Zac looked down doubtfully at the garage wall he’d been doodling on. For some reason, he wasn’t in the mood to sketch aliens and flying saucers, or even dancing trees and boom boxes. It was like . . . he couldn’t draw. Not a physical disablement, but a mental one. His creativeness had been turned off.
He sighed and glanced at the black digital watch he wore on his right wrist. 6:45 p.m. Maybe there was something on TV.
Slowly, Zac scaled the stairs and made his way back into the house. No one was in the living room to greet him. He paused momentarily and heard the shushing sound of water from the bathroom. With a slight shrug, he figured one of his brothers was taking a shower. Probably Ike, because otherwise he’d still be sitting on the couch. Besides, Tay was still skulking over Missy having left. Zac sighed. He hoped he’d never end up that way over a girl he barely knew.
Flopping down on the couch - something his mother scorned him for doing - Zac took up the remote control and held it loosely in his hand. He stared at it as if it were a foreign object from a distant world. Television didn’t seem to enticing at the moment. Nothing did.
There was a pause then. Zac laid his head back and listened to the house-sounds. The muffled noise of water rushing. A dull, far-off clicking noise - Tay at his computer. The sounds were so ordinary, so boring, that they seemed to soothe Zac. He gave a small smile to the ceiling and closed his eyes, just listening.
Suddenly, another noise pierced his soothing world and jarred him into a sitting position. It took him a minute to realize just what the sound was: the telephone. The family line. Quickly, Zac made his way to the phone and picked it up.
“Hello?”
There was no reply.
Zac chewed on the inside of his lip. “Hello?” he repeated.
Again, no reply.
“Look,” Zac said, keeping his voice quiet, “if you’re not gonna say anything, then I’m just gonna hang -”
“Zac.”
Zac’s eyebrows drew together. “Yeah?” he asked unsurely. “Who’s this?”
“Your worst nightmare,” said the voice on the other line. It was gruff - like someone with a really sore throat. There was a pause before the voice continued, “A barber.”
The corners of Zac’s mouth jerked upward slightly in passive wry amusement. “Ooh, scary,” he muttered. He was prepared to hang up when the voice continued.
“With long, sharp scissors and razor blades. All the better to cut with . . .”
Zac’s heart sped up and began pounding. “What do you want?” he asked, keeping his voice steady. How did this psycho get the number to the private line?
“To slice and chop and stab -”
The line clicked and the dial tone began humming in Zac’s ears. The voice had hung up.
Numbly, Zac returned the phone to it’s cradle. Nothing to worry about, he insisted to himself. Some kid playing a joke. A really nasty, stupid joke; but a joke. And there are probably a million ways someone could get the number . . .
Surprisingly, the thought almost soothed him. It was a joke. Pure and simple.
Hallie emerged from her bedroom wearing a fresh pair of blue jeans and a gray v-neck T-shirt. “Why didn’t you wake me up when the laundry got done?” she asked.
Tracy, leaning against the opposite wall, replied, “I didn’t realize it’d stopped. Sorry.”
Shrugging, Hallie said, “Oh, well. We’ll just start now is all.”
“Great.”
Hallie led the way down the hallway and through the living room. When she got there, she began picking up supplies: flashlights, screwdrivers, hammers, and tote bags filled with various other items. She handed half of them to Tracy and opened the front door. “Let’s go,” she said, starting out.
Almost reluctantly, Tracy followed. She and her sister went from the house, down the sidewalk, and onto the road. They passed the mailbox that stood in the front yard. Half of the box was covered by leaves of the sapling beside it. The numbers were still legible though the name wasn’t. All that Tracy could see of the name was ield. Something caught her eye as odd about the way the letters were set on the box, but Tracy couldn’t bring her mind to focus on what it was. Instead, she brought her entire consciousness to the task at hand: Getting out of the plan.
“Who was that on the phone?” Tay called from the bedroom.
Zac started before realizing what his brother had asked. “Prank call,” he replied evenly. “No biggie.”
“Oh. Okay,” Taylor replied. The clicking of his keyboard resumed.
He looked at the telephone and sighed. “No biggie,” he repeated quietly.
