Next time, maybe he won't hurt me.

There won't be a next time!

She let the nightshirt drift down to her waist, raised herself off the bed for a moment while she pulled it beneath her, then sat again and spread the fabric snug against her thighs.

There has to be a way out of this, she told herself.

Yeah, kill him.

Yesterday she could've done it. Or helped, at least But now the idea of murdering Kramer seemed so much bigger.

Enormous. She felt as if it would cast a black cloud over her life that might never go away.

I can't kill him. I can't tell on him. I can't let him get me again.

I could kill myself.

The idea shocked Lane, sent a sickening flood of heat rushing through her body.

If I kill myself, he won't have any reason to go after Mom and Dad.

But it'd ruin them. I'd burn in Hell, for sure. And everything...

Fuck that.

She stood up quickly, walked to the closet and put on her robe.

There has to be a way out.

Yeah, stay the hell home from school. That's a way out, at least for today. Worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

Maybe Riley'll take care of him without me. If I just stay out of it long enough. If Kramer doesn't come after me in the meantime.

Lane stepped into her slippers. She left her bedroom, made a quick trip to the toilet and relieved herself, then headed for the kitchen.

Mom, unloading the dishwasher, looked around at her. "You're not dressed."

"I'm really feeling rotten today," she said, giving her voice a low, groany tone.

"What is it?"

"You name it. Cramps, a headache, the trots. I've got it all."

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey." She shrugged and frowned. "I'll live, I guess. But I don't think I'm up for school."

"What about Henry and Betty?"

Lane grimaced. She'd forgotten about them. About George, too.

She'd phoned George yesterday after coming back from the mall, and he'd sounded eager to ride with them. "I guess I could go ahead and take them, and then just come home."

"No, if you're not feeling good enough to go to school... I suppose I can pick them up. Just this once. Since they're expecting you."

"That'd be great."

"They have other ways of getting home, don't they?"

"Oh, yeah. They can always work something out. There's a guy named George, too. We got to know each other at the play. I was going to give him a ride today."

Mom nodded. "All right. Well, get me their addresses and I'll take care of it."

"That's wonderful. Thanks a lot, Mom."

"Would you like me to make you something before I go?"

"I don't feel much like eating. I'll come out when I get hungry, okay?"

"Well, suit yourself. You'll feel better, though, once you have some food inside you."

Lane poured herself a mug of coffee, then went into the living room.

Dad was in his usual chair, dressed in the sweat clothes he usually wore after getting up, a mug in one hand, a paperback in the other.

"Morning, sweetheart," he said. "How's it going?"

"Not so hot. I'm staying home sick. Mom said it's okay."

"A touch of the flu?" he asked.

"Something like that, I guess. Anyway, I feel rotten. I'm going back to bed pretty soon." She took a sip of coffee. "Are you all excited about tonight?"

He wrinkled his nose. "I don't know whether I'm excited or just scared."

"If it bothers you, why not skip it?"

"Not that simple," he said. "What would I do about the ending of my book?"

"That can be the ending. You make an ethical choice, or whatever, not to meddle with the thing. Let sleeping dogs lie. That could be the theme of the book."

Nodding, he laughed softly. "Not a bad idea. Do you think we shouldn't take the stake out?"

"Hell, I wouldn't have brought any corpse home in the first place."

"I wish we hadn't. God knows." He shrugged. "But now that she's here..." "I don't know, Dad. You've always warned me not to mess with weird stuff like Ouija boards and fortune telling..."

"Yeah."

"Remember when I bought that voodoo doll in New Orleans?"

"It still holds," he said.

" 'You don't want to monkey with the supernatural.' That's what you always told me. And now you're planning to pull a stake out of a dead person to see if she's a vampire?"

"No good can come of it," he said, sounding like the voice of caution from an old mad-scientist movie.

"So why do it?" Lane asked.

His smile came back. "Because it's there?"

"Try again, Pops."

"You don't sound so sick to me."

"Maybe you should forget it. I'm serious. Make up your mind not to pull out the stake, and you'll be amazed how much better you suddenly feel."

"Will it make you feel better?"

"Maybe. I don't really care. I can always stay in my room when you do it, but you'll have to be out there. You know? This isn't my thing, it's yours. I've got my own problems."

"What kind... ?"

"I'm just saying," she hurried on, "you shouldn't let Pete or anyone else push you into doing something that you're against. You're the one who'll have to live with it."

"You think it's morally wrong to pull the stake?"

"It is if she's a vampire."

"Of course, we know she isn't."

" 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than you've dreamt of in your philosophies.' "

"Hey, pretty good!"

She smiled. "I'm off to bed."

" 'Good night, sweet princess. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.' "

"Oh, thanks. I'm not dying, I'm just going to take another nap. I hope."

She left the room, wrote down the addresses of her friends, gave them to her mother in the kitchen, thanked her again for taking care of the matter, then returned to her bedroom.

Propped up against pillows, she tried to read. Though her eyes moved over the sentences, her mind kept straying, tormenting her with thoughts of Kramer. After a while she set the book aside. She snuggled down beneath the covers.

She wished she had her father's problems. He doesn't know how lucky he is, she thought. How nice it would be if the biggest worry in her life was whether or not to pull a piece of wood out of a corpse.

Dad had said the girl-Bonnie?-was the Homecoming queen. She must've been beautiful. Maybe just Kramer's type.

Drifting toward sleep, Lane imagined getting all her friends together: Betty and Henry and George and Riley. I need your help, she told them. She explained her plan, and they all seemed eager to join in. So they crept into the garage and sneaked out with the corpse. They tied the coffin to the roof of her Mustang. They drove through the night across town to Kramer's house. His station wagon wasn't there. He was still out on his boat. While her friends waited on the front stoop, she broke a back window and entered the house. She opened the door for them, and they brought the coffin inside. They took it to Kramer's bedroom. They lifted the body onto his bed and hid the empty coffin in a closet.

Lane volunteered to pull the stake. I'm not scared, she said. And she wasn't. Not of Bonnie. Bonnie was not the enemy. Bonnie was her ally, her weapon. She drew the stake out of the girl's chest. The hole melted shut. The cadaver began to expand like an inflatable rubber doll with air being blown in. Its dry, leathery skin uncrinkled, took on a healthy glow of life. Except for the bruised places.

Lane was startled when she realized that Bonnie looked like her own twin. No, she thought, she's not a twin. She's me. This is even better than I hoped. Kramer'll think I came to him.

The Lane on Kramer's bed opened her eyes. Don't worry, she said.

I'll take care of him.

Lane woke up feeling as if a terrible burden had been removed. She didn't know why, but she felt good. Then she remembered the weird plan of her daydream. It had only been a fantasy. Nothing was changed. Her spirits sank and dread returned to its nesting place in the pit of her stomach.

She looked at the clock beside her bed. Almost one.

She'd been asleep for a long time, and she was glad. If only she could just stay asleep.

But she was hungry. So she got out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, and left the room.

The house seemed deserted.

But the door to her father's office was shut. She knocked. Opening it, she glimpsed a page of black and white photos as Dad swept a folder shut. He smiled at her, but he looked startled and his face was red.

She wondered what he'd been looking at. Whatever it might be, he seemed ashamed of it. She decided not to ask. "Sorry to bother you,"

she said.

"No problem. Feeling any better?" "A little. Hungry, though. Have you already eaten?"

"Yeah. We had lunch an hour ago. Do you want me to make you something?"

"No, that's okay. I can manage. Where's Mom?"

"She went to the store. We decided to ask Pete and Barbara over for dinner, so she had to pick up a few things."

"Barbara's recovered?"

"Apparently. Your mother dropped in on her. Sounds as if she's a little embarrassed about her accident, but she's eager to resume the adventure. Pete's already picked up a new video camera."

"Let's hope Barbara doesn't break this one."

"She probably won't get her hands on it."

"If Pete's smart. What time are they coming over?"

"Around six."

"If I'm not around, make sure you get me up. I wouldn't want to miss anything."