The Voice of the Night Read online

  “How long’s that?”

  “You know. Since the first of June. A month.”

  “In all that time, have I ever lied to you? No. Because you’re my friend. I wouldn’t lie to a friend.”

  “You’re not lying exactly. just sort of playing a game.”

  “I don’t like games,” Roy said.

  “But you like to joke around a lot.”

  “I’m not joking now.”

  “Sure you are. You’re setting me up. As soon as I say I believe about the cat, you’ll laugh at me. I won’t fall for it.”

  “Well,” Roy said, “I tried.”

  “Hah! You were setting me up!”

  “If that’s what you want to think, it’s okay with me.”

  Roy walked away. He stopped twenty feet from Colin and faced the sea again. He stared at the hazy horizon as if he were in a trance. To Colin, who was a science-fiction buff, Roy appeared to be in telepathic communication with something that hid far out in the deep, dark, rolling water.

  “Roy? You were joking about the cat, weren’t you?”

  Roy turned, stared at him coolly for a moment, then grinned.

  Colin grinned too. “Yeah. I knew it. You were trying to make a fool out of me.”

  2

  Colin stretched out on his back, closed his eyes and roasted for a while in the sun.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about the cat. He tried to conjure up pleasant images, but each of them faded and was replaced by a vision of a bloody cat in a birdcage. Its eyes were open, dead yet watchful eyes. He was certain the cat was waiting for him to get too close, waiting for a chance to strike out with razor-sharp claws.

  Something bumped his foot.

  He sat up, startled.

  Roy stared down at him. “What time is it?”

  Colin blinked, looked at his wristwatch. “Almost one o‘clock.”

  “Come on. Get up.”

  “Where we going?”

  “The old lady works afternoons at the gift shop,” Roy said. “We’ve got my house to ourselves.”

  “What’s to do at your place?”

  “There’s something I want to show you.”

  Colin stood and brushed sandy soil from his jeans. “Gonna show me where you buried the cat?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in the cat.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then forget it. I want to show you the trains.”

  “What trains?”

  “You’ll see. It’s a real popper.”

  “Race into town?” Colin asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Go!” Colin shouted.

  As usual, Roy reached his bicycle first. He was fifty yards away, racing into the wind, before Colin touched foot to pedal.

  Cars, vans, campers, and lumbering motor homes jostled for position on the two-lane blacktop. Colin and Roy rode on the oiled berm.

  Most of the year, Seaview Road carried very little traffic. Everyone except local residents used the interstate that bypassed Santa Leona.

  During the tourist season the town was crowded, teeming with vacationers who drove too fast and recklessly. They seemed to be pursued by demons. They were all so frantic, in a great hurry to relax, relax, relax.

  Colin coasted down the last hill, into the outskirts of Santa Leona. The wind buffeted his face, ruffled his hair, and blew the automobile exhaust fumes away from him.

  He couldn’t suppress a grin. His spirits were higher than they had been in a long, long time.

  He had a lot to be happy about. Two more months of bright California summer lay ahead of him, two months of freedom before school began. And with his father gone, he no longer dreaded going home each day.

  His parents’ divorce still disturbed him. But a broken marriage was better than the loud and bitter arguments that for several years had been a nightly ritual.

  Sometimes, in his dreams, Colin could still hear the shouted accusations, the uncharacteristically foul language that his mother used in the heat of a fight, the inevitable sound of his father striking her, and then the weeping. No matter how warm his bedroom, he was always freezing when he woke from these nightmares—cold, shivering, yet drenched with sweat.

  He did not feel close to his mother, but life with her was far more enjoyable than life with his father would have been. His mother didn’t share or even understand his interests—science fiction, horror comics, werewolf and vampire stories, monster movies—but she never forbade him to pursue them, which his father had tried to do.

  However, the most important change in recent months, the thing that made him happiest, had nothing to do with his parents. It was Roy Borden. For the first time in his life, Colin had a friend.

  He was too shy to make friends easily. He waited for other kids to come to him, even though he realized they weren’t likely to be interested in a thin, awkward, myopic, bookish boy who didn’t mix well or enjoy sports or watch a lot of television.

  Roy Borden was self-confident, outgoing, and popular. Colin admired and envied him. Nearly any boy in town would have been proud to be Roy’s best friend. For reasons that Colin could not grasp, Roy had chosen him. Going places with someone like Roy, confiding in someone like Roy, having someone like Roy confide in him—these were new experiences for Colin. He felt as if he were a pitiful pauper who had miraculously fallen into favor with a great prince.

  Colin was afraid that it would end as abruptly as it had begun.

  That thought made his heart race. In an instant his mouth went dry.

  Before he’d met Roy, loneliness was all he had ever known; therefore, it had been endurable. Now that he had experienced comradeship, however, a return to loneliness would be painful, devastating.

  Colin reached the bottom of the long hill.

  One block ahead, Roy turned right at the comer.

  Suddenly Colin thought the other boy might duck out on him, disappear down an alleyway, and hide from him forever. It was a crazy thought, but he couldn’t shake it.

  He leaned forward, into the handlebars. Wait for me, Roy. Please wait! He pedaled frantically, trying to catch up.

  When he rounded the corner, he was relieved to see that his friend had not vanished. In fact, Roy had slowed down; he glanced back. Colin waved. They were only thirty yards apart. They weren’t really racing any more because they both knew who would win.

  Roy turned left, into a narrow residential street that was flanked by date trees. Colin followed through the feathery shadows that were cast by the wind-stirred palm fronds.

  The conversation he’d had with Roy on the hill now echoed through Colin’s mind:

  You killed a cat?

  That’s what I said, didn’t I?

  Why’d you do that?

  I was bored.

  At least a dozen times during the past week, Colin had sensed that Roy was testing him. He felt certain the gruesome story about the cat was just the latest test, but he couldn’t imagine what Roy had wanted him to say or do. Had he passed or failed?

  Although he didn’t know what answers were expected of him, he knew instinctively why he was being tested. Roy possessed a wonderful—or perhaps terrible—secret that he was eager to share, but he wanted to be certain that Colin was worthy of it.

  Roy had never spoken of a secret, not one word, but it was in his eyes. Colin could see it, the vague shape of it, but not the details, and he wondered what it might be.

  3

  Two blocks from his home, Roy Borden turned left, into another street, away from the Borden house, and for a moment Colin again felt that the other boy was trying to lose him. But Roy pulled into a driveway in the middle of the block and parked his bike. Colin stopped beside him.

  The house was neat and white with dark blue shutters. A two-year-old Honda Accord was parked in the open garage, facing out, and a man was leaning under the raised hood, repairing something. He was thirty feet away from Colin and Roy, and he was not immediately aware that he had company.

  “
What’re we doing here?” Colin asked.

  “I want you to meet Coach Molinoff,” Roy said.

  “Who?”

  “He coaches the junior-varsity football team,” Roy said. “I want you to meet him.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Roy walked toward the man who was working under the hood of the Honda.

  Reluctantly, Colin followed. He was not much good at meeting people. He never knew what to say or how to act. He was sure that he always made a terrible first impression, and he dreaded scenes like this one.

  Coach Molinoff looked up from the Honda’s engine as he heard the boys approaching. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired man with gray-blue eyes. He grinned when he saw Roy.

  “Hey, what’s up, Roy?”

  “Coach, this is Colin Jacobs. He’s new in town. Moved up from L.A. He’ll be going to school at Central in the fall. Same grade as me.”

  Molinoff held out one big calloused hand. “Really glad to meet you.”

  Colin accepted the greeting awkwardly, his own hand disappearing in Molinoff’s bearish grip. The coach’s fingers were slightly greasy.

  To Roy, Molinoff said, “So how’s the summer treating you, my man?”

  “It’s been okay so far,” Roy said. “But I’m mainly just killing time, waiting for preseason practice to start the end of August.”

  “We’re going to have a terrific year,” the coach said.

  “I know it,” Roy said.

  “You handle yourself as well as you did last year,” said Molinoff, “and Coach Penneman might just give you some fourth-quarter time in varsity games later in the season.”

  “You really think so?” Roy asked.

  “Don’t give me that wide-eyed look,” Molinoff said. “You’re the best player on the junior-varsity team, and you know it. There’s no virtue in false modesty, my man.”

  Roy and the coach began to discuss football strategy, and Colin just listened, unable to contribute anything to the conversation. He never had shown much interest in sports. If asked about athletics of any kind, he always said that sports bored him and that he preferred the excitement of stimulating books and movies. In truth, while novels and films gave him endless pleasure, he sometimes wished he also could share the special camaraderie that athletes seemed to enjoy among themselves. For a boy like him, on the outside looking in, the world of sports was intriguing and glamorous; however, he did not waste a lot of time daydreaming about it, for he was fully aware that nature had given him less than the necessary equipment for a successful career in sports. With his myopic vision, his skinny legs, and his thin arms, he would never be more involved in sports than he was at that moment—a listener, a watcher, never a participant.

  Molinoff and Roy talked football for a few minutes, and then Roy said, “Coach, what about the team managers?”

  “What about them?” Molinoff asked.

  “Well, last year you had Bob Freemont and Jim Safinelli. But Jim’s folks moved to Seattle, and Bob is going to be one of the varsity team’s managers next season. So you need a couple of new guys.”

  “You have somebody in mind?” Molinoff asked.

  “Yeah,” Roy said. “How about giving Colin a chance?”

  Colin blinked in surprise.

  The coach stared at him appraisingly. “You know what’s involved, Colin?”

  “You get a team jacket of your own,” Roy told Colin. “You sit with the players on the bench at every game. And you get to travel on the team bus with us to all the out-of-town games.”

  “Roy’s painting only the rosy part of the picture,” the coach said. “Those are just the benefits of being a manager. You’ll have duties, too. Like collecting and bundling the uniforms for the laundry. And taking care of the towel supply. You’ll have to learn how to give the players good neck and shoulder massages. You’ll run errands for me. A lot of other things. You’ll be taking on a good bit of responsibility. Think you can handle it?”

  Suddenly, for the first time in his life, Colin was able to picture himself on the inside instead of the outside, moving in the right circles, mingling with some of the most popular kids in school. Deep down, he knew that a team manager was a glorified messenger boy, but he pushed all the negative thoughts out of his mind. The important thing—the incredible thing—was that he would be a part of a world that previously had been completely beyond his reach. He would be accepted by the players; at least to some extent, he would be one of the guys. One of the guys! His mental image of life as a team manager was dazzling, enormously appealing, for he had been an outcast all of his life. He couldn’t quite believe this was really happening to him.

  “Well?” Coach Molinoff asked. “Do you think you’d make a good team manager?”

  “He’d be perfect,” Roy said.

  “I’d sure like to try,” Colin said. His mouth was dry.

  Molinoff stared at Colin, his blue-gray eyes calculating, weighing, judging. Then he glanced at Roy and said, “I guess you wouldn’t recommend anybody who was a complete washout.”

  “Colin’s right for the job,” Roy said. “Very dependable.”

  Molinoff looked at Colin again, finally nodded. “Okay. You’re a team manager, son. Come with Roy to the first practice. That’s August twentieth. And be ready to work hard!”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  As he walked with Roy to the bicycles at the end of the driveway, Colin felt taller and stronger than he had felt only a few minutes ago. He was grinning.

  “You’ll like traveling on the team bus,” Roy said. “We’ll have a lot of laughs.”

  As Colin got on his bike, he said, “Roy, I ... well ... I think you’re just about the best friend a guy could ask for.”

  “Hey, I did it as much for me as for you,” Roy said. “Those trips to out-of-town games can be boring sometimes. But with you and me together on the bus, there won’t be a dull minute. Now come on. Let’s go to my place. I want to show you those trains.” He pedaled away.

  Following Roy along the tree-shaded, sun-speckled pavement, elated and somewhat dazed, Colin wondered if the team manager’s job was the thing for which Roy had been testing him. Was it the secret that Roy had been harboring for the past week? Colin thought about that for a while, but by the time he reached the Borden house, he decided there was something else that Roy was concealing, something so important that Colin had still not proved himself worthy to hear it.

  4

  They entered the Borden house through the kitchen door.

  “Mom?” Roy called. “Dad?”

  “I thought you said they weren’t home.”

  “Just checking. I better be sure. If they caught us...”

  “Caught us doing what?”

  “I’m not supposed to mess around with the trains.”

  “Roy, I don’t want to get in trouble with your folks.”

  “We won’t. Wait here.” Roy hurried into the living room. “Anyone home?”

  Colin had been here on only two other occasions, and as before he was amazed at how spotless everything was. The kitchen gleamed. The floor was freshly scrubbed and waxed. The counters shone almost like mirrors. No dirty dishes waited to be washed; no overlooked crumbs marred the table; and there was not even a single vague stain in the sink. The utensils were not hung on wall racks; all pots and pans and spoons and ladles were secreted away in drawers and dust-free cupboards. Mrs. Borden apparently did not appreciate knickknacks, for there was not a single decorative plate or plaque or piece of needlepoint wisdom on the walls, no spice rack, no calendar, no clutter at all—and no sense that this was a place where real people cooked real food. The house looked as if Mrs. Borden spent all of her time performing an elaborate series of cleaning operations—first scraping, then scouring, then scrubbing, then washing, rinsing, polishing, buffing—much the same way that a cabinetmaker sanded a piece of wood, beginning with coarse sandpaper and working up gradually to the finest grain.

&nb
sp; Colin’s own mother didn’t keep a dirty kitchen. Far from it. They had a cleaning woman. She came in twice a week to help keep things neat. But their place didn’t look like this.

  According to Roy, Mrs. Borden refused to consider a cleaning woman. She didn’t think anyone else in the world would have standards as high as hers. She wasn’t satisfied with a neat house; she wanted it to be sterile.

  Roy returned to the kitchen. “No one’s here. Let’s play with the trains awhile.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In the garage.”

  “Whose are they?”

  “The old man’s.”

  “And you’re not supposed to touch them?”

  “Screw him. He’ll never know.”

  “I don’t want your folks mad at me.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Colin, how are they ever going to find out?”

  “Is this the secret?”

  Roy had started to turn away. Now he looked back. “What secret?”

  “You’ve got one. You’re almost ready to explode with it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can see ... the way you act. You’ve been testing me to see if you can trust me with a secret.”

  Roy shook his head. “You’re pretty smart.”

  Colin shrugged, embarrassed.

  “No, you really are. You’ve just about been reading my mind.”

  “So you have been testing me.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That dumb stuff about the cat—”

  “—was true.”

  “Oh sure.”

  “Better believe it.”

  “You’re still testing me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So there is a secret?”

  “A big one.”

  “The trains?”

  “Nah. That’s just a tiny part of it.”

  “So what’s the rest of it?”

  Roy grinned.

  Something in that grin, something strange in those bright blue eyes made Colin want to step back from the other boy. But he didn’t flinch.

  “I’ll tell you all about it,” Roy said. “But only when I’m ready.”