Chain Letter Omnibus

by Christopher Pike

  “There already was a dent!” Kipp yelled back. “I should know, it’s my car. Don’t you see, it’s my car. Even if I was too drunk to be driving it, I’m as guilty as you are. We all are.”

  “I’m not,” Fran whined.

  “Shut up, or we’ll run you over next!” Joan snapped.

  “I’m for splitting,” Brenda said. “He’s already dead, what can we do for him?”

  They thought about that for a minute and at the end of the minute, nothing had changed.

  “I was driving,” Tony said, forcing the ugly words out. “This was my fault. I should have . . . I shouldn’t have drunk . . . I say we . . . We have to . . . ” His throat was so dry, he couldn’t finish. It was this damn wind, blowing straight up from hell. Kipp grabbed his arm and began to plead. He was given a sympathetic ear.

  “You’re eighteen, legally an adult. I know the law. You’ll get manslaughter. And for what? Something you might not have done? Brenda’s right, he’s dead, we can’t help him. We can only ruin our lives. Listen to me, Tony, I know what I’m talking about!”

  Tony did not answer. He was waiting for Neil to speak. A word from Neil and he would turn himself in. But Neil trusted him to do what was right. Neil had always thought he was one super hero. Neil did not give him the word.

  “If we won’t go to the police,” Alison said finally, “then we must at least bury him. We must show some decency.”

  “Would that be OK, Tony?” Kipp asked desperately. “We could say a prayer?”

  So sorry, young sir.

  Tony nodded, closing his eyes. That’s how it was with prayers. They were always said when it was too late.

  · · ·

  They carried the body fifty paces into the field, the skeletons of the sun-baked bushes grabbing for them like the claws of the cursed. They did not have a shovel. They used the bar that undid the wheel bolts, a large screwdriver and their bare hands to dig with. The ground was hard. The grave was shallow.

  Fran gave them a brief scare when she suddenly jumped and screamed that the man was groaning. A quick check, however, showed that that was nonsense, and Joan belted Fran on the back of the head and dared her to open her mouth again.

  They lowered him without ceremony, folding his hands across his heart, leaving what could have been a wedding ring on his finger. They begged Neil not to do it, but he insisted upon draping his crucifix around the man’s neck just before they replaced the soil. They said one Our Father.

  They found the freeway with remarkable ease. The return route was not complicated. Tony remembered it well. Had he a desire or a need to return to the gravesite, he would have had no trouble.

  Chapter Four

  The rehearsal was going lousy. This early in the morning—before first period—it was always hard to concentrate. Alison would have preferred working on You Can’t Take It with You after school, but their drama teacher, Mr. Hoglan, had the erroneous belief that they were freshest closest to sunrise and could give him their best effort only when the birds were singing. Fran’s swiping of the living room props was not helping matters. Alison had difficulty getting into her Alice role when she was supposed to look out the window and she had to stare into a featureless wall. But the biggest problem this morning was Brenda, who was playing Alice’s sister, Essie. Essentially, the play was about Alice’s introduction of her fiancé’s super-straight parents to her own super-wacky family. Brenda, though she would never admit it, was effective only when playing weird characters. Essie’s constant spastic dancing and frequent airhead one-liners created a role perfectly suited to her talents. Brenda, however, had already made it clear she disliked portraying “an unattractive geek.” She was going out of her way this morning to reemphasize the point. She had added loudmouthed brain damage to Essie’s character. In other words, Brenda was trying to drown out the rest of the cast. She was getting on Alison’s nerves.

  Normally, Alison loved being on stage. Turning into someone else seemed entirely natural to her. In her brief career she had played a conniving cat, a seductive vampire, a spoiled daughter, and even a psychotic murderer, and she had had to wonder if she hadn’t at one time been all those things in past lives—she had felt so at home in their brains. But she realized a lot of her pleasure from acting came from simple ego gratification. She loved having people’s attention totally focused on her.

  “Let’s go again,” Mr. Hoglan called from the last row of the small auditorium. A short, pear-shaped middle-aged man with a thin gray beard and a thick jet black toupee, he was a superb instructor, knowing how to offer advice that did not cramp one’s individual style. He was being very patient with Brenda this morning.

  “From the top?” Alison asked. She was the only one on stage not holding a copy of the play. She always made it a practice to immediately memorize her lines. This also annoyed Brenda.

  “No, start from: ‘He’s vice-president of Kirby & Company.’ ”

  Alison nodded, taking her position. Mr. Hoglan gave a cue and she walked toward the coffee table—or where the coffee table was supposed to be—saying, “ ‘No, he’s vice-president of Kirby & Company, Mr. Anthony Kirby, Junior.’ ”

  “ ‘The boss’s son?’ ” Brenda asked, with way too much enthusiasm.

  “ ‘Well,’ ” their mother said. Penny was played by Sandra Thompson and overweight Sandy already looked like someone’s mother. She was a fine actress, though.

  Alison took a step toward her mother and smiled. “ ‘The boss’s son. Just like the movies.’ ”

  “ ‘That explains the new dress!’ ” Brenda shouted. Alison grimaced, coming out of character; she couldn’t help herself. Fortunately, at that moment, they were interrupted. It was not Mr. Hoglan, but a kid—a freshman, probably—in running shorts, standing at the open back door. He was talking excitedly about something on the gymnasium.

  “What is it, young man?” Mr. Hoglan asked, unperturbed as ever.

  “You’ve got to see it!” the kid exclaimed, and then he was gone.

  Alison did not know why Brenda and she did not immediately put two and two together. As they hurried into the hallway after the rest of the class, the Caretaker was not even on their minds.

  “You sure are in a bad mood this morning,” Brenda said as they strode from beneath the wing of the auditorium into the bright morning sun. The day was going to be another cooker. Built in the fifties of red brick and austere practicality, Grant High did not have air-conditioning. During the months close to summer, sitting in class was more a dehydrating experience than an educational one.

  “Thank goodness, we can’t say the same about Essie.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Get off it, Brenda, you’d think your character was doing a monologue.”

  “Not all of us have as many lines as some people. Some of us have to do the most with what we’ve got.”

  “Some of us shouldn’t try to substitute volume for quality.”

  Brenda ran a hand through her blond hair, which looked oily and uncombed. “Don’t hassle me right now, I’m exhausted. I hardly slept last night.”

  The Caretaker came back then, not that he’d been far away. Alison was also tired; she’d seen every hour on the clock between two and six in the morning. Twice she’d gone to the window to stare at the empty tract that surrounded her house. The moon had been full, bathing the neighboring fields—shrub-packed fields not unlike where they had gotten lost coming home from the concert. It was weird how fate had brought her to this spot that so resembled that one place in the whole world that filled her with dread.

  They rounded a corner, almost colliding with the group that had gathered, and discovered that Fran had not gotten much sleep last night, either.

  Their mascot, sweet smiling Teddy, now had a rather sinister black and red goat’s head.

  · · ·

  Lunch at Grant High was usually a humdrum affair. You either bought a greasy hamburger at the snack bar and went to a preordained clique
or else you took a hop over to a nearby mall and had a greasy hamburger there and talked to much the same people you would have talked to had you stayed at school. The mall was nevertheless the preferable place to hang out. The courtyard in the center of school was cramped and the benches were the grossest obscenity-etched pieces of wood in all of California. When Alison grabbed Fran, prior to bawling her out, she planned on getting off campus the instant she was sure Tony was not staying. If nothing else, the chain letter had given her a great excuse to talk to him.

  “Fran, you could have killed yourself doing the job alone,” she scolded in hushed tones, glancing around to make sure they were not being overheard, searching for Tony.

  “Do you like it?” Fran asked, dark circles under her eyes.

  “What do you mean? Of course I don’t like it. It’s disgusting!”

  Fran was very sensitive to criticism of her artwork. “I don’t care! As long as he likes it!”

  “And how do you know it is a he? Kipp is of the opinion one of us girls blabbed about the accident. He thinks you were the one.”

  “I know what he thinks!”

  “Shhh.”

  “I didn’t tell anybody!” Fran said in a loud whisper.

  Alison studied her pinched face, her trembling lips, and believed her. Fran would more likely have talked about the nude poster of Brad Pitt that she had painted. The only reason Alison knew about it was because Brenda had told her. She did not know how Brenda had found out about it.

  “OK, don’t get upset. I know you’re good at keeping secrets. But why did you have to keep this a secret? I would have helped you.”

  “I didn’t want you to get in trouble if a janitor came by.”

  The bravery was uncharacteristic of Fran. It made Alison wonder, just a tiny bit. “Did you send the letter to Kipp?”

  “This morning. I whited out my name and typed it in the second column.”

  “You could have just given it to him.”

  “But the instructions said to mail it.”

  “How would whoever know? Oh, never mind . . . Oh, damn!”

  “What is it?” Fran asked, springing to her toes. Joan Zuchlensky, strutting a black leather skirt and a silky white blouse, was plowing toward them.

  “Here comes the Queen of the Roller Derby,” Alison whispered. She smiled brightly. “Hello, Joany!”

  Joan hated being called Joany. She wasn’t fond of small talk, either. “Where’s Tony and Neil?” she demanded.

  Alison put her hand to her mouth. “Why, for the life of me, I can’t remember where I tied their leashes.” Nowadays, it was always this way between them. “Why ask me? I’m not their master.”

  Joan smiled slowly, chewing her lower lip, not out of nervousness, but because she was bad. “That’s right, you don’t got no guy at your beck and call.” She shifted her gray eyes. “I loved your goat, Fran.”

  “Thank you,” Fran mumbled, eyes downcast.

  “It looks just like you.” Joan went on, “So, Ali, what do you think of this Caretaker?”

  “That he might be the perfect one to put you in your place.”

  Joan liked that and laughed. “Whatever he wants me to do, it won’t be bad enough.” She glanced at her hand, which she had propped against the tree, and her face changed. Joan had a phenomenal tan—rumor had it that she sunbathed nude in her backyard, and not always alone—but suddenly she turned bedsheet white. “Eeeh!” she shrieked, slapping her hand frantically.

  “What’s wrong?” Alison asked, at a complete loss.

  “A spider!” Joan stamped the ground with her hard-tipped black leather boots.

  Alison chuckled. Big Bad Joan. “So what? It won’t bite.”

  “It did bite me!” Joan stopped her tribal dance and took a couple of hot breaths, quickly regaining her composure. She knew she’d overreacted and was embarrassed. “So,” she said evenly, “you don’t know where Tony is?”

  Alison turned to Fran. “Do you think we should insist she go to the hospital? Before the venom can reach her heart?” She couldn’t resist the prodding, though she knew from experience it was not a good idea to humiliate Joan. The jerk had a long memory.

  Joan raised one finger. “This letter reminds me of something I always wanted to tell you. I know you purposely faked car problems that night of the concert so you could ride home with Tony. What do you have to say about that?”

  “That you’re absolutely right,” Alison lied.

  “Ali!” Fran whined.

  “Sounds like you’re pretty hard up,” Joan said.

  “Sounds like you’re afraid of losing what you don’t have,” Alison said.

  Joan moved her finger to within an inch of Alison’s nose. The purple nail was long, sharp. “Just keep your distance from Tony,” she said coldly.

  Alison threw her head back and laughed. “Why? Will I be . . . ” The Caretaker’s letter flashed before her eyes. “Will I be hurt?”

  Joan smiled again, a sly sort of smile that seemed to cherish forbidden pleasure. “Remember,” she said. “You’ve been told.” She patted the top of Fran’s head as if she were a pet, then walked away.

  Just words, Alison thought, doubtful.

  They saw Tony and Neil minutes later, approaching from opposite the direction Joan had disappeared. Alison had never before had the pleasure of having Tony walking straight toward her.

  Neil struggled by his side, a head shorter, his long brown hair in need of a brush. Yet he was the first to smile, and Alison was quick to smile back. Neil’s smile, next to Joan’s, was like putting the Easter bunny beside a boa constrictor.

  “Neil’s with him,” Fran whispered nervously.

  “This is the chance you’ve been waiting for,” Alison whispered back, speaking for both of them, her heart cruising along at a comfortable eight hundred beats a minute.

  Fran gulped. “I could wait a little longer.” She began to inch away. Alison grabbed her arm.

  “If you split now, I’ll tell Neil that you had an erotic dream about him last night.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “And I’ll tell him you drew a picture about it when you woke up.”

  Fran decided to stay. The boys arrived moments later. Alison was pleasantly surprised when Neil offered his hand to both of them; politeness was never out of place in her book. Tony looked sooo cool.

  But before they could so much as finish their hellos to one another, the principal of Grant High, Mr. Gregory Hall, joined their foursome. No doubt Alison would have panicked and Fran would have fainted had he looked the least angry. A tall thin man with a scarecrow face, Mr. Hall took care of his duties from behind the scenes. Less than half the student body even knew he existed. He must have had a photographic memory, however, for he greeted each of them by their first names.

  “It was mainly you, Fran, that I wished to speak to,” Mr. Hall said when they were through saying hello and commenting on the hot weather.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, about the terrible thing that happened to the gymnasium mascot.” Fran went as still as the tree beside them. Mr. Hall nodded sympathetically, for all the wrong reasons. “I know how you must feel. I can promise when I find out who was responsible for this desecration, I will personally see to it that he is expelled.”

  “Personally,” Fran said.

  “What I was wondering is, would it be possible for you to redo the picture? Not necessarily right away, but whenever you feel sufficiently ahead in your schoolwork. I’m meeting with the board of supervisors this afternoon. I’m going to ask if we couldn’t pay you for the job.” Mr. Hall smiled. “How does that sound?”

  Fran could have swallowed her tongue. Alison spoke up. “She would be happy to do it, wouldn’t you, Fran?” Fran nodded. Alison added, “I think the job should be worth at least a hundred bucks.”

  “I was going to ask for two hundred.” Mr. Hall looked hopeful. “So, do we have a deal?” Fran managed to move her head up and down a couple of times.
“Wonderful! Now if I could steal you away from your friends for a few minutes to sign a paper to that effect, it would make my proposal to the board that much easier.”

  Mr. Hall practically had to carry Fran to the administration building. He must have thought the poor girl was heartbroken over the ruin of her creation. The three of them got a good laugh out of it. But once again, before they could even start a conversation they had another interruption—Neil this time, trying to excuse himself.

  “Where do you have to go?” Tony asked, surprised.

  “My locker.” He flashed a quick smile. “Have a nice lunch.” He turned to leave.

  “Hey!” Tony said.

  “Got to go,” Neil called over his shoulder, limping away.

  “Could he be chasing after Fran?” Alison asked hopefully.

  Tony stared at her thoughtfully, a strand of blond hair touching near one of his blue eyes. She had to resist the temptation to brush it aside. “No, he’s not,” he said quietly.

  His seriousness, his certainty, startled her. “She likes him at any rate. I wasn’t sure if he knew.”

  Tony went to speak, caught himself. “Neil likes everybody,” he said.

  “He’s a great guy.” She hardly knew him.

  Tony leaned against the tree and smiled. “Not wishing to change the subject, but isn’t this a fine mess we’re in? Any profound revelations strike you during the night?”

  “Not really, unless you call nightmares revelations.” During the brief spells when she had dozed off, she’d had this dream, over and over, where she had been trying to open the front door of her new house. What had been disturbing about the scenario had not been so much that the door had been stuck but that her hand had been stuck to the door.

  Tony nodded. “I had a few of those myself.”

  “No,” she said in disbelief. He seemed so much in command, it was hard to believe he was scared. On the other hand, he had been driving and stood the most to lose. It occurred to her then that, although she had watched Tony Hunt for four years, she knew absolutely nothing about the way his mind worked. He reinforced the idea when he remarked:

  “You would be surprised.”