Fearscape (Horrorscape)

by Nenia Campbell

  She raised her eyes. They were worried. “Is this how you see me?”

  “At that moment, yes,” he said.

  And something about that phrasing gave her pause, though she said, “It's good.”

  “It will be better when it's colored but I imagine that the color of your hair will be difficult to capture on paper.”

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled in alarm.

  “Val? You've gone pale.”

  It was the sun that was bothering her. Eclipsed by his face, the sun had gone black.

  She must have closed her eyes, because when she opened them again she found herself lying on the ground. Gavin's face was above hers, curious, but dispassionate. Surely that couldn't be right, though, because then he noticed her looking and smiled, stroking her cheek.

  “You fainted for a moment there.”

  She brought her hands to her throbbing temples. “I feel so dizzy.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Is that why my ears were ringing? It feels like they're packed with cotton.” She stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled it a little, but he lowered her hand back to her side.

  “It sounds like you had a panic attack.”

  “A panic attack?” she repeated. “But I wasn't panicking — ”

  “Mere anxiety can be enough. What were you thinking about?”

  “About my stalker.”

  “Oh?”

  Her throat contracted as she looked up. His expression hadn't changed.

  “I have a stalker. He's really sick. He sends me these messages — ”

  “About?”

  Was there more than just innocent curiosity behind that single word? “Sexual things.” She looked away. Just thinking about it made her feel sick. “I don't want to talk about it.”

  “What did you eat this morning?”

  She blinked. “Um. Nothing. Just water — with lemon.”

  “Ah. Lemon juice lowers your blood pressure,” he explained. “That, combined with stress. I'm not at all surprised you fainted. In fact, it's rather impressive you holding up as long as you did.”

  Val didn't feel impressive. She felt like an idiot.

  “I imagine you don't want to return to class.”

  She made a noise of agreement.

  “And since we're already late for second period — ” he spread his coat on the ground “ — why not rest here? I see you've already got your things. That makes it a bit simpler.”

  “Aren't you going to ask me if I want to go to the nurse?”

  “Do you?”

  “No, but — ”

  “Then it doesn't matter.” He leaned back. “Does it?”

  Val stared at him. He was so strange. “Don't you have a class to go to?”

  “Biology. They won't miss me.”

  “Oh.” The wind lifted a strand of her hair. She batted it aside impatiently. “English for me.”

  “What are you reading?”

  “Wuthering Heights. We just finished Titus.” Val let her tone convey her impressions of it.

  “You didn't like it?”

  “Did you?”

  “Oh, yes. It's one of my favorite Shakespearean plays. 'We hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, / But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground.' The writing is quite beautiful.”

  “Ugh, no, it's awful.” Val rolled onto her side. “Why do you talk like that?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You sound like one of the characters in the books we read in English.”

  “Is that a compliment, or an insult?”

  “It's weird.” She shook her head. “Normal people don't talk like that.”

  “I think we've already established that I'm not like other people.”

  “I don't know you well enough to say.”

  “And would you like to? Know me better?”

  Her eyes skittered over him, and then away. “I don't know.” Their conversation was making her feel cold and fluttery. When he was quoting that play she felt as if she were in free-fall, caught between weightlessness and a lethal plunge.

  He moved closer and she lay, frozen, as the rough pads of his fingers traced her lower lip. “Why don't you meet my eyes?”

  Reluctantly she did so. “I don't know.”

  “I doubt that.” His fingers slid down her jawline. “I know what people say about me. I hear the same rumors as you.” She stiffened when his hand closed lightly around the back of her neck. “Some of them are even true.” His voice, which had been lowering all this time, finished at a whisper.

  Val had started to break eye contact again but at his words she focused on him with alarm. “Which ones?”

  “I'm dangerous.”

  “You are?”

  “Very.”

  She wet her lips. “Like, to me?”

  “Especially you.” He regarded her through eyes shuttered against the sunlight.

  “Maybe I could use some danger,” she said uncertainly.

  “And if I told you that I wanted to hurt you?” His voice was curious, interested.

  The sunlight on her skin became a spiderweb of golden ice. “Hurt me?”

  He leaned up, then, briefly catching her lower lip between his teeth before moving closer to seal his lips against hers. Soon her head was tilted so far back that her neck was slightly arched. “You've never even been kissed before, have you?”

  Val let out a small gasp when he moved down her throat and she felt the sting of his teeth in her earlobe. It made her shudder and she felt the puffs of his breathy laughter. “You're so innocent.” And the sibilant words tickled unpleasantly when he whispered into her ear, “You should run from me while you can.”

  She was breathing too hard and to her chagrin it wasn't entirely from fear. “Or what?”

  The smile he gave her as he pulled away was like an arrow in her heart. “I catch you.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Every time she looked into those graphite eyes she experienced a frisson of emotion. But it was a pale shadow of the overwhelming reaction she experienced when looking into his eyes for real. Her stomach still quivered when she remembered their interaction from earlier that day.

  She could still feel his lips, soft and warm and rough, on hers.

  “Why are you staring at your sketchbook like that?”

  “N-no reason!” Val slammed it closed, darting a quick smile at Lisa. “Just a sketch.”

  Lisa wrinkled her nose. “You're acting sketchy.”

  “I am not acting sketchy!”

  “If you were acting any sketchier, you'd be in a sketchbook,” Lisa said. “Just so you know, James is going to eat with us today, and he'll take it personally if you're acting funny after your behavior from before.”

  “Why is James sitting with us?”

  “Because of your stalker, remember? Weren't you just telling me how you wanted a big, strong man around to protect you at lunchtime?”

  “No,” Val grated. “Those were your words. You said that. Why didn't you tell me he was coming?”

  “Only because I knew you'd pitch a fit. Don't even think about running away. Be a big girl.”

  Val shoved her sketchpad into her backpack and took a resentful bite of sandwich. “You suck.”

  “James is as much my friend as you are. It's not easy, looking after both your interests.” Val muttered something rebellious and sarcastic which Lisa choose to ignore. “By the way, where's the gruesome twosome?”

  “Rachel and Lindsay are at French Club.”

  “Ooh la la.” Lisa tilted her head, causing her hair to flow in a perfect waterfall over one shoulder. “Gay Paree.”

  Val slammed down her sandwich. “Lisa! For God's sake — ”

  “Oh look,” she said, neatly cutting Val off, “there's James. Hi, James!”

  James waved back, looking around a little nervously at the stares Lisa's manic waving was generating. “Hey.” He sat across from Lisa at a diagonal from Val. He gave the two of them an easy smile before launching
into his turkey and gravy.

  Val eyed the mess with distaste. She didn't trust meals drenched in sauce.

  Or the people who ate them.

  “What's up?”

  Val sipped her juice primly, leaving Lisa to settle the score on that one. The latter looked at Val, only mildly annoyed, before saying, “I got a C on that crummy English paper. Apparently the book ending is different from the movie ending. Oops.”

  James made a face. “I hate it when that happens. But you're in honors, right?”

  “That doesn't mean I don't get lazy,” Lisa said, rolling her eyes.

  “What was the book?”

  “Phantom of the Opera. I was almost finished but then Gossip Girl came on and of course I had to watch it, but it was on late and I fell asleep. So I just watched the ending of the movie on Youtube on my iPhone while my mom drove me to school this morning.”

  Val continued to drink her juice. That was safer than commenting.

  “What do girls see in that show?”

  “It's a good show!”

  “My ex made me watch it and I never saw the point. Bunch of rich girls sitting around and talking about where their shoes came from. Weak.”

  “There's not supposed to be a point,” said an irate Lisa. “It's just fun.”

  “Fun for you, maybe. What about you, Val?” James asked. “Are you into that trash, too?”

  “Oh, Val is beyond that,” Lisa said, before Val could reply. “She and Hit List Guy are apparently a thing no — ow! Val, what the hell? That fucking hurt!”

  Val had launched a kick to her alleged friend's leg beneath the table. “You promised!”

  “I didn't think you meant James,” Lisa protested, rubbing her shin.

  “When I said don't tell anybody, I meant don't tell anybody!”

  “Hit List Guy?” James broke in. “That weird senior? The one who everyone thought was going to blow up the school? You're going out with him?”

  “He has a name.”

  “Yeah, well, he also gave me a D-minus on my midterm art project. So I don't really care.”

  “He's your TA?” Lisa said, darting a look at Val.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “What did you draw?”

  “My ball and glove. He said it lacked insight. I was like, the fuck? It's a ball and glove. They don't feel anything. Thank God we've moved onto people now.”

  He turned back to Val.

  “Hey, where were you today? And yesterday, too? I didn't see you.”

  “I was outside. Ms. Wilcox let me start on my assignment early.”

  “Oh.” James frowned. “But we needed partners for that assignment, didn't we?”

  “I had a partner.”

  “But everyone else was — ” he broke off, comprehension dawning in his face. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” Lisa's eyes widened. “Wait — Hit List is your partner?”

  “Gavin,” Val interjected coldly.

  “I see. So that's why you were staring at your sketchbook. You've got a picture of him in there, don't you? You do!” she said triumphantly, glimpsing Val's reddening face. “Ooh, I want to see.”

  “Stop it, Lisa.”

  “Does he pose for you?” Lisa paused, “Is he naked?”

  Val leaped off the bench, yanking her backpack away as Lisa made a playful grab for it. “I said cut it out! Leave me alone!”

  Lisa dropped her arm. “Val…”

  “Why are you giving me such a hard time?” Val demanded, ignoring James entirely. “Are you jealous or something?”

  “Hardly! I just think you're way jumping the gun on this whole thing with Lover Boy.”

  “I get that,” Val said, “and it's getting really, really annoying.”

  “Come on, Val,” James said. “Lisa doesn't mean any harm. She's just teasing.”

  “Well, I don't like that kind of teasing. And she knows I don't like it.”

  “Excuse me for caring about you,” Lisa said, “and not wanting to see you get hurt.”

  “Don't watch then,” Val snapped. “And for your information, Gavin has been nothing but a gentleman — ” sort of “ — and so far you've been way more hurtful and mean than he has. So why don't you do all of us a favor and mind your own business?”

  “Maybe I will,” Lisa said, looking hurt.

  “It'd be a first,” Val said.

  “Wow,” said James. “That's really cold, Val.”

  She glared at him, then at Lisa, then turned her back and walked away. One of them called after her but she didn't look around, afraid that they'd see the tears sparkling in her eyes if she did. Keeping her head down, she headed for the nearest restroom.

  People were always telling her, “Val, you need to stand up for yourself!” They said that being empowered would make her feel good. And it did, in a way. She had gotten a savage sort of satisfaction from seeing Lisa's eyes open wide like that, with respect — and maybe a little fear.

  But mostly, it made Val feel like throwing up.

  Chapter Eight

  Days passed, and time did nothing to alleviate Val's anger. She had trusted Lisa, tried to get her involved, and she had betrayed her — and for what? A stupid joke? She knew Lindsay and Rachel were curious about Lisa's continued absence from their table, but they never broached the subject. Probably afraid of looking the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, too. Their dislike of Lisa, and their disdain for James, was certainly no secret.

  On the days when Rachel and Lindsay had French Club she sat with Gavin in the grassy quad beneath the tree where they had drawn one another — and where he had kissed her for the first time. She sat with him after school, and before Art, too, if they were both early enough.

  She kept expecting him to kiss her again, or invite her out, but he didn't. He seemed perfectly content to relax against the trunk of the tree, or even just lie down in the grass, and hold her against him, with his hands clasped slightly over her midriff beneath the hem of her shirt.

  Should she ask him out? He certainly wasn't shy and had his own way of doing things, which made her wary. She didn't want him to think her desperate — but she also didn't want him to think that she was content with something purely physical, either.

  “You run today, don't you?” His voice was worn velvet in her ear.

  “Yes,” said Val.

  He stroked the side of her leg through his jeans. “I think you need it.”

  No arguments here, she thought, and sighed, leaning back against him.

  “You should come running with me some time,” he murmured.

  “If you can keep up,” Val said, with a lightness that surprised her.

  “What I lack in speed, I make up for in endurance.”

  Val resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Talk like that got you slapped into long-distance running. “Are you in a sport? Do you still do archery?”

  “I don't recall telling you about that,” he said dryly.

  Val's face flushed. “Oh — ”

  “You've been stalking me,” he said, giving her a little squeeze. “However will I sleep at night?”

  “I just used Google,” she said hotly. “I would never — ”

  “Calm down. It's all right. I don't mind you Googling me. In fact, I find the idea very appealing.” He looked at her. She was too embarrassed to meet his eyes, let alone respond. Smiling now, he continued, “In response to your question, no. I no longer participate in the school's archery club. I run. I swim. I lift weights. Oh — and play chess, of course.”

  “The intellectual sport,” Val said.

  “Yes, quite. Though running is not without its merits. Supposedly, aerobic activity increases the formation of new synapses — and there's you. I bet you look amazing when you run.”

  And that sent a pang through her —

  (Tell me, why is it that you run? Is it to chase? Or to flee?)

  “Come watch us sometime.”

  (I'd give a lot to)

  “Perhaps I will.”


  (know.)

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Running was amazing.

  Val admitted this to herself later, on the track field. She loved the way her body felt as she ripped through the air. There were moments, after getting good purchase on the track for a bound, that she almost felt as if invisible wings were unfurling from her back, giving her extra lift.

  She couldn't really blame Gavin for his interest, particularly since she had made it so clear that running was important to her. James certainly hadn't. She should be flattered, really.

  Curse her stalker.

  Curse James.

  Curse Lisa.

  It had been exactly one week since her fight with Lisa. The blonde girl had been ignoring her, both at school and on Facebook, and had thus far made no attempts at reconciliation. Clearly the expectation was that she, Val, should be the first to wave the olive branch. That was how it had always happened in the past. Well, not this time.

  She let out her breath. Pain knifed through her side, causing her to falter a little. After an hour of running she was starting to get fatigued. A leaden heaviness had settled in her calves and there was a lump in her throat that refused to yield to her frequent swallows.

  With a sigh that was part wheeze, Val jogged to the water fountain. It was a crude spigot, hanging over a wooden trough filled with gravel, but all that mattered was that the water was cold and didn't taste too much like undissolved zinc. She took a long, deep drink, cupping her hands beneath the steady stream of water to splash her sweaty face.

  “Val, you're on fire,” Lindsay panted. “What's your secret?”

  Val lowered her hands, causing the excess water to fall against the gravel with a slap. “Anger,” she said, once she'd caught her breath. “Lisa is mad at me for some stupid reason. And I'm mad at her, too. I think.”

  “You think?” Rachel, who had joined them early enough to hear the start of this conversation, lifted one dark eyebrow. “You mean you aren't sure?”

  “No, I'm mad. But I'm also disappointed and kind of sad. We've been friends for a while.”

  “Hey, if she's willing to throw that away over something that stupid — what got her panties in a twist again, you not wanting to date her precious James?” Rachel snorted. “That says more about her than you. She's not your pimp.”

  “Yeah, I mean seriously,” Lindsay said, swiping her forehead with the back of her terrycloth wristbands. “I never really liked her, though.”