Wicked (7 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tracie made a few changes, and then she smiled in complete satisfaction. This was her best chapter yet! She'd written about death in a flashback, and she thought it was very good. Her main character had witnessed the death of her first boyfriend.

The flashback was scary, and Tracie shivered as she read what she'd written. Anastasia, her main character, had seen her boyfriend in the arms of another woman. Anastasia had watched them kissing through a lace curtain, and she'd vowed to get even. And then something horrible had happened. Right after Anastasia had taken her vow of revenge, her boyfriend had been killed in a boating accident. Was it fate? Or had she willed it to happen? Anastasia had to resolve her feelings before she could love again.

Tracie climbed up the steps to the fourth floor to get her pages. No one else was there, and it felt a little scary. She grabbed her pages from the tray and ran all the way back down to her room again. She didn't like going up to the fourth floor alone, and she wasn't quite sure why.

As she stuck her pages in her loose-leaf notebook, Tracie frowned. She hadn't bothered to check out an important part of her story. Could you really see through lace curtains? Tracie wasn't sure. And Angela had told them to be careful that the basic facts they wrote about were true.

There were lace curtains in the library. Tracie smiled as she remembered. She'd run down to check it out. She still had time to revise her chapter if her premise turned out to be false.

Tracie hurried down the hallway and pulled open the door to the staircase. But she'd only gone down three stairs when she thought she heard stealthy footsteps behind her. She whirled around, her eyes searching the shadows, but nothing was moving.

“Is someone there?” Tracie's voice was a frightened whisper. Of course no one answered, and Tracie felt very foolish. There was no one else in the stairwell. She was just jumpy because of Cheryl's death.

Even though Tracie knew she was being silly, she stopped and listened several times as she walked down the stairs. She felt very relieved when she reached the ground floor and opened the door to the hallway. The lights in the hallway were much brighter, and there weren't any dark shadows for someone to hide in.

There was no one else on the ground floor, but someone had come down earlier to set up the library for their meeting. There was a pad of paper in front of every chair with a sharpened pencil on top of it. Nine pads of paper and nine pencils. It made Tracie feel sad that there weren't ten.

The big red and white cooler sat on the library table, almost like a centerpiece. Tracie walked over and lifted the lid. There was a variety of sodas inside, and she took out one of her favorites. She popped the tab, took a big sip, and carried it over to the French doors leading to the courtyard. There were lace curtains on the library doors and she needed to know if she could see through them.

The courtyard was dark, and all Tracie could see was her own reflection in the pane of glass behind the lace curtains. But the girl in her book hadn't been inside, looking out. She'd walked past the house and gazed in at the lighted interior. Tracie decided to go out in the courtyard and try it.

She opened the doors and stepped out, into the courtyard. It was dark, but she didn't turn on the lights. The girl in her book had been out in the darkness, several yards away from the window. Tracie crossed the courtyard to a spot quite close to the pool.

“Yes!” Tracie started to smile as she realized that she could see the red and white cooler on the library table. She wouldn't have to rush to revise her chapter. It was perfect exactly the way it was.

Tracie sat down in one of the patio chairs and sipped her soda. It was a hot night, but it was slightly cooler out here than it had been in the library. She closed her eyes for a moment and smiled as she heard several birds chirping sleepily in the trees. It was quiet and peaceful, and Tracie was glad she had this time to relax before the meeting.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, and Tracie's eyes flew open. She was out here alone, in the dark, and she wasn't really frightened at all. Angela had been right and Tracie could hardly wait to tell her. Writing about her reaction to Cheryl's death had helped her get over her fear.

* * *

Wicked stood at the deep end of the pool, watching Tracie relax in her chair. There was a redwood deck that ran all the way around the portable pool, with eight steps leading up to the deck. Although it was a large pool, it was shallow, with only six feet of water at the deep end. Since Tracie wasn't tall, that would be enough water for Wicked.

Tracie was a nice enough person, and Wicked liked her, even though she was sometimes silly and superficial. Her preoccupation with romance bordered on the obsessive, but Wicked thought she'd probably grow out of it in a year or two. Unfortunately, Tracie wouldn't live that long.

It was a pity, but it couldn't be helped. Tracie was the next victim in Angela's book. Wicked had to make sure that Angela's talent was appreciated, and there was only one way to do that. Angela's fiction had to be accurate, and that meant the real world had to parallel her writing.

It was time. Wicked moved quietly, inching along the redwood deck to the portable stereo that Scott had left on a small table near the edge of the water. They only had one set of batteries. Scott had told them that. And it was dangerous to run an extension cord up to the deck, where it might short out if it got wet.

Wicked clicked on the stereo and gradually increased the volume until it was audible. Tracie didn't react, and Wicked turned it up another notch. When Tracie heard the stereo playing, she'd come up here to shut it off. And that was when Wicked would kill her.

* * *

Tracie's eyes opened with a snap as she heard her favorite song on the radio. But who was playing music? And why was it so loud? Tracie turned to stare at the bedroom windows that bordered the courtyard. Someone must have a radio in their room. But then she realized that the music was coming from the deck behind her. And she remembered that Scott had brought his portable stereo out to the pool this afternoon.

They only had one set of batteries, and they couldn't go out to buy replacements. Tracie remembered how Scott had checked his stereo to make sure that it was turned off before he'd gone upstairs to work. But why was it on now?

Tracie sighed. The answer was very simple. Someone must have come down here to go for a swim. They'd turned on Scott's radio and they'd forgotten to turn it off when they'd left. Although it wasn't really her responsibility, Tracie got up from her chair. She'd turn off Scott's stereo to save the drain on the batteries. They couldn't go out for more until the quarantine was lifted, and everyone liked to hear music while they were lounging around the pool.

It was dark up on the deck, and Tracie thought about going back inside to turn on the courtyard lights. But that was silly. There was a full moon tonight, and all she had to do was shut off the radio. She headed for the steps and began to climb them. And then she heard a soft rustling up on the deck.

“Who's there?” Tracie called out, but no one answered. It was probably a bird, pecking at the crumbs from Eve's pizza, or a squirrel, rummaging for food. Tracie climbed up the second step, and then the third.

There it was again! Tracie stopped, her foot on the fourth step, but everything was silent. She told herself there was nothing out here to hurt her and she climbed another step. The rustling had stopped now and as she climbed the sixth step, a bird flew up into one of the trees that surrounded the courtyard. That must have been what she'd heard.

Tracie hurried up the remaining two steps and held on to the rail as she moved toward the table. She didn't want to slip and fall into the water. Scott's stereo was playing loudly, and she reached out to shut it off. But just as her fingers touched the on–off switch, she heard the rustling noise again.

“Is someone here?” Tracie's voice was shaking slightly. But no one answered, and she laughed at herself for being foolish. Who would be up here on the deck in the dark? Everyone was still in the house, working.

Tracie turned off the stereo and it was perfectly quiet, so quiet that she heard the sound of a distant train whistle from the tracks that ran past the far edge of the campus, over two miles away. Someone laughed inside the mansion. It sounded like Jeremy, and Tracie started to grin. He was probably reading over his chapter for tonight. Jeremy always laughed at his own jokes.

As Tracie stood there, listening, she heard another sound. It was very faint, and it made her shiver, even though the night was muggy and hot. It was a scrabbling noise, like fingernails scratching against a metal surface. It seemed to come from the kitchen, and Tracie drew in her breath sharply. Could it be Cheryl, clawing at the metal door of the cooler, trying to get out?!

“Cheryl's dead.” Tracie spoke the words aloud, just to reassure herself. Marc had checked Cheryl's pulse and all of her vital signs. He'd pronounced Cheryl dead, and Tracie was sure that he'd been right. Marc was a sports medicine major, and he'd taken all the emergency care classes. Surely they would have taught him the difference between a live person and a dead one.

But what if Marc was wrong? Tracie shivered and tried not to think of all the stories about people who'd been buried alive. There was a handle on the inside of the walk-in cooler. If Marc had made a mistake and Cheryl was still alive, she could open the door to the cooler and walk right out . . . unless she was so badly injured, she couldn't walk.

Tracie shivered again. She couldn't help imagining her friend, Cheryl, clawing at the door with bloody fingers, using the last of her strength to try to stand up to reach the latch. But that was ridiculous, wasn't it? Eve would have noticed that Cheryl was breathing when she'd wrapped her in the blanket.

Eve. What if Eve had found out that Cheryl was planning to blackball her as sorority president? Would Eve have taken advantage of the awful situation and left Cheryl in the cooler to die? Eve could be mean when she didn't get her own way. Tracie knew that. But was Eve capable of that kind of horrible cruelty?

No, it was impossible. No one could be that dreadful, not even Eve. Cheryl was dead, and she was just imagining things. She was even imagining that she could hear breathing, coming from the direction of the kitchen. It was raspy and labored, almost as if someone were trying to lift something heavy, and it was coming closer and closer.

Tracie whirled around, and she gasped as she saw a dark figure reaching out for her. The breathing was real! She hadn't imagined it! But before Tracie could open her mouth to scream, strong hands struck her in the small of the back and she was falling into the pool.

Tracie struck out at the hands that were holding her down. It was probably one of the guys, and she was going to absolutely kill him when he let her up for air. This was a nasty trick. Tracie hated to be dunked.

Tracie reached up to grab the hands, and that was when she realized that the person who'd shoved her was wearing gloves. Why would he wear gloves on a hot summer night?

She had to take a breath of air! Spots began to swirl before her eyes, and Tracie hit out with all her strength. But the hands just kept holding her head beneath the water. Tracie struggled frantically, her lungs screaming out for oxygen. And then her struggles began to cease. That was when an awful thought crossed Tracie's mind, the last rational thought of her life.

The hands were wearing gloves because they intended to kill her. . . .

* * *

Tracie was dead. Wicked held her down for another few minutes, just to be sure. Then Wicked stood up and hurried down the steps, leaving Tracie's body in its watery grave. They'd find her later, after the meeting, and another body would take its place in the walk-in cooler.

Would they blame Angela and ask her to stop writing? Wicked didn't think so. Everyone liked Angela's story, and they'd think it was just another coincidence. Only Wicked knew that it wasn't, and Wicked would never tell the group.

Wicked pulled up the hood of the raincoat and hurried down the steps. The raincoat was black, and no one would notice the shadowy figure, hurrying across the courtyard. Wicked discarded the gloves by throwing them over the wall. No one would find them because no one would think to look. They'd never suspect that Wicked had killed Tracie because Wicked would be one of the first to arrive at the meeting.

Of course, Wicked wouldn't be Wicked anymore, not at the meeting. That was when the bright side would take over, the one everyone knew, the trusted member of the group. The books called it an alter ego. That was the name for Wicked's other personality, someone they'd never suspect. And they would be right when they assumed that Wicked's alter ego was perfectly innocent. The bright side had no memory and no awareness of what Wicked had done. That was why Wicked and the bright side could share the same body without conflict.

Would the bright side be shocked if the truth were known? Wicked laughed silently, imagining what the bright side would say. There were times when Wicked thought about telling, about shocking the bright side so much that it would never recover. But that would be foolish, and Wicked knew it. It was best to go on this way until all the killing was done. Then there would be a day of reckoning when Wicked could claim full credit for accomplishing the ultimate goal. Life would truly imitate art.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ryan looked up as Jeremy entered the library. “Hey, Jeremy. We were wondering what happened to you. You're five minutes late.”

“Sorry.” Jeremy looked apologetic. “I sent my pages to the printer, but when I went up to the fourth floor, the lights were flashing for a paper jam. I had to clear the jam and go back downstairs to send my chapter for the second time. And then I had to climb up to the fourth floor again, to get my pages.”

Marc started to laugh. “I guess you don't need to buy a StairMaster! Right, Jeremy?”

“That's right. I got my workout for today.”

Scott motioned to the vacant chair next to his. “Sit down, Jeremy. Tracie's not here yet and we were waiting for her, too.”

“I wonder where she is.” Jeremy frowned slightly as he sat down. “She wasn't printing out when I was up on the fourth floor, and I didn't see her on the stairs. Do you want me to go up to her room and check?”

Angela shook her head. “I think you've climbed enough stairs for one day. And actually . . . I'd rather get started without Tracie. I'd like to read my chapter before she gets here.”

“You killed Tracie off?” Eve started to laugh when Angela nodded.

“I didn't really want to, but I couldn't revise my plot. I know that Tracie said it wouldn't bother her, but I'm not sure that's true.”

“Me, neither.” Beth looked a little worried. “I think Tracie just said that because she didn't want us to know how scared she really was.”

Angela winced. “Oh, dear! Do you think I should rewrite my chapter?”

“No way.” Scott shook his head. “You can't rewrite something just because one member of the group doesn't like it. You should leave it, Angela. After all, it's only fiction.”

“Scott's right,” Ryan agreed. “Why don't you read your chapter for us? After we hear it, maybe we can put our heads together and figure out some diplomatic way to tell Tracie that her character got murdered.”

“That's a wonderful idea!” Angela smiled at Ryan. And then she turned to smile at all of them. “You don't know how much I appreciate your support. I've been agonizing over this chapter all afternoon!”

Eve sat silently as Angela read her chapter. She wanted to find something to criticize, but she couldn't. It was a great chapter, and she didn't see any way that Angela could change it so that Tracie's character wasn't the victim.

“That was really chilling!” Beth clapped her hands when Angela was finished. “And I'm really glad that Tracie didn't hear it. She probably would have given up swimming for life!”

“I'm going to think about that, the next time I go into the pool,” Dean said. “Can you really electrocute someone by throwing a lamp in the water?”

“Absolutely,” Marc said. “That's why they tell you to never touch an electric appliance when you're in the bathtub.”

Eve looked thoughtful. “It might not bother Tracie as much as we think it will. After all, we don't have any lamps out by the pool.”

“That's why I wrote it that way.” Angela smiled at Eve. “I wanted to kill off Tracie's character in a way that couldn't possibly happen here. I thought that if she knew it couldn't happen, it might not upset her as much.”

“Good thinking,” Ryan said. “I'd like to read my chapter next, if that's all right with you.”

Everyone nodded, and Ryan started to read. Eve listened carefully, and she was impressed by how he had incorporated death into his chapter. He'd killed off his hero's sister in a typhoid epidemic, and the way he described her death made Eve blink back tears. Ryan was a wonderful writer.

“Eve?” Ryan turned to her when he was through. “Why don't you go next?”

Eve started to read. She knew her chapter was good. She'd written about her female vampire's first victim, and she'd made it as frightening as she could.

“Great!” Scott started to clap when she was through. “I love the funeral scene, Eve. It's really sad. Aren't you glad that Angela suggested we write about death?”

Eve nodded, although she hadn't been following Angela's suggestion. Vampires killed their victims. Her book would have been nothing without a couple of deaths. Now Scott was giving Angela the credit for what Eve had been planning to write about anyway.

“Great chapter, honey!” Ryan gave Eve a little hug. “You did exactly what Angela told you to. Rochelle's someone we can identify with now. And Adonna's just perfect! You've managed to make your vampire sympathetic and frightening at the same time.”

“Thank you.” Eve tried to keep smiling. She'd worked very hard on her chapter, but everyone was giving Angela the credit for her work. Only one thing made Eve feel good. No one had recognized the fact that she'd patterned her bloodthirsty, scheming, bad-to-the-bone vampire after Angela. But they would. Eve was going to make sure of that.

Scott was next, and he read about the death of Mr. Sutler's wife. It was scary and Eve shivered. According to Scott, Mr. Sutler had bound and gagged his young, beautiful and unfaithful wife. He'd shut her in a little storage space at the back of the walk-in closet, and then he'd bricked up the door to the storage space, knowing that she'd die an agonizingly slow death.

“That's horrible!” Eve turned to Scott. “Is it really true?”

Scott shrugged. “Who knows? It's a local legend. That's all I know. And no one's ever checked to make sure.”

“I'm glad I don't have a walk-in closet in my room!” Beth shivered.

“Don't worry, Beth.” Scott grinned at her. “The closet Mr. Sutler used was supposed to be in the master bedroom.”

“Which one is the master bedroom?” Eve was curious.

Scott took a deep breath, and then he gave Eve a sheepish smile. “It's the one with the balcony on the third floor. It's your room, Eve.”

“Oh, my God! I've been hearing these strange scratching noises in the middle of the night. Now I know exactly what they are!”

Angela's face turned very pale. “Are you serious, Eve?”

“Absolutely.” Eve bit back a grin. It was clear that Angela was afraid of ghosts, and it was fun, trying to frighten her. “But I think Mrs. Sutler's ghost got out of the closet. Every once in a while, I hear the floorboards creaking, up on the fourth floor.”

Angela shivered, and then she reached out to take Eve's hand. “You can move in with me, Eve. You shouldn't stay there alone.”

“I'm kidding, Angela!” Eve couldn't contain herself any longer and she started to laugh.

“Eve!” Ryan gave her a disapproving look. “That wasn't nice!”

Eve shrugged. “I guess it wasn't. Sorry, Angela. I just couldn't resist.

Jeremy read his chapter next, and everyone thought it was very good. He'd managed to find a lot of jokes that showed exactly how people coped with death by laughing at it. Then Dean sang one of his songs about two lovers who'd died in each other's arms, and they all agreed that it was the best he'd ever written. Beth read her poem next, and it was excellent, all about a childhood friend who'd died. And Marc's chapter was good, too. The basketball coach in his story was remembering a player he'd coached who had died on the court.

When everyone had finished, Jeremy spoke up. “I think we're all turning into better writers because of Angela. I don't know about the rest of you, but I was really worried when Professor Hellman got sick. I didn't think we could do it alone. But I was wrong. I think Angela is teaching us just as much as Professor Hellman could, maybe more.”

As far as Eve was concerned, Jeremy was crazy. Angela was just hogging the show, and she hadn't taught anyone a single thing they couldn't have learned on their own.

Eve waited until the compliments had died down, and then she spoke up. “I hate to remind you, but it's almost one in the morning and Tracie still hasn't shown up. She probably fell asleep in her room or something simple like that. But she could be sick. After all, we're quarantined for an infectious disease.”

Angela looked worried. “You're right, Eve. Let's all go up and check on Tracie to make sure she's all right.”

“Thanks for reminding us, Eve.” Ryan waited for Eve to gather up her pages, and then he took her hand. “You don't really think Tracie's sick, do you?”

“I don't know. She looked all right at dinner, but she didn't eat very much. Isn't loss of appetite one of the warning signs the doctor told us about?”

“That's true. It's a good thing you said something, honey.”

Eve was smiling as she climbed up the stairs with Ryan. She didn't think that Tracie was sick, but she'd managed to break up the admiring group around Angela. And now Ryan was with her, instead of with Angela, and that was
exactly
the way Eve wanted it.

* * *

“Tracie? Open the door!” Angela knocked on Tracie's bedroom door for the third time.

“If Tracie's sick, she might not be able to get out of bed.” Eve turned the doorknob and opened the door. She stepped in and saw Tracie's empty bed. The quilt wasn't rumpled, and it was clear that Tracie hadn't slept in it. “She's not here.”

They all stared at the deserted room for a moment, and then Beth spoke up. “But where is she?”

“I don't know.” Eve was beginning to get worried. She'd been sure that Tracie was in her room. “I think we'd better try to find her.”

“Let's split up in teams,” Ryan said. “Scott and Jeremy? You check the fourth-floor hallway and the stairwell while Beth and Dean search the rest of this floor. Marc and Angela can check the second floor, and Eve and I'll go back down to the first floor.”

“How about the grounds?” Eve asked. “We should search those, too.”

“We'll all meet in the library in fifteen minutes. If no one's found her, we'll grab a couple of flashlights and check outside. Tracie's got to be here somewhere. She can't have just disappeared into thin air.”

“Actually . . . she doesn't have to be here,” Eve said. “She could have left in her car. Did anyone check to make sure it's still there?”

They all rushed to the window at the end of the hall. It overlooked the street, and Eve's heart was pounding hard as she looked out. But Tracie's yellow Toyota was right where she'd parked it, at the curb.

“That's her car.” Eve pointed to the yellow Toyota. “At least Tracie didn't drive off somewhere.”

“That's a relief!” Ryan exclaimed. “She's got to be somewhere in the mansion. Let's go find her.”

As Eve and Ryan hurried down to the ground floor, Eve found herself shivering. She wasn't sure why, but it was odd that Tracie had disappeared on the night that Angela had killed off her character. She couldn't help thinking about Cheryl and how she'd died when her character was murdered.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Ryan asked.

Eve nodded. “Yes, but maybe it's just a coincidence. Tracie could have fallen asleep in the living room, watching television.”

But Tracie wasn't in the living room and the television wasn't on. She wasn't in the formal dining room, although Ryan and Eve checked every nook and cranny, and they already knew that she wasn't in the library, where they'd held their meeting.

“The kitchen?” Eve stopped at the kitchen door. Now that it was dark outside, the kitchen seemed much more frightening. She didn't want to go in, but there was no way she'd let Ryan know that her courage had suddenly left her.

“Come on, Eve.” Ryan took her hand. “I don't think Tracie's in the kitchen. She was really afraid to go in there earlier. But let's take a quick look around, just to make sure.”

Eve held her breath as Ryan opened the swinging door and turned on the lights. Her eyes went directly to the spot where Cheryl had died, but there was no new body on the floor. “She's not here, Ryan.”

“I hate to mention this, but . . . do you think we should check in the cooler?”

“Are you kidding? Tracie would never go in there. Remember how freaked she was about even setting foot in the kitchen?”

“You're right. How about the laundry room?”

But Tracie wasn't in the laundry room, or the little sitting room, or the first-floor guest bathroom. They checked every closet and even pulled open the doors to the linen cabinet, but there was no sign of Tracie.

“She's not down here,” Eve said. “We looked everywhere, Ryan.”

“I know. Let's head for the library, honey. Maybe someone else found her.”

They'd only waited a few minutes when footsteps approached in the hall. Jeremy and Scott came into the library with disappointed faces. “No luck?”

“No,” Scott said. “We even checked all the padlocks on the fourth-floor doors. Everything's locked up tight.”

“Tracie's not up there,” Jeremy said. “We're sure of it.”

Angela and Marc came in next.

“She's not on the second floor.” Marc dropped down, into a chair. “We checked everywhere.”

“We even checked the bathroom.” Angela sat down next to Marc.

“But that's the guys' bathroom!” Eve was surprised.

“I know,” Marc said. “But Angela pointed out that if Tracie was on the second floor and she got sick, she might have ducked in there.”

“Good point.” Ryan smiled at Angela.

Eve fought down her sudden feeling of jealousy. This wasn't the time for petty emotions. Tracie was missing, and that should be their main concern.

No one said anything for a long moment, and then Beth and Dean came in. When Dean noticed that they were all looking at him hopefully, he shook his head. “Tracie's not on the third floor.”