The Night Walker (Nightmare Hall) (4 page)

Ivy and Suze, minus their admirers, joined them then, their cheeks pink from the sun. “Men are pigs,” Ivy announced flatly, directing a wicked gaze up the bleachers at Simon. “Is that or is it not Simon Kent up there with Delle Arlen?”

Before a red-faced Quinn could respond, Tobie leaned forward and asked Ivy about an assignment they shared. The conversation became general, and Quinn was grateful.

Maybe Ivy, Suze, and Tobie were right. Simon Kent could go take a flying leap. Quinn Hadley had more important things on her mind.

Forcing a brilliant smile, she joined the conversation.

After practice, they walked down the road to the long, silver diner called Burgers Etc. Danny, his blond hair still damp from a shower, joined them, and then, his dark hair blowing in the breeze, Tim Lobo hurried over to invite himself along.

The diner was midway between the university and the town. Being so close to campus, Burgers was the most popular restaurant in the area, with Vinnie’s Pizzeria running a close second.

It seemed to Quinn as she sat in their booth waiting for her food, that the entire restaurant was filled with couples. There was only one other big group like theirs. The other blue booths were filled with couples hanging all over each other.

Quinn knew one of the couples. Carlie Winters and Donner Timms, both sophomores. They’d been going together since their freshman year and Quinn hardly ever saw one without the other.

Watching Quinn watching Tobie said suddenly, “It won’t last. Any of it. It’s like the dance the other night … it started off just great. But then,” her mouth turned downward, “just like that, it was ruined. Ruined!”

An awkward silence followed her remark.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and jumped up and ran out of the diner.

Danny stared at Tobie’s retreating back. “What’s with her?” he asked in a bewildered voice. “I can’t figure her out.”

“You don’t know what happened to her?” Tim said.

Quinn sat up straighter. Tim knew something about Tobie? “I don’t,” she said. “What happened to Tobie?”

“Her boyfriend died. Last year. Right after Christmas.”

Quinn gasped. Ivy’s eyes widened, Suze whispered, “Oh, no,” and Danny stared.

“Died?” Ivy asked. “How? Car wreck?”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think it was a car wreck. All I know is, they were planning on going to college together, maybe even getting married first, but he didn’t make it. And Tobie took it really hard, that’s what I heard.”

“Where?” Quinn said. “Where did you hear it?” She couldn’t believe Tim Lobo knew something about Tobie that Tobie hadn’t even told her own roommate.

“Some guy from Tobie’s hometown. Riverdale. He went to school with Tobie and her boyfriend. But if you’re looking for details,” Tim added, “you won’t get them from him. He left. He decided to go into his father’s business. He’s gone.”

Quinn sat frozen in shock. Tobie hadn’t been dumped. That wasn’t why she seemed so depressed, and so cynical. The guy she’d loved had
died.

Quinn couldn’t take it all in. She tried to imagine losing someone you loved. What would that do to you?

Tobie had said disparagingly of herself, “I’m no barrel of laughs.” How
could
she be, after what she’d been through?

Why hadn’t she said anything?

I would have understood, Quinn thought. I would have. And been sympathetic.

But … maybe Tobie didn’t want sympathy. Maybe she’d come to Salem to pick up the pieces of her life, make a new start, and didn’t want people knowing the whole awful story.

If Tobie didn’t want to talk about it, no one should force her to.

But, Quinn thought, now that I know, it’s going to be hard not to bring it up. And I thought it was a soured romance that hurt Tobie, she thought sadly. It wasn’t. It was
death.

Her appetite gone, and anxious to see if Tobie was okay, Quinn excused herself and hurried back to the dorm.

Tobie wasn’t there.

She called while Quinn was finishing up her homework, saying that she was at Nightingale Hall with a friend, Cath Devon. She sounded perfectly normal. She said she was working on a project with Cath and wouldn’t be home until late. Might even stay the night.

Quinn said nothing about what she’d learned from. Tim.

Tobie couldn’t be too depressed, Quinn told herself, or she wouldn’t be considering spending the night at
Nightmare
Hall. Such a gloomy old house! Rumor had it that some very strange things had gone on in that place.

T
HE COUPLE SAT ON
a bench on a lower terrace of the Tower, a tall, narrow structure of buff-colored bricks sitting in the center of Salem’s campus. The terraces, several of them high enough to provide an impressive view, were favorite hangout spots when the weather was nice. The lower level where the couple sat was partially sheltered from above by an identical balcony jutting out from the fourth floor. Lights from offices in the building eased the darkness with a soft, warm glow.

The air was warm, the breeze gentle as, heads together, the two talked and laughed, sipping soda as they talked from brightly labeled paper cups.

When the cups were empty they got up in silent agreement, cups in hand, and walked to the barrel-shaped trash container in one unsheltered corner of the terrace.

The girl pushed the swinging lid inward. Her companion tossed his cup into the yawning mouth of the trash container.

She was about to toss hers in when a faint sound from above brought her head up, tilted backward, and her eyes flew open as she saw a thick stream of liquid cascading down upon them.

She had only enough time to cry out, “What … ?” before the thick, warm goo slopped down over their hair, their faces, coating the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the skin, sliding on down across the throat, the shoulders, the arms, the hands. The sludge coated their lashes. They blinked rapidly, unable to see. They spat fiercely, trying to dislodge the ooze from mouths that had been open in surprise, but the liquid clung stubbornly to teeth and tongue.

“Paint,” the girl managed in a thick, astonished voice, “paint!”

They were covered from head to toe with an overcoat of thick, odorous paint.

Hands gloved in what they could see now was a vibrant red color, they batted helplessly at their faces, their hair, their clothes, rubbing and swatting in vain at the warm, sticky goo.

As they stood there, desperately trying to free themselves, a sound from above brought their sticky, scarlet heads up a second time, their paint-reddened eyes wide with dread.

But all they heard was a slow, mechanical laugh drifting out into the night air.

Then silence.

I
VY AWOKE QUINN AND
Tobie the following morning with an insistent rapping on their door. “Wake up, you two!” she cried, “and let me in. I bring news. You’ve
gotta
hear this!”

“
What?
” Quinn snapped when she’d opened the door. She had a headache and the feeling that she hadn’t slept very well. She had had a terrible dream, in which she had walked into her room late at night and found Simon lying unconscious on the floor. The feeling that she was somehow responsible had overwhelmed her, and she’d awakened shaking. Her mouth tasted like sandpaper, her eyes were gritty, and here was Ivy, fully dressed, at what had to be the crack of dawn. Suze was standing behind her in a bathrobe, looking bewildered.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Quinn said, retreating back to her bed and slumping down on it as Tobie roused sleepily. “You’ve just been asked out by Kevin Costner. News at eleven.”

“It’s not funny,” Ivy said, glowering at Quinn. She plopped down on the floor, legs stretched out in front of her, back against Tobie’s bed. Suze collapsed beside Tobie. “Carlie Winters and Donner Timms were drenched with red paint last night on the first-floor terrace of the Tower.”

Quinn gasped. Tobie sat up very straight. “What?” they cried in one voice.

Ivy nodded. “They’re both at the infirmary even as I speak. It was slopped down on them from one of the higher terraces. They had paint in their hair, their eyes, their mouths …” Ivy shuddered. “It sounds horrible. I saw Meg Pekoe out in the hall and she said that stuff can make you sick. I mean, after all, you’re not supposed to
bathe
in it!”

Quinn found her voice. “Paint? Red paint? Why would someone be painting the tower
red
?”

“No one’s painting the tower, Quinn,” Ivy said flatly. “Someone went up there with a bucket of paint and dumped it on Carlie and Donner. On
purpose
!”

Quinn and Tobie exchanged shocked glances. Someone had taken a bucket of paint up into the tower and deliberately doused Carlie and Donner with it?

“Why?” Tobie said aloud. “Why would someone do that?”

Ivy shrugged. “Who knows? We still haven’t figured out why someone would set off a stink bomb at the Spring Fling dance, have we? Maybe Carlie or Donner has some idea about who might have paint-bombed them. If they do, we won’t find out about it today. Meg told me Carlie’s eyes are a mess from all that paint. She won’t be going to any of her classes.”

Quinn sat quietly, lost in dismal thought. She was remembering Carlie and Donner at Vinnie’s. They had looked so happy.

Apparently someone hadn’t liked that.

Could it have been the same someone who’d ruined the Spring Fling dance for other happy couples?

When Quinn glanced over at Tobie again, she was surprised to see her roommate’s eyes filling with tears.

“It’s awful,” Tobie whispered, “it’s just awful.” Then she slid off the bed and headed out to the bathroom.

Suze nodded. “She’s right. It
is
awful.”

Ivy stood up. “It seems like whenever we talk about couples now, Tobie goes a little ballistic. I guess it makes her think about that guy she dated in high school. I mean, Tim did say they were nuts about each other, right? She probably still misses him.”

Quinn nodded silently. “I guess.”

When Ivy and Suze had gone back to their room, Quinn lay on her bed staring up at the ceiling. Carlie and Donner hadn’t really been hurt. Not seriously. But it must have been so horrible, being showered with sticky, oily red paint. She had painted her bedroom peach one summer, and her parents had warned her not to get any paint in her eyes and to keep the room well-ventilated so she didn’t breathe in the fumes, and to shower thoroughly when she was done. Ivy was right. It certainly wasn’t healthy to be
bathed
in paint, as Carlie and Donner had been.

Maybe they hadn’t been seriously hurt. But whoever had dumped that paint on them certainly hadn’t intended to do them any
good,
either.

Why would someone
do
something so nasty?

Sighing, Quinn got up and went to the closet. A cloudy day outside, but it was probably still warm. The white poet’s blouse, maybe the short denim skirt.

Had Carlie’s eyes been permanently affected by the paint? How many classes would she have to miss? Missing just one or two lectures at college could screw up your grade point average.

Where was the white blouse? It had been hanging right there, between the green striped rugby shirt and her white terrycloth robe.

The denim skirt wasn’t on her skirt hanger, either.

Had she worn them, tossed them in the laundry, and forgotten?

No. She distinctly remembered seeing them hanging in the closet yesterday.

Carlie and Donner had looked so happy at Vinnie’s. It had made Quinn miss Simon even more than she usually did. And now, today, they were at the infirmary, probably still trying to get the last few traces of red paint off their skin.

The denim skirt couldn’t have slipped free of the tight metal clamps on the skirt hanger, but the blouse might have slipped from its blue plastic hanger and fallen to the floor of the closet. Quinn crouched, searching the floor of the closet with her eyes.

There … at the back of the closet, a ball of something white. Puffy sleeves … her white blouse. And beside it, also crumpled, the denim skirt. How on earth had that skirt slipped free of those metal clamps?

Quinn knelt, and leaning forward, reached into the shadowy depths of the closet, pulling the two articles of clothing toward her. When she had both of them in hand, she backed out of the closet and stood up, tossing the skirt over her shoulder as she held up the white blouse to check for wrinkle damage.

And recoiled in horror as she unfolded the garment.

Red, bright, vibrant splotches of red, splashed all up and down the front of the blouse, as if someone had used it as a canvas for an abstract painting.

Gasping in horror, Quinn threw it to the floor and stood staring down at it as if she’d never seen it before and didn’t know how it had arrived in her hands.

Tentatively, her mouth tense, Quinn pulled the skirt off her shoulder and held that, too, out in front of her.

More red, a river of it running from waist to hem.

The doorknob turned.

Breathing in short gasps, Quinn snatched the blouse up from the floor, balled both garments into tiny bundles and thrust them under her bed.

Tobie came into the room, a towel wrapped turban-style around her red hair. “You okay?” she asked as Quinn, her legs weak, sank down upon her bed. “Still upset about Carlie and Donner? I don’t blame you. It’s horrible, just plain horrible.”

“Tobie,” Quinn said when she trusted herself to speak, “what time did you get in last night?”

“About midnight. Why?”

“I just wondered. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Well, of course not, Quinn. You never hear anything once you’ve gone to sleep. You were out like a light when I came in.”

Quinn breathed easier. She’d been asleep when Tobie came in. Tobie had just said so. Safely asleep, in her bed … not wandering around campus dumping paint on innocent, happy people.

Not that she had seriously thought it could have been her. The doctor had said she was expressing anger when she did those things in her sleep. She wasn’t angry at Carlie or Donner. Why
would
she be?