Authors: Christopher Pike
“I know the feeling,” Tony mumbled.
Kipp was surprised. “Is Ali still going to New York?”
“Looks like it.”
“What a bitch. You’re better off without her.”
“I guess,” Tony said miserably. He shook his head. “Doesn’t
it depress you when Brenda acts like she doesn’t care?”
“No. I’m used to it. It depresses me when she doesn’t want to have sex. But I’m getting
used to that, too. Just a second, let’s see who called.”
Kipp played his messages. There was only one. It was from Alison, and she sounded
worried. She wanted Kipp to call her at Fran’s house as soon as he got in. Kipp looked
at Tony for an explanation. Tony didn’t have one.
“I don’t think it has anything to do with me,” Tony said.
“Don’t you want to call her instead of me?” Kipp asked.
“No.”
“Come on.”
“No, I don’t,” Tony said. “Honestly.”
“What did you two fight about today?”
“Her leaving. My not wanting to play football anymore. Our sex life. Her wanting to
date other guys.”
“She wants to date other guys? Alison? Did she say that?”
“Not exactly,” Tony admitted.
“I don’t believe it. Forget what I said a moment ago about her being a bitch. Alison’s
a great girl. There’s something special when you two are together. There’s a kind
of magic in the air.”
“There won’t be any magic in a couple of weeks. She’ll be gone.”
Kipp came over and sat beside Tony on the bed. He put his hand on his shoulder. “Hey,
buddy, you sound really bummed about this.”
Tony nodded weakly. “I am. I’m embarrassed by the way I feel because I’ve never felt
this way before. I just feel like if she goes I’ll lose her forever.”
“It won’t happen. I’m your friend and I’m leaving, but I’m still going to be your
friend. Alison will be, too. She loves you. Anyone can see it.”
Tony barely smiled. Before the chain letter began, he and Kipp hadn’t been real close.
Now Kipp was his best friend. There was nothing like a shared trauma to bring people
together. He appreciated what Kipp was saying. The trouble was, he didn’t believe
it. Alison was attracted to him. She had fun with him. She might even have been attached
to him, but she didn’t love him. You didn’t leave the one you love, not for any reason.
“We’ll see” was all Tony could say.
“You sure you don’t want to call her?” Kipp asked. “She does sound upset.”
Tony shrugged. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” Tony reached for the phone. “Do you know
Fran’s number?”
“It’s button number six.”
Tony pushed the appropriate button. The phone rang only once before it was picked
up by Fran. “Hello?” she said.
“Fran, this is Tony. Is Alison there?”
“Yeah.”
“Could I speak to her?” Fran was slow in answering. “Is there something wrong?” Tony
asked.
“Here’s Ali,” Fran said finally. Tony listened while the phone shifted hands. Alison
came on the line. Her tone of voice was low.
“Where are you, Tony?” she asked.
“I’m at Kipp’s house.”
“Is Kipp there?”
“Yeah. He’s sitting beside me. What’s wrong?”
Alison paused. “I don’t know how to say this.”
Tony’s heart pounded loudly in his own ears. Here it came—the big goodbye. We had
some good times, Tony, but you’re right. I should date other guys. I should have a
variety of lovers. You just don’t satisfy me anymore. Not like this guy I met this
afternoon. Boy, does he have all the right stuff. I’ll always love you, Tony, but
you know a girl always says that when she’s dumping a guy for another guy.
“Just say it,” he whispered.
“Tony?”
“I’m here. Say it.”
There was another long pause. “Somebody’s sent us another chain letter.”
Tony couldn’t comprehend what she was saying for a moment. “What?” he asked.
“Fran got another chain letter in the mail this morning. It’s a lot like the ones
Neil sent. If Kipp’s there, ask him if he sent it.” Her voice was almost trembling.
“Tell him it’s not funny.”
Tony put his hand over the phone. “Did you send Fran a chain letter as a joke?” he
asked Kipp.
Kipp raised an eyebrow. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“I’m trying to find out.” Tony took his hand off the phone and spoke to Alison again.
“Kipp did not send a letter to Fran.”
“Could he be pulling your leg?” Alison asked.
Tony glanced at Kipp, who seemed to be worried. Kipp didn’t worry easily. “No,” Tony
said. “Read me the letter.”
Alison read it to him all the way through, and with each sentence Tony found himself
sinking deeper into the bed. With Neil’s first letters it had been the tone that was
more disturbing than any specific threats. For they sounded as if they had been written
by a brilliant madman, capable of great evil. Even after it had been revealed that
Neil was the Caretaker, Tony had never been able to reconcile his friend with writing
the letters. They had been so crafty, and Neil had always been so simple. It was almost
as if the letters had been dictated to Neil by someone else.
“I kept wondering and worrying and I tried, but this thing got in my head and I couldn’t
get rid of it. I don’t know where it came from. It was like a voice, saying this is
true and this is a lie. It wouldn’t shut up! I had to listen, and I did listen, and
then . . . I did all this.”
“Are you still there?” Alison asked.
“Yes.” Tony swallowed. His heart continued to pound—for
a different reason now. Yet it was funny—the reasons may have been different, but
the anxiety remained the same. It was almost as if his concern over Alison leaving
and dating other guys had just culminated in the arrival of the chain letter. In a
way he wasn’t surprised another one had come.
“There’s an ad in the paper,” Alison continued. “It’s in code like the letter said
it would be. It says Fran has to drown her puppy tonight.”
Tony had to take a breath. “That’s pretty gross.”
“Tony, it’s got to be a prank. Do you think Joan sent this?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask her. Have you called her?”
“No. I thought you should. You know her better than I do.”
“I don’t know her that well.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Alison said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, so am I.” Alison sighed. “This is the last thing I need in my life right
now.”
“At least this new Caretaker won’t have your address in New York.”
“Tony, I’m not even listed at the bottom of the letter. Did I tell you that?”
“No.”
“It’s interesting, don’t you think?”
Tony stopped. When he spoke next, his voice was cold. “Are you suggesting that I sent
that letter?”
Alison sounded dismayed. “I don’t see how you can think
I’d even suggest that. Tony, what’s wrong with you? Why are you treating me this way?”
Tony closed his eyes. They were in trouble again, and he had to be cool. Ultimately
he was responsible for them being in this situation. After all, he had been the one
who had been driving when they hit the man.
“I’m in a bad mood, that’s all,” he said. “Where was the letter mailed from?”
“Locally.”
“Just like before. How’s Fran holding up?”
“She’s freaking. Who wouldn’t? This letter’s a lot nastier than the ones Neil sent.
It says she’s to be horribly killed if she doesn’t drown her puppy. What should I
tell her?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll talk to Joan and get back to you. I’ll try to get her
right now. OK?”
“OK. Call me back even if you don’t get her. And Tony?”
“What?”
Alison hesitated. “Nothing.”
Tony hung up the phone and related the wording of the letter as best as he could to
Kipp. His friend was not amused. He stood and paced the room.
“If Joan didn’t send it, then someone outside the group must have got hold of one
of Neil’s letters,” Kipp said.
“Is that possible?” Tony said. “His house burned down. He burned it down with the
man’s body in it. You remember how he tried to make it look like he had died in the
fire? Then,
Neil didn’t have any letters on him when he died later. I was with him.”
“Did we destroy all the letters Neil sent us?” Kipp asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure we did.”
“It doesn’t really matter. Any one of us could have reconstructed those letters from
memory.” Kipp thought some more. “Call Joan right now.”
Tony dialed her number. He knew it from memory. He had actually been closer to Joan
than Alison realized. He had once come within a finger’s inch of having sex with her.
Sometimes, when things were rough with Alison, he fantasized about calling Joan again
and continuing their affair. But he never did. Joan was so gorgeously gross, she intimidated
him. Plus he would never cheat on Alison.
He got her mother. Joan was completely unavailable, Mrs. Zuchlensky reported. She
was backpacking in Yosemite with friends and wouldn’t be home for three days. Tony
left the message that she should return his call as soon as possible. He set down
the phone and turned back to Kipp.
“Joan’s up in the mountains,” Tony said. “She’s unreachable until Thursday.”
“That’s convenient,” Kipp said.
“Yes and no. If Joan was pulling a prank like this, she would have to stay around.
Her absence would cast suspicion on her.”
“That’s true,” Kipp said. “Is it possible Fran and Brenda and Alison are playing a
prank on us?”
Tony remembered the fear in Alison’s voice. “I somehow doubt it.”
“But Alison is mad at you.”
Tony shook his head. “This isn’t her style.”
Kipp walked over to his window and stared out. “Then we might have ourselves a big
problem. Another Caretaker—Jesus, who would have thought. Alison’s right, this guy
sounds a lot nastier than Neil did.”
“Do you honestly think Fran’s in danger? I’ve got to call Alison back and tell them
something.”
Kipp smiled, but it wasn’t because he was happy. “I don’t think she’ll be in danger
if she drowns her puppy.”
“Kipp! She’s not going to do that.”
Kipp was sympathetic. “I know. Call them and tell them Joan’s in the mountains. Tell
them it’s probably just her idea of a sick joke.”
“Alison won’t buy it. This letter was mailed locally.”
“How long has Joan been camping?”
“Her mom said a week already,” Tony said.
“That’s not good.” Kipp sat down beside Tony. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to go to the police with the letter?”
Tony was horrified by the idea. “If we do that we’ll have to explain everything—the
whole story will come out. They’ll put us in jail.”
“It was just a suggestion. It would be a crazy thing to do without talking to Joan
first. When did you say she’d be back?”
“Thursday.”
“When does the next person on the list have to receive the chain letter?”
“Thursday,” Tony said.
Kipp laughed. It was his way of coping with the stress, Tony understood. Their situation
was totally preposterous. “Then if Fran is still alive on Thursday, we’ll have nothing
to worry about.”
Tony nodded. “She’ll be fine.”
But his words sounded hollow even to himself. Like when he was trying to tell himself
Alison loved him, when he knew in the end she was going to leave him.
W
hen Eric Valence was ten years old, he read all of the Sherlock Holmes books. He walked
around in an imaginary world fancying himself Dr. Watson and carrying on intricate
conversations with the great detective. In high school he fell in love with Agatha
Christie. He read all of her more than eighty murder mysteries word for word, and
in over half of them he figured out who the villain was before the master herself
revealed the truth.
After graduating from high school, he had his heart set on becoming a hotshot homicide
detective. The problem was he’d had serious ear infections as a child, and as a result
he was totally deaf in his right ear and had only fifty percent normal hearing in
his left. Half a working ear was plenty to keep him from being seriously handicapped.
He could enjoy movies and
talk comfortably on the phone, as long as the other person spoke directly into the
mouthpiece. Unfortunately he couldn’t pass the physical to enter the police academy.
He had tried three times and had even attempted unsuccessfully to bribe the administering
physician. But the men in blue didn’t want him, and it was difficult to study by himself
to be a competent private eye. He’d planned to become a PI after he had honed his
skills on the force. Not that he had given up on his dream. He would be a PI someday.
It was just going to take longer than he hoped.
Eric had an uncle who was a cop with the LAPD—Sergeant John Valence. The man was neither
a detective nor much of a police officer. He was basically a nice fat guy who had
passed a civil service exam when he was twenty-four years old and out of work. Uncle
John had driven around in a black-and-white for a few years and eventually found himself
where he really belonged, behind a desk pushing papers and talking about all the great
crimes other men had solved. Surprisingly, though, the man had done a brief stint
with the homicide department, and the stories he could tell were wonderful. All the
bodies and the coroners’ reports and the smoking pistols—they made Eric’s trigger
finger twitch just to listen to the man.
But even better than all the talk was the fact that in his position as desk sergeant
at the West Covina branch of the LAPD Eric’s uncle had access to the computers where
the files of literally hundreds of unsolved murders were stored. In a
weak moment Eric’s uncle had given him the secret codes that tapped into the files,
a serious sharing of confidences because there existed tons of information in the
files that had never been made known to the public. From that moment on, Eric was
in heaven. He would drive to the station from night classes at Claremont College—Eric
was majoring in computer science, which he felt was the future for detective work—chat
with his uncle for a few minutes, then plug himself into a terminal at the back of
the station. Some nights Eric stayed at the terminal until the sun came up and the
morning crew came on. People had done so many horrible things to each other in L.A.
over the past twenty years—it was wonderful.