Fearscape (21 page)

Her weight shifted past her waist, centering in her upper body. She lost her balance. The world spun and she screamed hoarsely as she felt herself falling over the balcony head-first. Somehow, she managed to grab the rails. The carved blocks of wood cut into her sweaty palms but at least it kept her from going over.

Val glanced over her shoulder to get a look at the drop, then let the rest of her body fall over as she jumped the last five feet. She hit the floor with enough force to make her teeth rattle around inside her skull. It occurred to her, as she ran in the direction of the door, that she had no idea where to run — Gavin had driven her over here, and her house was too far to walk.

And I left my purse in his house
.
With my phone —

Escape. She had to focus on escape. She could deal with the phone later. If she didn't escape, there wouldn't be a later.

She hurled herself against the door with a desperation she hadn't known she possessed. It would not open — and it took a moment for the panicking animal her brain had become to understand that the deadbolt was fastened.

His fingers curled around her wrist as tightly as a handcuff. “I'm not letting you leave.”

No
, Val thought, with real terror. She cocked back her arm and elbowed him somewhere soft enough to elicit a grunt of pain. He released her. She hooked her foot around his leg and jerked. He fell, though he had the reflexes to throw out his arms to break his fall. She unfastened the deadbolt with fingers that felt as ineffective as rubber as he started to get back up.

Come on
.
Come on
.

It slid free with a loud snap. She twisted the doorknob, hard, and slipped outside. She grabbed the knob on the other side and pulled, trying to shut the front door on him. Behind the oak panel, she heard a chuckle — he was laughing at her, even now, as if her attempts to escape were nothing more than the amusing antics of a child.

She was losing their tug-of-war with the door, so she gave in and rammed her shoulder against it, and her impact, combined with the force of his own momentum, sent him falling back with a thud that shook the windows in their panes.

Val turned and headed for the first house she saw with the porch lights on, and didn't dare look over her shoulder.
Please be home
. She knocked on the door, trying to contain herself because she knew if she looked too crazy nobody would come.
Please, please answer
.

Through the windows, Val could see the bluish flickers of a TV coming from the depths of the house. An older woman came to the door. She was holding a cordless phone in her hand and looked quite cross, though that quickly dissolved as she took in the scene awaiting her.

“
Oh my goodness,” the woman said, blinking rapidly. “Elinor, I'm going to have to call you back. There's a young girl and — are you all right?” During this entire exchange, the woman kept her hand on the phone, fingers poised over the bottommost digit, ready to use it for a distress call or a weapon, however the situation required.

Wise
, Val thought, in a burst of self-pity she hadn't had the time to indulge in.
Wiser than me
.

She opened her mouth to say — what, exactly, she wasn't sure. It didn't matter. Whatever words she thought to utter were immediately drowned in a flood of tears.

That seemed to decide it for the woman and she hesitated only briefly before stepping aside to allow Val entry. The room was lit with soft orange light and spilling with lace trimmings. She led Val into a parlor that smelled strongly of peppermint and mothballs.

A shiver rolled down Val's spine as she watched the woman bolt all three locks.

“
Dear?” the woman said, turning around. “What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone attack you?” Her face furrowed, giving her the appearance of a withered peach. “You're not involved in anything criminal, are you? Because if you are, I'll have to mention that when I call the police.”

Val made a very small sound that she didn't recognize as her own.

“
What was that? Speak up, dear, my hearing isn't so good. Should I call the police now?”

“
Please — ” Val wet her cracked lips, chapped from sticky kisses stolen in the dark “I … I want my mom.”

Poor thing
, the woman thought — and then paused. That really was such a terrible phrase, as if tragedy rendered someone inanimate and helpless, worthy of pity in only the most abstract and impersonal sense. She placed a hand on the girl's trembling back, and she flinched.

“
Would you like a peppermint candy?”

Val shook her head, eying the congealed mass of sweets in the glass jar that the woman was proffering. She wanted to vomit.
Oh, god,
she kept thinking,
Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.

The woman set the jar back down on the doily-covered table. “When you can,” she said, enunciating each word, “You may use the cordless. I'll put it right here.”

She set it on the pillow nearest to Val, who stared at it like she'd never seen one before.

“
As soon as your mother comes — well, we'll figure that out, then, won't we?” Val did not answer, and the woman nodded decisively to herself. “Good. I think I'll put some tea on. Would you like some tea, dear? It might help.”

They don't make tea for what he's done to me
.

The woman introduced herself to Val's mother as Beatrice Cooper.

“
Here's my number,” she said, handing over a yellowed business card, “In case you need me to give testimony or anything like that — though I'm retired now, the number's the same.” Mrs. Cooper paused. “Your daughter was running away from someone who clearly wanted to hurt her. It would be my pleasure to put him where people like him belong.”

“
I can't thank you enough,” said Mrs. Kimble. “It was so kind of you — I mean, thank God — ”

“
I'm just doing my civic duty,” Mrs. Cooper said complacently.

Val's mother tried to write her a check but Mrs. Cooper would hear nothing of it.

“
Making sure he gets caught will be reward enough.”

He won't get caught
, thought Val.
I will
.

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

Mrs. Kimble had driven to Ms. Cooper's house with the intention of threatening her daughter with every punishment under the sun, and then a good deal that weren't. Seeing the teary, trembling ball her daughter had curled into on that woman's couch swiftly changed her mind. She bought Val a Neapolitan milkshake instead. It had been her go-to method when Val was a child, and it was the only thing that came to mind now. Val sipped the drink and sniffled, but said nothing.

Worst-case scenarios flooded through Mrs. Kimble's head. Rather wanting to cry herself, she wrapped Val up in a quilt and installed her on the sofa. Then she dampened a paper towel and began cleaning her daughter's face, her heart breaking when Val flinched at the contact. “Baby,” she whispered. “Please. Please tell me what's wrong.”

It was as if Val shattered into a thousand words — mute only moments before, she now couldn't stop talking. Even if she wanted to. Especially if she wanted to.

“
I'm scared,” Val said, once she'd finished.

“
We have to call the police.”

A swift rush of movement from the sofa. “No!” Val was in her path in an instant, blocking her way to the phone. Her eyes were wide, still wild with terror. “You can't. No police!”

“
But Val, honey, we have to — ”

“
No, we don't!”

“
Val, don't be ridiculous. Of course we do. What that boy did to you, he deserves to be locked up. Now get out of the way — ”

“
No!”

Mrs. Kimble stared at this savage creature her daughter had become. “Val, you can't want to defend him,” she said gently, “what he did to you was — ”

“
I'm not. I'm not defending him. But don't call the police.”

Val's mother was torn. “Why on earth not?”

“
Because I don't want anyone to know,” she whispered.

No
, Mrs. Kimble realized, with a sinking feeling in her heart. They would want to put her on the stand, and that horrible boy and his lawyers would tear into her like a pack of wolves, not to mention the news reports, the articles, the gossip. And what if, in spite of her testimony, he went free? All that pain and humiliation would be for nothing.

All at once, she understood.

“
No police,” she agreed quietly, and Val deflated in her mother's arms. “Why don't you take a nice hot bath? Then
change into some pajamas and see if you can get some sleep.”

Val nodded, and slunk upstairs.

My poor sweet little baby. Who in their right mind would want to hurt her?

And then Mrs. Kimble realized she had answered her own question.

Chapter Fourteen

Dear Valerian,

Your mother called and e-mailed to let me know you would be missing my class for the rest of the year due to some very tragic personal circumstances. I want you to know I am deeply sorry to hear this; you were one of my favorite students, and I was looking forward to discussing your final project with you (you got an A, in case you wondered).

Please feel free to come by on the last day of school. I'll be cleaning my classroom for the summer. It would be so nice to be able to say goodbye.

Best regards,

Barbara Wilcox

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

To: Valerian Kimble

From: Lisa Jeffries

Subject: OMG

Are you OK? My mom said your mom told her you wouldn't be coming to school for the rest of the year!!! I know that's only a week, but STILL. What happened? Were you in an accident? I'm sorry about making fun of your boyfriend(?)! I won't do it anymore if YOU JUST TALK TO ME. I miss you. Please tell me if you're okay. Please??

-Lisa

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

To: Valerian Kimble

From: Lindsay Polanski

Subject: STOLEN PHONE

I think your phone might have been stolen (if you weren't already aware of this)! I was wondering why you hadn't responded to any of my texts so I decided to call you. This guy picked up — definitely NOT you, unless you've gotten a sex change (you haven't, have you? AWKWARD) — and demanded to know who I was and why I was calling.

Naturally, I said, who the hell was asking? This was MY FRIEND'S phone. What was HE doing with it? He hung up on me. I called that asshole back a dozen times and eventually he told me in a very scary voice that I had better stop bothering him or I'd be sorry. After that, I couldn't even get a dial tone. It freaked me out.

P.S. Are you OK? I haven't seen you around campus. Hope you find the creep with your phone.

P.P.S. Actually, I take that back. I hope you DON'T find him. He sounds like a total psychopath.

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

To Valerian Kimble:

From: ------

Subject: ------

You gave me quite the chase, didn't you? I'm quite impressed. Also, I must say this: you look even more appealing when you're afraid, so I'll let you run for now.

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

To Valerian Kimble:

From: ------

Subject: ------

Don't flee too far.

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

Shafts of dusty sunlight speared through the pink curtains, making dust motes flare as brightly as supernovae. The yellow light thawed the temperature of the room and Val began to twist and turn beneath her covers as she began to overheat. When she opened her eyes, beads of sweat dotted her forehead and the bridge of her nose and dampened her hair.

Val gasped, her pupils narrowing to pinpricks as they focused on some unseen terror. She clutched at her chest until the muscles relaxed and her neurons, firing blindly as they scattered like an ant colony attacked by a predator, regrouped, once more allowing for reason.

She collapsed back against her mattress, wincing a little when she came down too hard on a bruise.
I'm here, safe
.

No. Not safe.

She would never be safe again.

She kicked off the sheets with a mutter of disgust, rolled out of bed, and got dressed. Not in her school clothes — the standard jeans and t-shirt — but terry-cloth shorts and a tank top. Val should have been at school enjoying the last day of her freshman year, giggling with friends, signing yearbooks, and saying goodbye to favorite teachers.

Instead, she was bumming around at home, stewing in her own fears.
At least I got to sleep in
, she thought, though when she looked at the clock and saw that it was only 9 AM that proved little consolation — particularly given that her rest
had been fractured by intermittent nightmares.