AN INTRUDER.

Erica opened the front door and her eyes widened in surprise. "Melissa, hi!" she said, pushing open the glass storm door.

"How are you?" Melissa asked, wiping her shoes on the straw welcome mat before stepping into Erica's front hallway. The aroma of roasting chicken floated out from the kitchen, reminding Melissa that she was hungry.

"Okay," Erica replied, studying Melissa's face as if trying to determine the reason for her visit. "Did you come to see Rachel? I think she's taking a nap."

"No, I came to see you," Melissa said somberly, her voice nearly a whisper.

"Take off your coat," Erica said, reaching for it.

Melissa shook her head. "No, I can only stay a minute. It's almost dinner time." She glanced through the storm door behind her. Across the street, her dad's car was pulling up the drive. "My dad has to eat two minutes after he gets home," Melissa said, "or else he gets crabby."

Erica snickered. "So what's up?"

Melissa pushed her hair off her forehead. "I just wanted to tell you that Dave is missing from his school."

Even in the dim hall light, Melissa could see Erica turn pale. Erica gaped at Melissa for a long moment, as if trying to grasp what Melissa had just told her.

"He's missing?" she said finally. "You mean he ran away?"

"Yeah," Melissa replied, nodding. "His mom called me."

"You mean he's coming here?" Erica asked, her shock turning to fear.

"I don't know," Melissa said, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. "Maybe. I just thought I should tell you-"

"But he can't!" Erica declared shrilly, her face white, her eyes wide with fear. She had knotted her hands into tense fists at her side.

"I'm sorry," Melissa said, not sure why she was apologizing. She hadn't expected Erica to react with such fright.

"I've always thought Dave was the one," Erica said in a trembling voice. "The one who killed Josie. The one who attacked me last year." She glanced up the front stairway to the landing where she had been stabbed.

"But you told the police-" Melissa started.

"I couldn't tell them anything," Erica interrupted. "I didn't see who stabbed me. I didn't see anything. But I always thought it was Dave. He had so much anger. So much hate. He sent my sister those awful valentines. Then he broke into our house . . ." Erica's voice trailed off. She swallowed hard.

Melissa glanced across the street. "I'd better be going. I just thought you should know that Dave-"

"Now he's coming back to finish the job," Erica muttered, consumed with fright. She shuddered violently. "He's coming back to do something terrible."

"I've been getting valentines too," Melissa told her. "Threatening valentines. Like Josie." She hadn't meant to reveal that to Erica. The words just came tumbling out.

"The same threats? You have?" Erica asked, gazing into Melissa's face with concern.

Melissa nodded. "Two of them so far," she said, whispering as Erica's mother crossed the hallway heading for the kitchen. "In Dave's handwriting."

Erica uttered a silent, frightened gasp. "Then is Dave coming here to kill you?" she asked.

"I want to go to sleep now," Rachel said, yawning.

Erica pulled the hairbrush one last time through her sister's long hair. Then she set the brush down on the dressing table.

She glanced at the clock on Rachel's bedside table. A little after eight-thirty. Time to start her homework. She had an oral report to give the next day and hadn't even started to rehearse it.

Rachel took up so much of her time these days, Erica thought with a bitter sigh.

She waited until Rachel had slipped under the covers, said good night, and turned off the light. Then she headed downstairs to see if her mother needed anything before she started her homework.

Mrs. McClain was about to go out. "Your aunt Beth asked me to come over and look at some fabric samples," she explained, searching her bag for her car keys. "I won't be late."

"No problem," Erica replied. "Rachel's going to sleep."

Mrs. McClain pulled out the car keys. "Good news, Erica. Your father is coming home tomorrow. And I think he's going to stay home for a while."

"Great!" Erica said with enthusiasm. "I hardly remember what he looks like."

"Me either," her mother said, heading for the door. "I think he's tall. Or maybe he's short. I forget which."

They both laughed. Mrs. McClain blew her daughter a kiss, then disappeared out the door.

An hour later Erica was surrounded by books, sprawled on her stomach on the living room carpet, scribbling furiously on a long, legal-size pad, trying to get her report together.

Outside, the wind whistled and howled. The living room lights flickered for a moment, threatening to go out.

That's all I need, Erica thought. A power failure. I'd have to write my report by candlelight.

She gazed up at the ceiling fixture, expecting the light to go out. But the flickering stopped. The winds continued to howl, a shrill, lonely sound like an animal call.

A few minutes later Erica heard other sounds. She raised her head, dropping her pen to the rug.

The sounds were coming from the den.

Somebody had bumped into something.

Somebody was in there.

Erica raised herself to her knees. And listened.

Another footstep. A creaking floorboard.

"Who's there?" she called.

Silence.

"Rachel, is that you? Did you wake up?"

No reply.

"Rachel? Answer me."

It isn't Rachel, she realized. But it's someone. Someone in the den.

And I'm all alone here.

Gripped with fear, she struggled to her feet. Her heart pounding against her chest. Outside, the wind howled even louder, as if crying out a warning.

"Who-who's there?" Erica stammered.

Silently tip-toeing, she made her way to the den door. She stopped just outside the doorway and listened. Then, timidly, she poked her head into the room-and cried out.

Chapter 24.

ANOTHER INTRUDER.

Erica bolted into the den, sputtering angrily. "Luke, what are you doing here?" she demanded.

Startled, Luke took a step back from the desk, his face bright red. "Hi, Erica. I-uh . . ."

"What are you doing here?" Erica repeated, stopping a few feet in front of him, glaring at him, her fists angrily pushed against her hips.

"Sorry," Luke muttered uncomfortably. "I was just-leaving a valentine for Rachel." He held up the square white envelope he had in his right hand.

"Huh? A valentine?" Erica lowered her eyes to the card. "But why did you sneak in?"

"I-I didn't want to disturb anyone," Luke explained, his face still scarlet, his expression guilty, embarrassed. "I mean, I saw you studying so hard and I guessed Rachel was asleep. So I was just going to leave this and scoot."

Erica studied his face, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. "You scared me to death," she said, exhaling loudly. "If I was a cat, that would've been all nine lives."

"Sorry," Luke repeated softly. "I didn't mean to. Really."

"You feel guilty, don't you," Erica accused, crossing her arms in front of her chest, locking her eyes on his.

"Huh? Guilty?"

"Yeah." She refused to soften her gaze, even though he looked away. "Guilty. Guilty about Rachel."

"Give me a break, Erica," Luke said, pleading.

"Do you know what happened to Rachel after you stopped coming? Do you have any idea how devastated she was?" Erica cried.

"I-I can't talk about it," Luke stammered. "I still care about Rachel, but I'm with Melissa now. Here."

He tossed the valentine at Erica and ran past her out of the den, into the hall and out of the house without looking back once.

Across the street Melissa was playing perhaps the most boring game of Scrabble in the history of the universe. "Daddy, can't we quit?" she begged. "You're ahead by four hundred points because I've had nothing but vowels the whole night!"

Mr. Davis chuckled, leaning over the table, his eyes lowered to his line of letters. "That's not why you're losing, Beanpole. You're losing because I'm a good defensive player. You have to have a strong defense in Scrabble. Most people don't know that."

"Don't call me Beanpole," Melissa grumbled. "You know I hate it." She shoved her letters around on the holder, frowning. "Want me to call you Fatso?"

Mr. Davis raised his head abruptly. "Don't you dare." He was a big bear of a man, weighing around two hundred pounds, and was very sensitive about his weight.

"I can't make a word," Melissa wailed. "All I have are O's and U's."

Mr. Davis glanced at the score sheet. "Okay, Melissa. We can quit. You always were a poor loser," he teased.

Melissa uttered a cry of frustration and shoved the board across the table causing the pieces to tumble out of place.

"Loser cleans up," her father declared, grinning. "I'm going to watch the news. It's nearly eleven." He pushed himself away from the kitchen table and, after stopping at the refrigerator for a snack, headed into the den to join Melissa's mom.

Grumbling to herself, Melissa cleaned up the game, then headed up to her room.

Two hours later she was still struggling to fall asleep. Forcing her eyes to remain closed, she tried to think pleasant, soothing thoughts. She pictured Luke. His shy smile. The way his light brown hair curled just above his ears. How cute he looked in his silver-framed glasses.

She tried counting sheep. Fluffy white, four-legged cottonballs. She pictured them hopping over a low fence, just like in the cartoons.

Whoever thought up counting sheep as a way to get to sleep? she wondered. What a dumb idea. Did it ever work?

She tried counting puppy dogs. Then she tried to clear all the animals out of her mind and concentrate on nothing at all. Sheer nothingness.

Clear, white nothingness. Soft nothingness.

She had just about drifted off to sleep when she heard a loud thump outside her window.

"Huh?"