Terrorscape (7 page)

Her nightmares had become chilling reality.

With a hoarse scream, Lisa bucked. A leathergloved hand covered her mouth and squeezed hard
enough to make her jawbones ache and tears spring
to her eyes. The sour, cloying taste of the leather filled
her mouth and nose, and Lisa thought that it was the
worst thing she had ever smelled in her life.

“I wouldn't,” a very deep, very male voice said,
making her start again—this time in recognition.
Gavin
.

Silently, she mouthed his name against his palm,
realizing only afterward that it might have been better
to feign ignorance, though maybe he hadn't felt her
lips move through the leather. Oh God, it was worse
than she ever could have imagined. Him. On top of
her. With a knife. His denim legs chafed against her
naked thighs, and she wondered, with a sharp pang
of horror, if he was going to rape her.

His lips brushed against her ear, causing her
terror to crystallize into sharp, faceted clarity. When
he hissed, “Where—is—she?” Lisa could have fainted
in relief.

He doesn't want me
.

 

Mindless animal terror fled, and anger rushed in
to fill the void.

Of course he doesn't want me. It's Val he wants. It's
always about Val.
She swallowed.

Could he slice my throat before I scream?
Not that it mattered. Dead was dead, whether
with a bang or a whimper. She swallowed again, with

more difficulty this time. “I…I don't know where she
is.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” His voice
was cool, amused even, but the knife in his hand
spoke
volumes
about
the
dark
thoughts
which
swirled beneath that careful construct of calm.

“I—I don't. I don't know, I mean, really truly; I
don't
.
N-nobody
does—e-except
for
her
parents,
maybe. She left. She's gone…and…and I don't think
she's ever c-coming back.”

He muttered an oath.

 

Lisa waited in silent darkness and wondered once
more if she was going to die.

“Get up,” he said, dispatching those fears for the
moment. She flinched again when he slid off her,
uncoiling
with
the
grace
of
a
serpent
as
he
disappeared back into the shadows.

Stumbling, Lisa did so. She squeaked in fright
when he grabbed her from behind. The point of the
knife rested over her throbbing jugular. “If I suspect,
even for a moment, that you plan to run or scream…”

“I won't.”
She felt faint. Far too faint to attempt escape.
He pushed her towards her desk. “Then you have
nothing to worry about.” She fell into the hard

backed chair with a muffled plop. “For now,” he
added, with an absent-minded cruelty that chilled her
far more than mere anger could have.

Anger was such a
human
emotion.

 

This
was
something
methodical,
logical
.

 

“Get
a
piece
of
paper,
something to write with,” he ordered loosely.
“W-why? What are you going to do?”

 

He ignored this. “When you have what I asked,
write this down. Word for word.”

He spoke a simple question, and it was only when
he repeated it that she realized it was not a query
directed at her, but the words he wished her to
transcribe. She wrote them, in a shaking hand, then
let her pencil drop.

“Okay. I'm finished.”

“Good.” She felt his breath tickle her neck as he
looked over her shoulder and she had to resist the
urge to scratch it out. “Fold it up. Put it in the
envelope, write your home address as the return—
don't seal it
.” This last was a growl.

Lisa froze, the envelope still partially raised
towards her lips. He snatched it from her now slack
worse—cold-blooded,

an
envelope,
and
grip, seemingly to inspect it. There was a tense pause.
She didn't release her breath until she felt him nod.

“Now here,” he said, leaning closer, “you must
listen very,
very
carefully. Are you listening, Lisa?
Because I rather suspect that this is a talent which
does not come to you naturally.”

“Fuck you,” she said as coldly as she dared,
which was not very under these conditions.

He laughed; it was a terrible sound, humorless
and chilling. “I don't think so. One might catch
something.”

She flinched again. “Slut-shaming,” she said,
“very original.”

“I assumed that was why you had a falling out.
You and Val, that is. You, and your rather shameless
and wanton treachery with that
James
.”

“What—” Lisa's voice broke. She hadn't told
anyone about that. It was her biggest mistake in high
school, one she was horribly ashamed about. She
knew James hadn't told, either, because she'd sworn
him to secrecy—on pain of her telling the rest of the
football team how tiny his dick was, and how he
padded his jockstrap. How could Gavin know?

Did it matter?

 

“That has nothing to do with it,” she said, trying
for hauteur and failing miserably.

“I wonder. Regardless,” he continued, “you will
tell them that the letter is an apology. Her parents,
that is. An attempt at reconciliation that you would
like forwarded to her at their earliest convenience.”

“That's all?” When he didn't respond, she said,
“Then what?”

 

“You wait.”

Ten minutes elapsed, with her sitting there,
frozen, like a deer in the headlights, before she
realized that GM had vanished from the room.

But not, she suspected, from her life.

 

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

The first day of classes came and went. By the end
of Abnormal Psychology, Val was convinced that she
herself should be committed, reminded of problems
she'd already known she had, and educated on
several more that she hadn't.

Sociology was just like Psychology except with
less science and more explanations. Which seemed
counter-intuitive,
but
the
professor's
excuse
for
anything that didn't make sense was that humans
defied classification because they were so diverse.

Social Psychology was interesting, and Val would
have really liked that class except that it took place in
a lecture hall that seated four-hundred, and a wave of
dizziness overtook her every time she arrived to see
all those heads, each equipped with a pair of eyes that
could both sear and burn. She sat at the back, where
escape would be quickest and was often necessary.

Composition was the most difficult—she received
an essay assignment on the first day—but it was the
smallest class, and the professor had kind eyes. Plus,
since most of the work was done on the computer
there was an impersonal quality to the curriculum
that Val found extremely appealing. Minimum face
time. No oral presentations.

Completely unlike high school English.

Thursday found Val sitting cross-legged on her
bed, surrounded by notes. Two highlighters were in
her hand, yellow and orange, but it had been a while
since she had marked any specific passage. Mary
bustling around their shared room was far too
distracting—she'd reread the same paragraph twice.

“You know, if you mark your books all up they
don't sell back for as much.”
“I know.” Val stared at the page and willed it to
release its secrets.

“What do you need two colors for, anyway?”

“Yellow's for what we do in class, orange is for
stuff that's only in the book.”
Mary studied her for a moment, then shook her
head. Laughed a little, albeit not unkindly. “Is that
necessary?”
“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever floats your boat—
or, er, highlights your book. Never mind. How do I
look?”

She was wearing black pedal pushers—did they
still call them pedal pushers? They had back in junior
high, where Val had thought they were “petalpushers”—and a white t-shirt with graphic detail.

Clearly Mary didn't think she looked presentable.
She had been standing in front of their full-length
mirror
for
the
last
hour,
messing
around
with
brushes, combs, anything that wasn't glued down.

Considering Alex isn't even really her boyfriend she
certainly spends a lot of time getting ready for him
.

When Mary had made her look at her Facebook
page
to
see
the
pictures
her
sisters
had
taken
surreptitiously at dinner, Val couldn't help but notice
Mary's relationship status was set at “single.”

Val could remember a time when
she
had been
that over the moon about a man. But then the stars
had been ripped from her eyes, and there was no
warm glow left to sustain her, and that was when she
realized how cold and lonely space could be.

How frightening. How deadly.

That first kiss had been so hot and cold, and as
sweetly poisonous as antifreeze. She hadn't felt its
paralyzing aftereffects until it was far too late.

He doesn't deserve her
.

 

“You look great,” she said aloud; it sounded false
to her own ears and Mary did not look convinced.

“Really?” She picked up a perfume bottle, toying
with the cap. “You're not just saying that?”
“No.” Val stiffened, wondering if Mary was going
to spray it. God, how she hated that perfume.

“The shirt's not too childish or anything? Or the
earrings?”

He's been criticizing her appearance.
“They're fine.”
“I don't know, Val. I just don't know.”

Cotton candy filled the air, a thousand times
sweeter than any sugary confection ever sold at a
fairground. The spray fell in a soft miss and made
Val's eyes water.
“I don't think that's meant to be used like airfreshener,” she said, wincing as the pungent alcohol
taste of the perfume entered her mouth.

“Well it's too strong just to spray on,” Mary said,
missing the point entirely. “You have to walk
through
the spray. Otherwise, you'll
stank
.” She set the bottle
back on her desk and plopped down in Val's swivel
chair. “Are you going? Tell me you are.”

“Going where?”
“Hello? To the par
tay
.”
“It's open dorm.”
“You know what I mean.”

Yes. She knew what Mary meant. Mary wanted
her to get involved. To actively party. Verb, instead of
noun. Just the thought made her feel ill.

“Who has a party on a Thursday night, anyway?”

“People
who
don't
schedule
Friday
classes.
Thursday is the new Friday, girlfriend. Get with the
program.”

Val bristled. Just because she wanted to graduate
on time, and didn't need weekly three-day weekends,
Mary was implying that she was some kind of shutin…

Well, aren't you?

That made her train of thought pull to a full stop.
I didn't use to be.

“Look, Val, I wasn't going to say anything, but
seriously, you
need
to get out there. You're always here
whenever I come home unless you're at school or
something and then you just come right back. You
never go
any
where.”

“Not always—”

“Yes, always.
All
I see you do is study, but you
can't live like that. You'll burn out. You need to have
fun, girl. You need to
live
, or life will pass you on by.”

But how could you live when you were dead
inside? When the spark of life inside you had all but
burned to ash, what did you do? Subsist on fumes
until spent? She was already spent.

She felt like an old woman trapped in a young
girl's body.

Realizing Mary was right made her feel doubly
hopeless. She may not have always been a shut-in, but
she certainly fit the bill now. So why even bother?

I could say I really do have to study
.

Mary would accept that, trying one or two more
times to persuade her before giving up entirely.
Yes, she could easily do that—but it would be the
beginning of a wedge between her and Mary. That's
how it started: a series of small hurts and excuses
between two people that built up slowly, widening
over time to form a vast and yawning divide.

A year was a long time to be alone.
And that would be letting him win.
Val bit her lip. “Fine. I'll…make an appearance.”

She winced as Mary threw her bejeweled arms
around her neck in a huge, suffocating hug. “Great!
We'll have so much fun, it's going to be just great.
You'll see.”

Val flinched.

How could people show affection so easily? How
could they open themselves up to hurt so recklessly,
with such careless disregard for their hearts?

Lisa used to do things like that, back when we were
still friends
. Val felt the prick of tears in her eyes.
Back
when she didn't hate me
.

She sagged against Mary, who stepped back. A
look of concern passed over her broad, friendly
features, and her lips pursed. “Val? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” She forced a smile she didn't feel at
all. “You're right. It's going to be great.”
She found herself saying that a lot, lately.
Maybe one day, she would even come to mean it.
Chapter Five

Viscaria

Six hours later, Val was remembering why she
had never liked going to parties. They were awkward.
Almost unbearably so. Talking to people you didn't
know, fending off drunken advances, or worse—
being ignored entirely.

Fun.

She had never been blessed in the social skills
department, and the events that had transpired over
the last couple years had none nothing to alleviate the
unease she felt when in crowds.

Socializing tended to be the last thing on people's
minds when they blamed you for the death of the
town's golden boy.

She had gone out with him because she had seen
no other means of escape. Now it seemed like he was
her cross to bear for all eternity.

You're not supposed to think about that. Not tonight.

There was a drink in her hand. She couldn't
remember how it had gotten there and looked at it
with some surprise. Beer.
I don't drink beer
.