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had been a devotee of horror. It was obvious that this is what Neil was driving
     at.
    And the grave they had dug had been shallow.
    Shallow enough to escape from? Maybe . . .
    Dead dammit!
    He simply could not allow these paranoid possibilities a chance to start to fester.
     They had checked and rechecked: No pulse, no breathing, no pupil response, no nothing.
     Dead, absolutely no question.
    “And what else have you learned reading The National Enquirer ?” Kipp asked sarcastically.
    Neil did not answer, hanging his head toward the floor. Tony crossed the room, put
     his hand on his shoulder. Neil looked up, his green eyes bright.
    “The person who sent this letter is alive,” Tony said firmly. “It might even be, like
     you suggested, someone in the group. But it’s certainly not a psychic zombie who can
     give us diabetes from a distance or force us to turn ourselves in against our will.”
    Neil smiled faintly, nodded. “Sure, Tony. I’m just sort of scared, you know?”
    Tony squeezed his arm. “You’re no different from the restof us. No different from even Kipp here, though he would be the last to admit it.”
    “Judges and juries frighten me more than witches and werewolves,” Kipp muttered.
    On that pragmatic note, the discussion came to an end. Tony walked them both to the
     front door and told them that as long as they stuck together they’d be all right.
     It sounded like a decent send-off remark.
    He had been worried about getting to sleep that night but as he climbed the stairs
     back to his room, he felt suddenly weary and collapsed on his bed with his pants still
     on, his teeth unbrushed and his window wide open. Coach Sager had put them through
     a grueling workout in track practice that afternoon, but Tony knew it was wrestling
     with the unknown Caretaker that had worn him out. If only he could sleep now he could
     recover his wits for tomorrow.
    And he got his wish, for within minutes he began to doze, or rather, he started to
     dream, which must have meant he was asleep. But the sleep was anything but restful.
     A shadow stood over him all night, forcing him to labor on a task that seemed impossible
     to complete. They were in a deserted field and he was working with his bare hands,
     digging a grave that would never be deep enough.

Chapter Three: Last Summer
    T he concert had been great. Tony’s ears were ringing and he couldn’t hear himself think,
     much less hear what the others were talking about. The crowd was thinning but it was
     still hard walking. There were no lights in the Swing Auditorium parking lot and out
     here in the valley there wasn’t nearly the background glow of electric L.A. It was
     like being stuck in a black cave with a herd of cattle. He stumbled on broken asphalt
     and almost tripped Joan, who was holding on to his hand. He felt loaded and hadn’t
     even had a drink. Then again, there had been enough dope smoke in the air to waste
     the security guards.
    “What did you say?” Tony yelled at Joan.
    “I didn’t say anything!” Joan yelled back, sounding ten miles away but leaning close
     enough to make him wonder ifthe evening’s fun wasn’t only beginning. She was wearing tight white pants, a skimpy
     orange blouse, and her hair was all over the place, including in his face.
    “It was I!” Kipp giggled, hanging on to Brenda, the two holding each other up. They
     had sure put away the beer on the long drive out to the auditorium. There were still
     several six-packs left. “Where the hell did I put my car?”
    “There it is!” Brenda laughed, pointing so vaguely that she could have meant half
     the parking lot.
    “I drive a Ford, not a Volkswagen!” Kipp shouted. “Hey, Neil, do you remember where
     my blue baby is?”
    Neil did not have a date but they had brought him because he loved music and because
     he was such a great guy to have around when you were trying to find your car. He didn’t
     drink and appeared impervious to marijuana