November 18
By the next day, I feel more active. On Mom's recommendation, I try to do my long neglected homework. I do so mostly because Chelsea is going to arrive later that evening.
I manage to get a few things done before Alice pops over. Mom orders us to keep it short, which isn't a problem. Alice gabs on about her upcoming date. A welcome alternative to pointed, embarrassing questions.
"His name is Hawk," Alice says for the fifth time. "He's like part Cherokee. An eighth, I think. And he's a senior. He already got accepted at University of Illinois. He wants to study foreign languages. We're going to the movies this week. There's this theater in Cremona where he works. It shows movies they don't have in Haddonfield. Foreign films. Hawk likes foreign films."
There's a lot more, but it is hard to keep track of them. Alice spouts off these facts in no intelligible order.
She does break her monologue long enough to ask about my wounds and hand me a Garfield balloon. She never once mentions the dreams or Michael Myers. Which is fine with me, as I don't particularly want to talk about them either.
After Alice left, I get caught up with my homework and watch after school sitcoms until Chelsea gets here.
II
Chelsea sneaks in after visitor hours.
"Sorry," she says. "But I just got out of the Wallaces. I had to haggle to get a few minutes. It's important."
She props her backpack on her chair and pulls out a large, leatherbound book.
Though Chelsea had promised not to bother Lindsey with questions about Halloween, she had not relinquished all her snooping rights. Apparently she has taken advantage of a few lone moments to search through the Wallace house.
I open my mouth to protest, but she whips her hand out in a halt gesture. "I know. I know. But if you want to be technical, it was Mrs. Wallace I was snooping on, not Lindsey." She plunks the book on my tray table. In faded gold letters, it reads Haddonfield High School: 1979.
"The year Judith would have graduated," I say.
"And the year a Lila Crane graduated." Chelsea flips through to the C's. "Lila Crane, who would become Lila Wallace. They were in the same class."
I stare at the picture.
"I know her," I murmur.
Judith had not had many close friends after Adele moved away sophomore year. But she and a few girls would cut class, hang around the courtyard to smoke and share tales of their wild escapades. One of the girls in that group was a shaggy haired girl who rarely dated, but dropped in the group to listen to the others' tales. For a tag-along, she was pleasant, not too goody-goody, and she had an enviable knowledge of wines and liquors. She sometimes put on this European persona, but she did not take it too seriously, did not mind when we - they - laughed at her funny accents.
Mrs. Wallace was Lila Crane? How could I not have put that together?
Chelsea stares at me goggle-eyed. I give her an abbreviated explanation of Judith and Lila's friendship.
"How do you know that?" she asks.
I shrug, then turn the pages to the M's.
"Judith's picture isn't here," I say.
"She died before she could graduate," Chelsea reminds me. "There should be an In Memorium after the senior section."
I find it. A yellowing scrap of paper falls out from between the pages. I pick it up and read the familiar handwriting.
Lilianna,
Another fabulous summer in Farmington Hicksville. I know you're envying me from your rustic little box in New York City. Try not to feel too bad. All the thrills of our charming town will still be here when you come back in September.
In the meantime, try to enjoy yourself at all the hottest clubs in the city.
Judita
"Oh wow." Chelsea and I continued to gape at what is practically a message from a ghost.
Footsteps signal the approach of someone. I slam the book shut and Chelsea searches for somewhere to hide. She is just about to step into the bathroom when the person appears at the door.
Ben Tramer.
"Hi Stella. Chelsea." His eyes rove back and forth. He knows fully well I'm not supposed to have visitors this late.
Chelsea opts for the distraction.
"Ben, look at this," she says. At her direction, I part open the yearbook again. It falls to the "In Memorium" page.
He stares wide eyed at the note. For some possessive reason, I don't want him to touch it, so I hold it out at an angle where he can read it.
"Are you saying that note is from Judith Myers?" Ben asks incredulously.
"Yes," we chorus.
"Whose yearbook is that?" Ben turns his attention to the book.
"Mrs. Wallace's," Chelsea says.
Ben looks over to me, then back at the note.
"Wow," he echoes. "This is weird." He shakes his head, as if trying to shake himself into a more logical frame of mind. "You shouldn't have this."
"Right." I close the book, with the note tucked securely inside, and pass it back to Chelsea.
"I'd better go before the nurses hunt me down," she says, exiting gracefully.
Ben is still uneasy. He swipes at his hair again.
"What happened in the sleep lab?" he asks.
"My stitches reopened," I tell him, very sanely.
"Did you have another of those dreams?" When I don't answer right away, he cajoles, "Tell me the truth."
"Yes," I say straightforwardly and a little defensively. "I had another bad dream about Michael Myers."
Ben's face empties of emotions.
"You don't really believe . . ." he stammers.
"Not really. I don't know," I say. "The dreams don't prove anything. After what happened to Annie and Lynda, of course I'd have nightmares about it, and their killer hasn't been caught."
"That's true." Ben regains some of his normal color. My logical theory gives him some relief.
"And the killer on the loose could have written on the ring or my birthday cake and left dead rats around where I could find them . . ."
"What? What's this about rats?"
I fill him in about the gifts I have found since Halloween, citing that my parents had seen the JUDITH ring and one of the rats and my friends had seen the birthday cake.
Ben takes on that pale green tint again.
"Did you tell Sheriff Brackett about this?" he asks.
"No." At the time, it seemed like more ammunition to my craziness.
"You should call him. As soon as you can."
"OK." Now that I've catalogued the gifts out loud, it does sound like I have a real cause for calling the police. "I should run it by my parents first. Maybe my dad can locate the JUDITH ring band." The easiest way for Dad to change the ring was to mount the topaz stone onto a different band, rather than sand and re-engrave the name.
"The ring," Ben says suddenly. "Were you wearing it the night you were brought in?"
I usually don't take my jewelry off at night: I only slip off my watch and ring when I shower or go to gym class "Yes."
"I'll check your locker."
"But it's not the same . . . " I start to say, but Ben has already dashed out of the room.
He comes back, his hand clutching the ring in its plastic baggie.
"Here it is," he says, sounding triumphant over the small victory.
"It's not . . ." I stop when I remove the ring from the plastic. I spot the name JUDITH on the band.
Michael has switched it again.
I grab the phone to call Sheriff Brackett.
III
Ben waits with me until my parents and Sheriff Brackett show up.
Brackett has to take the ring as evidence. Then he calls for guards to monitor my room, and for other guards to search the hospital.
One of the officers with him scoffs, "You don't really think that girl is the reincarnated Judith Myers, do you sheriff."
Brackett snaps. "I'm concerned that Michael Myers might believe it. I want this room under tight surveillance until she leaves the hospital. No visitors except her parents and ID all staff that comes in here."
The officer immediately turns and demands to see Ben's ID.
IIII
After the commotion dies down and the guard settles himself outside my door, Dad apologizes again for the ring.
"It's not your fault, Dad," I say. At least the ring stopped the police and the hospital from dismissing my stabbing as a hallucination.
