The Conclusion by R.L. Stine Page B

laundry tickets. Running the cash register. Most of the time, she’s in back. Organizing the clean clothes, pulling plastic over them.
    She’s cute as a button, Margie. With that squeaky mouse voice and little turned-up elf nose that you just want to smash until it’s red and pulpy like shredded newspaper.
    I’m going to smash her nose, I thought, watching her enter the store. Her nose—and everything else.
    Hey, I know that’s cold. I’m a real cold guy. You’ve got to be cold if you want to stay with Hope.
    Hope constantly needs to know that I care. That I’m there for her.
    I’ve got to be cold for Hope.
    I walked the block several times. I wanted to give Margie time to get settled in. I had to make sure she was working in the back room.
    No way I could take care of her if she was out front where everyone could see.
    About the fourth time I passed the cleaner, I stopped and peered in the big front window. I could see Marv’lous Marv behind the counter. All by himself.
    Good, I thought. Margie is working in back.
    Sometimes things have to go your way. I smiled. Today might just be one of the good days.
    Good for me. Not for Margie. Ha-ha.
    I shoved my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out the pink cleaning ticket. I had to be ready. I had to time it right.
    Know what would be really cool?
    To take care of Margie— and get my shirts back at the same time!
    But that’s asking too much—isn’t it? Ha-ha!
    People hurried back and forth along the sidewalk. Late afternoon is a busy time of day on Pine Street near the campus.
    A woman had her eyes on the store windows and nearly ran me over with her baby stroller. I had to jump out of the way. And she didn’t even apologize.
    I had a sudden urge to grab the stroller from her hands and send it rolling down the hill.
    But I didn’t do it. Sometimes I can fight down these sudden urges. Sometimes—not always.
    I made my way back to the cleaners and waited until three or four customers had lined up in front of the counter.
    Marv had his hands full, I saw. So, holding my cleaning ticket, I pushed my way into the store.
    I’m pretty sure Marv didn’t even see me. I held up the ticket so he wouldn’t get suspicious. But he was busy arguing with a lady about a stain on a sweater, and he didn’t even look up.
    Taking a deep breath, I slipped around the counter and ducked through the narrow door into the back room.
    So far, so good.
    The back room held two long rows of dry cleaning, all wrapped in plastic, hanging on a ceiling conveyor belt. At the side stood the steam press, shaped like a huge ironing board, its lid standing straight up.
    â€œWhere are you, Margie?” I whispered, feeling a rush of excitement. “Where are you, girl?”
    I let the cleaning ticket flutter to the floor when I saw her. She was standing with her back to me between two clusters of cleaning. She had a stapling gun raised over her head and was reaching up to staple cleaning tickets onto the plastic wrap of a bunch of sports jackets.
    Perfect. Perfect.
    Could I have planned it any better?
    I moved quickly now. The excitement made me fast and alert. I could practically feel the blood coursing through my body. My skin tingled. The top of my head felt as if it might shoot right off like a cannonball out of a cannon.
    I came up behind Margie.
    Wrapped one arm around her waist. Squeezed hard to take her breath away.
    Grabbed the staple gun away from her with my other hand.
    Smashed it hard against the side of her head.
    It only stunned her. But it kept her from screaming for help.
    Her eyes rolled. She looked dazed. I gave her another hard tap. Then tossed the staple gun aside.
    And dragged her. One hand over her mouth. One hand around her waist.
    Dragged her to the steam press.
    The excitement made me strong. She felt as light as a bird.
    I dragged her. Then hoisted her easily onto the big machine.
    I brought down the