Terrorscape (21 page)

“We know everything. We know about freshman
year—about the house—why you left town. God, Val,
you were just a kid. Why didn't you let us know?
Didn't you think we should? That I should?” Mary
seemed more scared and hurt than angry, though
there was definitely anger there. Fear eclipsed the
anger; the fear was real, harsh, acrid as lye. It ate
through Mary's words and was somehow worse than
anger. “Aren't we your friends? Don't you care about
us at all?”

“Of course I do,” Val said hollowly, wondering
even as she spoke whether it was true.

“Then why didn't you say something?”
Because the words are knives in my throat.
“He said he'd hurt you if I said anything.”
If I speak, then I will bleed.
“And you believed him?”

“No friends.” She was so very tired. “No lovers.
No police.”

 

It took Mary a moment to speak. Her face was
pale. “You went to him.”

My heart is dust. I have nothing left to fight for, and
still I must fight.
“You spent the night with him.”

“He said he was going to cut Jade's face.”
“Oh my God, Val.”

I was afraid like that once
, Val thought.
Shocked that
one being could wish to harm another
.

Not anymore.
“I thought he wanted to kill me.”

“Val,” Mary said. “Oh my God. Why did you do
that? Why did you go? He
could
have killed you.”
“He didn't, though. He should have, but he
didn't.”
Instead, he did something worse. He ended my
life, and left me breathing so I could feel the void
. “Now
others are going to die. All because of me. Because I
am too weak and too stupid to stop him.”
And then she burst into tears, because she did not
care enough, but cared just enough to care that she
didn't. And because, dead or alive, a beating heart can
still bleed.
Mary stepped forward, as if to offer comfort, but
couldn't seem to bring herself to touch Val. As if that
taint were something that could be passed from one
person to another, like disease. Maybe it could and
did. Why else would people say that misery loved
company? “We need to go to the police.”
“No.” Val lowered her hands from her face. “No,”
she said fiercely. “No police. Didn't you hear me?”

“Val, he's a killer—I don't want to die.”

 

“Then don't call the cops.” Val shook her head.

“You can't catch him. Don't you see? He is too smart.
I've tried. I've tried and tried and tried, and it doesn't
do any good. You can't beat him. You can't fight him.
You have to play by his rules, or you lose—and he
will break you.”

Mary took a step back. “You're scaring me.”
“You should be scared. You should be terrified.”
“Please, just let me—”
“I said no.” Val swiped the cell phone out of

Mary's hand. It hit the wall and shattered. She was
breathing hard. On some level, she had a picture of
herself, of how she must look, wild-eyed, rumpled
and disheveled, limbs stiff from sleeping against the
hard surface of the desk. She knew she must look
insane, or close to it, and she could not bring herself
to care.

Adrenaline flooded through her. It was the key to
her chains. It left her buoyant.

Emboldened, she said, “If you call the cops, I'll
deny it. I'll deny everything.”
“Val—”

“I'll show them my medication. They'll think I'm
crazy—that you humored me, because you didn't
know. Everyone with mental illness is unstable, don't
you know? Liable to kill themselves or others.” She
smiled bitterly. “Just like the movies. Blame the
victim.”

Mary said nothing, but a trapped look had
become fixed on her face like webbing.

 

“Look—just don't call the police,” Val said, in a
slightly calmer voice. “I'll take care of it. I promise.”

When Mary's silence continued, Val turned and
walked out of the room, glad that the other girl could
not hear the pounding of her heart.
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 that 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.