Fear Hall: The Beginning (3 page)

Running to the row of low bushes that lined the side of Fear Hall.

And there he was, sprawled over a bush, on his stomach, arms outstretched as if hugging the bush. There was the body.

Or what was left of it.

Cut up. All cut up. All slashed and torn and cut up.

Cut up. Cut up.

“I
know
him!” Mary shrieked. Her hands tugged at the sides of her curly red hair. “Oh
noooo!
I know him!”

“It's Brendan!” Melanie gasped.

Frightened cries rang out. Shrieks and gasps.

I saw a girl spin away, sickened by the sight. At the corner of the building, another girl dropped to her knees and vomited noisily onto the grass.

I heard the high wail of sirens in the distance. Shouts and cries all around. So loud. So terrifying.

I pressed my hands against my ears.

And gazed again at Brendan. His ripped body spread over the bush. Hugging it. Hugging it.

A last hug.

When I turned away, gasping for air, I found Melanie staring at me.

“What?” I demanded sharply.

She squinted harder at me. “Hope, didn't you go out with Brendan tonight?”

“Excuse me?” I cried angrily. “Have you been
spying
on me?”

Melanie's mouth dropped open. “Spying? Of course not. Why would I spy on you?”

She turned to Brendan's body, made a disgusted face, then quickly turned back to me. “It's just that I thought I saw you and Brendan walking across The Triangle after dinner.”

“No. It wasn't me,” I replied coldly. “Maybe you should get your eyes checked, Melanie.”

She swallowed hard. Mary was beside her, trembling and crying her eyes out.

“I knew him. I
knew
him,” Mary kept murmuring. “I can't believe it. Someone I know … someone I
knew
… has been
murdered!
”

Melanie slipped her arm around Mary's trembling
shoulders. I watched her guide Mary back into the dorm.

The sirens grew louder.

Girls were crying. Covering their eyes. Comforting each other.

I thought of Darryl. I wondered if he was still hiding in our clothes closet.

I suddenly had the urge to shut everyone up. I wanted to stand in front of them and shout:
“It was all a mistake! It's just a mistake! Darryl thought it was me—but it was really Angel!
”

But, of course, that wouldn't help poor Brendan, would it? It was too late to help Brendan.

I shivered. And realized I was half frozen, standing out there in the cold in my nightshirt and bare feet.

Turning away from Brendan's cut-up body, I wrapped my arms around myself and hurried back into the warmth of the dorm. As I stepped inside the lobby, I saw flashing red lights reflected in the glass door. I glanced behind me to see two ambulances screeching to a stop in front of the building.

“Too late for them,” I murmured to myself.

I took the elevator to thirteen and hurried to my room, still hugging myself, still trying to warm up.

I found Darryl sitting on my bed, hunched over glumly, head resting in his hands.

I closed the door carefully behind me and stormed up to him. “How could you do that?” I demanded. “How
could
you? Are you crazy?”

He didn't look up. “Maybe,” he muttered.

“Maybe?” I cried shrilly.
“Maybe
you're crazy? Do
you think it's
normal
to slice up a nice guy, a guy we all know?”

“Maybe I
am
crazy,” Darryl repeated softly. Then he pulled his head up from his hands and narrowed his eyes menacingly at me.

“I'm warning you, Hope,” he said through clenched teeth. “Maybe I'm real crazy. But I'm giving you fair warning. Don't do it again. Don't go out with another guy.”

“But—but—” I sputtered. “I
told
you—it wasn't me. It was Angel.”

He jumped to his feet. Nearly knocked me over. His pale eyes burned into mine. “Just don't go out with another guy,” he warned. “Or I might do it again. I just might.”

He staggered out the door before I could say a word.

Less than a minute later, someone pounded hard on the door.

“Who is it?” I called. “Melanie? Are you back again?”

“Police,” came a deep-voiced reply. “We need to ask some questions.”

I turned to Angel. “You'd better answer it,” I told her. “They'll want to talk to you.”

I watched her pull open the door. But I was thinking about Darryl. Thinking hard.

What was I going to do with him?

part two
 
Jasmine

“A
little more coffee, Jasmine.” Mrs. Jacklin raised her cup and shoved it into my face.

I set down the rag I'd been using to wipe the counter. Then I dried my hands on my waitress apron. And filled the old woman's cup from the pot that had been simmering on the burner since the morning.

Mrs. Jacklin comes into Campus Corner every afternoon for coffee and a sweet roll. She used to teach at Ivy State. History courses. She likes to tell me stories about what the campus was like in the old days.

But I seldom have time to listen. Campus Corner gets pretty busy in the late afternoon. It's one of the most popular coffee shops on campus.

And since I'm the only waitress on duty from four to seven, the job really keeps me hopping. Marty Dell, the owner and grill cook, keeps a close eye on me from the kitchen. He never lets me goof off for a second. I think he keeps track of every glass of water I take!

But I don't complain. I'm lucky to have the job. It pays just enough to keep me going from week to week. To pay for textbooks and other school supplies. And, once in a while, I can even buy something new to wear.

So I put up with Marty, the slave driver. I work as hard as I can. And I don't protest or say anything back when he's always on my case.

I think the job is even helping me with my shyness. It forces me to talk to people. I have to go up to them and smile and make conversation. Which I'm not good at.

My mother always called me Fish.

Isn't that a disgusting nickname? She called me that because she said I had the personality of a fish. A dead fish.

My mother wasn't very kind to me. She never did anything to build up my confidence. Instead, she always tried to tear me down.

I've always hated being shy. I never could understand what was different about me, what was lacking in me.

Why could other kids laugh and joke with each other, while I just stood there feeling embarrassed? Why couldn't I just walk up to a group of kids and start a conversation, the way others did?

Today I understand that some people are naturally shy.

But it doesn't really help to understand. It doesn't make me feel any better about myself.

I'd rather be like Angel. So free and easy with people. Angel can talk to anyone. And she's so amazing with boys!

She starts purring at them in that whispery voice of hers. And they don't care
what
she's saying! It's almost as if Angel hypnotizes them.

What incredible power!

Sometimes I borrow her sexy clothes. Her midriff tops and little skirts and tights. I try to purr the way she does, talking really slow and soft. And I try her slinky, catlike walk.

But it only makes me feel uncomfortable. And silly.

I'll always be Jasmine, I tell myself. I'll never be Angel. So I have to find a way to be the best Jasmine I can be.

Which is one reason why I keep my waitress job.

Angel and Hope are very understanding. They accept me being shy and not talking much.

Eden laughs at me and cracks a lot of jokes at my expense. But that's just her way.

I'm lucky that I like my roommates so much. I feel really close to all of them.

“Just a splash more coffee, Jasmine.” Mrs. Jacklin held up her white coffee cup again. Her hands were so old-looking, red and splotchy.

The red made me think of Brendan.

Brendan. And blood. Brendan's blood.

Anytime I see anything bright red now, I think of that poor guy. I see his body slashed and torn, as if a wild animal had ripped him apart.

He was murdered two days ago, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it.

None of us has.

And just as I thought of him, I heard someone say his name.

I poured the coffee for Mrs. Jacklin. I had to tip the glass coffeepot all the way because if was almost empty. As I finished, my eyes went to the booth against the wall.

And I saw the three M's: Melanie, Mary, and Margie—the girls who live across the hall. They were leaning over their menus, heads close together, expressions somber. And they were talking about Brendan.

Talking in low voices.

And every few seconds they looked up—
at me!

Hey, what's the story here? I wondered.

Why are they staring at
me?

A
t first I thought maybe I had a stain or something on my waitress uniform. Or maybe my hair was messed up.

That's the way I think. I'm so self-conscious.

I heard Mary say she's had nightmares every night. She shook her head and her curly, red hair shook with it.

And then Melanie said she hadn't been able to concentrate on her classes at all. She tugged at the long, dangling silver earring she always wore.

Margie didn't say anything. But she kept glancing up at me, like the others.

“Brendan was a great guy,” Melanie said. She tapped her long, perfect red fingernails on the plastic menu.

Red fingernails. Red as blood.

Why did they keep looking at me?

“I can't believe someone killed him right outside our dorm,” Margie said in that squeaky mouse voice of hers. She looks a lot like a mouse. Her turned-up little nose even twitches like a mouse nose.

“Fear Hall,” Mary murmured. “I always thought the scary stories were a joke.”

“Some joke.” Margie sighed.

They all glanced up at me again.

I pulled out my pad and walked over to their table. I heard the jingle of change on the counter behind me. Mrs. Jacklin was leaving me my usual thirty-five-cent tip.

“Why do you keep staring at me?”

I didn't mean to say that. I meant to say, “What can I bring you?” But the words fell right out of my mouth.

“Why do you keep staring at me?”

Margie opened her mouth in surprise. I could see that she didn't expect me to ask that.

But Melanie had an answer, as always. “We … we just wanted you to come take our order,” she told me, blushing. She tugged tensely at her long earring.

I raised the pad and pulled the pencil from my apron pocket. Mary and Margie ordered plates of French fries and Cokes. Melanie ordered a tossed salad and a Diet Coke. Typical.

I could see Marty watching me through the open window to the kitchen. I knew if I spent too long chatting with them, he would flash me an angry look.

I handed their order to Marty and slid the thirty-five cents from Mrs. Jacklin off the countertop and into my apron pocket. Every little bit helped.

“Hi!” I called out to Eden and Angel as they slid into the booth across the restaurant from the three M's.

I put on a fresh pot of coffee. Then I untied my apron and pulled it off. I hung it on the hook on the kitchen door. “I'm taking a ten-minute break,” I told Marty.

He looked at his watch. Every day I take a ten-minute break at five-thirty. And every day Marty looks at his watch.

I made Eden slide against the wall, and I dropped into the booth beside her. “What's up?” I asked them.

They both shook their heads glumly.

I felt a stab of fear in my chest. “What's wrong?” I asked.

“It's Hope,” Eden murmured.

“Huh?” I gasped. “Has something happened to Hope?”

“N
o. Hope is okay,” Angel replied softly. “It's just … we're worried about her.”

“And Darryl,” Eden added, frowning.

Angel pulled a piece of lint off her white sweater with her purple fingernails. Her lipstick matched her nails. She had two purple earrings in each ear.

Angel thinks a
lot
about how she looks.

“Hope is just so crazy about Darryl, she won't listen to reason,” Angel complained.

Eden nodded. “Darryl is a total creep,” she said. “He's a psycho. A real nut case. He should be locked up.”

I pictured Brendan once again, sprawled over the bush beside the dorm.

“You're right,” I told Eden. “Darryl
should
be locked up.”

“He's dangerous. He should be put away—before he hurts someone else,” Eden replied.

“Before he
kills
someone else,” Angel said, her eyes wide with fright.

“But Hope won't listen to us,” Eden told me. “Hope wouldn't let us tell the police. She won't let us turn Darryl in.”