The Dance by Christopher Pike Read Free Book Online Page A

gun…
    The loneliness Polly had experienced in the bed-room suddenly crashed down upon her, and she burst out crying. Clark’s wet arms went around her, and she leaned into them.
    “All I did was fight with Alice and make her think I hated her when I loved her more than I loved anything,” she said. “And now she’s gone, and Aunty’s here, but she can hardly breathe. Help me, Clark, you’ve got to help me. I can’t live like this. I feel I have to die.”
    He didn’t say anything for the longest time, just held her as he used to hold her before he had started to see Alice. When he finally did release her, she felt a little better, though slightly nauseated. He brushed the hair from her eyes, accidentally scratching her forehead with one of his nails.
    “You’ll be all right, kid,” he said. “You don’t have to die. You didn’t do nothing wrong. Nothing at all.”
    “But I—”
    “Shh. Enough tears. Mourn too much and you disturb the sleep of the dead. Tell me, does Michael say Alice was murdered?”
    She dabbed her eyes. “He’s suspicious.”
    “Hmm. What else?”
    “He gave me a paper he wants Aunty to sign.”
    “Show it to me.”
    He barely glanced at the form when she handed it over, folding it and sticking it in his coat pocket. “I’ll look at it later,” he said.
    “If you want, I can read it to you now. I’ve been eating lots of carrots. I can see in the dark.”
    He brushed aside her comment, sticking his head in the doorway, sniffing the air. “It stinks in this place. That old lady’s still here?”
    “Yeah. She’s sick. She had a heart attack. I take care of her.”
    “Why? Old people—when their number’s up, they die. It doesn’t matter what you do.”
    “Don’t say that!”
    “That’s reality, babe. Sometimes they choke to death on their tongues. It’s a hassle watching her all the time, isn’t it?”
    “I don’t mind. I take good care of her.”
    He grinned and started to speak again just as someone knocked at the front door. “Who’s that?” he snapped.
    “I don’t know. I’ll go see.”
    “No, wait, I’ll go. My bike’s parked at the end of your driveway beneath that ugly tree, but it’s probably getting wet.” He grabbed her by the arm, pulled her toward him. She thought for a moment he was going to kiss her, but then he let her go, gesturing for her to follow him away from the patio. “Come here.”
    “Out in the rain? I’ll get wet.”
    “Who cares?” She walked over and stood beside him in the downpour. The person at the front door knocked again. She hardly noticed. The water felt delicious atop her head, the drops sliding down inside her blouse and over her breasts. Clark took her into his arms again, leaned close to her ear. “I like you this way,” he whispered. “Cold, like me.” He kissed her neck lightly, and she could imagine how the rain must have drenched deep into his flesh while he had raced through the night on his motorcycle; his lips sent a chill into her blood, a warmth up her spine. “Do you love me, Polly?”
    “I-I’m glad you’re here.”
    “Do you want me to come again?”
    “I do.”
    “Then I will.” He kissed her again on the neck, took a step back. “I have a secret to tell. Can you keep a secret?”
    “Sure.”
    “First you must promise not to talk about me to anybody.” He scratched her shoulder lightly, pinching the material. “You must cross your heart and hope to die.”
    She sketched a cross over her chest. “I promise. What is it?”
    “Michael knows something. But what he knows, he knows it backward. Alice didn’t kill herself.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Your sister was too cute to wash her hair with her own blood.”
    “Who did kill her?”
    He stared at her with his bright green eyes. The person at the front door knocked a third time. “You don’t know?”
    “No.”
    “Would you lie to me?”
    She began to feel a bit sick again. “I honestly don’t know.”
    His face softened