Foul (Night Fall ™) Page 5

  Either way, every free throw I make energizes the crowd even more.

  “Rhino!”

  “Sucks!”

  Like our last game against St. Philomena’s, this one is close. We’ve been winning most of the game, but never by more than one or two baskets. As we enter the final minute of the game, we’re up 67–65.

  They have the ball, and they pass it around until there’s less than ten seconds left. Then one of their guards swishes a three.

  For the first time, St. Philomena’s is winning. By one. With seven seconds left in the game.

  Our coach calls time-out and draws up a play. Nate’s going to try to throw a pass the length of the floor to me. I’ll try to out-jump whoever’s guarding me, catch the ball, and make the game-winning shot.

  That’s the idea, anyway.

  Everything is going perfectly—Nate’s pass is high enough that only I can reach it, which I do, but then, as I’m turning to shoot, practically their whole team wraps their arms around me. I’m in a straightjacket of human limbs, and I can’t move.

  Whistles blow from everywhere.

  The final horn blares.

  A foul is called.

  Every player but me is sent to the bench. I walk to the free-throw line. The referee passes me the ball. The score is 67–68. If I make both free throws, we win.

  I don’t even want to think about what will happen if I miss.

  The whole stadium has gone completely quiet.

  I bend my legs, get my elbow out in front of me, and release the ball. It bounces off the front of the rim, off the backboard, off the back of the rim . . . and through the hoop.

  There’s a burst of cheering, but it goes away as soon as the ref passes me the ball again.

  I stand there alone on the court, holding the ball with both hands, and I look for all the people who matter most to me. My parents are there, as always, biting their knuckles in the middle of the stands. Nate’s sitting with the rest of my teammates on the bench. His dad is at the exit, watching me from behind his shades.

  This stadium is packed—so packed that some fans have to sit in the aisles of the bleachers. It looks as if there isn’t room for any more people.

  And yet there are people missing, people who should be here but can’t.

  My birth mother, who was murdered. My birth father, who went crazy with grief when she was killed.

  And, of course, Cindy.

  I can’t do anything about my parents—their absence is beyond my control—but I can bring Cindy back. If I can make this shot, I can save her.

  I bring my eyes to the rim. I think about Coach Elliot’s tips. Never take your eyes off the rim, he wrote. I don’t. Hold the ball in your fingers, the other note said, and I do just that. I feel the texture of the ball, the dimpled leather, and—still looking at the rim—I lift the ball above my head.

  If all this—all the threats Coach Elliot made and the people he’s hurt—was about getting me to listen, it worked.

  I let go of the basketball.

  I’m still staring at the rim when the ball goes through it.

  23

  The crowd comes pouring out of the stands and onto the court. My teammates and the Bridgewater fans are all trying to get to me first.

  I’m not paying attention to them, though.

  I’m looking over their heads, behind my team’s bench, at my sports bag. My phone’s in there, and I need to get it.

  People yell my name, smack my back, and tell me congratulations. They have their hands raised for me to high-five them.

  But as far as I’m concerned, they’re all in the way. I need my phone, and I push and elbow my way through this mob of people like I’m hacking through weeds and branches.

  When I get to my bag, I take out my phone and dial Coach Elliot’s number.

  It’s so loud on the court that I can barely hear the phone ring. When the rings have stopped, I say, “I did it. I made my free throws.”

  “I knew you would. Your father always said he didn’t mean to miss, but I knew he just needed the right kind of encouragement.”

  I imagine my dad finding my mother.

  “Where’s Cindy?” I say.

  “She can’t come to the phone right now.”

  “Where is she?” I’m shouting into the phone, but no one seems to notice because they’re all shouting, too.

  “She’s here, watching me dig her grave.”

  “You said if I made my free throws you wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “And I won’t. I’ll make sure her death is as painless as possible.”

  I start to protest into the phone, but he has already hung up.

  I sprint for the exit, sidestepping some fans and knocking over others. Sheriff Brady’s standing next to the door as I run by. “Where are you going?” he shouts.

  “The cemetery,” I holler back.

  There’s no reason not to tell him now.

  24

  The cemetery is right in town—kitty-corner from a car dealership and across the street from a neighborhood coffee shop. Once you enter the graveyard, though, you feel completely isolated. You feel completely alone.

  There are giant old trees lining the perimeter of the cemetery, casting deep black shadows into the already dark night. The road I’m driving on is skinny, more like a path, and it winds around in loops for no particular reason.

  When I first entered I cut my headlights and slowed down. I thought maybe I could sneak up on Coach Elliot. But it was too dark without my headlights, so I turned them back on.

  Besides, maybe sneaking isn’t my best strategy. I’m too big to be stealthy. Maybe I need to use my size to my advantage like I do on the basketball court. Maybe I need to push this psycho around like I just pushed my fans around.

  Rather than being Ryan, maybe I need to be Rhino.

  My tires squeal as I turn sharply on the cemetery road. If Cindy’s still alive, I need to find her before she isn’t.

  A few seconds later I do. I’m just about to make another sharp turn when I see her in my headlights. She’s alone and sitting on her knees. There’s a pile of dirt behind her. Leaving the lights on, I slam the breaks and leap out of the car.

  I yell her name and ask if she’s all right, but she doesn’t respond.

  I wonder if I’m too late.

  When I get closer, though, I see that there’s a strip of fabric covering her mouth. I also see that she’s been tied up. At the ankles and at the wrists. A horrifying image flashes through my mind of Cindy trying desperately to escape. But I don’t see any cuts or wounds. She doesn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere. Between her and the pile of dirt is a hole—a grave.

  Cindy’s making noises, frantic ones, and I think she might be gagging.

  The strip of fabric is knotted behind her neck, and as I untie it I tell Cindy everything is going to be OK. But she continues shaking as her eyes get bigger and bigger. “It’s OK, Cindy,” I repeat. “I’m here.”

  “So am I,” a voice says.

  Before I can turn, I feel a WHACK! against the back of my head. I fall forward, hit the ground next to Cindy, and now I’m rolling, rolling—I get kicked in the ribs, but I can hardly feel it. I’m woozy. All the tension in my muscles is gone. I fall and land hard on something soft. My eyelids are heavy, but I force myself to open them.

  It’s dirt. I’m staring at dirt. I roll over and look up. I’m in the hole. Coach Elliot is standing over me. He’s wearing his Northern California State sweatshirt, and he’s holding a shovel. His bald head is dripping with sweat.

  The back of my head is throbbing. When I touch it, my hand comes back covered in blood. I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open.

  I manage to say, “But I made my free throws. You said . . .”

  I don’t have the strength to complete the sentence.

  My eyes are closed again, but I hear Coach Elliot say, “You were too late, Ryan. You were eleven years too late.”

  I open my eyes one more time and see d
irt showering my body. My eyes close again and everything goes black.

  25

  I wake up, briefly, to a blood-curdling scream. The scream starts low—a man’s—and gets higher as it continues. Whoever it is, he’s in incredible pain.

  I open my eyes and see a sneakered foot and the end of an orange pant leg.

  “Dad?” I say.

  But I feel myself slipping back into darkness.

  26

  When I wake up again, I’m surrounded by faces I know. My mom and dad are there, as are Nate and Sheriff Brady. Cindy’s there, too. She’s smiling at me.

  My head is still throbbing. When I reach back to touch it, I feel a bandage.

  Is it just me, or am I wobbling? That’s when I realize I’m on a gurney.

  “These flimsy things aren’t made for a guy my size,” I say, trying to sit up.

  “The only thing that’s made for a guy your size is a basketball court,” Nate says. He clasps my hand and helps me the rest of the way up. The gurney wobbles some more.

  We’re still at the cemetery; it’s still night. Lights are flashing everywhere, from cop cars and from the ambulance behind me.

  I have a ton of questions, but I start with the most general. “So . . . everyone’s OK?”

  “Everyone’s alive and well,” the sheriff says.

  “Except the psycho coach dude,” Nate says. He jerks his head over his shoulder.

  “He’s here?” I ask.

  “Until someone bothers to move him,” Nate says. “He’s a goner.”

  “I want to see him,” I say. I start getting off of the gurney.

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Ryan,” my dad says.

  “You need to rest,” my mom adds.

  But I’m already standing up and on my way to where Nate gestured. “Let him see,” Sheriff Brady tells my parents. “He deserves it.”

  There’s yellow tape surrounding the body, but I step over it. Coach Elliot’s lying on the ground next to the grave he’d intended for Cindy or me or both of us. His Northern California State sweatshirt is soaked in blood.

  I step back and bump into the sheriff. “My father,” I say.

  Sheriff Brady finishes my thought: “He finally got his revenge.”

  “Did you arrest him?” I ask.

  “He was gone before I got here.”

  “Are you going to chase him?”

  “Eventually we’ll have to,” Sheriff Brady says. “But not yet. Cindy tells us he pulled you out of that grave. He’s the reason both of you are alive right now.”

  27

  I’m in my car with Cindy again. We’re in her driveway. The lights are on.

  “It’s weird having my parents home all the time,” Cindy says. Coach Elliot was killed almost three weeks ago, and her parents have been home every night since. I don’t think they’ll ever want to leave her alone again.

  “Maybe I should walk you to the door, just in case,” I say.

  “Or you could finally come all the way inside,” she says.

  “I have been inside.” I already told her about running through her house looking for her.

  “Yeah, but this time I’ll be there, too,” she says.

  We open our doors, but before we get out Cindy says, “I need to tell you something, Ryan.”

  “What?”

  “I saw everything that night,” she says.

  “I know.”

  “No, I mean everything. I saw your father attack Coach Elliot—saw him use the knife. I was tied up, so I couldn’t do anything. But even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have tried to stop him.”

  “He was saving your life,” I say.

  “I know, but I was glad your father finished him, Ryan. Not just glad to be saved but to see that monster pay. I felt so much relief.” Her eyes are glazed over, distant, as if she’s replaying that night in her head. She refocuses them on me. “Does that make me a terrible person?” she says.

  I shake my head no. “I was glad too.”

  The two of us stare at each other for a while. When Cindy looks down, I follow her eyes.

  We’re holding hands.

  “Shall we?” she says.

  This time we make it all the way out of the car. As we enter her house, I think of how it looked that night, when I ran around flicking on lights and yelling Cindy’s name. At the time I thought it was totally empty, but as I think back I’m not so sure.

  I wonder if my dad was there. At the very least, he must have been close by.

  I wonder if he’s here right now, protecting me from any and all possible danger. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

  Everything’s fine in Bridgewater. Really...

  Or is it?

  Look for all the titles from the

  Night Fall collection.

  THE CLUB

  Bored after school, Josh and his friends decide to try out an old board game. The group chuckles at Black Magic’s promises of good fortune. But when their luck starts skyrocketing—and horror strikes their enemies—the game stops being funny. How can Josh stop what he’s unleashed? Answers lie in an old diary—but ending the game may be deadlier than any curse.

  THE COMBINATION

  Dante only thinks about football. Miranda’s worried about applying to college. Neither one wants to worry about a locker combination too. But they’ll have to learn their combos fast—if they want to survive. Dante discovers that an insane architect designed St. Philomena High, and he’s made the school into a doomsday machine. If too many kids miss their combinations, no one gets out alive.

  FOUL

  Rhino is one of Bridgewater best basketball players— except when it comes to making free throws. It’s not a big deal, until he begins receiving strange threats. If Rhino can’t make his shots at the free throw line, someone will start hurting the people around him. Everyone’s a suspect: a college recruiter, Rhino’s jealous best friend, and the father Rhino never knew—who recently escaped from prison.

  LAST DESSERTS

  Ella loves to practice designs for the bakery she’ll someday own. She’s also one of the few people not to try the cookies and cakes made by a mysterious new baker. Soon the people who ate the baker’s treats start acting oddly, and Ella wonders if the cookies are to blame. Can her baking skills help her save her best friend—and herself?

  THE LATE BUS

  Lamar takes the “late bus” home from school after practice each day. After the bus’s beloved driver passes away, Lamar begins to see strange things—demonic fgures, preparing to attack the bus. Soon he learns the demons are after Mr. Rumble, the freaky new bus driver. Can Lamar rescue his fellow passengers, or will Rumble’s past come back to destroy them all?

  LOCK-IN

  The Fresh Start Lock-In was supposed to bring the students of Bridgewater closer together. Jackie didn’t think it would work, but she didn’t think she’d have to fight for her life, either. A group of outsider kids who like to play werewolf might not be playing anymore. Will Jackie and her brother escape Bridgewater High before morning? Or will a pack of crazed students take them down?

  MESSAGES FROM BEYOND

  Some guy named Ethan has been texting Cassie. He seems to know all about her—but she can’t place him. Cassie thinks one of her friends is punking her. But she can’t ignore how Ethan looks just like the guy in her nightmares. The search for Ethan draws her into a struggle for her life. Will Cassie be able to break free from her mysterious stalker?

  THE PRANK

  Pranks make Jordan nervous. But when a group of popular kids invite her along on a series of practical jokes, she doesn’t turn them down. As the pranks begin to go horribly wrong, Jordan and her crush Charlie work to discover the cause of the accidents. Is the spirit of a prank victim who died twenty years earlier to blame? And can Jordan stop the fnal prank, or will the haunting continue?

  THE PROTECTORS

  Luke’s life has never been “normal.” His mother holds séances and his crazy stepfather works as B
ridgewater’s mortician. But living in a funeral home never bothered Luke—until his mom’s accident. Then the bodies in the funeral home start delivering messages to him, and Luke is certain he’s going nuts. When they start offering clues to his mother’s death, he has no choice but to listen.

  SKIN

  It looks like a pizza exploded on Nick Barry’s face. But a bad rash is the least of his problems. Something sinister is living underneath Nick’s skin. Where did it come from? What does it want? With the help of a dead kid’s diary, Nick slowly learns the answers. But there’s still one question he must face: how do you destroy an evil that’s inside you?

  THAW

  A storm caused a major power outage in Bridgewater. Now a project at the Institute for Cryogenic Experimentation is ruined, and the thawed-out bodies of twenty-seven federal inmates are missing. At frst, Dani didn’t think much of the news. Then her best friend Jake disappeared. To get him back, Dani must enter a dangerous alternate reality where a defrosted inmate is beginning to act like a god.

  UNTHINKABLE

  Omar Phillips is Bridgewater High’s favorite local teen author. His Facebook fans can’t wait for his next horror story. But lately Omar’s imagination has turned against him. Horrifying visions of death and destruction come at him with wide-screen intensity. The only way to stop the visions is to write them down. Until they start coming true . . .

  BAd DEAl

  Fish hates taking his ADHD meds. They help him concentrate, but they also make him feel weird. When a cute girl needs a boost to study for tests, Fish offers her a pill. Soon more kids want pills, and Fish likes the profits. To keep from running out, Fish finds a doctor who sells phony prescriptions. After the doctor is arrested, Fish decides to tell the truth. But will that cost him his friends?