by Sam Fisher
Morton felt a horrible sick feeling creeping over him again. The thought of James being possessed by something evil was more than he could bear.
“We’ll talk to him after school tomorrow,” Melissa went on. “When we’re all together.”
Morton nodded in agreement and then followed Melissa through the labyrinths of the closet back to her room. As he did so he had an overwhelming urge to hold on tight to Melissa’s hand, but decided this was not the time to indulge in fear. If he was going to get through this, he was going to have to be strong — stronger than he’d ever been in his life.
Both Morton and Melissa watched James very closely at breakfast the next morning. To Morton’s surprise he seemed unusually perky. He breezed into the room holding a brand-new basketball, his eyes gleaming brightly.
Dad looked up at him. “Glad to see you’re fully recovered,” he said. “Fancy some breakfast?”
“I have basketball practice, so I gotta go,” James said.
“Basketball practice?” Dad said, voicing Morton’s own surprise. “Since when were you on the team?”
“Just joined,” James said, grabbing his schoolbag.
Morton knew this had to be a lie. James couldn’t even catch a ball, let alone get on the basketball team.
“Aren’t you going to eat something before you go?” Dad called.
“Can’t eat before practice,” James called back.
“Wait just a minute!” Dad said, stopping James at the screen door.
Something in Dad’s voice made Morton and Melissa look up in alarm.
“Come here,” Dad said.
James hesitantly went and stood beside Dad, who pulled him up against his chest and put the palm of his hand on his head. James came right up to Dad’s chin.
“Last time I looked you were right down here,” he said, pointing to his lower chest. “I think you grew in the night.”
Melissa dropped her fork loudly onto her plate and Morton almost choked on his cereal.
James looked down at his legs. “I’m sure you just shrank, Dad,” he said, and ran for the door, this time making a successful exit.
Morton looked over to Melissa, but Melissa avoided his gaze. She jumped to her feet and left the room.
Half an hour later Morton trudged off to school feeling utterly alone. He began to wish he had a friend he could confide in and started to feel very guilty about the fact that he’d been lying to Robbie almost since they met. It would be so easy if he could tell him the truth — confess that this whole confusing mess with the missing cats was his fault. But then, if Robbie really was a thief, that might not be such a good idea. Either way Morton wanted to talk to him and made up his mind to seek him out as soon as he got to school.
But Robbie arrived late. He slumped into class, a full twenty minutes after the bell, looking sleep deprived and ruffled. Mrs. Houston, the geography teacher, sighed heavily and stopped talking until he was seated, clearly annoyed by the interruption.
Morton tried to catch Robbie’s eye, but Robbie just stared zombie-like at his desk for the rest of the period.
After class Morton waited for him in the hallway.
“Hey, Robbie,” he called as soon as he appeared.
Robbie glanced up at him but kept walking. Morton persisted and followed him.
“That Sharpe woman sure dragged me over the coals on Friday,” Morton said.
“Yeah, well, now you’ll know better than to hang out with me, won’t you,” Robbie said coldly.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant …” Morton faltered. What did he mean? “I just wondered if they said anything to you.”
Robbie stopped at his locker and threw the metal door open angrily.
“No, they didn’t say anything.”
“Oh, good, because —”
But Robbie hadn’t finished talking.
“They searched the whole house though. Came knocking on the door late at night and insisted on poking their noses into everything. Mom was really upset.”
A ball of guilt tugged heavily in Morton’s stomach. “I … I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t realize the police would actually search your house.”
“Yeah, well, they did,” Robbie said bitterly.
Robbie pulled his sneakers and his gym bag from his locker and slammed the door as angrily as he’d opened it, and stormed off. Feeling suddenly desperate, Morton called out, “I know you don’t have anything to do with the missing cats.”
Robbie kept walking, so Morton ran up and stood in front of him, blocking his way.
“I know it wasn’t you because I know who did it.”
This time he had Robbie’s attention. Robbie stared right into Morton’s eyes as if trying to read his thoughts.
“If you know, then why didn’t you tell Inspector Sharpe?” Robbie said, suspiciously.
Morton puffed his cheeks. He didn’t quite know how to answer that question. “Look, it’s complicated, and I want to explain it to you, but not here.”
“Let me get this straight,” Robbie said. “You know who took the cats, but you let me take the blame?”
“No, it’s not like that at all,” Morton said, flustered. But now that he thought about it, that was exactly how it was. He did know who had taken the cats, and yet he’d said nothing.
“If you’ll give me a chance to explain,” Morton said.
Robbie pressed his lips together and shook his head. “No. Don’t tell me,” he said bitterly. “I’ve got enough of my own trouble already. I don’t need any of yours.”
Robbie pushed past Morton and walked away without looking back. Morton was about to call after him one more time when Mr. Darcy, the gym teacher, strode by along the hall.
“Come on, Morton,” he said brusquely. “Everyone else is just about ready to start, and you’re not even changed yet.”
“Yes, sir,” Morton said, and raced back to his locker to retrieve his gym clothes.
When he got into the changing room everyone was yelling noisily as usual, opening and slamming lockers, throwing socks, and generally being rowdy. He was just beginning to change when a familiar, aggressive voice rose above the din.
“Hey, jailbird! My sister’s cat is still missing. Ready to fess up?” It was Brad. Morton turned to see that he’d cornered Robbie on his way out to the field.
Robbie attempted to ignore Brad and walk past him, but Brad shoved him back against the hard tiled wall.
“Why would I want your sister’s stupid cat?” Robbie said defiantly.
The noise in the changing room died down as everyone turned to watch. Morton felt the guilty lump in his stomach swelling until it was almost painful.
“That’s the question I’ve been asking all along. Why do you want all those cats? I heard you were eating them.”
Robbie attempted to push past Brad again, but Brad blocked his way for the second time.
“I mean, I knew you were poor, but I had no idea you were that desperate.”
“Leave him alone, you tone-deaf jerk!”
Morton had said the words even before he realized he was going to speak. A peal of laughter ran through the changing room. Brad was momentarily shocked, but he quickly regained his composure and a malevolent grin spread over his face.
“I always knew you two were in it together,” he said, and then without warning he shot forward and snatched Morton’s bag right from his hands. “Let’s see if you’ve got any cats in here, shall we?” He was about to spill the contents of the bag all over the floor when Mr. Darcy loomed behind him.
“I hope you weren’t about to do something that would put you in detention, Evans,” Mr. Darcy said with a hint of glee in his voice.
Brad froze in midaction and gritted his teeth angrily.
“Somebody stole my sister’s cat,” he grunted.
“Really?” Mr. Darcy said. “And you think Morton is hiding it in his bag?”
“No,” Brad said.
“No, what?”
; “No, sir.”
Mr. Darcy smiled thinly and pulled the bag from Brad and gave it back to Morton. “Come on,” he said clapping his hands sharply. “Everybody, stop staring. If you’re not out on the field in two minutes, you’ll get a hundred laps.”
For the rest of the day Morton hoped to get another chance to talk to Robbie, but Robbie seemed more determined than ever to avoid him. He kept his distance during gym and at one point, between English and math, he even turned and walked in the opposite direction when Morton tried to approach him.
Morton made up his mind that this situation couldn’t go on. For better or worse he was going to corner Robbie after last period, which was history with Mr. Brown. Unfortunately when the end of the day finally came, and Morton was about to leave class, Mr. Brown caught his eye and beckoned him over with a clear gesture. “Morton, a quick word,” he said.
Morton cursed under his breath, knowing full well that Robbie would waste no time hanging around and that this “quick word” was going to prevent him from sorting out the mess.
He gathered his books and sauntered over to Mr. Brown’s desk.
“I wanted to apologize again for being so indelicate about Robbie,” Mr. Brown said. “I know you’ve become friends and the truth is, he’s probably not a bad kid. He just made a mistake, you know. Anyone can make mistakes.”
Mr. Brown stared at Morton as if awaiting some kind of response. When he didn’t get one, he continued: “Surely you’ve made mistakes before, Morton?”
“Yes, sir. I have.”
“Of course you have. We all have. The important thing is that you don’t feel alone. I mean, we’re here to help you. If you’ve made a mistake, it can be undone.”
Morton still didn’t know how to respond. Just what was Mr. Brown driving at?
“Sir, if it’s about the cats, I honestly didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Mr. Brown laughed heartily. “No, no. Of course it’s not that. I’m just speaking in general terms. It’s important that you know if you, or your friend Robbie, are in trouble you can come to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Mr. Brown smiled at Morton and patted him on the head. “Chin up!”
“Thank you, sir,” Morton said, and left the room wondering just what Mr. Brown was talking about.
When he arrived on Hemlock Hill about twenty minutes later he was completely surprised to see Robbie sitting on the low wall that ran in front of his house. He was staring resolutely at a crack in the sidewalk and didn’t seem to notice Morton approaching.
“Robbie?” Morton said, trying to sound casual but feeling certain he was about to receive another barrage of abuse.
Robbie looked up. His brow was furrowed and his eyelids were heavy, making him look equal parts tired, angry, and confused.
“You’re mixed up in something bad, aren’t you?” he said without making eye contact.
The frankness of Robbie’s statement took Morton by surprise. “Yes,” he said flatly, “I am.” It felt good to tell the truth for once.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Robbie said, staring again at the crack in the sidewalk.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Morton said honestly. “And even then I doubt you’d believe me.”
“Try me,” Robbie said.
Morton let out a big sigh and dropped his heavy book bag to the sidewalk. It would feel good to come clean, to tell Robbie everything. But could he trust him?
“Mr. Brown told me about the money you stole,” Morton stated.
Robbie sniffed. “That figures. Brown loves telling people about me. Likes to gloat about how he got me to confess.”
“He’s not like that,” Morton said. “He just thought I should know since we’re hanging out. And I think he’s right, don’t you? I think I have a right to know the truth.”
“Yeah, well, Brown doesn’t know the truth. He wouldn’t know it if it kicked him in the butt.”
“It’s true you stole the money, isn’t it?” Morton said.
Robbie raised his voice. “I told you before, I never stole anything, ever!”
“But you just said you confessed.”
“I did,” he said in his gravelly voice. “But I didn’t steal anything.”
Morton was confused. “You confessed to stealing and then got sent to correctional school, but you didn’t steal anything?”
“It’s complicated,” Robbie said.
Morton started to feel irate. Did Robbie honestly expect him to believe that he would confess to a crime he hadn’t committed?
“Look,” Morton said. “No offense, but the last thing I need right now is a game of riddles, so either you —”
“My dad’s not dead,” Robbie cut in. “I misled you about that, but everything else I told you is true.”
Morton’s jaw froze in an open position.
“I always used to lie about Dad,” Robbie went on. “I used to say he was an explorer who got lost in the jungle, or that he died at sea rescuing a sinking ship, or he was a secret agent and got kidnapped, because I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone knowing the truth.”
Morton stared at Robbie incredulously, unable to think of anything to say.
“The truth,” Robbie went on, “is that my dad is a drunk and a crook.”
“Oh,” Morton began, but he still didn’t know how to react. Wasn’t it better to have a living dad, no matter how disappointing he might be, than to have a dead dad?
“I know what you’re thinking,” Robbie said. “You’re thinking any dad is better than no dad, but you’re wrong. You think that because your dad is a great guy. You can’t even imagine what it’s like to live with a drunken dad.”
“I suppose not,” Morton admitted. “But what does this have to do with you confessing to stealing the library money?”
“Mom threw my dad out of the house when I was a baby because he was good for nothing, and for as long as I can remember it’s just been the two of us. But then, one day, just over a year ago, I came home from school and there was this sweaty man stinking of beer and cigarettes sitting in the middle of our living room watching our TV. ‘Hello, son,’ he says, ‘I’m your pop.’ You can imagine how shocked I was.”
Morton nodded. In truth it sounded so completely bizarre that he couldn’t really imagine it at all.
“Things went from bad to worse pretty quick. He started stealing Mom’s money, and he’d just eat and drink and shout, and this time he had no intention of leaving. The house was always a mess. The place was packed to the ceiling with beer cans. One day the school was raising funds for the library, so I took all of his empty beer cans to the recycling depot and got almost a hundred bucks for them and donated it to the fund. Mom had been asking him to clean up for weeks, but he never did anything around the house. Anyway, he got really angry when he found out what I’d done and said it was his money. He got so mad about it that he broke into the library on curriculum night and took the money. All of it! He was so drunk when he got home that night that he bragged to me about what he’d done.”
“Wait a minute,” Morton said, “you’re telling me your dad took the money and you confessed?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“I’m a minor,” Robbie said. “If I confess to the crime, then I don’t get a criminal record. Dad was already a convicted crook. He would have gotten two years in prison.”
“Exactly!” Morton said. “You would have been rid of him for two years. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s not long enough, that’s what’s wrong!” Robbie exclaimed. “I wanted him gone forever, so I made a deal. I said I’d take the blame for stealing the money if he left home and never came back. I figured he was too much of a coward to take the blame, and I was right. He left. My plan worked.”
Morton didn’t know what to say. He was at once utterly impressed by Robbie and deeply saddened that anyone should ever have to make such a terrible sacrifice.
“I ca
n’t believe your dad would let you do that,” Morton said.
Robbie shrugged dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. Nobody’s life is perfect. I mean, everyone has their problems, right?”
Morton nodded in agreement. Now that he thought about it, they both had their share of problems, but to Morton’s surprise he found himself thinking suddenly that his problems were not nearly as bad as Robbie’s.
“So, you think you can trust me enough to tell me about the cats?” Robbie asked.
Morton nodded. “I think you better come in. It will be easier if I show you.”
As they walked up the driveway Morton spotted Dad sitting alone on the porch swing wearing his pajamas and drinking a cup of tea. In their old house Dad started his days like this whenever the weather was warm, except he didn’t used to do it alone. Morton felt a sudden chill, as if the sun had gone down prematurely.
“Hey, Dad,” Morton said, clearing his throat. “This is my friend Robbie.”
Dad looked up, startled, and a moment of confusion swept over his face, as if he’d forgotten where he was. “Oh, goodness yes, Robbie,” he said at last, his usual smile returning. “So glad to meet you. Morton tells me your mother cooks a delicious plum pie.”
Robbie shrugged. “I guess.”
“Well, thank her from me for the housewarming gift. Even though I didn’t get to eat any of it, my children haven’t stopped talking about it for days, so I can quite honestly say it brought some real warmth into our new home.”
“Oh, uh, thanks,” Robbie said, squirming uncomfortably.
“I was just going to show Robbie the new lawn,” Morton said, and he dragged him away quickly.
“Why is your dad still in his pajamas?” Robbie whispered as they continued down the path.
“He works nights, remember, at the observatory. Our evening is his morning.”
“Oh, right,” Robbie said. “I forgot about that.”
A moment later the two of them stood facing the backyard. It was now completely transformed. The lawn was raked and mowed, although still not quite up to Dad’s standards. The flower beds were weeded and ready for the spring bulbs to appear next season, and at the very bottom of the yard the old well had been cleared of growth.