Terrorscape (28 page)

“You the ones that need new locks?”

Val nodded slowly and opened the door wider to
let him in. “Somebody stole my key at a party,” she
explained as he squatted down in front of the door.
“We think the dorm might have been robbed too.”

This was the story Mary had told Student Services
on the phone. Val thought this was a good idea. The
threat of theft and the possibility of liability would
hasten them to get the job done faster—and that was a
very good thing. Just thinking about the hemlock
gave Val the chills.
He might have killed me
.

“Careless,” the man muttered. Since he was
squinting at the doorknob Val couldn't tell whether he
was talking about her or the lock, but it certainly
jarred with her current train of thought.

“Hmm?”

“This won't take long I don't think.” He stroked
the goatee in thought. “Why don't you take a hike for
about an hour or so? I should be done by then.”

“You're telling me to leave my own dorm?” That
wasn't sketchy at all.

 

He shrugged. “Tools are loud. Bothers some
people. You'll only be in the way.”

Oh well. Not like she had anything worth stealing
anyway. “I'll have my cell phone. Call me when
you're done, I guess.”

She received a noncommittal grunt in response.

 

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

There weren't many opportunities for recreation
on campus, but she did buy an iced tea from the SU's
cafe, sipping it slowly to make it last until the
locksmith called. But the SU closed its door at five,
and an apologetic janitor ushered her out the door,
which slammed closed and locked behind her.

It wasn't too cloudy for once, but this made the
air crisper and colder, with a snap to it like a chilled
apple. The shadows had grown longer, stretched and
contorted, and the sky was rich with a glowing yellow
that turned the leaves of the trees overhead to blazing
gold. Val immediately checked her cell phone.

No new messages.
How long does it take to install new locks?

Her steps carried her to the doors of the library. It
was a beautiful building, even more in the sunset. The
large glass windows reflected the dying light and the
salmon and sherbert colored clouds. Shaded by
sweeping willows, with a fountain bubbling merrily
behind a stone cobbled barrier that separated its rose
garden from the walkway, it gave off an aura of peace.

Val sat at the fountain's edge, still clutching her
plastic cup of tea. She stared into the rippling water.
Behind her reflection, the bottom was covered with
coins. Pennies, mostly, with the occasional bit of silver
winking through. There were foreign coins as well,
and what looked like an arcade token. They gleamed
brightly, too brightly, and when Val finally looked
away she saw the purple coronas of their afterimages
cavorting across her retinas.

A loud crinkling sound made her jump, and she
realized that she had just squeezed her cup hard
enough to crack the plastic. Val tossed it into one of
the recycling bins nearby, her eyes on the cluster of
willows where she was certain she had seen a flash.

She hitched her purse a little higher. “Is someone
there?” she asked.
Yes. There—in the shadows. Something moved.

“Hello?”
The wind rustled through the leaves with a hiss.

Probably a branch,
she thought.
Or an animal. What
if somebody comes by and sees you talking to yourself?
She didn't know anyone who would care.

Val turned her back on the trees and went inside
the library. Evenings weren't very busy as a general
rule and today was no exception. There was one large
group circled around a computer, friends or class
partners, she couldn't tell, and a couple of stragglers,
some of whom were looking at the loud, cheerful
members of the former with ill-concealed annoyance.

They look like they're posing for a textbook picture
. Val
could understand their disgust; nothing was more
galling when you were upset than seeing people
wallowing in their own happiness. It was as if they
were shoving their joy aggressively into your face,
rubbing your nose in it, mocking your dearth.

The reading area was completely empty. The mint
green couches looked warm and inviting and there
were entire lazy-Susan racks crammed with trade
paperbacks. When was the last time she had settled
down to read a book? Val picked up a title by an
author she had used to like and settled down to read.
As soon as she did, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Probably the locksmith. About time, the jerk. She
pulled out her phone, frowned. Not the locksmith
after all. Mary. Why was Mary calling her?

“Hey, what's up? Are you all right?”
“As rain.”
Her stomach lurched at the sound of the voice.
“I hope you don't mind me answering on behalf

of your friend. She's a little tied up right now.”
“Where is she?”
“She's fine for now.”
“Where—?”

“Whether she remains that way, however, all
depends on you.”

“Don't touch her.”
“Val…”
“I mean it. If you hurt her I'll—”

“I understand that this must be very difficult for
you and all, but the library is not the place to make a
scene, Val.”

He knows where I am.

He was watching her, rejoicing in her fear and
discomfort. Just like Gavin. She felt the plastic casing
strain beneath her fingers. “Where are you?”

“I hear voices in the background. Is there anyone
around you?”

If he had to ask, he couldn't be watching her very
closely.
Unless it was a test.

She was tempted to lie, just to see, but in a test of
this nature wrong answers could be fatal.

“No,” she said at last.
“But you aren't completely alone, either.”
“No.”
“Are you being watched?”

No, nobody seemed to be paying any attention to
her at all. But then, nobody ever did. Not when she
wanted them too—only when she didn't. “No.”

“Good. Move somewhere quieter but don't be
conspicuous. Use the back doors if you have to. They
aren't alarmed, are they?”

He didn't know?
“Go that way, then.”

Val picked up her purse and headed for the rear
exit. The door led into a small rear courtyard rather
like the one in front, except instead of willows there
were moss-covered oak trees and instead of roses,
there were trellises of a dark wood colored in
garlands of wisteria.

The library courtyard was used for poetry slams,
or on occasion plays by the drama club, but it was too
cold for that now and the square was empty. Val sat at
one of the vacant picnic tables, sweeping the dead
leaves from the surface.

“I'm alone.”

 

“Now here is where you need to listen very, very
carefully. Are you listening?”

 

Resentment flared. “Yes. I'm listening.”

“Later this evening I'm going to call you with a
time and a place.” He waited, as if anticipating
another outburst. Val said nothing. After a beat, he
continued, “Take the bus or take a cab, I really don't
care, but make sure you come alone. If you don't
show up, or if you bring a friend along for the ride,
it'll be Mary who suffers not you. But I'll make sure
that you'll get the chance to watch. Maybe you'd like
that?”

“No.”
“Do you think you can meet my terms then?”
“Yes.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you. Oh, and Val?
This is very important. Make sure you wear white.”

The line went dead.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rainflower

Sketchy or no, the locksmith had done a great job
on the replacements. The new locks were just that:
brand new, and probably more sophisticated than any
other lock in the building. Of course these dorms
were old and so were the mechanisms employed to
defend them, so maybe that wasn't saying much.
Technology was constantly evolving and so were the
hackers who made their living dissecting them,
locked in a perpetual cycle of predator and prey.

Gavin
, Val thought,
would appreciate that.

As she walked back down to Student Services,
Val shook her head over her stupidity. She should
have done this the moment she realized her key was
gone. Then Gavin couldn't have broken into her room
and left the hemlock in their dorm, and Mary
wouldn't have risked her safety to avoid her.

The
receptionist
on
duty
fixed
her
with
a
disapproving look as she handed over the spare set of
keys and the receipt. As the latter disappeared into a
drawer somewhere she said sternly, “Make sure you
don't lose these.”

“I won't.”

“You can pay the bill at Student Accounting any
time within the next three months. Sign this, please.”
If I'm still alive in three months.

There were things that no amount of locks could
protect you against.
She set her keys and cell phone on the desk. The
room was messy but exactly as she had left it.
Nothing seemed moved and there was no sign of a
struggle. Mary had probably been taken on her way
back from Stats. The math building was surrounded
by a thick grove of trees—for aesthetic purposes, to
compensate for the hideous 1970s architecture.

They would also provide adequate camouflage
for anyone who was up to no good. Val dropped her
bag on the floor and collapsed on her bed. The pain
behind her eyes had escalated to blinding agony. She
popped two aspirin, chewing them dry, and a third.

Certainly, the hows and whys were no longer of
any importance. Anyway you looked at it, she was
fucked. Morality transcended the human lifespan.
One human life was insignificant. Inconsequential.

She saw that now.
She wished she'd seen it sooner.

Her cell phone rang from the depths of her purse.
Haunting violins mourning a passing spring; they
sounded horribly, eerily atmospheric.

If I pick up before the first crescendo, everything will
be all right.
Her fingers closed around the thin edge of
her phone.
Everything will be all right.

“Hello?”
“Last chance in half an hour.”
What did he mean, last chance? “Excuse me?”
“The Last Chance, Val. Six thirty. Don't be late.”

“Is that a bar?” She shook her head. “I can't get
into a bar.”
“I'm sure you'll find a way. Sit at the counter with
your back to the door, and remember what I said.”

Wear white. Come alone.
“I remember.”
“Good.”

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

She had exactly one white shirt. She knew this
off-hand because it wasn't even hers, not really; Gavin
had bought it for her the same night he'd run her
down in the woods like a deer.

The thin tank top, with its hand-sewn crystals, felt
very inappropriate. She tried to tone it down with
jeans and a sweater but still felt as if she were dressed
for a date. The comparison made her uncomfortable.
Even her stalker was treating this rather lightly.

Just why, exactly, did it matter what color she
wore? What right did he have to make such demands
of her?
And why does he feel the need to?

Maybe it was supposed to be symbolic. Maybe it
was about chess. Most things in her life were now,
thanks to Gavin and his obsession. But chess had
never been her game, it was
his.

My color was black, anyway.

Since she missed the bus she was forced to call a
cab to get to the bar. She left the dorm and paced
anxiously on the curb, checking her phone every
other second. The cabbie was five minutes late. Val,
bursting with impatience and anxiety, snapped, “Take
me to The Last Chance,” remembering last-minute to
add a belated, “please.”

The cabbie was an older man, around her father's
age, with olive skin and salt-and-pepper hair, who
looked generically ethnic. He flashed her an amused
smile. “Yeah, right, very funny. Aren't you a little
young?”

“I'll pay extra if I have to.” She knew her voice
was cold now, and she didn't care. “Just get me there
before six-thirty.”

 

His smile disappeared. “That's no place for a nice
girl like you.”

 

I'm not a nice girl.

The thought surprised her—she had always been
the quintessential 'nice girl.' Hell, it was practically
her epitaph. Or at least, it had been.

No
, she thought.
I stopped being nice a long time ago.

She got in the cab—the door was unlocked—and
sat down in the backseat. When he didn't start the car,
she folded her arms and waited.

The cabbie sighed. “Last Chance it is.”

It was a long drive. The bar was on the outskirts
of North Point where it was more rural, and therefore
more susceptible to the invasion of the local flora and
fauna.

Val paid the fare and tossed a five dollar tip over
the seat before slipping out of the cab. Quickly, before
she lost her nerve. This fragile reservoir of strength
was cracking, courage seeping out in small, gushing
spurts. The car's tires grated against the gravel
driveway, eventually subsiding to a muted roar where
white speckled rocks gave way to smooth blacktop.

The building itself was surprisingly innocuous,
almost quaint. With the dark wood facade and the
hand-painted sign flapping in the breeze, depicting
an overflowing stein of beer with a full frothy head, it
could have been an English pub.

Music drifted out from the saloon style doors. An
overplayed rock song from the eighties. She didn't
know the name offhand but it was frequently on the
radio. As the doors swung in the breeze, yellow
slivers of light danced on the shadowed lawn.

Val took a deep breath and entered the bar.

Cigarette smoke hung in low, swirling clouds.
The air of the bar was thick with it. A smoking bar.
That was unusual, especially in this day and age.

The inside was far less pristine than the outside.
More Country Western than Ye Olde English Tavern.
The varnished oak tables bore cuts and scratches,
gang logos and profanity, that looked as if they had
been carved in with knives. Perhaps they had been.