The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)
The Wrong Girl: Part 3 – Chapter 43

She shook her head. A lock of blond hair came loose from her ponytail. She raised a hand and struggled to put it back in. “I don’t understand it.”

“You thought he was home?”

She nodded. “We had dinner. I actually cooked tonight. And then he said he was going out. But . . . I thought he came back. I thought I heard him.”

She motioned with one hand. “Come sit down. Tell me what’s going on.”

I wanted to leave. But she was staring at me with such intensity. And I could see she was mystified about Keith. And a little scared. So I followed her into the family room.

We sat down on brown leather armchairs facing each other. “Do you have any idea where Keith might be?” she asked. She suddenly sounded like a helpless little girl. Like she didn’t know how to deal with this at all.

I shook my head. “No. No clue.”

“Well, why did you come to see him, Poppy?”

I let out a long sigh. “Do you know about Jeremy and Ivy?” I asked.

She thought for a moment. “No. No, I don’t. Have I met them?”

“Probably,” I said. “They’re good friends. Keith didn’t tell you—”

“He doesn’t really confide in me,” she interrupted. “Keith is very private. He doesn’t share much. And ever since we moved here, he’s been even more secretive.”

“Well, it’s not a nice story,” I said. “Ivy was attacked in her home. Someone put acid in her shampoo. She has serious burns all over her head.”

Mrs. Carter leaned forward, her mouth open in shock. “I can’t believe anyone would do that.”

“Jeremy had severe allergies.” I forced myself to finish the story. “Someone filled his room with hornets, and he was stung to death.”

She gasped. “Your friend? He died?”

I nodded. “It’s horrible. Horrible.”

I could see she was thinking hard. “You don’t think Keith had anything to do with any of that, do you, Poppy?”

I took a breath. “Keith was very messed up when I broke up with him. I—”

“You two broke up? I didn’t know.”

“Well . . . we did. And he acted very weird about it. And . . . and . . . This is very hard, Mrs. Carter. I mean, I don’t want to think Keith has attacked my friends. But I just wanted to ask him.”

I swallowed hard and raised my eyes to her. “Keith couldn’t be responsible—could he?”

She stood up and clasped her hands in front of her, pushed them together as if she was praying. Her answer to my question surprised me: “Keith has had episodes before. But I know he’s been taking his meds.”

I couldn’t keep the shock from my face. Episodes? Meds?

Keith was definitely a private person. I realized he didn’t share anything with his mother, and he hadn’t shared anything with me.

“He’s not a killer,” Mrs. Carter added, crossing her arms tightly in front of her. “No. Keith . . . Keith is afraid of the world. If you broke up with him, it probably was very difficult for him to accept. Rejection has always been hard for him. But . . . but he’s not a killer. I know it can’t be Keith.”

I stood up, and to my surprise, she wrapped me in a hug. She pressed her cheek against mine, and I could feel her body trembling.

“I’m worried,” she said softly when she finally let go of me. “I’m very worried, Poppy. Where can Keith be?”

A gentle rain came on as I drove home. The raindrops ran down my windshield, lighted by oncoming cars, and they looked like jewels, a sliding curtain of jewels. The raindrops almost hypnotized me. I guess I wasn’t in my right mind.

I don’t think I even realized I was driving. I just stared at the flashing raindrops sliding down the glass, lighting up with each passing car.

It was too much for me, too much for my brain to handle. Ivy burned with acid . . . Jeremy murdered . . . Keith disappeared.

Keith . . . I’d spent so much time with him. But there was so much I didn’t know. Could Keith be dangerous? Was he paying me back for breaking up with him? I couldn’t answer these questions, and I was too frightened and confused to even think about them clearly.

Somehow I made it home. Pulled into the drive, glad to see that Lucas’s car was gone. Maybe the police came and chased him away. Maybe they arrested him. I didn’t care about Lucas. He was just a creep. I didn’t want to let him into my thoughts.

The house was dark and quiet, so quiet I could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. I tiptoed to my room. No way I wanted to wake Mom or Heather and be bombarded by a hundred questions.

It was after midnight, but I was too wired to feel tired. Will I ever sleep again? The faces of my friends flashed before my eyes. Ivy . . . Jeremy . . . Keith . . . They wouldn’t go away. They were haunting me. One face after another. And then Jack’s face lingered, his arrogant smile, his penetrating eyes . . . Jack.

He was trouble from the start. It was Jack who got us doing the stupid pranks we pulled. Was it possible that he was the one who had turned deadly?

“I have to get some sleep,” I said out loud, interrupting my tumbling thoughts.

I changed into my long nightshirt. Brushed my teeth. Looked at my disheveled hair in the bathroom mirror but didn’t do anything about it.

Back in my room, I made my way to my bed, still trying to force the faces from my mind. I reached down with both hands, pulled back the covers—and started to scream.