Read Online After the First Death by Robert Cormier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Cormier
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swimming team, budding actress in the Drama Club. But there were other Kate Forresters, and she wondered about them sometimes. The Kate Forrester who awoke suddenly at four in the morning and for no reason at all couldn’t fall back to sleep. The Kate Forrester who couldn’t stand the sight of blood—she’d fainted once at a football game when Ron Stanley had been tackled at her feet, his helmet sailing through the air and blood gushing from his head. And the Kate Forrester who was afraid of riding in roller coasters and who oozed with urine between her legs in moments of high excitement. Maybe that was why she refused to let guys touch her and instead kept them beguiled with her wit and charm: knowing how guys could not resist an intimate smile or gentle flattery.
All the Kate Forresters. Were other people like that, she wondered, not simply one person but a lot of them mixed together? Did the real person finally emerge? But suppose that real person turned out to be someone terrible? Or someone who never found love? Isn’t that what life was supposed to be—a search for love? She wanted to find somebody to love, to love forever. But who? Her few childhood passions had appeared and gone as swiftly as spring snow melting in the sun. Did she deserve to find love? Was she good enough? Thatquestion brought up another Kate Forrester disguise. Kate the manipulator. Who used people shamelessly in, oh, a thousand ways. Getting straight
A
’s from Mr. Kelliher in math and barely lifting a finger to do so but knowing how to smile at him, feign interest, dropping by after school and once, daringly, breathlessly, leaning close to him, letting her breast brush his shoulder. Why had she bothered? She’d always been an excellent student in math. She didn’t know why she’d gone out of her way to charm Mr. Kelliher. Just as she didn’t know why she’d used the same charm to win the role of Emily in the Drama Club’s presentation of
Our Town.
She knew she could play the part, she was certain of her talent Yet she had played up to David Hart, the director, caressing his ego with tender strokes. Having obtained the role, she’d gone ahead and won the best actress award to prove she deserved the part. One reason she’d wanted the part was to play opposite Gene Sherman. Kate had been enthralled by him, riveted, mesmerized during the first few rehearsals. Until they sat together during a lunch break—and his feet smelled.
My God, she thought later, what do I want? Perfection? What’s the matter with me? She wasn’t perfect herself, why should she demand perfection from others? What would her friends think if they knew about these secret Kate Forresters, if they could penetrate her disguises?
And then the helicopter, the flutter of the blades, the roar of the motor, drawing closer, filling the air, causing the bus to vibrate. She leaped from the driver’s seat toward the doorway. They were saved. Help was coming.
Miro yelled: “Stay in the seat, miss.”
But she ignored his words and began pounding onthe door. She tried to wedge her foot in the space where the two locked sections of the door came together. She had to get out there and wave, get the attention of the pilots. And then Artkin loomed in the doorway. With swift, deft movements, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“Let me out,” Kate cried, struggling as he pushed her toward the driver’s seat.
“It’s no use, miss,” Artkin shouted, an ominous presence in the mask. He grabbed her shoulders roughly, his face only inches from hers. “They will know sooner or later that you are here, if they do not know already.”
A high, whining sound now, above the roar of the helicopter, and Kate recognized a police siren, howling and harrowing. “Listen,” Artkin said, holding her fast in his grip. “This helicopter now, and a police cruiser and then more helicopters and more cruisers. And army jeeps. Then the television van and the radio cars. This is only
All the Kate Forresters. Were other people like that, she wondered, not simply one person but a lot of them mixed together? Did the real person finally emerge? But suppose that real person turned out to be someone terrible? Or someone who never found love? Isn’t that what life was supposed to be—a search for love? She wanted to find somebody to love, to love forever. But who? Her few childhood passions had appeared and gone as swiftly as spring snow melting in the sun. Did she deserve to find love? Was she good enough? Thatquestion brought up another Kate Forrester disguise. Kate the manipulator. Who used people shamelessly in, oh, a thousand ways. Getting straight
A
’s from Mr. Kelliher in math and barely lifting a finger to do so but knowing how to smile at him, feign interest, dropping by after school and once, daringly, breathlessly, leaning close to him, letting her breast brush his shoulder. Why had she bothered? She’d always been an excellent student in math. She didn’t know why she’d gone out of her way to charm Mr. Kelliher. Just as she didn’t know why she’d used the same charm to win the role of Emily in the Drama Club’s presentation of
Our Town.
She knew she could play the part, she was certain of her talent Yet she had played up to David Hart, the director, caressing his ego with tender strokes. Having obtained the role, she’d gone ahead and won the best actress award to prove she deserved the part. One reason she’d wanted the part was to play opposite Gene Sherman. Kate had been enthralled by him, riveted, mesmerized during the first few rehearsals. Until they sat together during a lunch break—and his feet smelled.
My God, she thought later, what do I want? Perfection? What’s the matter with me? She wasn’t perfect herself, why should she demand perfection from others? What would her friends think if they knew about these secret Kate Forresters, if they could penetrate her disguises?
And then the helicopter, the flutter of the blades, the roar of the motor, drawing closer, filling the air, causing the bus to vibrate. She leaped from the driver’s seat toward the doorway. They were saved. Help was coming.
Miro yelled: “Stay in the seat, miss.”
But she ignored his words and began pounding onthe door. She tried to wedge her foot in the space where the two locked sections of the door came together. She had to get out there and wave, get the attention of the pilots. And then Artkin loomed in the doorway. With swift, deft movements, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“Let me out,” Kate cried, struggling as he pushed her toward the driver’s seat.
“It’s no use, miss,” Artkin shouted, an ominous presence in the mask. He grabbed her shoulders roughly, his face only inches from hers. “They will know sooner or later that you are here, if they do not know already.”
A high, whining sound now, above the roar of the helicopter, and Kate recognized a police siren, howling and harrowing. “Listen,” Artkin said, holding her fast in his grip. “This helicopter now, and a police cruiser and then more helicopters and more cruisers. And army jeeps. Then the television van and the radio cars. This is only
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