on legs that felt boneless.
She hoped Tandy was home, and awake. The need to tell someone about her horrible imprisonment in the dark, airless cage was overwhelming. Talking about it seemed like the only way to get rid of it. She would let every frightening moment spill out of her mouth and, once it was out, she could push it away and forget about it.
Maybe.
Tandy was home, but she wasn’t awake. She was sprawled across her bed, still fully clothed, headphones on, Walkman lying beside her. She was sound asleep, her head half-covered by her pillow.
Shea sank down on her bed and curled up in a small ball. The window beside Tandy’s bed was open, filling the room with the fresh, cool smell of recent rain.
She envied Tandy, so soundly asleep.
Shea lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Their room was small … but so much larger than the elevator. She could breathe again.
What if the electricity hadn’t come back on? What if it had stayed off for an hour, or two, even three? What would she have done then?
Lost it totally, she admitted silently. No question. Another five minutes in that place and they’d have had to peel her off the ceiling when the elevator door finally opened.
Her eyes drifted over to the clock radio on her bedside table. It read nine fifty-three.
Except, of course, it couldn’t be nine fifty-three. Because the electricity had been off.
How long had the blackout lasted?
If she didn’t correct the time on her clock before she conked out for the night, they’d be late for class in the morning. She hated being late on Mondays. A terrible start to a new week.
As if having to confess wasn’t the worst way in the world to start a new week.
Shea sat up and leaned on one elbow to reset the clock, using her wristwatch as a guide. Ten thirty-eight. She’d been in that elevator forty-five minutes.
It had seemed like years.
She was about to lie back down when the phone rang. Tandy never stirred.
Shea grabbed the receiver quickly to prevent another shrill ring. Maybe Coop or Dinah had heard about her being held captive by the elevator and wanted the details. It would be nice to talk to one of them. Then she might be able to sleep.
But it wasn’t Coop’s voice on the line. Or Dinah’s. It was, instead, the familiar whisper, soft, hushed, so sly, so sinister. And the words it whispered made no sense. Even as Shea realized who was calling and her teeth clenched in sudden dread, the voice sing-songed its incomprehensible message in her ear.
“Shave and a haircut, two bits!” Click.
Shea knew the ditty. When she was small, with hair falling almost to her waist, her grandfather had sometimes teased her by singing the jingle while making scissoring motions with his hands, pretending he was going to cut off her hair so her grandmother wouldn’t have to braid it anymore.
“Shave and a haircut …”
A haircut. …
Was he … was he reminding her that he was angry with her? Because she’d refused to hack off Tandy’s hair?
No. He wouldn’t just call her. He’d … he’d show her how angry he was. He’d … he’d do something. Something nasty.
“Shave and a haircut …”
Something nasty. …
Moving as if she were an old woman, Shea reached out and switched on the small blue lamp next to her bed. A vein at her temple throbbed visibly as her head turned slowly, slowly. Her eyes, wide with dread, scanned Tandy’s sleeping form, saw nothing frightening or weird. Moved away from Tandy, along the bed, then down, over the side …
And there it was.
On the floor.
A round pool of yellow, like melted butter.
Tandy’s hair.
Tandy’s beautiful, lemonade-hued hair, thick and silky and curly, was puddled on the floor beneath the bed.
And Tandy slept on, unaware.
Chapter 13
S HEA GASPED. O NE HAND flew up to keep any louder sound from spilling out of her mouth. No, oh no, he couldn’t have, he couldn’t have …
But he had.
Shea’s lips formed a small, round “O” of horror. If Tandy
She hoped Tandy was home, and awake. The need to tell someone about her horrible imprisonment in the dark, airless cage was overwhelming. Talking about it seemed like the only way to get rid of it. She would let every frightening moment spill out of her mouth and, once it was out, she could push it away and forget about it.
Maybe.
Tandy was home, but she wasn’t awake. She was sprawled across her bed, still fully clothed, headphones on, Walkman lying beside her. She was sound asleep, her head half-covered by her pillow.
Shea sank down on her bed and curled up in a small ball. The window beside Tandy’s bed was open, filling the room with the fresh, cool smell of recent rain.
She envied Tandy, so soundly asleep.
Shea lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Their room was small … but so much larger than the elevator. She could breathe again.
What if the electricity hadn’t come back on? What if it had stayed off for an hour, or two, even three? What would she have done then?
Lost it totally, she admitted silently. No question. Another five minutes in that place and they’d have had to peel her off the ceiling when the elevator door finally opened.
Her eyes drifted over to the clock radio on her bedside table. It read nine fifty-three.
Except, of course, it couldn’t be nine fifty-three. Because the electricity had been off.
How long had the blackout lasted?
If she didn’t correct the time on her clock before she conked out for the night, they’d be late for class in the morning. She hated being late on Mondays. A terrible start to a new week.
As if having to confess wasn’t the worst way in the world to start a new week.
Shea sat up and leaned on one elbow to reset the clock, using her wristwatch as a guide. Ten thirty-eight. She’d been in that elevator forty-five minutes.
It had seemed like years.
She was about to lie back down when the phone rang. Tandy never stirred.
Shea grabbed the receiver quickly to prevent another shrill ring. Maybe Coop or Dinah had heard about her being held captive by the elevator and wanted the details. It would be nice to talk to one of them. Then she might be able to sleep.
But it wasn’t Coop’s voice on the line. Or Dinah’s. It was, instead, the familiar whisper, soft, hushed, so sly, so sinister. And the words it whispered made no sense. Even as Shea realized who was calling and her teeth clenched in sudden dread, the voice sing-songed its incomprehensible message in her ear.
“Shave and a haircut, two bits!” Click.
Shea knew the ditty. When she was small, with hair falling almost to her waist, her grandfather had sometimes teased her by singing the jingle while making scissoring motions with his hands, pretending he was going to cut off her hair so her grandmother wouldn’t have to braid it anymore.
“Shave and a haircut …”
A haircut. …
Was he … was he reminding her that he was angry with her? Because she’d refused to hack off Tandy’s hair?
No. He wouldn’t just call her. He’d … he’d show her how angry he was. He’d … he’d do something. Something nasty.
“Shave and a haircut …”
Something nasty. …
Moving as if she were an old woman, Shea reached out and switched on the small blue lamp next to her bed. A vein at her temple throbbed visibly as her head turned slowly, slowly. Her eyes, wide with dread, scanned Tandy’s sleeping form, saw nothing frightening or weird. Moved away from Tandy, along the bed, then down, over the side …
And there it was.
On the floor.
A round pool of yellow, like melted butter.
Tandy’s hair.
Tandy’s beautiful, lemonade-hued hair, thick and silky and curly, was puddled on the floor beneath the bed.
And Tandy slept on, unaware.
Chapter 13
S HEA GASPED. O NE HAND flew up to keep any louder sound from spilling out of her mouth. No, oh no, he couldn’t have, he couldn’t have …
But he had.
Shea’s lips formed a small, round “O” of horror. If Tandy
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