Immortal

by Pati Nagle

  I drifted toward the back of the ballroom. Saw empty seats here and there but felt no inclination to squeeze along the rows to get to them. I stood at the back, and when the lights went out and the film began, I took a long, leisurely look out the doors, trying to spot white hair in the milling SUB populace. Didn’t see any.

  I waited five minutes, then left. My eyes darted around as I walked through the SUB, searching for threats. I paused by an entrance, bracing myself to leave the warmth and light of the building for the walk across campus to my dorm. I took my pepper spray canister from my fanny pack and put it in my coat pocket.

  A group of students burst in, laughing and shushing each other, late for the movie. I jumped out of their way, then went out before the doors could close.

  A cold wind smacked me in the face. I shoved my hands in my pockets and hunched my shoulders, shivering as I hurried toward my dorm.

  Any movement drew my attention. With the wind, there was plenty of movement from the shrubs and trees, so I kept looking from side to side. I passed some students, most of them headed for the SUB, hurrying to get out of the cold.

  The skin between my shoulders was tight. Cold, fear … maybe both. Though I was more watchful of my surroundings than usual, a part of my mind whispered that if the white-haired guy had wanted to sneak up on me, he could have.

  I fixed my eyes on the blue light atop an emergency call box ahead. They were scattered around the campus—places where you could call for an escort if you were afraid. I thought about doing that, and probably should have, but the idea of standing still waiting for a campus cop to show up scared me worse. I kept moving.

  Shortly after I passed the call box I could see my dorm. I almost broke into a run, but decided it might attract unwanted attention. Walking as fast as I could, I kept my eyes on the dorm doors. I breathed a sigh of relief as I went through them.

  Made it. Up the stairs to my room, jittery with the key but got it into the lock and shut myself in. I threw the bolt and stood for a moment, shivers subsiding.

  What had just happened? Had I freaked myself out? Had I made it all up?

  I might have thought so a week earlier. Now I was sure I had not imagined it. The white-haired guy was like Caeran, and unlike him. While I knew in my soul that Caeran would never hurt me, this guy was a threat.

  I took the pepper spray out of my pocket and put it on the desk, then took off my coat and proceeded to clean out the rest of my pockets. Keys, condom, handkerchief. I held the latter up to my face, wondering if it might hold any lingering smell of Caeran, but no.

  Sighing, I dropped it on my desk and kicked off my shoes. I hadn’t been out of my jeans in over twenty-four hours, and I needed a hot shower. I stripped and left my clothes in a pile on the floor, then grabbed the handkerchief as I headed for the bathroom I shared with my neighbor. Might as well wash the thing now.

  I soaped it in the sink, rinsed it, and hung it over the towel bar. Took a long, hot shower and washed my hair, and felt a lot better for it. I was sleepy when I came out, but I made myself stay up and do homework until ten o’clock, then turned on the TV.

  “Breaking news—a university student was attacked and killed tonight on the UNM campus—”

  A sinking dread spread through me as I listened to the rest of the story, which didn’t give much detail. A student had been brutally murdered some time after six. Name withheld pending notification of next of kin. Police asking any witnesses to come forward.

  I sucked a sharp breath. I hadn’t witnessed anything, but I had my suspicions. If I made them known, though, I’d be laughed off campus.

  The white-haired guy. He’d terrified me with a glance. Had he been looking for a target?

  A fit of shivers came over me. I moved to turn off the TV, then decided to leave it on. I needed some normal stories. The weather. I watched, zombie-like, until the sports came on, then turned it off.

  Silence filled the room, allowing me to think again. Possibly, I had just missed being the killer’s target. If so, then Amanda and Don had saved my ass, and I owed them big time.

  Oh, how I wanted Caeran there—to complain at him, to demand information about the white-haired guy—but mostly to have him put his arms around me and make me feel safe. A completely stupid reaction; as if I suddenly had no ability to take care of myself.

  I crawled into bed and read my English Literature assignment. Woke up with the book across my thighs and my cell phone buzzing its way across the desk; still on vibrate from my brief stint at the movie. I wallowed down the bed and grabbed it. 11:30.

  “Hullo?”

  “Len, oh, thank God!” Amanda said. “I just heard about the attack, and we didn’t see you after the movie—”

  “Wasn’t me, obviously. But thanks for worrying.”

  “Did you hear?”

  “Yeah, I watched the news. It’s awful.”

  “They haven’t said but I think it was a girl.”

  “I think you’re right. ‘Brutal’ tends to mean rape in that context.”

  “Oh, God!”

  “Are you in your room?” She lived in the dorm next to mine.

  “Yes, Don walked me back.”

  “Let’s meet for breakfast, OK? Nine?”

  “OK. Call me first.”

  “I will. Take an antihistamine.” Our poor man’s sleeping pills.

  “Y-yeah. You too.”

  “Thanks for calling, Amanda. See you in the morning.”

  I switched the phone back to ring and put it on my nightstand. Looked at the textbook and decided I’d been virtuous enough for the night. I put it on the floor, rolled over, and despite all the paranoia, fell asleep.

  By morning the news story had been fleshed out a little. Female student, and the attack took place in the northwest area of the main campus, near the frats and sororities. Too close to home.

  Amanda and I discussed the attack over breakfast, sharing what details we had picked up from various news sources. So far no witnesses had come forward.

  I poked at my breakfast burrito with my fork. “You know, when you and Don ran into me last night I had just seen a guy who gave me the creeps.”

  “You’re kidding! Did you recognize him?”

  I shook my head. “Never saw him before. Tall, with white hair. I was really glad to see you guys. I was scared of him.”

  “Ohmigod! You should tell the police!”

  “Tell them what? That I saw a creepy guy in the SUB? Come on.”

  “No, no, you should tell them! Anything could be a lead. You might be the only person who saw the attacker!”

  “Only living person.” I grimaced. “Maybe he wasn’t the killer, though. He could just be some scary guy.”

  “Well, you should still talk to the cops. They could have you do one of those composite pictures, and put it on the news.”

  Oh, yeah—that would be good. Caeran would love that.

  “Nah.”

  “Len, it could save somebody’s life!”

  I bit my lip. She had a point—if my white-haired guy was the attacker. That was a huge “if.”

  I changed the subject, and we never got back to it. Instead we made plans for protecting our personal safety. We decided to spend the day studying together in Amanda’s room, which was bigger than mine, and agreed to walk to classes and our library shifts together as much as possible in the coming week. It seemed like overkill to me, but I wouldn’t mind the company. Amanda was a good friend, and with luck she would keep my mind off of Caeran.

  The next few days were fairly uneventful. Gradually I relaxed, though Amanda and I faithfully escorted each other as much as possible.

  The victim’s name was released: Emily Barela. Neither of us knew her. She had been in the SUB early Saturday evening and had walked back to her sorority alone. She never made it there.

  A few other details leaked out in the news. Emily had been raped and her throat was cut. She bled to death. Her sorority raised five thousand dollars for a reward for in
formation leading to an arrest.

  Amanda continued to nag me to talk to the police, and finally on Wednesday she dragged me to the north campus substation during our lunch break. Embarrassed, I spent fifteen minutes talking to Officer Dusenberry, a ginger-haired giantess in uniform who seemed suspicious of me right from the start.

  “Are you here because of the reward?” she asked.

  “N-no. I wasn’t sure I should come,” I told her. “I mean, I don’t know that this guy had anything to do with it. I just got a bad vibe off him.”

  She peered at me over her wire-framed glasses. “We pay attention to bad vibes. Where exactly did you see him?”

  I described it all: pizza, trash can, and my fortuitous meeting with Amanda and Don. I gave her every detail I could remember about the guy, except his resemblance to Caeran. That couldn’t matter to the cops.

  “You didn’t happen to snap a picture with your cell phone, did you?”

  I shook my head. “I was just anxious to get away from him.”

  “And you haven’t seen him since?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “If you do see him—”

  “I’ll take a picture.”

  “—don’t go near him. Call campus police.”

  “OK. I’ve got the number programmed in.”

  She had me read over her notes and sign them. I rejoined Amanda, who was waiting for me out front. We were late, so we ran back to the library.

  Dave met us in the lounge, frowning. “Service slow, ladies?”

  Amanda opened her mouth. I didn’t want her to get in trouble, so I talked over her as I punched my time card. “We were at the police station. I was reporting a suspect for the murder.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You witnessed the murder and you didn’t say anything until now?”

  “I didn’t witness it. I saw a guy in the SUB who might have been the killer. He gave me the creeps.”

  “Sugar, if you called in every creepy guy on campus the cops would be overwhelmed.”

  I bit back a comment on the subject of creepy guys. Instead I nudged Amanda toward the door. Dave stepped in front of us.

  “Well, since you’re late, you can stay and shelve for half an hour after your shift.”

  “Sure,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t saddle Amanda with the same grunt work. My agreement surprised him and he stepped out of our way.

  We went to our stations at the counter. Tony was the only clerk working, and a line had built up in our absence. Dave was too important to help with it, apparently. The three of us quickly cleared it up, and Tony waved as he took off for lunch.

  Amanda began to tidy her station. “So, did the police do a picture?”

  “Nope. She asked if I’d taken one with my cell. It’s a good idea—wish I’d thought of it.”

  I wished I’d thought of taking one of Caeran. All I had to remember him by was the handkerchief. I had it in my pocket, and occasionally slid my hand in to touch it. That was self-torture and I knew it, but I just wasn’t ready to let him go.

  Amanda’s shift ended before mine on Wednesdays. She had an afternoon class, one of the few to which I couldn’t escort her. Dave had either forgotten this, or decided not to make her shelve.

  “Be careful,” I told her as she closed up her station. “Keep your eyes open.”

  “For the white-haired guy. I will.”

  “If you see him, run. I’m not kidding.”

  She grinned. “Where should we go for dinner? I’m tired of the SUB.”

  “Taco Bell? Or we could try the new Mediterranean place.”

  “That sounds good. Meet you back here and we’ll walk over.”

  The afternoon passed slowly. At four I closed up and said goodbye to Tony and Marietta. She worked the four to eleven shift, and as I was leaving I turned to her.

  “Do you have someone to walk you home after work?”

  She nodded. “My boyfriend’s been coming in at ten thirty and hanging out in the study carrels until I get off. Says he’s getting more homework done these days.”

  I smiled. “Good.”

  “Thanks for asking.”

  I collected a cart full of books for the third floor and rolled it into the elevator. I’d get the shelving over as quickly as possible. It was pretty mindless work, and didn’t really distract me from my inner thoughts. I worked as fast as I could, hoping to keep my mind off of Caeran. Thinking about him would just make me sad, so I tried not to do it. Didn’t succeed all that well.

  I had the cart three quarters empty when I pulled it around the far end of a row of shelves and stopped, frozen. The white-haired guy was standing halfway down the aisle, peering at a section of the shelves.

  = 6 =

  I grabbed a book from the cart and retreated to the aisle I’d just come from, heart thundering. My hands shook as I took out my cell phone and got it ready to take a picture. I remembered to turn off the flash, and hoped the fluorescent lights would be enough. Book in one hand, phone in the other, I slowly stepped back around to the cart.

  He hadn’t moved. I tried to keep my mind blank—tried to go Zen—as I reached up to put my book on a shelf, hiding the phone behind it. I turned and quickly shot a picture, then kept moving, pushing my cart past the aisle.

  Had his head started to turn as I was leaving? The skin on my back prickled.

  I moved faster, wincing at the rumble the cart made. Tried to keep my dread from showing in my thoughts. Books, shelve the books, got to finish that. I stared at the numbers on the aisles, not really registering them.

  When I reached the end of the section, I abandoned my cart, grabbing my pack from the bottom shelf and making a beeline for the restrooms. Maybe white-hair wouldn’t care about that taboo, but it made me feel a smidge safer.

  Still shaking, I called downstairs to Tony. He answered on the second ring.

  “Tony, I need a big favor. I’m in the ladies room on the third floor and there’s a creepy guy in the colonial history section. Could you come up and walk me downstairs?”

  “Sure. Which ladies room?”

  “By the study carrels and the green chairs.”

  “OK. Stay put, I’ll be right up.”

  “Thanks.”

  I felt slightly better. If I died, someone would at least know what had happened.

  I fumbled with the phone until I managed to bring up the photo I’d taken. It was better than I’d hoped; not crystal clear, because of the distance, but a fairly good shot of his profile. My stomach twisted, looking at it. I wanted never to see him again.

  I called campus police and told them I wanted to email it to them. They gave me an address and promised to send someone to the library at once.

  “Do you want someone to come escort you out of there?” said the officer who’d answered.

  “I’ve got a friend coming for me.”

  “Make sure they stay away from the suspect.”

  “Right.”

  I hung up, silently cursing myself for not thinking to warn Tony. The white-haired guy wouldn’t be interested in him, I hoped.

  I moved closer to the door, keeping the privacy wall between me and it. Shoved my cell back in my pocket and dug in my pack for my pepper spray. My hands were a little steadier, but my breathing was still shallow, panicky. I leaned against the wall and listened.

  My pulse distracted me. I couldn’t exactly hear it, but I could feel it. Nothing going on outside came through as clearly.

  I tried closing my eyes and taking some deep breaths. I heard footsteps and stopped breathing altogether.

  “Len?”

  Tony. I let out my breath in a sigh and left the restroom. He was standing just outside, looking suspiciously around.

  “Let’s go,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets and starting for the nearby door to the back stairs.

  “That way?”

  “Yes.”

  The elevators were too far away; I didn’t want to cross that much open ground. I paused inside the stairw
ell door to listen. Heard nothing, so I ran down, my footsteps echoing loudly. Tony muttered something, probably a complaint, but he kept up with me. Two flights of stairs were nothing. I could have been shelving up in the stacks.

  We came out the door on the ground floor and wound up face to face with a wide-eyed cop. I yanked my hands from my pockets and held them up.

  “I’m Lenore Whiting. I called it in. Tony and I work here.”

  The cop frowned at us, then nodded and let us by. Neither of us fit the suspect’s description.

  Tony glanced back at him. “I thought you just saw some creep. What’s this about?”

  “Let’s get to the lounge.”

  We strode through the reference section toward the main entrance and the counter where we worked. I kept my eyes open for the white-haired guy, but there were three more cops at the front entrance and if he had any brains he’d gone to ground.

  I led Tony into the employee lounge, where Dave was talking with yet another campus cop. Dave scowled as we came in.

  “There she is. She can explain it to you.”

  The cop, a nice-looking Latino guy, turned to me. “You’re Lenore Whiting?”

  “Yes. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  “What part of the building were you in when you saw the suspect?”

  I grabbed a copy of the library map and drew a circle around the section. “Third floor. He was in this aisle,” I said, adding an “X” about where I’d seen him.

  “OK. We’ll check it out.”

  He walked away with the map. Dave tagged along after him, to my relief.

  “Suspect?” Tony asked. “As in, murder suspect?”

  “Maybe.” I opened my cell phone and showed him the picture. “This guy.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know. I saw him in the SUB Saturday night. He gave me the creeps, so I told campus police about him and they said to call if I saw him again.”

  Tony frowned. “Marietta should see this.”

  “Send her back here, OK? I don’t want to go out front.”

  Tony left, and a minute later Marietta came in. “What’s going on?”