“Congratulations,” Morrison replied sarcastically. “What a whiz kid.”
“You mean you have the money?” Jade asked.
“I have it right here,” Morrison said, patting the pocket of her raincoat. “I also have a plane ticket for someplace warm and far, far away.”
“But—but how did you know I’d find the money upstairs?” Chuck demanded, sounding very confused. “How did you know I was here?”
“Believe me,” Morrison confided, “you were the last person I expected to find. For months I searched this dump. But I couldn’t find the money. Then I heard this afternoon that Stanley was released from prison. I knew he’d come here like a shot to get his money.
“So I drove here to wait for him,” Morrison continued. “My plan was to hide, wait for Stanley to get the money, then take it from him. But I found you here instead!” She pointed at Chuck with the pistol. “You already found the money.” She chuckled. “My lucky day, I guess.”
“You hit Chuck and took the money,” Jade said. “So why’d you come back here?”
“To kill Stanley, of course,” Morrison replied casually. “I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life worrying that he might find me.”
“But why?” Deena started.
“Enough talk,” Morrison snapped. “I have an unpleasant errand to do now.”
She turned, shining her flashlight over the walls and the cluttered floor. “Perfect,” she murmured. She crossed to the other side of the basement and began gathering up some of the old rags scattered across the floor.
“What are you doing?” Deena asked, feeling a chill down her back.
“Getting some kindling together,” Morrison replied casually. “I want a nice, bright fire. And old rags burn so well.”
She placed the rags in a pile on the workbench, then crossed the room for more rags from the trash on the floor.
When she had a tall pile of rags, she picked up Farberson’s gasoline can. Then she raised it and began to sprinkle gasoline over the rags.
“No!” Deena shrieked. “Let us go! We won’t tell anyone! We won’t—”
“You can trust us,” Chuck said with conviction. “We have no reason to tell anyone. You don’t have to set a fire. By the time someone finds us, you’ll be far away.”
For a moment Linda seemed to consider Chuck’s words. Then she went back to pouring gasoline on the rags. “Sorry,” she told them. “I don’t feel like taking chances.”
Deena leaned toward Jade. “Keep her talking,” she whispered. “Maybe we can stall her.”
“Did you know about the money all along?” Jade asked. “I mean, last year, before Farberson killed his wife?”
Linda snickered. “Did I know?” she exclaimed. “The whole thing was my idea. Remember, I was the bookkeeper at Stanley’s restaurant. I got him to steal money from the restaurant and then I got him to kill his wife.” She shook her head. “He was stupid. He did everything I told him.”
I don’t believe this, Deena thought. Linda Morrison was actually responsible for everything that had happened last year.
“I’m sorry, kids,” Morrison said. “But it’s show time.”
“Wait—please!” Deena begged.
“There won’t be much left for the police to find,” Morrison said, ignoring Deena’s plea. “But there should be enough to make it look as if Stanley tied you up and then had an unfortunate accident with the chain saw.”
She reached into her raincoat pocket—and pulled out a lighter.
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Deena watched, frozen in horror, as Linda Morrison fumbled around on Farberson’s worktable, searching for something.
What is she looking for? Deena wondered, unable to stop her body from trembling.
Morrison found what she had been searching for. She picked up a short stub of a candle, about an inch long. She stepped away from the rags and lit the candle. Then she gently set the candle stub down on the table in the center of the gas-soaked rags.
“Please—” Deena begged. “Please don’t do this!”
And then Chuck and Jade were pleading too. All three of them begging desperately, watching the candle’s flickering glow.
Linda Morrison acted as if she didn’t hear their pleas. “When this candle burns down,” she announced, “it will set the gasoline on fire. There’s so much junk in this basement that the whole place ought to go up like a torch.”
“Please! Please don’t!” Deena begged, sobbing.
“You won’t suffer long,” Morrison replied coldly.
She quickly made her way up the stairs and closed the door behind her.
They were alone now. Alone in the dark, except for the lone dancing candle flame.
Deena stared at the flame as if it were the center of the entire world. Its flickering light made the rags piled around it appear to be moving. The smell of gasoline hovered heavily in the air.
“We—we’re going to burn to death!” Jade sobbed.
“Stop it, Jade!” Chuck ordered. “We’re not dead yet. Let’s think!”
“Think? There’s no time to think!” Deena cried. “The candle is only an inch tall. As soon as it burns down, this whole place will burn like crazy!”
“Think,” Chuck repeated. “Think. Think.”
“I—I have an idea,” Jade stammered. Maybe one of us can wiggle over there, stand up somehow, and blow out the candle.”
Deena studied the distance across the basement. With their ankles tied together and their hands bound behind their backs, it could take hours to wriggle to the worktable. By that time . . .
“Too dangerous,” Chuck said sharply. “There’s too much chance of knocking the candle over and setting the rags on fire.”
“Can we wriggle up the stairs?” Deena wondered out loud.
“I—I don’t think so,” Jade replied in a shaky voice. “It’s so far and—”
“Wait!” Chuck cried. “I see something.”
He struggled away from the wall, scooting toward the center of the room.
Squinting hard, Deena saw what he was after—a twisted piece of metal. She felt the excitement of hope as Chuck backed up to the metal. He grabbed it in one hand and awkwardly began sawing it against the rope around his wrists.
“Hurry!” Deena urged. “Hurry! Is it cutting?”
“I can’t tell,” Chuck replied, working hard. “I can’t see what I’m doing.”
“Maybe I can help,” Deena told him. She leaned away from the wall and scooted over to him.
“Let me try it,” she told Chuck. She glanced down at the metal in his hands. It seemed to be a piece from an old door hinge. “It’s not very sharp,” she said.
“But is it sawing the rope?” Chuck demanded.
Deena examined Chuck’s wrists. “No. No way,” she murmured, unable to hide her disappointment. “It isn’t working, Chuck.”
“Hurry! Please hurry,” Jade begged from against the wall.
“It isn’t working,” Deena told her with a sob.
“It’s got to!” Jade cried. “The candle is almost burned down!”
Deena raised her eyes to the worktable.
Jade was right.
The candle had burned down to less than half an inch.
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The candle had burned so low that its light was partly hidden by the rags piled around it. To her horror, Deena suddenly realized that it might ignite the rags even before it completely burned down.
“I give up!” Chuck cried, rolling away from the metal hinge. “We’ve got to find some other way.”
Deena sighed in despair. If Chuck was giving up, then there really was no hope.
“Let’s try crawling out of here,” Chuck suggested. “Maybe we can make it up the stairs in time.”
Deena knew that was a desperate hope. There was no way they could get out of the basement in time.
She turned and saw that Jade was already moving across the floor.
&
nbsp; But to Deena’s surprise, Jade wasn’t moving toward the stairs, she was heading for the burning candle.
“Jade—what are you doing?” Chuck cried in alarm. “The gas fumes could set it off at any minute. Stay away from there!”
“I know what I’m doing,” Jade groaned. She was crawling like a caterpillar, throwing out her feet, then pulling along the upper part of her body.
“Jade, stop!” Deena cried. “It’s too dangerous!”
Jade ignored her and kept squirming. She struggled over to Farberson’s body.
“Jade—what are you doing?” Deena cried.
She watched Jade shudder in horror. Then Jade straightened her legs and began pushing at Farberson’s body, shoving it with both feet.
“He’s too heavy,” Jade grunted. She shifted, and planting her feet against Farberson’s shoulder, pushed again.
Farberson’s body slumped heavily onto its side. The blood-spattered saw came into view.
Jade paused for a moment, took a deep breath. Then she turned her back—and began to rub the rope on her wrists across the sharp teeth of the chain.
“Ohhh.” Deena felt sick.
The saw bounced against Farberson as Jade pulled the ropes across it. Farberson’s head then bumped heavily against the floor.
“It—it’s working!” Jade stammered. “I can feel the rope—Ow!”
“Careful!” Chuck cried, struggling toward her.
“I’m free!” Jade announced. She raised her arms, pulled her hands apart. The rope slid off. She bent quickly to untie her feet.
Then Jade got up unsteadily. “Ow. My legs are asleep.” She bent over Chuck and frantically started to untie his ropes.
Deena glanced up at the candle.
It had burned so far down that all she could see was the top of the flame.
“Jade—forget the ropes. Go blow out the candle!” Deena cried.
Jade lurched toward the workbench.
Not in time.
They all heard the loud whoosh.
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The rags flared like a bright yellow fire-ball. As Deena gaped in horror, the top of the workbench blazed up.
Jade frantically untied Chuck. Then they both darted over to Deena to untie her.
As they worked, Deena stared past them at the workbench. The workbench was smothered in flames now, the fire climbing the wall.
Deena could feel the heat. She knew that at any moment the whole basement could go up.
Could they get to the stairs before the stairs burst into flame?
Chuck tugged the ropes off Deena’s ankles. She struggled to stand up. But her legs had also fallen asleep. She grabbed on to Chuck.
“Hurry!” Jade cried. She ran toward the stairs.
Holding on to Chuck, Deena followed Jade.
A carton flared. The one above it burst into flame.
Deena choked on the thick smoke that blanketed the low room.
Up the stairs now. Her legs still weak and rubbery. Up the dangerous stairs, the fire crackling all around them.
Deena watched as Jade turned the knob. Watched her push against the door. Try the knob again. Push.
Then Jade turned back to them, her face twisted in horror. “The door—it’s locked!” she wailed. “That woman locked us in. We’re going to die!”
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Thick black smoke billowed up the stair-well. Deena’s eyes began to tear. She gasped for breath.
“We’ve got to break down the door. It’s our only chance.” Chuck and Deena stood next to Jade on the landing. “On the count of three, we ram the door with our shoulders,” Chuck instructed. “Ready? One, two, three . . .”
Their bodies hit the door with a single heavy blow.
The old wood made a cracking sound as it split.
Chuck shoved once again, harder. The door fell apart.
Chuck pushed through the opening. Then he helped pull Jade and Deena out.
As they staggered, coughing and choking, into the kitchen, an explosion from the basement rocked the house. A hot blast of air hurtled the three of them across the kitchen floor toward the back door.
Deena gratefully stumbled out into the wind-driven sleet and ice. I’m out, she told herself. We’re all going to be okay.
Lowering her head against the storm, she led the way around the house and down the driveway. At the street they turned back—in time to see the house erupt in flames.
Then, over the crackling of the fire and the steady drumming of the frozen sleet, they heard a distant wail, the wail of sirens—fire engines on the way to end the horror—forever.
• • •
“Another slice, anyone?” Jade opened the pizza box and pushed it to the center of the coffee table.
“Not for me,” Deena groaned. “I’m stuffed.”
“Is there any pepperoni left?” Steve asked.
“Hey, quiet, everyone!” Chuck ordered. “This is the part my film instructor told me about. Watch!”
The four leaned toward the TV, where an old Alfred Hitchcock movie was playing. “See where the plane’s chasing him?” Chuck instructed. “That scene has been copied in dozens of other movies.”
“Some old movies are pretty cool,” Jade said.
“Do they have American movies you can rent in Australia?” Deena asked Steve.
“Of course we do. But they add kangaroos to all the movies!” Steve joked.
“Watch this part, guys,” Chuck continued. He stared intently at the screen, leaning forward on the couch.
Deena sat back and watched the movie. Chuck is totally into this movie course he’s taking at Madison College, she thought.
Deena still couldn’t believe Chuck had decided to settle down for a while in Shadyside. But ever since they had escaped from the Farberson house six months earlier, he had become calmer, less wild.
Maybe the close call really scared him, she thought. Or maybe he just wants to stay close to Jade.
After Linda Morrison’s trial, Farberson’s insurance company had given Deena, Jade, and Chuck a reward. Deena’s parents put her and Chuck’s share in a college fund, which was now paying for Chuck’s courses at Madison.
“Someday I’m going to make a movie about the Farberson murders,” Chuck announced when the tape had ended.
“Are you kidding?” Jade cried. “No one would believe it.”
“The way I’ll make the movie, they’ll believe,” Chuck boasted. “You’ll see.”
“I still don’t know much about what happened,” Steve said. “Deena never wants to talk about it. Is it true the whole thing started with a phone call?”
“That’s right.” Deena sighed. “We were calling people at random. You know. Just as a joke. And Chuck—”
“Here. Let’s try one,” Chuck said. “Let’s make a funny call. For old times’ sake.” He reached for the phone and raised the receiver to his ear.
“No way!” Deena shrieked. Furious, she grabbed the phone from Chuck’s hand.
“Just joking!” Chuck declared. “Just joking, Deena.”
Was he just joking? Deena wondered as she slammed the receiver back down. She stared hard at him.
Was he joking? Hard to tell, Deena decided. But she didn’t like the mischievous grin on his face. She didn’t like it one bit.
* * *
Go back to where it all began!
Get the whole terrifying story—read
THE WRONG NUMBER.
About the Author
“Where do you get your ideas?”
That’s the question that R.L. Stine is asked most often. “I don’t know where my ideas come from,” he says. “But I do know that I have a lot more scary stories in my mind that I can’t wait to write.”
So far, he has written over a hundred mysteries and thrillers for young people, all of them best-sellers.
Bob grew up in Columbus, Ohio. Today he lives in an apartment near Central Park in New York City with his wife, Jane.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First Simon Pulse edition November 2002
Text copyright © 1995 by Parachute Press, Inc.
Originally published as an Archway Paperback in 1993
SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster
Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
ISBN 978-0-671-78607-6 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-1375-6 (eBook)
FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.
R. L. Stine, Wrong Number 2
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