Last Breath

by Diane Hoh

  I don’t like this, Cassidy thought nervously. Something is really wrong. “Could someone have been in our room?” she asked.

  “Someone?” Ann echoed in astonishment. “Like who?”

  “I don’t know.” Cassidy knew she was clutching at straws. Why would someone come into their room simply to tamper with her clock and hide her watch? That was too ridiculous. But she was desperate for an answer. “All I know is, my watch wasn’t on this table when I left this morning.”

  “Well, it’s here now,” Sawyer interrupted heartily, clearly anxious to have the unsettling business behind them. “All’s well that ends well. Want to go downstairs and get something to eat?”

  Everyone looked at Cassidy. She could see that they all hoped she would answer yes. Then they could go to breakfast and forget all this craziness. That’s what they were hoping would happen.

  And why not? What was the point of continuing to stand here and insist that her watch had been missing when no one believed her? Did she still believe it herself?

  She wasn’t sure. She had been sure, but now…

  What, she wondered, did her friends think had happened? Did they think she had forgotten how to read a clock correctly? That she couldn’t find her own watch when it was staring her right in the face? They were already convinced that she didn’t know the difference between a brand-new, crisp bill and an old, smooth, used one.

  “Do you think I was seeing things?” she couldn’t resist asking. “Or, in the case of my watch, not seeing them?”

  “No one said that, Cassidy,” Ann said calmly. “It’s just that you’ve been sick, and then you took that bad fall yesterday. That must have shaken you up some. Besides, anyone can look at a clock wrong. I’ve done it lots of times.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Cassidy said, her voice cool. “Not you, Ann.” But it was hopeless, she could see that. She was never going to convince them that the clock had been an hour slow, or that her watch had been missing.

  She was glad now that she hadn’t tried to tell them about the TransAm tormenting her yesterday at the mall. The looks of doubt on their faces now would be nothing compared to their reactions to such a crazy story. She’d been right to keep it to herself.

  She suddenly felt very tired, as if she’d run a long distance. Maybe they were right. It had been a rotten week. She hadn’t been herself. Maybe she still wasn’t. It was easy to oversleep when you were exhausted. Then you woke up, looked at the clock, and saw what you wanted to see, right?

  Sophie was probably right: The watch must have been on the table the whole time. Maybe it had slid underneath the clock. Yes, that could explain it. It had been hiding underneath the clock and when she picked up the clock just now to show them, presto, there was the missing watch.

  “You’re right,” she said quietly, “I know you’re right. I was tired, and…”

  “You need something to eat,” Sawyer said quickly. “Didn’t eat breakfast, I’ll bet. Did you?”

  “No. I’ll do that now.”

  As they all left, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder toward her nightstand, where the clock sat staring out into the room, its hands smugly pointing out the correct time.

  She had been so sure the small hand had been on the eight when she awoke that morning. Not on the nine. On the eight.

  Being so wrong about something so simple, so basic, left her feeling like she had a big hole in her stomach.

  But maybe that was just hunger.

  Her leg ached all the way through a day of classes, a dance committee meeting, and a visit to the library to work on her psych paper, with a side trip to the post office to pick up mail. While she was there, she picked up the mail for her suitemates too: A care package from Sophie’s grandmother, who made the best chocolate chip cookies in the world, a letter for Talia, the return address the hospital where her mother worked, two postcards for Ann from friends in other schools, circulars from the campus bookstore, and four small, purple envelopes decorated with Salem University stickers.

  She was walking back from the PO to the Quad, alone, when she spotted the black TransAm. It was parked in front of the Quad, its engine idling.

  Cassidy stopped walking. She was by the fountain in the commons, a large, rectangular patch of green located near the Quad. The sight of the car made her knees weak, and she sank down on the stone wall around the fountain.

  What was the car doing there? Waiting for her? Hadn’t he tormented her enough yesterday? She didn’t feel up to playing another nasty game of tag. But she couldn’t get into the Quad without passing the car.

  Of course you can, a little voice in her head said. The Quad is a huge complex. It has more than one door, silly. Pick door A, pick door B, pick any one of a dozen other entrances.

  Cassidy shook her head and laughed softly to herself. Of course. What was the matter with her? She could simply retrace her steps to a side entrance and go in that way. She didn’t need to go anywhere near that creepy car. And there were no driveways on the commons, so the car couldn’t follow her.

  Still a little shaky, but relieved, she got up and hurried to a side entrance, pulled the door open, and went inside. She never once looked over her shoulder toward the waiting car.

  “Look,” she said when she entered the suite and found Sophie coming out of the bathroom, her hair dripping wet, “invitations.” She handed Sophie her mail.

  Sophie glanced up with interest. “No kidding? A party, what fun!” she said, and ripped open the envelope. “Oh, great, it’s at Nightingale Hall! I’m dying to see the inside of that place. Cath Devon’s giving it. Ann’s friend. And she’s my partner in art class. I didn’t think she was the party type. She’s kind of shy and quiet. You never know about people, do you?”

  Nightingale Hall was an off-campus dorm some distance up the road from Salem University. A huge, old brick house sitting at the top of a hill, surrounded by tall, dark oak trees, it had been the subject of rumors on campus. Someone had died there, although the details about the death were sketchy. Nightmare Hall, everyone called it now.

  Cassidy thought a party sounded like fun, but she wasn’t really interested in Nightmare Hall. Although she liked big old houses, she preferred them to have a cheerful look. Had Nightmare Hall belonged to her, she would have painted it a crisp white or a mellow yellow, repaired the tilting front porch, and painted the shutters and the front door a deep cranberry red, hung a bright red mailbox near the door. Anything to take away that creepy, old-horror-movie look the house had.

  Still, a party might be nice. She barely knew Cath Devon, and was surprised to have been invited. Maybe her name had made its way onto the invitation list because she was Ann’s roommate. Or because she was friendly with Jessica Vogt and Ian Banion, two residents of Nightmare Hall. They were in her math class. She liked both of them, and the party would be a good opportunity to get to know them better.

  “I love Friday night parties,” Sophie said. “We get to sleep late the next morning.”

  “Sophie, you love all parties,” Cassidy teased. “You’re a party animal.”

  “This is true,” Sophie admitted. “That’s because I never went to any parties in high school. Wasn’t invited. Too fat for those unsophisticated high-schoolers.” Pain flashed across her face.

  “Well, you aren’t fat. And you’re invited to all the parties now.”

  “This, too, is true,” Sophie agreed, and the pain disappeared from her eyes.

  By the time Cassidy had taken a quick shower and applied fresh antiseptic cream to the abrasion on her leg, Ann and Talia had returned and opened their own invitations. “So,” Cassidy said as she sat down on her bed and opened her own envelope, “is everybody going to this party?”

  “I’m not sure,” Talia said. “I’m running the next day. Probably shouldn’t party the night before.”

  “Ms. Physically Fit,” Sophie said. “If you can’t be physically fit and still party, then I’ll settle for poor muscle tone.”

&
nbsp; “I might have to baby-sit,” Ann said. “Professor Benham is finally dating. Her husband’s been dead over a year, so I say it’s about time. She might be going out that night.”

  “There are other sitters, Ann,” Cassidy pointed out. If Travis asked Ann to the party, would he be as annoyed with Ann for turning him down to baby-sit as he’d been with Cassidy for being busy with activities?

  Ann shrugged. “I could use the money.”

  The talk turned to what to wear, and after a while, Cassidy rolled over and went to sleep.

  She dreamed that she was being driven to the party at Nightmare Hall in the black TransAm, but when they reached the long, curving gravel driveway up to the house, the car raced past it, and when she cried out a protest, the driver turned his head around to face her. But he had no face. No eyes, no mouth, no nose, no chin. There was only a cream-colored parka hood and a gray, foggy blank where his facial features should have been.

  She awoke Wednesday morning shivering, her skin clammy and cold.

  When she turned in the overdue psych paper, Professor Bruin said only, “About time.”

  The discussion in class that day centered again around the fragility of the human mind.

  Cassidy, drowsy in the overheated room, rested her chin on her hand, her eyelids heavy. That nightmare had robbed her of a decent night’s sleep. Who did that horrible car belong to? And why was it haunting her? She was so tired. She had never been so tired.

  “Fatigue,” the professor said as she strode back and forth, front and center in the large lecture hall, “can damage our immune system, weaken our resistance.”

  Tell me about it, Cassidy thought, listening now.

  “And stress, too, has the ability to weaken our resources. Under certain circumstances, even the strongest ego can slip over the edge of sanity, given enough reason.”

  Someone in the group made an audible sound of disbelief.

  “It’s true,” the professor continued, nodding her head for emphasis. “Many factors have the ability to weaken our hold on sanity. Illness, fatigue, depression, loneliness, shock, all of those things and more batter our senses, making us vulnerable to the ordinary stresses of everyday life. You’re all fond of the expression ‘losing it.’ That is most likely to happen when we are overburdened with stress of one sort or another. No matter how strong we think we are, certain stimuli, such as the ones I mentioned above, can convince us that we’re seeing things we really aren’t, hearing sounds no one else hears, can take from us the ability to perform the simplest tasks. This is why managing your time and your physical and emotional resources well is so important.”

  Cassidy sat up straighter. “Seeing things?” “Losing it?” “Overburdened?” What was Professor Bruin talking about?

  Involuntarily, Cassidy’s head swivelled and she found herself looking straight into Travis’s dark eyes. He was nodding knowingly, as if Professor Bruin had said aloud, “Cassidy Kirk, I’m talking about you!”

  Maybe she is, Cassidy thought as she flushed and looked away, maybe she is.

  Chapter 7

  CASSIDY WAS SO BUSY Thursday and Friday, she hardly had time to catch her breath. There were two meetings of the dance committee, a science lab, two essays to write, dinner at Vinnie’s (a popular pizza hangout), a movie with Sawyer Thursday night, errands to run. She had dry cleaning to take into town and one bicycle tire needed a slow leak fixed before the next Hike and Bike Club ride.

  All of it seemed to take far more concentration than usual, and every time she walked across campus she found herself glancing around for any sign of the black car.

  “Delegate,” Sawyer suggested. “Quit trying to do everything yourself. You don’t leap tall buildings in a single bound, do you? And I’ve never seen you changing into a blue caped outfit in a telephone booth. Delegate, Cassidy, it’s the answer to a long life.”

  She decided he was right. She didn’t need to do it all herself. So she asked Talia to take her sweaters to the dry cleaners when she took her own clothes in, and she asked Sophie if she would take Cassidy’s bike to the campus shop to have the tire fixed.

  She didn’t ask Ann to do anything.

  On Friday morning, Dr. Bruin asked her to stay after class.

  Cassidy felt everyone’s eyes on her. She groaned silently. What had she done now? She’d handed in the essay on the fragile human mind. Hadn’t she done a good job?

  “You have a test to make up,” the professor reminded her when everyone else had left the room. “I gave it while you were sick. I’m a little surprised you haven’t made arrangements to take it.”

  “I didn’t know,” Cassidy began, but she was interrupted.

  “Be in my office at four this afternoon.” With that, Professor Bruin picked up her leather attaché case and left the room.

  Four o’clock? Cassidy made a face. Darn! No one had said anything about a test being given while she was out sick. Well, at least she’d have time to take the test and still get back to the Quad early enough to get ready for the party at Nightmare Hall.

  As she left the room, she hoped she was prepared for whatever questions Dr. Bruin might throw at her.

  She didn’t feel prepared. For much of anything.

  Sawyer was waiting for her out in the hall. “Bad?” he asked sympathetically.

  “No, I guess not. I have to make up a test. Why didn’t you guys tell me she hit you with a pop quiz while I was out sick?”

  “Forgot. Sorry. Listen, I can’t see you tonight. Got some heavy-duty studying to do. Test in physics tomorrow morning, crack of dawn. How about tomorrow night? If we win the game with State tomorrow, there’ll be a lot of celebrating. Wouldn’t want to miss that, would we?”

  He wasn’t coming to the party at Nightmare Hall? Cassidy’s disappointment was intense. It wouldn’t be nearly as much fun without him. Unlike Travis McVey, who took life far too seriously, Sawyer knew how to have a good time.

  But since Sawyer already seemed to feel bad, she didn’t see any point in rubbing it in. As for partying two nights in a row, she’d earned it. She’d had worse weeks, but she couldn’t remember exactly when or why. “Sure. What time?”

  When they had made their plans, Sawyer kissed her good-bye, and she headed straight for the library to cram for the psych test.

  But when she got to Dr. Bruin’s office that afternoon at four o’clock sharp, she received a second shock.

  “Oh, heavens, I’m not giving you the test now!” the professor said as Cassidy unearthed a pencil from her backpack. “I have a faculty meeting. I only asked you here to set up a time for the test.” She leafed through a thick, black notebook on her desk. “Seven o’clock tonight, here,” she said briskly. “Be on time.”

  “Tonight? Seven o’clock tonight?”

  “Would seven o’clock tomorrow morning be preferable?” the professor asked sharply, closing the notebook and standing up.

  Seven a.m. the morning after the party? She’d have to get up at six. No way. “No, it’s…” The test couldn’t take that long. An hour? She could go back to the Quad now, shower and shampoo, dress in her party gear, come back and take the test and leave for the party from here. “It’s okay. I’ll be here.”

  “On time, please,” Dr. Bruin repeated. “I have an engagement this evening.”

  Well, so do I, Cassidy thought resentfully as she left the office. There just weren’t enough hours in the day, that was all. Maybe she should write to Congress about adding three or four more hours to each day. It was the only way she was ever going to get her life under control.

  No one was in the suite when she arrived. A note in Ann’s handwriting lay on Cassidy’s bed.

  Where were you? We waited, but Sophie was in a hurry to get to the mall. She forgot shoes last week, of course. What else is new? If she takes as long as she usually does, we’ll have to catch up with you later. Ann.

  Cassidy shrugged. Okay, she’d meet them at the party, just as she’d planned. It would have been more fun to le
ave the dorm together, but her grade in psych was already iffy. She couldn’t afford to blow off this test.

  She changed into brown velvet jeans and a cream-colored sweater, piled her hair on top Of her head and fastened it with a tortoise-shell clip, pulling loose small pieces at the sides and back for a more casual look. Then she settled on her bed and munched on an apple while she studied her psych textbook, hoping the whole time that the door would burst open and her roommates would burst in.

  They didn’t.

  She left the room at ten minutes before seven, remembering Dr. Bruin’s warning about arriving at her office late.

  The test took her ninety minutes. She had studied all the wrong things, and had to struggle for half the answers. The class had only been given fifty minutes for the very same test. Still, while Cassidy appreciated being given the extra time, the hands on her wristwatch seemed to be ticking so loudly, she half-expected the professor to raise her head from the book she was reading and say, “Will you please be quiet?” Eight…eight-fifteen…eight-twenty…she wasn’t going to arrive at Nightmare Hall much before nine.

  Not that it mattered. Weekend parties were so informal, you could almost arrive any time. And it wasn’t as if Sawyer was going to be there, waiting impatiently.

  It wouldn’t be as much fun without him. And if Travis was there, with Ann at his side, it would be even less fun. A lot less.

  Cassidy nibbled on her pencil eraser. Maybe she wouldn’t go. She was tired, and this test hadn’t helped. Her head ached. If she hadn’t already fixed her hair and changed her clothes, she’d be tempted to just go back to the room and sack out. Everyone else would be at the party, so she’d have complete peace and quiet. A great opportunity to get caught up on her rest. That way, she wouldn’t be risking another asthma attack from fatigue and stress.

  But she needed some fun. A little fun might be better medication for her right now than sleep. And all of her friends, except Sawyer, would be there.

  She would go. If she ever finished this killer test.

  She finished. At eight-twenty-five, according to her watch.