by R. L. Stine
“Tha’ssss why I stay with her.” Another insane giggle. “I think about you all the time.”
“Shut up, Lou.” I didn’t mean to shout, but I couldn’t help it.
What is he planning to do? Is he going to grab me again?
No, no. Take a breath. He’s out of his head. You can’t afford to panic. You have to be the calm one.
“Really. No shit, Lindy. All the time I’m with her, I’m thinking about you.”
“Please please please. Listen to me, okay?” I brought my arms up fast and shoved him hard.
Startled, he toppled back into the apartment door. He hit it so hard, I thought he might break the door.
But here was my chance. I scrambled around him, away from the wall. My legs were trembling. My whole body shuddered. But I was in the clear. I hoped.
“I feel so close to you. I want to be with you. You’re so bootiful.”
I rubbed my cheek. It was still wet from his sweat. “Let’s get you a taxi. I promise I won’t tell Ann-Marie. Just stay away from me. Be a good boy, Lou, and I promise I won’t tell Ann-Marie.”
“Do you like me, Lindy?” He suddenly had this little-boy expression, his glassy eyes all wide and hopeful. “Do you like me?”
“I like you, Lou. But let’s get you home, okay? I won’t tell Ann-Marie. I promise.”
He nodded. “Good.” He wiped the sweat off his face and forehead with his shirt sleeve. “Good. It will be our sssecret, right? Our little secret?” He eyed my breasts again.
I started toward the elevators at the other end of the hall. I suddenly felt weary, as if he’d drained all my strength away. I turned and made sure he was following me.
His shoulder dragged against the wall as he walked. “Our little secret. You’re so totally awesome. Do you know that, Lindy? You don’t mind, do you? Ha ha. You don’t mind if I call you, Lindy? I mean—if I . . .”
“Shhh. Take it easy. You’ll be fine. You just had a little too much—”
He pulled a clear plastic envelope from his shirt pocket and waved it in front of my face. I saw white powder inside. “Want some?”
“No, please. Put it back.”
He pushed his bottom lip out in a pout. He suddenly looked like a big baby.
“Put it away, Lou.”
He obediently stuffed it back in his pocket. “I never get high,” he said, shaking his head. “Isn’t that a shame? I never get high.”
“You’re doing a pretty good imitation,” I said. I was breathing normally now, no longer trembling, over my fear. As we passed, I heard the couple still arguing in 11-D. I felt grateful no one had heard Lou and me out in the hall.
I pushed the elevator button. I couldn’t wait to get rid of him. And what would I find in the apartment? Ann-Marie passed out on the couch? Or totally high, chattering away, demanding to stay up all night and bond?
“Just can’t get high,” Lou muttered, pressing his forehead against the elevator door. “No matter what. It’s weird, isn’t it? Fucking weird.”
I tugged him back just as the door slid open. Then I took him by the hand and led him into the elevator. When the door closed, I had another moment of panic.
Will he come on to me again? Will he try to smother me again? He has me trapped here.
But no. He leaned on the metal rail with his head tilted back against the elevator wall, eyes closed, a smile on his face, humming to himself. When the car bounced to a stop on the first floor, Lou bounced with it, his knees buckling, legs nearly collapsing under him.
He giggled. “Are you hungry?”
“No. Come on.” I pulled him to the front door.
“Want to get a burger or something?”
“No. I’m really not hungry.”
“Pizza? Just a slice?”
Out onto Seventy-ninth Street. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. Light from the streetlamps shimmered in the wet street. Two men with black umbrellas stood waiting for the crosstown bus at the corner. The newsstand there was dark and closed up.
I stepped into the street to get Lou a taxi. He bumped up against my side. “I get so hungry when I’m loaded. Ha ha.”
I saw a taxi with its light lit at the end of the block and started to wave frantically.
“But I can’t get high. It’s the weirdest thing. Do you like me? I mean, really like me? Ha ha.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” I said as the taxi pulled up beside us. I opened the door and shoved Lou into the back. He hit his head on the Plexiglas divider, let out a groan, then settled back in the seat.
“Our little secret,” he said, grinning.
“Bye, Lou.” I slammed the car door and watched gratefully as the taxi roared away.
As the elevator carried me back up to the eleventh floor, I felt as if I were being transported through a different world. Lou’s gross behavior in the hall had changed everything. Shifted reality in an ugly way.
I felt as if I’d been in some sci-fi moment where you find yourself in a parallel universe—your surroundings look exactly the same, but the people you know act differently, not at all like themselves, and everything you thought true wasn’t true anymore.
Was he telling the truth about how he felt about me? Did he really stay with Ann-Marie to be close to me?
No. I couldn’t believe that. No way I wanted to believe it.
I held my stomach. I suddenly felt sick.
Wait. He was coked out of his head. He could barely speak. Why should I take anything he said seriously?
I should shut it out of my mind. He won’t remember a thing tomorrow.
But . . . he’d mauled me. He’d forced me against the wall. He’d pressed his face, his body against mine. He’d played with my breasts. He’d mauled me like a bear.
He is dangerous.
Don’t get carried away. You don’t want to tell Ann-Marie about this. No way. Ann-Marie is totally crazy about him. She acts so jealous when anyone else comes near him.
You can’t tell her.
But what if it’s true? What if he’s a total pig who’s just using her?
No. I can’t tell her. She’ll hate me forever. I’ll lose my best friend.
My bag. Where is my bag?
I raised both arms, expecting to see it on one of them. But no. Did Lou take my bag? Of course not.
The elevator bounced to a stop. I lurched out before the door was fully open. Then I ran down the hall, my shoes thudding on the carpet. Yes, there it was in the corner. It must have fallen from my hands when Lou came out of the apartment.
I picked it up off the floor, rummaged around in it till I found my key. I opened the door slowly and poked my head in, expecting to find Ann-Marie in the livingroom.
No. The lamp beside the couch was on dim. No one on the couch. I stepped inside. Two wine bottles on the coffee table, two empty wineglasses. No one in the front room. Peering into the short hall, I could see that Ann-Marie’s bedroom door was closed.
I took a deep breath and let it out. Thank goodness. She had gone to bed. I didn’t have to decide whether or not to tell her about Lou.
I glanced at my watch. Nearly three-thirty. No wonder I felt so tired. I’m a working girl. I’m not used to these hours.
I crossed the hall and entered my room, clicking on the ceiling light. Yawning, I dropped my bag onto the dresser top. I undid my earrings, pulled them off, and set them down next to my bag.
Feeling a breeze on my back, I turned away from the dresser and saw that the window was wide open. The half-drawn shade flew into the room, then flapped back against the window frame. I squinted at the window, trying to remember if I had opened it.
No. I remembered deliberately leaving it shut because the forecast had said rain. It was a stuffy, humid night. Had Ann-Marie opened it for me to cool off my room?
I usually kept the window locked because it opened onto a fire escape. I’d been trying to get the super to put bars in the window. I didn’t feel safe without them. Anyone could climb down the fire escape from
the roof or up from the alley behind the building, and step right into my room.
I shuddered. I had a frightening hunch. Someone had climbed into my room. Someone was hiding in the closet. Such a strong hunch . . .
I yanked open the closet door, preparing to scream.
No one.
Way to go, Lindy. Now you’re frightening yourself. Get to bed. It’s been a long night.
I crossed to the window and felt rain floating in on the warm night air. I closed it and locked it, straightened the shade, and turned back to the dresser. I glimpsed myself in the mirror. The pink lipstick had faded away, leaving my lips dry and chapped. I had dark blue lines under my eyes, and my skin was pale. I looked like the ghost of Lindy Sampson.
And I felt so grimy and sticky. I’ll shower in the morning, I decided.
I started to pull off my pink T-shirt when I noticed the middle dresser drawer half open. Strange. I have a thing about always pushing my dresser drawers shut. No reason. It’s just one of the things I do, like making my bed every morning.
I gazed down at the half-open drawer. My underwear drawer. I pulled it open all the way—and uttered a sharp gasp.
Empty.
Where were my panties and bras? I blinked a few times, as if that would fill the drawer up again. But no. It took me a while to see the envelope, a legal-sized white envelope standing against the back of the drawer.
“What the hell is this?”
I lifted it out, tore it open, and pulled out a letter. I scanned it quickly, then read it twice before the words began to make sense. Then the letter shook in my hand as I read it—slowly—for a third time:
I thought a beautiful girl like you would have nicer underwear. Did you get my phone message? I am going to kill you, Lindy. It’s not a joke. I will kill you.
There’s only one way to stay alive. Keep going out with me. Keep saying yes.
Don’t think you can escape me. I’ve been in your room. I may be watching you right now.
Keep seeing me. Don’t ever say no.
Your life depends on it.
Love, ALWAYS
PART THREE
19
I burst into Ann-Marie’s room screaming, “You’ve got to help me. Someone’s been in my room!”
I clicked on the ceiling light. She was sprawled on the bed on her stomach, her arms straight out at her sides, dressed in her top and skirt. She hadn’t even managed to take off her shoes.
“Ann-Marie? Ann-Marie? Can you hear me? Are you alive?”
She stirred, raised her head, struggled to open her eyes. “No thanks. I’ve had enough,” she whispered.
“Ann-Marie, I need help. I’ve—I’ve been robbed! Wake up! Please—!”
She raised her head and squinted up at me with one bloodshot eye. “Huh?”
“Someone was in our apartment! I’ve been robbed!”
Ann-Marie sat up and blinked at me, hair falling in damp tangles over her face. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. Come with me.” I tried to tug her to her feet.
“Ohmigod. Lindy, they were in your room? What did they take? Did they get your mother’s rings?” She shook herself awake. “Give me a sec. I’ll be right there. Oh, wow. Are you okay? You’re shaking.”
“I’m scared,” I said. “I mean, he climbed in the window. He was in my room. And the note . . . He left a note . . .” The words caught in my throat. “Annie, he took all my underwear!”
“Huh? Underwear? I have to pee. I’ll be right there.” She stumbled to her feet.
I ran back into my room and dropped onto the edge of the bed. I took several deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heartbeats.
I stared at the window. I tried to picture someone climbing in. Someone with a letter for me. Someone carrying a bag or a backpack to carry away my things.
Someone I knew.
Yes. One of the guys I’d been out with.
A chill ran down my back. One of them had sneaked into my apartment. Threatened to kill me.
I don’t want to sleep in this room, I decided. I feel so invaded, I don’t want to be in this room anymore. I could run away. I could disappear. That would show the sick creep, wouldn’t it? All his planning and threatening for nothing.
My eyelids felt heavy. The room began to sway in front of me. I steadied myself on the bed with both hands. Then I picked up the note and read it one more time.
It was so . . . cold. The whole tone of it. The guy who wrote it hated me. It was obvious. But then if he hated me so much, why did he want to keep on going out with me?
Was it just a sick power trip?
I pulled myself to my feet and carried the note to the dresser. I dropped it back into the open drawer where I’d found it. Had I touched the drawer handles? Had I ruined any fingerprints the guy might have left? Maybe. I’d touched the window, too.
Police don’t really use fingerprints much, do they? Isn’t that only on TV?
I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly. My panic had given way to total exhaustion. I pulled off my clothes, tossing them onto the floor, and grabbed a nightshirt from my top drawer.
At least the guy left me my nightshirts.
Brad? Colin? Jack?
I pictured their faces as I stared at the empty dresser drawer. A hand grabbed my shoulder. I cried out.
“Sorry,” Ann-Marie said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” She had run cold water on her face, and her mascara had run onto her cheeks. She had tied back her hair. Taken off her shoes and stockings.
“Look,” I said, pointing into the drawer. “All my underwear. Gone.”
“Jesus.” She picked up the envelope. “This is the note?”
I nodded. “It’s so . . . horrible.”
Ann-Marie held the note close to her face and squinted at it, frowning, as she read it. She read it twice, then dropped it onto the dresser top. Then she turned and wrapped me in a hug. “Lindy, I’m so sorry. So sorry I got you into this.”
“Oh, it’s not your fault,” I said. “I just don’t understand—”
“Lou and I got back here a little after one,” she said, backing away from me and pacing the small room. She glimpsed herself in my dresser mirror. “Ugh.” She spun away, rubbing at the mascara stains on her cheeks.
“And did you hear anything at all?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. But we had music on pretty loud. And we were . . . kinda out of it. You know.”
I swallowed. “I just can’t believe someone I know would do this. He says he’ll kill me. He’ll kill me if I don’t say yes to him.”
Ann-Marie pulled me away from the dresser. “Don’t touch anything, Lin. The police will want to check for fingerprints, right?” She glanced at the window. “Did you leave it open when you went out tonight?”
“No,” I said, sighing. “He must have opened it from outside and climbed in.”
Ann-Marie hugged me again. “Sit down. You look very pale.”
I shook my head. “Jack? Brad? Oh shit, Annie. What if it’s Colin? What if I slept with a killer?”
Ann-Marie pulled me to the edge of the bed and forced me to sit down. Then she handed me the phone. “Go ahead. Call the police. Tell them someone broke in.”
I hesitated, staring at the phone.
What if it’s Colin?
Are you the guy, Colin?
“Should I call them for you?” Ann-Marie asked. “Want me to do it?”
“No,” I said in a whisper. “No no no.”
Because I’d figured it all out.
No need to call the police. It suddenly became clear.
“What’s wrong, Lin?” Ann-Marie asked, leaning over me. “Why don’t you want to call them?”
I had to force out the words. “Because I know who it was.”
She blinked at me and lowered the phone.
“I figured it out,” I whispered. “I know I’m right.”
“Who?” Ann-Marie asked softly. “Tell me.”
“I’m really sorry,
Annie,” I said. “I’m so so sorry. Really. But . . . it was Lou.”
20
Ann-Marie froze. She stared at me open-mouthed. Then she tossed the phone onto the bed and loomed over me. “No way! Are you crazy?”
I climbed off the bed and took a few steps back. “I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”
“You’ve lost it,” she said, balling her hands into tight fists. “Are you stoned, too? How could it be Lou? Why would you even suspect Lou? I was with him all night. Remember? I was with him the whole time.”
My heart raced. My legs were trembling. I didn’t want to have this scene. But I knew I was right.
“Do you remember saying goodnight to him?” I asked.
She tilted her head and stared at me as if she didn’t understand the question. “Say goodnight? Yes, of course. I mean . . . I mean . . . no.”
“You don’t remember,” I said, “because you went to bed. You were already flat out on your bed when I came in.”
“So? What does that mean? Lou and I got a little high. Big fucking deal. And I passed out for a little while. But that doesn’t prove anything, Lin. Just because Lou was alone in the apartment? How the hell does that make him a thief and a killer?”
“You . . . don’t understand,” I stammered. I didn’t want to go ahead with this, but I had no choice. “This is hard for me, Ann-Marie. I . . . I don’t want to do this, but—”
“Then don’t,” she snapped angrily. “You know I’m here to help you, Lin. I’ll do anything I can for you. But if you’re going to try to ruin things between Lou and me—”
“Lou came on to me, Ann-Marie.” The words burst from my mouth. “He practically attacked me. He grabbed my breasts and . . . and said horrible things.”
Her eyes darted rapidly from side to side. “Where? When?”
“He was leaving when I got home. He came out of the apartment and cornered me in the hall. He said horrible things. I thought he was going to—”
“He was just high,” Ann-Marie cried. “He didn’t mean anything. He was loaded.”
“Listen to me, Ann-Marie. Lou was alone in the apartment. He was the only one who—”
“Why are you trying to hurt me?” she cried, her voice breaking. “Lindy, why are you doing this? The first guy I’ve been so crazy about? And you want to accuse him with no evidence at all?”