by Pat Hancock
Zack screamed again. Tyler and Raj, who were trying to help him up, jumped back.
“My leg,” Zack moaned, collapsing against Tyler. “I can’t stand up. Get help. I think it’s broken.”
Marshall ran and collected two counsellors who used a firefighter’s lift to carry Zack to the infirmary. Marshall and the others trailed behind, then hung around outside waiting for word on Zack’s injury.
Finally, the nurse emerged to announce that Zack’s leg wasn’t broken, but it was badly sprained.
“He’ll be spending the next couple of days in the infirmary,” he said.
The rest of the day was great. With Zack safely out of commission, everyone relaxed. Everyone except Marshall. He struggled to come up with an explanation for what was happening. Every time, he got the same impossible answer — Fred.
Later that evening, when the other kids were changing into their bathing suits for a midnight swim, Marshall slipped off to the infirmary. Quietly, he skulked around it. Then, he stood statue-still under the window and listened intently. He saw and heard nothing unusual.
Finally, he crouched in the darkness and whispered, “Fred, Fred. Here boy. C’mere, boy.” Nothing. Nevertheless, he went on.
“Listen to me, boy. I think you’re out there. If you are, thanks. You really came through. But, Fred, it’s over now, okay? I can’t stand to see Zack feeling like I did. Give the guy a break, Fred. He’s got no friends. I’m okay now, fella. Really, I am.”
As Marshall stood up to leave, he stepped on a stick. It snapped with a loud crack.
“Who’s there?” Zack called out sharply. Fear filled his voice. “Is that you, dog?”
Marshall wavered. Should I answer — or just get out of here? He sounds really scared.
“It’s me, Zack. Marshall.”
“What are you doing out there?” Some of the bravado was returning to Zack’s voice.
“Oh … I just came by to say good night.”
“Yeah?” Zack sounded surprised.
“Yeah,” Marshall said, pushing open the door. In the glow of a night light, Marshall could just see Zack’s head poking out from under the covers.
“Shhh,” Zack whispered. “The nurse might not be asleep yet. He just finished putting ice on my ankle a while ago.”
“How’s the leg?” Marshall whispered back.
“It hurts.”
“Sorry.”
“So am I.”
Marshall couldn’t believe his ears. “What did you say?” he asked.
“I said, So am I.” Zack looked like he was bracing for Marshall to say something mean.
Marshall stared. Then he said softly, “It’s okay.”
Zack let out his breath and his face softened. “Thanks,” he said.
“No problem. See you in the morning?”
“Sure.”
Marshall tiptoed back to his cabin and slipped into bed. By the time the others got back from their swim, he was sound asleep. He dreamed that Fred was curled up at the foot of his bed.
After breakfast, Marshall returned to the infirmary. Zack was sitting up, eating breakfast. “How’s the leg?” Marshall asked.
“Much better, thanks.”
“Great,” said Marshall. “Does it still hurt?”
“Not too much. I think the nurse must have put a heating pad on it in the night. I remember waking up and thinking how good it felt to have something soft and warm tucked around my ankle.”
Marshall looked at the foot of the bed, then at Zack. Smiling, he said, “Yeah, I know just what you mean.”
ROBBER’S REWARD
The day started like any other. Julie’s mother, a lab technician, left for the hospital around seven-thirty. Her dad wasn’t home yet from another night of driving his cab. Julie and her sister fought over the bathroom and, as usual, she lost.
Finally, Ruby headed off to school — her classes started at eight-thirty — and Julie had a few minutes to herself. She flicked on the TV and began to crunch her way through a bowl of corn flakes.
The news was on — not exactly prime time viewing. Her thoughts wandered to the science fair topic she’d decided on last night. For once, she’d picked something she was really interested in.
She wanted to know why the shower curtain moved in and wrapped itself around her when she turned on the water. So did Ruby. She always screamed “Soap scum attack!” when it happened to her.
Her mom said a lot of science could be learned by answering this question, and she was pretty smart about math and science. She wasn’t so sure about her teacher, though. And he was the one who needed to give the green light to her topic this morning.
“… and police are still at the scene of the bank break-in at Fifth and Fraser …”
Fifth and Fraser! That was just three blocks away. Julie passed that corner every morning on the way to school. She suddenly tuned in to the newscaster’s words.
“Reports are still sketchy, but it looks as if the alarm may have interrupted a burglary in progress. The first officers on the scene found a man, believed to be one of the suspects, dead in front of the vault. Detective Coleman of 22 Division refused to speculate about how the man died. He would say only that it’s clear the dead man had not been alone in the bank. Police are asking people to avoid that intersection until …”
Julie jumped up from the table. She switched off the TV, dumped her bowl in the sink and tore into her bedroom. She grabbed her backpack, stopped off at the bathroom to give her teeth a two-second brush, and dashed out of the apartment.
A large crowd was gathered in front of the bank when Julie got there. She jostled her way through the people until she was stopped by a thick, yellow plastic ribbon that warned: Police Line — Do Not Cross.
Julie was fascinated. An ambulance, its red lights flashing, was parked near the door of the bank. Police cars and equipment vans emblazoned with the logos of the city’s TV stations were everywhere. Reporters and camera crews were scurrying about, and police officers were questioning people on the street and controlling the parade of individuals moving into and out of the bank.
Through the bank’s double entrance doors, Julie could just make out a small circle of people hovering over something on the floor. That must be where the body is, she thought. They never move it until they’ve looked for all the evidence. She knew that. It always happened that way on TV.
Suddenly, police officers moved to the doors and held them open as two uniformed paramedics began to walk slowly forward. Julie realized what was happening. They were bringing out the body.
The crowd grew silent as the paramedics emerged and loaded the stretcher carefully into the ambulance. Julie stared. It was exciting, but it bothered her, too. Someone had died. Somebody’s brother, husband or even father.
“Husband and father,” she heard a voice say.
“Huh?” Julie swung around to see who’d spoken. No one was paying any attention to her. She turned back, feeling foolish. For a second, she could have sworn someone had read her mind.
“I did. Weird, isn’t it?” she heard the voice again.
Julie spun around. Again, no one was even looking her way. The crowd was thinning now. The person closest to her — an older woman — was several steps away. But the voice, a low, throaty whisper, had sounded as if it were right at her ear. It was a man’s voice.
“I’m right here, kid.”
Julie shivered. This is spooky, she thought. She’d heard voices before, at summer camp. But that had been Rachel McKenzie up to her usual tricks. She loved to wait until someone was asleep, then whisper weird noises in her ear. Rachel wasn’t anywhere around. In fact, right now, Rachel was probably at school, waiting for the bell to ring.
And that’s where I should be, too, Julie decided. Her mother always said her imagination worked overtime. Too much television, she’d say. It does things to your brain. Julie backed away from the yellow tape and started to jog along Fifth Street toward the school.
“Slow down,
kid. I’m new at this.”
The voice was following her. She was sure of it now. Terrified, Julie began to run.
“Wait. This is using up too much energy.”
Julie felt a tugging at her back. She stopped and whipped around. Nothing. There was nothing there. She was petrified, too scared to move. She stood rooted to the spot, her knees knocking and her stomach churning.
“Sorry, kid. But it worked. You stopped. Now will you listen to me, please?”
Julie detected a note of desperation in the voice. Stay or go? School was just two blocks away. Go to school. You’ll be safe there, she thought.
“Maybe not. I haven’t gone through any walls yet, but I’m willing to try. Besides, there’s always a window.”
“All right, all right,” Julie muttered, trying not to move her lips. She looked around to see if anyone had heard. She didn’t want any of the other kids to see her talking to herself. Luckily, the coast was clear, for the moment.
She ducked up an alley and stammered, “Who … whoever or … whatever you are … what do you want from me?”
I can’t believe I’m doing this, she thought. I’m talking to it, whatever it is. Am I crazy or what?
“You’re not crazy. But I was … and now I’m dead. And I shouldn’t be, you know.”
Suddenly, the metal lid from a battered garbage can clattered to the pavement next to her. Julie jumped as the sound echoed up and down the alley. Then she heard rustling in the can. She stood perfectly still. More rustling, and some scratching. Julie stopped breathing. More scratching. Her imagination shifted into high gear. What sort of spectre was about to materialize?
When a scraggly tabby cat poked its face over the top of the can and blinked at her, Julie let out a long, slow sigh of relief. The cat jumped lightly to the ground and ran off. Julie was tempted to follow. Instead, she looked around one more time to make sure she was alone.
Alone? That’s funny, she thought. I wish I really were alone. Then it hit her. Whatever it was, it had figured out what she was thinking. She hated the idea of someone being in her head like that. But it would take care of the problem of getting caught talking out loud to empty space.
What are you? Julie thought. What do you want from me? Silence. She concentrated harder. What do you want? Not a sound. It’s gone! Or I’m sane again, she thought. This might be her chance to escape. She turned to leave.
“Stop, please. Don’t go.” The voice was coming from her right, over by the wall.
Julie’s fear returned. She shut her eyes and concentrated even harder. What do you want?
“Please, say something. Say you’ll help.”
“Why do I have to say something?” Julie whispered. “You know what I’m thinking.”
“I can’t seem to do that anymore. It started when they loaded me onto the stretcher. I knew what the cops were thinking. Then, when they wheeled me out to the ambulance, all sorts of thoughts came flooding in. All those people. It was rough. That crowd was pretty hostile. Some ugly thoughts out there. Except for you. You thought about my family.”
The voice paused briefly. Julie thought she heard a sob. Then the voice went on.
“That’s why I picked you. But I can’t read your mind anymore. In fact, I don’t know how much time I have left. Everything is starting to feel different. Will you help me?”
The impact of what she’d just heard hit Julie in the stomach like a baseball bat.
“You’re the …” Julie gulped. “You’re the … uh … man at the bank?”
“The dead guy. Yeah.”
Julie gasped. “Ok-k-kay,” she sputtered, trying to sound calm. “I have to go now. I’m going to get it. I’m really late for school.”
“Don’t go. Not yet. I have to set the record straight. You’ve got to help me do that. Please, for my boy’s sake,” the voice pleaded.
“But why should I help you? You’re a …”
“A thief? A crook? Say it, kid. It’s true. I know it was really stupid, but I needed the money and … well … I let my friend talk me into it. But it was the first time. Really. You’ve got to believe me.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“I know how you feel. But listen, please. First, my name’s Jim. Jim Robertson. And you’re …?”
“Julie.” Julie hesitated. Last names made it easier for someone to find you. Then she realized how ridiculous that thought was. This thing, this spirit, this ghost could probably find her anywhere, anytime.
“Sharma,” she added. “Julie Sharma.” There. I’ve done it. I just introduced myself to a ghost.
“Pleased to meet you, Julie. I’m telling the truth. It really was the first time. It’s no excuse, I know, but things were bad. I’d lost my job. My wife and son had left, the rent was overdue and the landlord was threatening to throw me out of the apartment.
“So Nick — my best friend, Nick — came up with this plan. Nothing to it, the lying scumbag said. He used to work at the bank as a security guard. I know the layout, he said. No one’ll get hurt. Ha. What a joke!”
“What went wrong?” Julie was surprised to find herself interested.
“Nothing, at first. Everything went like clockwork until …”
Suddenly, everything became clear to Julie. “Until he tricked you,” she blurted. “When he didn’t need you anymore, he killed you, right, and took the money for himself?”
“That’s right. And now Nick’ll get away with the money — and with murder. My murder. And the truth will never come out. Not that it’s so pretty. But, if the cops get Nick, maybe my ex-wife will understand a little better. Maybe she’ll be able to explain things to the boy when he’s bigger. I’m not all bad, you know.” The voice trailed off at that point.
Julie had a minute to think. I’m already in big trouble. School started half an hour ago. And not even the most gullible teacher will believe this story. Aloud she said, “Okay, what can I do?”
“Thanks, kid,” the voice sounded relieved, but tired. It seemed to be growing fainter. “Here’s what you can do. There’s this crime tip number …”
“I know. I hear it on TV all the time. It’s 577 —”
“Good, you know it. We’ll go to that pay phone over there. If you dial the number for me, I’ll tell them what happened at the bank. They won’t know it’s me. They’ll just think I’m a sleazeball turning in a friend. And they’ll be right, won’t they? I’ll give them my good old friend, Nick.”
“That’s it? That’s all you want?”
“That’s it. If I could do it myself, I would.”
“Okay, let’s go then,” Julie said, reaching into her pocket for some change.
Julie dialed the number and kept the receiver to her ear as a deep voice answered, “Constable Tremblay. Thank you for calling Crime Tips.”
Julie could almost feel Jim leaning beside her. Shivers rippled down her spine.
“Hello,” Jim said, “I know what happened at …”
“Hello?” Tremblay repeated. “Is anybody there?”
Julie held out the phone a little farther, trying to figure out how to make it easier for Jim to speak into the receiver.
“I’m here,” Jim spoke up. “A man named Nick …”
“Is anyone there? Hello?” Tremblay said loudly.
“He can’t hear me, kid! He can’t hear me,” Jim said, panic in his voice. “What’ll I do? Can you hear me? Am I gone?”
“I hear you,” Julie said, covering the mouthpiece. “But maybe I’m the only one who can.”
“Oh no,” Jim moaned.
Julie looked at the receiver in her hand. She swallowed hard and put the phone back to her ear.
“I’m sorry,” she began nervously. “I dropped the phone.”
Shakily, she told the officer what she’d learned. Jim helped, whispering the answers to the officer’s questions. Julie even managed to work in information about where Nick planned to hide the money — in a locker at the bus terminal.
She could almost feel Jim nodding enthusiastically when she added that if the police staked out the terminal, they could probably catch Nick red-handed when he went to pick up the money.
But when Tremblay asked how to get the reward to her if the tip led to an arrest, Julie panicked. She covered the mouthpiece.
“Go for it,” Jim whispered hoarsely. “You earned it. You don’t have to give your name. They’ll work out something with you.”
Julie was tempted. Crime Tips paid $1,000 if an arrest was made. But somehow it didn’t seem right to take it, and she wasn’t sure why.
“Just a minute, please,” she said, and covered the mouthpiece again.
“Jim, what’s your wife’s name?”
“Maria,” Jim answered faintly. “Maria Lopez. She went back to her own name.”
“And her address?”
“1394 Merton, Apartment 1B. Why?”
Julie spoke quickly into the phone, “The reward goes to Maria Lopez, 1394 Merton, Apartment 1B. Goodbye.”
She hung up and slumped against the wall of the phone booth. Her knees were trembling.
Weakly, Jim said, “Thanks, Julie. You’re something else. Your folks must be really proud of you.”
At the mention of her folks, Julie panicked and pushed her way out of the phone booth.
“Well, they won’t be if the school called already to find out why I’m not there. I’ve really gotta go.”
“So do I, kid. I think my time’s nearly up.”
“Well … good luck.”
What an unbelievably dumb thing to say! Julie thought. Then she started to run. There’d be time to think later, after she got to school.
By the time she reached her homeroom, Julie had decided to go with a version of the truth. As Mr. Falconi glared at her, she explained that she’d stopped to watch what was going on at the bank and lost track of time.
Mr. Falconi lectured her on the evils of lateness, then levelled a parting shot. “And I suppose you also lost track of your science fair topic.”
“No, I’ve got that.”