Terrorscape (Horrorscape) Read online

  “Emotions are a mystery to them. A puzzle, if you will. Many of them become adept mimics but their performance is often, well, soulless.”

  He clicked slides. “Rehabilitation is often unsuccessful, because of this mimicry. People with antisocial personality disorder are frequently keen observers, and will speak and act in the way their therapist desires. The sad truth is that attempts to “cure” the individual often just results in a better liar.”

  Val looked at the screen. There was a man there, in confinement somewhere. A jail cell, maybe. His pierced lips were drawn into a vaguely sardonic smile. What bothered her most, though, were the eyes; they were a cold dark blue, devoid of any perceivable human emotion, staring as though attempting to bore past the camera lens and into the innermost thoughts of the observer on the other side.

  She was reminded of that picture of Gavin she had seen freshman year. Him, holding the crossbow as though he planned to fire it at the yearbook photographer. Gavin's eyes are like that. She bit her lip. Prolonged eye contact. Yes, that was it. He had a way of staring people down.

  The moment the thought occurred to her she knew she would never forget it, and that simple realization tore her insides to shreds.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lime Blossom

  Val woke up, drenched in sweat.

  Not again.

  Another horrible nightmare.

  She clutched at the front of her tank top, halfexpecting to feel the thick congealing blood from her dream coursing down her front. Her eyes flicked to Mary's empty bed and panic rose.

  Where was Mary? What time was it? 12:15? Three hours until abnormal psychology. She had been asleep for more than half the day. Again.

  Val got to her feet and winced as an ache sliced down the back of her head.

  Sleep hangover. She grabbed a hair-tie and twisted her hair into a messy ponytail and searched for something to wear. Clothes were all over the floor, mostly on Mary's side of the room. Val tossed a few of the clothes on Mary's bed and then gave up. She didn't have the energy to clean. She didn't have the energy to do anything.

  She was still spooked by that last lecture. By the delinquent youth with Gavin's eyes. Mary had set up a coffee machine in the bathroom. The pot held the remnants of last week's brew. Val muttered in disgust as she scraped the moldy remains into the bathroom sink. She was a slob, too, but she drew the line at mold cultures.

  As she scrubbed, she happened to catch her reflection in the bathroom mirror. More breakouts speckled her cheeks and forehead beneath the freckles, far more noticeable because of her fish-bellywhite complexion. Hair, lank and greasy from her night sweats. She could see the network of veins on her face, gray-green beneath the skin, dark purple on her eyelids. Darker shadows beneath her eyes.

  She looked terrible. Not as terrible as she should have—not as if her entire world were flying apart in pieces as sharp as razors—but terrible nonetheless.

  Putting on makeup. That was something else she was going to have to do if she planned on leaving the house. Not that it mattered. She had nobody to impress.

  Val finished filling the clean pot with water and shut off the tap. Once the coffee started brewing she felt a little invigorated. The heady smell of the Ethiopian brew was warm and homey. It was the same brand to which her father was partial.

  A sharp knock at the door jerked her unpleasantly from her coffee-induced stupor, and yearning thoughts of home.

  Mary, why don't you ever take your key? Val shook her head. “Why didn't you clean the—”

  She stopped. It wasn't Mary stretched out in her doorway, but Gavin. He managed to slip through before she could slam the door, closing it with a heavy thud that rattled all the windows up and down the hall as he leaned his body back against it. Casually, he reached down to flick the latch. She clenched her hands into fists.

  “Get out—get out, or I'll scream.”

  His eyes flicked to her hands before crinkling, catlike, in amusement. “I'm sure you will.”

  She knocked his hand aside, hard enough that her fingers stung. “You don't get to touch me.”

  “Is that a fact.” She stumbled back a pace when he pushed off from the door and felt her panic mount at showing such weakness. “It…it hasn't been three days,” she ground out, trying not to wilt when he closed the distance between them.

  “Actually, it has. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, won't we?”

  “What are you—what do you want then?” “It seems we have an unwelcome addition to our little game.” A loud burbling sound caused them both to look off to the side. Val escaped into the bathroom to shut off the coffee machine, only to find Gavin outside the door.

  “I didn't tell anyone.”

  “I know.”

  It took her a moment to put the pieces together. “He called you, too?” “Yes.” He was studying her room intently. “Yellow roses. How very appropriate.”

  “Its my favorite color,” she snapped.

  “And how well it becomes you, my little jade.” His lips fell upon hers, and his mouth was hot and sweet as his fingers raked through her hair to free it from her ponytail. She felt the tangled strands fall to her shoulders, tickling unpleasantly. He kissed her until she had no air left and she fell away, gasping for a breath that did not exist.

  “My roommate will be home soon.”

  “We won't be long.”

  He pulled her robe back from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He put his hands on her

  arms and whispered something in her ear. He laughed when she stiffened, casually sliding the straps of her tank top down to bare the top of her breasts as he purred, “Such a simple request.”

  “I said no.” “I will not be refused.” He dragged her top lower, and kissed her upper lip. “Surely you've done it before.”

  Val said nothing. “Undress me.” He pressed her hands against his shirtfront before sealing their lips together. He ran his hands down her flanks, down her buttocks. He maneuvered beneath the leg of her shorts and made a pleased sound as his shirt fell open and her breasts rubbed against his bare chest.

  “Now.” He slipped his hand out of her pants and took her right hand. His other hand was at the base of her spine now, keeping her in place. He ran her fingers down his chest, over the tops of his jeans, eventually coming to rest against his bulging fly. He pressed down on her hand, hard, and she felt him throb inside the denim. “Unzip me.”

  And he dug his fingers lightly into the base of her spine as he caught her lower lip between his teeth and sucked, before turning his head and plunging his tongue into her mouth. He sighed into her mouth as she unfastened the catch, and felt springy hair and hot skin before yanking her hand away as if she had been burned. He hissed in her ear, “On your knees.”

  He shoved her down before she had time to register the command, and pulled her head up by her chin. She found herself thinking, He seems a lot taller from the floor.

  She remembered the greenhouse, when Charlie had been threatening her with the poker and he had stepped in at the last instant to kill the brunette girl.

  He had seemed impossibly tall then, too. Gavin squeezed her jaw until she opened her mouth and then he slipped out his sex. His erect penis reared up, roseate and corded with purplish veins. It swelled under her frightened gaze, and he deftly ran his hand along the shaft to caress the florid tip with his thumb.

  “I've often dreamed of this. You have the kind of mouth that inspires the fantasies of poets.” Val squeezed her eyes shut and felt the heat radiate from his body as he stepped closer. The tip of her nose brushed against his scratchy treasure trail.

  “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.” He released his grip on her jaw, letting his fingers coil and knot through her hair as he pushed past her lips. His other hand was on her shoulder, clenching. And then she heard him moan and something hit the back of her throat. She nearly gagged, and he dug his fingers in harder, bruising her collarbone.

  Val forced herself
to breathe through her nose. She could feel her tender skin chafing, growing chapped in the cold dry air with the repeated friction. He grunted occasionally, usually proceeding another one of those particularly deep and painful thrusts that left her epiglottis feeling bruised.

  Just when she thought her face might splinter, or that she might throw up for real, he pulled out and she felt a warm stickiness spatter her breasts. Thick, white, milky, viscous.

  Her stomach heaved. She wanted to look at him, but could not meet his eyes. Not like this, with the straps of her top dangling pathetically around her elbows, half-naked, and covered in his seed.

  “My clue,” she mumbled.

  “Look me in the eyes and ask me.”

  “Please….”

  “Look at me.”

  She did, and immediately wished she had not. “I want my clue.”

  “I want you to taste me.” Val did not understand, and then she thought she might and her stomach lurched frightfully. “What?”

  He took her hand, forcing out her index finger. He ran her index finger up her breast, catching one of the opalescent globs, and brought her hand to her mouth. “Lick it all off and I'll give you what you want.”

  She choked back a sob. Closed her eyes. Flicked out her tongue and swallowed because it was better to get it over with quickly and all at once than to let the taste of him linger, salty-sweet, in her mouth.

  Her gorge rose, and she felt saliva flood her mouth. He ran the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. “Such an obedient thing,” he said. “Even in filth, you remain a rose.”

  “Please,” she sobbed.

  “Yes,” he mused. “I suppose you've earned it. Very well. Your clue is sin.”

  “Who did you kill?” He shook his head as he left. She had the feeling he was laughing at her, as if he knew she would be running into the shower the moment he was gone. Because that was precisely what she did.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Val had never been superstitious, but the soft, full moon that drenched the room in a bluish, surreal cast was almost enough to make her believe in ghosts.

  She could hear the faint ticking of a clock, and, fainter still, the sound of a television in one of the other dorms. She felt like she was living through one of her nightmares—and perhaps she was. They were, after all, based on life.

  The light from the moon was enough to see by and with a stealthy look at her sleeping roommate, Val slipped her laptop's case out from underneath her bed. The canvas scratched against the edge of her bed and her heart stopped as Mary groaned, turning over onto her side. Val wasn't so afraid of waking Mary up as she was of Mary wanting to know what she was doing up at this hour.

  The screen blinked on, bathing her in a bright white glow. She unplugged the power cord, letting the screen dim as it reverted to battery power.

  She had to know whose death she had caused. She had to know who she should have on her conscience. That she should feel guilt was necessary; it was her burden to bear as much as it was Atlas's to hold the world on his shoulders.

  She typed in “Derringer” and “murder”, praying there would be no hits. She was disappointed. Nancy Ramirez Murdered in Home. Val felt simultaneous horror, confusion, and dread, pierced with the cold arrow of relief. The name was unfamiliar to her, and there was no chance of her being a student at DHS—not a recent one, anyway— since the article gave her age as twenty-nine. So who was Nancy Ramirez?

  Maybe it's coincidence. She couldn't believe she was being so callous about a woman's death. But then, she was no stranger to death. She met with him personally on every third day.

  Her eyes continued to scroll through the article. There was a picture at the bottom. This, strangely enough, did look familiar, and another search quickly told Val everything she needed to know. Nancy Ramirez worked at the Derringer Emergency Medical Hospital.

  She was the paramedic who had saved Val from drowning one year ago. Savior.

  It all made perfect, horrible sense. Who is sin?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Begonia

  Val leaned her elbows on the makeshift bar. Alex's dorm was clean for once, the lights all dimmed, all the larger furniture pushed against the wall to create the space for a dance floor. True to Mary's word, there were fewer people this time around and they all mingled in cliquish groups.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. Jade wasn't there. She hadn't expected him to be, but having those dismal expectations realized only made her feel worse. Part of her—the stupidly optimistic part—had hoped to see his cheerful, freckled face.

  Well. Not so cheerful. At least, not the last time she'd seen him. He hadn't contacted her for days and she had pretty much given up on ever seeing or hearing from him again.

  She had led him on, used him as she herself so hated to be used. And in all honesty, she didn't regret it. Being with him had made her forget her troubles.

  She twisted the ring on her finger. Inscribed on the inside were the words supero omnia. I surpass everything. If only that were true. She couldn't even quash her discomfort.

  Part of that was the clothes she was wearing. Mary refused to let her wear jeans. She had produced a tight black skirt and a gold lace top, both new and both conveniently in her size, and then danced off before Val could question when she'd had the time to acquire these items.

  Val found herself wondering if Mary had gotten them with a five-finger discount since neither of them had the money to spend on new clothes. Then Val wondered if she was a racist for thinking those thoughts, and whether she would have had them at all if Mary were white.

  Her head ached after the first ten minutes of thinking this way and at least a half hour had elapsed since then, and now her stomach and head hurt, and she felt sick and miserable and tired.

  “Hey.” A boy slipped into the seat beside her. He was wearing a tight gray shirt and cords. Not slender but not heavy either. Clearly he worked out a lot. There was a tribal tattoo wrapped around his bicep and his lower lip was pierced.

  Val didn't even have to look down to know that he was probably wearing expensive designer canvas sneakers. Great, she thought, another Alex Clone.

  “Yo, Green Eyes. I'm talking to you.”

  “My name's not Green Eyes,” she said tightly, “it's Val.”

  He extended his hand. He had a class ring on but she couldn't make out the school. “Vance.”

  Val looked away, leaving him hanging. “Don't shake?” He rolled his eyes and leaned over to grab a beer.

  Val continued to sip her soda, aware of his eyes on her. “What are you looking at?”

  “Your necklace.”

  Her soda can made an audible crumpling sound.

  “Do you know what that is? It's a slave collar. It means you get off on being dominated.” Val whipped her head around to look at him. “What?”

  “Yup. You see? That's where you attach the lead.”

  Her fingers clenched around the silver as he pointed at the odd ring in the design that had caught her attention. She set her jaw and looked away. “Very funny.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No.” She pulled away from him and nearly fell off her stool. “I mean, yes. I don't—”

  “Which is it?” He shot her a cool smile. “It can't be both at once.” Val made a frustrated noise and moved to leave. His hand shot out to grab her wrist before she could successfully pull away.

  “Not so fast, Green Eyes, baby. Did I say you could leave?”

  “Get your hands off me.” “You wouldn't want to hurt your friend's feelings.” He nodded at the side of the room. “You've been set up with me.”

  She located Mary off in the far corner of the room, talking with Alex. Watching her. Val gripped her glass so tightly that it slipped away from her, skidding across the table. “I'm not interested.”

  “Well, what she actually said was that you needed a friend.” He shrugged. “Same difference.” “No, they really aren't.”

  “The
y are to me. How 'bout you shut that sexy mouth of yours and dance with me?”

  “Fuck off.” “Only if you watch.” He yanked her towards the dance floor, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind so he could force her hips to sway to the heavy beat. “Do you like to watch?”

  He's disgusting. Like Gavin, without the charm. “I know your type,” he said, sliding a hand down her thigh. “All sugar and spice on the outside, but inside you're all whips and chains.”

  “You don't know me at all,” she said.

  “But I want to.”

  “No,” said Val.

  Mary was beaming from across the room.

  “Aw,” he said, following her gaze. “How sweet. She thinks we like each other.” “You're an asshole.”

  “You're not so bad yourself,” he drawled. “Let go. The song's over.”

  “Come outside with me first.”

  “I don't want to.”

  “Come on, it'll be fun.”

  Like a funeral.

  Somebody had decorated the porch with Japanese lanterns. Not Alex. He was incapable of anything so tasteful. Maybe they had been hung by Mary.

  Vance touched one of the dangling lanterns. “I haven't seen one of these since I was seven and in Japan.”

  If that was supposed to impress her, it failed. “What do you want from me?”

  “You.”

  The single word was as cold as one of the evening breezes rustling the leaves above their heads. Her head jerked and her whole body seemed to reflexively coil like a spring. “Why?”

  He cut her off with a kiss, effectively halting any further questions or protests. His hands slid beneath her top, and he made a low satisfied sound when he realized there was no bra to impede his progress. Val shuddered at the coldness of his fingers, bristling with outrage, horror, and a bitter wrenching emotion she could not place and did not care to. She slapped him—hard.