Crossed Out

by Kim Baccellia

  She changed into some guy that was tied up; his clothes dirty and torn, exposed, angry red welts across his chest. His head was bowed. His hair looked a lot like....

  At that moment, he raised his head. One eye was swollen shut. Purple bruises covered his face.

  “Stephanie … help….”

  Dylan!

  Shocked, I couldn’t turn my eyes away. I felt I was to blame.

  The spirit changed back to Allison.

  “You have to help him!” Tears fell down her face.

  No way. It couldn’t be. Not Dylan.

  I couldn’t deal with hurting two friends. I didn’t know that Hell existed, but if it did, I was there right now.

  “You have to help him,” she sobbed. “Don’t listen to the monster’s lies.”

  Her words scared me. Who’s this monster she was talking about? If it had Dylan, this couldn’t be good. I had to help him, but how?

  “Ally, what monster?” I screamed over the howling wind, which grew even more ominous.

  She turned to me. “You need to break away. Before he....”

  “Before he what?”

  Her mouth opened, but I couldn’t hear. The wind drowned out her reply.

  Her image crackled in and out like bad reception on Grams’ old TV. I couldn’t let her go. Not before she told me who was hurting Dylan.

  “Don’t leave me!” I stretched my hand out to stop her.

  She leaned toward me, our fingers only inches apart.

  Then I woke up.

  With a gasp, I jerked from my bed. My heart raced. Clutching my chest, I tried to catch my breath.

  Something was hurting Dylan. What was I going to do?

  Chapter 25

  I glanced at my clock and checked the time. Four o’clock. Forget that it was still early. I needed to call Dylan. How else would I know if what I’d seen was real or only a bad dream?

  My cell phone lay on my bedside table amidst a clutter of candy wrappers, an open can of Diet Cherry Coke, and some school papers.

  So what if it was early in the morning? I knew he’d be royally pissed off, but too bad.

  I dialed his number.

  After three rings, his answering machine clicked on.

  Hey, not here. Hit me after the beep.

  I hung up and got out of bed. Going to the window, I pulled the curtain aside to see if his beat-up Toyota pick-up was in the drive way. Bright red and blue lights blinded me.

  Oh, my God. What’s going on?

  A squad of police cars was parked in Dylan’s driveway. Dylan’s mom, in a thick terry-cloth robe, was outside talking to two police officers. I could tell she’d been crying. Dylan’s dad had his arm around her.

  I felt my stomach twist into knots. No flippin’ way. My dream couldn’t be true – could it? The images in my nightmare slammed back into me. Dylan hurt, in some darkened basement, pleading for my help.

  The loud humming of one of the police car radios drifted up to me. I caught a few words. “Teen-aged boy missing.”

  As dizziness overcame me, I held onto my window ledge.

  “Mom,” I screamed. “Dylan’s gone!”

  My door flew open. Mom burst into my room, like that Tasmanian devil from an old Bugs Bunny cartoon, kicking aside a couple of my CD’s and clothes scattered on the floor. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “D-y-lan.” His name came out in hiccups. “G-one.”

  “What?”

  I pointed to the window. “Go look.” I staggered, collapsing on my bed. Why had I run off with Mark? If I hadn’t, maybe Dylan would be okay. It was all my fault.

  Confused, my mother walked over and pulled the curtain aside.

  “Sweet Jesus,” she muttered under her breath. She turned back to me, her face an unbecoming white. “Not now,” she muttered.

  “What?” I stared at my mother. A chill went up my neck. “Oh, my God. You know, don’t you?”

  She stared blankly at me. “You’re not ready,” she whispered.

  “Ready?” I frowned. “What are you talking about? What’s that have to do with Dylan?”

  She sighed. “This is all crazy. You weren’t ready. Not now.” She dropped the curtain.

  A sick feeling gurgled in my stomach. I thought I’d throw up. No way this could be happening. Not now.

  “Hey.” Dad stumbled in, dressed in his plaid boxer shorts and an old USC t-shirt. “What the hell is....” He stopped when he saw our expressions.

  Dad went to the window and peeked outside.

  “Holy crap,” he whispered. “What’s going on at the Van Buren’s place?”

  “Dylan’s missing,” Mom said. She then walked over to my bed and sat down next to me. Putting her arms around my shoulders, she said, “We’ll talk later.”

  “Talk later?” Dad looked at both of us. “Is there something I need to know?”

  “No,” I said. “Can we just go over and see what’s going on?” I tried hard not to hyperventilate. Mom knew something. Figures she’d be tight lipped about it right now. Emotions battled inside me. I wanted to know what she knew but on the other hand it scared me.

  “Well, I’m sure Dylan’s mother’s being over-dramatic, like always,” Dad said, dropping the curtain. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

  “No!” I couldn’t believe my father. Didn’t he care? “You don’t understand. Dylan’s gone. He might be hurt. I gotta go.”

  “Go?” Mom’s eyebrows rose. “Honey, there’s nothing you can do! Let the police handle it.”

  I didn’t get her. “How can you say that? Especially since you….”

  My mother put her finger to my mouth. “I didn’t say I didn’t care. I just agree with your father.”

  “Well, I do care, okay?” I pushed my mother’s finger away. “I’m not a child anymore. I’m going. Maybe Mrs. Van Buren knows something.”

  “Stephanie, please.” Mom’s usual immaculate hair was spiked up so she looked like a manic porcupine. A tear on the side of her robe revealed a faded scar from an old skiing accident. “Let the police handle it. Trust me on this, okay?”

  “No,” I said. The thought that she’d known something about Dylan made me sick. Then another thought came. Oh, my God. Did she know about my nightly activities?

  “I don’t believe you,” I said. “All this time you knew, didn’t you?”

  “Okay, what’s going on?” Dad asked. “Apparently more than the Van Buren boy being missing.”

  Mom stared at me. Her eyes softened. “Later, I promise.”

  She then turned back to Dad. “Let’s go over and see what’s going on. Maybe we can help.”

  Dad studied both of us as if we were strangers. “Since both of you are so insistent, let’s all go over,” Dad said. “I don’t want Stephanie getting into trouble.”

  “Dad, this isn’t the ’70s, okay? The police aren’t always the bad guys. No one’s hauling my rear to jail.” I so didn’t need this. “I just want to find out what’s happening.”

  “Still.” Dad crossed his arms over his chest, “I don’t want you over there alone. I’m going with you.”

  “Fine.” I grabbed my hoodie from my chair. “Whatever.”

  “Why are you dressed?” Dad asked. It must have finally dawned on him that I was still dressed from last night. “Are you sure there isn’t something you should be telling us?”

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Mom said, pointing to me. “One thing at a time.”

  Normally I would have wilted under her gaze, but not now. I didn’t care. Only one thing mattered and that was Dylan.

  I ran outside, not waiting for my parents. The misty air made me pull my hoodie closer. The grass shushed under my feet.

  When Mrs. Van Buren saw me she stopped talking to the police officers. Dark circles ringed her eyes. A pair of fuzzy blue slippers peeked from under her terry robe.

  “Stephanie,” she cried. “Thank God! Maybe you know where our son is.”

  “Are you Stephanie Stewart?” Th
e police officer quit writing in his notepad and glanced at me. He wasn’t that old and was really cute. But I pushed that thought aside.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Is this about Dylan?”

  My father came up behind me and touched my shoulder. “Excuse us officers, but my daughter is just concerned about what’s going on. Right, honey?”

  I ignored him. “Well, is it?”

  “Stephanie, do you know where Dylan might have gone?” Mrs. Van Buren asked. “He said something about helping you. What did he mean?”

  “Help me?” I frowned. “I don’t need help.”

  The police office turned a page in his notebook. I noticed the name Perez on his badge. “Can you tell us what you were doing yesterday?”

  “I went to school and then came home. Nothing big. Why?”

  “Please, Stephanie,” Mrs. Van Buren begged. “If you know something, anything, tell the police.”

  “Wait a minute here.” A weird realization hit me. “You don’t think I have something to do with this?”

  “Okay, that’s it,” my father said. “Is my daughter under investigation, officer? Because if she is, you’ll have to speak to our lawyer.”

  Crap. I couldn’t believe Dad. I know he was only trying to make things better, but now the police probably thought I was hiding something. Which I was, but it had nothing to do with Dylan – or did it?

  “No, sir, she isn’t. But it might be a good idea to stay close by, in case we have any questions.” Officer Perez shut his notebook.

  Another officer rushed out of the house. He had a book in his hands. “Do you know anything about this?”

  “Where did you get that?” At the sight of the book, Dylan’s mom went psycho. She lunged at the officer, trying to grab it out of his hands.

  “Carol, please,” her husband cried as he tried to hold her back.

  The book fell to the ground next to me.

  I glanced at it. The name Katherine Van Buren was written on the front.

  Dylan’s grandmother. The one who now was a resident of the loony bin over the hill.

  “Why was Dylan looking through this book?”

  Mom’s face went white.

  My earlier hunch that my mother knew something hit me.

  “Apparently your son was interested in this.” Officer Perez picked up the journal. “Do you know why?”

  “Give me that!” Mrs. Van Buren elbowed her husband and grabbed for the journal. It fell to the ground and opened.

  One page seemed to have been ripped out. I picked up the book and looked.

  His grandmother’s cursive writing was large and easy to read. The combination of police lights and the front porch light didn’t hurt either.

  …hazy lights – look for weak spot

  Whoa, did Grandma Kate read auras, too? I started to put two and two together. Considering how ultra-conservative Dylan’s family was, this might explain the reason she was confined to a mental hospital.

  “You have no right,” Mrs. Van Buren yelled at me. “It’s none of your business!”

  “Come on, honey let’s go.” My dad took the journal out of my hands and gave it to Officer Perez. “Sorry, officers.”

  My mother patted the shoulder of a sobbing Mrs. Van Buren. “Sorry, Carol, about Dylan. Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

  Mrs. Van Buren glared at my mother’s hand as if it were poison. “Get away from me,” she hissed. “It’s your fault. Why my mother got involved, I’ll never know. Now my son’s gone.” She pushed my mother away. “Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

  “Hush, Carol,” her husband said. He looked embarrassed.

  “What the hell is going on?” Dad asked. “Jean?”

  “Nothing,” my mother said. “Carol, I understand you’re upset. But don’t take it out on us.”

  “Fine,” Mrs. Van Buren said, her lip curled up in disdain. “If you won’t tell me where he is, then maybe your daughter can.”

  I froze. Here I was thinking I had this big secret, but the whole neighborhood seemed to have hidden something even bigger than me. I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t as if I could tell Dylan’s mother that I’d had this nightmare where my dead former friend warned me about Dylan. No, that wouldn’t go over too well.

  So I didn’t say anything.

  “Just tell him to come home,” Mrs. Van Buren said, continuing to glare at me. “You know something, Stephanie. I just know it.”

  I shook my head. Why did she think I had something to do with Dylan being gone?

  “Come on, Stephanie.” Dad pulled me back before I could respond. “Let’s go home.”

  I didn’t argue. One thought went through my mind. Dr. Anthony would know what to do. I had to come clean with him if I wanted to help Dylan.

  This meant I’d have to reveal the weird rescue I’d been a part of.

  My hands itched for my phone. I had to call him – now.

  Chapter 26

  Red and blue lights continued to spin in the driveway next door, cutting through the early morning darkness. Each pulse of light seemed to accuse me of ignoring my earlier ominous feelings regarding Dylan.

  I couldn’t wait to get back inside my own house and confront Mom. She promised to tell me what she knew. I pushed back the bile that threatened to come up. I recalled the sorority picture at Hillary’s house, the one without my mother where she should have been. Something creepy was going on. Did I really want to know?

  Not only that, but Dylan’s mom had spooked me. Big time. Watching her go all wacko over the sight of a journal and then to see her verbally attacking Mom freaked me out.

  But what if Mrs. Van Buren was right?

  Then if anything happened to Dylan, it would be Mom’s fault.

  I swear I’d never forgive her. Never.

  I refused to look at Mom. I clenched my hands inside the pockets of my hoodie. What guarantee did I have she’d tell me anything? If she’d been hiding stuff from me before, then how did I know she would tell me the truth now?

  “Poor Carol,” Mom said. “I can’t even imagine what she’s going through.”

  I turned around, staring at my mother in astonishment. The words, tell-her-what-you-know were at the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t get the words out.

  “If you ask me.” Dad glanced over his shoulder to view Dylan’s mom still sobbing, “maybe they locked up the wrong Van Buren.”

  “Dad!” I whispered.

  “Well, it’s true. Don’t tell me you didn’t think the same thing. And why was Carol accusing you of knowing something?” he asked Mom.

  “Nerves, I guess.” Mom shrugged. “I don’t blame her. If something like that happened to one of our children, I’d break down too.” She stared at me, almost begging me not to bring up what she’d said earlier in my room.

  She didn’t have to worry. I couldn’t. Not in front of Dad, who basically considered anything to do with the unknown, crazy. He wouldn’t help.

  “Yes, I guess you’re right.” Dad yawned. “Let’s just all go back to bed and try to get some more sleep. Hopefully this will all be taken care of.”

  I really wanted to believe Dad, but my gut told me otherwise. It didn’t help that from Dylan’s driveway a hard-to-understand message blared from a police radio, reinforcing my ominous dream and my desire to get away and find him.

  Dad wiped his slippers on the welcome mat and opened the door. “I’ve never known Dylan to get into trouble. But who knows? Maybe he spent the night with a friend or something.”

  “Or something,” I said, just wanting to get inside. The faster I could get to my cell phone and call Dr. Anthony, the sooner I could solve this mystery.

  “Yes, your dad is right.” Mom touched my shoulder. “Maybe Dylan just forgot about the time and is at a friend’s house.”

  I stared back at my mother in disbelief.

  Something bad had happened. I wished I could tell my parents how I felt, but this would only cause more problems and leave me with less
time to find Dylan – time that was bleeding away the longer we stayed outside.

  Inside our house, the darkness felt like a tomb, cold and forbidding. Part of me wanted to crawl under my comforter and act like none of this had happened.

  But I couldn’t.

  “I’m really tired.” I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “Night, pumpkin.” Dad kissed the top of my head. “Don’t worry about Dylan. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

  “Right, Dad.” I went up the stairs, trying not to show my impatience.

  “Wait, Stephanie,” My mom said. “Let’s talk.”

  “Jean, let her go back to bed. She has school in a few hours. It can wait.”

  Mom exchanged worried glances with me. My heart raced. Would she just spill it all out now, regardless of what Dad would think or say?

  She tightened her belt around her robe. “You’re right. Later, okay, Stephanie?”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  I opened the door to my room. Finally! Now came the hard part – waiting for my parents to go back to bed and forget about the scene outside. Dad, I didn’t worry about. I swear he’s the only person I knew who could sleep through an earthquake. Mom, on the other hand....

  I battled with the urge to go talk to my mother. Maybe she could help. But on the other hand, I didn’t have any more time to waste.

  With shaky fingers, I dialed his number. “Dr. Anthony?”

  “Stephanie?” His voice sounded groggy. “Why are you calling? It’s four-thirty in the morning!”

  A tinge of guilt went through me for waking him up. Then I thought of Dylan.

  “Dylan’s missing,” I choked back a sob. “Police are outside.” I pulled the curtain aside to double-check – careful not to reveal myself. Yeah, they were still there. I dropped the drape.

  “Calm down, tell me what’s going on.”

  “It all started with this bizarre dream I had with Dylan being tied up somewhere. Oh God.” I lost it and cried. “Something weird is going on. My mother seems to know something too.”