Chapter Fourteen
Tuberose
Lisa was calling her.
No—not Lisa. Him. She knew she should change the ID, but part of her believed she deserved those seconds of hope and violent regret; it served as a reminder of her guilt and her deal with the devil. Val glanced at the sleeping Mary and whispered, “What?”
“Did I wake you?”
It was 3 A.M. She gritted her teeth. “What do you think?”
“That you are in desperate need of some manners.”
“Fuck your manners.”
She shivered as the line crackled, tickling her ear unpleasantly. “Oh, Val, Val, Val—you don't have to settle for just my manners. Three days have come and gone.”
Just like that, all the fight drained out of her as her stomach crumpled like tissue paper. “But it's three A.M.,” she protested. “The bus—I don't think the bus even runs this late.”
“That won't be an issue. I've sent a cab. When you get to your destination, call me.”
As if on cue, she heard one short loud honk from outside. Mary stirred. Shit. She froze in place, but her sleeping roommate did not wake—and apparently Gavin wasn't going to take “no” for an answer.
She didn't have time to change out of her pajamas. She tugged a sweatshirt over her tank top and yanked on her track pants, tiptoeing past Mary while adjusting her purse over her shoulder.
The cab dropped her off at the arboretum. “Wait,” she said, “there's been a mistake.”
“The fare's been paid,” the driver said. “No mistake.” He drove away.
She could hear the chatter of insects, the distant babble of the creek. The dirt paths were kept neat and carefully maintained but the trees and underbrush grew unchecked further along. Bridges connected the two sides of the bank, painted a cheery red that looked black at night.
She dialed Lisa's number. “Why did you bring me here? Why the arboretum?”
“To hunt,” he said.
“It's a reserve,” she said. “Hunting's not allowed.” “I'm bringing in outside game,” he said. “You see, it's you I'll be hunting tonight.”
“Like that book?” she said, “that horrible book from school?”
“You have about ten minutes' worth of a head start. I suggest you make full use of it.”
Then she heard a sound.
It couldn't have been him. He had said she had ten minutes, hadn't he?
She turned her head and the whites of her eyes flashed in the darkness. It had sounded close. To close to be a timid animal. Val stepped off the path and, after a moment's hesitation, plunged into the dark green tangle. Branches snagged in her hair and dug into her scalp. She ran with a hand in front of her face to protect her eyes from the thorny brambles and hook-like twigs.
She wasn't sure how many minutes had gone by, but surely at least ten had passed. Val halted at the river, unwilling to go back, but not quite daring to go forward, either. Here, the forest thinned, yielding to light residential.
A twig snapped.
Val hesitated—surely it was too cold for leeches— and stepped into the dark water. It was bitterly cold, though not quite frozen. Shivering, she waded under the bridge. On her hands and knees the water was high enough to lap at her throat.
This whole scenario had the bizarre, surreal quality of a nightmare. She felt as if her brain were swimming through murk, although perhaps that was just the effect of the dirty river water.
In the shadows, something moved. Val could hear her pounding heart and the small ripples of water lapping greedily at her sides as she backed further into the shadows of the bridge.
He was wearing dark jeans and the leather jacket, his face like bone in the moonlight. He looked wild, disheveled, and dangerous. Had he been any other man she might have thought he was on drugs. But not Gavin, no—he would allow no poisons to dull the edge of his killer instinct.
He stooped down, picking up a handful of dirt and her heart jumped when his eyes went to the creek bed. He let the crumbly soil from the creek bed sift and fall through the gaps between his fingers and then brushed his hands off on his jeans. Something snapped in the grove of trees to his right—some nocturnal animal, made reckless by the moon—and his head whipped in that direction.
The woods held their breath.
And then he ran.
Val watched him go. She waited several minutes before climbing out of the water. Her sodden sweatshirt was like wet cement. The heavy weight of her clothes left her feeling off-balance. She stripped the garment off and wrung it out, wrinkling her nose at the brackish smell of the water.
She had never ventured this far into the arboretum before. Some of the students jokingly said it was haunted. One thing for sure, it was no place for a student to be alone, after dark.
He swung down from the tree, landing on his feet as neatly as a cat, and growled, “Boo.”
She screamed and fled.
He caught up to her at the riverbank and tackled her so that they both fell through the cattails and into the water with a violent splash. The smooth stones dug cruelly into both her knees and she gasped and inhaled the smell of rot and algae and wet leather and sweat. He was laughing, quick growling chuckles that sounded the way she imagined a wolf might laugh.
“Check, and mate, my dear.”
He backed her up further along the bank where it was drier, and her backside touched upon solid, dry soil. Leaves shook, and Val, too, shook.
She felt dizzy from cold.
He hadn't kissed her or touched her, but there was a dangerous charge to him that she recognized from before. In this state, he was liable to do anything.
She shivered when his hands closed around her arms, but it was only to pull her upright. He shrugged off his jacket, then helped her into it one arm at a time. It was still warm—almost hot—from his body. Soon she began to sweat.
His fingers laced with hers and he began to walk at a brisk pace that had her stumbling to keep up. At length she said, “Where are we going?”
He didn't answer.
The receptionist wouldn't look at her as they walked in. Val kept her eyes on the slate-gray tiles and tried to focus on breathing. Gavin chose the elevator. She jumped when the doors slid closed and heard him chuckle quietly.
The door swung open with a creak that made her jump. When he closed it behind him, she felt as if he had chopped off a limb. He walked to his bed and sat down on the edge. He kicked off his boots. She watched him warily. He was clothed. That was good. She thought she could look at him if he were clothed. But she did not get the opportunity to show her scanty attempt at strength.
“Lock the door.”
Val swallowed and fixed the deadbolt.
“Come here.”
She stopped a foot away from him, refusing to let
herself be fooled. He regarded her through half-shut eyes, a flickering examination that nonetheless managed to make her feel degraded. “You aren't wearing your necklace.”
It took her a moment to remember. Her fingers ran down her throat. “I was asleep.”
“I don't recall giving you permission to take it off.”
“But—”
“You will never take it off,” he said. “Ever. Now strip.”
Her eyes flew open wide, “what?”
“Your clothes. Take them off.”
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
Afterward, she lay there numb, exhausted, and unable to move.
“You were holding back.” Val turned her head on the pillow to look at him. He was still fully dressed, while she was naked. She felt the inequality of that as strongly as a brand; it made her reach for the sheets. He pushed her hand away. “With you are with me, you will hide nothing.”
She nodded.
“Nothing.” He lapped the last bead of wine from her throat, his tongue still chilled from the ice. When he kissed her she could taste him, and herself, and the wine on his tongue. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, squeezing lightly. “Is tha
t clear?”
“Yes.”
“See that you don't forget again.” Without looking away, he plucked one of the melting pieces of ice from the pail beside the bed and slid it past his lips. She could hear the click of it against his teeth. “Or I'll remind you.”
With a feline curl to his mouth, he spat out the ice and lowered his head to press a kiss that was both hot and cold between her legs. Her muscles tensed and she immediately tried to bolt upright, but his firm grip kept her legs spread as he ran his icy tongue along the ridge of bundled nerves that made sparks explode behind her eyes, and turned her limbs to jelly.
He was very good at hurting her; sometimes, he didn't even have to break the skin.
Val came with a soft, keening sound that was halfwhimper, half-sob. Usually, that made him stop, but he continued that slow methodical torture, liquefying her insides, shortening her breath. Her fingers were claws hooked in the sheets. Each time, she was sure, a little part of her died. She tried to speak his name, but the words were hooks, too, being pulled down her throat by fishing line, both choking her and drawing blood.
When she thought she would not be able to stand it any longer he pulled away. He watched her sweatsoaked body tremble from the aftershocks that were his doing and licked his fingers. Then, patting her cheek with that same hand as to make her flinch, he said, “Clean yourself up.”
He had never offered before. He enjoyed sending her home the way she was, with the residue of his touch coating her like a thin layer of grime. She hated how shameful it made her feel. Remembering, Val hesitated only a moment before disappearing into the bathroom.
If it was something terrible, she could not see it, and with his foresight it was pointless to try and avoid it anyway. At least the water was warm. More cleansing that way, like disinfectant. It could be hers. But the soap was his, all his, cold and viscous and smelling of sandalwood.
She shivered with loathing.
When she came out of the bathroom clad in nothing more than a towel she discovered that Gavin had taken the opportunity to dispose of her clothes, leaving her with little choice to don whatever he had brought for her. He seemed to be laughing at her silently as he went into the bathroom to shave, leaving her with a small window of privacy to dress herself, quickly.
I hope he cuts his throat , she thought, yanking on the jeans. I hope he slices into one of the veins. That the blood spurts out onto the mirror, the walls, and everything; I hope he dies.
The white tank top was snug, tight, and cut low. He had bought a forest green cardigan to go with it that felt like cashmere and probably was. The outfit looked good—of course it did, he had an eye for color —and the green of the sweater matched her eyes perfectly.
“It's real wool.”
He appeared in the mirror behind her, naked now from the waist up. He was one of those men who shaved bare-chested so as not to drip the lather on his shirt. His beard had been tamed to a fashionable shadow around his chin and mouth. He smelled like the sandalwood soap, and it was even stronger fresh.
“A wolf in sheep's clothing,” she murmured.
“You are many things, my dear, but a wolf is not one of them.” She stumbled a little when his hands slid under her arms, wrapping around her midsection as he embraced her from behind like a lover. Which, she realized sickeningly, she supposed he was. “Nor a lamb, either,” he said absently.
“Then what?”
“Hmm?”
“What am I?”
“A fox, perhaps. Yes. They are predators, preyed upon by man and wolf alike. And they, too, are black —” he tucked her hair behind her ear, stroking the skin beneath it with the pad of his thumb “—and white—” he leaned down, so the last word was a scarcely audible purr, “—and red.”
She flushed, and his laughter rumbled along her back. He looked normal when he laughed. Almost. Yes, it softened his face and warmed the eyes. But that was an illusion like so much else.
“What about my clue?”
“Savior.”
That was it? That was the clue she was supposed to use to solve a puzzle that would save a life?
That was what she labored for?
She felt him smile against her neck.
“See you in three days, vixen mine.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rhododendron
The dorm was empty when Val arrived back, much to her relief. It was around 7 P.M. If Mary was gone long enough she could attempt to pass off her absence as an excursion downtown. Shopping, maybe —or dining out. Not that Mary would believe her.
(You're always here whenever I come home unless you're at school or something and then you just come right back. You never go anywhere.)
People pretended it was her that they cared about, but it all came down to self-preservation in the end. Unadulterated altruism was a thing of legend. Even if people helped because it made them feel good, that was still self-motivated at heart.
Thinking about Mary and her attempts to “help” filled her with a sad, helpless rage. She didn't want to be a project, or an object of sympathy. She just wanted to be left alone. What she wanted was companionable solitude. Et tu, Brute?
Running errands. That was dry enough. Utilitarian. Mary ought to accept that. Val hoped she did, anyway; she couldn't stand another intervention.
If I have to work this hard at pretending to be normal, what does that make me?
Stupid question. A freak, obviously.
Her cell phone chose that moment to ring. The horrible thing seemed to have a preternatural sense for catching her with her head down. She looked at the display with dread but it wasn't Lisa's number. She didn't recognize this one. That meant nothing, and it didn't mean it wasn't him.
She sighed. “Hello?”
“I know you're alone.”
The words were like something out of a B-rated horror movie.
Not Gavin.
Probably some old pervert.
But her hand was shaking. That was one thing that escaped translation in horror movies; everything was so much more frightening in real life.
“Fuck off,” she said.
“Is that any old way to great an old friend Valerian?”
Val froze. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“I'm the man who's going to kill you—and that's all you need to know.”
The world ground to a halt. “What?”
There was a brief sound that might have been laughter. “You heard.”
And then the line disconnected.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
“Alex, I'm serious. The girl needs friends. Not just a boyfriend, but actual friends.”
“What are you? Chopped liver?”
A Hitchcock movie was playing on the TV but neither Alex nor Mary were watching it. Mary tugged at one of her bracelets, playing with the stretchy plastic material. “I think I'm the only friend she has.”
Alex shook his head. “This is college, Mare. If she doesn't have any friends there's a damn good reason. She's a freak.”
“That's a horrible thing to say!”
“It's true, though. Didn't you say she never leaves her room practically? That's pretty fucked-up right there. And then what happened with Jade? Did she freeze his cock off with that ice queen act?”
“I haven't heard from him in a while,” Mary lied. “I'm not surprised.”
“Jade isn't like that.”
“You're delusional.”
Alex didn't live with Val. He couldn't see how she looked all the time, as if the world were coming to an end around her and she was powerless to stop it.
“She's so unhappy.”
“So send her to a psychiatrist.”
“I don't think she would like that.”
“Crazy people never think they're crazy. Proof
that she's completely off her rocker.”
“Maybe we should have another party.”
“Jesus Christ. Another one? I'm still cleaning up the beer cans from the
last one.”
Mary pointedly eyed his dorm, which he shared with three other boys. “I don't see a real difference.”
“Not my fault these jizz-rags can't locate the fucking trashcan.” Alex raked back his blonde hair so that a small diamond stud caught the light. “Look, I'll think about, all right?”
He leaned in and Mary pushed him away. “I was thinking this Friday.”
“Didn't somebody call the cops at that last one?” “Not ours.”
“Aren't you worried about drugs?”
“It'll be a small party.”
“There's no such thing as a small party.” He framed the words in air quotes, in case it wasn't clear enough that he was mocking her.
“We can have it at your dorm since you're so concerned about ours.”
“Why are you so set on this?”
“Because I'm worried about Val. I told you before, she's spending too much time alone. That's the last thing she should be doing right now, especially when she looks so depressed.”
It annoyed her. Val was always there, as permanent a fixture in the room as the bed or the lamp. Staring absently into space with that hangdog look. Never mind that she sometimes felt like being alone. That she had times when she was also upset, and had to hold it in, and tiptoe around Val so as not to upset her further.
And yes, Mary was a little worried, too. Who was to say that Val wasn't crazy? That she wouldn't snap one day and open fire, turning Halcyon University into another Columbine or Virginia Tech?
She certainly fit the profile.
At least if Val was out of the dorm, doing things, living her life, Mary would be less likely to be around her when everything inevitably went to hell. Alex sighed. It wasn't a particularly disagreeable sigh and Mary leaped in for the kill.
“Do you know any people who'd be good to invite?”
“Fuck, I don't know. Brian Murphy, maybe. Or Vance Benveniste.”
“Benveniste? That sounds familiar—doesn't he go to this school?”
“I don't think so. But he's a real party guy. Has his own apartment and everything.”
“He's not some old dude, is he?” Mary scrunched up her nose. “What does he look like?”
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