Part 20 (2/2)

Colby's face had changed back into his usual angelic sleeping expression. His nightmare was over.

For now.

1 and 2 told me a secret today. And, all of a sudden, I have to worry about stuff I've never had to worry about before.

I don't know what I'm going to do.

After breakfast Sat.u.r.day morning, Marie and Colby left to go to some farm a few towns over. It actually sounded kind of fun. They were going to do tractor rides, go apple picking, all that fall stuff.

Me? I was planning on a little breaking and entering.

I'd told Marie a friend was coming over and we were going to do homework. When she found out it was a boy, she gave me this little smirk and an eyebrow waggle. A full night's sleep and the promise of Dad returning tomorrow had done wonders for her mood.

Donovan arrived fifteen minutes after I texted him. His hair was damp and he smelled faintly of soap. I wanted to pull him into my arms and spend the day drowning in his kisses, but Kayla had made it clear last night that I had no time for that anymore. In fact, time was running out.

I led Donovan into the kitchen, sat him down, and caught him up on everything. That Kayla's previously wealthy parents weren't anymore. That someone had broken into my house, though I had no idea what they'd been looking for. And, finally, that Mr. Tucker might not just be a harmless old guy who spent too much time looking out his window.

”Phew.” Donovan leaned back in the chair. ”That's a lot to take in.” He chewed on his thumbnail for a moment. ”I don't know what to do next.”

”I do.” I sat up a little straighter. ”Every Sat.u.r.day, at eleven o'clock in the morning, Mr. Tucker goes out. I've noticed it two weekends in a row.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. ”If he does it again, ten minutes from now, I'm breaking into his house.”

Donovan's head rocked back in surprise. ”Hold up. I don't know if that's such a good idea.”

”Why not?”

”Well, for one, it's against the law. Second, what if he comes home earlier than you expect and catches you? If he is the person who killed Kayla, he won't hesitate to do it again.”

I smiled. ”That's where you come in. You're my lookout. If he comes home, text me and I'll feel the vibration in my pocket and get out of there.”

He shook his head. ”It's dangerous. I think you're rus.h.i.+ng into this. We can look into him more, yeah, but -”

”I have to rush,” I blurted out. ”I have no time left.”

His eyes met mine. ”What are you talking about?”

I sighed and pulled my fingers through my hair. ”The night of the party, after we cleaned up and you left, something happened.” I paused, not wanting to say the words out loud because they sounded so crazy. ”Kayla possessed Colby.”

Donovan's jaw dropped. ”Your little brother?”

I nodded. ”She somehow took over his body and told me she could do it again at any time and that, if I didn't find out who killed her, she'd kill him.” The words sounded so absurd I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself.

”How - how -” he stuttered. ”How can that even happen?”

”The night of the party, the Ouija board opened some sort of door and gave her this power. This access to him.” I shook my head. ”We never should have messed with it.”

”Why him? Why an innocent little boy?”

”Maybe he's the only one she can possess. Or maybe she chose him to control me. To get what she wants. She knows I'll do anything to protect him. So she gave me the ultimatum - find her killer or Colby dies. She gave me another warning last night. I have no time to waste, Donovan. She'll kill him. She told me so.”

”I can't believe that. I mean, yeah, she's not the nicest girl on the block, but I can't believe she'd kill a little boy.”

”She did some mean things when she was alive,” I said.

”Yes, she did.” His voice took on a faraway sound. ”She did some terrible things ... but that's different from murder.”

I wondered again, for a moment, if Donovan was holding something back. ”Well, I'm not going to take any chances with my brother's life. I'm giving her what she wants, no matter what it takes. I'm breaking into Mr. Tucker's house. Now. Whether you help me or not.”

I slipped in a back window easily enough, but now that I was inside I didn't know what to do. Mr. Tucker's house was dark and musty. Faded, outdated wallpaper lined the walls. Heavy curtains and dark, ornate furniture gave the home a gloomy feel. I first went to the living room window that faced my house. I didn't know what I expected to find. A big note tacked to the wall saying, This is why I stand sentinel over my neighbors' daughters? But it was just an ordinary window.

There had to be something to his behavior. It was more than odd. It was almost ... compulsive. Like he had to watch. And it wasn't like he'd had some single-minded obsession with Kayla because he watched me, too. Was he a pervert? Was it some pedophile thing? An involuntary s.h.i.+ver coursed through me. I never got that vibe from him, but would I really know?

I had to find out. I moved from room to room on the first floor. Everything looked normal. No dead bodies in the freezer. Just an old TV in the living room. He had a small den, but no computer, just stacks of books and newspapers. I searched through them and found nothing suspicious or pervy.

I moved to the bottom of the staircase and gazed up. If there were anything to find, it would be upstairs.

The house was a small Cape. Upstairs only had a bathroom and two bedrooms. The bath was plain and clean. The master bedroom held nothing unusual. I even checked his - eww - underwear drawer and under the bed. The only strange thing was that the wallpaper and bedding were more feminine than I'd expected. I moved on to the second bedroom, my last chance at answers.

The door was closed.

Strange, I thought. He lived alone. Why keep a room closed? Unless it was something he didn't want to see every time he walked by. Something he didn't want to be reminded of. Flashes from crime dramas flickered in my brain. Serial killers on TV usually had a room where they let their crazy out. You know, walls covered with psychopathic scribblings, photos of eyes, and newspaper clippings of their crimes.

The hand I held on the k.n.o.b started to tremble. I wanted to know what was in that room. Needed to know. But I was suddenly terrified.

I closed my eyes and pictured Colby's face, his laugh, his toothy smile. Focus, Jade. You can do this.

I turned the k.n.o.b and gently pushed the door open.

My hand flew up to my mouth. It was a little girl's room. The twin bed had a bright purple comforter. Unicorn figurines, small and large, littered the top of a white dresser. A poster on the wall featured an old cartoon that wasn't even on TV anymore. The room was like a time capsule. A little girl had lived here. One who would be much older than me now, judging by the age of her things.

The only item that seemed out of place was a black, masculine-looking alb.u.m on the little white desk. If this girl had a sc.r.a.pbook it would have been pink and glittery. Not like this. I found myself gravitating toward it. I sat on the small chair, pulled the alb.u.m onto my lap, and opened it.

At first there were only photos. Baby photos, toddler photos, family photos ...

I froze. My eyes blinked and refocused to be sure. Yes, there was a picture that showed a much younger Mr. Tucker, with a wife and a little baby girl.

He'd had a family.

What happened to them? I thought about what Kayla had seen when they moved in. The dirt pile in the backyard. No. Just no. Mr. Tucker could not have murdered his family and then kept his daughter's room as a shrine to her. I knew in my heart this was wrong.

I kept flipping through the alb.u.m. Disney World, holidays, first day of school, swimming in a pool, sledding ... in every picture their eyes were bright and their smiles large. The photos stopped when the girl looked to be around seven or eight years old.

And then came the newspaper clipping.

I read it, with both horror and intense sadness. The little girl had drowned in the inground pool in her own backyard. The mother had been out running errands. The father, Mr. Tucker, had gone in the house to answer the phone. And in those few moments when the girl was alone, something happened, and she drowned. From a quote in the article, it seemed that Mrs. Tucker blamed her husband, calling it an ”irresponsible choice to leave our little girl alone.” I a.s.sumed she'd divorced him.

He was left alone, in this empty house, surrounded by the constant reminder of the family he'd once had and lost ...

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