The Creeping

“What about the police?” I peek through the blind slats but can’t see the cruiser on the street. “I don’t think they’ll want me going out to the middle of nowhere.”


“What cops?” She scowls at a pink floral one-piece like it’s mortally offended her. “There wasn’t anyone outside when I got here, and your dad didn’t say anything about them.” She drops the suit and smiles angelically at me. “I even told him where we’d be going. He thought that taking your mind off all this dead-people mumbo jumbo was a good idea.” Only Zoey could make something so serious sound sooo insignificant. And what’s with my police escort being gone? Is Shane really that furious with me?

Zoey babbles on, “I had the most awetastic night ever. I got totally wasted at Scott’s house, and we hooked up.” She tosses her hair and smirks. “Can you effing believe me? And I thought there wasn’t enough vodka in the world.” She drops the lavender frumpy number I wore the other day and kicks it across the room. It lands precariously on the seat of my desk chair.

There’s a pinch between my eyebrows as I try to catch up with what she’s telling me. “Wait, Scott Townsend?”

She speaks in a lousy Russian accent. “Yessss, your ex-lover.” Then normally, “That’s okay, right? I’d usually classify girls who do other girls’ exes as leeches or barnacles, but since it is Scott Townsend and all, I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

As she turns back to the closet, I try to decipher what exactly I do think about it. If I’m being honest, I only went out with Scott because I missed having Sam around. Minding isn’t the issue; it’s just too bizarre for words. “Are you running out of guys? Are you going to have to start recycling?”

“HA! You know it.” She winks over her shoulder. “We’re in desperate need of new blood. I think a trip to U of M is in order once school starts.” She tosses me my white halter bikini. “Change and we’ll head out. Michaela and Cole are meeting us there, and we have a surprise for you.”

As I change, Zoey goes on and on about how psycho the whole town is acting. It becomes evident on the drive to the lake that for once she isn’t exaggerating. Overnight the crosses, rosaries, vigils, and charms have multiplied. Downtown a crowd of adults wave signs with doomsday slogans like REPENT or BURN IN HELL, BEHOLD SATAN, and FEAR GOD’S WRATH inked on them. One displays a blown-up picture of Mr. Talcott from the newspaper, and pasted above it are the words DEVIL WORSHIPPER.

“Sheesh. Has everyone lost their mind?” Zoey says, flipping off one of the picketers as he steps into traffic, furiously waving his sign. “Whack-job Jesus thumpers who should be locked up. Leave it to this hick town to go all medieval. Next they’ll be burning witches.”

I grip my seat’s edge tightly. “Has it been on the news that they took Jeanie’s dad into custody?” I ask.

“Yep.” She flips her mirror down at the next stop sign and purses her lips, checking her gloss. “My mom said they were forced to release him because there wasn’t any . . . um, what is it called when the perp leaves spit and junk on his victims?” She snaps her fingers.

“Forensic evidence,” I supply.

“Yeah, there wasn’t any forensic evidence proving he attacked his wife or Jane Doe. The cops had to set him free.”

I watch the mob scene fading in the rearview mirror. “It doesn’t seem safe for him with the whole town having already made up their minds that he’s guilty,” I say. Unease spreads in my stomach like I’ve got a handful of creepy-crawly worms wriggling around down there. I hope that Daniel made it to Sam’s last night and that he doesn’t see or hear what these people are saying about his dad. I know I’d go nuts if people accused mine of something so horrible. I slide my phone from my pocket and angle it so I can text between my seat and the car door.

“Who ya texting?” Zoey asks. Nothing gets by her.

“Ummm . . . Sam, actually.”

She taps the steering wheel to the pop song turned on low. “Sam who?”

I roll my eyes. She knows who. “Sam Worth.”

She turns to me in mock horror. “I leave you to your own devices for one day and you’re texting the King of Loserdom, Sam Worth? Random,” she sings. “What gives?”

I was hoping to avoid this. I hardly know “what gives” myself. “He helped me out yesterday. I wanted you to help me remember Jeanie, but you were giving me the silent treatment, and he was the only other person I could ask. And please don’t call him names.”

“Wait . . . you actually went somewhere with him?” Zoey sounds appalled. “Like outside, and people could have seen you?” Her eyes are saucers of disbelief as they click to me. “I know you’re going through some messy shit right now, but do you have to eff with Sam Worth mere months before senior year? What if Taylor had spotted you guys together?” she laments.