The Face by R.L. Stine, Bill Schmidt Read Free Book Online

nodded.
    I instantly felt disappointed.
    I don’t know what I expected him to do. Jump out of his chair? Run over and hug me? Shout, “Yes! Yes! That’s wonderful!”
    I don’t know what. But I expected more than a nod.
    â€œThat’s good, Martha,” he said finally. He nodded again. Then he scribbled something on the pad.
    â€œIs it a real memory?” I asked eagerly. “Were there two cabins on top of a snowy hill? Did they have something to do with … with what happened?”
    He ignored my questions. “What else did you see?”
    I sighed. Why wasn’t he more excited? Why wasn’t he being more helpful?
    â€œWhat else was in the picture?” he demanded quietly, tapping his pencil on the chair arm now.
    I told him the rest. About seeing Justine, Laura, and Adriana. About seeing Aaron and two other boys. About how I couldn’t see the other boys’ faces.
    Again, he nodded.
    â€œAm I starting to remember? Is it coming back to me?” I asked impatiently.
    â€œI think so,” he replied. I waited for him to smile or show some emotion
—any
emotion. But he didn’t.
    I guess he was just being professional. But I wanted him to be
human.
I wanted him to help me.
    â€œThis is encouraging, Martha,” he said finally. He crossed his long legs. He wore Bass Weejun loafers with white socks. “What else did you see?”
    â€œThat’s about it.” I tried to remember if I had seen more. But the picture had vanished from my mind before anyone in the cabin said or did anything.
    â€œOh!” I cried out, suddenly remembering the drawings I had brought.
    He sat up straight. “What’s wrong, Martha?”
    I pulled my backpack up from the floor and started to unzip it. “I almost forgot. I brought you these.”
    I tugged out the sheets from my drawing pad and unfolded them. “Drawings I made,” I told him. “Of a face.”
    I held one of the drawings up to him. “I keep drawing the same face, the same boy, over and over,” I said. “I don’t know why. It’s almost as if I’m drawing against my will.”
    I held up two of the drawings, one in each hand.
    â€œDo you recognize the boy, Dr. Sayles?” I demanded eagerly. “Do you?”
    To my surprise, he was staring at the drawings with bulging eyes. His mouth wide open.
    No longer the blank-faced professional.
    He was staring at my drawings in total shock.

chapter 10
    I finished my homework early on Saturday. I was kind of bored. Aaron was away visiting cousins with his family.
    I sat in my room, listening to music drift up from downstairs. Dad had the Metropolitan Opera on the radio. He always played it cranked up really loud. My bedroom door was closed, but I could still hear it as if I were in the living room with him.
    Outside the window the sky spread out, blue and clear. A mound of snow rose up on the outer sill, pressing against the window. It had snowed for two days. The sun had finally come out.
    I stared down at a drawing of the boy’s face. Stared into his serious eyes. Stared at the scar that split his eyebrow.
    Who was he?
    Why did I keep drawing him?
    Why wouldn’t Dr. Sayles tell me? And why did Dr. Sayles lose his cool? Why did he have such a startled expression on his face when I held up the drawing?
    Questions. Questions.
    I had a lot of questions. Not many answers.
    I was still staring at the boy’s face when the bedroom door flew open, and Laura and Adriana burst in.
    â€œWhat’s up?” Adriana cried.
    â€œYou can’t stay in. You’ve got to come with us,” Laura insisted.
    They both had blue down jackets pulled down over faded jeans. They both carried round, red plastic sleds. Their cheeks were nearly as red as the sleds.
    â€œHuh? What’s going on?” I asked. I dropped the drawing to the desktop.
    â€œIt’s gorgeous out!” Laura exclaimed. “The most