A Faint Cold Fear

by Karin Slaughter

  “When Sunday?”

  “Before he died,” Scooter told her. “Everybody knows the cops found a needle up there.”

  “Right,” Lena said, thinking that Frank would have mentioned this if it were true. Rumors spread around campus as quickly as sexually transmitted diseases these days.

  She said, “I thought you said he liked to smoke?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “That’s what they found.”

  Lena shot Ethan a look. She asked Scooter, “Did you see Andy using prior to yesterday?”

  Scooter shook his head. “No, but I know he was.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because he wanted to buy from me, man.”

  Beside him, Ethan noticeably stiffened.

  Scooter said, “He bought a shitload Saturday night and said he was gonna take it all on Sunday. Gonna go on a magic carpet ride. Hey, you think that’s what that song means?”

  Lena tried again to get him back on topic. “You think he wanted to kill himself?”

  Ethan stood and walked over to the window.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Scooter said. Again he glanced at the needles. “He, like, came to my room and he said, ‘Hey, man, are you holding?’ and I said, ‘Fuck yeah, getting ready for Burke being gone next week,’ and he was all like, ‘Gimme what you got. I got money,’ and I was like, ‘Fuck you, no way, man, this is my shit, and you still owe me from before you went in, you fucking faggot,’ and he was like—”

  Lena stopped him. “He was having money trouble?”

  “Yeah, like, always. His mom made him pay rent and shit. How bogus is that, man? Her own son, and she made him pay for his clothes and shit like he was on some kind of fucking welfare.” He adjusted himself in his shorts. “That car was boss, though.” He turned to Ethan. “Did you see that car his dad bought him?”

  Lena tried to get Scooter to focus. “But he had money Saturday night? Andy had some money?”

  “Hell, I dunno. I guess so. He scored.”

  “I thought you sold it to him.”

  “Hell no, man. I told you, I knew what he wanted to do. I’m not getting caught up in that shit. You sell some dope and some kid ODs, and next thing you know your ass is in jail for freaking manslaughter, and I ain’t going to no jail, man. I’ve already got a job lined up for when I get out of here.”

  “Where?” Lena asked, wondering who on earth would hire such a pathetic waste.

  Ethan didn’t let him answer. “You knew he was gonna try to kill himself?”

  “I guess.” Scooter shrugged. “That’s what he did last time. Bought a bag of shit and slit himself wide open with a razor blade.” He drew a line up his forearm to illustrate. “Man, that was bogus. Blood everywhere, like you wouldn’t believe. Do you think I shoulda said something, man? I didn’t want to get him in trouble or nothing.”

  “Yeah, fuckwad,” Ethan said, walking over to the bed. He slapped Scooter on the back of the head. “Yeah, you should’ve said something to him. You fucking killed him, is what you did.”

  Lena said, “Ethan—”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Ethan said, walking toward the door. She could tell he was angry but could not understand why. He told her, “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

  Scooter said, “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Come on,” Ethan said, throwing open the door so hard the knob knocked a dent in the wall behind it.

  Lena followed him, but she closed the door, staying in the room.

  “Lena!” The door rattled as Ethan knocked, but she locked it, hoping that would keep him out for a few minutes.

  “Scooter,” she said, making sure she had his attention, “who sold him the drugs?”

  Scooter stared at her. “What?”

  “Who sold Andy the drugs?” she repeated. “Saturday night, where did he finally get the drugs?”

  “Shit,” Scooter said, “I don’t know.” He scratched his arms, obviously uncomfortable with Ethan gone. “Leave me alone, okay?”

  “No,” Lena said. “Not until you tell me.”

  “I got rights.”

  “Yeah? You wanna call the cops?” She kept the bottle in one hand and scooped the loaded syringes in the other. “Let’s call the cops, Scooter.”

  “Aw, hell, man, come on.” He made a feeble attempt to reach for the needles, but Lena was faster.

  “Who sold Andy the drugs?” she asked.

  “Come on,” Scooter whined. When he saw that this would not work, he capitulated. “You oughta know, man. You work with ‘im.”

  Lena dropped the syringes and nearly let go of the bottle before she caught herself. “Chuck?”

  Scooter fell to the ground, picking up the needles like they were found money.

  “Chuck?” Lena repeated. She was too stunned to do much of anything else. She took a sip of vodka, then knocked back the whole thing. She felt so disoriented she had to sit on the bed again.

  “Lena?” Ethan yelled, banging on the door.

  Scooter started shooting up. Lena watched, mesmerized as he pulled back the needle to draw out some of his blood, then shot the drug into his vein. The end of the tourniquet was between his teeth, and he let it go with a snap as he pressed the plunger home.

  He gasped like he’d been hit, his whole body lurching. He kept his mouth open, his body twitching as the drug took over. His eyes darted around wildly, his teeth chattering in his head. His hand shook so much that the empty syringe fell to the floor and rolled under the bed. Lena watched, unable to look away, as his body jerked from the Ice in his veins.

  “Oh, man,” Scooter whispered. “Oh, fuck, man. Oh, yeah.”

  She stared at the other syringe on the floor, thinking about it, wondering how it would feel to let go, to let a drug control your body for a while. Or to take your life.

  Scooter jumped up so suddenly that Lena banged her head on the wall backing away from him.

  “Oh wow it’s hot in here,” Scooter said, his words coming out like bullets from a machine gun as he paced the room. “You know it’s so hot it’s like too hot to even breathe I don’t know if I can breathe can you breathe man but it feels good don’t you think?” he kept chattering, tugging at his clothes like he had to get out of them.

  “Lena!” Ethan yelled.

  The knob shook violently, and the door popped open, slamming into the wall again.

  “Asshole!” Ethan shouted, pushing Scooter so hard the other boy fell against the refrigerator. Energized by the speed in his veins, Scooter popped up again, still jabbering on and on about the temperature in the room.

  Ethan saw the other syringe on the floor and stamped on it with his foot until the plastic broke into pieces, clear liquid pooling around them. Then, as if anticipating the depths to which Scooter would go for another high, Ethan slid his shoe around in the puddle until there was nothing left to draw back on.

  Ethan grabbed Lena’s hand, saying, “Come on.”

  “Shit!” she screamed. He had grabbed her hurt wrist. The pain nearly made her pass out, but Ethan did not let go until they were out in the hallway.

  “Jerk!” Lena said, slamming her hand into his shoulder. “I was getting somewhere.”

  “Lena—”

  She turned to walk away. Ethan tried to grab her arm, but she was too quick for him. He said, “Where are you going?”

  “Home.” She continued up the hall, her mind going over what Scooter had said. She needed to write everything down while it was still fresh. If Chuck was involved in some sort of drug ring, he could have knocked off Andy Rosen and Ellen Schaffer to shut them up. All the pieces were starting to fall together. She just had to keep them in her brain long enough to write them down.

  Ethan was suddenly beside her. “Let me walk you home.”

  “I don’t need an escort,” she said, touching her wrist, wondering if he had finally broken it.

  “You’ve had a lot to drink.”

  “And I’m about to have a lot more,” she told
him, pushing past a group of people who were blocking the doorway. After she wrote down everything, a celebratory drink would be in order. A few hours ago she was worried about losing her job. Now she might be in a position to take Chuck’s place.

  “Lena—”

  “Go home, Ethan,” she ordered, tripping over a rock in the front lawn. Lena stumbled but kept walking.

  He was at her heels, jogging to keep up. “Just calm down.”

  “I don’t need to calm down,” Lena said, and it was true. The adrenaline pumping through her body was keeping her mind sharp.

  “Lena, come on,” Ethan said, stopping short of begging.

  She turned sideways on a narrow path between two prickly shrubs, knowing she could get to the faculty dorm quicker if she cut through the quad.

  Ethan followed her, but he had stopped talking.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He did not answer.

  “You’re not coming into my room,” she said, pushing back a low-hanging tree limb as she walked to the front entrance of her dorm. “I mean it, Ethan.”

  He ignored her, standing to the side as she tried to unlock the front door. Her coordination was shot, and she could not find the keyhole. The Vicodin was probably kicking in, swimming around in the sea of alcohol sloshing inside her stomach. What had she been thinking, mixing drugs and alcohol like that? Lena knew better.

  Ethan jerked her keys out of her hand and opened the door. She tried to take them back, but he was already inside.

  He said, “Which room’s yours?”

  “Give me my keys.” Again she tried to grab them, but Ethan was too fast.

  “You’re shitfaced,” he said. “You know that?”

  “Give me my keys,” she repeated, not wanting to cause a scene. The dorms were so shitty that not many professors lived here, but Lena didn’t want her few neighbors poking their heads out.

  Ethan was reading her name off the mailbox in the lobby. Without another word, he walked down the hall toward her room.

  “Stop it,” she ordered. “Just give me—”

  “What’d you take?” he demanded, sorting through her keys, looking for the right one. “What were those pills you swallowed?”

  “Get off my case!” she said, grabbing her keys. She leaned her head against the door, concentrating on opening the lock. When she heard the click, she allowed herself a smile, which quickly left her face when Ethan pushed her into the room.

  He demanded, “What pills did you take?”

  “Are you watching me?” she asked, but that was obvious.

  “What did you take?”

  Lena stood in the middle of the room, trying to orient herself. There was not much to see. Her living space was a two-room hovel with a private bath and a galley kitchen that smelled of bacon grease no matter how many times she cleaned it. She remembered her answering machine, but the readout showed a big fat zero. That bitch Jill Rosen still had not called her back.

  Ethan repeated, “What did you take?”

  Lena walked to the to the kitchen cabinet, saying, “Motrin. I’ve got cramps, okay?” thinking that would shut him up.

  “That’s all you took?” he asked, walking toward her.

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” Lena told him, taking a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet.

  Ethan threw his hands into the air. “And now you’re going to drink some more.”

  “Thanks for the narration, junior,” she quipped, pouring herself a healthy drink and polishing it off in one gulp.

  “Great,” he said as she poured another.

  Lena turned around, saying, “Why don’t you—” She stopped. Ethan was close enough to touch, disapproval blistering off him like heat from a forest fire.

  He stood stock-still, hands at his sides. “Don’t do this.”

  “Why don’t you join me?” she asked.

  “I don’t drink,” he said. “And neither should you.”

  “Are you in AA?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?” she asked, taking a sip of the whiskey and giving a big “ahhh,” like it was the best thing she had ever tasted. “You sure act like a drunk on the wagon.”

  His eyes had followed the glass to her mouth. “I don’t like to be out of control.”

  She held the whiskey under her nose, inhaling. “Smell that,” she said, then held it close to his face.

  “Get that away from me,” he said, but he didn’t move.

  She licked her lips, making a smacking noise. He was a drunk; Lena was sure of it. There was no other explanation for his reaction. She said, “Can’t you just taste it, Ethan? Come on, AA’s for pussies. You don’t have to go to some stupid meeting to know when to stop.”

  “Lena—”

  “You’re a man, right? Men know how to control themselves. Come on, Mr. Control.”

  She pressed the glass to his lips, and he clamped his mouth shut. Even when she tilted the glass, spilling the amber liquid down his chin and onto his shirt, his lips did not part.

  “Well,” she said, watching alcohol drip from his chin. “That was a waste of good whiskey.”

  He yanked the kitchen towel off its hook and slammed it into her hand. Through clenched teeth he ordered, “Clean it off. Now.”

  Lena was taken aback by his vehemence. It cost her nothing to clean up the mess, so she did as she was told, rubbing his shirt, then dabbing at the front of his jeans. His pants were tight at the front, and despite herself, Lena laughed.

  She said, “Is that what you get off on, making people do things?”

  “Shut up,” he ordered, trying to snatch the towel from her.

  She let him have the towel and used her hand instead, increasing the pressure on the front of his pants. He grew harder under her touch.

  She asked, “Was it the whiskey? You like the way it smells? Does it turn you on?”

  “Stop that,” he said, but she could feel him getting more excited.

  She said, “You sick little shit,” and was surprised to hear the teasing note in her voice.

  “Don’t,” he said, but he did not try to stop her when she unzipped his jeans.

  “Don’t what?” she asked, wrapping her hand around him. He was bigger than Lena had imagined, and there was something exciting about knowing she could either give him pleasure or cause him a great amount of pain.

  She stroked him, asking, “Don’t do this?”

  “Oh, fuck,” Ethan whispered, licking his lips. “Fuck.”

  She worked her hand up and down, watching his reaction. Lena hadn’t exactly been a virgin before the attack, and she knew instinctively how to make him gasp.

  “Oh—” Ethan opened his mouth, sucking air. He reached for her.

  “Don’t touch me,” Lena ordered, squeezing him hard enough to let him know she meant it.

  He braced his hand on the top of the refrigerator instead. She felt his knees weaken, but he managed to keep standing.

  Lena smiled to herself. Men were so stupid. As strong as they were, you could have them begging on the floor if they thought you could make them come.

  She asked, “Is this why you followed me home like a puppy?”

  Ethan leaned in to kiss her, but Lena turned her head away. He gasped again when she rubbed the tip of his cock with her thumb.

  “Is this what you wanted?” she asked, keeping her hand still, wanting him to beg for it. “Tell me,” she said.

  “No,” he whispered. He tried to put his hand around her waist, but she touched him in the place she knew would put him on the ceiling.

  “God . . .” He hissed out air between his teeth, knocking the glass off the kitchen counter as he reached for something to hold on to.

  “You want to bang the rape victim?” she asked, keeping her tone conversational. “Go off and tell your little friends all about it?”

  He shook his head, his eyes closed as he concentrated on her hand.

  “You have a bet with somebody?” she ask
ed. “Is that what this is about?”

  He pressed his head against her shoulder, trying to remain standing.

  She put her lips to his ear. “You want me to stop?” she asked, slowing down.

  “No,” he whispered, his hips moving as he tried to speed her up.

  “What did you say?” she asked. “Did you say you wanted me to stop?”

  He shook his head again, panting.

  “Did you say ‘please’?” she asked, bringing him to the edge. When his body started to shake, she stopped. “Was that a ‘please’?”

  “Yes,” he exhaled, putting his hand over hers, trying to make her continue.

  “Are you supposed to be touching me?”

  He moved his hand away, but his hips swayed, and he was breathing hard enough to hyperventilate.

  “I didn’t hear you say it,” Lena goaded. “Say ‘please.’ ”

  He started to say the word but stopped himself, groaning.

  “Say it,” she said, exerting the right amount of pressure to remind him what her hand could do.

  Ethan’s mouth moved as he tried to say the word, but he was either breathing too hard or too proud to make it come out.

  “What’s that?” she whispered, her lips just shy of kissing his ear. “What did you say?”

  He made a guttural sound, like something inside of him had broken. Lena smiled when he finally relented.

  “Please . . . ,” he begged, and as if that were not enough, he repeated. “Please . . .”

  Lena was in that dark room again, lying on her stomach. Slow, sensual kisses were making their way along her back down toward the space where her tailbone started. She stretched, feeling her pants slide down, loving the sensation of having her favorite spot kissed without realizing that she should not be able to feel these things. Her hands and feet should be nailed down to the floor. She should be on her back.

  She came fully awake with a sharp intake of breath, jumping off the bed so quickly that she fell on the floor, her head banging against the wall so hard she was stunned for a few seconds.

  “What’s wrong?” Ethan said.

  Lena slid up the wall, her heart pounding in her head. She reached down to her jeans. Only the top button was undone. What had happened last night? Why was Ethan here?