Whisper in the Dark Read Free Page A

been close enough, I would have grabbed him and shoved one of his Anne Rice novels down his throat.
    “Grow up,” I growled.
    “Blagh! Vot is the matter, pathetic mortal?”
    “Roger Tillinghast, you are an idiot! Just stop it!” Maybe it was because my own voice trembled as I said this that his immediately changed.
    “Aw, Maddy, ah’m sorry. What’s wrong?”
    No more phony Count Dracula, just his usual New Orleans drawl. Roger’s name and roots are just as Rogue Island as mine. His family goes back about as far as anyone who isn’t Narragansett. But Roger’s dad and mom were living in Louisiana when he was born. They only moved back to his grandmother’shouse on Federal Hill when his mom got hired by the English department at Brown. Her family is from Cranston, which is part of greater Providence. Her specialty is the Gothic tradition in novels, so she is right at home here in more ways than one.
    “Did you just call me?” I said.
    “You mean right now?”
    “No, before this, like a minute ago.”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Honest Injun.”
    I groaned a little at that, which had been his intention. We were good enough friends to tease each other that way, like my saying “That was white of you,” sort of semi-sarcastically whenever he did something dumb. It’s the kind of thing real friends can do with each other. And I knew right then that I really needed to have a friend around.
    “Can you come over?” I said. “Now.”
    “Okay,” Roger said. “In a flash.”
    He didn’t ask why or demand to be told what was up. Even though we’d only known each other for less than a year, he’d already learned what most of my other friends didn’t understand. Don’t askMaddy Brown what is going on when she’s acting upset. When she’s being Moody Maddy. But he did ask one thing before he hung up.
    “Ten K?”
    “At least,” I answered, looking out the window. It was cloudy, but it looked like the rain would hold off for a while. It was almost time for the weather on the local news, so I turned on the TV. Sure enough, after one of their daytime anchors finished her story about the university archaeological team continuing excavations on a cave site close to Providence, Red the Better Weatherman popped up on the screen, pointer in hand. Expect scattered showers all afternoon. Just what we need for those summer gardens.
    As soon as I hung up, I got my gear together. Roger didn’t live that far away. He would soon be at my door. Thinking of us running together was making me feel normal again.
    I love running with Roger right by my side, keeping step with me no matter how fast I go. Even though his legs are longer than mine, he has a relatively short stride, and we run together like a matched team of horses. I noticed that ten monthsago when we were warming up at the same time on the school track. That was the real start of my friendship with the new guy whose cute Southern accent and shy ways had made him a target for half the girls in my class. Except he chose me.
    I’d really needed somebody like Roger then. Not as a boyfriend, just somebody I could trust—and it was an added bonus that he loved to run like I did. I still couldn’t talk then about the accident that took the lives of my parents. Just mentioning it made me feel as if I was back in the car with them on that March evening when a freak ice storm blew in from the north. Mom had been driving, but none of us saw the black ice on the hill before we hit it. I don’t think it would have been any different if Dad had been behind the wheel. He’d always said that Mom was a safer driver than he was. Neither of them panicked.
    “Make sure your seat belt is fastened,” my mom said to me without looking back, both her hands still on the wheel.
    “You’re doing fine, honey,” Dad said to her. His hand was on her shoulder. They were so together at that moment, and I remember realizing then howmuch they loved each other. And then