The New Year's Party (11 page)

Tears rolled down Beth's face. Her body shook as she sobbed. Why won't anyone help us? Why, why, why?

Beth fought to control her tears. Then they turned and retraced their steps through the fields and back to the highway.

Two more cars passed.

They didn't stop. Beth didn't know what else to try. She wanted to curl up in a pile of snow and rest.

“We can get back into the car,” Jeremy suggested.

“It's awfully cramped in there,” Beth replied.

“At least it might keep us from freezing.”

Beth couldn't argue with that.

They made their way to the car. It rested on its back, crumpled and lifeless, like a squashed bug. The headlights had grown dim, the battery nearly dead.

Beth hated the thought of crawling back inside. “The only way is to lie completely flat and wriggle yourself through the window,” she explained. “I'll go first.”

I really don't want to do this, she thought. But she started to slide herself into the car.

Something brushed against her face.

A hand!

“Huh? Is someone in here?” she cried, unable to hide her shock.

Beth peered into the dark car.

No.

It can't be!

“Jeremy!” she cried. “There are two people in here. A boy and a girl. And …”

Jeremy sounded just as stunned. “Who are they? How did they get in here?”

B
eth stared into the darkness at the boy and the girl. Their bodies were twisted. Mangled and torn. And spattered with blood. Their eyes stared straight ahead. Unblinking.

“Jeremy—they're dead!” Beth choked out.

She stared hard at their faces.

And then shut her eyes.

I know who they are! she thought.

She backed out of the car window. Jeremy leaned down so he could peer into the car.

Beth blocked his view. “No,” she told him. “Don't look. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“There's something I've got to tell you first.”

“What?”

She pulled Jeremy to her and held him.

“Beth—what …?”

A tear rolled down her cheek. But only one. She was too stunned to cry.

“Jeremy,” she whispered. “The dead boy and girl in there. I recognized them.”

“Who are they?” Jeremy demanded.

She didn't know how to tell him. She could hardly believe it herself.

“Beth, who are they?” Jeremy repeated eagerly.

“They're …
us.”

“You're lying!” Jeremy yelled. “No! No, Beth!”

“Jeremy, it's us in there!” she cried. “We died in there!”

“That's crazy.”

“Don't you see? That's why no one will stop for us—why those people wouldn't open the door for us.”

“No,” Jeremy repeated. “No, no, no.”

“It's true. We're dead.” Maybe if I say it enough times I'll believe it myself, Beth thought.

“No!” Jeremy chanted.

He pushed Beth away and threw himself on the ground. He tried to wriggle back inside the car.

“I'll get back inside myself!” he wailed. “I'll climb back into my body!”

Beth watched, horrified, as he struggled to reach his lifeless body.

“I've got to get back inside! I've got to,” he called desperately.

She watched him crawl into the car. “Please!” he begged. “Please, let me back in!”

“Jeremy—stop!” Beth yelled. “It won't do any good.” She grabbed his legs and dragged him out of the mangled car.

“My arms passed right through my body!” he wailed. “I can't get back inside myself. I tried. But I can't.”

“Now what?” Beth wondered. “What happens now?”

Beth saw Jeremy's mouth opening and closing as he answered her. But she could barely hear his words.

Something was wrong.

Why did Jeremy suddenly sound so faint?

“Jeremy?” she called. “What's happening?”

She couldn't hear his reply. His voice faded to silence. Then Jeremy began to fade, too.

“Jeremy!” she cried. She reached out for him. Tried to grab him, to hold on to him.

But Jeremy was gone.

Only the darkness remained.

Everywhere.

Closing on her.

Claiming her.

W
hat am I going to do? Reenie wondered frantically. She was too confused and frightened to think straight. How could this have happened?

P.J. lay dead at her feet.

Reenie stared down at him, wishing with all her might that he would groan, roll over. Scream at her. Do something. Anything.

But P.J. lay still.

Pale. So very pale.

So very dead.

Silence hung heavily over the crowded room. Then a girl began to sob.

“We have to do CPR,” Sean ordered. “Reenie, you do the breathing. I'll do his chest. Everybody leave. It's not going to help to have a crowd around.”

“Sean's right,” Greta called. “Come on. Get your coats. We'll let you know what happened.”

Reenie couldn't move. She stared down at P.J. It's all my fault, she thought. I knew P.J. had a heart murmur. I'm the only one Liz told. And I didn't say anything. Not anything. I didn't even try to stop them.

“Reenie!” Sean called sharply.

She forced herself to move. “Okay,” she muttered. “First I tilt back his head—chin up. Then I clear out his mouth. Now five quick puffs of air.”

Reenie lowered her head and blew into P.J.'s mouth. His lips are so cold, she thought. They are already so cold.

She pulled her head up and took a breath. Then she blew another breath into P.J.'s mouth. She could hear Sean counting—setting the rhythm between her breathing and his pumps on P.J.'s chest.

“It was supposed to be a joke!” Artie cried from somewhere behind her. “A dumb joke! Nothing bad was supposed to happen.”

“Come on, P.J., live! Please live!” she heard Greta urge.

Reenie focused all her attention on Sean's counting—and her breathing. I'll keep doing it, she told herself. I won't stop until he comes back to life.

“Count, count, count, count, breath,” she muttered to herself. “Count, count, count, count, breath.”

Reenie felt a hand on her shoulder. She heard Sean's soft voice, telling her to stop.

No, Reenie thought. I'm not stopping until P.J. sits up. I'm not stopping.

Count, count, count, breath. Count, count, count—

Strong hands pulled her to her feet. Reenie stared down at P.J.'s body.

“He's dead, Reenie,” Sean murmured. “There's nothing else we can do.”

“Should I call the police?” she asked. She heard her voice quaver and she swallowed hard. “They won't blame us for P.J.'s death—will they?”

Sean frowned. “I don't know what we should do.”

“We've got to do something!” Reenie cried. “We've got to call his parents. We've got to call Liz. We've got to tell everyone that—”

The window behind the couch glowed brightly as a car pulled into the driveway. Greta parted the curtains and peeked out.

“Someone's here!” she exclaimed. “Reenie—it's your parents, I think!”

“Quick—hide him!” Artie shouted. “Until we figure out what to do.”

Won't that make us look even more guilty? Reenie wondered.

“We've got to get our story straight before we tell anyone,” Greta urged.

“Hide him! Hide him!” Artie shrieked. He grabbed P.J.'s limp arms and started to tug.

Sean and Greta rushed to help him pick up P.J.'s body.

Reenie hesitated, then grabbed one of P.J.'s thin legs.

“Hurry!” Greta urged, watching the headlights roll over the wall. “Where can we put him?”

“The basement!” Reenie cried.

She and Sean backed toward the kitchen. The body bumped over the carpet.

“Faster!” Artie cried.

Reenie's stomach lurched as they hauled P.J. through the kitchen. Don't lose it now, she told herself. You can't lose it now.

Reenie opened the basement door with one hand and flicked on the light. She glanced over her shoulder at the steep cement steps.

“Be careful,” she warned the others. “These steps are really uneven.” Grasping P.J.'s ankles, she reached down with her foot and groped around for the first step. She found it, put her foot down, then felt for the next. Sean stayed one step above her.

Reenie stared up at Artie. The dim light from the basement cast shadows across his face. She couldn't make out his expression.

Don't think about anything but the steps, Reenie told herself. Don't try to decide what to do until you make it down the steps.

One of P.J.'s pantlegs slid up, and she felt the flesh of his ankle under her fingers. Cold and clammy. Dead. Reenie shivered.

She forced herself to feel for the next step and continued down the stairs.

“Where should we put him?” Sean asked when they reached the bottom.

“Behind the furnace,” Reenie decided.

“I have to rest for a second,” Greta gasped. They lowered the body to the ground.

“Whoa. I hate the way he's staring at me,” Artie moaned. He squatted down by P.J.'s body and stretched his hand out over P.J.'s unblinking eyes.

Reenie saw Artie's hand tremble. He pressed it down and slid it over P.J.'s eyelids. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry, P.J.”

Artie jumped back up. “Come on. Let's finish and get out of here.”

They hoisted the body up and struggled over to the furnace. There was room for P.J.'s head—but not his shoulders. They had to twist him on his side and force him inch by inch into the small space between the furnace and the wall.

“Good enough,” Sean declared. “We've got to get back upstairs.”

They tore up the rough concrete steps. Reenie slammed the basement door shut behind them, and they hurried into the living room.