The Conclusion (6 page)

Her voice cracked.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I think Margie and I had better go upstairs. Sorry. Really.”

“Me too,” I murmured. “Such a horrible thing.” What could I say to them? I'd read about the murders and watched the TV news shows. But I didn't know any of the three victims personally.

How would it feel to
know
someone who was murdered? I asked myself.

“See you again,” Melanie said.

“Good luck in the dorm,” Margie added.

They hurried out of the room.

I hung around the mixer for a while. But it wasn't much fun. Melanie was right. No one felt like partying.

I met a few other girls who seemed okay. But even though I tried to be cool and confident, I felt really uncomfortable.

It's hard to get over being called ‘Mouse' your entire life.

And I think some people are party animals and some aren't.

By nine o'clock, a few couples had started to dance. And some kids were laughing and joking around.

But I decided I'd had enough. I didn't feel like going back up to the room. I was too wired to sit down and try to study.

So I grabbed my down jacket and headed across The Triangle to a little coffee shop called Java Jim's at the far north edge of campus.

Java Jim's is away from most of the campus shops and restaurants. So it's not really a student hangout. But I like it because it's quiet, they have great chocolate chip cookies, and they let you sit over one cup forever.

I sat at the white Formica counter, chewing on a giant cookie, dunking it in my coffee. Thinking about Melanie and Margie. Thinking about how I couldn't think of the right thing to say to them.

After I'd been there about fifteen minutes, I heard a cough. I turned and saw a girl down at the end of the counter. She had straight dark hair around a round face, and bright red lipsticked lips. She wore an oversized black sweater pulled down over black tights.

She stared straight ahead at the tile wall. Every few seconds, she'd take a short sip from her tall cappuccino.

I waited for her to glance over at me. I waited a long time. Finally, our eyes met. “Hi. How's it going?” I called over to her.

She hesitated. Her brown eyes narrowed on me. “Okay,” she replied finally. She took a sip from her cup, then wiped foam off her upper lip with one finger. “Good coffee here.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed. Did she want to have a conversation? I wondered. Or was she just being polite?

“You go to Ivy State?” I asked.

She appeared to think about it. “Yeah. Sort of,” she said. She uttered a short laugh. “I had to drop out for this semester.”

I nodded. “I'm a sophomore,” I told her. “I just moved into the dorm this afternoon. My apartment burned down.”

Her mouth formed an O of surprise. “Burned down?”

“Yeah. Well, actually, half the building,” I said. “The other half. Not my apartment. But—”

“What dorm?” she asked. She took another sip of her drink. I noticed that she had torn her paper napkin into long, thin strips.

“Fear Hall,” I said.

Her mouth dropped open again. But she didn't say anything.

I decided it was time to stop acting so shy. I scooted over a few stools, closer to her. “I like your hair,” I said. “It's so shiny.”

The compliment seemed to embarrass her. She turned her eyes to the entrance.

“I just came from the
worst
mixer,” I told her, trying to keep the conversation going.

Why was she staring at the door?

“Uh . . . listen . . .” she said finally, turning back to me. Her expression had become tense. She tore the napkin strips into smaller strips. “You really shouldn't talk to me.”

“Excuse me?” I replied. “I didn't mean—”

“I just broke up with a guy,” she explained, glancing again toward the entrance. “And he's real jealous. If he saw you and me . . .”

“But we're just talking,” I protested. “There's no law against it, is there?”

“No, but . . . you just shouldn't,” she replied. “He—he could be dangerous.”

Dangerous?

“Well . . .” I hesitated. She suddenly looked so tense. I scooted back to my place. “Could I . . . uh . . . call you sometime?” I asked.

She bit her bottom lip. “I don't think so.”

She slid her feet to the floor and stood up. She pulled her long sweater down over her tights. Then she dropped a couple of dollars on the counter and started to leave.

She squeezed past me, avoiding my gaze. Walked a few steps. Then turned back to me.

“I could . . . meet you the day after tomorrow maybe,” she said.

“Great!” I replied, a little too eagerly. “Where?”

“How about here?” She glanced nervously out the window.

“Yeah. Sure. Okay,” I said.

She turned and hurried to the door.

“Hey—my name is Chris. Chris Sandburg. What's yours?” I called after her.

She stopped and stared at me a moment. “Karen,” she replied. “My name is Karen.” She disappeared through the door.

“Karen.” I repeated the name out loud. “What a nice name.”

“I
ran all the way home!” I exclaimed to Angel and Jasmine. I held my hand over my heart, feeling it pump, and waited to catch my breath.

Jasmine lay sprawled on the couch, reading a magazine. Angel sat across from her in the big leather armchair, petting the cat.

“Hope, what happened?” Angel cried, jumping up from the chair and hurrying over to me. “Did someone see you? Did someone chase you?”

“No. Nothing like that,” I replied, still breathing hard. “No one recognized me. No one is looking for a brunette. They're all looking for a girl with blond hair. Changing my hair color was the smartest thing I ever did.”

“Then what happened?” Angel demanded impatiently.

“I met a guy,” I told them.

Jasmine laughed. She tossed down the magazine she'd been reading. “Is that all?”

Angel shook her head. “From the look on your face, we thought something
terrible
had happened.”

I couldn't keep a smile from spreading across my face. “Well, it
is
terrible in a way,” I said. “I mean, here I am, hiding from the police in this empty old house. And I meet the guy of my dreams.” I sighed. “It's not the greatest timing, is it?”

Jasmine stared hard at me.

Angel gasped. “The guy of your
dreams?”

I nodded and smiled again.

“Where did you meet this guy?” Jasmine asked, sitting up.

“In a coffee shop,” I told her. “You know that place. Java Jim's.”

“Details,” Angel insisted. “Come on, Hope. Spill. More details.”

“Well . . .” I hesitated. “We just started talking, that's all. I thought he was cute. But he seemed really shy at first. And I didn't really want to talk to him because of . . . you know.”

“What's his name?” Jasmine demanded.

I had to think. “Chris.” Then I couldn't help myself. The words just exploded from me. I felt so excited.

“He's perfect!” I gushed. “I just know he's the guy for me. I can just
feel
it!”

“Whoa. Slow down!” Angel insisted. She put an arm around my shoulders and led me over to the couch. I sat down next to Jasmine.

Jasmine snickered. “You couldn't even remember his name!”

“He doesn't know my name, either,” I told her. “Not my real name, anyway. I couldn't tell him that, not with my name in all the papers. But, you know what? I don't even think he'd care if he knew I was the same girl. He's so easy to talk to. He'd believe I'm innocent.”

“Hope, I've never seen you so
psyched!”
Angel exclaimed.

She was right. My heart was pounding like thunder.

“Well . . . I just wasn't expecting to meet anyone,” I explained. “You know. With all the bad luck we've had, and everything. I didn't think—”

“Yeah. Speaking of bad luck,” Angel interrupted. “What
about
Darryl?”

I felt a chill at the back of my neck. My throat tightened. “Yes, I know,” I murmured softly. “Darryl . . .”

“You
told
him not to come around anymore,” Angel said. “You told him you wanted him out of your life.”

I swallowed hard. “That didn't mean anything to Darryl. He didn't believe me. And . . . and . . .” My voice caught in my throat. “He thinks I want him to kill those girls. Melanie and Margie.”

“You have to talk to him again,” Angel urged. “You have to make it clear to him—”

“You know Darryl!” I cried. “He's out of control! He doesn't listen to a word I say.”

Jasmine picked up her magazine. She pushed her wavy, blond hair behind her shoulders and settled
back against the couch. “You won't feel safe around Chris,” she said softly, “unless you do something about Darryl.”

I knew she was right. But what could I do?

I started to reply—but cried out when I heard a clattering sound at the front door.

I froze as I heard the front door slam open.

Voices. A man, then a woman.

Who is it? I wondered. Who would come here so late at night?

“Quick! Hide!” I whispered to my roommates.

I dropped behind the couch. Then I crawled into the dining room.

I stayed down on the floor. Turned. Peered back into the front room.

Flashlights played over the floor, swept up the walls.

Who is it? I wondered. Who? What are they doing here?

And then I heard a man's voice, close, very close. He said, “We've found her.”

T
he words chilled me.

I pulled my head back. I froze, thinking hard.

Did they
see
me?

Should I scramble to my feet and make a run for it? Can I make it to the back door before they catch me?

“Yes. We've definitely found her.” The woman's voice this time.

“We've found the house we've been looking for,” the man said. “Thank you for showing her to us again. Sorry about it being so late.”

“No problem,” another woman replied. “I knew this old house was right for you two. I don't mind showing a house at any hour, if I know the people are really interested.”

“Well, Myrna and I are definitely interested,” the man said. “Of course, we want to come back again and see it in the daytime.”

“Of course,” came the woman's reply.

I let out a long breath of air. I sat down on the floor and leaned my back against the wall. And waited for my heartbeat to slow to normal.

A close call, I told myself.

And they're coming back.

I can't stay here much longer. It's too dangerous. I've got to get my life together. I've got to get back on track.

Maybe Chris can help me . . .

I listened to the footsteps of the three people as they made their way to the front. I held my breath until the door slammed behind them.

Then I climbed shakily to my feet, still clinging to the wall—and the phone rang.

“Hey—!” I cried out loud. “I didn't think the phones in this house were hooked up.”

It has to be a wrong number, I decided.

No one knows I'm here. No one would try to call me here.

I crossed the living room to the table near the fireplace, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hope, it's me. Darryl.”

“Darryl—no—!” I started.

He didn't let me get another word out.

“Hey, don't worry,” he said. “I haven't forgotten. I'm going to kill Margie and Melanie for you. I'm going to take care of them for you.”

“Darryl—please!” I cried. “Please, listen to me. I'm begging you—”

“Stop worrying, Hope,” he said. He sounded so excited, so hyper, so . . . crazy.

“Nothing to worry about,” Darryl repeated. “You know I won't let you down.”

M
argie was making me tense.

Real tense. Because she kept glancing behind her, and I had to keep scrambling so she wouldn't see me.

Why did she keep doing that? Did she know she was being followed?

I don't think so.

The sidewalk on Pine Street was pretty crowded. A lot of students on their way back to the dorms after their late afternoon classes. A lot of shoppers in and out of the long row of campus stores. Kids from the private boys' school on Elm Street running around, chasing one another, bumping one another off the sidewalk, making a lot of noise.

If one of them bumps me, I'll smash his head like a ripe melon, I thought.

That's the kind of mood I was in. Tense. So tense I
dug my fingernails into my palms and made them bleed. And I didn't even realize it until I raised one hand to wipe my nose and saw it smeared with blood.

I hate the sight of blood . . . when it's my own! Ha-ha!

Anyway, I'm sure Margie didn't know I was following her.

I'd been following her for a few days. You know. Getting her schedule down. Making my plan.

I'm a hard worker. A good planner. Sure, I get a little hotheaded sometimes, a little out of control. But I don't just rush into things.

I work things out in my mind. Step by step by step.

Maybe I lost it when I sliced up those two guys. And Eden. But it's hard to plan ahead when you get jealous.

Hope is always testing me. Always trying to see how far I'll go to show her I care.

Sometimes I pass the test. Sometimes I fail.