The Face by R.L. Stine, Bill Schmidt Page A

chests.
    I needed to talk. And I knew it would be good for Adriana.
    The poor girl. She was so wrecked. She was having such a bad time of it. Her parents fighting the Battle of the Century. Her brother suspended from school, ruining his life.
    I heard a car door slam out front.
    Startled, I dropped the jeans.
    I bent to pick them up off the closet floor.
    And saw a brown bag. A brown canvas carry-all.
    â€œOh!” I uttered a short cry as I remembered it.
    The bag I had taken on the trip up to the cabins. The bag I had packed all my stuff in last November.
    What is it doing here in the back of my closet? I wondered. Did I forget to unpack it? Did I just shove it back here and forget about it?
    I dragged it out into my room. My hands shook as I opened it.
    The bag was nearly full. I pulled out wrinkled sweaters and rolled-up jeans. Two pairs of tights.
    I never unpacked, I realized.
    I must have been so upset, so out-of-my-mind, I just hid the bag away.
    I pulled out more clothes. A cosmetics bag. My old hair dryer.
    And then—
    â€œNoooo!” I screamed out loud when I saw it. A high wail of horror.
    At the bottom of the bag. Coiled up in a corner of the bag. Tucked tightly away.
    Wire.
    Silver wire.
    Rolled-up tightly.
    Beside a pair of wire cutters.
    The wire that killed Sean?
    I stared into the bag, afraid to move, afraid to look—unable to look away. I stared into the bag, stared at the coiled-up wire.
    And I knew.
    I knew who killed Sean.
    I did.
    I was the one.
    â€œYou’ve been drawing him because you killed him.”

chapter 22
    I heard the front door open. I heard Mom talking to Adriana downstairs.
    But I didn’t move.
    I stared into the bag, stared at the silver wire.
    One word repeated in my mind: Why? Why? Why?
    It drowned out the voices downstairs. Drowned out the pounding thuds of my heartbeats, my shrill, gasping breaths.
    Why? Why? Why?
    Why did I kill Sean?
    I shut my eyes and struggled to remember.
    Why did he and I fight?
    I couldn’t remember.
    I remembered shoving him. He wanted to keepkissing me. And I didn’t want him to. I shoved him away from me. Shoved with real anger.
    But I couldn’t drag up the rest of the scene.
    â€œIt makes sense,” I murmured in a dull, lifeless voice. “It all makes sense.”
    I was the only one who lost her memory.
    And then I began to draw his face. Every time I started to draw, I sketched Sean’s face.
    Because of my guilt.
    Because my subconscious mind knew that I had murdered him.
    â€œOh!” I backed away from the bag.
    It was too much to bear. I felt about to collapse. My head spun and my knees started to give way.
    I heard Adriana’s footsteps on the stairs.
    And then another horrifying question forced its way into my thoughts:
Does everyone know?
    Does everyone know that I killed him? I wondered, gripped with cold horror.
    Does everyone suspect that I was the one?
    Is that why they’ve all acted so strangely around me? Is that why they’ve been treating me so carefully, so tenderly?
    Is that what drove Aaron away?
    Because he knew? Because they all know that I’m a
murderer?
    If only I could remember why I killed him….
    â€œMartha—!” Adriana burst into my room. She tried to wrap me in a hug. But I lurched back.
    â€œI know the truth!” I managed to tell her. And then I burst into tears.
    Adriana stepped forward and tried again to hug me. This time I didn’t move away. “Martha, what are you saying?” she whispered. “Martha, it’ll be okay. Really. It’ll be okay.”
    â€œNo, it won’t!” I shrieked, pulling away from her. I wiped my cheeks furiously with both hands. “I know the truth!” I insisted. “It won’t be okay!”
    I could see the confusion on her face. She tugged at her black hair, her dark eyes narrowed on me.
    She doesn’t know!
I realized.
    â€œLook!” I wailed. I dropped down on my knees