Fear Hall: The Beginning (10 page)

I didn't answer her. My head spun. My legs felt rubbery and weak. But I ran to the window and peered down at the campus.

And saw Darryl. By himself now.

No cops. The officers had left.

And Darryl stood alone. Staring up at me. Staring up at my window.

With the most terrifying look of pure hatred on his face.

 
Jasmine

I
jogged across Pine Street and crossed without looking, ignoring the red light. A car honked, but I didn't stop to see what the problem was.

The neon sign in the front of the Campus Corner came into view in the middle of the next block. I ducked my head into the swirling, cold wind and began to run full speed.

I was late for work. And I knew Marty would be in my face the moment I stepped through the glass door.

“Jasmine—where have you been?”

“Jasmine—you know you're the only waitress on duty after four. How can you stand me up like this?”

“Jasmine—didn't
anyone
teach you about responsibility?”

I've heard it all before. I've heard him shout and curse and threaten to fire me.

I try to get to work on time. And I try to be the best waitress I can be, even though it's boring, lonely work.

But sometimes the time goes by and I don't realize it. Sometimes I get involved in something more important and don't want to admit that I have no choice. That I have to keep this job if I want to stay at Ivy State.

Anyway, I burst breathlessly into the restaurant. And started to pull back my long blond hair. Marty makes all of us wear hair nets, which I really hate.
He
doesn't wear one—and he's the cook!

I tugged off my parka and tossed it over a coat hook. And started to the kitchen behind the lunch counter to get my apron.

Mrs. Jacklin, my daily customer, was lowering herself into her usual table. I glanced at the coffeepot to make sure there was coffee. Mrs. Jacklin, I knew, would be lingering over her cup of coffee for at least an hour.

My eyes swept the restaurant. A couple of guys from the college sat at a back booth with slices of pie and Cokes. No one else.

Marty was sitting on a wooden stool near the sink, reading a magazine. He raised his eyes when I came in, and his expression turned sour.

“Jasmine, I have to talk to you,” he said quietly. His cheeks turned red. He rolled up the magazine between his hands and slapped his lap with it.

“Sorry I'm late,” I murmured, reaching for my apron.

“I really need a waitress here at four,” Marty said. He glanced at the clock above the sink. Four-twenty.

“That clock is fast,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

“I'm very disappointed in you,” he said, tossing the rolled-up magazine onto the counter.

“Sorry,” I muttered. What else could I say?

“I know you're a bright girl,” Marty continued, frowning at me. “Sure, you're quiet. Not much personality …”

You don't have to insult me because I'm a few minutes late!
I thought angrily. But I let it pass.

“But I expected you to be more responsible,” he continued.

How long is he going to scold me? I wondered. I already said I was sorry.

“I—I have to get Mrs. Jacklin her coffee,” I stammered.

Marty shook his head. “No, you don't. I'll get it. You stay here.”

He slid off the stool. Disappeared into the front for a few seconds. I heard the clink of coffee cups. Heard him say something to Mrs. Jacklin.

When he returned to the kitchen, his cheeks reddened again. He shut the kitchen door.

Uh-oh, I thought. This looks like bad news.

“I'm afraid I have to let you go,” he said. “I'm really sorry, Jasmine.”

“Oh, wait. Please—” I started. I really didn't want
to lose this job. “I won't be late again, Mr. Dell. I promise.”

I sounded like a five-year-old. But I didn't care.

Marty shook his head. “Being late is one thing, Jasmine,” he replied quietly. “But where were you yesterday?”

“Excuse me?” My mouth dropped open.

“You didn't show up at all yesterday,” he said, sighing. He picked up the magazine and rolled it tensely between his hands. “I had to run the place myself. And we were really busy.”

“Yesterday?” I repeated. I suddenly felt sick. My legs felt weak. My throat tightened.

“Yes. Where were you?” he demanded.

I stared at him. “Uh …” I thought hard. Where was I yesterday afternoon? Where?

“I don't remember,” I told him.

His face twisted in disgust. “You don't even have an excuse? That's the best you can do?
You don't remember?
Why don't you tell me you were sick? Or that you had to take a test? Give me a good excuse, Jasmine.”

I shook my head. I felt dizzy. “But … really,” I insisted. “I really don't remember
where
I was yesterday afternoon.” I swallowed hard. “In fact, I don't remember
anything
about yesterday,” I gasped. “Nothing at all.”

Marty sighed. He took the apron from my hands. “Here. I've written you a check for what I owe you.”

I took the check from him without looking at it. The kitchen blurred. I was concentrating … concentrating on yesterday.

Where was I? Where?

I had to get out of that kitchen. I had to go somewhere and think.

“Good-bye, Jasmine,” Marty said, slapping the magazine nervously against his leg. “I'm sorry it didn't work out. I really am.”

I mumbled something to him. I didn't even hear myself.

Then I floated back out to the restaurant to get my parka. Mrs. Jacklin offered a greeting as I passed her table. But I didn't reply.

I pulled the parka off the hook and stepped outside without putting it on.

“Where was I yesterday?” I asked myself out loud.

Why can't I remember?

What's wrong with me?

I
n a frightened daze, I wandered across the campus. Past dark-uniformed police officers and groups of students huddled together, talking excitedly.

I found a table at the… back of the cafeteria in the Student Union, and sat down with a cup of coffee and a sweet roll. Sat down to think. To remember.

Start somewhere,
I instructed myself. Just try to remember
something.

I took a long sip of coffee. Strong and bitter. Just what I needed to wake up my brain.

I remembered Hope being upset about something. Yes. I was asleep, my covers pulled up to my head. And Hope was upset because something terrible had happened.

Again.

Keep thinking,
I ordered myself.
It's coming back to you.

But before I could remember more, someone plopped down across from me at my table. I saw a dark, plaid shirt. Straight dark hair, unbrushed and wild. Pale blue eyes. Eyes that stared coldly and didn't blink.

“Darryl—!”

I scraped my chair back. Started to get up.

He tugged my arm. “Don't get tense, Jasmine. I just Want to sit down a minute. I just want to talk.”

I pulled my arm free and dropped back into my chair. I didn't want to sit with Darryl. He frightened me. Those cold eyes frightened me.

I never understood how Hope could be so devoted to him. I thought of him as a time bomb. He always seemed ready to explode.

And when he did, someone always got hurt.

“What's wrong?” I asked, gripping my coffee cup with both hands. “What's going on? There are cops all over the campus.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it,” he muttered. He pulled up the collar of his flannel shirt, as if he were cold.

I sipped the coffee. I hoped he didn't see my hand tremble as I lifted the cup.

He really frightened me.

“Three cops stopped me,” he continued, shaking his head. “I was on my way to see Hope, and they
stopped me. And questioned me. About that guy who got murdered. You know. At the driving range.”

I
didn't
know about it. Did it happen yesterday? I wondered. Did it happen during the time I can't remember?

I glanced over Darryl's shoulder and saw Margie a few tables down. She was with a bunch of girls I didn't recognize. For some reason, she was staring hard at me.

When I stared back, she turned away.

What's
her
problem? I wondered.

“Hope wants me to leave.” Darryl's voice broke into my thoughts.

I turned back to him. “Excuse me?”

“Hope wants me to leave,” he repeated impatiently. “She wants me to go hide for a while.”

I struggled to make sense of his words. I couldn't believe Hope would let him go away. She needed him close to her. She needed him so badly.

“What—what did you tell her?” I stammered. As I reached for the coffee cup, my hand brushed over the sweet roll. I realized I hadn't touched it.

“I said
no way!
” Darryl declared angrily. His eyes flared. I saw him ball his hands into fists.

I shrank back. Was he going to take out his anger on
me?

“I'm not running away,” he shouted.

Again, I saw Margie staring at me from across the cafeteria.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Darryl repeated.
“That's what I told Hope.” He rolled his eyes again. “Like I need her advice? I don't need her advice.”

“So what did
she
say when you refused to go hide somewhere?” I asked.

Darryl lowered his eyes to the floor. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“What did Hope say?” I repeated.

“We … argued,” Darryl murmured, still avoiding my eyes. “We fought about it.”

I felt a sudden stab of fear. “And?”

When he raised his eyes to me, his face was pale. His chin trembled. He swept his hair off his forehead. “We fought and I—I did something terrible.”

“Oh
no!
” I gasped.

He nodded. His eyes watered over. “I hurt her, Jasmine. I hurt her real bad.”

 
Hope

I
almost never cry. Some girls I know cry all the time. They cry when they mess up an exam. They cry when a guy stands them up. They cry when they break a nail.

But I'm not much of a crier. I guess it's because I cried so much when I was a little girl. I cried until I realized how much my mother enjoyed seeing me cry.

Then I stopped. And I haven't cried since.

But today I was hunched on the edge of my bed, mopping my tear-drenched cheeks when Jasmine came bursting into the dorm room.

No way I could hide the fact that I'd been crying. My eyes were red-rimmed and watery. My cheeks were red and swollen. My T-shirt was soaked.

“Hope—?” Jasmine's eyes bulged and she raised a
hand to her mouth. “What
happened?
” she cried. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, brushing wet strands of hair from my face. “Yeah. I guess.”

“What did he
do
to you?” Jasmine dropped beside me on the bed and wrapped an arm around my waist. “What did he do?”

I blinked a few times. “How did you know it was Darryl?” I asked, my voice still shaky from all that crying, my throat raw.

“I—I ran into him. At the cafeteria,” Jasmine replied, holding me. “He seemed really messed up. He told me he hurt you.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “Yes. He hurt me. He hurt my feelings.”

She reacted with surprise. “Your feelings? You mean—he didn't hit you or anything?”

I didn't want to scream or cry anymore. But I couldn't hold in my pain. “No. He didn't hit me. He did much worse, Jasmine.
He called me names!
” I wailed.

Jasmine's mouth dropped open.

“He called me horrible names!” I cried shrilly, letting the tears flow again. They rolled down my hot cheeks like a river. “He said I was fat. He called me a cow. He's never done that before, Jasmine! Never! I—I was so hurt!”