The Dance by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online

of the party.
    “I knocked, too.”
    “I’m sorry, I thought—I don’t know. Just a sec. Go around to the back patio. I’ll let you in.”
    He had on the black leather jacket and pants he wore on his motorcycle. For the most part, the rain had left him untouched. Except for his tangled red hair. Soaked, it seemed much darker.
    “I was beginning to believe you’d left this big box to the ghosts,” he said as she slid open the sliding-glass door that led out onto the roof-covered patio. “How are you, babe? Been a long time.”
    “Yeah, months. I can’t believe you’re here. Why didn’t you call before coming?”
    He wiped at his pale face with his long bony fingers. He had always been skinny. Now he was close to emaciated. “I wanted to see you, I didn’t want to talk to you.” He grinned. “You look exotic, Polly, real tender.”
    She beamed, relaxing a notch. She didn’t know why she had felt she had to warn Michael away from Clark. Why, here he was right in front of her and everything was cool. “Thanks, you look nice, too. Do you want to come in?”
    “Nah,” he said, nodding to his mud-caked boots. “Better not. Don’t want to spoil the scene. Like to keep pretty things pretty.” He turned toward the side of the house where she had first seen him, and the grin seemed to melt from his face as if he were a clay sculpture in the rain. His entire manner changed.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said.
    She bit her lip. “I thought you knew.”
    He looked at her, his green eyes darkening. “I didn’t know until I read about the funeral in the papers.”
    “Did you go?”
    “You know I didn’t.”
    “I didn’t know. They had me in the hospital.”
    He was angry. “But I called. I left messages.”
    “The machine was acting up. I didn’t get them.”
    He shook his head, stepping away from the door, turning his back to her, reaching his palm out from beneath the shelter of the patio. The rain continued to pour down. “Who killed her?” he asked.
    “The police say it was a suicide.”
    He thought about that a moment, then his mood changed again, and he chuckled. “The police. What else do they say?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Did they ask about me?”
    She hesitated. “They didn’t.”
    He whirled. “Did someone else?”
    She had never been able to lie to him. He had some kind of power over her she didn’t understand. “A boy at school.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Michael.”
    “What’s his last name?”
    “I’m not sure.” She added weakly, “He wanted to know your last name.”
    He moved to her, briefly touched her chin with his wet fingers, and it was almost as if an electrical current ran through his nails; she couldn’t help quivering. “Remember when we met?” he asked. “On that sacred ground? The Indians buried there believed if you knew a person’s secret name, you could make him do anything you wished. Anything at all.”
    “Is that why you never told me your full name?”
    He grinned again. “Do you believe that nonsense?”
    “No.”
    He held her eyes a moment. “I remember this Michael. I met him at the football game. Do you know if he saw me at the party?”
    Lightning cracked again, thunder roared, the smell of ozone filling the air. Polly put a hand to her head, rubbed her temple. She didn’t feel pain, only a slight pressure and immense surprise. “You were at the party?” she said.
    “Yeah, I came at the end like you told me to. Don’t you remember?”
    “Yeah,” she said quickly. “I had just forgotten for a moment, that’s all.” She really did remember, not everything maybe, but a lot. The three of them had been in the room together. They had gotten into an argument about the paper cups, or why Clark hadn’t come earlier, something like that. Then she and Clark had left Alice alone in the room and gone downstairs. He had left on his motorcycle and she had gone out the back to check on the chlorine in the pool. Then Alice had gone for the