Thrilled that he was going to share a secret with her, Lindsay leaned closer. She put her hands on her knees and nodded her head.

“I swear.”

Again Mark looked around his room. “I can't explain it all, because there's not enough time. But you know how sometimes the government will
take people who know things and hide them, move them to another part of the country, change their names?”

“Sure,” Lindsay said. She saw it all the time on television.

“Well, it's like that,” Mark said. “But it's not
just
that. I think something's wrong. I'm not supposed to be a prisoner. I mean, they never made it sound that way before, but I can't get out of this house. The doors are locked, and they've got alarms. They've got this stuff they put on the windows and doors, and if I touch them it leaves a mark. That's why you have to open the window for me. The worst part is, I couldn't leave if I wanted to. Because even though these guys are bad, there are a lot worse things out there looking for me. So I can't go to the cops or call my friends, because if anyone finds me, I'm toast.”