Dead Girl Dancing (20 page)

“Sooo cold,” I chattered through clenched teeth.

“Right.” In two steps, he crossed the compact room to a built-in cabinet and opened a drawer. He tossed me a striped blue towel. “Here.”

I caught the towel. “Thanks.”

Taking off the jacket he’d loaned me, I rubbed the towel over my soggy blouse and skirt, noticing with some embarrassment the dripping wet puddle I made on his bench cushions.

“S-sorry, I-I’m getting your boat all … all wet,” I shivered.

“That doesn’t matter, but you do, and you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t put on warm clothes.”

“I-I don’t have anything else—and only one shoe.” I pointed to the single black spiked shoe. The other must have been still stuck in the rope or sunk to the bottom of the sea.

“Fortunately, I keep spare clothes in my cubby up top. I’ll be back in a minute.” He climbed up the steps and pushed through the narrow doorway.

I worked the towel over my clothes but when drops of stinging sea water kept dribbling in my eyes, I wrapped the towel turban-style around my hair.

Then I sank back on the cushioned bench, exhausted but grateful to Dyce. That made it twice he’d rescued me, like he was a superhero in disguise. I wouldn’t have drowned—I can swim—but I’d been so shocked by the cold sea and so weighed down with clothes that I’d panicked. I was lucky that one shoe was the only casualty.

Or was it?

What about my GEM?

“No!” I cried, remembering the time I’d been soaking in a bubble bath and dropped a book into the tub. The book had swelled up with water, the pages sticking together, then warping, even after I dried it with a blow dryer.

I jumped up so suddenly that my towel turban raveled to the floor. I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out a completely dry book.

Amazed, I quickly opened the GEM and the familiar blank pages rustled with a soft flutter that seemed to chastise me for doubting their magic. A drop of sea water slid down my soggy hair and plopped onto the pristine paper, blotting only for a second and then fading until the page shone like new. My chill was fading, too, now that I was out of the cold night and warming in the cozy cabin.

Staring down at the small book, I thought of everything I’d been through in the last two days. Many things were still unresolved and I could really use some answers, but it was hard to know what to ask my GEM first:

• What happened to Warren after his capture?
  
• Will Sharayah win the
  Voice Choice
  contest?
  
• Will Alyce forgive me for not returning today?
  
• Has Eli noticed I’m gone or is he still dancing?
  

Torn between the practical questions I should ask and the emotional ones my heart longed to know, I started with the first question.

“What happened to Warren?” I whispered into the GEM.

He returned to his dwelling.

Huh? What did that mean? Maybe the book misunderstood and thought I wanted to know what happened to the innocent victim who owned Warren’s body. So I rephrased my question, this time specifying that I wanted to know what happened to the Dark Lifer posing as Warren.

Unable to locate the Dark Lifer.

Okay, now I was really confused. I’d watched the DD Team capture Warren yet the book was saying they couldn’t “locate” the Dark Lifer. Had he escaped from them? I opened my mouth to ask this when I froze. Footsteps approaching!

Quickly, I shoved the GEM back inside my pocket.

“Here you go!” Dyce called from the hatch-like door at the top of the stairs as he tossed down clothes. “Holler up when you’re dressed and I’ll come back.”

The door shut behind him with a soft bang, and I was grateful for the clothes—as well as Dyce’s gentlemanly behavior. Most guys would have stuck around, waiting for a free show. But Dyce wasn’t like most guys.

Hastily, I stripped out of my clothes and folded them in a pile on the oblong table that was sticking up like a flat umbrella on a metal pole. Then I reached for the clothes, expecting baggy uncomfortable men’s clothes but pleasantly surprised to find a pink scooped-necked blouse, skinny denim jeans, a lacy bra and red satin bikini underwear … all in a perfect size for Sharayah.

Whoa! Why did a bachelor have girl’s clothes conveniently on his rental boat? Did all rental boats come equipped with assorted spare clothing? Or was this a freaky coincidence … not that I believed in coincidences. In my experience, things usually happened either for a good reason or for a suspicious one. And my intuition strongly hinted at the latter option.

Then I noticed something which added to this puzzle—a price tag dangling from the jeans. I whistled at the price—an amount that would have taken me six months to earn babysitting. Why did Dyce have expensive women’s clothing? Had he lied about having a girlfriend?

I was trying to figure out a tactful way to ask this when he returned with food. My Amber appetite rose up like a feral beast, sniffing delicious smells and ready to pounce on the fresh strawberries, cheese and vanilla wafers. But I resisted the “scarf” impulse and politely thanked him. He also had a porcelain cup of warm tea on his tray, which had a sweet yet tart aroma.

As he set down the tray, I noticed a discolored gash on his lower arm that hadn’t been there before he’d pulled me out of the water. Instantly, guilt washed over me. I hadn’t even asked how he was after he jumped in to rescue me. He’d brought me clothes but hadn’t taken the time to change out of his own dripping clothes. He probably was miserable, yet all he seemed concerned about was me. I was a selfish, ungrateful klutz.

So I immediately and sincerely said, “Thank you. I really mean it.”

“No problem.” He set the tray on a small table. “Hope you like the food. It’s all I could find.”

I sniffed the tea, detecting almond and spices. “Smells yummy.”

“Do you recognize the flavor?”

“No,” I said, “but it’s very nice. What is it?”

“Almond spice black tea.” He pursed his lips together as if bothered by something. “Are you sure you’ve never had it before?”

“Never, but I’m enjoying it now.” I took a sip, warmed by the heat and intrigued by the nutty, bitter taste. “Thanks for hot tea and dry clothes. I was wondering about the clothes … they look new. How did you happen to have them?”

He shrugged. “I bought them for someone special.”

“So you do have a girlfriend?” I took another sip.

“Not any more.”

“Oh … sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Disappointments are learning experiences,” he said. “I’m wiser and won’t make that mistake again.”

There was a subtle anger in his tone that made me uneasy. I set the tea cup down and stood abruptly. “I really have to go now. Leave me your address and I’ll mail the clothes back to you.”

“Keep them.” He pointed to the plate, which I hadn’t touched. “At least eat something before you go.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

“But they’re your favorites.”

“Excuse me?” I stopped short, staring at him. “How would you know?”

“You mentioned it earlier.”

“No, I’m sure I didn’t.” My uneasiness intensified and I realized how vulnerable I was, in a boat with a strange guy. No one even knew where I was. “I need to leave now.”

He blocked my way to the ladder. “Enjoy your tea. I know it’s your favorite, just like I know about the wafers and strawberries. And you should recognize the clothes, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’ve been waiting a long time to be with you.” Dyce rubbed his stubbly chin. “We have so much to talk about.”

“We never met before yesterday. I don’t know you.”

“But I know all about you.”

“You have me mixed up with someone else.”

“No,” he said simply, with a confident, creepy smile.

But what creeped me out even more than his smile was a jolting realization.

Dyce was right about the clothes—I did recognize the pink blouse and the skinny jeans. I’d never worn them, but this body had. They were identical to what Sharayah had been wearing when I’d dreamed about her climbing on the ocean bluff, when her romantic hopes were crushed by Gabe’s cruelty.

“Gauguin said it best,” Dyce told me with eerie calm.
“Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.”
Then he reached for a roll of duct tape.

Duct tape!

That’s what Gabe used on Sharayah!

Totally freaked out, I backed up on the bench, desperate to get out of there. But there was nowhere to go. The wood-paneled room only had tiny portholes for windows, and no doors except the small hatch at the top of the steps.

And Dyce blocked the steps.

“What’s this about?” I cried, looking around for something to defend myself but seeing nothing within reach except cushions.

“We have a mutual friend.” His tone, accusing and angry, and the way he twirled the roll of duct tape around his finger, told me more than his words.

“Do you mean … Gabe?”

“And the pretty lady wins a prize.” He chuckled darkly. “Hold out your hands.”

“Been there, done that. I’m not falling for that again.” I threw my hands behind my back. “Just let me out of here.”

“After I went to so much trouble to get you here? I don’t think so.”

Shock zapped through me. “You planned this?”

“Yes, although you didn’t act as I expected so I had to improvise.”

“Improvise?” I exclaimed furiously. “You knocked me in the water on purpose?”

“Nothing I do is by accident.”

“Why would you let me fall into the water, then jump in and pull me out?”

“To get you onto my boat and finish what was started months ago.”

“But we only met yesterday. I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“I don’t expect you to. I’ve been preparing for months,” he confessed with a self-satisfied expression. “I studied you methodically: learning poetry from your favorite authors, filling the pantry with your favorite foods and drinks. I know your worst secrets.”

There was something familiar about his words.

“The threats!” I choked out. “You sent them, too?”

“I might have.” He moved closer with the roll of duct tape.

“Then the redhead wasn’t my stalker—it was you!”

“What redhead?”

“A girl from my school, but that doesn’t matter now. Just let me go, and I won’t press any charges against you or tell anyone about this. I’ll pretend it never happened.”

“But I want you to remember. The threats were to remind you about what you’ve done. Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m talking about.”

Yes, I did. But only because I’d relived Sharayah’s memory of what happened last winter on the stormy cliff. Even now, I trembled at the memory of Gabe falling and lying motionless on the jagged rocks.

“I know what happened,” Dyce said, glaring. “Gabe told me.”

“Impossible! How could he when he’s—”

“Dead? Sorry to disappoint you, but he survived.”

“I’m not disappointed, I’m thrilled!” I sagged in relief. “That’s great news! I’m so glad he’s alive.”

“No thanks to you,” Dyce spat out. “You left him and ran away.”

“I went to get a rope or find someone to help.”

“Sure you did,” he scoffed.

“I did! But when I got back, Gabe wasn’t there. And the tide had come in so I thought he’d drowned.”

“Yet you did nothing about it.”

“What could I do? I tried to report it but no one believed me.”

“You wanted him dead.”

I shook my head, remembering Sharayah’s overwhelming love for Gabe, how she trusted him even when he called her a fool and turned violent. If he hadn’t fallen, he would have done something horrible, I was sure of it, and I was glad he’d fallen. But that’s not what Sharayah felt. I didn’t need to consult the GEM to know her whole transformation into a bad girl was a reaction to grief. An important part of her had died when he fell. And now this jerk was trying to make things worse. Well, he was dealing with the wrong Sharayah. I may not know much about college life, but I knew about survival and wasn’t afraid to fight for what I wanted.

“If Gabe is alive, why didn’t he tell anyone?” I demanded. “Where has he been all this time?”

“Do you really care?” he asked skeptically.

“I shouldn’t—not after what he did.” My fear surged into anger. “You accuse me of trying to hurt Gabe, when he was the one who attacked me. Do you know what he did that night?”

Dyce eyed me warily and nodded.

“Of course you do or you wouldn’t be waving that duct tape. What did he tell you? A lie about how I pushed him over the cliff? The only reason he fell was because he pulled this Jekyll and Hyde attitude and attacked me. When we struggled, he fell and I couldn’t help him with my hands taped.”

“You left him bleeding and suffering.”

“That’s not fair! What he did was worse—killing the hope and trust of a girl who loved him. Whatever sick revenge you have planned can’t hurt worse than thinking the man you love more than life is dead.”

“Are you sure about that?” He gave me a look that shot chills through my already shivering skin.

I swallowed hard, glancing at the stairs and contemplating the odds of success if I made a run for it. I had less than a five percent chance of getting past him before he’d grab me. No one knew I was here, so a rescue from my “rescuer” was out of the question. My only option was to convince him to let me go.

“Dyce, why are you really doing this?” I asked.

He spun the duct tape in deliberate circles as he leaned closer to me. “Gabe had plans that night which he wasn’t able to finish. So I’ll do it for him.”

“I don’t believe Gabe would want you to hurt someone he loved.”

“You never really knew him.”

“But you do?” I scoffed.

He nodded. “Like we’re the same person.”

“And he approves of this?” I asked with disgust, gesturing around the room that now felt like a prison. “Revenge on me won’t help him.”

“There are different degrees of revenge, and honor has merit, too, although I don’t expect you to understand.” He spoke in a harsh formal tone that was different from how he’d spoken when we first met. His mannerisms had altered in subtle yet decisive ways; he spoke less like a teen and more like someone older even than my parents.

“You’re right—I don’t understand.” I forced myself to remain calm. The most important lesson I’d learned from all my self-help books was to stay confident and never admit weakness. No fear was allowed in kidnappings and the music biz. “If Gabe is okay, why did he send you instead of coming himself?”

“He can’t move in his body.”

“Paralyzed? So he’s like in a wheelchair? Ohmygod!” I whispered hoarsely. “That’s horrible. Why didn’t he tell me? I would have helped.”

“Like you helped him over the cliff?”

“That was an accident, and I was horrified when it happened. I’m sorry he’s hurt, but none of this will heal him. Don’t you realize that kidnapping is serious? Is this worth going to prison?”

“Life is my prison,” he said with a bitter smile. Then he jerked me to my bare feet. “Hold out your arms, Sharayah.”

“No!” This was too familiar, as if the nightmare dream of Sharayah’s was repeating itself, only by a different beach and with a different guy.

I screamed, but although my voice was strong, my arms weren’t, and his fingers pressed fiercely, binding my wrists with tape. I struggled, overwhelmed with a sudden dizziness. I wondered if the tea I’d sipped had been drugged.

“Let me go!” I cried, fighting to stay clearheaded.

“It’s your fault I have to get rough,” he said, pushing me back against the seat. “I was going to make you fall in love with me first.”

That confirmed it—he was insane.

“You can’t just make someone love you,” I argued.

“Oh, can’t I?” He chuckled. “Saying things like ‘you’re different from other girls’ is a good starter line. It’s sad, really, how easy it is to manipulate naive girls. All it takes is some compliments, poetry and a romantic meeting. So I paid that kid a hundred bucks to attack you.”

“That kid?” The room around me seemed to spin. “You mean … Warren?”

“Right. It was all staged, of course, and he followed my script. I showed up just in time to rescue you, dazzle you with my heroics and look into your eyes in a way that left you longing for more. It was working, too. You wanted to see me again, didn’t you?”

“No!” I lied, unwilling to give him that satisfaction. I’d been intrigued, grateful and eager to see Dyce again. But I’d also felt guilty, too, because how could I be attracted to Dyce when I had such a great thing started with Eli?

But now I find out his rescue was scripted! Unbelievable!

Warren’s role in this was even more surprising. Why would a Dark Lifer care about money? Or could I have been wrong about Warren? The gloves may not have meant anything, simply been a bad fashion choice. Is that why my GEM told me he’d been returned to his “dwelling”?

“Don’t deny it,” Dyce was saying. “We both know you wanted me.”

“I just want to get far away from you.”

“That’s not how you felt yesterday when I left you on the beach. You were so awed by my heroics you would have done anything I wanted.” He said this in such an arrogant manner that if my hands weren’t bound, I would have slapped the smile off his cocky-ass face.

Instead I spat at him.

“Damn you!” He jumped back, swearing and lifting his arm angrily.

I cringed, expecting his hand to smash down on me. But he used the back of his palm to wipe his cheek. “That was disgusting and crude. Why are you making everything so difficult? This would have gone so much smoother if you’d fallen in love with me like you did before.”

“Before?” I gasped.

“I thought the wild girl behavior was fake and expected that you’d be the same innocent soul that fell in love with Gabe. I brought you here planning to win your heart with gifts, poetry and romance. But you didn’t even recognize my poetry. Then, instead of falling into my arms, you refused to even step on my boat.” He scowled at me, as if it was my fault this kidnapping wasn’t going well and I should apologize for ruining his plans.

Yeah, like that was going to happen. I scowled right back.

“I expected you to be grateful and malleable, not so defiant. Aren’t you afraid of what I’m going to do?” he taunted. “I could take you far out to sea and dump you overboard. Then I would just leave you—like you did with Gabe.”

I remained silent, too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of fear.

“No pleading or crying?” He studied me, his eyes under the brim of his hat slanted with curiosity. “Fine. I’m through here. This should hold you while I go up top.”

In a swift movement, he ripped off a long strip of duct tape, splitting it with his teeth. He grabbed my legs with his other hand and forced tape around my ankles, so tightly I winced in pain. Then he peered down at me, as if waiting for me to plead with him to let me go. And I might have—except that something more startling caught my attention. I stared at Dyce’s cheek and then his hand, a slow realization dawning.

His cheek where I’d spit had lightened in tone. When he’d rubbed the spot, his tan … it must be tanning spray … had worn off. Looking down, I saw that a bruise near his wrist was simply a patch of pale skin—and it was glowing an ominous gray.

Dyce was a Dark Lifer.