He heard himself squeal.

He heard Pete shout, "Watch out!"

Hurling himself off the ladder, he staggered away and flung up his hands. He caught Bonnie by the sides, just under her armpits, and tried to shove her away. But her weight drove him backward. He stumbled off the edge of the platform.

He seemed to fall for a long time.

His back slammed the concrete floor.

His hands lost their grip, and the body crashed onto him, the blunt end of the stake ramming his chest. He twisted his head aside. Dry teeth struck his cheek. Hair floated down, tickling his face like spider webs.

Larry bucked, throwing her off, rolled away and scurried to his feet.

He stared at her. He gasped for breath. He felt as if a horde of ants were crawling on his skin, but he looked down at himself. Except for a snag and a smudge of dirt on the chest of his T-shirt, he saw no evidence of the encounter.

"Are you all right?" Pete asked.

Larry moaned. "I've been better."

"Right with you," Pete said, and dragged the empty casket up through the opening. Larry heard it scoot along the attic floorboards.

Then Pete rushed down the ladder. "Guess maybe we should've tied her in."

"Yeah." Larry wanted to rub his crawly skin, but not with hands that had touched the body. "I've gotta shower," he said.

"Don't blame you. Gross-out. Let's take her up, though, huh?" Pete crouched over Bonnie's head and slipped his hands beneath her shoulders. "Take the legs, buddy."

Larry shook his head. "I... uh..."

"Come on, don't be a pussy."

He looked at his hands. "Don't wanta touch-"

"For God's sake, Lar! She was all over you. Come on, grab hold. We can't just leave her here."

Pete lifted. The rigid body didn't bend. Bonnie slanted down, straight as a plank, from her head at Pete's waist to her heels against the garage floor. "Guess I can just drag her," he said. "Save you from messing your hands. You can bring the blanket, can't you?"

"Yeah." Relieved, Larry crouched and picked up the blanket.

He watched Pete turn the corpse around and walk backward.

Bonnie's heels sounded like newspapers sliding along the concrete.

Pete backed onto the platform. When he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder, Bonnie's feet rose off the floor. Her Achilles' tendons scraped the edge of the platform.

And left flakes of brown skin behind.

Larry winced.

He didn't want to touch her. But it pained him to see her getting hurt.

She's not getting hurt, he told himself.

The backs of her feet pounded the ladder rungs as Pete climbed higher.

Larry rushed forward. He tucked the blanket under his right arm, grabbed Bonnie's ankles and raised them. Holding both feet against his left side, he started up the ladder.

"Good man," Pete said.

Larry climbed carefully. He kept his eyes away from the corpse. At the top the heat was stifling.

They lowered Bonnie into the coffin. He spread the blanket over her, then hurried down. Pete came after him. They folded the ladder. A yank on the rope sent the trapdoor swinging upward on its springed hinges. It slammed shut. As they headed for the house, Larry realized that he felt guilty about leaving Bonnie in such a dark, hot place.

Don't be ridiculous, he thought. She's dead. She doesn't feel a thing.

"When do you think we oughta pull the stake?" Pete asked when they reached the living room.

"The sooner the better, I guess. I'll want to do some research on Sagebrush Flat, though."

"Right, good idea. Maybe they had some vampire troubles. Maybe that's how come the place was abandoned."

"We'll see. Anyway, I need to fill up more pages somehow."

"Right. And I need to pick up a video camera before the big event. I want to tape the whole thing, you know? It'll be great."

"Yeah." Larry opened the front door for him.

"See you later, bud. Going good, huh?"

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about the women catching on."

Grinning, Pete slapped his arm. "See you later. Don't let your meat loaf."

When Pete was gone, Larry hurried to the bathroom. He threw his clothes into the hamper and rushed to the tub.

As he stood under the hot spray of the shower, he wondered why he hadn't mentioned finding the ring. He should"ve told Pete about it, told him that the body was a girl named Bonnie Saxon who was graduated from Buford High in 1968.

How come I didn't? he asked himself.

Pete'll find out sooner or later. He'll realize I kept it from him.

So what?

Twenty

"Good morning, ma'am."

Lane swung her locker shut and turned around. "Well, hi, stranger."

Jim's hands were pushed into the front pockets of his jeans.

Smiling, he drew them out for her to see, and slipped them in again.

"Keeping 'em to myself," he said.

"Good for you. You're learning."

"Did you have a nice trip?"

"It was okay. I missed you. How was Candi?"

"Oh, she was grateful. She'd like you to go away more often."

Lane tried to hold onto her smile, but she felt it being tugged down.

Her arms tightened around the binder and school books clutched to her chest.

"I was kidding."

"I know."

"You brought her up."

"I know. Dumb, huh?"

"I wouldn't go out with Candi. Or anyone else. Not as long as I've got you."

Lane's smile came back. She lifted an eyebrow. "Think you've got me, do you?"

"Hell, you know what I mean."

"Yeah. Give me one of those hands." She moved to his side, dropped one arm away from her load of books and squeezed his hand when he offered it. "Want to walk me to the library?" she asked.

"The library?"

"I've got an errand."

"It's only ten minutes before the first bell."

"Shouldn't take very long."

Holding hands, they made their way through the crowded hall.

"Is it still on for Friday night?" she asked.

"Sure. I hope so. Rather go out Saturday, but..."

"Hamlet."

"I know. What a drag."

Outside, they cut across the quad. Jim opened the library door for her. "Guess I'll make myself scarce," he said. "Ol' lady Swanson and me don't exactly hit it off. See you at lunch?"

"Fine. See you." Lane gave his hand another squeeze, then let go and entered the library. She headed straight for the circulation desk.

There, Miss Swanson was busy checking out books to several students.

"Ol' lady Swanson" was probably no older than forty, an attractive woman with very short red hair and a freckled face. But Lane knew what Jim meant. Though the woman was hardly ancient, her rigid posture and high, thin eyebrows suggested a severity that made her seem older than her years.

She'd always been nice to Lane, but she seemed to enjoy visiting grief upon students who acted up. Kids usually referred to her as "the bitch." She was also known as "the dyke" and "the shithead." Henry, perhaps the most literate of her detractors, preferred to call her "the Scarlet Pimple."

After the last student wandered off, Lane stepped up to the desk.

"Good morning, Miss Swanson."

"Lane? How are you?"

"Fine. I was wondering if you could help me. Are old yearbooks kept around somewhere?"

"Indeed they are. We're missing certain years, of course. Books fly out of here if I'm not constantly on the alert. The students are a pack of thieves. And several of the teachers are just as bad, if I do say so myself." Her left eyebrow climbed her forehead. "What year would you be interested in?"

"Nineteen sixty-eight."

"That's long before I took over. Matters were an absolute shambles back then. I'll take a look, but don't be at all surprised if 'sixty-eight is among the missing."

Lane smiled politely and said, "Thank you."

Miss Swanson entered the office behind the circulation desk and stepped out of sight.

Lane leaned forward. She propped her elbows on the desk and crossed her feet. She waited.

"And how are you this fine morning?"

Before she could turn around, Mr. Kramer appeared beside her. "Oh, hi!" she blurted, and felt the warmth of a blush.

"All rested up and rarin' to hit the books?"

"Sure. I managed to reread Hamlet over the weekend," she said, hoping he would be pleased by the news.

"Wonderful."

He smelled wonderful. After-shave lotion? His cheeks looked smooth.