Free The Confession by R.L. Stine Page A

me—with the deepest, darkest secret of his life.
    And as bad as I felt, as frightened, as upset—I couldn’t betray Sandy. As much as the words wanted to explode from my lips, I couldn’t say them. I had to swallow them, to hold them in.
    I let my gaze slide over to Hillary on the otherend of the couch. I could see by her expression that she was reading my thoughts.
    Hillary wanted to tell, even more than me.
    Hillary was so angry at Sandy, I knew she was bursting to tell.
    Hillary was more upset than any of us that Sandy had confessed to us. Right from the beginning, she was furious that Sandy had involved us.
    She slid a hand up and down her long braid. The other hand silently drummed the couch arm.
    Hillary wouldn’t tell, I knew.
    And neither would I.
    Officer Reed leaned forward on the ottoman. “You must have heard some rumors,” he insisted. “Your classmates—they must have some thoughts about who murdered Al Freed.”
    I shook my head. “Everyone is terribly upset,” I told him. “I mean, no one can believe it. It’s all so unreal.”
    â€œKids don’t talk about it that much,” Hillary broke in. Her voice sounded tense and tight. “It’s too frightening. We all talk about graduation and stuff. I think we all want to forget, want to shove the whole thing to the back of our minds.”
    â€œShe’s right,” I quickly agreed. Hillary was so smart. She could always put things into words better than me. “It’s supposed to be a happy time. For us seniors, I mean. People don’t want to be reminded that something so horrible happened. That’s why I acted a little unhappy to see you at the front door.”
    Officer Reed nodded grimly. He rubbed his broad forehead. Then he lowered his eyes to thelittle notepad. “Let me run a few names by you. See if they mean anything to you.”
    He slowly read off a list of six or seven boys’ names. None of the boys were from Shadyside High. Hillary and I had never heard of any of them.
    â€œAre those Al’s friends from Waynesbridge?” I asked.
    Officer Reed tucked the notebook into his shirt pocket. “Yeah. Some of them.”
    â€œHe never brought them around,” I told him. “He mostly hung out with them in Waynesbridge.”
    â€œI see.” The police officer pulled himself to his feet. “That’s all for now,” he said. “Sorry to take up your time.” He nodded to my mother, who remained by the window.
    â€œSorry we weren’t any help,” I said, showing him to the front door. “If I hear anything … ”
    â€œPlease call,” he said. “Good night, everyone.” He stepped out the door.
    I watched from the doorway until he climbed into his cruiser. I felt so relieved. Relieved that he was leaving. Relieved that I had fought down my urge to tell him the truth, to tell him everything I knew.
    His car door slammed. The headlights flashed on. A few seconds later, he pulled silently away.
    When he was out of sight, I closed the front door. As I returned to the living room, my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, my hands felt warm again.
    â€œI hope he finds the murderer soon,” Mom said, biting her bottom lip.
    â€œI hope so,” I echoed.
    Mom stood up. She raised her book. “I’m going upstairs to read. I can’t put this book down, even though it’s scaring me to death.” She said good night to Hillary and headed up to her room.
    I waited till she was upstairs. Then I whispered to Hillary, “Were you thinking what I was thinking?”
    â€œYou mean about telling the policeman what we know?”
    I nodded. “It was on the tip of my—”
    I stopped when I saw a flash of movement through the living room window. Just the flicker of a shadow. A darting move. Out in the front yard.
    I cut the lights. Then, in total darkness, stepped up to the window—and