Charlotte shook her head. "It's football," she said bitterly. "That's all anyone around here cares about, and the biggest mistake I ever made was letting Jeff get involved with it."
"Now, come on, Charlotte," Elaine soothed. "It's not as bad as all that."
"Isn't it?" Charlotte asked, her voice bleak. She turned to Sharon Tanner. "I was wrong just now," she said softly. "Letting Jeff get involved in football wasn't my biggest mistake. My biggest mistake was coming to Silverdale at all!"
Then she turned and hurried away.
All afternoon Sharon heard CharlotteLaConner's words echoing in her head.
"My biggest mistake was coming to Silverdale…" She would have dismissed the words, since the woman had been terribly upset, perhaps even in pain.
Still, even before she and Elaine had run into Charlotte in the market, Sharon had begun to have misgivings.
Although she couldn't argue that the town wasn't beautiful, perfectly planned, and perfectly built, there was still something wrong.
And that, she suddenly realized, was it.
It was too perfect, all of it.
The homes, the shops, the schools, even the food in the market.
Too perfect.
JeffLaConner knew he'd fouled up at football practice that afternoon. His concentration had been way off, and even though Phil Collins had yelled at him, sent him on extra laps around the track, and finally benched him, it hadn't helped. Now, in the locker room, he was staring curiously at the marks on his ankles. He hadn't noticed them until the last period of the day, when he'd stripped down for his regular gym class. But once he'd seen them, he couldn't get them out of his mind.
They were faded, barely visible now, as were the marks on his wrists. Four strange bands of reddened skin, almost as though they'd been bound up with adhesive tape the night before.
Adhesive tape, or something else.
At times throughout the day, his whole body would shudder. Strange flickers of images would come into his mind, then disappear before he could get a good look at them. But they were frightening images, and as the afternoon wore on, he'd finally begun to remember the nightmare he'd had the previous night.
The nightmare in which he'd been bound to a table, and someone-a man whose face he couldn't remember at all- had been torturing him.
He stripped off his practice uniform, then went to the shower. There were a dozen other guys still there, but instead of joking with them as he usually did, Jeff only soaped his body down and stood for a long time under the hot needle spray, letting the water relax his sore muscles. Finally, when everyone else had left, he shut off the water, toweled himself dry, then dressed. Instead of leaving the locker room, however, he went to the coach's office and knocked on the door.
"It's unlocked," Collins barked. Jeff let himself into the room, and Collins looked up at him from behind his desk, his expression souring. "I don't want to hear any excuses," he growled. "All I want is for you to keep your mind on the game."
"I-I'm sorry," Jeff stammered. "I just wanted to talk to you for a minute."
Collins hesitated, then his shoulders hunched in a gesture of impatient resignation and he waved to the chair opposite him. "Okay, shoot. What's on your mind?"
"These," Jeff said, holding out his wrists so Collins could clearly see the marks on them. "They're on my ankles, too."
Collins shrugged. "So am I supposed to know where they came from?" he asked.
Jeff shook his head uncertainly. "I just-well, all day I've been having these funny feelings… like all of a sudden I get scared. And I had a nightmare last night," he went on. He told Collins as much as he could remember of the dream. Then: "The thing is, could the dream have caused the marks? I mean, in the dream they had me strapped down to the table. And I was just thinking-"
"You mean maybe they're psychosomatic?" Collins asked. Again he shrugged, his hands spreading wide on the desk. "You got me, Jeff. I don't know anything about that sort of stuff. If you want, we can call Ames and ask him." He reached for the phone, but Jeff shook his head.
"No," he said. "That's okay. I'll be going out there tomorrow or the next day, and I can ask him then."
Collins gazed at him speculatively for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said. "But I want you to take it easy tonight, okay? No fights, and early to bed. I want you in prime shape for tomorrow's game."
Jeff stood up to go, then turned back. "What about my mom?" he asked. "What if she still wants me to quit the team?"
Collins's eyes met Jeff's steadily. "That's not her decision, is it?" he asked. "Isn't that pretty much up to you and your dad?"
Jeff hesitated, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yeah," he said. "I guess it is, isn't it?"
When Jeff was gone, Collins sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking, then picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Martin Ames's private number at the sports clinic.
"Marty?" he said when the doctor came on the line. "It's Phil." He hesitated a moment, wondering if there was really any reason for him to be calling the doctor. But those marks on Jeff's ankles had certainly been real. "I was just wondering if there's a reason why Jeff would have marks on his wrists and ankles today."
There was a momentary silence, then Ames spoke, his voice tinged with condescension. "Are you asking exactly what we did to Jeff last night?"
Collins's jaw tightened. "I'm just asking if there's an explanation for the marks."
Again there was a momentary silence, and when Ames spoke again, his tone was gentler. "Look, Phil, you know how Jeff was last night. You had to restrain him, and after you left, he had another attack. Nothing to worry about, but we had to restrain him, too, until we could get him calmed down. Sometimes the straps leave marks. What's the big deal? Isn't he all right today?"
"Seems okay," Collins admitted. "But he had a nightmare -a really bad one. I guess I was wondering if the marks could have come from that."
Now Ames chuckled. "You mean you were wondering if Jeff's cracking up?"
Collins flinched, for that was exactly what he had been thinking. And yet when Ames actually spoke the words out loud, they sounded ridiculous. "I guess maybe I overreacted," he replied.
Now Ames's voice became reassuring. "No, you did the right thing. You know I always want to know what's going on with the boys, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Not that bruises on Jeff's arms and legs are insignificant," he quickly added. "You did the right thing to call me. But it's nothing to worry about. Okay?" When the coach made no reply for a moment, Ames spoke again, his voice carrying a harsh note of challenge. "I know what I'm doing, Collins," he said.
Phil Collins's lips compressed into a tight line. If the arrogant bastard was so sure of himself… He put the thought out of his mind. Ames, after all, had done more for the team than any other single individual, himself included. "Okay," he said at last. "I just wanted you to know what's happening, that's all."
"And I appreciate that," Ames replied, friendly again. The conversation ended a moment later, but even after he'd hung up, Phil Collins still felt uneasy.
What if something really was wrong with Jeff?
What if JeffLaConner was getting sick the way Randy Stevens had last year?
Just the thought of it made Collins shudder.
Chapter Nine
The last days of Indian summer had faded away, and as September gave way to October, the aspens began to change color. Now Silverdale was ablaze with the brilliant reds andgolds of autumn, and the mountain air had taken on a brisk snap, harbinger of the winter to come. Already some of the mountain peaks to the east of the little valley were brushed with snow, and the long evenings of summer were a thing of the past…
For the Tanners, Silverdale was finally beginning to feel like home, and they had fitted themselves comfortably into the pace of the little town. Kelly, her friends in San Marcos all but forgotten, was insisting that if her parents didn't buy her skis immediately, it would be too late, her life ruined forever.