Terrorscape (9 page)

 

The invitation to his horrible game, and the start
of this whole entire nightmare.

The police had never found him.
Don't think about that
.
He was still out there somewhere.
If he knew that I was still alive….

He would kill her; of that, she was certain. Gavin
was both proud and vicious. He was not one to leave
loose ends dangling.

(I feel I could kill. I feel that I might like it.)

She
pushed
open
the
door.
A
bell
tinkled
overhead
and
the
sound
made
her
jump.
The
reception desk was manned by a college student. She
was sitting behind the fake oak counter, chatting with
another girl in the swivel chair next to hers. Both of
them looked up at the sound and the one closest to
the desk smiled.

“Hi there! Can I help you with something?”
“I, um.” Val held up the slip. “I got one of these
today.”

 

“You got a package?” The girl stood up. “Okay,
let me check. Just one sec. Last name?”

“Ki—Klein.”
“Klein with a C or a K?”
“K.”
“Valerie?”

“Yes.” Relief colored her voice. Why, exactly, she
wasn't sure.

“I'm just going to have to see some student ID—
good,” she said, when Val held up her plastic card.
“And sign here. Okay, great. Thanks. Have a nice
day!”

The two girls were chatting again before Val was
even out the door. Whether intentional or not, the
slight went unnoticed as Val ripped open the outer
envelope from her parents to reveal a second one
within. She stared hard at the address.

It was one she knew by heart.

 

Why is Lisa writing to me?
And then, more
worryingly,
How did she get my address?

A quick glance at the first envelope dispelled the
latter concern. Her parents had forwarded the letter.
Simple. As for the former….

Val tore open the letter from Lisa without further
pretense. The faint but unmistakable smell of perfume
rose up from the folds as a flurry of pink-white petals
fluttered to the ground at her feet.
No. not perfume. Aftershave.

His
aftershave.
No
, she thought.
No, no, no, no, no
.

Sandalwood and rose. She would recognize it
anywhere. And the flowers were valerian blossoms.

But the letter was from Lisa.
Forwarded by her parents.
It can't be from him. It can't be.

Her eyes fell to the gleaming writing on the
creamy white paper inside. Just three simple words,
but the hand in which they were written drove a
splinter of ice deep inside her heart.

Are you frightened?
Lisa's handwriting—
His
words.
Chapter Six

Iris

“In the psychodynamic model of behavior, there
are three basic components that you must remember.”
The small classroom was stifling. Val tried to pay
attention to the lecture knowing that it was in poor
taste to drift off so early on in the semester but her
brain was refusing to comply.
Are you frightened?

(Do I frighten you?)

 

“Do you remember what they are? Anyone? I just
discussed this.”

 

Somebody at the back raised their hand and
delivered the right answer.

“Well, at least one person is getting something
out of this lecture,” the professor said, eying them all
with disapproval. “This does not bode well for your
test scores.”

Midterms seemed eons away, though. This fear,
this was real. In the
now
.

 

“This might refresh your memory.”

Professor Hendricks clicked his remote and a
splash panel of clip-art appeared on the projection
screen.
It
detailed
the
finer
points
of
the
psychodynamic model.

Id was a sloppily dressed man holding a beer in
one hand and a pornographic magazine in the other.
A smelly cigar was clamped between his fleshy lips.

Very subtle
. Val felt a dull pang of what might
have been amusement had she been in a more
receptive mood.

Superego was an elegant man in a three-piece suit
and a monocle. He was staring at Id with obvious
disgust.
The
words,
“Well,
I
never!”
were
encapsulated in a large thought bubble over his neatly
combed hair. He looked, in Val's opinion, more like
the Monopoly Guy than the paragon of virtue.

Ego was a harassed-looking man with a combover. He was dressed like a crossing guard, replete
with a hand-held stop sign.

“For those of you who didn't do the reading, the
id is focused on getting its needs met straight away.
This is called instant gratification.

“These needs are with us at birth, and highly
primal, fueled by basic biological drives for food, sex,
and various other pleasure-driven activities necessary
for survival. Part of maturity is learning to put these
needs on hold in favor of more abstract priorities,
such as laws and personal obligations. This is the job
of the superego.

“The superego is the voice of reason. It consists of
our morals, and our ability to differentiate between
what is right—and what is wrong. For example: you
might desperately crave a doughnut from the Student
Union at 6 A.M. when you know they are fresh from
the oven—” several students giggled and high-fived
“—but
alas,
you
then
remember
that
you
are
supposed to be on a diet. Your superego would
remind
you
of
this,
and
discourage
you
from
purchasing from one of those delicious mango jelly
doughnuts it knows you love so much.

“This is where the ego comes in. The ego has the
toughest job of the three; the ego acts as a moderator
between id and superego. You may have heard the
phrase 'happy medium' at some point in your lives.
Perhaps in the book,
A Wrinkle in Time
. The concept
here is very much the same.”

“He doesn't look very happy,” someone pointed
out.

“Yes, well.” Professor Hendricks smiled slightly.
“It is difficult to strike a balance between two such
opposing forces.”

Two opposing forces—just like chess.
“The ego's abilities ensure the well-being of the
individual. Going back to our doughnut dilemma:

your ego might decide that instead of getting a jelly
doughnut,
you
might
instead
try
the
equally
refreshing but significantly lower calorie poppy-seed
banana bread.”

Val, still thinking of chessboards suspended in
space, frowned. She had missed his example, only
catching the tail end of it.
Banana bread?

At least hers wasn't the only glazed-expression in
the
room.
Fifty-eight
people
were
taking
the
afternoon-evening
MWF
Abnormal
Psychology
lecture and less than half of them looked awake, let
alone alert.

Professor Hendricks was looking increasingly
frustrated. Finally, he dismissed them all with a wave
and a sigh. “I hope you are getting more out of this
than you are letting on,” he said, raising his voice to
be heard over the shuffling papers and zipping
backpacks. “Mind your egos.”

The sun was close to setting when Val stepped
outside. The sky was a flickering gold that reminded
her of a lightbulb about to go out.

Thoughts of the letter raided her mind.

 

The address was Lisa's and the writing was Lisa's,
but the words—they were all his.

 

Is it him?

That night was branded into her memory and try
as she might to forget—how desperately she wanted
to forget—she didn't think she ever would.

If it was him, he must have gotten to Lisa.
There was only one reason he would do that.

Only one reason he would have taken such a risk.
He knew she was still alive.
“Well, hello there, Val.”

Val clutched at the front of her Henley. “
Jade
. Oh
my God, you scared me.”

 

“You almost walked right into me. You didn't see
me?”

He was right; she had nearly done a faceplant
right into his chest. She colored. “Sorry—I was just
remembering something. I'm a bit spacey right now.”

“Must have been pretty intense, your thoughts.”
“I guess.”

His eyes went to her wrists. “Nice collection you
have going on there.”
She followed his gaze and realized he was
referring to the bracelets. “Oh, these? They're from
the ravers. Picked out from the mess in our dorm.”

You are such an idiot.

 

“Can I have one?”

 

She shrugged and held out an arm that trembled
only slightly. “Go for it.”

Jade took her lightly by the wrist and selected a
blue and green bracelet. His fingers were rough
against the tissue-thin skin. Something buzzed in her
ears and she felt her pulse accelerate when he looked
her in the eyes.

He doesn't want you
.

“I wanted to tell you—and Mary—that I had a lot
of fun last night.” He stretched the bracelet to fit
around his hand with a click. “Your dorm was
definitely the best out of all of them.”

“Thanks,”
said
Val,
“but
Mary
did
all
the
decorating and stuff. I didn't really do all that much.”

“You were there,” he said. “You danced with me.”
Heat coursed down her throat. “Yeah.”
“You're blushing.”
She studied her sneakers. “I know.”

“Listen, I know this might seem a little sudden—
and if you're weirded out, I totally get it, but—you
wanna grab a cuppa Joe sometime?”

“Huh?”

 

“Coffee. Nowhere too fancy, don't worry. I was
thinking the Student Union. There's is pretty good.”
Mary's words from earlier floated back to her:
These things can happen pretty fast if you let them.

Had Jade talked to her? Had
she
talked to Jade?
Did it matter?

She had been single for a long time. It was
entirely possible that she had forgotten how fast these
things happened. James had asked her out after only
a few conversations, though she had known him for
years so maybe that didn't count. And Gavin—

Gavin made her heart feel sick.
“Yes,” she said, breathing out slowly.
“Yes?” Jade raised an eyebrow. “Yes what?”
“Yes, I'll have coffee with you. I'd like that.”

“Great. What's your number? I'll call you with a
date and time.”

 

She
reeled
it
off,
feeling
dizzy.
Was
this
infatuation? Or was it fear?

 

Was there any difference between the two?

 

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

One week had passed since Blake had received
the
letter.
Or
The
Letter,
as
he
thought
of
it,
capitalized, and self-referential.

The
manila
envelope
bore
Lisa's
name
and
address but when he opened up the flaps there was
another envelope inside, just like one of those Russian
nesting dolls. The cream colored paper was soggy
with brick-red paint that dripped on and stained the
light brown carpet of his dorm room floor.

From the damp confines of the envelope he had
produced a single black pawn. The top half of it was
cut off, rolling around at the bottom like a severed
head. There was only one person Blake knew of who
would resort to something so sick.

This isn't good.

He paced his dorm room. It was clean—cleaner
than usual, anyway—because his roommate was out.
Friday
nights
meant
parties,
and
Tom
was
participating
in
every
Rush
event
his
schedule
permitted. Usually Blake welcomed these absences as
they meant he could call Lisa or study or play World
of Warcraft in peace, but now…he felt uneasy. Alone.

Terrified.
A sitting duck.

For several weeks he had felt as if he were being
watched. Blake had done his best to look at the
situation logically, to compensate for this seemingly
irrational fear. After what had happened last year
some paranoia was understandable. Between the
nightmares and his father's decline in health, it was a
wonder he wasn't locked up somewhere.

The letter had changed things. It was solid
evidence in the face of previously abstract fears; it
meant that there was something there
to
be feared.

Blake picked up the phone to call Lisa. Just the
sound of her voice was usually enough to lift his
spirits, cliché as that was. Lately his conversations
with her had been subdued, though. He'd asked
several times if she was upset or worried about
something, but she rebuffed that line of questioning
so quickly that he was beginning to wonder if the
fault lay with him.

He still couldn't believe they were going out. Lisa
had seen something in him that night, he supposed.
Something that had given her courage and forced her
to look beyond the surface, and all its superficial
trimmings. What they had—it was real.

Or so he liked to think.

Blake was halfway through the familiar string of
digits when he heard the creak. The floorboards in the
dorm were scratched and weathered from years of
abuse. His dorm, Wordsworth Hall, was set to be
decommissioned the following summer because the
foundation was simply getting too old.

They were going to tear it down, rebuild it from
the ground up, and pack the incoming freshmen into
it like sardines in a tin. The wood was cracked and
warped and water-stained from the constant deluge
of the winter rains, and traces of asbestos still lingered
menacingly in the popcorn ceilings.

All the hairs on the back of his neck were
prickling. It was a little drafty tonight—had it been so
cold a moment ago? He walked over to investigate,
picking his way across the floor carefully to minimize
the noise, and sighed when he discovered that Tom
had left the outer door open a crack—again.

Cursing softly, phone still in hand, he shut and
locked the door, making a mental note to lecture Tom
about safety and break-ins. Not that he'd listen. Oh,
he'd smile and nod, but it would all go in one ear and
out the other. In that way, he was rather like James.