Wicked (5 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Wicked stood at the printer as the pages dropped into the tray. No one else knew that the printer had such a big memory. It was possible to print out the previous hundred pages and that's exactly what Wicked had done. It was very important to read what everyone had written, and Wicked was planning to do that right now.

There was a furnished room on the fourth floor that no one else knew about. The technician who'd hooked up the computers had let Wicked in, several days before the rest of the students had arrived. Wicked had chosen this room because it was an excellent place to read. It was also an excellent place to keep an eye on everything that was happening in the Sutler Mansion.

The fourth-floor room was set up exactly the way Wicked wanted it. It had a comfortable chair, a reading lamp, and a small desk. The fire escape ladder was right outside the window, and Wicked had discovered that there was an excellent vantage place on the roof. One of the former Sutler servants had built a covered roof garden, and that was where Wicked kept an eye on the other students.

Of course, this wasn't Wicked's only room. There was the other room, downstairs, where Wicked slept and used the computer, just like the rest of the workshop students. The fourth-floor room was Wicked's special hideaway, where it was possible to think without interruptions and plan out exactly what to do to accomplish the goal.

Wicked took out the key and unlocked the door. It had been a simple matter to replace the existing padlock with a new one. No one had noticed the new padlock since the fourth floor was off-limits to everyone except Wicked.

Tracie's romance was taking shape. Wicked smiled, reading the pages quickly. Angela had helped her, and now it was very good. Jeremy's humor book was better, too. Angela had done an excellent job coaching him. The jokes were funny, the situations were hilarious, and Wicked had to be careful not to laugh too loudly. Someone might hear, and Wicked couldn't let anyone know about the room on the fourth floor or the plan to make the workshop such a huge success, everyone would be talking about it for years to come.

Scott's work was next, and Wicked read it with a smile. He'd written about the Sutler Mansion ghost story, and Wicked found it fascinating. But Wicked noticed that Scott was relying too much on his thesaurus program. Using a multi-syllabic word when a simple word would do was an affectation that turned most readers off. Perhaps Angela would notice and correct Scott's error. She was an excellent critic.

Beth's poetry was good. Wicked grinned at her choice of phrase.
The night was blue serge
, was an excellent line. It was much more original than the usual,
The night was blue velvet
. Perhaps Beth should get together with Dean. Wicked hoped that someone would suggest it. The problem wasn't with Dean's music. It was excellent. Wicked had heard Dean strumming his guitar, late at night, when he thought no one was listening. Dean would go far with his music, but his lyrics weren't very original.

Marc's sports book was interesting, although basketball wasn't Wicked's favorite sport. His characters were strong, and there was humor in the fact that a guy who was only five-feet-five-inches tall wanted to play hoops for the Lakers. Marc knew a lot about sports and that wasn't surprising, considering his father's choice of career. And Marc had managed to convert his sports knowledge into an interesting setting for the reader.

And then there was Ryan. Wicked was delighted with the historical time period Ryan had chosen. It was a rich tapestry, and Ryan had worked very hard on his writing. Perhaps Professor Hellman would choose Ryan's work. Wicked just wasn't sure. There was another book that was coming along fabulously, and that was Eve's.

Wicked was surprised. Eve hadn't shown much promise with her first chapter, but she'd rewritten it and now it was a fine piece of work. It was almost as good as Angela's, and that was saying a lot.

Angela. Wicked sighed. Angela had it all. She was beautiful, intelligent, and incredibly talented. She had only one flaw and Wicked hoped she'd correct it. Angela tended to treat everyone as if they were her social and intellectual inferior. Perhaps it was true, but Angela had to learn to be more accepting and less critical of the other students in the workshop.

It was always easier to see other people's faults. Wicked sat for a moment and thought about it. Wisdom came with age, and it was difficult to step outside oneself, to see what others saw in you. Of course, that was no longer difficult for Wicked. The split hadn't been a bad thing. Although it was difficult to juggle two personalities, Wicked had managed to do it without being detected.

Memories of childhood flickered across Wicked's mind. Wicked's parents hadn't noticed the split, and that was good. They might have become very concerned. Most unenlightened people thought it was abnormal to have two personalities sharing the same body.

Of course they were wrong. Wicked knew that. Everyone had a bright side and a dark side, and Wicked's two sides were separated very nicely. When the dark side was out, the bright side stepped back and went to sleep. Wicked's bright side was completely unaware of what the dark side was doing, and that was exactly the way Wicked wanted it. If there was no awareness, there could be no interference, nothing to keep Wicked from the goal.

Wicked stood up and flicked off the light. It was time to slip into the second persona, the bright side, and go down to dinner as a member of the group. No one knew who Wicked was, and no one, not even the bright side, would ever guess.

* * *

Tracie looked completely amazed as Eve finished reading her pages. “That was totally incredible, Eve! I can't believe you wrote it!”

“Thanks, Tracie.” Eve grinned at her. She was relieved that Tracie hadn't recognized herself in the character Rochelle Dubois. Perhaps it was true that people never recognized unflattering portraits of themselves.

“It was really great, honey!” Ryan reached out to squeeze Eve's hand. But then he turned to Angela with a smile. “Thanks, Angela. Your criticism last night really helped Eve a lot.”

Eve managed to keep the smile on her face, but she was burning up inside. She'd worked like a dog all afternoon, rewriting her chapter. And now Ryan was giving all the credit to Angela!

“Your chapter was wonderful, Eve.” Angela turned to smile at her. “I'm not sure my criticism helped, but if I did, I'm really glad.”

Cheryl laughed. “You're being too modest, Angela. You heard Eve's chapter last night. She never could have done such a good job rewriting it if you hadn't told her exactly what to do.”

Eve's smile faltered. What was Cheryl talking about? Angela hadn't helped her!

“But I didn't write it.” Angela turned to Eve. “Eve wrote those pages herself. She deserves every bit of the credit. Good job, Eve. You're turning into a very good writer.”

“Thank you, Angela.” Even though Eve was fuming inside, she did her best to be polite. Why was it that Angela's compliment felt more like an insult? Angela was saying the right words, but Eve was willing to bet she wasn't sincere. Angela was an actress, playing the role of someone who was gracious, and sweet, and utterly charming. And everyone else believed that role was real, everyone except Eve.

“We saved the best for last.” Cheryl gave Angela an adoring smile. “Come on, Angela. We're dying to hear your next chapter.”

Angela looked a little concerned. “I don't know if you'll like it, Cheryl. I'm afraid my next chapter might upset you.”

“I'm the first to get murdered?!” Cheryl looked absolutely delighted, just as if someone had given her a prize. “Go ahead, Angela. I can hardly wait to hear all the horrible details!”

Eve frowned as Angela began to read. As usual, her work was very good. Eve found herself holding her breath as Angela read about the woman in the kitchen and how she'd been brutally stabbed with a butcher knife. And then Angela's chapter was over and everyone, including Cheryl, started to applaud.

“That was fantastic!” Cheryl leaned over to give Angela a hug. “I just loved that part where you had me take the cookies from the oven and drop them!”

Angela hugged Cheryl back and she looked very relieved. “I'm glad you're not upset, Cheryl. Remember, it's just fiction.”

“I know.” Cheryl giggled. “But I'm going to be very careful when I bake Grandma's chocolate cookies tonight. I think I'll hide all the butcher knives, just in case.”

Everyone laughed, and then Scott spoke up. “Who's going to get killed off next?”

“I'm not sure.” Angela shrugged. “I guess we'll all have to wait until tomorrow night to find out.”

“I think it should be a guy next time.” Ryan smiled at Angela. “You can kill off my character if you want to.”

Angela shook her head. “I can't kill you off. You have to stick around because you're going to try to save my character. And that's all I'm going to say about my plot. It's a lot more fun if it's a surprise.”

“Are you going up to work now, Angela?” Ryan looked concerned.

“No. I guess I'm like my father. I'm much more creative in the middle of the night. Did you need some help, Ryan?”

“If you can spare the time. I'm having some trouble with my outline for the next chapter.”

“No problem.”

“I'll see you later, honey.” Ryan squeezed Eve's hand, and then he got up. “Come on, Angela. Let's grab a couple of Cokes from the refrigerator and go out in the courtyard. It's cooler out there.”

Eve managed to keep the smile on her face as Angela and Ryan left the library. She'd been hoping that she could spend some time with Ryan tonight, but it was clear that wasn't going to happen. Ryan was tied up with Angela. Again. And Eve was left out in the cold.

“Does anyone want to watch a movie?” Eve asked the rest of the group.

Beth sighed. “I'd love to, but Dean and I have to work. Angela thought it would be good if we did some lyrics together.”

“I'm working, too.” Scott stood up. “Sorry, Eve.”

“How about you, Jeremy?” Eve turned to him with a smile. Jeremy wasn't the type to spend long hours at his computer.

Jeremy looked tempted, but he shook his head. “I can't. Angela said she'd go over my next chapter with me if I finish it tonight.”

“Me, too.” Marc got up to leave. “I've got a breakfast meeting with her tomorrow, and she wants to see ten new pages.”

“Tracie?” Eve was beginning to get frustrated. Didn't anyone want to watch a movie with her? “I've got a couple of new romances I know you haven't seen.”

Tracie sighed and shook her head. “I'd love to, but I have to work. Maybe we can do it tomorrow night, Eve.”

“And I have to bake.” Cheryl stood up. “Sorry, Eve. I've got three new recipes to try tonight. If I don't get started, I'll be up until midnight.”

Eve sat there, stunned, as everyone left. She didn't feel like working, but there was nothing else to do. She could see Ryan and Angela through the lace curtains, lounging by the side of the pool. They looked very serious, and they were huddled together, their heads almost touching, over the outline Ryan had written.

Thanks to Angela's influence, everyone was turning into a bunch of workaholics. This workshop was even worse than Eve had anticipated, and it was all Angela's fault.

CHAPTER FIVE

Cheryl felt absolutely marvelous. Her lemon cake had come out of the oven light and fluffy, exactly the way her grandmother had said it would, and her dill bread smelled so wonderful, she could hardly wait to cut it and try a piece. The only recipe she had left was the one for her grandmother's chocolate fudge cookies. Cheryl hoped they'd turn out to be as delicious as she remembered.

As she dropped four squares of unsweetened baker's chocolate in the double boiler on top of the stove, Cheryl thought about her grandmother's chocolate cookies. Everyone in the family had loved them, and Granny had sent them to all her grandchildren on their birthdays. It didn't seem like a birthday without Granny's chocolate cookies, and Cheryl planned to keep right on with her grandmother's tradition. If her cookies were as good as Granny's, she'd give them to her friends for their birthdays.

Cheryl frowned as she remembered whose birthday was next. It was Eve's. Eve was a sorority sister and she was supposed to be a friend, but Cheryl had decided she didn't really like Eve. She'd been on the receiving end of Eve's sarcastic tongue one too many times in the past. Eve could be very nasty if things didn't go her way.

It didn't take long for the chocolate to melt over the boiling water. Cheryl lifted the top pan from the double boiler and carried it to the walk-in cooler. Granny's recipe said the chocolate should be cooled while the other ingredients were mixed. There were six eggs in the recipe, and if the chocolate was too hot, it would cook the eggs and make the cookie dough lumpy.

Cheryl put the chocolate on one of the shelves and went back into the main part of the kitchen to mix up the dough. She loved the walk-in cooler. It was a luxury most people didn't have and didn't really need, unless they were serious cooks. The cooler was exactly like a room-sized refrigerator, and Cheryl wished they had one at the sorority house. Even though their refrigerator was large, there was never enough room on the shelves.

A smile flickered across Cheryl's face. Perhaps she should mention it to Eve. Eve had already spent a lot of money trying to buy everyone's vote for president, and she'd be sure to order a walk-in cooler if she thought it would make her more popular.

Eve thought she could buy everything with money. Cheryl frowned as she cracked open the eggs and put them in the mixing bowl. That just wasn't true, and Eve should be more like Angela. Angela had lots of money. The pool she'd bought for them proved that. But Angela didn't demand anything in return. She was an incredibly nice person who liked to share her good fortune with her friends.

Cheryl measured the sugar and mixed it with the eggs until they were fluffy. Then she sifted the flour with the salt and the baking powder and added it to the dough. Granny's recipe said to add the melted chocolate next, and then the nuts and the chocolate chips. Cheryl set the bowl on the butcher block counter in the center of the kitchen and went into the walk-in cooler to see if the chocolate had cooled enough to use.

There were footsteps in the hallway, and Cheryl looked up with a smile on her face. She hoped it was Angela. They'd had so much fun last night, sitting at the table in the courtyard, sampling Cheryl's cinnamon rolls. But no one appeared in the doorway. She was almost sure she'd heard footsteps, but perhaps she'd been mistaken.

Another sound, a slight rustling, made Cheryl jump. She turned to look at the kitchen doorway, but there was absolutely no one in sight. Perhaps it was just her imagination working overtime, but Cheryl couldn't help thinking of the chapter Angela had read to them tonight, and how her character had been killed in the kitchen.

That was fiction. This was real. Cheryl knew she was being silly, but she stepped out of the cooler, rushed to the counter, and hid the big butcher knife in a drawer.

Cheryl was embarrassed as she went back to the cooler. She wouldn't tell anyone what she'd done. But Angela was such a good writer that her book had seemed real, and even though Cheryl had denied it, tonight's chapter had frightened her. Perhaps she should have invited someone to keep her company tonight. Tracie loved chocolate. She would have come down to the kitchen to watch her bake. Beth and Dean might have come, too, if she'd asked them. They could have worked on their lyrics right here at the kitchen table. Or Scott, or Jeremy, or Marc. Or Angela and Ryan. When they'd finished going over Ryan's outline, they could have come into the kitchen.

But she hadn't asked anyone, and she was alone. Cheryl sighed and decided, from now on, she'd ask for company in the kitchen. The way she felt right now, even Eve would have been welcome. Angela's chapter had unnerved her much more than she'd realized.

The chocolate was almost ready. Cheryl was about to give it a final stir, when something totally unexpected happened.

The kitchen lights went off.

“Hey!” Cheryl whirled around, dropping her spoon with a clatter. “Who turned off the . . .”

But Cheryl never got a chance to finish her question as something sharp and heavy punched her skull.

Cheryl crumpled to the floor of the walk-in cooler without a sound. The pan of chocolate dropped from her hand and splattered in a sticky mess. Rivulets of chocolate ran into Cheryl's hair, but she didn't notice the mess. Cheryl Frazier was incapable of thought because all the life had left her body and she was quite dead.

* * *

Angela shook two aspirin out of the bottle. She had a terrible headache. But she always had problems if she took aspirin on an empty stomach and there was no food in her room.

She'd have to go down to the kitchen. Angela sighed as she put on a robe and slippers. They'd stocked up on plenty of snacks, and there would be something she could eat. As she stepped out into the hallway, Angela remembered what Cheryl had said. She'd been planning to try three new recipes tonight, and Cheryl was an excellent cook.

Cheryl had said she was baking a lemon cake, and that was one of Angela's favorite desserts. The second recipe had sounded good, too. A slice of crusty, warm dill bread slathered with butter would be wonderful. But the third recipe was the one Angela really wanted to try, and her mouth started to water as she walked toward the stairs. Cheryl had described her grandmother's chocolate fudge cookies, and they'd sounded incredibly delicious.

Everyone on the third floor was sleeping. As Angela passed the other bedrooms, she noticed that there was no light seeping out from under anyone's door. It was late, almost two in the morning, but she'd been hoping that someone was awake. She felt like company in the kitchen. It wasn't much fun, raiding the cupboards, if no one else was there.

Angela checked the second floor to see if any of the guys were up, but their rooms were dark, too. It was strange, being the only one awake in the huge, four-story mansion. It was almost creepy, and Angela shivered as she went down the stairs to the ground floor.

The library was deserted, and so was the living room. Angela hurried through the darkened rooms. She almost wished she'd knocked on someone's door and invited them to come along. Any of the guys would have come, Angela was sure of that. They all seemed to like her, and so did the girls, everyone except Eve.

She really should have a talk with Eve. It was clear Eve thought she was trying to steal her boyfriend, and that simply wasn't the case. Although Angela enjoyed Ryan's company, she wasn't interested in him romantically. Once Eve understood that, they might be able to be friends.

The lights were off in the kitchen. Angela stopped at the door, and a puzzled expression crossed her face. They'd all agreed to leave the light on over the sink, in case someone wanted a late-night snack.

For a moment, Angela was actually frightened. This was exactly like the chapter she'd read this evening. When Cheryl's character had been murdered, the killer had turned off the lights in the kitchen.

Angela told herself she was being foolish. Cheryl had probably forgotten their agreement and turned the lights off when she'd left to go up to her room. There was nothing wrong, nothing at all. But Angela's hand was shaking as she pushed open the kitchen door.

There was a dim light shining in through the window, from the porchlight on the corner. Angela waited until her eyes had adjusted to the near-darkness, and then she stepped into the kitchen to feel around for the wall switch.

There was a combination of scents in the air, and Angela began to smile. She could smell lemon, and dill, and chocolate. Angela could hardly wait to sample a little of everything.

Under the delicious aroma of freshly baked goods was another scent, one that wasn't pleasant. It was almost metallic in nature. What was it? Had Cheryl burned something?

It took a moment for Angela to find the switch in the dark. She flicked it on and gave a deep sigh of relief as the overhead lights glowed brightly. And then she saw it, something on the floor, half in and half out of the walk-in cooler.

Something that looked human.

Something that was covered with blood and chocolate.

Something that had once been Cheryl!

Angela's mouth opened in a silent scream. She was rooted to the spot, too horrified to move, too paralyzed to do more than stare. And then her silent scream built up to an audible whimper and finally burst out as a terrified shriek.

* * *

Eve tossed and turned on her pillow. Her eyelids flickered, and her arm thrashed out to thump against the mattress. She was dreaming about something so horrible, she simply had to wake up!

She was trapped in a small, dark place, unable to move or even cry out. She was buried alive, and no one could save her because no one knew where she was.

Eve reached up to push at the barrier that covered her, that threatened to suffocate her if she couldn't fight her way out. But the barrier wouldn't lift. It was too heavy and thick, like a slab of unmoving concrete.

Her legs were cramping, but she couldn't move them. And her arms were so tired, they were shaking. But she couldn't rest or she would die. She had to get out!

There was a voice, far off in the distance, someone calling her name. “Eve Marie Carrington! You've been a wicked girl, and you have to be punished!”

But what had she done to be punished this way? It must have been something horrible. Tears started to pour from Eve's eyes, and she began to sob. “It wasn't me. It was her! Margo did it, not me!”

“Margo?” The voice laughed. “There is no Margo. You did it, Eve. I saw you! And it won't do you any good to blame it on Margo this time! You're the one who's wicked . . . wicked . . . wicked. . . .”

Eve pushed out with all her strength. She had to get out of here! And then there was a crash as the glass of water by the side of her bed tipped over and soaked her face.

Eve sat up and shook her head. What a horrible nightmare! She switched on the light and drew a deep breath of relief as she saw her familiar room.

Fragments of the nightmare began to come back as Eve got up to get a towel. Margo had been her imaginary playmate, and Eve hadn't thought about her in years.

Lonely children often had imaginary playmates. Eve had learned that in one of her psychology classes. And children often blamed those imaginary playmates for things they had done. Eve's had been Margo, and Margo had been very wicked. When Eve had torn her clothes playing, or broken one of her mother's vases, she'd always claimed that Margo had done it. Her nanny had thought it was cute at first, but one day she'd decided that Eve had to take responsibility for her own actions. She'd locked Eve in a closet for writing on the wallpaper with a crayon, and Eve still remembered how terrified she'd been, all alone in the dark. The punishment had worked. Eve had never mentioned Margo again. She'd forgotten all about her until the nightmare she'd had tonight.

Her pillow was wet and Eve flipped it over. Then she changed her nightgown and crawled back into bed. It took several minutes of tossing and turning, but at last she went back to sleep. And that's when she started to have another nightmare. Someone was screaming, over and over. Doors were banging open and shut, and people were shouting and running down the hallway in a panic.

Eve sat up and flicked on the light, but her dream still went on. This was no nightmare. It was really happening. Someone was screaming, down on the ground floor, and everyone was running down the stairs.

Her robe was on the chair and Eve reached for it with shaking hands. She stepped into her moccasins, grabbed her purse, just in case it was a fire and they all had to leave the house, and then she rushed into the hallway and ran down the stairs to see what was the matter.

* * *

“Oh, my God! Should I call for an ambulance?” Eve's face turned pale when Marc shook his head. “Is she . . .”

Marc got up from the floor and sighed. “She's dead.”

“But how would you know that?” Tracie started to cry. “You could be wrong, couldn't you?”

Marc shook his head. “I'm a sports medicine major, and I've taken emergency care classes. I'm sorry, Tracie, but she's dead.”

“Does anybody know what happened?” Beth swallowed hard.

“I think Cheryl fell and hit her head on the edge of this steel table.” Scott looked sick as he examined the table. “It's sharp, and it could have done that kind of damage.”

“But why did she fall?” Eve turned away so she wouldn't have to see the chocolate in Cheryl's hair. Cheryl had always been proud of her lovely red hair. Even though Eve knew it was crazy, she had the urge to wash it so it could be pretty again.

“There's some water on the floor.” Jeremy joined Scott for a closer look. “Cheryl must have slipped. At least that's what it looks like to me.”