Leslie's Journal

by Allan Stratton

  Outside, I walk fast, crossing the street whenever I get near an alley. They’re all empty, except for one with a kid huffing airplane glue out of a paper bag. “You’re gonna get zits all around your lips,” I shout across the street. He looks up sort of glazed. “Yeah,” I go on, “and then your brains are gonna fall out!” Okay, I’ve done my bit to save his life, now time to think about saving Jason’s.

  I get to the pay phone feeling like a total drama queen. I make the call. The phone rings forever. At first, my chills come back—is Jason somewhere around here watching? But the longer it rings, the more I start to wonder if maybe it’s true about him killing himself— and if he’s maybe already done it. Shot his brains out. Slit his throat. Hung himself. Should I call the cops? Call his cottage? Call a cab?

  I’m about to hang up and call somebody, when he finally picks up. “Hello?” He doesn’t sound so good, but maybe he’s acting.

  “What’s your message supposed to mean?”

  “Leslie, Leslie, it’s you. I’m glad you called. I wanted to hear your voice one last time. My parents are at the cottage. Tonight’s the night.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve got a quart of Jack Daniels and a bunch of my mom’s pills. Thorazine, Lorazepam, ludes. You’ll never have to see me again.”

  “Come on, Jason. No way you’re killing yourself.”

  “Let’s not fight.”

  “Look, I don’t have time for this. I have an exam tomorrow.”

  “Then go home and study.” His voice gets groggier. “I’ve left some stuff for you on the rec room pool table.”

  “What stuff?”

  “A letter. About how you were right. How I don’t deserve to live.”

  “You left a letter blaming me?”

  “It doesn’t blame you. It thanks you. You made everything clear.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “There’s also a copy of that memory card of you and the other girls. You never found it cuz it wasn’t in the box with the original. I kept it in my wallet so I could see you naked whenever I wanted. I’ve put it in an envelope addressed to the cops, with all your names and addresses. Maybe you can pass it on.”

  “Oh god, no, Jason, no. Destroy it now.”

  “Goodbye, Leslie.”

  “I said, destroy it!”

  But it’s like he doesn’t hear me. “Have a good life. I loved you. I’ll watch over you forever.” Click.

  I hear the dial tone. For a second, I freak. Then I’m pissed. He’s playing mind games. What kind of fool does he take me for?

  I go into Happy Grocery breathing fire, pay for the milk and ask for a pack of smokes. The cashier asks for my ID.

  “I don’t have it with me.”

  “Then sorry.”

  “Don’t sorry me!” I yell. “You’re the only stupid store in the whole world that asks for ID, so get real.”

  The woman grabs a broom and tells me to get out or she’ll call the cops.

  “Happy Grocery, my ass,” I snarl, and take off.

  I go back to the pay phone, ready to rumble. I call Jason again. It rings I don’t know how many times. I picture him laughing to himself as he listens. Then I picture him slipping into a coma from his mother’s pills and booze. I go from mad to scared. I think about phoning the suicide prevention line or even the cops, but I can’t take the chance. What happens if there really is a note and a memory card for the cops? There’ll be an investigation. Mom’ll find out. I’ll be called a whore and a murderer.

  I pace outside the phone booth, talking to myself. It seems to help me think. I remember to whisper and not move my lips. I don’t want to attract attention, like Marge with the shopping cart outside Katie’s church.

  “What’s the big deal? Just go over,” I say.

  “What, are you crazy?” I answer back.

  “If Jason dies and you don’t go, you’ll blame yourself as long as you live. Plus, going means you’ll get the only remaining copy of the porn plus the letter.”

  “But what if he’s bluffing?”

  “He won’t do anything while he thinks you may have the memory card. He hasn’t touched you since you stole it, has he? And you left that note in your room for insurance.”

  It’s settled. I’m going over. But not alone.

  I call Katie’s cell.

  “Hellew.” It’s Mrs. Kincaid, using her classy voice.

  “Hi, it’s Leslie. Can I please speak to Katie?”

  “I’m afraid Katie is studying for her exams.”

  “I know. But this is an emergency.”

  “It will have to wait till tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  “Goodbye, dear.” Click.

  So Katie’s cell is confiscated. I wait a minute and call back on the Kincaid’s landline, hoping to get somebody besides the Witch.

  “Hellew?”

  I hang up. Another few minutes, and I call again.

  But Mrs. Kincaid knows this game. “Leslie, am I going to have to speak to your mother?”

  I hang up. I guess I’m going by myself after all.

  There’s a drunk passed out on a nearby park bench. I leave the milk from Happy Grocery next to his booze and grab a passing cab. I can pay with the change from the twenty Mom gave me. Lucky I didn’t get smokes after all. Was that fate? Or a guardian angel?

  Mom’ll be wondering where I am. She’ll be worried and mad. But I don’t have time to think about that. I’m on a mission of life and death.

  Thirty-Three

  The cab pulls up in front of the McCreadys’. There aren’t any cars in the driveway, the curtains are drawn, no lights. I ask the driver to wait, but he’s a little suspicious and wants to see some money. I’ve only got enough for the ride, which leaves me with two quarters. He swears, tells me to get the hell out and takes off.

  I go up the walk, ring the doorbell. Nobody comes. I rap the brass knocker. The front door opens by itself. It must have been ajar.

  It’s pitch-black inside. There’s light switches on the wall to the right. I reach in and flick them all on. Then I step in, leaving the front door wide open.

  “Jason?”

  Silence.

  I take a second to think. The note and the memory card are supposedly on the pool table in the rec room, but they can wait. The first thing I have to do is find Jason. If he’s dying, I need to call emergency right away. If he’s not, I don’t want him coming downstairs after me, trapping me in the basement.

  I figure if he’s taken pills, he’s probably upstairs on his bed. That’s where I’d be if I was going to OD. First, to be comfortable. Second, to be considerate to Mom. “She looks so peaceful, just like she’s sleeping,” she’d think. Even if that’s not a great comfort when you realize the person’s dead, it beats finding them with their bum sticking out of a gas oven and the house ready to blow. Or with their brains decorating the wallpaper.

  The idea that Jason may be in a coma makes me want to run up to his bedroom right away. But in case it’s a trap, I say in a loud voice, “You stay behind that bush, Katie. If I’m not back in two minutes, call the cops.” Then I check the main floor, peeking in obvious hiding spots like the front hall closet and turning on all the lights as I go, even the lamps and the little light over the stove. On top of that, I check the garage and poke my head out the back door. He’s nowhere.

  Now for his bedroom. “Just another two minutes, Katie,” I call out. Then I go to the foot of the staircase, flick on the upstairs hall light and head up.

  I hurry to his room at the end of the corridor. Along the way, I glance into the other rooms in case he’s inside one of them, waiting to pounce. The rooms are dark. But empty. I turn on their lights and keep moving.

  And now I’m at his door. It’s shut tight. “Jason?” I throw it open. What a mess. But no Jason.

  I get a panic flash that he’s back down the hall hiding in his parents’ en suite bathroom. I imagine him blocking my exit and—zoom—I fly down the stairs, th
ree at a time, and race out the front door, gasping for breath.

  Home free. I fall on the grass and laugh. I feel a bit hysterical from sheer relief.

  But it’s not over yet. There’s still the basement—the furnace, laundry and rec rooms. And in the rec room, the pool table, where he said I’d find the memory card and the note.

  No problem, I tell myself. There’s lights everywhere now. The front door is open. I have a clear, well-lit escape route.

  “Okay, Katie, keep me covered.” It occurs to me I might be giving the neighbors a show. I look across the street, but the living rooms are all either dark or have their curtains drawn. Right. Around here everyone has families, and family rooms at the back of the house to put them in.

  I take a deep breath and go back inside. I get to the basement stairs and start down. Something feels wrong. Like I’m going into a burial vault.

  “Turn back,” I tell myself.

  But my feet won’t listen. That memory card is so close. A few more steps and I’ll have it. That porn of me will be gone forever. Even if this is a set-up, Jason won’t do anything as long as he thinks Katie’s outside.

  So I keep going, like one of those zombie babysitters.

  I’m at the rec room door. It’s wide open. Inside, everything’s dark. I feel for the light switch, half afraid Jason’s going to grab my hand.

  I find the switch. Click. Light floods the room. Good—he’s not here. I start towards the pool table, but there’s nothing. No note. No memory card. Oh god. It is a trap! I shouldn’t have come. And now, from upstairs, the sound of the front door closing. Footsteps. The sound of the basement door closing. And somebody coming down.

  It’s Jason.

  He enters the rec room slowly, shutting the door behind him. “Hi.” No smile. Nothing.

  Don’t show him you’re scared, I think. “So you’re okay. I was worried.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Really,” I stammer. “So where’s the copy of the memory card?”

  “There isn’t one.”

  “Oh,” I gulp. “Well, if there’s no backup, and you’re okay, I better get going.”

  He doesn’t move from the door. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  We stand there for I don’t know how long, squaring off. Then I hear myself say, “Katie’s outside. Let me go or she’ll call the cops.”

  “Right. I watched through the curtains. You came by yourself.”

  My stomach flips up my throat. “Where did you hide when I first came in? I looked everywhere.”

  “Behind the furnace. I figured you’d head to the rec room right away, but you’re full of surprises.” His lip twitches. “When you ran out, I went to see what was up. I was right behind the front door when you came back in.”

  “Well, ha, ha, ha, aren’t you clever.” I struggle to act sarcastic. “Is that supposed to make me scared?”

  A flicker in his eyes. “You’re pretty smart for a dead girl.”

  “Very funny.”

  But he isn’t laughing.

  “Okay, you win. Now let me go. I’ve got that memory card, remember? If I get hurt—”

  “If you get hurt, so what? That memory card is history.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me. You’re too chicken to keep it. Not that I care. I mean, who’s to say I took those shots? And if I did, so what? Photography’s my hobby. You wanted to pose. It’s just private boyfriend/girlfriend stuff. Anyway, Dad’ll fix any problems. He always does.” Jason smiles. “Nobody makes a fool of me. Especially not some skank. Some pig ho slut. Who do you think you are, anyway?”

  He starts to move around the pool table. I move too, keeping it between us. “Don’t, Jason,” I scramble. “Even if Katie’s not outside, she knows I’m here.”

  “Big deal. You may be here, but I’m not. I’m up at the cottage with my folks. Ask them. Wanna bet what they’ll say?” Suddenly he leaps over the table, grabs my elbows and runs me back into the wall. He presses against me, breathes in my ear. “I could kill you now.”

  “No. The cops. They’d find DNA!”

  “There’ll only be blood if you’re cut.” He licks my neck. “But I can strangle you with your panties. As for hairs, they’d be expected; everyone knows you’ve been here lots. The trunk of Mom’s car could be a problem. But I’ll shave your corpse and wrap it in a plastic sheet before I toss it in, dump it in a country ditch.”

  “Is that what you did to the other girls?”

  “No. You’re my first. Lucky you, eh?” He nuzzles my ear. “God, you’re sweet.”

  I want to knee him, bite his cheek, but then he’d kill me for sure, so instead I yell.

  “Shut up!” He punches the side of my head. “No one can hear you down here, so Just ... Shut ... Up!” His voice is worse than fists. I crumple to the floor, sobbing.

  “Yeah. Cry for me, baby.”

  “You’re sick!”

  His mouth twists. “You have no idea.” And now he backs away, breathing heavy, leans against the pool table. “Wake up, Leslie. You skip school, do drugs, act like a total ho. You’re a bottom-feeder. Nobody cares what happens to you. So here’s the story about tonight. You knew my family and I were away. You broke in. Stole money, jewelry, and hit the streets. Disappeared. A teen runaway. Happens every day.”

  I’m hyperventilating. “I left Mom a note. You’ll get blamed if anything happens.”

  “Oh?” He grins. “You wrote her a lie to get me in trouble?”

  “She’ll call the cops. They’ll come.”

  “We’ll be long gone.” He picks up a pool cue.

  “They’ll know it was you.”

  “They can know what they like. They’ll never prove it.” He strokes the pool cue. “Now on your feet. It’s time for your lesson.”

  I get up, blubbering. Stand there while he looks me over.

  “Okay, bitch,” he says. “Strip.”

  I fumble my hands to the top button of my jeans. As soon as I take off my clothes, he’ll kill me. I gotta do something, but what? I turn away, hunch over, pretend to unbutton. Dear God, let me live and I promise to be perfect from now on.

  “Face me,” he says.

  My right hand slips into my pocket.

  “I said turn around!” he barks. “Gimme a show!” He jabs me in the back with the end of the cue.

  I start moving my shoulders up and down, like a stripper doing an act. Up and down, I wiggle towards him, up and down, still faced away.

  “Yeah! Toss in some ass!”

  Up and down, hand deep in my pocket. Up and down, hand searching. Up and down. I’ve found what I need.

  “Face me, bitch!”

  And I do. Fast. Hand out of my pocket. House keys clenched between my knuckles. I slash across his face full force. I rip an eyelid.

  “Aaa!!!” He staggers back. “You’ll pay for that!”

  The tip of the pool cue whizzes by my ear. It slices the air again and again as he swings, blood in his eyes. “You’re dead!”

  I duck under the pool table as the cue smacks down. It cracks across the side pocket, snaps. I do a side-roll under the table, hop to my feet, run to the door and throw it open.

  But he’s behind me. Grabs my hair. Yanks me back. I’m on the table.

  “You wanna play games?” He raises the broken end of the cue.

  My hand’s on a billiard ball. I pitch wild. It cracks him in the mouth. Stunned, he falls back, howls. Charges again. Stabs the jagged cue end to the table.

  “Die, bitch!”

  But I’ve squirmed away. I’m up the stairs. I’m out the front door. I’m screaming all the way down the street.

  Thirty-Four

  Does anyone hear me?

  If they do, I doubt they’ll check. This is a nice, quiet neighborhood, where everyone minds their own business. That is, until the cops and ambulances show up, along with the TV cameras, and bodies get hauled off to the morgue. Then everyone acts all surprised. “Well, we heard something, but we
thought it was kids horsing around.” Or a cat. Or a car backfiring. Anything except somebody getting raped or beaten to death. Cuz that only happens other places. Not here.

  I see myself on a porch, banging away, him coming, and the people inside bolting the door. “We don’t want any trouble. Go away!” Is that what they’d really do? I don’t know. But I can’t afford to find out. I’ve got to get away from here now.

  I glance over my shoulder, but Jason hasn’t followed. Instead, he’s closed his front door and turned off the lights, except for the fancy lantern by the steps. His house looks like every other house on the street. Even if people around here came to the window, what would they see? Some crazy girl screaming.

  A bus pulls up as I hit the shelter. I flash my transit pass, head to the back and slouch down, so if Jason drives by I’ll be hidden.

  My mind races. How bad is his cut? Will it need stitches? Can he charge me with assault? Wouldn’t that be a joke. But typical. So far, I don’t even have a bruise. I wish I did. If I looked beat up, maybe somebody’d believe me. Or maybe not. Beachball’d say I did it to myself. She wouldn’t be the only one. Practically the whole world would side with him. After all, the McCreadys are Somebodies. If it’s my word against theirs, guess who wins?

  I get to the subway. When I ran from Jason’s house with the memory card, I felt safe underground. Not now. I picture him racing down to the platform, pushing me onto the rails. They’d call it an accident. I imagine the crowd watching as I’m hosed off the tracks, pissed I’ve delayed their ride.

  Now things happen like in a dream. I know where I am and I know what I’m doing, but it’s as if I’m somebody else, separate from my body, watching myself do things: getting on the train, going past my stop, transferring to the line that takes me to the commuter station downtown.

  Who can I trust? Mom. Katie. Maybe Ms. James. Can they protect me? Don’t make me laugh. He wants me dead. He knows where I live. He’ll get what he wants.

  Unless I go someplace he won’t think about. Dad’s.

  I get off at the commuter station. The first thing I have to do is call home. Mom will be going wild.

  I drop my last change into the pay phone. She picks up on the first ring. “Leslie?”