Watching

by Blake Pierce

  Fear really kicked in as she realized how vulnerable she was.

  If the killer was really somewhere in the surrounding darkness, was she just going to stand here and let him kill her?

  I can’t just stay here. I can’t fall down.

  Trudy concentrated fiercely, focusing on her left foot. Finally she managed to take one step. Then she forced her right foot to move. She took another step, then another, then another …

  And then she was running.

  She ran the rest of the way to the dorm, headed straight to her room, and shut the door behind her.

  Gasping for breath, she collapsed on the bed.

  What happened? she wondered. What just happened to me?

  Then she remembered something Professor Hayman had talked about in Psych class earlier that semester. He’d been interested in the ways that humans respond when horrible things happened—not to themselves but to other people. He’d discussed the ways that severe anxiety could be converted into physical symptoms such as memory loss, abnormal movements, seizures, or …

  Weakness or paralysis, she remembered.

  Professor Hayman had called it “conversion disorder.”

  No doubt about it—she had just suffered an episode of conversion disorder.

  She hadn’t conquered her fears at all. Her fears had simply taken a new and even more debilitating shape.

  Trudy was nearly overcome with a terrible feeling of hopelessness and futility, which soon gave way to a rising sense of shame. None of her other friends seemed to be so deeply traumatized. Yes, they still admitted to spells of fear and grief. Even so, they were managing somehow to deal with it.

  For most people on campus, life seemed to be going on much as it always had—for everybody, it seemed, except Trudy.

  She pulled her knees up under her chin and started to sob uncontrollably. She asked herself aloud in a choking voice …

  “How am I ever going to get over this?”

  But it seemed like a stupid question, because the answer was obvious.

  She had to get away from Lanton University.

  This whole place would always be unbearably haunted as far as Trudy was concerned.

  She figured Rhea’s roommate, Heather, had had the right idea. Heather had dropped out of school altogether to take a whole year off before enrolling in another college.

  Trudy wondered—why hadn’t she done the same?

  Why hadn’t she accepted the simple fact that she’d never conquer her fears—not as long as she tried to stay here?

  One reason was her parents, she realized. They’d been sympathetic when she phoned them, but she knew they’d be furious if she didn’t graduate on schedule.

  But she didn’t want to stay at college any longer either. She had never been much of a student—not like Riley—and her grades had plummeted since Rhea’s murder. She knew she didn’t have the grades to transfer into a good school, so it would mean at least another summer here and maybe another semester.

  Trudy was sure she couldn’t take that.

  Her sobbing ebbed as she reminded herself …

  Only one more month.

  That was how long was left of the last semester of her senior year.

  And then finals, and then graduation.

  Now she was starting to feel a wave of renewed determination. She really had to graduate, no matter what.

  She reached for one of her textbooks.

  She had to study.

  *

  Riley looked at her watch. She’d spent several hours studying in the common room, but when she saw what time it was she decided …

  It’s party time.

  According to what her friends had been telling her, things ought to be heating up at the Centaur’s Den right about now. She needed to get moving.

  Not that Riley was in a party mood. She hadn’t felt like partying for many weeks now. Still, she felt the need to respect that little white lie that everyone around her kept telling themselves and seemed to believe …

  Life goes on.

  She closed her book and headed down the hallway to her dorm room. As she passed the closed door of the still-empty room, she remembered Dr. Zimmerman’s words when they’d discussed Rhea’s murder.

  “If you come to any new insights, please tell me, and I’ll do the same with you.”

  Riley had tried many times to get back into the killer’s psyche, but it hadn’t worked for her again. Although she still felt sure that she’d had a glimpse into his mind, she wasn’t able to repeat it at will.

  She’d fallen into the habit of stopping by Dr. Zimmerman’s office every now and then to check in with him. They continued to discuss the homicidal mind, and Riley had read the additional books and papers he’d recommended on the subject. But neither she nor the professor had any new ideas to share.

  She’d felt discouraged about that. She felt a continuous ache inside—the desire to bring Rhea’s killer to justice.

  But after all …

  I’m not a cop.

  And contrary to Dr. Zimmerman’s suggestion, Riley felt more and more sure that she was never going to be.

  When she walked into her dorm room, Riley saw that Trudy was curled up on her bed poring over a textbook. Trudy had told her earlier where she planned to go after dinner.

  “How was the library?” Riley asked.

  “OK,” Trudy replied without looking up at Riley.

  Riley could tell by her dull tone of voice …

  It wasn’t OK.

  But then, Trudy’s little nightly excursions outside the dorm were never OK these days.

  Not for the first time, Riley felt a trace of impatience.

  “Trudy, I’m going out for a while,” she said.

  “OK. Have a good time.”

  “You should come too.”

  Trudy let out a long, weary sigh.

  “Oh, Riley, we’ve talked about this …”

  Riley put her hands on her hips. She decided …

  I’m not going to put up with this anymore.

  “We’re done talking,” Riley said. “You’re coming with me.”

  Trudy turned a page of her book, trying to pretend that Riley wasn’t there.

  Riley said, “This isn’t good for you, Trudy. You’re getting to be downright agoraphobic.”

  “Yeah,” Trudy said without looking up from her book. “With a good bit of conversion disorder tossed in for good measure.”

  Conversion disorder? Riley thought.

  She remembered Professor Hayman talking about it in class, but she couldn’t remember exactly what it was.

  Instead of asking her roommate anything more, Riley said, “There’s a party at the Centaur’s Den tonight.”

  “When isn’t there?” Trudy said.

  “Yeah, but this one’s kind of special,” Riley said.

  Trudy just stared at her book until Riley added, “Bricks and Crystal is playing tonight.” Riley knew that Bricks and Crystal was one of Trudy’s favorite local bands.

  Trudy looked up at her.

  “Bricks and Crystal?” Trudy said. “I thought they’d broken up.”

  “Not yet, apparently. Tonight they say they’re doing something different—some kind of special ‘Grunge-Is-Dead’ performance. Because grunge really is dead, you know. Anyway, nobody knows what to expect them to do. It could get really intense and angsty and weird and hilarious.”

  Riley could see a flash of interest in Trudy’s eyes. Riley couldn’t help but smile a little.

  The party animal is still in there somewhere, she thought.

  Riley sat down on the bed beside Trudy and patted her hand.

  She said, “And of course, there will be guys. And excessive and gratuitous drinkage.”

  Trudy finally gave a slight smile.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Riley said.

  Trudy’s smiled faded a little.

  She said, “Promise you’ll stay close by. Don’t let me out of your sight. And whatever you do, don�
��t leave without me.”

  “I promise,” Riley said. “But we’re going right now.”

  Trudy hesitated, then she smiled again. She shut her book and got up.

  “I have to comb my hair,” she said.

  Riley waited patiently while Trudy got ready. She was feeling pretty pleased with herself when they stepped outside into the night air.

  It was a pleasant walk, but when they had almost reached their destination Riley was struck with an all too-familiar feeling—that sense of being watched.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Riley tried to shake off that unsettling feeling as she and Trudy made their way across the campus. But her sense of being watched wouldn’t go away. The killer felt like an invisible but palpable presence. Riley hoped this outing didn’t turn out to be a bad idea. After all, she and Dr. Zimmerman agreed that the killer was still around somewhere.

  But now she found herself thinking …

  It’s been six weeks now.

  Maybe he’s through killing after all.

  It seemed only logical. Would a killer who was going to strike again really wait this long? She made a mental note to herself to talk about this possibility with Dr. Zimmerman the next time she saw him.

  But even if it was true that there weren’t going to be any more murders, Riley was far from satisfied.

  The monster who had killed Rhea simply had to be caught and brought to justice.

  Who was going to make that happen? As far as she knew, the police weren’t even working on the case.

  Was catching the killer somehow going to be up to Riley? Was she the only one who’d gotten even a hint of his thinking?

  The idea was too overwhelming to even think about.

  She murmured aloud to that unseen presence …

  “I’m watching you too.”

  She heard Trudy say, “Huh?”

  For a moment, Riley had forgotten that her roommate was walking right beside her.

  When she glanced to that side, she realized Trudy had a renewed spring in her step.

  “Nothing,” Riley said. “Just talking to myself.”

  Trudy giggled and that made Riley laugh too.

  “You know,” Trudy said, “you’ve been pretty tightly wound yourself lately. Maybe you need some kind of an unhinged, riotous blowout even more than I do.”

  Riley laughed again. It felt good to laugh at herself, at anything.

  “Maybe I do,” she said.

  Trudy grew more animated and cheerful as they made their way across campus, wisecracking and singing and bouncing along. Riley was relieved that her roommate was at least trying to get into the party spirit.

  As they neared the front entrance to the Centaur’s Den, Riley felt stress kick back in. The last time she’d been here was the Monday after Rhea’s murder—the night when she’d talked with the distraught Rory Burdon about his guilt over not walking Rhea home.

  Strange, she thought.

  It seemed that she’d been avoiding this place without actually thinking about it.

  Was she really ready to go back in there?

  Beside her, Trudy had frozen in her tracks and was staring at the door.

  No surprise that this is tough for her, Riley thought. She was sure that Trudy hadn’t been back here at all since the murder.

  But now was no time to turn back.

  Riley grabbed Trudy by the hand and said, “Come on, what are we waiting for?”

  She opened the door and pulled Trudy inside.

  The smell of cigarette smoke hit Riley full in the face along with a blast of music. Bricks and Crystal was playing Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and a small mob of college students writhed on the glittering dance floor.

  Riley felt a smile form across her face.

  Gone was any hesitation she might have felt about being here. It was good to be back. This made everything feel normal again.

  She shouted to Trudy over the music.

  “Beer! We’ve gotta get beer!”

  Riley dragged Trudy through the crowd to the bar. As Trudy ordered a pitcher of beer, Riley looked all around for some possible place to sit. They’d obviously arrived a bit late for the festivities, and there wasn’t a lot of room. But then Riley noticed that the door that led out back onto the patio was open. It looked like there might still be room out there.

  Once the beer was poured and paid for, Riley grabbed the pitcher and Trudy grabbed two glasses. Then Riley escorted her friend out onto the patio.

  Riley felt her smile widen. It was much nicer here than it was inside. There was still the smell of cigarette smoke, but it was diluted by the fresh night air. The patio was cheerfully lit with hanging lanterns. The band’s music was playing on outdoor speakers—not as loud as it was inside, but still loud enough to enjoy, and people were dancing out here too.

  Riley heard a familiar voice call out …

  “Hey, Riley! Trudy! Over here!”

  Gina and Cassie were waving frantically, and they already had a table.

  Riley and Trudy wended their way among the dancers and saw that their friends had even held on to two extra chairs at their table.

  “Excellent foresight,” Riley said as she and Trudy sat down.

  Gina and Cassie were halfway through a pitcher of beer, and judging from Cassie’s goofy expression, Riley felt pretty sure it wasn’t the first they’d had tonight.

  Gina said, “It’s great to see you here!”

  “It’s been a while,” Cassie added.

  “Yeah, I guess it has,” Riley said.

  She realized that Gina and Cassie hadn’t been avoiding the Centaur’s Den all this time. She found herself thinking that maybe there was some truth to that dopey old saying after all …

  Life goes on.

  Maybe it was time to get back into the swing of things.

  The band finished playing “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and started into one of its own original songs. Riley had heard them play it before—an anarchic tune with nihilistic lyrics, performed in a semi-humorous, semi-self-satirical style.

  Perfect party music, Riley thought.

  With a stern look, Cassie planted her empty glass on the table and poured herself another beer.

  She said, “Guys, I hate to bring everybody down, but it’s time to get serious here. We just can’t pretend everything is normal. This is a very solemn night.”

  Riley was startled.

  Maybe her friends weren’t in such a party mood after all.

  Maybe they, too, were still struggling with fear and grief.

  Then Cassie said, “The guys in Bricks and Crystal say they’re going to give up playing grunge tonight.”

  Gina said, “I don’t know—maybe they’re bluffing.”

  Cassie shook her head and frowned.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Grunge really is dead, you know—or at least it’s on its last legs. And the guys are playing even more angsty than usual tonight. I think they really mean it. And you know what that means …”

  Cassie suddenly threw back her head and laughed.

  “We’ve got to dance like there’s no tomorrow!” she said.

  Then Cassie grabbed Trudy by the hand and dragged her onto the dance floor, leaving Riley and Gina alone at the table. In a matter of seconds, Riley saw that Trudy was having a great time flailing away to the music.

  That’s what we came here for, Riley thought.

  Before she could decide whether to join them, Gina asked Riley, “How are you holding up?”

  Riley saw real concern in Gina’s expression.

  “I’m not sure these days,” Riley said.

  “Me neither,” Gina said, pouring herself another beer. “I keep thinking that maybe enough beer and grunge and dancing will make me forget …”

  Her voice trailed off.

  Riley flashed back to that terrible night when she’d found Rhea’s body in the dorm room, then had turned around to see Gina standing just outside the door, her eyes bulgin
g, pale with shock, and trembling all over.

  It was hardly any surprise that Gina was still having a rough time.

  Riley and Gina sat watching their friends dance for a few moments.

  Then Gina said, “I know Cassie looks like she’s put it behind her. But she really hasn’t. I can tell she hasn’t, even if she won’t talk about it …”

  Gina described how she and Cassie kept going out nights, trying to party their grief and fear away. The truth was, what they’d been doing sounded rather brave to Riley—braver, maybe, than obsessing about murder like she herself had been doing. It seemed too bad that it didn’t seem to be making much difference, at least not for Gina.

  Gina went on to tell Riley how she kept expecting to see Rhea all the time, and about how her grades were slipping, and she wasn’t sure whether it was because of all the forced partying or just poor concentration. Gina said that her campus counselor didn’t seem to know either. In fact, she didn’t feel like the counselor was doing her much good at all.

  Riley was glad to just sit and listen to Gina talk, and it was obvious that Gina felt glad to have someone listen.

  Finally Gina smiled sheepishly and said, “Wow, listen to me talk! Like I was the only person on campus who was having a hard time. How about you? Have you been getting any counseling? What are you doing to cope?”

  Riley swallowed hard.

  As comfortable as she felt sharing this moment with Gina, did she really want to tell her everything that had been going on with her?

  How would Gina react if Riley told her how she’d been reading obsessively about homicidal killers, and her weird feelings of connection with Rhea’s murderer?

  Instead, Riley smiled and said, “Come on, let’s dance.”

  Gina smiled too, and they both got up and headed over to join the mass of gyrating bodies. Riley saw Cassie wandering among the other dancers, dancing so hard that her long hair waved all about.

  But where was Trudy?

  She hurried over to Cassie and grabbed her by the arm.

  “Where’s Trudy?” she asked.

  Cassie stopped dancing and glanced over toward the table.

  “I don’t know,” Cassie said. “I thought she’d gone back to sit with you guys.”