Read Online Mister Death's Blue-Eyed Girls by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Downing Hahn
Tags: Suspense
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dying in the park with Cheryl and Bobbi Jo. No one should be dead. Not them, not us.
By now we're crossing the trolley tracks, only two blocks from my house. I glance behind me, almost expecting to see Buddy's old black Ford coming after us. My street is empty except for my brother's friend Jeff, riding his bike in slow, lazy loops.
The sun beats on our heads and shoulders, and the sidewalk scorches our bare soles. It's hard to think straight. Nothing feels real. I'm lost in a nightmare. I'll never be safe again. Death is everywhereâbehind every tree, around every corner. How have I escaped him for so long?
The car isn't in the driveway. Just when I really, really need her, Mom has gone someplace. How can she not be here?
Ellie follows me to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and find a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid. I get the ice tray and pry out enough cubes for two glasses. Then, despite the heat up there, we climb the stairs to my room.
While my old table fan whirs and creaks, we gulp down Kool-Aid and then suck on the ice cubes.
"Should we call the police and tell them about Buddy?" Ellie asks.
"I don't know." The idea of talking to a policeman scares me.
Ellie bites her fingernail. It's the first time I've ever seen her do that. "They were only ten minutes ahead of us," she says. "
Ten minutes.
And we didn't hear a thing. Or see a thing. How can that be?"
"No," I say. "We heard those bangsâremember? We thought it was a car backfiring."
She pauses, thinks, gnaws harder on her fingernail. "You think it was the gun?" she whispers.
I notice how tightly I'm holding my glass. My whole body is tense, both inside and out. I try to relax but I can't. It's like gym when the PE teachers make us lie on the floor in our ugly blue gym suits and tell us to relax inch by inch from the toes up. As soon as I'd move from my toes to my ankles, my toes would tense up again. I never made it past my hips.
"What should we do?" Ellie asks.
Usually I'm the one who asks that question. "I don't know."
Just then I hear the back door open and close. For a moment I freeze, terrified Buddy has tracked us down.
Mom calls, "Nora, are you up there?" Without waiting for an answer she runs up the stairs.
She stares at us, one hand pressed to her heart. "Oh, thank God, thank God." She gathers me in her arms as if I'm five years old and hugs me so tightly I think my ribs might break.
"Two girls were murdered in the park this morning, I just heard it on the radio. They didn't release their names. I was so scared." Mom hugs Ellie, too. "I'm so relieved, so relieved." She's almost in tears herself.
"We were there, Mom, we were there just after it happened." I'm sobbing hysterically, clinging to her, soaking her blouse with tears and snot. "We saw the police cars and the ambulances. It was horrible."
With one arm around me and the other around Ellie, Mom tries to comfort us. "They've taken a boy in for questioning," she tells us, "but they haven't identified him."
"It's Buddy," Ellie says. "He did it, I know he did."
Mom looks puzzled so we try to explain, stumbling over words, interrupting each other, correcting each other. "Well," she says, "if you're right, I hope they keep him in jail, where he can't hurt anyone else."
The phone begins to ring and Mom hurries off to answer it. "Ellie," she calls, "it's your mother."
I run downstairs with Ellie. I can tell from what she tells her mother that Mrs. O'Brien heard the same news story and is just as scared as Mom was.
"We're all right, Mom," Ellie insists. "We're all right. No, I'm not crying, I'm okay, just scared, that's all, andâandâand..." Ellie does cry then. "Why did it happen, Mommy? Why did they have to die?"
Mom holds me tight. "Poor babies," she whispers. "Poor, poor babies."
Does she mean Ellie and me? Or Bobbi Jo and Cheryl? Or all four of us?
Mrs. O'Brien comes for Ellie. Ellie and I hug each other. How can I bear to let her go? "See you tomorrow" is
By now we're crossing the trolley tracks, only two blocks from my house. I glance behind me, almost expecting to see Buddy's old black Ford coming after us. My street is empty except for my brother's friend Jeff, riding his bike in slow, lazy loops.
The sun beats on our heads and shoulders, and the sidewalk scorches our bare soles. It's hard to think straight. Nothing feels real. I'm lost in a nightmare. I'll never be safe again. Death is everywhereâbehind every tree, around every corner. How have I escaped him for so long?
The car isn't in the driveway. Just when I really, really need her, Mom has gone someplace. How can she not be here?
Ellie follows me to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and find a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid. I get the ice tray and pry out enough cubes for two glasses. Then, despite the heat up there, we climb the stairs to my room.
While my old table fan whirs and creaks, we gulp down Kool-Aid and then suck on the ice cubes.
"Should we call the police and tell them about Buddy?" Ellie asks.
"I don't know." The idea of talking to a policeman scares me.
Ellie bites her fingernail. It's the first time I've ever seen her do that. "They were only ten minutes ahead of us," she says. "
Ten minutes.
And we didn't hear a thing. Or see a thing. How can that be?"
"No," I say. "We heard those bangsâremember? We thought it was a car backfiring."
She pauses, thinks, gnaws harder on her fingernail. "You think it was the gun?" she whispers.
I notice how tightly I'm holding my glass. My whole body is tense, both inside and out. I try to relax but I can't. It's like gym when the PE teachers make us lie on the floor in our ugly blue gym suits and tell us to relax inch by inch from the toes up. As soon as I'd move from my toes to my ankles, my toes would tense up again. I never made it past my hips.
"What should we do?" Ellie asks.
Usually I'm the one who asks that question. "I don't know."
Just then I hear the back door open and close. For a moment I freeze, terrified Buddy has tracked us down.
Mom calls, "Nora, are you up there?" Without waiting for an answer she runs up the stairs.
She stares at us, one hand pressed to her heart. "Oh, thank God, thank God." She gathers me in her arms as if I'm five years old and hugs me so tightly I think my ribs might break.
"Two girls were murdered in the park this morning, I just heard it on the radio. They didn't release their names. I was so scared." Mom hugs Ellie, too. "I'm so relieved, so relieved." She's almost in tears herself.
"We were there, Mom, we were there just after it happened." I'm sobbing hysterically, clinging to her, soaking her blouse with tears and snot. "We saw the police cars and the ambulances. It was horrible."
With one arm around me and the other around Ellie, Mom tries to comfort us. "They've taken a boy in for questioning," she tells us, "but they haven't identified him."
"It's Buddy," Ellie says. "He did it, I know he did."
Mom looks puzzled so we try to explain, stumbling over words, interrupting each other, correcting each other. "Well," she says, "if you're right, I hope they keep him in jail, where he can't hurt anyone else."
The phone begins to ring and Mom hurries off to answer it. "Ellie," she calls, "it's your mother."
I run downstairs with Ellie. I can tell from what she tells her mother that Mrs. O'Brien heard the same news story and is just as scared as Mom was.
"We're all right, Mom," Ellie insists. "We're all right. No, I'm not crying, I'm okay, just scared, that's all, andâandâand..." Ellie does cry then. "Why did it happen, Mommy? Why did they have to die?"
Mom holds me tight. "Poor babies," she whispers. "Poor, poor babies."
Does she mean Ellie and me? Or Bobbi Jo and Cheryl? Or all four of us?
Mrs. O'Brien comes for Ellie. Ellie and I hug each other. How can I bear to let her go? "See you tomorrow" is
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