The Missing Read Online Free PDF Page B

knew it was bad to hurt an animal, knew that he’d loved Gimpy, but still, a part of him liked it. Even if he wasn’t smart, killing Gimpy had been brave. Most peo- ple wouldn’t have had the guts.
    He dug a hole for Gimpy behind the hutch and bur- ied him there. He was so sad about cold Gimpy that he couldn’t remember his prayers, so instead he asked God to let him into heaven, even if it turned out that pets aren’t normally allowed. Unless Gimpy was going to haunt him, and then he wished Gimpy permanently dead. He covered the filled-in hole with leaves so Mr. McGuffin wouldn’t notice the fresh dirt, and then ran
    home, took the phone off the hook, and told his mom he had to go to bed because he felt sick.
    When the front bell rang, James prayed to God it wasn’t Mr. McGuffin. He prayed he could undo what he’d done. But it was Mr. McGuffin at the door, and James heard him talking to his mother in the front hall. Their voices were soft, and then his mother was shouting, and Mr. McGuffin started shouting, too. He listened, even though he didn’t like what he heard. “That’s maniac’s gonna kill a man one day,” Mr. McGuffin yelled.
    He pulled the covers tight over his body and wished he was asleep. He was so scared he couldn’t even cry. How had this happened? Because he was bad. Those teachers at school, and the kids who didn’t invite him to sleepovers because he was too rough, and Danny, and even his parents, who didn’t touch him unless he asked, they all knew what he’d just figured out. He was bad inside. He’d killed his own rabbit.
    Mr. McGuffin didn’t come storming up the stairs and into his room like he’d expected. The front door slammed, and then there was silence. A little while later his mother arrived, carrying a tray of orange juice and cinnamon toast. She laid it across his bed and pulled up a chair. (She never sat on his bed when she wanted to talk. Only Danny’s.) “Feeling better?” she asked.
    She was fugly. Once he’d punched her in the stomach and told her so. He hadn’t counted on her crying about it the way she did. “I feel bad, Felice,” he told her, be- cause for as long as he could remember, she’d never an- swered to “Mom.”
    She didn’t pet his hair or hold him or anything. “Mr. McGuffin was over here,” she said. He got scared. But instead of feeling scared, a fire made of ice spread in his
    stomach. It burned so blue and aching that his skin shivered. It froze his insides and then broke them into little pieces until he didn’t feel bad anymore. Like the deep sleep, he didn’t feel anything anymore.
    “He said he found your favorite rabbit. Someone killed and buried it. He thinks it was you, but I told him that was impossible. I told him you were in the yard practicing the T-ball. That’s what you were doing all morning, isn’t it?”
    He didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were narrow, like she was looking at him, but doing her best not to see him. Why was she pretending he’d been in the yard?
    “I’m sick,” he said.
    “You’ve got a virus, probably,” she told him. Then she patted the side of his leg, but her hand didn’t linger. “I’ll leave you to sleep.” She shut the door, and he heard a lock turn. Ever since that day, she didn’t look at him the same. Even when her mouth smiled at him, her eyes never did.
    James overheard his dad on the phone that night with Mr. McGuffin. He said that if Mr. McGuffin started telling stories about the rabbits in his yard, he’d get sued for slander, and then he wouldn’t be able to afford his mortgage, let alone vermin for pets. And by the way, what was a single man doing inviting children to his house to play with rabbits?
    Hurting Gimpy was the worst thing James had ever done. It had been wrong, and he didn’t want to do any- thing like it again. But then again, sometimes he did.
    James stopped walking. It was dark out here. He’d been thinking about Gimpy coming back from the dead and