Neil's "small token of obedience" was demanded and carried out without injury or insult to anyone. The Caretaker wanted him to get sick in class. The group debated whether it was actually necessary for him to vomit on somebody--"How gross!" Brenda had remarked--before deciding a fainting spell would probably be sufficient. Neil chose Algebra II to throw the fit. This was ironic--the math teacher was none other than Coach Sager, who's imaginary seduction they had been listening to when they had hit the man. Neil's selection, however, had been logically arrived at. His algebra class was immediately prior to lunch, just when a diabetic would be prone to trouble with his blood sugar level. Alison did not see the fake collapse but Tony was there and told her about it afterward.

"I knew it was coming and he still scared me. Neil should be in one of your plays; he's an incredible actor. He started by swaying in his chair, trying to catch a few people's attention that something was not right. But you know the kids at our school--they went right on minding their own business. Then he turned white--how, I have no idea. Still, no one spoke up and Sager went right on lecturing about X, Y, and Z. Finally, Neil just went ahead and did it. He groaned loudly and pitched forward onto the desk, rolling to the floor. The back of his head hit the tiles with a loud thud. You should have seen Sager; he reacted as if Neil had caught fire. He ripped off his sweater and draped it over Neil's body and started fanning him with an algebra book. Coach was about to try mouth-to-mouth resuscitation when I stepped in, explaining about the diabetes. Someone ran for orange juice and as soon as we put it to Niel's lips, he opened his eyes and smiled. He hadn't even drunk any of it! The whole thing was pretty funny in a way. That is, until his mother showed up. I was sitting with him in the nurse's station when she came in. She was very upset. You would have thought her son had died. She started crying and shaking, and you could see how much does bothered Neil. He was furious with himself. I guess, one way or the other, the Caretaker is letting none of us off easy."

Joan's command sounded inoffensive enough: Come School Dressed Bozo Clown. Alison wouldn't have minded that order. She might even have enjoyed it. But to punk, tough Joan, used to wearing leather and metal, it cut to the core of her image. "No way," she swore. "Let that bastard try what he wants."

That had been last week. But something had happened between then and now that worried Joan. She wanted a meeting of all seven of them. Fran's parents both worked, so they decided to gather at her house on a Wednesday afternoon after Tony's track practice. It was to be the first time since the accident that they were all in the same spot at the same time.

"Would anyone like some homemade chocolate chip cookies?" Fran asked, bustling about the kitchen table--the same table where they had opened the Caretaker's original letter--like the typically overly anxious hostess. "How about you, Neil?" she asked, reaching for winning smile. "You don't have to worry about your weight."

Neil looked up, rubbing his eyes. He had been resting his head in his arms. He smiled. "Homemade? Sounds wonderful."

"But all that sugar . . ." Tony began.

"One or two won't hurt," Neil said.

Fran brought out a warm plate of three dozen cookies and a half-gallon carton of milk. Alison helped herself--she always craved sweets when she was worried. Why had Tony chosen to sit next to Joan?

"We should get together like this more often," Kipp remarked, his mouth full.

"We always do have such an exciting time," Joan said sarcastically.

"I see you got a new car, Kipp," Alison said. He had driven up in a red Ford, a later model. "The Caretaker didn't do bad by you, after all."

Tony and Neil exchanged glances. Alison wondered what she was missing. Unconcerned, Kipp continued to dunk his cookies, muttering, "The old one had sentimental value."

Alison noticed Neil playing with a ring, twisting the band on his middle finger as if he were winding it up. The fit was poor, loose. She had never seen him wearing it before. She was fond of jewelry. "Neil, can I try on your ring?"

He looked pleased. "I doubt it will fit you," he said, handing it over.

"But it does." Her hands were not nearly as bony as his, and the fit was snug. The stone was an emerald--an expensive one, she knew her gems--cut in a sharp triangle, mounted in gold. "Has it been in your family?" She asked.

Neil nodded. "How did you know?"

"The green matches your eyes." She gave it back. "It's beautiful."

"Let's cut out the small talk," Brenda said. "Remember, I'm grounded. I've got to get back before my mom discovers I'm gone. Why did you want this meeting, Joan? You don't look like anything has fallen on you."

"The suggestion was mine as much as Joan's," Tony interjected. "We should have been gathering and working together since this started, instead of purposely avoiding each other."

"Does Joan need help with her clown outfit?" Kipp asked.

"Tell them what happened," Tony said.

Joan put down her cookie and beer--yes, she had wanted beer with her cookies--and coolly eyed everyone at the table. "Let me say up front that I don't think what happened to me it was funny. If any of you laugh when I tell you, especially you, Kipp, I'll put this plate of cookies in your face." That said, Joan lowered her voice and said, "Last night I went to bed about twelve, my usual time. My folks will home but they were bombed from a police ball they'd gone to earlier. A gunshot couldn't have woken them. They didn't hear what happened and they still don't know about it.

"I must have been in bed about half an hour--I wasn't asleep yet--when my window just exploded. The glass sprayed all over my whole bed. I had it on my pillow and in my hair and, when I sat up, I could feel it cutting my arms." Joan rolled up her right sleeve and it was indeed badly scratched. "But I didn't care. I thought, if that's the worst that damn Caretaker can do to me, I have nothing to worry about. I would have jumped to the window right away to see if there was anyone there, but I was in my bare feet and I knew there must be glass all over the floor. So I decided to first get to the light switch, which is by the door opposite the window. I carefully slipped out of the sheets and was tiptoeing across the floor, when I feel this" -she made a face- "this thing crawl up my leg. I tell you, I forgot all about the glass. I pounced on that light switch quick. Then . . . I saw what was there." Joan stopped, taking a swig of beer.

"Please continue,"Kipp said. "The suspense is killing me."

Joan glared at him. "There were cockroaches all over the room! They were in my bed, crawling through my clothes, running over my desk, and trying to get up my legs." She chewed on her lower lip, and this time, it wasn't because she was bad. "If I live till I'm thirty, I'll never get over feeling as nauseated as I did then."

"And as scared?" Alison asked.

Joan nodded faintly. "Yeah, and as scared. I was scared." She took a deep breath. "It took me half the night to kill those buggers, if I even got them all. I used my old man's CO-2 fire extinguisher. Hell help us if the house catches fire next."

The group silently considered the Caretaker's latest ploy. Finally, Tony asked, "are you particularly afraid of cockroaches?"

"I hate all bugs," Joan said. "Doesn't everybody?"

"I'm sure none of us here like insects," Tony said. "But disliking and being afraid of are two different things. My point is, the Caretaker seems to have hit you where you're weak." He had to quickly raise his hand to prevent Joan from defending her weakness. "We all have a secret phobias--don't be embarrassed. Now I know you're afraid of bugs because of what you said just now. But how did the Caretaker know this?"

The question brought no ready answer. While they walk to their brains, Fran's cookies enjoyed another wave of interest. Only Neil obtained, toying with his milk, looking exhausted. But it was he who spoke next.

"The Caretaker must know Joan," he said. "The Caretaker must be one of us."

More silence, everyone looking at everyone else, everyone looking equally guilty.

"There is a pattern, of sorts here," Kipp said with some reluctance. "Fran was proud of Teddy, I was proud of my Ford. More than anything, Brenda wanted to do well in her play. And Neil hates how Tony and I are always hassling him about how sickly he looks. This last ad maintains the pattern. Joan--and please don't hit me--loves her mean street girl image. Dressing like Bozo the Clown wouldn't exactly exactly reinforce that image."

"Let's look at a specific case," Tony said. "Which of you knew that Joan was afraid of bugs?"

"I hardly think the Caretaker will admit to knowing about it," Kipp said.

"But you were the one who said the Caretaker can't be one of us," Tony said.

"I haven't changed my mind," Kipp said. "When I mentioned the pattern, I was merely stating the obvious. Lots of people at school are aware of our likes and dislikes, probably some people we don't even know. Still, I'll go along with your questions. For myself, Joan has always struck me as someone who would love insects." Suddenly, Kipp grimaced, bending over and grabbing his leg. "I asked you not to hit me," he breathed.

"You said nothing about kicking you," Joan said.

"I didn't know our darling Joan was afraid of bugs," Brenda said.

"We knew!" Fran said. "Alison and I both knew. Just the other day, we saw Joan scream at a spider."

Just the other day, Alison thought. That had been a very timely demonstration of Joan's phobia. Had she purposely jumped at the spider to show she was afraid of bugs so she would fit right in with the pattern? Had she really had a bottle of cockroaches go through a window?

"Joan," Alison said, "did you cut your feet going to the light switch?"

"You better believe it. I cut the right one real bad."

"May I see it?" Alison asked.

"What?"

"I'd like to see the cut."

"You calling me a liar?" Joan said savagely.

"Not yet," Alison said.

Joan steamed for a moment then reached down and slid off the right boot. The rear section of the foot was heavily bandaged, the gauze wrapped many times around the ankle. "Are you satisfied?"

"No," Alison said. "Anybody can put a bandage on. You weren't limping when you came in. Take it off."

"No! You're sick. You like looking at bloody scars?"

"Alison is just trying to collect more information," Tony interrupted smoothly. "I can understand why you don't want to expose the cut to possible infection, but eliminating suspects is as valuable as finding them."

Joan stared at him in disbelief. "She's really got you wrapped around her little finger. You're already parroting whatever she says. I know you two went out. She couldn't help but tell the whole school."

"What was that?" Neil asked, coming back from a daydream.

"I'm no one's parrot," Tony said firmly, staring Joan I n the eye. She hardly met his gaze before looking down, scowling at her beer bottle. Tony added, "Put your boot on. We can check your window after the meeting."

Joan chuckled, once. "Don't. I already fixed it. By myself."

"How convenient," Alison muttured.

"Is this Down on Joan Day, or what?" Joan complained, her voice shaky. Tony's harsh tone must have gotten to her. Alison felt a pang--a rather small one--of guilt. "I came here for help."

Tony softened, squeezing her arm. "We shouldn't be singling you out. That's largely my fault and I'm sorry. We're just trying to learn what we can. Let's get back to this bug thing."

"I knew Joan was afraid of insects," Neil said. "I'm not sure how I knew."

"Who knew I liked my car?" Kipp asked, rhetorically. "The whole school. Who knew Brenda wanted to be in the play? The whole school. I tell you, Tony, this is not the way to go about it. Granted, the Caretaker probably knows us. But let's look at our enemies."

"Who hates Joan?" Joan mumbled. "The whole school."

"Joan." Tony frowned. "I said I'm sorry."

"I love you, Joan," Neil said sweetly.

Joan's pleasure at the remark was obvious. "That's because you're such a far-out guy, Neil," she said.

"Can any of you think of someone who hates us all?" Tony asked, trying to keep the discussion on track.

"Joan," Kipp blurted out, quickly moving his chair lest he absorb another kick. The joke went over well, even with Joan, and they all enjoyed a good laugh. Neil cut it short, however, with his next remark.

"Maybe the man hates us," he said.

"What do you mean?" Fran asked, her eyes wide.

Kipp snorted. "Don't bring up that nonsense again."

Neil shrugged. "You asked."

"Let Neil talk," Fran said. "All of you think you know everything. I've seen lots of shows on TV, real documentaries, where weird things start happening to a group of people. And what they find out is that a dark power is at work on them. Maybe that man has---"

"There are no dark powers," Tony interrupted. "People who talk about them are usually trying to scare you into sending them money." He added, "The man is dead."

"Not in our memories," Neil said. His words, gentle as usual, carried unusual force. "See how he haunts us still. And is that right? Does it have to be this way?" He turned to his best friend, and Alison could see the pain in his eyes. "Tony, all this talk ain't helping us. It doesn't clear our conscience. But if we face what we have done, we can take away the Caretaker's hold on us. We can be free. Go to the police. Tell them we made a mistake. This whole thing is killing me. Please, Tony, tell them we're sorry."

Tony stood and went to the window. A car door had slammed and he was probably checking to see if Fran's mother had returned home. Alison stared at him, hoping she knew not what, only that he would make the right choice.

"I can't," he said at last. "It's too late for that."

"And what if the Caretaker really does hurt one of us?" Neil asked.

"Then it will be all my fault," Tony answered.

"All we can do is hope to find the Caretaker," Kipp said.

"Will we kill him, too?" Neil asked sadly.