The upside—if there was an upside to this wretched situation—was that she wouldn't have to attend class for a couple days. Psychological evaluations were apparently academic “get out of jail free” cards.
Val emailed her professors explaining her position very briefly. Most didn't ask for additional details. The school was in an uproar over the murders of its students. The staff had about as many details as they could stand to deal with at the moment.
By the time Val arrived back at the dorms it was five past four. Mary had already gone to class. There was no sign of the locksmith.
Val dropped her purse on the bed and changed her shirt. She had gotten all sweaty from her dash back home. It wasn't hot, but it was humid. The cool clean cotton against her clammy skin felt good and uplifted her mood. When the locksmith did arrive, half an hour late, she was even remotely polite.
He was young, in his mid-twenties probably, with a goatee that did not suit his face and a pair of overalls emblazoned with the name of the company. On his shoulder he carried a canvas bag of tools and, if the scowl on his face was any indication, a grudge.
“You the ones that need new locks?”
Val nodded slowly and opened the door wider to let him in. “Somebody stole my key at a party,” she explained as he squatted down in front of the door. “We think the dorm might have been robbed too.”
This was the story Mary had told Student Services on the phone. Val thought this was a good idea. The threat of theft and the possibility of liability would hasten them to get the job done faster—and that was a very good thing. Just thinking about the hemlock gave Val the chills. He might have killed me.
“Careless,” the man muttered. Since he was squinting at the doorknob Val couldn't tell whether he was talking about her or the lock, but it certainly jarred with her current train of thought.
“Hmm?”
“This won't take long I don't think.” He stroked the goatee in thought. “Why don't you take a hike for about an hour or so? I should be done by then.”
“You're telling me to leave my own dorm?” That wasn't sketchy at all.
He shrugged. “Tools are loud. Bothers some people. You'll only be in the way.”
Oh well. Not like she had anything worth stealing anyway. “I'll have my cell phone. Call me when you're done, I guess.”
She received a noncommittal grunt in response.
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
There weren't many opportunities for recreation on campus, but she did buy an iced tea from the SU's cafe, sipping it slowly to make it last until the locksmith called. But the SU closed its door at five, and an apologetic janitor ushered her out the door, which slammed closed and locked behind her.
It wasn't too cloudy for once, but this made the air crisper and colder, with a snap to it like a chilled apple. The shadows had grown longer, stretched and contorted, and the sky was rich with a glowing yellow that turned the leaves of the trees overhead to blazing gold. Val immediately checked her cell phone.
No new messages.
How long does it take to install new locks?
Her steps carried her to the doors of the library. It was a beautiful building, even more in the sunset. The large glass windows reflected the dying light and the salmon and sherbert colored clouds. Shaded by sweeping willows, with a fountain bubbling merrily behind a stone cobbled barrier that separated its rose garden from the walkway, it gave off an aura of peace.
Val sat at the fountain's edge, still clutching her plastic cup of tea. She stared into the rippling water. Behind her reflection, the bottom was covered with coins. Pennies, mostly, with the occasional bit of silver winking through. There were foreign coins as well, and what looked like an arcade token. They gleamed brightly, too brightly, and when Val finally looked away she saw the purple coronas of their afterimages cavorting across her retinas.
A loud crinkling sound made her jump, and she realized that she had just squeezed her cup hard enough to crack the plastic. Val tossed it into one of the recycling bins nearby, her eyes on the cluster of willows where she was certain she had seen a flash.
She hitched her purse a little higher. “Is someone there?” she asked.
Yes. There—in the shadows. Something moved.
“Hello?”
The wind rustled through the leaves with a hiss.
Probably a branch, she thought. Or an animal. What if somebody comes by and sees you talking to yourself? She didn't know anyone who would care.
Val turned her back on the trees and went inside the library. Evenings weren't very busy as a general rule and today was no exception. There was one large group circled around a computer, friends or class partners, she couldn't tell, and a couple of stragglers, some of whom were looking at the loud, cheerful members of the former with ill-concealed annoyance.
They look like they're posing for a textbook picture . Val could understand their disgust; nothing was more galling when you were upset than seeing people wallowing in their own happiness. It was as if they were shoving their joy aggressively into your face, rubbing your nose in it, mocking your dearth.
The reading area was completely empty. The mint green couches looked warm and inviting and there were entire lazy-Susan racks crammed with trade paperbacks. When was the last time she had settled down to read a book? Val picked up a title by an author she had used to like and settled down to read. As soon as she did, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Probably the locksmith. About time, the jerk. She pulled out her phone, frowned. Not the locksmith after all. Mary. Why was Mary calling her?
“Hey, what's up? Are you all right?”
“As rain.”
Her stomach lurched at the sound of the voice. “I hope you don't mind me answering on behalf
of your friend. She's a little tied up right now.” “Where is she?”
“She's fine for now.”
“Where—?”
“Whether she remains that way, however, all depends on you.”
“Don't touch her.”
“Val…”
“I mean it. If you hurt her I'll—”
“I understand that this must be very difficult for you and all, but the library is not the place to make a scene, Val.”
He knows where I am.
He was watching her, rejoicing in her fear and discomfort. Just like Gavin. She felt the plastic casing strain beneath her fingers. “Where are you?”
“I hear voices in the background. Is there anyone around you?”
If he had to ask, he couldn't be watching her very closely.
Unless it was a test.
She was tempted to lie, just to see, but in a test of this nature wrong answers could be fatal.
“No,” she said at last.
“But you aren't completely alone, either.” “No.”
“Are you being watched?”
No, nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her at all. But then, nobody ever did. Not when she wanted them too—only when she didn't. “No.”
“Good. Move somewhere quieter but don't be conspicuous. Use the back doors if you have to. They aren't alarmed, are they?”
He didn't know?
“Go that way, then.”
Val picked up her purse and headed for the rear exit. The door led into a small rear courtyard rather like the one in front, except instead of willows there were moss-covered oak trees and instead of roses, there were trellises of a dark wood colored in garlands of wisteria.
The library courtyard was used for poetry slams, or on occasion plays by the drama club, but it was too cold for that now and the square was empty. Val sat at one of the vacant picnic tables, sweeping the dead leaves from the surface.
“I'm alone.”
“Now here is where you need to listen very, very carefully. Are you listening?”
Resentment flared. “Yes. I'm listening.”
“Later this evening I'm going to call you with a time and a place.” He waited, as if anticipating another outbu
rst. Val said nothing. After a beat, he continued, “Take the bus or take a cab, I really don't care, but make sure you come alone. If you don't show up, or if you bring a friend along for the ride, it'll be Mary who suffers not you. But I'll make sure that you'll get the chance to watch. Maybe you'd like that?”
“No.”
“Do you think you can meet my terms then?” “Yes.”
“Then I look forward to seeing you. Oh, and Val? This is very important. Make sure you wear white.”
The line went dead.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rainflower
Sketchy or no, the locksmith had done a great job on the replacements. The new locks were just that: brand new, and probably more sophisticated than any other lock in the building. Of course these dorms were old and so were the mechanisms employed to defend them, so maybe that wasn't saying much. Technology was constantly evolving and so were the hackers who made their living dissecting them, locked in a perpetual cycle of predator and prey.
Gavin, Val thought, would appreciate that.
As she walked back down to Student Services, Val shook her head over her stupidity. She should have done this the moment she realized her key was gone. Then Gavin couldn't have broken into her room and left the hemlock in their dorm, and Mary wouldn't have risked her safety to avoid her.
The receptionist on duty fixed her with a disapproving look as she handed over the spare set of keys and the receipt. As the latter disappeared into a drawer somewhere she said sternly, “Make sure you don't lose these.”
“I won't.”
“You can pay the bill at Student Accounting any time within the next three months. Sign this, please.” If I'm still alive in three months.
There were things that no amount of locks could protect you against.
She set her keys and cell phone on the desk. The room was messy but exactly as she had left it. Nothing seemed moved and there was no sign of a struggle. Mary had probably been taken on her way back from Stats. The math building was surrounded by a thick grove of trees—for aesthetic purposes, to compensate for the hideous 1970s architecture.
They would also provide adequate camouflage for anyone who was up to no good. Val dropped her bag on the floor and collapsed on her bed. The pain behind her eyes had escalated to blinding agony. She popped two aspirin, chewing them dry, and a third.
Certainly, the hows and whys were no longer of any importance. Anyway you looked at it, she was fucked. Morality transcended the human lifespan. One human life was insignificant. Inconsequential.
She saw that now.
She wished she'd seen it sooner.
Her cell phone rang from the depths of her purse. Haunting violins mourning a passing spring; they sounded horribly, eerily atmospheric.
If I pick up before the first crescendo, everything will be all right. Her fingers closed around the thin edge of her phone. Everything will be all right.
“Hello?”
“Last chance in half an hour.”
What did he mean, last chance? “Excuse me?” “The Last Chance, Val. Six thirty. Don't be late.”
“Is that a bar?” She shook her head. “I can't get into a bar.”
“I'm sure you'll find a way. Sit at the counter with your back to the door, and remember what I said.”
Wear white. Come alone.
“I remember.”
“Good.”
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
She had exactly one white shirt. She knew this off-hand because it wasn't even hers, not really; Gavin had bought it for her the same night he'd run her down in the woods like a deer.
The thin tank top, with its hand-sewn crystals, felt very inappropriate. She tried to tone it down with jeans and a sweater but still felt as if she were dressed for a date. The comparison made her uncomfortable. Even her stalker was treating this rather lightly.
Just why, exactly, did it matter what color she wore? What right did he have to make such demands of her? And why does he feel the need to?
Maybe it was supposed to be symbolic. Maybe it was about chess. Most things in her life were now, thanks to Gavin and his obsession. But chess had never been her game, it was his.
My color was black, anyway.
Since she missed the bus she was forced to call a cab to get to the bar. She left the dorm and paced anxiously on the curb, checking her phone every other second. The cabbie was five minutes late. Val, bursting with impatience and anxiety, snapped, “Take me to The Last Chance,” remembering last-minute to add a belated, “please.”
The cabbie was an older man, around her father's age, with olive skin and salt-and-pepper hair, who looked generically ethnic. He flashed her an amused smile. “Yeah, right, very funny. Aren't you a little young?”
“I'll pay extra if I have to.” She knew her voice was cold now, and she didn't care. “Just get me there before six-thirty.”
His smile disappeared. “That's no place for a nice girl like you.”
I'm not a nice girl.
The thought surprised her—she had always been the quintessential 'nice girl.' Hell, it was practically her epitaph. Or at least, it had been.
No, she thought. I stopped being nice a long time ago.
She got in the cab—the door was unlocked—and sat down in the backseat. When he didn't start the car, she folded her arms and waited.
The cabbie sighed. “Last Chance it is.”
It was a long drive. The bar was on the outskirts of North Point where it was more rural, and therefore more susceptible to the invasion of the local flora and fauna.
Val paid the fare and tossed a five dollar tip over the seat before slipping out of the cab. Quickly, before she lost her nerve. This fragile reservoir of strength was cracking, courage seeping out in small, gushing spurts. The car's tires grated against the gravel driveway, eventually subsiding to a muted roar where white speckled rocks gave way to smooth blacktop.
The building itself was surprisingly innocuous, almost quaint. With the dark wood facade and the hand-painted sign flapping in the breeze, depicting an overflowing stein of beer with a full frothy head, it could have been an English pub.
Music drifted out from the saloon style doors. An overplayed rock song from the eighties. She didn't know the name offhand but it was frequently on the radio. As the doors swung in the breeze, yellow slivers of light danced on the shadowed lawn.
Val took a deep breath and entered the bar.
Cigarette smoke hung in low, swirling clouds. The air of the bar was thick with it. A smoking bar. That was unusual, especially in this day and age.
The inside was far less pristine than the outside. More Country Western than Ye Olde English Tavern. The varnished oak tables bore cuts and scratches, gang logos and profanity, that looked as if they had been carved in with knives. Perhaps they had been.
Val tucked her hands under her arms. A thin layer of grime covered every surface, including the floor, and made her afraid to inspect anything too closely. At least the bar looked somewhat hygienic.
She took a seat at the bar, facing away from the door as instructed, and pretended to study the drinks menu as she scanned the room and its occupants.
Is he already here?
There were the rough-looking men playing pool who looked like they'd gotten their vests done at a Be*dazzled party. There was the crowd clustered around the karaoke machine, watching a bleach blonde woman sing an off-key rendition of Journey. She looked down at her phone, then back at the bar. Six-thirty. Where was—
“You won't be needing this.”
She felt her phone being tugged from her hand. She was so surprised that it didn't even occur to her to fight back. Because she recognized that voice.
Val spun around on the stool, eye-level with a designer shirt, and when she lifted her head her suspicions were confirmed as she met the hard, blue gaze of Vance Benveniste.
He smiled crookedly. “Long time, no see.” “You…you?” This was unexpected. This did not make sense.
/> “Surprise.” He swung himself up on the stool beside her, tucking the phone into his shirt pocket. Well out of reach. “I guess you weren't expecting me.” He raised a hand to signal over the bartender. “You're looking mighty fine.”
“You were at the party. Mary's party. You were the one who—” Val clenched her hands. “You creep.”
“That's right, Green Eyes. I'm a creep. A sexed-up ignoramus. No way someone like me could possibly pose as your precious grandmaster's rival, right, Val?”
He was right. The possibility really hadn't crossed her mind. She hadn't suspected him at all.
“Aw, you mean I really did have you fooled? I don't know whether I should feel insulted or flattered.”
“Where's Mary?”
The bartender came over, interrupting Vance's reply. If he'd even intended on giving her one. She watched him pass over his ID and some money. Once the bartender left again, Vance said, “She's fine.”
“That's not what I asked.”
A beer was brought to him, amber liquid in a clear frosted glass. His Adam's apple bobbed as he took an indolent swig, regarding her over the top of the mug. She kept her face frozen. Eventually he set the glass down and wiped off his mouth with the back of one hand. His lips were still moist. They reminded her of worms. The big purple ones.
Night crawlers. They're called night crawlers. “Where is she?” Val repeated.
“In the back of my truck—probably dizzy as hell, and with a mean mother of a headache to boot.”
“What?”
“Don't look at me like that, babe. I was very gentle with her. Can I buy you a drink?”
“I don't want anything from you except Mary.”
Vance waved over the bartender. “A glass of water, please.” Val tried to catch his eyes, to beam into his mind what could not be said aloud, and Vance squeezed her thigh beneath the counter. “If you call for help, your friend goes bye-bye.”
She twisted her hip away. “I wasn't going to,” she hissed. “Don't touch me.”
The bartender glanced over in their direction, still holding the water pitcher. A few limp slices of lemons floated amongst the ice like corpses. Val felt the wet, slimy lips brush against her ear.
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