Fear Hall: The Beginning (11 page)

“But—but—” Jasmine sputtered. “At least he didn't—”

“I'd rather be hit!” I cried, pushing her away. “I'd
rather be slugged unconscious than be called horrible names by him!”

“But why was he so angry at you, Hope?” she demanded.

“Because I tried to send him away,” I sobbed. “I told him he had to go somewhere far away. And stay there. It was only for his own good. But he thought—he thought …”

“He thought you were breaking up with him?” Jasmine asked.

“I … I guess,” I choked out. I covered my face with both hands. My skin felt wet and puffy and gross.

Jasmine tsk-tsked. “What a mess,” she murmured.

“I'm so worried for him,” I told her. “I've never seen him so out of control. He won't listen to me. He won't listen to someone who only wants to help him. I don't know what he'll do next.”

I took a deep breath. I forced myself to stop crying. Enough tears, I told myself. They aren't helping anyway.

I climbed shakily to my feet. And glanced at the desk clock.

“The meeting,” I murmured.

Jasmine narrowed her eyes at me. “Meeting?”

“The dorm meeting,” I replied. “About safety. About what to do about the murders.” I let out a bitter sigh. “I could tell them what to do about the murders. I know
exactly
how to stop the murders—don't I?”

Jasmine nodded solemnly. “Yes. We all know how to stop the murders.”

“How can I go sit in this stupid meeting and pretend not to know anything?” I asked her. “How can I sit there with all these frightened kids, knowing who the murderer is? Knowing that the murderer is someone I care about so much?”

“Maybe Eden is right,” Jasmine replied in a whisper. “Maybe we have no choice, Hope. Maybe we have to call the police and tell them about Darryl.”

“Ohhhh.” I uttered a weary moan. I suddenly felt so tired, so sick and tired.

If only we could go back in time two weeks. If only we could put our lives in rewind. If we could back up two weeks, I could get to Darryl before he murdered Brendan. I could stop him. Stop him from killing Eden's friend Dave too.

And then we could all be happy again. And then we could all be
normal
again.

But why think about the impossible?

I had to stop daydreaming. And try to decide what to do in the real world. The world that suddenly had become so horrifying.

Shaking my head, I crossed to the closet and began to search for something to wear. I lifted out some sweaters. Then I shoved them back and slammed the closet door.

“I can't,” I told Jasmine. “I can't go. No way. I—I'll just do something I'll regret.”

Jasmine nodded solemnly but didn't reply.

I pictured Darryl. That sweet, serious face of his. And something inside me snapped.

I guess I was holding too much horror inside. It all just burst out of me.

I tilted my head back in a long, shrill scream. Not a human sound. But a desperate animal cry.

And then I tore past Jasmine, nearly knocking her down. I ran out the door and down the long dorm hall, crowded with girls on their way to the meeting.

“Hey—Hope!” I heard someone call. Melanie, I think.

I didn't turn back. I didn't stop running.

I leaped into the stairwell and headed down, taking two stairs at a time.

I heard voices calling me. Shouts of surprise.

My shoes clanged heavily against the concrete steps.

Down, down.

The gray walls a blur on both sides.

Where was I going?

I didn't know.

I just had to run.

I didn't realize that I would never spend another night in Fear Hall.

 
Angel

F
or the first few minutes, I let the guy kiss me. And then I wrapped my fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him back.

His lips pressed harder. His strong arms tightened around my waist.

After a few minutes more, he pulled his head back. He smiled and took a few deep breaths.

We were both breathing hard.

My heart was pounding. I could still taste his lips on mine. Salty and sweet at the same time.

“What's your name?” he asked, his arms still tight around me.

I leaned back against the hood of his car and gazed up at the moon. The cool night air felt so good on my hot face. The breeze fluttered my hair.

“Do you have a name?” he teased.

“Angel,” I told him.

“Angel,” he repeated. He trailed a finger gently down my cheek. “I like that name.” His grin grew wider. “Are you feeling devilish tonight, Angel?”

I nuzzled my cheek against his. “Maybe,” I whispered, smiling back at him.

We kissed again.

“What's
your
name?” I asked breathlessly, when we finally pulled apart.

“Billy Joe,” he replied, adjusting the sleeve of his Ivy State sweatshirt. “But everyone calls me B.J.”

I snickered. “Are you from Texas, B.J.? Guys from Texas are always called B.J. or T.J. or something.”

“Oklahoma,” he said softly. His expression hardened. I saw that he didn't like to be teased.

I playfully messed up his curly, blond hair.

“Hey—” He pulled my hand away.

I turned when I heard a car door slam nearby.

B.J. and I were in a parking lot behind a row of stores in town. The dark lot stood empty. The car I heard must be on the street, I realized.

I snuggled against him. He felt so warm and smelled so good. I felt so happy to get away from the campus for a short while. To get away from all the frightened students.

All the frantic talk about the murders.

All the fear. The cold fear.

“Do you always pick up guys like this?” B.J. asked, grinning. He reached up and smoothed my straight, blond hair off my face.

“Yes. Always,” I teased

He laughed. “And they named you
Angel?
”

I pushed him back and stepped away from the car. “I just liked you,” I told him. “Something about your smile, I guess.”

I had stopped in that coffee bar off campus because I didn't know where else to go. I didn't want to go back to the dorm. And I didn't want to hang out at the Student Union or the library.

So I popped into the coffee bar—Java Jim's. And I was ordering a small coffee at the counter when I saw B.J. standing at a small table by the window. Staring at me. Smiling at me.

The next thing I knew, we were leaning against his old Toyota, kissing in the parking lot behind the coffee bar.

I needed him there tonight, I realized.

I needed someone to hold me. Someone to make me feel happy.

Someone to make me forget everything I knew about the ugly murders on campus.

Okay. It's true.

I do this a lot. I find guys in restaurants and movie theaters and stores. And I end up in dark parking lots with them.

But what's the harm in it?

What's the harm in a little warmth, a little happiness?

Hope understands. She knows that sometimes you cannot control everything you do every moment. Sometimes you have to give in to your feelings.

Eden says I live in a fantasy world.

But what's so terrible about that?

I snuggled against B.J. “Where do you live?” I whispered. “In a dorm?”

“No. In an old apartment north of campus,” he replied. He wrapped his arms around my waist again. “I'd show it to you, but … I have two roommates.”

“That's okay. I like it here,” I replied. “Very cozy.”

We kissed again.

And as we kissed, I heard a scraping sound. Like shoes over concrete.

I opened my eyes. And saw a dark figure jogging across the parking lot. His body bent forward, hands pumping at his sides.

I jerked my face away from B.J.'s.

“Darryl—!” I choked out. “What are you
doing
here?”

“Huh?” B.J. spun around so fast, he nearly stumbled.

Darryl stood stiffly, legs apart, hands balled into fists at his sides. As if expecting trouble.

As if ready to fight.

“Darryl—why did you follow me?” I cried, grabbing B.J.'s sweatshirt sleeve. Squeezing it. Squeezing it.

Darryl didn't say a word. He glared furiously, first at B.J., then at me.

B.J. tugged his sleeve free and stared at me. “Angel—what's going on here?” he demanded.

I kept my eyes on Darryl. I watched his entire body tense. Saw him slowly raise his fists.

“Darryl—you have no business here,” I shouted. “Go away—now! I mean it!”

Darryl didn't budge. He didn't speak. He didn't blink.

“I—I don't like this, Angel,” B.J. stammered, backing away. I saw a glint of fear in his eyes.

“Darryl—get away!” I shrieked. “You have no right! You have no right to follow me—to spy on me! What do you think you're doing?”

Darryl scowled and spit on the concrete. He took a menacing step toward B.J. and me.

“What's going on?” B.J. demanded again. “Angel, I don't like this. You're frightening me. You really are.”

Darryl uttered a nasty laugh. He raised his fists, his eyes narrowed at B.J.

“No—!” I shrieked. “Don't hurt him, Darryl! I'm warning you—don't hurt him!”

“I'm sorry,” B.J. murmured. “You're really scaring me.”

He pushed past me. Jerked open the car door. Dove behind the wheel. Slammed the door behind him.

“No—let me in!” I wailed. “B.J.—don't leave me here with him!”

Darryl tossed back his head and laughed.

“B.J.—please!” I screamed. “Don't leave me!”

I pounded on the car window. Pounded with both fists.

But the car roared away. I had to jump back to keep my feet from being run over.

“B.J.—please! Please!”

The car jumped the curb. Bounced out of the parking lot. And squealed away.

I turned, trembling, to face Darryl. “Now what?” I whispered. “What are you going to do to me?”

part eight
 
Hope

I
returned to the dorm at about eleven, feeling dazed and exhausted. I stepped into the elevator, pressed thirteen—and heard someone say my name.

“Hope—!”

I turned to see Melanie at the back of the elevator. She was lugging an enormous bag of laundry. I guessed she was on her way up from the basement laundry room.

“Hope, I didn't see you at the dorm meeting,” she scolded.

I raised my eyes to the flashing floor numbers above the door. “Yeah. I know,” I replied. “I—I had to go out.”

“It was a good meeting,” Melanie said. “I think we
got our feelings across to the dean and the security people.”

“That's good,” I muttered.

Why was it taking the elevator so long? I really didn't want to chat with Melanie about campus safety precautions.

“They promised to put extra guards on duty,” Melanie reported. “Starting tomorrow.”

She shifted the big laundry bag to her other hand. “A lot of kids are still frightened, though,” she continued. “No one is going out at night. It's amazing. The Triangle is like a ghost town after eight o'clock.”

I shook my head. “Terrible,” I murmured. I raised my eyes to the floor numbers. Eight … nine …

“Do they have any idea who the murderer is?” I asked, trying to sound sincere. “Any idea at all? Is it some wacko crazy person?”

Melanie swallowed. “They don't have a clue,” she replied softly. “That's what's so frightening, don't you think? They don't know where to begin to find the guy. He—he could be anywhere. He could be hiding somewhere on campus right now.”

I pretended to shudder. “Sorry I missed the meeting,” I murmured. I held the door open for her. She dragged the laundry bag with both hands.

“It felt good to do laundry,” she said as I followed her down the long hall. “You know. Making something clean and nice. It helped me forget about the murders for a short while.”