Scream: A Drake & Josh Story

And Now The Screaming Starts

Drake jumped out of his chair and turned to face his stepfather, hiding the black glove behind his back. He gulped.

"You're home," Walter said. "Good."

He didn't response. He had to get out of there immediately, but the man was blocking his path to the door. His entire body tensed when Walter approached him.

"You okay?" He was standing uncomfortably close. He reached out and touched the boy's cheek with the outside of his bent fingers, the movement causing his stepson's breathing to hitch, then he placed his palm against Drake's forehead. "You feel kinda hot," he said with furrowed brows. He wiped the teen's bangs out of his eyes, then pet his hair.

Drake cringed at his touch, but he was too afraid to pull away. He couldn't even look him in the eyes — not after what he'd found on his laptop, and not after what had happened to him in the sports shed. His felt like crying. He involuntarily backed against the desk further, practically sitting on it.

"Are you okay? You look pale." Walter then placed his hand under the boy's chin, lifting his head for him. "Are you getting sick?"

"I'm okay," Drake said, averting his eyes.

His stepfather's hand lingered on him a little too long, but finally, he turned away and crossed the room to the dresser. "Where's your sister?" he asked as he set his briefcase down. When his son didn't answer, he looked at him with a suspicious gaze. "Drake?"

He said nothing, and Walter knew that something was up. He was acting too weird.

"What do you have there?" the man asked, pointing. "Behind your back?"

"Nothing."

"You got your pipe out of here earlier to take to the party so you could get high with your friends, and now you're trying to sneak it back?"

His answer was delayed, which made his stepfather all the more suspicious that he was high. "No, sir—"

"Give it here." He waved him over. When the boy didn't move, he repeated himself. "Drake, I said give it to me."

Instead, he continued to watch him apprehensively, but when Walter marched over, his body tensed and he shrank slightly. "It's nothing—" he tried meekly.

Walter reached around him. His body was pressed up against the teen now, and Drake was so uncomfortable that he let go of the glove in hopes the creep would back away. He did, staring at the cloth in his hand for a moment before making eye contact again, which his stepson couldn't keep.

"Where's Megan?" he asked again, but now it was out of place and jarring. When he got no answer, he said, "She better not be at that teenage party."

Still nothing.

The man's confusion was transitioning into anger fast. "I want you to call your sister and tell her to come home now."

Drake didn't move. No way would he lure Megan here so their stepfather could easily murder them both. Maybe Drake was a lost cause, but Walter couldn't have his little sister. He wouldn't allow it.

"Did you hear me?"

He stayed still. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he swore the man could hear it.

"NOW!" Walter yelled, and his stepson flinched with fear at his ferocious voice, his knees shaking now. The man pulled his own cell phone out of his pocket. "I don't know what the hell has gotten into you—"

"No!" he interjected. "I'll call her." He retrieved his phone. "I'll call her." His hands shook as he found her name and clicked the call button. Every second that passed bought him closer to death. Time would run out soon.