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Janice Greene

THE PLOT

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Development and Production: Laurel Associates, Inc.Cover Illustrator: Black Eagle Productions

Copyright © 2002 by Saddleback Publishing, Inc. All rightsreserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced ortransmitted in any form without permission in writing from thepublisher. Reproduction of any part of this book, throughphotocopy, recording, or any electronic or mechanical retrievalsystem, without the written permission of the publisher, is aninfringement of copyright law.

ISBN 1-56254-431-4

Printed in the United States of America07 06 05 04 03 02 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Three WatsonIrvine, CA 92618-2767Website: www.sdlback.com

SERIES 3The Bad Luck Play

Breaking PointDeath Grip

Fat BoyNo Exit

No Place Like HomeThe Plot

Something Dreadful Down BelowSounds of Terror

The Woman Who Loved a Ghost

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Tara Tiongson looked at hercalendar and gasped. The deadline wasin just two days, and she hadn’t evenreceived her application yet! She randownstairs and found her mom andsister watching TV.

“Mom!” she cried. “Didn’t I getanything in the mail from the SummerBridge Program?”

“What?” said her mother, reaching forher coffee mug without taking her eyesfrom the TV screen.

“The Summer Bridge Program,” saidTara. “Didn’t it come in the mail?”

“Hon, I can’t be expected to knowabout every little thing that comes in themail. I don’t know why we get so muchjunk—” her mother grumbled.

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“Mom! You threw it out, didn’t you?”said Tara.

Tara’s older sister, Kimmie, glared ather and reached for the remote to turnup the volume.

“Oh, honey, I don’t know,” said hermother. “Why’s it so important?”

Tara gritted her teeth at her mother’sfavorite expression. “Mom,” she went on,“I want to apply for a special mathprogram. I’d get to take classes at theuniversity. It’s important to me!” But hermom had her eyes glued to the TV. Cornymusic was swelling as a tall blond manentered the room.

“It’s Brad!” Kimmie said. “Remember,Mom? He’s supposed to be dead.”

Mom said, “Oh, yeah. Brad—”Tara gave up and went into the

kitchen. As always, it was a mess. Butthis morning she just didn’t have theenergy to clean up. She looked for cereal,finally finding a box on the stove. Butall the bowls were dirty, crusted with bits

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of dried food. So Tara filled a mug withcereal and grabbed milk from therefrigerator. As she opened the carton,she noticed a sour smell. Disgusted, shedropped the carton in the sink, wherethe bad milk slowly chugged out over apile of dirty plates, candy wrappers, andlumps of clotted rice.

Kimmie wandered in and began tosearch for cereal, too.

“Here’s some,” Tara said, handing herthe cereal box. “Kimmie, could you cleanup the kitchen for once?”

“Not now. I’m wiped out. You try aneight-hour job sometime,” Kimmie said.

“That’s not fair, Kimmie! I’ve gotwork plus tons of homework everynight!” Tara shot back.

“Homework’s a waste! When yougraduate, you’re just going to get aregular old job, anyway,” Kimmie said.

“I don’t want a job,” Tara insisted. “Iwant a career.”

“Oh, please!” Kimmie said mockingly.

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“You keep trying to act like you’re betterthan Mom and me! But you’re not! I cantell you, baby—you’re just the same!”

Tara opened her mouth for a smartretort, but then decided against it.

Fighting with her sister would onlymake her bad mood worse. She stompedout of the room, grabbed her books, andran out to catch the bus to school. Herstomach was growling.

Just before math class, DerekRodis caught up with Tara in the hall.“Did you send in your application yet?”he asked excitedly.

“No,” said Tara. “I never got it.”Derek looked alarmed. “You didn’t?

You should call them!”“That’s a good idea,” said Tara,

hoping her mother had paid the phonebill. Last month they’d been withoutphone service for two weeks.

As she went to her seat, Tara’s

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friends surrounded her. “Why are youtalking to that geeky guy Derek?” Patiteased. “He’s so homely!”

“The word is ugly,” Kaitlin chimed in.“I agree. Why waste your breath on uglyguys?” she added.

Tara looked over at Derek, who wasbent over his math book. He was a thinguy with big ears and an intense look.He wasn’t ugly! Once he’d told her he’dgotten in trouble for getting a B on hisreport card. She wondered what it waslike, having parents who expectednothing less than straight A’s.

As Mr. Ferris started lecturing, Tarafelt boredom settle over her like a heavyblanket. Last year, when she’d been asophomore, Mr. Marinucci taught math.Every class had been exciting. One day,after they’d done a unit in architecture,Mr. Marinucci had caught up with herin the hall. “Tara,” he said, “you seem tohave a real talent for architecture. You’requite gifted in math, and your drawings

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are—wonderful, exceptional! Have youever given any thought to architectureas a career?”

The truth was that Tara hadn’tconsidered any career. She only knewshe didn’t want to end up like hermother and sister. Mr. Marinucci’ssuggestions opened up a whole newworld to her. She began to dream of thesteel and glass buildings downtown. Sheimagined a gleaming white officebuilding that was hers alone.

That was last year. Although thedream was still there, every day, duringMr. Ferris’ lectures, it faded a little. Still,she was hopeful enough to go up to hisdesk after class.

“Mr. Ferris, I wanted to apply for theSummer Bridge Program—” Shestopped at his blank look.

“Summer Bridge Program?” heasked. “What’s that? Does it havesomething to do with math?”

“Never mind,” Tara said.

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She left the classroom and hurrieddown the jammed hallway. Suddenly, shefelt like she couldn’t get out of MaxwellSenior High soon enough.

Kimmie had dropped out in herjunior year. Maybe she’d felt the wayTara did now—that she simply couldn’ttake another minute of slamminglockers and yelling kids, peeling paint,and the heavy, stale odors of lunchleftovers.

As Tara walked into the backroom at Lupo’s 1-Hour Photo and Copy,Josie greeted her with bad news. “Billycalled in sick, Tara. Mrs. Lee said shewants you to close up tonight.”

“And you can’t?” Tara asked.“She said you,” Josie said smugly.Tara put her backpack on the floor.

There was very little space in the backroom. Most of it was taken up by the filmprocessor, the big machine that

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developed film. There were also heavyrolls of photographic paper and bottlesof chemicals stacked all around.

The front room, where customerscame in, was crowded, too. The printerprocessor, a big machine that printed thephotos on paper, took up most of thespace. But there was also a bulky copymachine—and behind the counter, acash register. Next to the window was atall plastic plant that Mrs. Lee alwaysdecorated at Christmas.

Frowning, Tara looked through theorders to be filled that night. The filmhad been developed yesterday, but so fartoday only a few prints had been made.

“Josie—” Tara began.Tara’s co-worker turned and looked

at her, her eyes wide and innocent. Tarawas sure Josie had plenty of excuses fornot doing her work. But right now shewas too tired to hear them.

“Never mind,” Tara said with a sigh.Tara loaded the negatives in the

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machine and got it ready to go. Josie wasbusy with the copier, an order sheet inher hand. Tara got out her life sciencebook. There was a test tomorrow and shehad to study. She read two paragraphs,and then Josie was at her side.

“Look. I was saving these until yougot here,” Josie said. She shoved somephotos at Tara. It looked like a scenefrom a slumber party. A bathroom wasjammed with girls in pajamas, someholding beer bottles. One girl, perchedon the edge of the toilet, was getting herears pierced. Tara stared at the blurryclose-up. The girl’s face seemed to behalf-laughing, half-scared.

Josie pulled the photo away andstuck another in Tara’s face. “Look atthis one—she’s throwing up!” Josiehowled with laughter.

“Josie, we shouldn’t be gawking atpeople’s pictures. They’re private!” Tarasaid, frowning.

“Oh, come on! When they come out,

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we have to check them over anyway.What’s the difference?” Josie asked.

“It just isn’t right! When people sendin their film, they don’t want to thinkthat strangers are making fun of theirphotographs,” Tara said.

“At least I don’t make copies—likeBilly does. Remember those people in thehot tub?” Josie giggled.

Tara rolled her eyes and said, “Don’tremind me!”

Then the door opened, and twowomen came in to get their photos. Tararang up the sale and quickly went backto her science book.

The women leaned on the counter,looking through their photos. “Oh, thisis adorable!” one of the women cried.“You have to send this one to Mom.”

“Look at this one of the baby in hislittle overalls,” said the other woman.

Tara slammed her science bookclosed. She couldn’t concentrate. Shemade a note to stop by the store on the

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way home and get some milk. Then shewondered if she had anything clean towear tomorrow. She didn’t. Suddenly itall seemed too hard. She felt so tired anddiscouraged, she wanted to cry.

Tara saw that Josie was hummingas she watched the copier staple and spitout copies. How different her life wasfrom Tara’s! Josie actually ironed herclothes. She always had a pretty haircut,too. Since dropping out of school, Josieworked full time at Lupo’s. She had timeto fix herself up, to buy clothes, to reada magazine. She didn’t have to go to thecreepy laundromat late at night and doher homework there.

“It’s just too much!” Tara thoughtangrily. School, work, home. Home. If shedropped out of school, she could fix upthe house, make it look nice. She couldhelp her mother find a job, a good jobshe could hang onto. Maybe she couldeven figure out how to help Momremember things—to cope with life.

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“I could get you a job doing data entryanytime,” Kimmie kept telling her.Kimmie liked her supervisor, and she’dgotten a raise last year. With a wearysigh, Tara thought about it. If she quitschool tomorrow, she could stay in bedand sleep instead of struggling throughanother day. Just now, the towering glassand steel offices downtown seemed asunreachable as another planet.

Tara heard the sounds of firstphotographs coming out of the printer.She grabbed an envelope and reachedfor the first one—and her eyes went widewith shock.

“Josie,” she said slowly. “Look at this.”She laid the photos out on the counter.

Josie looked over the snapshots andwhistled. “Whoa!” she yelled out.

The young man in the photo wasbare to the waist. He wore camouflagepants and military-style boots. He was

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surrounded by guns—and more.“Those contraptions with wires,”

Tara said. “You think those are bombs?”Josie snickered. “Yeah,” she agreed.

“This guy could be one sick puppy.”“Josie, this is serious,” Tara said in a

shaky voice.“Do you see that thing with the nails

sticking out?” Tara went on. “That’s akind of bomb. When it explodes, the nailsshoot out like bullets. And see that gunright there?” She pointed. “That’s asawed-off shotgun. I saw one just like iton TV. They’re totally illegal. We gottacall the police!”

“Now, wait a minute,” Josie said. “Wedon’t really know what’s going on.”

“Get real! You think all this stuff ’sfor deer hunting?” Tara cried.

“Tara, for a smart girl you aren’t verysophisticated. Suppose the guy isinnocent. If we call the cops on him, wecould get in trouble,” Josie said.

“But what if he isn’t? Suppose he’s

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planning to use these weapons? Hecould kill a lot of people!” Tara said.

“Oh, come on, Tara! Look at this guy’sface. Does he look like some kind of massmurderer?” said Josie.

Tara had to admit that he didn’t. Theyoung man had an ordinary face. Heactually looked like the quiet type. Hisexpressionless eyes stared levelly at thecamera.

“Hey, I know what,” Josie went on.“He’s probably into that game, Fortress.”

Tara shrugged and shook her head.“What’s Fortress?”

“It’s a video game. The object is tocollect all the weapons you can. My littlebrother plays it,” said Josie.

“You really think it’s a game?”“Yeah,” said Josie. “Look, you’re

always saying we should respect ourcustomers’ privacy. So let’s do it—or thatguy could sue us, big time.”

“I guess he could,” Tara admitted.“Right!” said Josie. “So why take a

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chance of getting in trouble? Why’s it soimportant that you have to do it?”

Why’s it so important? Those awfulwords again! Anger rose in Tara like ahot bubble as she heard her mother’sfavorite expression. “Because peoplecould die!” Tara cried out.

“You don’t have to yell!” Josiesnapped. “Okay! Fine. Do whatever youwant. Just leave me out of it.”

“Don’t worry,” Tara said coldly.Josie gave her a disgusted look and

reached for her coat and purse. Her shiftwasn’t over for another 20 minutes, butTara decided to let her go.

After Josie stormed out the door,Tara rummaged under the counter forthe phone book. She no longer felt tired.First, she’d call the police. Then she’d goover her science until she knew itperfectly. First thing tomorrow, she’d callup the Summer Bridge Program and askthem if they’d fax her an application atschool. If she had any questions, she’d

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call Derek Rodis. Maybe she’d ask himto meet her in the library before the nextbig test. Her friends were fun—but allthey talked about were boys and clothes.She needed a friend like Derek, too.

A pink sweater was lying on thecounter—Josie had forgotten it. Tarapicked it up and headed for the backroom. But then the door opened and acustomer walked in. It was him.

For a long moment, Tara could donothing but stare. Her heart poundedin her chest, but she forced a smile. Thephotographs were still laid out on thecounter. As the young man looked for hisclaim ticket, Tara covered up the photoswith Josie’s sweater.

When the young man held outhis ticket, Tara saw that his name wasRyan Sayos.

Tara stalled. Her mind was racing asshe pretended to look through the plastic

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bin that held the envelopes. She had todo something to stop him, but what?

“I don’t see them here, Mr. Sayos,” shesaid. “I’ll check to see if they’re in theback room.” Behind the counter, shegrabbed the phone and spun aroundquickly, hiding it with her body.

With trembling fingers, she closedthe door to the back room—and quicklypunched in 911.

“I need help,” she muttered when theemergency operator came on. “There’s aman here who’s planning somethingdangerous. He’s in the store—now!”

“Where are you located?” the 911operator asked calmly.

Then the door to the back room flewopen and the young man stepped in. Hewas holding a knife!

He jerked his head at her, signalingthat she should hang up. Nodding herhead, Tara tossed the phone to him andhe turned it off.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned. His

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voice was very soft and as cold as ice.“What are you going to do?” she said.His face was deadly calm. “You’re all

going to die,” he said.“All of us?” Tara said. She had to keep

him talking. She’d read that somewhere.“Everyone,” he said. “Every little rat

in a cage who’s pretending to be soimportant. It’s so pathetic—all thestupid schemes and plans you make.They turn to dust! They mean nothing!Your lives are useless, empty!”

He stroked his cheek with the knifeblade, as if he loved the cool feel of it.She watched him, feeling helpless.

“What should we do?” she asked.“Just die! Disappear! Wipe your

pathetic, ugly selves from the face of theearth! Clean the planet!” he said.

“What’s your name again?” sheasked. He glared at her, and she knewshe’d said the wrong thing.

“Get my pictures, now!” he ordered.“They’re not there,” she protested.

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“They haven’t been printed yet.”“Look again,” he barked as he walked

behind her to the counter. Tara wentthrough the plastic bin one more time,while he watched over her shoulder. Shewent through half the photos, thenthree-fourths. “Stupid, stupid,” Sayoskept muttering softly over her shoulder.She could feel his breath on her neck.Think, she told herself. She had to keepthinking or he might—

Then a shadow appeared outside thedoor. Sayos crouched behind the counter.She felt the knife blade lightly pokingher ankle. When the door opened, a manin his fifties walked in. He had a thin,pinched face and a nervous manner.

“Billings,” he said shortly, thrustinghis ticket at Tara.

Tara found his photographs, and hepulled out his wallet. She grabbed ascrap of paper and wrote, “Help—I’mbeing held hostage.” She slid the paperacross the counter to the impatient man.

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The man’s eyes darted over hersuspiciously. He gave her his money andsnatched the envelope of photos.

“Would you like a bag?” she asked.Her eyes pleaded with him—but hewouldn’t look at her face!

He shook his head and left.The door closed. “Someone else is

coming,” she whispered. She glanceddown at the young man crouchingbehind the counter. Then, almostwithout thinking, she grabbed the phoneand slammed it down on his head.

Sayos roared, and she sprang away,around the counter and toward the frontof the shop. He grabbed at her waist, butshe twisted away from him. She seizedthe plastic plant around its middle andswung its heavy base at Sayos, banginghis knees. He staggered and swore. Thenshe rammed the base of the plant rightinto the door. The glass shattered.“Help!” she screamed. “Police!”

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Sayos tackled her and knockedher to the floor. He held her down, theknife poised just over her chest. Taragrabbed his knife hand and pushedagainst him desperately, her armshaking from the effort. Glancing at hiseyes, she looked away quickly, frightenedby the furious intensity she saw there.

“In one minute, you’ll be a dead rat,”he gasped. Now Tara saw that the flyingglass from the door had cut his neck. Adrop of blood fell on her chin.

“No!” she screamed. “Help! Help!”They heard footsteps outside.

Suddenly, Sayos sprang up and tossedhis knife on the floor. Two women joggerswalked in, followed by a man in a suit.

Sayos turned to them. “Help me!That girl pulled a knife on me!” he cried.

“That’s a lie!” Tara yelled.“Look!” said Sayos, pulling aside his

collar to show his bloody neck.One of the joggers, a stocky woman

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with very short gray hair, frownedquestioningly at Tara.

The man moved in front of the door,as if to block Tara’s way. When she sawthe suspicion in his face, a cold shock offear went through her.

Then Tara suddenly remembered thephotographs. “I can prove he’s lying!” shecried out. Throwing aside Josie’ssweater, she snatched up thephotographs from the counter.

Sayos threw her a fiery look anddashed out the door.

They all went after him, but he ranlike the wind.

At the end of the street, Tara saw twomen working on a car.

“Get him!” Tara screamed. “Don’t lethim get away!”

The guys looked up and saw Sayosbeing chased by four people.

“Get him!” Tara yelled again.They did. Sayos dodged and swerved,

but one guy grabbed him by the arm.

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Sayos swung out at him, but the manheld on. One of the women joggersarrived and grabbed Sayos’ wrist. Bythen, he was completely surrounded.The man in the suit pulled a cell phonefrom his jacket and called the police.

Sayos stood passively, his headslumped forward.

The next few hours were a blur.When the police came, Tara told herstory again and again. By the time theydrove her home, it was 1:00 in themorning. She was embarrassed, asalways, to have people see where shelived. The house needed paint, and theyard was nothing but weeds. In thedriveway was the rusting car her unclehad given Mom last year. But Mom hadforgotten to put oil in it—and after amonth, the engine was ruined. Someonehad stolen the tires.

Tara thanked the officers and

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hurried out of the police car.Kimmie was asleep on the couch, and

Mom was watching TV.“Hi, honey,” her mom said sleepily.“You’ll never believe what happened,

Mom. This guy brought in these reallysick photos—”

Her mom interrupted, “Honey, youdidn’t remember to go to the store, byany chance, did you?”

“Mom, it looked like this guy wasactually getting ready to kill a lot ofpeople,” Tara went on.

“Did you see this?” her mom said,gesturing toward the TV.

Tara got up and snapped off the TV.“Mom, listen! I really want you to hearthis,” she insisted.

Kimmie sat up. “What time is it?” sheasked in a groggy voice.

Tara ignored her. “When I was atwork—” she began. Her mother andsister listened while she told the wholestory. When she finished, Kimmie cried,

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“How could you do that, Tara? It’s amiracle that loony didn’t kill you!”

“Kimmie’s right, hon,” Mom said.“The police probably would have caughthim at some point. You didn’t have to goand risk your life.”

“I thought you’d be proud of me,” Tarasaid bitterly. “Silly me. I should haveknown better.”

“Well, excuse me if we don’t just bowdown in front of you!” Kimmie snapped.She got up from the couch and walkedoff in a huff. “I’m going to bed,” she saidover her shoulder.

Mom gave Tara a watery smile.“Honey, don’t be upset. It’s just thatwhen I think of you lying on the floorand that man with the knife—” Sheshuddered. “If you’d just let him havehis pictures in the first place—”

Tara opened her mouth to say, “Hemight have escaped!” but she stayedsilent. She got up, saying, “Well, I’m aliveanyway. See you tomorrow.”

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Mom gave her a vague, sweet smile.“I sure am glad you’re alive, hon,” shesaid. Her eyes were wet.

Tara leaned forward and kissed hercheek. “I’m glad, too, Mom,” she said.

In her room, Tara lay down, noteven bothering to change her clothes.She slept like a rock until Kimmiebounced on her bed the next morning.

“Tara! They talked about you on TV!”Kimmie yelled.

Tara sat up with a jerk and lookedat the clock. “Oh, no!” she said. “I’m late!”

“There’s no school, Tara. It’s closed!That guy Sayos was gonna plant bombsin the gym. The police found a floorplanin his room,” Kimmie went on.

“School’s closed?” Tara said.“They want to make sure he hadn’t

placed any bombs already,” Kimmieexplained. “I bet the news people aregonna come here. Maybe they’ll bring a

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TV camera! And just look at me! I’mgonna put on my good blue dress.”

Jumping up from the bed, Kimmiestopped and faced her sister. “I’m sorryabout what I said yesterday,” she saidsoftly. “I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s okay,” Tara said. “I should helpmore. I know Mom needs—”

Kimmie interrupted. “Don’t worryabout Mom! You just worry about school.You need to keep at it—’cause you’resmart. Don’t end up at a dead-end joblike Mom and me,” she said.

“Oh, Kimmie,” Tara cried. Shereached across the bed and pulled hersister into her arms. “You’re not Mom. Imean, I love her—”

“I love her, too. Don’t worry about us.We’ll survive,” Kimmie said.

Then the phone rang, and they heardtheir mother answer. A few seconds later,she burst into the room, startling them.Their mother never burst in anywhere.

“Tara!” she said breathlessly. “It’s

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someone from the mayor’s office. Theywant you to come downtown.” Tara sawsomething on Mom’s face she couldn’tever remember seeing before: respect.

Tara got up and took the phone fromher mother. “Downtown, here I come,”she whispered. Today she was beinginvited downtown as a celebrity. Buttomorrow, she promised herself, shewould belong there.

* * * *

EDITOR’S NOTE

This story was inspired by areal person who foiled a plan tomassacre dozens of people at De AnzaCommunity College in Cupertino,California.

Kelly Bennett is an 18-year-oldstudent at San Jose State Universitywho was working part-time as a photoprocessor at a drugstore in San Jose.On January 29, 2001, Kelly noticed

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photographs of Al DeGuzman, dressedin black, posing with a sawed-offshotgun and dozens of bombs.

“This was the scariest thing I’d everseen,” Kelly said. “I was 100 percentpositive that this guy could be trulydangerous, so I decided to call the police.”

Bennett’s boss at the store washesitant about making a call to thepolice. “He was kind of iffy—he didn’twant to make a decision right away,” saidKelly. “So I asked my dad.” Kelly calledher father, Bob Bennett, a 17-year policeveteran, for advice. He told her to callthe police, so Kelly called 911. “I knewit was the right thing to do,” she said.

Kelly made the call at 6:00 P.M. It wasa few hours later when DeGuzman, a19-year-old student at De Anza, came topick up his photographs. Kelly was ableto stall him until the police arrived atthe store. Just as in the story, DeGuzmannoticed the officers and tried to escape—but he was captured.

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Between 3:30 and 4:00 A.M. onJanuary 30, police searched DeGuzman’shouse. They seized 30 pipe bombs, 20Molotov cocktails, numerous firearms,and a large amount of ammunition. Theyalso found a map of De Anza College anda cassette tape. On the tape, DeGuzmandescribed his plot to plant bombs aroundthe campus the morning of January 30.

He had planned to detonate thebombs at lunchtime, starting in thecafeteria, which would have been packedwith students at that hour.

“It was an elaborate plan for massmurder,” said San Jose Deputy PoliceChief Mike Miceli. DeGuzman wasintent on killing and injuring dozens ofpeople. His mad plot would surely haveshattered families, torn apartfriendships, and destroyed dreams.

And no doubt that all would havehappened—if Kelly Bennett hadn’tstopped him.