Read Online Mister Death's Blue-Eyed Girls by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Downing Hahn
Tags: Suspense
Ads: Link
do.
My arm hurts from being twisted, my face is bruised, my belly aches. I slide down in the seat and hope no one will see me.
Running Home
Friday, June 15
Nora
E LLIE finally slows down. She collapses under a tree in someone's yard. It's like she's been shot too. I drop down beside her. We start crying again. Huge, gulping, suffocating sobs. Sobs torn from our hearts, from our guts. Sobs that hurt.
Then Ellie is on her feet again. "Come on," she says. Her nose and upper lip are covered with snot, her eyes are swollen.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Your house." Ellie wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "I don't know where else to go. Mom's at work. And Mrs. Boydâhow can I face her? Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God." She hides her face in her hands. Tears seep through her fingers, run down her face, and drip on her blouse. She sits down again and so do I. Grass scratches the backs of my bare legs. I don't think I can run anymore. Or walk. Or even stand up. My bones have dissolved.
How could this happen? Something this bad? This horrible? This unreal? You read about murder in the paper, you hear about it on TV, a man killed in a robbery, a woman strangled by her husband. Someone stabbed, someone beaten, someone shot. Murder happens far away, in cities or desolate places. It happens to strangers and you say how sad, how awful, and then a commercial comes on and that's that, you forget. You watch
I Love Lucy
and laugh, you watch
Gunsmoke
and Matt Dillon catches the killer before the show is over. You go up to bed before the news comes on to remind you of the woman's body found in an alley. You fall asleep in your safe little house, and you know all your friends are sleeping in their safe little houses and you'll see them at school tomorrow. And you forget the woman in the alley who will never sleep in her safe little house again.
But not this. You won't forget this. It will be a part of you forever. This day ... this day will never end.
Â
I glance at Ellie. She's soaked with sweat, and tears are running down her face again. Cars, trucks, buses whiz past. I hear a blast of music from a convertible. A girl rides by on a bike, stares at us, glances back every now and then.
Finally I ask Ellie why she was so mad at Buddy.
She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Don't you know?"
"Know what?" Fear nibbles at me.
"He killed them," she says in a dull, heavy voice.
"Buddy?" I shake my head. "He couldn't have. Not Buddy. It was someone else, a stranger, a crazy man."
"You saw him on the bridge," she says. "He must have done it just before we came along."
"No, not someone we know, Ellie." It makes it so much worse. Horrible, even. "Not someone we go to school with."
"He did it. I
know
he did."
"How do you know?"
Ellie thumps her chest. "Here, I know it
here.
" She scrubs her eyes with the back of her fist. "Let's go. He won't find us at your house."
My legs go weak again. This is not something I'd thought of. "You think he's looking for us?"
"We saw him on the bridge. We saw the fight they got into, we heard him say he'd kill her."
"But he wouldn't kill
us.
"
"We're witnesses, Nora."
I find myself thinking about mysteriesâbooks, movies. What were the three things? Motive, means, and opportunity, yeah, that's it. Buddy had a motive, he had an opportunity, but did he have the means? "Does he have a gun?" I ask Ellie.
"Cheryl told me he has a rifle. They used to go down in the woods and shoot tin cans for target practice. She saw him kill a squirrel once. After that she wouldn't go shooting with him. She can't stand seeing an animal hurt."
"He could have shot
us
this morning," I whisper.
"There were some tenth-graders coming along behind us," she says. "They probably saved our lives."
"But suppose," I say, "suppose we hadn't overslept and we'd all walked to school together like we planned. We'd all be dead. All four of us."
"Oh, God," Ellie whispers. "Oh, God."
I try not to think of Ellie and me
My arm hurts from being twisted, my face is bruised, my belly aches. I slide down in the seat and hope no one will see me.
Running Home
Friday, June 15
Nora
E LLIE finally slows down. She collapses under a tree in someone's yard. It's like she's been shot too. I drop down beside her. We start crying again. Huge, gulping, suffocating sobs. Sobs torn from our hearts, from our guts. Sobs that hurt.
Then Ellie is on her feet again. "Come on," she says. Her nose and upper lip are covered with snot, her eyes are swollen.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Your house." Ellie wipes her nose on the back of her hand. "I don't know where else to go. Mom's at work. And Mrs. Boydâhow can I face her? Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God." She hides her face in her hands. Tears seep through her fingers, run down her face, and drip on her blouse. She sits down again and so do I. Grass scratches the backs of my bare legs. I don't think I can run anymore. Or walk. Or even stand up. My bones have dissolved.
How could this happen? Something this bad? This horrible? This unreal? You read about murder in the paper, you hear about it on TV, a man killed in a robbery, a woman strangled by her husband. Someone stabbed, someone beaten, someone shot. Murder happens far away, in cities or desolate places. It happens to strangers and you say how sad, how awful, and then a commercial comes on and that's that, you forget. You watch
I Love Lucy
and laugh, you watch
Gunsmoke
and Matt Dillon catches the killer before the show is over. You go up to bed before the news comes on to remind you of the woman's body found in an alley. You fall asleep in your safe little house, and you know all your friends are sleeping in their safe little houses and you'll see them at school tomorrow. And you forget the woman in the alley who will never sleep in her safe little house again.
But not this. You won't forget this. It will be a part of you forever. This day ... this day will never end.
Â
I glance at Ellie. She's soaked with sweat, and tears are running down her face again. Cars, trucks, buses whiz past. I hear a blast of music from a convertible. A girl rides by on a bike, stares at us, glances back every now and then.
Finally I ask Ellie why she was so mad at Buddy.
She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "Don't you know?"
"Know what?" Fear nibbles at me.
"He killed them," she says in a dull, heavy voice.
"Buddy?" I shake my head. "He couldn't have. Not Buddy. It was someone else, a stranger, a crazy man."
"You saw him on the bridge," she says. "He must have done it just before we came along."
"No, not someone we know, Ellie." It makes it so much worse. Horrible, even. "Not someone we go to school with."
"He did it. I
know
he did."
"How do you know?"
Ellie thumps her chest. "Here, I know it
here.
" She scrubs her eyes with the back of her fist. "Let's go. He won't find us at your house."
My legs go weak again. This is not something I'd thought of. "You think he's looking for us?"
"We saw him on the bridge. We saw the fight they got into, we heard him say he'd kill her."
"But he wouldn't kill
us.
"
"We're witnesses, Nora."
I find myself thinking about mysteriesâbooks, movies. What were the three things? Motive, means, and opportunity, yeah, that's it. Buddy had a motive, he had an opportunity, but did he have the means? "Does he have a gun?" I ask Ellie.
"Cheryl told me he has a rifle. They used to go down in the woods and shoot tin cans for target practice. She saw him kill a squirrel once. After that she wouldn't go shooting with him. She can't stand seeing an animal hurt."
"He could have shot
us
this morning," I whisper.
"There were some tenth-graders coming along behind us," she says. "They probably saved our lives."
"But suppose," I say, "suppose we hadn't overslept and we'd all walked to school together like we planned. We'd all be dead. All four of us."
"Oh, God," Ellie whispers. "Oh, God."
I try not to think of Ellie and me
Similar Books
