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"But after what he's done to you . . . especially when they find all that out concerning .
"The police will take my mother into a separate room, and they'll question her. They'll ask her if she knew it was going on. They'll ask her if I ever told her anything, and she'll say no, because she won't know how to describe any of it, when it occurred, how it occurred. She wouldn't listen to me; she wouldn't hear of it, remember?"
"You can tell them. You can give them as much detail as they need."
She shook her head. "It's just my word against hers." She looked down. "How many stories have you heard about me in school, Zipporah, stories some of the boys told, fabricated? Didn't you tell me what they wrote about me in the boys' room?"
"Yes, but .. ."
"No one will believe I lost my virginity to a perverted, crazy stepfather," she said, her eyes cold with the hard truth. "I can't even claim that."
"No boy in school would dare testify that he .
"Can you even imagine such an interrogation, all those boys brought in to answer whether or not they did it with me? Will the police believe any of them, whatever they say? One or two of them might even lie and say yes to make himself look like some kind of big shot."
"How can they?"
She stared at me, and then she smiled in such a chilling way it made my heart stop and start.
"Didn't you tell me you were coming over to my house the other night to warn me about the things your mother had warned you about? You know, how sex can be dangerous?"
"Yes, but only because of Harry, because of what you told me about Harry."
"You're my best friend in all the world, and your face, which you admit is like a window pane, shows some doubt, Zipporah. If I can see it, the police will. Oh, that's right." she continued. "Don't think the police won't call you in for questioning, lots of questioning. You're going to bear witness to my claims, aren't you?"
"Of course, I will."
"But you never saw any of it happen to me. You have only my word for it."
"That's okay. I'll tell them how desperate you were, and I'll tell them about our plan. When they hear about the wig, the dress, they'll believe us. I'll show them the book of short stories to prove where we got the idea."
"You'll admit to conspiring with me to rid me of Harry? You'll admit to never telling your parents about it? They'll be so hurt. Your father is an attorney. It might even affect his career here. Maybe he'll lose his job. Do you really want to be part of all this?"
I didn't speak. She had injected a quart of terror into my blood, and it congealed around my heart, freezing it in my chest.
"Well, what can we do, I do?"
"I warned you that day. I told you that you don't want to be my best friend. I pleaded with you to stay out, but you insisted, and you vowed we would be friends forever. Bird Oath, remember?"
"We will be friends forever," I said, but weakly. "Sure, we will," she muttered.
We were both quiet, wallowing in our muddled thoughts. How had all this happened so fast? I gazed around the attic. Was it all just a terrible nightmare? Would I wake up and be so happy it was only a dream? Would I hurry over to her house to warn her about what could happen? Could I change the course of the events? Could I go to my mother and my father and ask them for help as I should have done? Could I have a phone conversation with Jesse and get him to help as well, even if it were only to talk to our parents for me?
Oh, Fate, give us another chance, please, I pleaded in my secret thoughts. We'll be good. We'll do the right things. Don't let this all be true, all be happening to us.
The attic creaked with the gust of wind coming in from the northeast, snapping at the leaves, forcing thin branches to nod in respect. The great house that had survived so many different kinds of weather seemed to groan as if it were having a bellyache because of us. Surely, it was thinking, Oh; no, not another dark and horrid story to attach to the rafters and cladding, not another notorious legend to inhabit the rooms and cling to the walls to make it harder, if not impossible, for another warm and loving family to live here. Abandoned, it would rot away and slowly disintegrate into nothing more than an empty shell to be pummeled by teenagers on some Halloween rampage, smashing out all the windows and splashing imitation blood on its outside walls and walks, until some merciful vagrant set it on fire and sent its memory up in smoke to be carried away in the same wind that visited us right now.
"Well, what are we going to do, Karen?" I asked, struggling to control my panic.
"I'm not sure yet." She stared a moment longer at the floor and then turned to me. "For now, I want to stay up here, hide up here."
"Here? In the attic?"
"Remember The Diary of Anne Frank, and how adults as well as children stayed safely in an attic to hide from the Nazis? They were there for years. If all those people were able to do it, we can do it. I can do it. I'll be dead quiet when your family is here, too. During the day, when everyone is at work and you're at school, I'll do what I have to do and move around undetected."
"But . . ."
"Don't you want to help me? Help us?"
