by Dee C. May
“What?” I asked. Her heart beat in double time.
“Um,” she hesitated.
“Ask me. Whatever you want.” I wondered if she wanted me to drive her back to campus. It was late, but I didn’t care. She looked down and then back up.
“Will you sleep with me?” I almost dropped the tumbler despite my expert reflexes.
“I mean … will you sleep in my room?” Her cheeks flushed even deeper. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her eyes met mine and held.
I thought of meeting her on the beach, of seeing her at Jim’s when she hit that drunk, of kissing her in her room and finding her in the woods, of holding her tight as she told me about Abby. I didn’t know where we were headed, and that scared the crap out of me. Even more frightening was the fact that my nights were punctuated with nightmares and screams. Not an attractive quality or readily understandable, but I wanted to be with her, to be there for her, whatever she needed. I was just going to have to take my chances. “Yes,” I finally managed to choke out.
Chapter Forty-One
Wynter—Discovery
He had a broad back and really nice arms. They poured out of his t-shirt, molded and muscular. Not like a weight lifter, just nicely sculpted. I thought of the way he held me, cradled to his chest as I cried. He smiled at me over his shoulder as he filled the glass with water. My stomach jolted a bit, and I felt warm all over, my heart suddenly picking up its beat. He held the tumbler out, and I grabbed it, knocking against the pile of papers on the counter. They scattered across the floor.
“Oops. Sorry.” I left the glass on the counter and bent down to pick up the mess. Papers and pictures were mixed together, spread out like pixie sticks across the floor. Beck was beside me but not quick enough. The photos, large black and whites, were of dead people. I stopped, my hands poised, not sure if I should touch them. A guy hanging from a rope, a woman naked and dead in a bathtub. Another woman shot through the head on a dirt floor. A soldier, neck broken lying in a ditch. And the last one. A picture of me standing in front of my dresser, wearing only my bra and underwear.
My heart started racing as a wave of nausea passed through me. I stood up, my eyes glued to the photos. Fumbling for the counter, I knocked the tumbler off. The shattering glass as it hit the floor barely registered.
Beck swept them up into a pile but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the floor where the picture of me had lain. What the hell? Finally, I looked at him. He stood absolutely still, watching me, papers and photos clutched in one hand. I moved away, now staring only at him. I glimpsed his hand reaching out to me, and I backed up hard against the kitchen counter. It jerked me back to my senses.
“What the fuck?” I squeaked.
“Wynter—” he sputtered as I turned my full attention to him. Why did he have a picture of me? And what about all those dead people? He told me his job was some kind of corporate consultant. It all crashed in on me—how he found me, his surreal way of moving at times, that gash above his eye this morning that was almost gone.
“Oh, my God.” I gasped, my head spinning as I tried to put together a sensible thought. I inched toward the doorway, feeling my way around the counter. He tracked my every move but didn’t shift a muscle as I backed out of the room. I paused in the hall, trying to figure where to go, our eyes still locked. He curled his hands into fists, and I gulped.
“Wynter.”
“No,” I cut him off. “Why do you have a picture of me? And … those other photos …?”
“Wynter. Please, hear me out. It’s complicated, my job … my life, but I did not take that picture.” His speech was pressured, rushed. His raspy voice, so comforting before, now scared me with its intensity.
“I bet it is.” I swallowed hard. “You lied to me. Are you stalking me? Are you going to kill me like those other people? Are you even human? Right now, you … you don’t look human.”
He smiled and then grimaced slightly, “I’m human, mostly.”
That was enough. I catapulted myself toward the front door, glancing back. He stood in the hall but didn’t follow. I didn’t know where I was heading, but I knew I had to get out. The house that had seemed so charming and cozy felt like a trap now, dark and gloomy. I tried to breathe as I opened the front door and peered into the pitch night. Oh God, I thought, Where’s Quinn?
I heard Beck’s voice and spun around, but the hallway was empty. I stifled the urge to scream for help. No one would hear me. I decided to take my chances outside when Beck came from the kitchen, phone in one hand, my bag in the other. He placed it a few feet away from me and backed away, his eyes never leaving mine. “I called a taxi for you. They’ll be here in a few minutes. You can wait here or in the driveway. I’ll be in the bedroom. Quinn left and won’t be back for a while. You’re safe in either place. I won’t hurt you.”
I just stared back, gulping for breath and trying to slow my pounding heart. Mostly human? What did that mean?
The taxi dropped me off at the dorm, and I ran to my room, making it just in time before I puked. When I stopped heaving, I lay on the bathroom floor, trying to get up and hoping to God no one found me like this. My head was ready to explode.
Eventually, the cold tile penetrated my clothes, and I started shivering. I dragged myself up and stumbled to bed.
Chapter Forty-Two
Beck—Visiting the Prat
Quinn came back in the middle of my cleaning up.
“That’s not a good sign.”
“You know the thing about secrets?” I proposed, examining the floor to make sure I had gotten all the pieces. I didn’t fancy stepping on a sliver.
He leaned on the doorjamb watching me, an amused expression on his face. “They always come out.”
I sighed in answer. “She knocked the pictures off the counter.”
“She think you’re a serial killer?”
“Not sure. She was definitely freaked out, especially about the picture of her.” I stood up, dusting off my hands, and dumped the shards in the garbage. “She asked me if I was human.”
Quinn laughed. “What did you tell her?”
“Mostly,” I answered.
“Sounds like you need a scotch. I know I do.”
I handed him the garbage can and followed him out, swiping a pair of glasses and a bottle from the bar on the way to the porch.
“Did you win?” I asked after some silence, the word immediately bringing up her image.
He grinned and pulled out some hundreds. “Our mystery stalker wasn’t there.”
“Huh.” We polished off the bottle, and I went to bed. Sleep, as normal, proved elusive but, for once, the nightmares didn’t come. Instead, I spent most of the night and the next day tossing and turning, seeing her face, remembering her body in my arms as I carried her into the house, how warm she had felt, despite her shaking legs and chattering teeth. I thought of her tear-streaked face, full of embarrassment, of her standing on my porch. I was reluctant to get up and face the reality that she was gone—and with her, all the possibilities she had encompassed. This was the most I had felt for anybody, ever.
I bumped into Quinn in the kitchen. He meandered around opening cabinets and doors, clearly seeking something. I pulled on my jacket, formulating a plan of action as I did so. She may have left, and with good cause, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still do something for her. I had made some calls on the start of project one. Now project two waited, and this one was even more enticing.
“Where are you off to?” He searched the fridge but gave me a pointed stare.
“I’ve decided maybe there’s more to vengeance than meets the eye. I’m going to pay a visit to a certain person. What are you looking for? Want to come?”
He inspected me then the open fridge. “We need some real food.”
“Beef jerky and mac and cheese not doing it?”
“Can we stop and get nachos?” I wasn’t sure that qualified as real food.
“Sure.”
He watched me for a few minutes befo
re pulling a can of soda out. “You look mad.”
“I am.”
He slammed the fridge door shut. “Screw the nachos. Are we going to kill anybody?”
“We’re going to try not to.”
“Okay, I’m in anyway. Just let me grab my jacket.” He sounded elated.
***
I pulled the Jeep over on a side road before the guard gate, and we crossed onto the campus by the north side.
We skirted the path, and I waited for a while, sniffing the air. Judging from what she had told me, I had narrowed the dorm down to three. From there, it didn’t take long for his scent to hit me. And I knew he had an outside door. I peered in the window to find a sizable room, far bigger than hers—double bed, decorated with sports paraphernalia, a few pictures. It was a mess, clothes and bottles everywhere. He was studying at his desk. I had an image of her on his bed, and my hands curled into fists. I blew my breath out. Bugger! This was not going to be easy. Stretching out my fingers, I shook them, and took another deep breath. .
Quinn nudged me. A pizza delivery guy was parked and heading to the main door. Quinn intercepted him. “What do you guys want?” His glasses slipped down his nose, his eyes terrified. He looked about seventeen. I took out a fifty.
“The pizzas and your hat.”
“What?” He was poised to run.
“You get a fifty. I get use of your stuff.”
He reached for the bill I held out, uncertainty written all over his face. “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“For twenty more, you can keep it all,” he offered. Quinn laughed, probably thinking what I was thinking—if we wanted, we could just take it. He pulled out a twenty, and the guy disappeared.
“How do I look?”
“I need a new phone that takes pictures,” Quinn mused.
I laughed. “That good, huh?”
“Good enough.” I picked up the boxes and strolled down to the door, knocking lightly.
“Who is it?” Jason sounded annoyed. I had the intense urge to annihilate him. Lucky for him, there was a locked door between us.
“Pizza.”
“I didn’t order pizza.”
“I can’t get in the main doors. It’s for 101. Isn’t that next to you? Can I come in this way?” Quinn nodded his approval.
I heard a chair scrape and footsteps cross the room. “All right. Sure. Come on in.”
The lock clicked, and the door swung open. I flung the pizzas down and the hat off at the same time and shoved him backward.
The prat looked surprised. “What the hell?”
I threw him into the desk chair which, judging from Wynter’s story, was the chair.
“You son of a bitch! Old man, I’m going to kick your ass.” I held up a hand, trying to gain control of myself more than him.
I knew he couldn’t do anything to me but I, on the other hand, had to be careful. Death was not my goal, but I walked a fine line. “Not likely.” He rushed me, but I was so much quicker that he was back on his ass—on the floor now—before he made it a foot. I picked up his desk lamp. It was some kind of metal. “Stay put,” I ordered.
“Yeah, right.” He got up again as I twisted the base off the lamp and, holding the metal in my hand, crushed it into a small sphere.
He stopped, his eyes suddenly as large as golf balls. “Oh, my God.”
“This has nothing to do with God, and, if you even raise your voice to get help, I will do the same to your head.” He started backing up until he hit the bed.
“What the fuck. What the fuck.” I pushed him down to a sitting position.
“Calm down. I just have a message for you—one you’d better get. You come near her again, you look at her sideways, you say a word about her to anyone, even to comment on a jacket she’s wearing, and I will be back here so quick your head will spin. And after that, I’ll take it off.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he protested.
“Really? I beg to differ. I saw her after your little tryst the other night.”
“She wanted that. She’s a slut. You should have seen her.” I growled, lunging forward, and placed my hands on either side of him. He leaned as far back as he could. Inches separated us. The urge to crush his head was overwhelming. It would take only a minute.
I breathed out, “Don’t call her that. Or I’ll save coming back and twist your head off now.” I could hear Quinn laughing from the doorway, clearly enjoying the show.
“Play nice, Beck,” he called. He wouldn’t interfere unless he thought I needed help or lost control. I knew him. We had been working together for a long time.
“What the hell are you?” Jason choked out. I smelled his fear. I stood up and backed away.
“I’m a friend who cares what you are doing to her. She feels bad for you. She thinks there’s something redeemable about you. She does what you ask because she’s a good soul. Me, I’m not so good. I have no trouble playing nasty—or killing.” I shrugged. “Remember that.”
“I can’t not see her. We have class together.”
“Well, if she wants you around, that’s okay. But don’t get near her, and if you mumble a word about her, about what you did, I will be here.”
Tired of observing, Quinn smiled at me and sauntered in. Pouncing on the pizza, he happily munched a slice as he walked around the room, poking in drawers and lifting up pictures. The closet door was ajar, clothes hanging out and on the door handle. Quinn nudged it open with his foot. Sitting there were two shopping bags, one pink and the other maroon with Macy’s written on it.
“Is that Wynter’s?” Jason opened his mouth, but I interrupted. “Don’t lie.” I rolled the metal ball that was once his lamp base through my fingers. He gaped like a flounder.
“Yes.”
Quinn grabbed the bags and another slice of pizza.
“Okay. We’re going to go now. Remember, I don’t want to come back, and you don’t want me to.”
Quinn snapped his fingers and pointed. The distinct sound of boots clicking on the hallway floors reverberated, a girl, from the spacing between the clicks.
“Just so you know, my eyesight and hearing are excellent. In fact, right now I bet that’s your little girlfriend traipsing down the hall. So, you be careful and have a good night.” I turned toward the door and then stopped, grabbing the chair and slamming it against the wall. It splintered into pieces.
I tossed the metal ball to him and pulled the outside door closed behind us.
Chapter Forty-Three
Wynter—Away
I stayed in bed for three days, claiming the stomach flu. I hid under the covers until the threat of mid-terms finally won out. I dragged myself through days of studying and tests, staying in my room and only emerging for meals and my runs. I didn’t see Jason at all, and the rumor mill was surprisingly quiet. But I spent more time thinking about Beck than Jason anyway—trying to make sense of what had happened, and what that meant for me.
***
My parents took Julia and me away for spring break. It wasn’t wild like the typical spring breaks so notorious in college, but it was warm and sunny, and I’d had enough of college for once. Not until we were there, covered in sun block and sipping fruity island concoctions, did Julia finally pressure me for info. She hadn’t asked me at school, but I had seen her and Annie watching me as we sat at meals, understanding, I think, that I was barely holding it together enough to get through mid-terms.
Lying on the beach, hundreds of miles away, it now seemed so surreal, as if the weekend had been a horrible dream. I worried that talking about it would conjure up that crazy fear, but what I really felt was regret over how things had turned out with Beck. I told Julia the highlights, glossing over the details of hooking up with Jason, which made my cheeks flush and wish a hole would open up so I could drop into it.
“So, forget about idiot slime Jason. What happened with Beck?” Julia asked as she signaled the waiter for another colada. Beck hadn’t called, not that I had
expected him to after I had bolted screaming from his house. A few days later, I’d found a box of the things I had left at Jason’s sitting outside my door, no note or anything, but I knew who put them there.
“I don’t know,” I answered, picking up my book. She wasn’t so easily put off.
“Come on, Wyn. I know you better than that. Did he ask you to do something weird? You know, sex like?”
I gulped. Bizarre. It had always been Jason who pushed me, asking me to do more than I wanted and, for whatever reasons, I’d gone along. In the process, I’d lost me. Ironically, Beck had understood, accepted me without question. I wondered how to explain that.
“No. He’s just different.” I put the book back down. Different? Was that the right word? I didn’t know what he was, not really.
Her new drink delivered, Julia took a good long swallow and seemed to put some thought into it. “Is he gay? With the other one?”
I almost choked, imagining what Quinn would think of that.
“Uh, no.”
“Okay. Did they want a threesome?”
I stifled a smile. Quinn would really get a kick out of that, too.
“No.” This was getting harder.
“What?” I could tell she was getting impatient.
“He’s just different. Older than us, not American.”
“So?”
“Well, what if I told you he had pictures of … weird things? That he lied to me about his job.”
“Huh. Does he do bad things?”
“Uh, no, well … I don’t know.”
“Mm. Does he do drugs? Like bad ones? Sell them?”
“No.” But then how could I be sure? He had lied to me.
“Okay. Is he mean? Did he hit you?”
“No. No.” I thought of him holding me as I sobbed. I pictured his face as he stood in the doorway, telephone in hand, telling me he’d called a cab, then across the table from me at The Galleon, laughing as I told some stupid childhood story. Julia pulled her sun hat off, waving it in her face to get a breeze.