First Evil

  Corky sighed. She rubbed her palm against the cold marker.

  “Everyone turned to look at me when Miss Green made the announcement,” Corky continued. “As if I would throw a fit or storm out or something.” And then she added bitterly, “As if I would care.”

  She kicked away a leaf that had blown onto a leg of her jeans. “I don’t care anymore, Bobbi. I really don’t,” she said with growing emotion. “I don’t know what I care about now. I just wish you were here. So that I could apologize for being mean to you the night before . . . the night before you died. I just wish you were here so you could tell me what happened.”

  Corky sobbed. “What happened in that shower room? Why didn’t you open the door and come out? The police say you had some kind of seizure and died instantly. I was glad you didn’t suffer, but I just can’t understand it. Why? How did it happen? You weren’t sick. You were in great shape. What happened, Bobbi? What happened?”

  Then she was crying, big tears rolling down her cheeks, her nose running, the sound of her own cries pushed back at her by a rush of cold wind.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she apologized to the silent, unanswering gravestone. “I keep coming here day after day, saying the same things. It’s just—just—”

  Corky shoved her hand into her jeans pocket, searching for a tissue. Digging deep, she found one, balled-up. She pulled it out.

  And saw something shiny fall out.

  She bent down and searched the wet ground at her feet until she found it. Then she stood to examine it.

  Kimmy’s megaphone pendant.

  She had found it that day. On the locker-room floor. Near Bobbi’s clothes.

  On that horrible day.

  She had tucked it into her jeans pocket, forgotten all about it.

  As she stared at it, watching it gleam in the cold, white moonlight, Corky realized that here was a clue.

  Here in her trembling hand.

  Kimmy had been there. Kimmy had been in the locker room. Had been near Bobbi’s things.

  “Oh, no,” Corky said aloud, squeezing the pendant tight in her fist. “Oh, no. Oh, no.”

  Did Kimmy have something to do with Bobbi’s death? No one had more motive, Corky realized.

  No one resented Bobbi more than Kimmy.

  In fact, it wasn’t just resentment. It was hatred.

  Open hatred.

  Kimmy hated Bobbi because she was cheerleader captain. Because Chip had dropped Kimmy and asked Bobbi out. Because Bobbi was pretty and blond and talented, and Kimmy wasn’t.

  Because of everything.

  “Yes, Kimmy was there,” Corky said aloud. “Kimmy was there when Bobbi died, and I have the proof in my hand.”

  And then, without realizing it, she was running, running between the rows of graves, her boots sliding and slipping in the mud. With the pendant wrapped tightly in her fist, she was running down to the street.

  And then she was home and in the car, starting it up, the engine roaring to life, the headlights cutting through the dark night air.

  I have the proof. I have the proof.

  And she squealed away from her house, following the curve of Fear Street, past the dark, old houses, past the trembling, nearly bare trees, and turned toward Kimmy’s house.

  A few minutes later, her heart pounding, the pendant still clutched tightly in her fist, she was staring up at the large, white-shingled house, the windows all lit up, a silver Volvo parked in the drive.

  Kimmy’s mother opened the door, surprised to see Corky there so late, unannounced. Corky rushed past her without any explanation, tore through the front hallway, swallowing hard, gasping for air, and burst into the den.

  Kimmy was there with Debra and Ronnie.

  “Hey—” she called out as Corky entered.

  “Here,” Corky screamed accusingly, unwrapped her fist, and thrust the silver megaphone pendant into Kimmy’s face.

  Kimmy started, and her eyes grew wide with surprise.

  Chapter 21

  Kimmy’s Surprise

  “It’s my proof!” Corky cried.

  Ronnie jumped to her feet. Debra stared up at Corky from the floor, a notebook in her lap.

  “My proof!” Corky repeated, holding the pendant in front of Kimmy’s startled face.

  “Where’d you get it?” Kimmy asked, locking her eyes onto Corky’s.

  “You left it somewhere,” Corky said, shaking all over from her anger.

  “Huh?”

  “You left it somewhere, and now it’s my proof!” Corky exclaimed.

  “Corky—are you okay?” Ronnie asked, moving over to her and putting a hand gently on her trembling shoulder.

  “You’d better sit down,” Debra said, closing her notebook. “You don’t look very well.”

  Corky pulled away from Ronnie’s hand. “You were there. You were there when Bobbi died,” she snarled, staring accusingly at Kimmy.

  Kimmy’s mouth dropped open, but she didn’t reply.

  “Here’s my proof,” Corky said, waving the pendant in Kimmy’s face.

  “Listen to Debra,” Kimmy said finally. “Sit down.” She pointed to the couch. “You’re not making any sense, Corky.”

  “I found this in the locker room,” Corky said, ignoring Kimmy’s words. “On the day Bobbi died. I found it on the floor. I found it.”

  “Corky—please!” Kimmy insisted. “Sit down. Let me get you something hot to drink. You’re shaking like a leaf!”

  “Don’t change the subject!” Corky screamed, realizing she was out of control, not caring, not caring at all. “I have the proof, Kimmy. I have the proof! I found your pendant under Bobbi’s things.”

  Kimmy’s expression changed from surprise to concern. “Corky,” she said softly, “that pendant isn’t mine.”

  Chapter 22

  Jennifer’s Surprise

  “Huh?”

  Corky took a step back, her expression one of suspicion and disbelief.

  “It isn’t mine anymore,” Kimmy said, her eyes on the pendant.

  “But—but—”

  “I gave it to Jennifer,” Kimmy said.

  “She’s telling the truth,” Debra said quickly. Holding her notebook, she climbed to her feet and stepped up beside Kimmy, as if taking sides. Ronnie had moved back to the window and was leaning against the ledge, a troubled look on her face.

  “Jennifer?” Corky asked weakly, suddenly feeling as if she were falling, falling down a dark, endless hole.

  “I gave it to Jennifer. About a month ago,” Kimmy said, resting her hands on her hips. “She was always telling me how much she liked it. So one day I saw her in the hall before school, and I just gave it to her.”

  “No,” Corky insisted. “You always wore it—”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Debra insisted. “I was there when Kimmy gave it to Jennifer. Jennifer was really happy.”

  “I was tired of it anyway,” Kimmy said with a shrug. “The clasp was loose. It was always falling off.”

  Corky stared hard into Kimmy’s eyes. She was telling the truth, Corky realized.

  But that meant . . .

  “You hated my sister!” Corky declared, unwilling to let Kimmy off the hook.

  Kimmy shook her head. She turned her eyes to the window. “I didn’t like her very much, Corky. But I didn’t hate her. I guess I resented her a lot. I guess I was a little jealous of her.”

  “A little?” Corky cried.

  “Okay, okay. A lot,” Kimmy admitted. “But I’m not a murderer! I wouldn’t kill someone because of cheerleading!”

  “Jennifer—” Corky stammered.

  “Jennifer isn’t a killer either,” Kimmy said softly. She shook her head. “You know that, Corky. Poor Jennifer—”

  “But the pendant—” Corky said, staring down at it in her hand.

  “Jennifer must have dropped it,” Kimmy replied. “Just like I always did. I told you, the clasp was loose.”

  Corky’s mind whirred crazily from thought
to thought. She stared at the pendant as if hypnotized by it. The room started to tilt, then spin. Once again she felt as if she were falling, falling down a bottomless, dark pit.

  “Corky—!” Kimmy grabbed her arm.

  “Jennifer couldn’t change her clothes in the locker room,” Corky said, closing her eyes, trying to make the room stop spinning, trying to make the falling sensation stop. “Jennifer always changed at home. She wouldn’t go in the locker room.”

  “Yeah. Maybe,” Kimmy agreed. “But, Corky—”

  “Why would Jennifer go in the locker room? Why? What was she doing there?” Corky screamed.

  “Corky—stop! You’re not thinking clearly!” Kimmy cried.

  “Sit down,” Ronnie said from across the room. “Somebody make her sit down.”

  “Maybe we should call her parents,” Debra said at the same time.

  “No!” Corky screamed, pulling out of Kimmy’s grasp. “No! I have to talk to Jennifer! I have to! I have to know the truth!”

  “Corky—please—let us call your parents,” Kimmy pleaded.

  But Corky had already run out of the den and was making her way down the front hallway. The three girls called to her, begging her to come back.

  “What on earth is going on?” Kimmy’s mom cried, poking her head out of the living room.

  Corky flew past her—and out into the dark, cool night.

  “Corky—come back! Come back!”

  “Come back and talk!”

  She ignored their pleas, their frantic, high-pitched shouts.

  The car started quickly. The lights shot on. And she headed the car toward Jennifer’s house in North Hills.

  Past houses darkened for the night. Past empty yards and woods filled with silent, bending trees. Past Shadyside High, dark except for the spotlight out front, throwing a shimmering cone of light onto the front doors.

  Jennifer’s house was on a side street just north of the school. As Corky turned the corner, her headlights swept over the low ranch-style house. She braked hard, slowing the car down the street from the house, and stared across the smooth lawn.

  Dark.

  All the windows were dark, the shades drawn, curtains pulled.

  Corky glanced at the dashboard clock. Eleven o’clock.

  “Guess they all go to bed early,” she said out loud.

  And then she saw the headlights of a car parked at the curb in front of Jennifer’s house flash on.

  It was a red Skylark, Corky saw.

  The car pulled slowly away from the curb and edged into the driveway to turn around. The interior lights came on for a second, and the girl in the car was illuminated.

  It’s Jennifer! Corky saw, her mouth dropping open.

  I didn’t know she could drive.

  I didn’t think she could move her legs enough to push the pedals.

  She watched her pull the car halfway up the drive, then back up into the street, then pull off in the other direction.

  Jennifer’s headlights filled Corky’s car with blinding white light. She’s coming right at me, Corky thought. She’ll see me.

  Corky ducked her head, covered her face with the sleeve of her coat.

  Jennifer didn’t seem to notice her. The Skylark rolled slowly past, then turned right, heading toward the school.

  Where could Jennifer be going by herself at eleven o’clock at night? Corky wondered.

  Deciding to follow her, she eased the car into Jennifer’s driveway and turned around just as Jennifer had done. Then she floored the gas pedal and shot around the corner, eager to catch up.

  Racing down Park Drive, Corky quickly saw that their cars were the only two on the road. She slowed down, deciding to keep at least a block between her car and Jennifer’s.

  Where is she going? Where?

  The question repeated and repeated in her mind.

  The full moon floated at the top of the windshield, as if leading the way. A raccoon scooted into the road, hesitated in Corky’s headlights, then just made it safely to the other side as Corky rolled by.

  As she followed a block behind the red Skylark, Corky’s thoughts went back to her emotional encounter with Kimmy. Kimmy appeared to be telling the truth about the silver pendant. And she truly seemed to be concerned about Corky.

  What did that mean?

  Was Jennifer in the locker room the afternoon Bobbi was killed?

  Bobbi and Jennifer had become best friends. There was no reason to suspect that Jennifer might have killed Bobbi. No reason at all.

  So what was she doing there that afternoon?

  And what was she doing now?

  Corky followed the Skylark as it turned onto Old Mill Road. As an oncoming car shot its headlights forward, Corky could see Jennifer’s shadow reflected on the back window of the little car.

  She’s heading for Fear Street! Corky realized.

  But why?

  Is she going to my house? An unexpected visit?

  No. Jennifer isn’t my friend. She was Bobbi’s friend.

  Bobbi’s friend. Bobbi’s friend. Bobbi’s friend.

  The words repeated until they didn’t make any sense.

  Nothing made any sense.

  She followed Jennifer’s car as it turned onto Fear Street. Past the sprawling, ramshackle old houses. Past the burnt-out ruins of the old Simon Fear mansion high on its sloping, weed-covered lawn.

  And then suddenly, after Fear Street curved into the thick woods, Corky saw Jennifer pull her car to the side of the road. Her headlights dimmed, then went out.

  Corky hit the brakes, her car sliding to a stop less than a block behind. Quickly she cut her lights.

  Corky wondered, Why is she stopping here?

  Leaning forward to get a better view through the windshield, she saw where Jennifer had stopped.

  The cemetery. The Fear Street cemetery.

  Squinting through the darkness, she saw Jennifer’s car door swing open. Saw Jennifer’s hand on the door handle, pushing the door open, holding it open.

  Then she saw Jennifer turn and put her feet down on the pavement.

  “Oh, I don’t believe it!” Corky muttered to herself as Jennifer pulled herself to her feet.

  Stood up.

  Stepped away from the car. Slammed the door. Walked onto the grass of the cemetery.

  Walked.

  “I don’t believe it,” Corky repeated, gaping at the slender, dark figure disappearing behind the gravestones.

  “She walks. She can walk. Bobbi was right. That night in front of Jennifer’s house. Bobbi was right. And I thought she was crazy.”

  Corky leapt out of the car, closing the door silently behind her. Then she began jogging along the curb, running as quietly as she could, staying in the shadows thrown by the tall trees.

  She stopped and knelt behind a gnarled old oak, and peered where Jennifer had gone.

  Wisps of fog floated over the graveyard. The moonlight filtering through the fog tinged everything with a pale, sickly green. Shadows shifted and shimmered in the eerie green light. The jagged tombstones glowed.

  As Corky leaned against the cold, damp tree trunk, peering intently into the dimly lit scene, Jennifer reemerged. Dancing.

  Dancing a strange, silent dance.

  Her arms over her head, her legs—those legs everyone believed to be paralyzed—twirled and kicked. A silent, cheerless tango.

  She was wearing her cheerleader costume. The short skirt flew up as she spun. Her dark hair flew behind her as if alive.

  And what was that she was waving in her hand?

  Corky squinted into the misty green light.

  It was the pennant. The Shadyside pennant they had made for her after the accident. The crippling accident.

  And now here was Jennifer, twirling wildly in the green moonlight. Kicking and twirling. Waving the pennant high.

  Dancing in a narrow circle. Bending her back, raising her face to the moon, her long hair flowing down nearly to the ground.

  Round and round
.

  Around a tombstone. Corky realized.

  Jennifer was circling a tall tombstone, surrounded by four other stones.

  Sarah Fear’s tombstone.

  Waving the pennant, she kicked her legs high as if leading a silent parade. Then, once again, she arched her back, raising her face to the moon.

  Her eyes closed, the pale green light played off her face. She bowed deeply, crossing her legs as she dipped, a strange curtsy to the moon. And then she rose up and began moving slowly to an unheard rhythm, twirling around the gravestone, her eyes closed, a strange, tranquil smile on her face.

  Corky couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Pushing herself away from the tree, she lurched forward into the graveyard, her boots sinking into the wet mud.

  “Jennifer—” she called, her voice sounding tiny and hollow on the wind. “Jennifer—what’s going on?”

  Chapter 23

  “I’m Not Jennifer”

  Jennifer halted her strange dance and opened her eyes. Her smile faded. She lowered the pennant to her side.

  Corky ran, stopping before the first row of gravestones. “Jennifer—what are you doing?”

  Jennifer’s eyes reflected the green moonlight as she turned to face Corky. “I’m not Jennifer,” she said, her voice husky, almost breathless.

  “Huh? Jennifer—I saw you dancing,” Corky cried.

  “I’m not Jennifer,” she repeated darkly, standing directly in front of Sarah Fear’s tombstone. And then she screamed: “I’m not Jennifer!”

  “Jennifer—I saw you!” Corky insisted.

  As if in reply, Jennifer lifted one hand high above her head and waved it as if summoning someone.

  “Oh!” Corky cried out, raising her hands to her face as the grass flew off Sarah Fear’s grave, and the dirt began to rise.

  Jennifer waved her hand high above her head, and the dirt rose up like a dark curtain, flying off the grave, flying high into the black sky.

  And then the dirt was swirling around them both, thicker and thicker, until Corky couldn’t see beyond it, until Corky was forced to move closer to Jennifer.