Читать книгу dancergirl - Carol Tanzman M. - Страница 18

Chapter 11

I hear the name first. Behind me, in the park. The end of daylight saving time has brought dusk earlier than I expected, so I can’t quite see the guy’s features. He looks sinister in his long gray trench coat.

“Dancergirl—” he starts. The roar of a bus cuts off the rest. I glance at the street. Yes! If I can get to the corner before the bus leaves, I’ll be safe.

My legs weigh me down. Heeled boots cover my feet and I can’t get any traction. I look over my shoulder. The guy is gaining.…

The pneumatic hiss of the closing bus doors gets my attention.

“No!” I wail. “Don’t leave! Wait!”

The driver sees me through the side window. Gives an evil smile. A cloud of noxious smoke spurts out of the tailpipe as the bus pulls into traffic. The old man sitting in the backseat looks at me. His toothless grin mouths, “Dancergirl…”

I wake up fighting for air. It’s 2:00 a.m.

“Mom? You home?” I yell, even though I know she doesn’t get out of work until 6:00. It’s just that it feels like someone’s in the apartment. Someone who only seconds before stood beside my bed, watching me sleep—

I snap on the light. No one’s here.

A metal three-hole punch sits on my desk. It’s all I have for protection as I tiptoe into the living room. The apartment is empty, silent except for the occasional creak of a wooden floorboard. I pad into the kitchen. Check the locks on the front door. Everything is exactly the way I left it when I went to bed.

I don’t know what I expected. Some dancergirl freak sneaking into the apartment in the middle of the night? Mom installed a “guaranteed burglar-proof” lock on the door when we moved in, so it should be impossible for anyone to break in.

Still, I cannot get back to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, that creepy feeling returns.