Free Rest In Peace by Richie Tankersley Cusick Page A

like this is any big deal.
    Yet Lucy’s heart was pounding as she groped her way back along the corridor. And this time, her hand just happened to touch the door of Angela’s room.
    It was like receiving a shock.
    The wooden panel was so icy cold that Lucy gasped and jumped back, pressing her hand to her chest.
    For a second all she could do was stand there in the dark. The chill in her fingers shot all the way up through her arm, all the way into her head. She was too stunned to move; it was too black to see. Yet her eyes stared straight ahead, straight at Angela’s door.
    Irene had kept it shut ever since Angela’s disappearance.
    As though Angela and everything about her must be sealed away from Irene’s disapproval and the constant demands of Irene’s busy life.
    Holding her breath, Lucy reached out for the door.
    And felt it move slowly inward.
    Angela’s window was open. Lucy could see it from where she stood on the threshold, though the room was thick with shadows. The curtains fluttered like restless ghosts, and snow had swirled in through the screen, lying still unmelted upon the carpet.
    Oh my God . . . someone’s broken in!
    Yet through a surge of panic, Lucy could see that the screen hadn’t been cut, the glass was still intact.
    It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t imagine that Irene had come in here and opened that window. And Florence came to clean only on Fridays. But maybe Florence had done it—opened the window to air out Angela’s room and then forgotten to close it again. Yes, that’s it , Lucy told herself firmly. That must be it—what else could it be?
    But as rationalizations swept through her mind, she began to be aware of something else. It came through to her slowly and faintly, and it took her several moments even to realize what it was.
    A sound. A soft, muffled sound . . . like . . . ringing?
    Lucy couldn’t move. With mounting fear, she strained to listen, and her brain struggled to compute. Yes . . . definitely a ringing sound . . .
    A telephone.
    Goose bumps crept along her spine. Angela’s telephone was ringing, and as Lucy turned reluctantly toward the sound, she heard Angela’s answering machine kick on. “Hi,” purred the sultry voice. “This is Angela. If you think you can handle me, leave a message.”
    Nobody spoke.
    Lucy heard only silence on the other end of the line.
    Terrible, frightening silence . . . as someone waited.
    Wrong number , Lucy thought frantically— everyone knows Angela’s missing—no one who knows her would be doing this!
    Yet she felt herself walking toward the phone. Maneuvering through the darkness, as the silence on the answering machine stretched on and on and on . . .
    In slow motion, Lucy picked up the receiver.
    â€œHello?” she whispered.
    And the voice that answered turned her blood to ice.
    â€œIt’s so dark here,” Angela sobbed, “I can’t get back!”
    â€œ Angela! ” Lucy screamed.
    She pressed the receiver hard against her ear, her voice rising in panic, her heart racing out of control.
    â€œAngela! It’s Lucy! Where are you? Are you okay?”
    But there was nothing but static now.
    â€œ Angela! ”
    Frantically, Lucy began pushing buttons, but there was no voice, no dial tone, and after several more seconds, no noise at all.
    â€œHello?” she cried. “Hello? Angela! Angela, don’t hang up—please talk to me!”
    In desperation Lucy jerked the telephone from Angela’s desk.
    And that’s when the truth finally hit her.
    The cord was plugged into the wall.
    But the electricity was still out.

10
    It’s a trick—it has to be some kind of trick!
    Dropping everything, Lucy ran into the hallway and stumbled the last few feet to her room.
    A cruel, sick joke! Kids from school tormenting me, because of Byron, because of Angela—
    She locked her door and braced her back against