into his room that the old man’s really sick
and just needs to rest quietly because he’s probably not going to make it too
much longer.”
“Which is probably why
his phone’s disconnected,” I say. “He knows he’s not going home.”
“Sad,” Adam says, and we
walk in silence for a while.
“Yeah. So...do you think
it would be really bad if we tried to talk to him?”
“Not necessarily.” Adam
swings the school door open. “If we caught him sometime when he was awake, he
might not mind talking to us. He might even be glad for the company.”
“Yeah, but if we go there
and he seems too weak to talk, then we should just leave him alone and try to
forget about this whole thing. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, we can try to
forget it.”
We stop at our lockers to
get our books. When I open my locker and see what’s inside, I choke back a
scream.
A black stuffed toy cat
is dangling inside my locker with a noose around its neck. Pinned to its chest
is a note in bloody red magic marker: CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT.
“Okay,” Adam says, his
voice shaky, “that’s freaky. I think you’d better tell the principal or the
police or somebody.”
I take down the cat,
throw it in the trash can, and cover it up with papers. “I’m not going to tell
the principal or anybody else. Somebody’s just trying to scare us, that’s all.
And I refuse to be scared.” But my hands are shaking.
At lunch Adam says,
“Look, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should just chill out a little while.”
“What
do you mean, chill out?”
“You know, stop asking
questions’ stop trying to figure things out. These notes’ the one that came to
my house, the one just now they’re threats, Miranda. And I’m not anywhere near
as scared of the ghosts in my house as I am of the person who’s sending these
notes.”
I lean over the table and
look right at him. “Don’t you see what these notes mean? They mean we’re close
to the truth’ so close that whoever did it is getting scared. Listen, Adam, if
you’re afraid, if you want to quit, that’s fine. I don’t blame you, and I won’t
hold it against you.” I lean back in my seat. “And if I have to, I’ll go on and
figure out this thing without you.”
“No!” Adam says, so loud
that a few people turn their heads to look at our table. They probably think
I’m putting a curse on Adam or something. “If you’re not quitting, I’m not
either.
Listen, I was just going
to go over to the hospital to see Dad after school today. You wanna come, too?
Maybe we can talk to Mr. Buchanan.”
I grin. “I’m there.”
When we peek into Mr.
Buchanan’s room, we can tell he’s really sick. He is drawn and thin and his
skin looks like crumpled up white tissue paper stretched over skull and
skeleton. He is connected to tubes and machines that pump him full of medicine
and keep track of his heart and breathing. He looks small and alone. Only the
flowers and cards on his dresser and bedside table show that there are people
who care about him.
I’m surprised when his
eyes open. “Young people,” he says. His voice is thin and shaky. As soon as his
eyes meet mine, I feel like someone hit me, hard, in the back of the head. The
pain is so intense I’m afraid I’m going to pass out, but around the pain, I can
feel my Sight trying to connect with Mr. Buchanan, trying to get inside his
thoughts. But I can’t see because I’m blinded by pain and fear.
I
don’t know how long I’ve been standing there, hurting and shaking, but once I
can focus on something oustside of myself, I hear Adam saying, “I’m Dr. So’s
son. My friend and I wondered if we could bring you anything to make you more
comfortable. Would you like an extra blanket or maybe a drink from the Coke
machine?”
“Well...” He glances over
at the dresser, “there is a Hershey bar on the dresser, if one of you would
bring it to me.”
“Well,” Adam says, “We’d
better move your bed up if you’re
and just needs to rest quietly because he’s probably not going to make it too
much longer.”
“Which is probably why
his phone’s disconnected,” I say. “He knows he’s not going home.”
“Sad,” Adam says, and we
walk in silence for a while.
“Yeah. So...do you think
it would be really bad if we tried to talk to him?”
“Not necessarily.” Adam
swings the school door open. “If we caught him sometime when he was awake, he
might not mind talking to us. He might even be glad for the company.”
“Yeah, but if we go there
and he seems too weak to talk, then we should just leave him alone and try to
forget about this whole thing. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, we can try to
forget it.”
We stop at our lockers to
get our books. When I open my locker and see what’s inside, I choke back a
scream.
A black stuffed toy cat
is dangling inside my locker with a noose around its neck. Pinned to its chest
is a note in bloody red magic marker: CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT.
“Okay,” Adam says, his
voice shaky, “that’s freaky. I think you’d better tell the principal or the
police or somebody.”
I take down the cat,
throw it in the trash can, and cover it up with papers. “I’m not going to tell
the principal or anybody else. Somebody’s just trying to scare us, that’s all.
And I refuse to be scared.” But my hands are shaking.
At lunch Adam says,
“Look, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should just chill out a little while.”
“What
do you mean, chill out?”
“You know, stop asking
questions’ stop trying to figure things out. These notes’ the one that came to
my house, the one just now they’re threats, Miranda. And I’m not anywhere near
as scared of the ghosts in my house as I am of the person who’s sending these
notes.”
I lean over the table and
look right at him. “Don’t you see what these notes mean? They mean we’re close
to the truth’ so close that whoever did it is getting scared. Listen, Adam, if
you’re afraid, if you want to quit, that’s fine. I don’t blame you, and I won’t
hold it against you.” I lean back in my seat. “And if I have to, I’ll go on and
figure out this thing without you.”
“No!” Adam says, so loud
that a few people turn their heads to look at our table. They probably think
I’m putting a curse on Adam or something. “If you’re not quitting, I’m not
either.
Listen, I was just going
to go over to the hospital to see Dad after school today. You wanna come, too?
Maybe we can talk to Mr. Buchanan.”
I grin. “I’m there.”
When we peek into Mr.
Buchanan’s room, we can tell he’s really sick. He is drawn and thin and his
skin looks like crumpled up white tissue paper stretched over skull and
skeleton. He is connected to tubes and machines that pump him full of medicine
and keep track of his heart and breathing. He looks small and alone. Only the
flowers and cards on his dresser and bedside table show that there are people
who care about him.
I’m surprised when his
eyes open. “Young people,” he says. His voice is thin and shaky. As soon as his
eyes meet mine, I feel like someone hit me, hard, in the back of the head. The
pain is so intense I’m afraid I’m going to pass out, but around the pain, I can
feel my Sight trying to connect with Mr. Buchanan, trying to get inside his
thoughts. But I can’t see because I’m blinded by pain and fear.
I
don’t know how long I’ve been standing there, hurting and shaking, but once I
can focus on something oustside of myself, I hear Adam saying, “I’m Dr. So’s
son. My friend and I wondered if we could bring you anything to make you more
comfortable. Would you like an extra blanket or maybe a drink from the Coke
machine?”
“Well...” He glances over
at the dresser, “there is a Hershey bar on the dresser, if one of you would
bring it to me.”
“Well,” Adam says, “We’d
better move your bed up if you’re
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