“I’d do her,” said Mark, but then, he could hardly keep from showing how horny he was all the time. Hugging and touching girls was all he wanted to do. Race had told him to knock it off, going so far as to suggest he step up his masturbation and give the girls at River Glen a break. Robbie had confided to Cooper that all Mark did was watch porn, which had made Cooper wonder if advising more masturbation was really the answer.
The six boys got to the Ryerson house and started tapping on the windows, sawing one that was partially open back and forth, which made wonderful, creaking sounds. They rolled the plastic garbage can at the side of the house along a rough stone path, and Tim made a low, moaning sound that could almost have been the wind had there been any that night. Robbie had a Michael Myers mask from the film Halloween that he jammed over his head before running onto the porch with a couple of pumpkins, which he set down in front of the door before ringing the doorbell. He was jumping down the porch stairs, planning to stand at the end of the front walk and stare back at Emma in a menacing way while Dug, who’d left the rest of them hiding behind a laurel hedge, was tapping on the front windows. But Emma, true to form, boldly threw open the door and stepped onto the front porch, not giving Dug time to hide as he half-stumbled, half-fell off the porch.
“Okay, Race. Dug. Time to go back to fourth grade where you belong!” Emma’s voice rang out.
“Shit,” Tim whispered beneath his breath from their hiding place.
“Shhh,” said Robbie.
“Man, she’s got boobs,” said Mark.
Dug and Race, who’d both stumbled and run out of Emma’s sight in opposite directions, circled around to meet the others behind the laurel hedge.
Once together again, Robbie said, “We should go.”
“Don’t be a pussy,” said Dug. Though he was speaking to Robbie, he threw a look toward Race, trying to read his friend’s mood.
“I’m not a pussy,” Robbie declared.
“Shut up.” Race was glaring intently at the Ryersons’ front door. “It’s still cracked open.”
“Did she forget to close it?” Cooper asked.
“Nah. . . . She’s waiting for us to come back.” Race’s face was set.
“You think she’s got one of those water bazookas that really shoot out?” Tim asked. “She could be lying in wait.”
“We should’ve thought of that!” Mark moved closer, seeking a better view of the door. “I’d like to see her in a wet T-shirt.”
“Fucking pervert,” Race snapped, and Mark shrugged and pulled back.
After a whispered consultation, they decided to try a few more things. They even went so far as to throw pebbles at the house, but Cooper told them to cut it out. He didn’t want to break a window. He’d gone along with them because he’d hoped to see Emma, but the whole thing had grown dumber by the minute, and now she was on to them. When they realized the front door was fully shut, they realized Emma had given up the game. Everyone decided to leave except Dug, who never knew when to give up. Cooper tried to talk Dug into coming in his car, but Dug wouldn’t listen. Irked, Race assured Cooper that he’d get Dug to leave before Emma did something stupid like call the police. Cooper ended up dropping Tim, Mark, and Robbie back at the party, then went back into town, cruising past the Ryersons’ again to see if Race really had picked up Dug like he’d said he would. The street was entirely quiet as he drove by the house. The living room light was still on, the bedrooms dark. He turned around at the end of the block and took one more pass by. No sign of Emma, and no sign of Dug. He went home, never dreaming what was about to come down.
As soon as they learned about the attack, Cooper and all his friends had admitted to what they’d done at the time, pranking Emma, but none of them had seen anything. They’d left before the attack happened. They were all, to a one, full of rage over what had befallen Emma, and had expected quick answers and justice. Some sick, pervert needed to be caught and thrown behind bars.
But then the investigation had stalled.
And then it became clear that Emma wasn’t going to recover completely.
Cooper was consumed with guilt. His friends, not so much. They were all just relieved they weren’t considered persons of interest. For his part, Cooper haunted the police department. It killed him, what had happened to Emma. That her attacker had gotten away was a travesty. Somebody needed to do something. But there was no evidence, he learned much later, when he was in a position to view the case from a professional angle. No weapon. No witnesses. Nothing. If not for the knife wound, the case could have been ruled a complete accident.
No one at River Glen PD believed Emma’s attack had anything to do with the two babysitters’ deaths in Vancouver and Gresham. The prevailing theory was that it was a burglar or druggie looking for items to steal. That Emma, after the boys finished their scaring, had settled down and turned off the lights, that maybe she hadn’t quite closed the front door, because there was no sign of forced entry, even though the boys assured the authorities she had, or maybe it had been the creaking window that had allowed access . . . that whoever had come in had been surprised at finding Emma, who might have believed it was one of her classmates and foolishly decided to confront them . . .
His uncomfortable thoughts brought him back to the present and where he was and what had precipitated that uncomfortable trip down memory lane. Jamie Whelan. Emma’s sister. She looked a lot more like Emma than his ex-wife did. It annoyed him that Howie could be right: he clearly had a type.
“What’s wrong?” a girl’s voice asked. She walked through the media room door to stand beside him in the hallway.
He was about to tell her that once she left, she couldn’t go back in—the rules were specific and strict—when he saw it was Jamie’s daughter, Harley. He started to warn her not to venture into the hall through his door when the vice principal, Adam Wellesley, was suddenly there. “Miss? Miss? Are you leaving?”
Harley turned to give Wellesley a hard look. Something about her, too, reminded him of Emma. Not the Emma of the past, who was bold but polite to adults, but the Emma of today, at least the last time he’d seen her, with her lack of affect and inability to pick up social cues.
“I was talking to Mr. Haynes, who brought me to this event,” Harley said in a careful tone.
There was a warning in there, which Wellesley chose to ignore, or was too obtuse himself to give it any credit. “Well, get back inside. Otherwise you have to go,” Wellesley sniped.
Harley looked at Cooper. “What’s wrong?” she asked again.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“You’re glowering. Or you were. Did something happen?”
“Miss?” Wellesley wasn’t giving up.
“Let’s step back in,” Cooper said, and Harley looked at Wellesley and jumped back inside while Cooper stepped into the semidarkened room lit only with the current DJ’s black lights.
The rumor that the school had a drug problem was one shared by more parents than just Laura. The teachers and administrators were on high alert as well. Cooper had been told to watch all the students carefully. Cooper didn’t doubt that drugs were around, but so far, he hadn’t seen any blatant users, nor had he smelled the skunky scent of marijuana. If anyone asked him, his guess would be alcohol as the substance of choice of the high schoolers, though he hadn’t seen anyone in particular he thought might be inebriated. It was just more his own history that clued him in. When he was in school, it was damn near a rite of passage.
As if belatedly realizing her friend wasn’t with her, Marissa came charging over. “What happened?” she asked Harley. “Come on. We’re all still talking with . . . uh . . . well, just come on.”
“I thought it might be better to . . . y’know