by Vicki Grant
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment,” he said.
He took me back into the stockroom.
Chapter Sixteen
Devin pulled up a box for me to sit on. He lit the candle and sat down opposite me, blocking the way into the store.
I thought of the bathroom window. I’d have to climb onto the back of the toilet, then wiggle out. I’d never be able to do it in time.
“You look beautiful,” he said. He didn’t seem to notice that I was crying.
“Champagne, dahling?” he asked. I didn’t answer. He pulled a bottle out from somewhere and poured us each a wineglass full.
“To our undying love!” He raised his glass. “C’mon, Frances.” He made me lift my glass. “To us!”
He threw his champagne back in one big gulp. I took a sip. It stung, and I knew he’d split my lip when he hit me.
He said, “I have to apologize to you.” For a second I thought there was a chance. I thought he might let me go.
But he just said, “I don’t have much money since I turned down that record deal. A number of publishers are interested in my photographs, but until I decide which one I want to sign with, I’m going to be a little short of cash. I hope you’ll understand.”
He put his hand on mine. I didn’t pull it away. I just tightened up inside.
“You deserve more than this,” he said. “Some day I’ll make sure you have it. Until then, will you accept this as a token of my love?”
He put a gift on the table. I just stared at it.
“Open it,” he said.
I didn’t move.
“Open it!” he screamed. Before I could do anything, he grabbed it and tore the paper off. He was like a crazy man.
“Look, I am trying, Frances! What more can I do? Is this not good enough? Is that the problem?”
He slammed a full set of charcoal pencils on the table. The plates jumped and rattled.
“I know it’s not a diamond ring! I apologized for that! But I thought you’d like it anyway!” He glared at me.
“I do like it!” I said. I was whimpering. I had my head down. I couldn’t look at him. “I do. The pencils are beautiful…They’re the best…They must have cost a lot. Thank you very much. ”
“I hope you’ll draw something for me with them,” he said. When I looked up, he was smiling. “Now how about some food?”
I nodded. He began to carve the chicken. I realized he could kill me with that knife.
Or I could kill him.
“More champagne?” I said.
Chapter Seventeen
“Of course!”
I filled his glass. He took a big swig and began to carve again. I watched him as he sliced into the breast, cut off a leg.
“White or dark?” he said.
“You help yourself.” I smiled. “I’ll get my own.”
“No, no, no,” he said. “You’re my guest. White or dark?”
He filled my plate, then served himself. I suggested another toast.
“To your big publishing deal!” I said.
He smiled and tossed back his glass of champagne. I went to refill it. I wanted him drunk and sloppy.
He stopped me.
“No more for me, thanks. I don’t want to miss a moment of our night together.” He kissed my hand. “I have big plans for us.”
He gave me a slow smile. My skin crawled. I sucked in my breath.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “We’ll take it easy.”
No, I thought, no. I’m not going to let that happen.
I lurched across the table. I tried to grab the carving knife, but he was faster. He got it first.
“Now, Frances,” he said.
That’s what I was thinking too, only to me it sounded like “Now, Frances!” Go for it!
I grabbed the chicken carcass and flung it at his head. He ducked. I missed. But it gave me a couple of extra seconds to get away. I jumped over the table.
Or tried to anyway.
I really am a spaz. My back leg hit the box on the way past and everything went flying. Glasses smashed. The candle went out. Devin swore. He lunged at me.
He caught the back of my sweater. He slipped on the chicken grease and pulled us both down. I kicked him in the head. I got away.
I ran blindly into the store, sliding in my greasy shoes, knocking cans onto the floor, ramming into shelves. I fumbled for the phone. I picked up the receiver. I could feel Devin right behind me.
I dialed nine, one…
His hand slammed the phone down.
“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” he said.
He brought the carving knife up to my throat.
Chapter Eighteen
He had my hair in one hand and the knife in the other. He was pulling me back to the stockroom. He was saying something to me, but I wasn’t listening.
I was praying. Not to God. I don’t know who that is. I was just praying. “Please help me. Please. Please. Please.” Over and over and over again. I was hoping somehow that Dad or Leo or Kyla or someone would pick up my radio waves and come get me. With the knife to my throat, it was all I could do. Hope.
I wanted to believe it would work, but I’m not that stupid. No one was coming for me. Mr. Abdul was at the hospital. Dad was asleep in front of the TV. Leo was…I didn’t know where Leo was. I just knew he wasn’t coming for me.
Once I realized that, the weirdest thing happened. I felt almost calm. Not calm in a happy way, of course. But calm, like the way you feel when you realize there’s nothing more you can do. I think the word for it is “resigned.”
I knew it was all over.
I thought about Devin. I realized I should have figured him out earlier. That story about Tom Orser? If I’d done the math, I’d have known he didn’t have time to have all those kids. The recording deal? I just had to look at Devin’s clothes to realize he didn’t have any money. Us choosing exactly the same book? Yeah, right. He’d been in the library, spying on me. I bet he saw what book I was reading and then went looking for the file number.
I felt sad that I hadn’t been smarter.
It seemed like such a waste, to die at seventeen.
I felt sad for my mother. We’d gone through some rough patches, but we were still really close. I knew she was excited about me going to art college. I was getting to do something she’d always wanted to do. Now neither of us would go.
I felt sad for my father. He’d blame himself. He didn’t like me working alone at a convenience store out on the highway. He’d tried to stop me, but I’d won. We both knew he didn’t make enough money to pay for my college education. Somebody had to.
I felt sad for my brother, too. I should have been nicer to him. He wasn’t that bad. All fourteen-year-old boys are irritating. He couldn’t help it. Now I was going to die and really screw up his life. With me dead, there was no way my parents would let him do anything. They’d watch him like a hawk. They’d worry about him all the time.
I even felt kind of sad for Kyla. She was going to be all alone. No one else in Lockeport really got what was so great about her.
Devin pushed me down on one of the cardboard boxes. My back was against the wall. He stuck the tip of the knife under my chin. I had to lift my head so it wouldn’t cut me.
He was still talking, but now tears were rolling down his face.
“I wanted this to work out so badly,” he said. “We have the type of love that only comes along once in a lifetime, but you threw it away! Like it was a wad of Kleenex you blew your nose into. Like it was something stuck to the bottom of your shoe! And why? I asked myself that over and over. You used to feel the love between us. I saw it in your eyes, right from our first night together. Then Leo went and poisoned your mind against me.”
He turned the knife. I felt a little pinch and then something trickling down my neck. He gently wiped the blood away with his index finger and shook his head.
“I thought I could help you. I thought if I just gav
e it time. But you’re too far gone. I can see that. I don’t have any choice.”
He twisted up his face to stop crying. A groan came out of him as if he was pushing something really heavy. Or like he was in pain.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Believe it or not, right then I did feel sorry for him. No one loved him. That was the only thing I knew for sure about his life.
“Sorry’s not enough, Frances. I need more. I need to have you.”
“You can’t have me,” I said. I wasn’t screaming or mad or anything. I was just telling him the truth.
He nodded.
“Then I have to kill you,” he said.
Chapter Nineteen
It was that word. “Kill.” It did something to me. It was so much worse than “die.”
“I have to kill you,” he said again. “Then I’ll have to kill myself. I can’t live without you.”
He shrugged.
“At least that way we’ll be together for all time.”
He smiled at me, like a guy just trying to make the best of a bad situation.
“Do you mind if I have another drink first?” he asked.
I shook my head, but not too much. The knife was still there. I realized I didn’t want it cutting me.
“Before I die,” I said, “there’s something I’d like to do.”
“What’s that?” he said. He was struggling to pour the champagne with one hand.
“I’d like to draw your picture.”
I could tell he was surprised. He stopped pouring and looked at me.
I took as deep a breath as I could without moving the knife.
“You’re very handsome,” I said. “And…and you’ve done so much in your short life. Music…Photography …”
He chewed on his lip and studied me. It’s like he wanted to see right into me. I tried to make my eyes smile.
“I know things haven’t gone well between the two of us. And…and maybe it has to end this way. But that doesn’t mean you should just be forgotten. There should be something to remember you by. Like a portrait,” I said. “I know you better than anybody else. I think I could capture what’s special about you.”
He pulled the knife away, but he was still hesitating.
“There are a lot of murder-suicides these days,” I said. “We’d probably just be another. But if there were a hand-drawn portrait of the killer…by the victim…that would be different. The newspapers might really pick up on it.”
He tilted his head.
“Maybe the TV stations too. With your music background, it could even interest Entertainment Tonight.”
There was nothing else I could say. I waited.
“You’re right,” he said. “That might get some interest.”
He looked around.
“Do you have any paper?”
“Yeah, I’ve got lots,” I said. I didn’t want to give him a chance to change his mind. I just tore a big jagged sheet of brown paper off a packing crate. I could tell he didn’t like the look of it much.
“I love the rugged quality of this paper, don’t you?” I said and rubbed my hand along it, like it was just the thing I was looking for.
“Ah. Yeah,” he said. “It’s great. So how do you want me to sit?”
He turned his head to the side. He stared off into the distance. He’d obviously seen lots of paintings of famous people.
“Is this okay?”
“That’s perfect,” I said. “Now don’t move.”
I opened my new box of charcoal pencils. I chose a 2B because it had the sharpest point. I looked at Devin. His features were actually pretty nice. A straight nose. Good cheekbones. Almond-shaped eyes. He could have been handsome if someone different had been behind that face.
I sketched an oval, roughed in a nose and eyes. I held the pencil upright in front of his face.
He flinched.
“Sorry. I’m just making sure I get the proportions right,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he said. He always had to act like he knew.
I drew the mouth, adjusted the nose. I looked at the drawing. Even at that early stage, I could see Devin in it. It’s amazing what you can do when you concentrate.
I raised the pencil again. He thought I was just checking proportions. He didn’t flinch.
Not until I rammed the pencil right up his left nostril.
He fell to the floor, screaming, blood spurting everywhere.
I ran past him, through the store, out the front door.
It was just before midnight.
And Leo was pulling into the parking lot.
Epilogue
Devin Orser’s real name is Dwayne Parker. He doesn’t play an instrument. He knows nothing about art. Or architecture. Or biology.
His father wasn’t Tom Orser, but Donnie Parker did leave the family when Devin was eight. His mother thinks that’s what happened to him.
Kyla was right. Devin is crazy, but he isn’t stupid. She knew he was trouble. That’s why she sent Leo for me as soon as she saw the baby blue Fiesta parked behind the Highway Buyway.
Devin goes to court next Thursday for stalking, kidnapping and attempted murder. Of course he says it’s all just a big misunderstanding. A lover’s quarrel. Devin knows in his heart that we’ll be together again soon.
That’s why I wake up screaming every night.
I still want to go away to art college. And I will. I won’t let Devin take that away from me.
But I have to admit, I’m scared. Maybe I should just stay in Lockeport for a while with Mom and Dad.
And Leo.
We’ll see.
OTHER TITLES IN THE ORCA SOUNDINGS SERIES
Blue Moon by Marilyn Halvorson
Bull Rider by Marilyn Halvorson
Charmed by Carrie Mac
Death Wind by William Bell
Fastback Beach by Shirlee Smith Matheson
Grind by Eric Walters
The Hemingway Tradition by Kristin Butcher
Hit Squad by James Heneghan
Juice by Eric Walters
Kicked Out by Beth Goobie
My Time as Caz Hazard by Tanya Lloyd Kyi
No More Pranks by Monique Polak
No Problem by Dayle Campbell Gaetz
One More Step by Sheree Fitch
Overdrive by Eric Walters
Refuge Cove by Lesley Choyce
Something Girl by Beth Goobie
Sticks and Stones by Beth Goobie
Thunderbowl by Lesley Choyce
Tough Trails by Irene Morck
The Trouble With Liberty by Kristin Butcher
Truth by Tanya Lloyd Kyi
Who Owns Kelly Paddik? by Beth Goobie
Zee’s Way by Kristin Butcher