Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [46]
“Yeah. Chester Martin. You loved how he hiccuped. You’ve told me. I’m studying.”
“Sorry.” And she disappears.
After a quick panic, I reassure myself. No way Jason’s going to kill himself. He just wants to wreck my studying. I won’t let him.
I try to go back to reading. But I can’t. I keep thinking, what if I wake up tomorrow and he’s dead? What if those funeral cards weren’t about me? What if they were about him? What if they were a cry for help? He’s a creep and I hate him, but if he dies, how will I live with myself?
I decide to phone. If he’s really killing himself, maybe I can talk him down or get an ambulance. But I can’t call from here. I don’t want to risk Mom listening in on the extension, like I do when she’s talking to Dad. There’s a pay phone at the end of the street.
“I need a break,” I say, grabbing my coat. “I’m going for a walk to the corner store, maybe pick up some gum.”
“Oh, could you get milk while you’re there?”
“Sure.”
She gives me some money.
“Back in a few minutes.”
All of a sudden I get this crazy thought. What if Jason can read my mind? Like, what if his call is part of a plan to get me outside now it’s dark? What if he’s waiting in the bushes? Hardly anyone’s on the street at night, and I have to pass a couple of alleyways and—this is nuts, just me flipping out. Am I a prisoner in this dump or what?
All the same, to be safe, I go back to my room and write a quick note: “If anything happens to me, it’s Jason.” I put the note on my desk under my geography book. That way Mom won’t walk in and find it by accident, but it’s there just in case.
Outside, I walk fast, crossing the street whenever I get near an alley. They’re all empty, except for one with a kid huffing airplane glue out of a paper bag. “You’re gonna get zits all around your lips,” I shout across the street. He looks up sort of glazed. “Yeah,” I go on, “and then your brains are gonna fall out!” Okay, I’ve done my bit to save his life, now time to think about saving Jason’s.
I get to the pay phone feeling like a total drama queen. I make the call. The phone rings forever. At first, my chills come back—is Jason somewhere around here watching? But the longer it rings, the more I start to wonder if maybe it’s true about him killing himself— and if he’s maybe already done it. Shot his brains out. Slit his throat. Hung himself. Should I call the cops? Call his cottage? Call a cab?
I’m about to hang up and call somebody, when he finally picks up. “Hello?” He doesn’t sound so good, but maybe he’s acting.
“What’s your message supposed to mean?”
“Leslie, Leslie, it’s you. I’m glad you called. I wanted to hear your voice one last time. My parents are at the cottage. Tonight’s the night.”
“For what?”
“I’ve got a quart of Jack Daniels and a bunch of my mom’s pills. Thorazine, Lorazepam, ludes. You’ll never have to see me again.”
“Come on, Jason. No way you’re killing yourself.”
“Let’s not fight.”
“Look, I don’t have time for this. I have an exam tomorrow.”
“Then go home and study.” His voice gets groggier. “I’ve left some stuff for you on the rec room pool table.”
“What stuff?”
“A letter. About how you were right. How I don’t deserve to live.”
“You left a letter blaming me?”
“It doesn’t blame you. It thanks you. You made everything clear.”
“That’s sick.”
“There’s also a copy of that memory card of you and the other girls. You never found it cuz it wasn’t in the box with the original. I kept it in my wallet so I could see you naked whenever I wanted. I’ve put it in an envelope addressed to the cops, with all your names and addresses. Maybe you can pass it on.”
“Oh god, no, Jason, no. Destroy it now.”
“Goodbye, Leslie.”
“I said, destroy it!”
But it’s like he doesn’t hear me. “Have a good life. I loved you. I’ll watch over you forever.” Click.
I hear the dial tone. For a second, I freak. Then I’m pissed. He’s playing