The Biker (Nightmare Hall) (2 page)

“We
need
those restrooms,” she said as she carried the wet towels to the hamper.

“Oh, and I suppose we really needed that brouhaha you started over poor lighting in the main parking lot, too,” Marilyn said as she earnestly wrestled with her ponytail, to make the ends curl under exactly right.

“It’s dark in that lot,” Echo said mildly. She never wasted energy getting angry at these three. She didn’t care enough about them for that. “If a mad biker came at you in that lot, you wouldn’t see him until he was right on top of you.”

The ponytail having done her bidding, Marilyn smiled sweetly. “Oh, Echo, there’s no mad biker on campus. And there wasn’t even one in town when you started that fuss about the parking lot. You just wanted to stir up trouble, that’s all. Admit it!”

“If you guys are done,” Echo bit off one word at a time, “you can leave. I can’t sit here all day talking.
I’ve
got work to do.” Unlike some of us, she thought.

“So you’re not coming to the picnic?” Ruthanne asked when she had dressed in a pink sweatsuit and slicked her long, blonde hair away from her face. Echo noticed with satisfaction that she wasn’t limping as noticeably. The whirlpool always helped.

“No, I am not going to any picnic.”

“But you’re coming to the mall with me later, right?” Deejay asked. “You promised.”

Echo had only promised because Deejay had said Marilyn and Ruthanne both had dates and Deejay hated going to the mall alone. Deejay never did anything alone. Seldom had to. If Echo went by herself, she’d be in and out in five minutes. Going with Deejay could mean hours. But she’d promised. “I guess. I need shampoo, and it’s too expensive at the bookstore. Meet you out front at seven, when I finish here. But I’m
not
hanging out in that mall all night, Deejay! I have better things to do.”

Deejay laughed. “Oh, Echo, everyone’s right about you. You
are
antisocial. You’re hopeless.”

After she left, Echo folded towels and thought about that. Antisocial? Maybe. The thing was, Echo Glenn had no desire to be close to anyone. You could get hurt that way. And she didn’t want to be hurt anymore.

She had had a family, once, just like everybody else. A mom, a dad, a dog Spot. Well, actually, the dog’s name was Picardy, but he was every bit as cute as the little dog in those stupid first-grade books about families. Then her parents had divorced. That happened when she was twelve, and needed a strong, solid family more than ever. Her father remarried almost immediately, moved to California, and began a new family. She hadn’t seen him in years, although he sent a small check every Christmas and another check two weeks after her birthday because he always forgot the date.

Her mother had remarried a year later. A military man who moved around a lot. She left Echo with her own elderly parents. “A child needs to stay in one place,” she had reasoned.

Well, no, not really. What a child needs is a family.

Echo hadn’t seen her mother since she was fourteen, and now had no desire to. She also had two “new” children. She wasn’t even sure she would recognize her.

Her grandparents had been good to her. But they were old now, and wrapped up in each other’s ailments. Before he retired, her grandfather had been a lawyer, but not a very good one. Never made much money, which left Echo responsible for her own higher education.

She had no plans to return to her grandparents’ house for summer vacations or holidays. They probably wouldn’t even notice that she wasn’t there.

All she wanted to do now was get an excellent education, no matter what it took, and become a lawyer and consumer advocate. Then she could always, always take care of herself and would never need anyone else to do it for her.

The trouble with counting on someone else taking care of you, it seemed to her, was that they might not always be there for you. And then what would you do?

Cry a lot.

That would never, never happen to her again.

Deejay was okay. But Echo would never consider making Deejay her best friend. She hadn’t had one since she was twelve. Twelve-and-a-half, actually. That was when her mother took her out of school, away from the friends and neighborhood she’d known all of her life and shipped her to her grandparents in Jamestown, New York, so that Stella Glenn’s precious military man wouldn’t leave her behind. It hadn’t seemed to matter to anyone that Echo was leaving her own best friend, Geneva Teresa Scalise, someone she’d known since second grade, behind.

They had written for a while, called each other on Christmas the first year. Then, nothing. Nothing at all, teaching Echo that absence did
not
necessarily make the heart grow fonder, after all. Geneva, Echo had heard last year, married her high school boyfriend the day after graduation. He’d enlisted in the service, and they had moved to Germany.

Full circle, Echo thought bitterly as she picked up her shoulder bag, closed the door to the whirlpool room and locked it, dropping the key on the nurse’s desk.

Deejay was sitting on the curb outside the infirmary, talking to a tall, good-looking boy in jeans and a cutoff T-shirt. He looked vaguely familiar, but turned and loped away before Echo reached the pair.

“Who was that?” she asked, thinking that she’d seen the guy before.

Deejay stood up, dusting off the seat of her jeans. “Liam McCullough. You know him, don’t you? He’s really nice.”

“I’ve run into him on campus,” Echo said dryly as they headed for the shuttle bus stop, and didn’t elaborate further. She meant it literally. She
had
run into McCullough, on one of the first really warm days in May. She’d been riding her bike, too fast as always, along the river path behind campus and, lost in the beauty of the day and the rushing of the sun-streaked river, hadn’t seen anyone coming.

He’d let out a husky “Oof!” when she hit him broadside as he emerged onto the path from the woods. And then he’d stumbled backward and landed on his back on the grass. Hadn’t been hurt, except for a bruised ego. But he’d certainly been mad, his eyes flashing as he stood up, brushed himself off and shouted at her, “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

Honestly, you’d have thought she’d done it on purpose! And why hadn’t
he
been watching where he was going?

Unfortunately, a campus traffic policeman had just happened to be coming from the opposite direction, and had witnessed the accident. Just her luck. She got a ticket, had to pay a fifteen-dollar fine. Not good news when you only have a part-time job at the infirmary, which pays next to nothing.

She hadn’t even told the victim good-bye when, ticket in hand, she pedaled away from the scene. And she hadn’t seen him since.

Maybe he
was
nice. But he sure could yell.

It was early on Friday evening. Echo knew the mall would be crowded until later when everyone abandoned shopping for the more interesting pursuits of parties and dances and movies and dancing at some nightclub in town. If that was how they wanted to spend their time, that was fine with her. As long as no one insisted that she waste
her
time that way, too.

Deejay had tried. “Echo, you’re supposed to be having
fun
at college. I never see you having any fun!”

“I’m supposed to be getting an education,” Echo had snapped, “and that’s what I’m doing!”

She stayed very busy, studying, reading, working at the infirmary. Often, she felt bored and restless. She didn’t call it loneliness, because that would have meant she needed people, and that thought revolted her. She wasn’t lonely or needy. She was
not.

But sometimes, she couldn’t sleep at night and got up after her roommate, Trixie, was asleep, no doubt dreaming of boys with big muscles and tiny brains because that was who Trixie
was,
and went walking alone along the river. She sometimes wondered, on those solitary outings, how both of her parents had been able and willing to shut their own daughter out of their lives so easily, but she pushed the thought away quickly, before it could take hold like a nasty bee sinking its stinger into her skin.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. Not anymore. She was doing fine, thank you very much, and didn’t need anyone. She could take care of herself. She had been doing just that for a long time now, and would continue to.

Echo couldn’t imagine any situation that she might not be able to handle by herself. So far, there hadn’t been one. So far, she’d been lucky.

She bought shampoo, accompanied by Deejay’s laughing complaints about how Echo took forever to sort through all of the bottles until she found the cheapest brand.

They looked at the new summer clothing and after a brief argument with herself, Echo returned to the rack a really pretty, white slip dress that would be perfect for summer.

“You should get it,” Deejay urged. “It’s on sale, Echo. You’re tall and thin enough to wear a dress like that. It’d look great.”

“I don’t have any place to wear it.” She’d be working full-time this summer at the library in town and probably could spring for the dress. She was getting awfully tired of being sensible all the time. But she really
didn’t
have any place to wear something so pretty.

Back on the rack it went.

But she couldn’t help casting one last, yearning glance over her shoulder as they left the store.

Because Deejay had a party to attend, which Echo had no intention of attending, they parted at the food court after a quick sandwich.

Reluctant to return to an empty dorm room on a Friday night, Echo spent an hour or so browsing in the bookstore until she felt tired enough to go back to campus.

The mall was emptying out fast.

A crowd had gathered under the canopy outside. Some were waiting for the local bus, some for the shuttle, some just spending a few extra minutes talking about evening plans before actually fulfilling them.

Echo heard the roar before anyone else did. She had moved away from the crowd, up to the curb at the end of the walkway, and was far enough away from the crowd’s noise to hear the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle’s engine. Later, she would remember thinking how much it sounded like the bellow of a wild animal.

Minutes later, the comparison would seem painfully appropriate, as the motorcycle, its light shining in the evening darkness, raced through the parking lot and up over the curb fifty yards or so from where Echo was standing. It headed straight for the crowd.

There was one long moment when people realized something was happening but weren’t sure what, and then the awful truth sank in. With it came panic.

Screams and shouts rang out as people bolted, scrambling frantically to escape the roaring machine.

Some took refuge behind the stone benches that lined the cement walkway under the canopy. Others dove into the tall, full bushes beside the benches. One skinny, blond guy in jeans and a denim jacket attempted to make it to the mall’s big, glass double doors, but he tripped over someone’s feet and fell. His head slammed into the solid metal door frame. His body went limp, effectively blocking the door from opening from the inside.

The bike spun in circles, teasing, tantalizing, as people continued to slam into each other in an attempt to find safety.

Two girls began, at the exact same moment, to run in the same direction and knocked right into each other.

Echo waited breathlessly for the motorcycle to run over the fallen girls.

It didn’t. But it raced its engine threateningly until both girls scrambled to their feet and rushed to the protection of one of the bushes.

Echo, far enough away to feel relatively safe, studied the figure on the bike. It was dressed from head to toe in black leather, its hair hidden by a shiny black helmet, its face a mystery behind a thick plastic shield.

The bike revved its motor with triumph and was already turning away when Echo corrected her first impression. He
wasn’t
dressed from head to toe in black leather. Not entirely. The boots were not black leather.

The boots were, in fact, very colorful. They boasted a black background with a striking diamond design in deep wine and forest green running up the side. Snakeskin, Echo thought.

As the bike turned and raced away, she couldn’t help but notice a tiny, silver figure of a genie’s lamp dangling from a silver chain fastened around the instep of the boot facing her.

Interesting. The boots were unusual. Distinctive.

But not that unusual. Because Echo had seen a pair exactly like them somewhere else.

What was even more interesting was, she remembered where she had seen them.

And most interesting of all, she remembered
who
had been wearing them.

A
LTHOUGH THE CROWD UNDER
the mall canopy was incensed by the reckless action of the biker, the two mall security officers who arrived after the bike had roared away from the scene were at a loss. One shrugged and said, “You didn’t get the license plate, we got nothing to go on,” and the other asked a shaken victim, “Can’t you remember
anything
unusual about the guy? A scar on his face, a tattoo, something?” Echo knew this was the moment to speak up. How many pair of boots like that could there be in the university area? They’d looked custom-designed, or at least special-ordered, not the kind of boot you saw in an ordinary store window. Even if her eyes had tricked her and the diamond design on the pair she’d just seen was in different shades of green and wine than the pair she had seen at school, she could at least give the police the name of the person she now suspected, and leave it to them to check things out.

That was certainly what she should do.

But her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth, held captive there because she was unwilling to set it free. She told herself stubbornly that he hadn’t hurt anyone, not really. They’d hurt themselves, panicking like horses in a burning barn. Was that
his
fault?

Well, yes, of course it was his fault, for scaring them in the first place. What was he up to, anyway? What satisfaction did he get out of aiming that huge, deadly machine at a crowd of people? The only reason someone
hadn’t
been killed or maimed was his expertise in handling the bike. Amazing, the way he sped in and out, making dizzying turns, missing his victims by no more than a hair-raising millimeter. He could probably turn that thing on a dime.