by Marina Cohen
Sam had no idea what the old woman was squawking about, and frankly, he couldn’t have cared less. Being visually impaired was obviously not the woman’s only problem. Senility must be top of the list. Senile and rude.
“One?” he asked casually. “One what?”
“Witch, of course. Stupid boy. What else?”
A witch? More talk of witches? He couldn’t deal with this. No way. Not today. Not on top of everything else.
“That’s great, really,” he said, turning again to leave. “Well, nice talking to you.”
“Yes, you certainly do a lot of talking.”
Sam stopped. Something about that last statement rubbed him the wrong way. He was finished with politeness. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Not much.” She smiled. “Just that you were talking to yourself over there a while ago.”
“Myself?” Sam was incensed. She might be senile, but he certainly wasn’t. “I was not. I was talking to …”
“Look, boy, I might be blind, but I sure ain’t deaf. You were talking to yourself all right.”
Sam narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. There was no point in arguing with a hundred-year-old nutcase who believed in witches.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sam tried all three news channels, but not one mentioned anything about the accident, not even the local station. He skimmed the newspaper, but there wasn’t anything in there, either. Sam was about to head upstairs to check the minute-by-minute news blog when the door flew open. He could hear his parents arguing in hushed voices.
“Will you just leave me alone,” his father said.
“I know the doctor says you’re fine,” his mother said, “but look at you, honey. Something’s eating away at you. Why don’t you tell me what it is?”
“Leave … me … alone!” his father snarled, slamming the front door behind him.
Sam cringed. His father was losing it. He never spoke that way to anyone, least of all his mother. Sam snuck a peek around the corner. His father was worse than ever. He was wearing a wool sweater, a scarf, a toque, and gloves as if it were the middle of winter! His eyes were dark and sunken. His skin was pale and drawn. How could the doctor say he was fine?
“It’s this house,” his mother whispered. “There’s something dark in this house. I don’t know how else to describe it. Ever since we moved in you haven’t been yourself. You’re always freezing. And you’re on edge. Let’s just get out of here, Robert.”
“Move? Are you out of your mind?”
“Why not?” his mother asked. “We got it for a song. We can flip it and make money.”
Leave Sleepy Hollow? Perfect idea, thought Sam. Go back to Toronto. Leave the accident behind. Forget all about last night. About Cody and Ja —
“This house was a dream come true,” his father said. “It’s a mansion, a real mansion, and you want to go back to that little dump in the city?” His tone was dark and menacing.
Sam’s mother moved in closer, practically whispering in his father’s ear. Sam leaned into the hall, trying to make out what she was saying.
“I haven’t told you this before, Robert, but something about this place really gives me the creeps. I don’t know exactly what it is, but it feels … well … like we’re not alone in here.” She eyed the ceiling and the walls, then caught sight of Sam lurking around the corner.
Sam took a step out of the family room as if he had just arrived. His mother smiled weakly. “Oh, hi, Sam.” She fidgeted with her sleeves. “How was your morning? Did Mike’s dad pick him up all right?”
“Yeah.” Sam shifted his gaze between his parents. “I was just heading upstairs to —”
“I’m glad Mike came up this weekend,” his father said. “He’s a good guy. You’ve stopped hanging around with that Barns boy, haven’t you?”
“What? No. I mean, yes. I mean …” Sam’s cheeks got hotter.
“Oh, Robert, let him have his friends. You know how he has trouble making friends.”
Sam’s blood boiled. Here we go again. He moved quickly past them and headed upstairs, letting the new argument fade behind him. When he reached the door to his bedroom, he stopped short. The door was shut, but he could hear movement inside. Tap, tap, tap, as if someone were using his —
“Miranda!” he shouted, throwing the door open. It hit the wall with a whack and bounced back at him. He pushed it again and entered.
His sister was sitting at his desk. When she saw her brother, her eyes flashed with shock and embarrassment. She shut down the laptop with lightning speed. “You scared me half to death, you dummy!”
“Get out of my room, Miranda!” He eyed her suspiciously as she scrambled to her feet. “And why are you using my computer, anyway?”
“Mine froze up on me,” she said quickly, “and Mom and Dad’s has a password, and I needed to do … something …”
As she scurried past him, Sam glowered at her. “Stay out of my room, Moronda, or I swear, I’ll —” He didn’t finish his threat, since she was already halfway down the stairs.
Sam took a deep breath. His parents were getting on his case. His sister was bugging him. He was almost starting to feel normal again.
Sitting at his desk, he restarted his laptop. Still fuming, he began searching several news blogs but couldn’t find a word about any car crash or fatality involving a person fitting Javon’s description.
Wouldn’t it be all over the news? Sam imagined the headline: local boy dies under mysterious circumstances. Mysteries were always big in the news. After all, there was no impact to the vehicle. How would Javon have gotten from inside the car to underneath it? There had to be a write-up about the incident somewhere … unless … maybe Javon’s family was blocking the story. Could they do that? Sam was puzzled.
Just then his cellphone began to vibrate. He’d forgotten all about his phone. The jeans he was wearing the previous night were on top of a pile of clothes on the floor. He lunged for them and dug the cell out of the pocket. He was sure it was Mike, but when he checked the call display, it read “Unknown Caller.”
Sam flipped the phone open. “Yeah …” he said tentatively.
At first there was no answer, just empty space.
“Hello?” he tried again. “Anyone there?”
Then he heard a voice, but it was choppy, as if the call was coming from another cell inside a building, an elevator, or an underground parking lot.
“Cody, is that you?”
Silence.
“Cody?”
The call dropped. The line was dead.
The phone buzzed again. He stared at it, refusing to answer. Finally, the buzzing stopped, but when he picked up the cell, it said he had one text message. He clicked and two words took shape on his screen: “Check blog.”
Check blog? What blog?
Sam dropped the phone onto his desk. He had an idea, and clicked feverishly until Cody’s blog appeared on the screen with its familiar frothy-jowled Doberman. There were no new entries. The last one still read:
Maestro learns how to stunt … detes to follow …
Posted: September 7, 10:30 p.m.
Only now Sam saw that instead of two comments posted, there were five. He clicked on them. The first comment had been from Homegirl, the second from Javon. When Sam read Javon’s name, a shiver crept up his spine. He quickly scanned the next comment. It was another from Homegirl:
So, Maniac, is there one more fool in this world or what?
Posted: September 9, 11:30 p.m.
Cody responded:
Nah, nothing new to report.
Posted: September 9, 11:35 p.m.
Sam clenched his teeth. What a liar! It was as if the guy had no conscience whatsoever. A stone-cold liar. A sociopath capable of anything.
There was one more comment. Sam’s eyes focused on it. He sat still for the longest time, not blinking, not breathing. The message read:
I know what you did last night. I know what happened.
Posted: September 9, 00:00 a.m.
The message was signed “Anonymous.”
Sam’s jaw muscles went limp, and his breath caught somewhere in his chest. Then, suddenly, a frantic urge overcame him. He forced control over his limbs and started clicking furiously, opening his email account and hitting the send/receive button. There were eleven new messages. One by one they appeared in his inbox. He felt the blood drain slowly from his body.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sam leaned his head against the window of the school bus as it sped down the Tenth Line. He couldn’t bear the thought of passing the spot where he and Cody had left Javon, so he was sitting on the opposite side of the bus with his eyes shut. Sam hadn’t slept in two nights. His head throbbed and his mind was soupy. He was nearly drifting asleep when the bus hit a large pothole and bounced him awake. Instinctively, he scanned the street.
It was the exact spot.
Sam shuddered, and his stomach lurched. Bitter bile rose at the back of his throat. He fought hard to swallow it. Then his eyes met Walter’s. The creep was sitting five rows up — alone as usual. He had his head turned practically all the way around and was smiling his freaky smile.
Could it be him? Sam wondered. Did Walter send the cryptic message? Sam knew all too well how Walter could skulk around practically unnoticed. Sometimes he even felt as if Walter was following him — everywhere. Did Walter see me leaving the house Saturday night? Did he follow me and see me getting into the car with Cody and Javon? Did he know about Cody’s blog? Does he know about the accident?
Thoughts whirled inside Sam’s mind as the bus hit the brakes, the door flung open, and Cody got on. Swaggering down the aisle to the back of the bus as if it was just another ordinary day, as though he didn’t have a care in the world, he threw himself into the seat beside Sam. AJ got on behind Cody; only this time she sat at the front of the bus.
“What are you doing?” Sam whispered through clenched teeth. “You’re supposed to stay away from me. And what’s with AJ? Why’s she sitting up there?”
Cody grinned. “Chill, Maestro.”
Sam wanted to knock out the guy’s teeth. How could he act this way when they’d just killed his best friend? Sam was having a hard time breathing, and here was Cody all smug and stupid smiles.
Has the whole world gone insane? Sam wondered. Or is it just me?
“Does AJ know? Did you tell her?”
“No way, man. She doesn’t know a thing. We just had a fight, is all. You know how girls are. Everything’s cool. No one knows anything.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sam said. “Check your blog lately?” He fixed Cody with a withering glare. “Someone knows.”
The grin slid from Cody’s lips. “No way. I thought that was you, man.”
Sam lost it. “Why would I write something like that, you idiot!”
“Whoa!” Cody scanned the other riders. “Keep your voice down. Act normal. Stop attracting attention.”
Act normal? Normal? Nothing will ever be normal again.
“Well, it wasn’t me,” Sam whispered. “So, genius, that means someone else knows. We are so going down for this — and it’s all your fault. We should have stayed. We should have called the cops right then and there … told them it was an accident … told them the truth.”
“Relax. There’s no proof of anything. Nothing to link us to the accident.”
“No, of course not,” Sam said. “Nothing at all, except maybe forensics, you moron!”
“Will you kill the insults, dude. We’re in this together, remember?”
How could Sam forget? For the first time he found himself wishing he’d listened to his father and stayed away from Cody. His dad had said that all Ringwood Barnses were no good — how did he know?
“Listen, what’s done is done,” Cody said. “Just stay cool and we’ll ride this out. They must think it’s an accident, anyway.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“No 5-0, Maestro.” Cody was smiling again. “Cops would’ve called me for sure.”
Cody had a point. But that didn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t the police call Cody, even just to see if he knew anything? Maybe the police were toying with them. Maybe they already knew everything. Maybe they had Cody and him under surveillance. Maybe the police were waiting for the right moment. Maybe they were secretly videoing them and hoping to catch them saying something incriminating …
Stop it! Sam ordered himself. Now you’re sounding totally paranoid.
He took a deep breath as the bus halted in front of the elementary school and Miranda exited. She looked back over her shoulder at Sam and grinned.
Sam started wondering about his sister. Miranda had been in his room using his computer. Possibly tracking his Internet moves? Perhaps sending messages? It was possible that she heard him leave the house on Saturday. Then again, it could be Mike. Maybe Mike hadn’t left the roadside. Maybe he’d been hiding there. Maybe he’d seen something. Heard something … Enough! Sam’s mind screamed. Ridiculous! Mike had been home. In his room. He didn’t know anything. He couldn’t know. Sam scrunched his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to clear his head, but visions of legs sticking out from under cars, bikes rolling down hills, cars colliding, and bloody, headless bodies swam in the endless black waters of his conscience.
“Did you get rid of those pictures and the video clip I sent you?” Sam asked Cody, suddenly remembering the photos he’d taken that night.
“Video?” Cody narrowed his eyes. “No, man. No video. You sent me two pictures. That’s it. One of the top of my head and one of a pair of feet. You’re a crappy photographer, man.”
Sam sat bolt upright and searched his memory. Two pictures and a video. He’d sent all three to Cody. He was absolutely certain. And the video had all the incriminating evidence. “I sent you two pictures and a video.”
“No way. Uh-uh.” Cody shook his head. “I only got the pictures.”
“I sent you a video!” Sam insisted. “I remember exactly. I took two pictures and one video. Each time I hit the options key, scrolled down, and … and sent them off.”
“So tell me then, Maestro, if I got the two pictures, who got the video?”
The bus pulled up to the school. A squad car was parked in front of the principal’s office.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cate Wolfe arched her thin eyebrows. “Poor Ichabod.” She walked to the front of her desk, sat on the edge, and crossed her long legs.
Sam sank low in his chair. His homework! He hadn’t finished it. He hadn’t read the end of the story, hadn’t done the one-page summary. Ms. Wolfe might be young and pretty, but she was a drill sergeant. Sam knew he was going to catch it, but somehow, given all that was happening, it was the least of his worries.
“When last we left Ichabod Crane, visions of the plump and pretty Katrina Van Tassel danced in his brain. He was invited to a party at the Van Tassel home. So what went wrong?”
An enthusiastic hand shot up in the front row. “Well, on his way home from the party, Ichabod let his fears get the better of him,” said a perky voice that belonged to the hand. “And Brom Bones, who wanted Katrina all to himself, scared Ichabod off by pretending to be the Headless Horseman.”
“Okay.” Ms. Wolfe smiled as if she knew something the class didn’t. “That’s one take on the story. Let’s look at this passage.” She read:
On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was headless!
“Now,” continued the teacher, “who thinks good ol’ Ichabod got punked by Brom Bones?”
Laughter erupted, and several hands waved.
“And who thinks he was murdered by the Headless Horseman?”
Headless … headless … headless …
The word reverberated in Sam’s mind. The room dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again. Every breath he took was a struggle.
It was as if he were drowning and no matter how hard he inhaled there wasn’t enough air to fill his lungs. He rubbed his eyes. They felt scratchy and sore. Visions of the bloody stump atop the body in the front seat of the car twisted in his brain. There had been something eerily familiar about the woman and that body. What was it?
Sam ran a hand through his hair and yawned. Ms. Wolfe was talking, but he wasn’t listening. All he could think about was Javon and that strange vision he’d had. Riding the bike, the accident, the blood — all that blood. It had been a hallucination he told himself, and yet, why had everything seemed so real, so incredibly familiar?
“Take out your assignment,” Ms. Wolfe said, returning to her desk. “Bring it to me when I call your name.”
Sam glanced at Cody. There was nothing on his desk. Figures, he thought. Cody’s a loser. Just like Dad said. How did he know?
“Detention,” Ms. Wolfe said when Cody showed up at her desk empty-handed. “Detention,” she repeated when Sam arrived likewise. “And be prepared to stay until your summary is complete. I’ve got all the time in the world …”
Sam called his house, but when his father answered, he pressed end. His dad would be furious with him for getting a detention. He’d call back once he’d figured out something else to tell him.
The rest of the day swirled by like a dream. Sam walked from class to class like a robot, though he did manage to keep a sleepy eye out for the police.
At lunch he sat alone. Cody and AJ were in a heated discussion at another table. He didn’t care. Sam was too tired and too dazed to care about anyone or anything anymore. He took a sip of his pop and stared blankly at his uneaten fries.
Something was wrong. Why wasn’t there any sort of memorial for Javon? Why was no one talking about his death? Something like this usually brought an entire community, let alone a high school, to a complete standstill. And yet here at Ringwood Secondary it was business as usual.