First Date

  “We’ll need to talk to you later,” Forrest said, then disappeared again.

  Chelsea exhaled loudly, slumping back against the wall.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps scraping across the kitchen floor. “Who’s there?” she cried, startled.

  Ernie poked his head in from the kitchen window. “What’s going on out there?” he asked. “Ready to close up?”

  “Ernie—where were you?” Chelsea demanded.

  He pointed toward the back door.

  “Yeah. Let’s get out of here,” Chelsea said, sighing.

  It didn’t take long to close up. Ernie left, taking a bag of leftover fried chicken with him.

  Chelsea watched him leave, then started to click off the lights. Her heart was still pounding, she realized. She felt trembly all over. Her fear lingered, even though Sparks had been captured.

  “Oh!”

  She cried out in surprise when she saw the dark figure standing in the doorway, outlined by the streetlight outside. In her fear it took her a few seconds to recognize him.

  “Will!”

  He gave her a shy smile and made his way toward her. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Oh, Will—I’m so glad to see you!” Chelsea cried.

  Without hesitating, she ran around the counter and into his arms.

  The startled expression on his face quickly faded, and he hugged her back, holding her tightly. “I’m glad to see you too,” he said.

  Tonight is the night, he told himself, inhaling the aroma of stale grease in her hair and feeling a little queasy.

  He closed his eyes as he hugged her.

  Tonight is the night, he thought.

  Tonight is the night Chelsea dies.

  chapter 18

  As Will, sitting close to Chelsea on her couch, listened to her story, it was all he could do to keep from laughing.

  He wanted to stand on the couch, raise his arms high in the air, and whoop for joy.

  The stupid girl had turned the wrong guy over to the FBI. And now here she was, babbling on a mile a minute, telling him how frightened she was, how scary that poor clown had looked coming after her, how glad she was to see Will.

  What a laugh, he thought.

  She doesn’t know what fear is—yet.

  The house was empty except for them. Her mother was working all night, Chelsea had told him. Her father was still in the hospital.

  It was perfect.

  He couldn’t ask for better, he decided.

  It was too bad, really. He had actually liked this one. A little bit.

  But there was no point in liking girls.

  They only left you sooner or later. Like his mother.

  They leave you and forget about you.

  But I’ll never forget, Will told himself.

  I’ll remember and remember and remember—until I find you, Mom.

  And I’ll find you. One of these days, I’ll find you.

  Chelsea was babbling on about her exciting night. She squeezed his hand.

  With his free hand he reached into his back pocket. The cord. Yes, it was there.

  Ready and waiting.

  He had a sudden sobering thought. He narrowed his eyes, thinking hard, trying to shut out her voice so he could think.

  The FBI. It wouldn’t take them long to figure out that the loser that Chelsea had handed over to them was the wrong guy.

  And then they’d be out on the prowl again.

  They might even be after him. Following him. Following him no matter where he went.

  He had always managed to keep a step ahead of them. This time they were close. So close. One of them had been right in this house.

  Here he was wasting time, listening to this chattering girl.

  “You look so concerned,” Chelsea was saying. She squeezed his hand. “Come on, Will. Lighten up. I’m okay now, really.”

  That’s another laugh, he thought, staring at her without seeing her. She thinks she’s okay now.

  Time to get this over with. Then get out of here.

  She kissed him on the cheek. “It’s so sweet of you to be so worried about me,” she said.

  “It’s just that—you came so close,” he managed to say with a straight face.

  Enough fooling around, he told himself. It’s time.

  He suddenly felt cold all over.

  The way he liked to feel.

  “I have a confession to make, Will,” she was saying. He realized she was staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to ask what her confession was.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I know I shouldn’t have done this,” Chelsea said shyly. “I mean, I know we talked about keeping our first date a secret and everything. But …” She took a deep breath. “I told my friend Nina all about you.”

  He forced himself not to react.

  He didn’t twitch, didn’t frown, didn’t move a muscle.

  He had to think, had to think, had to think.

  What now?

  His first impulse was to slap her across the face with all his might, to send her teeth flying across the room.

  How could she have done this to him?

  It was all so perfect. So perfect.

  He had been in such a good mood. The FBI had the wrong guy, and he was about to show Chelsea her mistake.

  She was staring at him, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t move a muscle, held himself tightly in check.

  I have to think first, he told himself. I have to decide what to do about this.

  Then it came to him in a flash.

  It was so simple, really. So clear.

  There was no need to panic.

  He’d just kill them both.

  chapter 19

  Will is so sweet, Chelsea thought. He got so quiet when I told him about what happened tonight. He was really scared for me.

  He really cares about me, she decided. Which led her to confess about what she’d told Nina. And now, to her relief, he didn’t seem to be angry at all.

  His cheeks were bright red as always, but his eyes were warm, and he was holding her hand tightly.

  “I’d like to meet your friend Nina,” he said softly. “It’s hard to meet kids at Shadyside, don’t you think? It seems like everyone else has known each other since kindergarten. It’s hard to break in.”

  “Yeah. I know the feeling,” Chelsea agreed. “Nina is the only friend I’ve made so far. The other girls all seem so snobby.”

  Will let go of her hand and leaned forward on the couch. “Do you want to ask Nina over? I’d like to meet her.”

  Chelsea smiled at him. “Sure.” What a great idea, she thought. A chance to show Will off to Nina, to show Nina that she wasn’t the only girl who could attract a boy.

  She climbed to her feet. “I’ll call her from the kitchen—if that’s okay? Want a Coke or anything?”

  “Yeah. Fine,” he said, smiling back at her. “Tell her to hurry.”

  Chelsea made her way eagerly to the kitchen. She thought it a little strange that Will didn’t want to be alone with her. But she was pleased that he was eager to meet her best friend. She had to admit that part of her loved the idea that for once she’d be the one with the boyfriend—not Nina!

  Nina picked up after one ring. “Listen, can you come over?” Chelsea asked breathlessly. “There’s someone Fd like you to meet.”

  “Is it that boy from your homeroom?” Nina asked.

  “Yeah,” Chelsea said. “He wants to meet you. And I’ve got an amazing story to tell you. You won’t believe it. So will you come? Right now?”

  “A hard invitation to turn down,” Nina said, chuckling. “You sure you’re okay, Chelsea? You sound weird. You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “I’m just excited,” Chelsea told her. “Hurry. Okay?”

  “Be right there,” Nina said and hung up.

  Chelsea pulled a couple of cans of Coke from the refrigerator and started back to the living room when the phone rang. Setting the drinks down on th
e counter, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Is this Chelsea Richards? This is FBI Agent Martin.”

  “Oh. Hi,” Chelsea said. “I didn’t expect to hear from—”

  “Tim Sparks isn’t the boy I’m looking for,” Martin interrupted, speaking rapidly in a low monotone.

  “Huh?” Chelsea nearly dropped the receiver.

  “Wrong kid,” Martin said flatly. “He’s pretty close. He fits the description. But he isn’t the right boy.”

  “Oh.” Chelsea was speechless. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “This kid Sparks will be in the hospital for a while,” Martin continued. “The hand is pretty bad, and he seems to be in shock.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chelsea said, her mind spinning.

  She had pulled the phone cord into the hallway as far as it would go. Taking a glimpse into the living room, she saw Will pacing nervously, his dark eyes glowing excitedly, his black curly hair gleaming under the ceiling fixture. A short length of cord pulled taut between his powerful-looking hands.

  Chelsea stopped short.

  And realized.

  “Oh, my God!” she whispered into the phone.

  chapter 20

  “Chelsea, what’s the matter?” Martin asked, his voice remaining low and steady.

  “I-I’m here alone with him!” Chelsea whispered, taking one last glimpse of Will pacing nervously with his length of cord. She backed silently into the kitchen.

  “Huh? What are you saying?” Martin asked, losing his professional tone, alarm creeping into his voice.

  “It’s a boy I met in school,” Chelsea whispered quickly, her eyes on the doorway, hoping Will wouldn’t get suspicious and follow her into the kitchen. “He’s here. In my house. A new boy. Will Blakely.” She started to give a description.

  “That sounds like him,” Martin interrupted.

  “Oh, no,” Chelsea moaned. She suddenly felt dizzy. She grabbed the kitchen counter, forced the room to stop spinning. “What do I do?”

  “Get out of there immediately,” Martin instructed. “Just put the phone down and leave the house. Get as far away as you can, Chelsea. We’ll have men there in ten minutes.”

  “But—” She started to protest.

  He cut her off. “Get out of the house—now.”

  The line went dead.

  Chelsea replaced the phone with a trembling hand. The room was still spinning. The two cans of Coke seemed about to slide off the counter. Then the room tilted back up.

  Chelsea crept to the hallway and listened. She could hear Will’s footsteps as he paced back and forth.

  What was he planning to do?

  Why was he so dangerous?

  Why had Martin sounded so alarmed?

  She realized these questions were keeping her from making her escape.

  Was she paralyzed? Couldn’t she move?

  Will seemed like such a nice guy, such a shy boy, so considerate, so caring.

  He really seemed to care about her. He was the first boy ever to care about her.

  That’s what she had kidded herself into thinking.

  That’s what she was so eager to believe.

  It was all a fantasy.

  No. Worse. It was all a lie. A stupid lie.

  She had been stupid.

  So stupid she had hurt someone else—had hurt Sparks—because of a lie she wanted so desperately to believe.

  Move, she told herself, still frozen in the dimly lit hallway, still listening to Will’s steady footsteps in the other room.

  Move. Move. Move!

  And then all at once she was pulling open the kitchen door and hurtling herself out into the dark, cold night.

  Onto the hard, frozen ground of her small backyard, the trees bending and shifting, black silhouettes against a blacker sky.

  Where should I go?

  What should I do?

  And then she suddenly remembered Nina.

  Nina was on her way over.

  Nina would be there any second.

  I’ve got to warn her, Chelsea thought. I can’t let her come here. I can’t.

  Then she was running down the asphalt driveway, her sneakers pounding loudly, her arms churning at her sides, the cold air buffeting her face.

  Running down the drive, running blindly through the darkness.

  And then Chelsea stopped and cried out, a cry of horror as Will loomed up in front of her, his face hidden by the night, his powerful body blocking her path.

  chapter 21

  “Chelsea—where are you going?” Will demanded, his voice low and accusing.

  She didn’t answer. Panting loudly, her hands on her hips, she stared up into his shadowy face.

  They stared at each other for a long moment.

  Then she turned her eyes to the bottom of the driveway, trying to decide what to do next.

  “Where are you going?” Will repeated. “Why are you out here?”

  I’m not going to answer him, she decided.

  I’m not going to make up a silly excuse. He wouldn’t believe any excuse I gave.

  She stared back at him in silent dread.

  “Okay. Don’t answer,” he said with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s go back inside and talk,” Will said, moving closer. “Our date isn’t over yet.”

  “No,” she said, backing away. “I know who you are! Leave me alone!” Her voice was shrill and tight.

  I’m going to run, she decided.

  I’m going to run to the house next door. I’m going to pound on the door and scream for help.

  Again, she looked past Will to the bottom of the driveway, hoping to see headlights, hoping to see FBI agents pull up, praying to see FBI agents pull up.

  Fear Street was dark. The only sound was the whisper and creak of the bending trees.

  “Don’t run away, Chelsea,” Will said softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the hiss of the night wind. “Let’s go inside and talk about what’s bothering you.”

  “No!” she screamed, all her fear bursting out of her in that one word.

  She started to run.

  He let out a cry, an angry cry, a wild cry like an attacking animal.

  He caught up to her quickly and threw his arms around her waist in a running tackle.

  “Oh! No!” she protested as she fell forward onto the cold, hard ground. Her forehead hit the dirt hard. Her head bounced back up, throbbing with pain.

  He leapt on top of her quickly.

  The cord slipped easily around her throat.

  As he pulled it tight, she struggled to roll over. She turned to face him, her eyes wild with horror.

  Good, he thought.

  He didn’t care if she watched him.

  His muscles tightened as he tugged on the cord.

  She made a final choking sound.

  Her arms flailed the air helplessly. She frantically twisted her body one way, then the other, trying to pull away from him.

  But quickly she stopped struggling.

  She’s dead, he thought, checking to make sure she was no longer breathing.

  That was easy. It took less than a minute.

  So easy. Child’s play.

  Child’s play. The phrase kept repeating in his mind as he rolled the cord around his hand, then jammed it into his pocket.

  He stood up, filled with the usual feeling of excitement.

  Of victory.

  Of revenge.

  He remembered he didn’t have much time. He had to get ready for the next one.

  Nina. That was her name.

  He had to kill her too.

  Then get away from the house—fast.

  The FBI had never come this close to him before.

  It meant he had to work fast. Real fast.

  He’d kill the friend and be out of there in a flash.

  This was odd, he realized. He usually didn’t kill them until he got to know them.

  He usually didn’t kill them until after the first date.

  But
this was an emergency.

  He really had no choice. No choice at all.

  Next time he’d be more careful. Next time he’d find someone even lonelier than Chelsea.

  His eyes on the driveway, he reached down and grabbed the dead girl’s arms. Then he started to drag her to the side of the house, out of view.

  Nina would be driving up soon. We wouldn’t want Chelsea to spoil the party, he told himself.

  He pulled her to the side of the house and left her behind some low shrubs. Breathing hard, he made sure the body couldn’t be seen.

  Child’s play, he thought. Child’s play.

  He was standing in the driveway when he saw the headlights brighten the street. A car came into view.

  He darted into the shadows as the car headed slowly up the drive. Then he made his way along the side of the house to hurry in through the kitchen door, which he found wide open.

  One down, one to go, he thought cheerfully.

  Most people wouldn’t enjoy this, he realized.

  But it was so easy. And so satisfying.

  It made his hate melt away. All of the hate that weighed him down, all of the hate that he woke up with every morning and went to bed with every night, all the hate that kept him tossing and turning, wide awake when he wanted to sleep, all of the hate that drew him into the most frightening, painful dreams—all of the hate melted away when he killed one of them.

  At least, for a little while.

  He reached into his pocket, making sure he had the cord.

  Then he straightened his sweatshirt and wiped the cold perspiration off his forehead with one hand.

  He stepped into the living room just as someone knocked loudly on the front door.

  chapter 22

  “Who’s there?” he called, his hand on the brass doorknob.

  “It’s Nina,” a girl’s voice called in.

  He pulled open the door and smiled at her. “Hi,” he said.

  She was short and pretty, perky looking with very short, straight white-blond hair.

  Not his type. Not his type at all.

  But he had to kill her anyway.

  She smiled back. “Are you Will?”

  He nodded shyly as she stepped past him into the hallway. “Where’s Chelsea?” she asked, peering into the living room.