Swirling reds.
Puddles and pools.
Blood red.
Shimmering and rolling, spinning around him.
And behind the angry spills of color, Dave's scream, a hideous animal wail.
Of horror.
Of anger.
The scream refused to fade.
The red pools refused to disappear.
The scream continued to echo until it was replaced by new sounds.
A rumble at first.
Thunder?
No. Too close to be thunder.
And too human.
Footsteps, Dave realized.
The rumble and creak of footsteps on the stairs.
Heavy footsteps, moving closer. Rapidly moving closer.
The two officers ran up the stairs and burst into the hallway.
One of them reached for the light switch. The overhead light clicked on, a white sunburst, an explosion of light.
"Hey, you-!"
The two officers moved quickly across the landing. One of them reached for his pistol.
"Drop it!" the other one yelled to Dave.
Dave stared at the blood-covered letter opener gripped so tightly in his hand.
The red flowing onto the silver.
"Drop it! Now!" the policeman barked.
Dave leaned over the girl. He stared at the bloody wound in her side. Stared at the puddle of blood at his feet.
Erica.
The girl was Erica.
He huddled over Erica, staring at the stab wound.
The blood red swirls floated angrily in Dave's eyes. Blinding him.
Suffocating him.
So much blood.
Poor Erica.
Such a big, red wound. And so much blood.
Puddles and pools.
Such an angry, angry red.
Why was Erica here?
Why were the police here?
Why wouldn't the red pools go away?
Dave whirled around. He started to stand up.
"Stop right there, son," the officer said, tensing the arm that held the pistol aimed at Dave. "Drop the knife and don't move. You're in a lot of trouble."
PART TWO.
FEBRUARY, ONE YEAR LATER.
Chapter 20.
MELISSA'S TURN.
Melissa leaned forward to kiss Luke and bumped her forehead against his glasses.
"Ow!" they both said.
Melissa gave Luke a playful shove with both hands. "Don't you ever take those glasses off?" she chided.
He laughed and pulled his glasses off. He gazed at her expectantly, waiting for another kiss. But Melissa surprised him by jumping to her feet.
"Hey, come back," he called. "What's wrong?"
Melissa walked to the den window and stared out at the darkening sky. Gray clouds collided over the bare trees, threatening a snowstorm. By the side of the garage, two large crows were pecking at the hard ground. Melissa watched them till they flew away, squabbling loudly.
"I got a letter from Dave," she told Luke, still staring out the window, her arms crossed over the front of her pale green sweater. She uncrossed her arms and began to fiddle with a tangle of black hair.
"Huh? From Dave?" Luke reacted with surprise.
Luke and Melissa had been going out for about two months. In all that time, she had mentioned Dave only once or twice. Dave, Luke knew, was in some military-style boarding school upstate. Luke wasn't exactly sure where.
"Poor Dave," Melissa said, turning to face Luke, sitting against the windowsill. "He really lost it."
"Yeah," Luke agreed thoughtfully, putting his glasses back on.
"He always had a terrible temper," Melissa said, still toying with her hair. "But I never thought he killed Josie and stabbed Erica. I still don't believe it."
"I can't believe it happened a year ago," Luke said softly. "It-it's all so fresh in my mind."
"I still have nightmares about it," Melissa confessed. "Getting the letter from Dave brought it all back."
Leaning against the windowsill, feeling the chill from outside against her back, the frightening events of one year before whirred rapidly, painfully through Melissa's mind.
Dave had been caught huddling over Erica's unconscious body, the blood-soaked letter opener in his hand. Erica was rushed to the hospital where she eventually recovered. Dave was arrested and held.
But the police investigation couldn't link Dave to Josie's murder. And Erica never pressed charges, never accused him of stabbing her. "It was too dark," she had told the police. "And I was attacked from behind. I never saw who did it."
Why had Erica been home?
She had been in a state of shock, too sick and upset to go to Josie's funeral. She had stayed home with Rachel while her parents went to the funeral.
She heard strange noises over the intercom. She called the police. She stepped out into the dark hallway to investigate-and was stabbed from behind.
Dave told the police that he hadn't been the one who stabbed Erica. He claimed that he had stumbled over Erica's body while trying to get to the stairway. She had already been stabbed. Dave was so shocked and horrified, he bent down and picked up the letter opener.
He froze there in a panic. That was when the police came up the stairs and found him.
Dave swore he was innocent, and after a long investigation, the police had to let him go. No proof. No evidence.
Poor Dave, Melissa thought, remembering his troubled face, his nervous eyes, his trembling chin when he tried to explain it all to her.
Dave couldn't return to a normal life. No one would let him.
Too many people in Shadyside, too many of his own friends, believed that he was a murderer.
First, the cheating incident. Then Josie's murder. Then breaking into the McClains' house. Then the attack on Erica.
Even if the police couldn't prove it, most of the town believed Dave was guilty.
For his sake, Dave's parents moved and sent him away to a boarding school upstate. Dave was gone, but the rumors about him continued.
Melissa hated the way kids talked about Dave. How could they be so sure he was a murderer? Why were they so willing and eager to believe that Dave was guilty?
It all seemed so clear and simple to some kids Melissa knew. Dave had hated Josie. Everyone knew that.
When Josie turned him in for cheating and he got kicked off the wrestling team because of it, he went berserk and killed her. That was the story a lot of people believed.
Then he broke into the McClains' house to get his threatening valentines back. Erica caught him in the act. Dave didn't want her to tell the police about the valentines. So he tried to kill her too.
That was the story some people believed.
And Melissa?
Melissa didn't know what to believe. She knew Dave really well. She'd been dating him for a long time. He trusted her. He confided in her.
Dave had a wild, impulsive side, Melissa knew. And he had an angry side. Sending those threatening valentines was a really dumb, messed-up thing to do.
But Dave wasn't a murderer. Melissa knew him. He wasn't a murderer.
Was he?
Luke walked across the den and put his arms around Melissa. He didn't say anything. His wool sweater felt scratchy against her cheek.
"Here it is a whole year later," Melissa said wistfully. "And there are still so many questions, so many unanswered questions."
"We have to try to put it behind us," Luke said softly.
"But how?" Melissa demanded.