The Locker
“We sat there side by side on the bench while I told him what had happened at my locker that morning, and the whole time I talked, he just stared down at his sneakers, his hands clasped together on his stomach, nodding his head like some wise little Buddha who was biting his tongue to keep from saying “I told you so.”
“That’s the girl,” I said again when my story was finished. I felt drained. Worse than drained.
“You’re sure?”
Slowly I nodded. “The image—whatever it was—was blurry and faded, but... I’d know the face anywhere.” I put my hands over my eyes and moaned. “Oh, God …”
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Dobkin murmured, and I glanced at him sadly.
“Yes. She is.”
“You sure?” He wanted me to be wrong, but I knew deep in my heart that I wasn’t.
“Then you’ll have to find out where she is,” Dobkin said. “And what happened to her.”
“Are you out of your—”
“You have to, Marlee. You have to so her family will know. So they can go get her and … and bring her home again.”MoreLess
“That’s the girl,” I said again when my story was finished. I felt drained. Worse than drained.
“You’re sure?”
Slowly I nodded. “The image—whatever it was—was blurry and faded, but... I’d know the face anywhere.” I put my hands over my eyes and moaned. “Oh, God …”
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Dobkin murmured, and I glanced at him sadly.
“Yes. She is.”
“You sure?” He wanted me to be wrong, but I knew deep in my heart that I wasn’t.
“Then you’ll have to find out where she is,” Dobkin said. “And what happened to her.”
“Are you out of your—”
“You have to, Marlee. You have to so her family will know. So they can go get her and … and bring her home again.”MoreLess
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