by Diane Hoh
“I’m glad you did.” Shea meant it. “I’ve hardly seen you all week.” Not that she hadn’t been preoccupied with problems of her own. Still … “Sid really doesn’t believe in sharing, does he? I can’t believe you put up with that.”
Dinah flushed. “Oh, Shea, don’t start. You just don’t understand. Besides, you haven’t exactly been beating a path to my door. I’ve called you a couple of times, and there wasn’t any answer.” She smiled. “I guess Coop’s been keeping you busy.”
Shea, tired of keeping her terrible burden to herself, might have spilled the whole story then, but the others returned and the moment was lost.
They were halfway through their meal when Milo Keith passed their booth, stopped, and turned around. “Hey, Coop!” he said, “what were you doing out our way Friday night?”
Coop lifted his head. “Out your way? You mean, at Nightmare Hall?” He frowned. “What would I be doing at Nightmare Hall?”
Milo laughed. He leaned his tall, bony frame against the side of the booth. “Well, I asked you first. I saw a light out my window, coming from the woods above the creek. Flashlight. Looked like you holding it. You lose something out there?”
“Wasn’t me,” Coop said, returning to his pizza.
Milo shrugged. “My mistake. Sure looked like you, though. Wearing a maroon jacket just like yours. High school football jacket with the gold hornet on the back. Not too many of those on campus, are there? See ya!”
Friday night, Shea thought, the night she’d gone to the creek to meet the whisperer. Milo had looked out his window and seen someone he thought was Coop. It hadn’t been her. She didn’t look anything like Coop, not even from a distance, not even in the dark. And she hadn’t been wearing a jacket with a hornet on the back.
Did that mean the whisperer was someone who looked like Coop? Tall, broad-shouldered, dark, curly hair?
She knew that jacket. Coop was from Avalon, a really small town several hours from Twin Falls. Her high school had played his in basketball and football. And though she’d never seen Coop in it, she’d seen that jacket on lots of other people.
Were there other people from Avalon at Salem? If there were, Coop hadn’t mentioned them, and he didn’t hang around with them.
It had stopped raining when they left Vinnie’s. Coop and Shea, who had arrived on the shuttle, decided to walk back to campus. The others drove back.
“I wonder who Milo saw at Nightmare Hall Friday night,” Shea said casually as they made their way along the puddle-spattered road.
“Beats me. Why? I mean, why are you wondering?”
Shea wanted to explain. But how could she say. “Because I was there that night and I want to know who was in those woods with me?”
Still, if Milo was right about the jacket, and the whisperer was someone from Coop’s hometown, it was probably someone Coop knew. How could she find that out without giving herself away?’
She couldn’t. “Just curious, I guess. I mean, don’t you think that roaming around those woods late at night is a pretty weird thing to do? And speaking of weird” … should she really ask this?… “have you heard if the police know anything about who attacked Dr. Stark?”
“Nope. Not a word. I don’t think they have anything to go on.”
They crossed the road to campus. The tall pole lights along the walkways dripped remnants of the recent rain, their yellowish glow turning the waterdrops into liquid gold. “Are there very many guys from your graduating class on campus?” Shea asked.
“Not that I know of. A few, maybe. I haven’t checked it out.” He gave her a curious glance.
“If it’s the jacket you’re wondering about, I don’t even know where it is. I think I left it at the A.B.S. lab a while ago.”
She could sense that he wasn’t interested in talking about it any further. He seemed preoccupied. But he’d already explained that. The job in the lab.
Look who’s talking! Shea reminded herself. As if you can concentrate on anything besides the whisperer.
Well, at least she’d finally done the right thing. She had refused to cut off Tandy’s beautiful hair. “
Now there would be no more phone calls or notes. Maybe this was the end of it.
And tomorrow, she’d go to Dr. Stark and confess everything. She’d take her medicine, whatever it was. It couldn’t be worse than dealing with the whisperer.
Shea was still thinking about the jacket Milo had seen at Nightmare Hall as she said goodbye to Coop and got in the elevator at Devereaux. Suddenly, without warning, the lights went off and the elevator vanished into abrupt, complete darkness … and jerked to an abrupt halt.
Chapter 12
SHEA STOOD VERY STILL in the pitch-black elevator, listening to the sound of her own breathing.
She reached out for the control panel to her right. Since she couldn’t see to distinguish which button was the door opener, she pressed all of them, one at a time.
Nothing happened. The lights didn’t come back on, the elevator didn’t move, and the door didn’t open.
There had to be an emergency button, one that would set off an alarm and send rescuers rushing to free her from this dark, airless box.
Although she slapped her hand, hard, against every single button on the panel, no alarm sounded. Nothing happened. The elevator didn’t move, and it remained as dark as an underground cave.
“I don’t know what to do,” Shea said aloud, dropping her hand to her side again. The sound of her voice echoed hollowly in her ears. Finding the words oddly comforting, she repeated them, slowly and carefully. “I do not know what to do,” as if it were a chant designed to ward off danger.
When her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, she glanced around and, finding nothing that gave her any hope, looked up at the ceiling. Didn’t people in the movies sometimes exit a stalled elevator through a trapdoor in the ceiling?
It was there, all right. A small, square-lidded opening.
But in the movies, the trapped person was either one of those superathletic types, or he had someone else in the elevator whose shoulders he could stand on to reach the trapdoor.
She was no Arnold Schwarzenegger.
And there were no extra shoulders in this elevator.
Shea did the next best thing. She screamed.
She screamed loud and long, the sounds beginning deep in her belly and gathering volume as they made their way up through her chest, her throat, and out her mouth, where they bounced off the walls and slammed against her ears.
Wincing, she clapped her hands over her ears and continued to scream for help until her throat felt like it was bleeding.
But no one came to get her out. The door didn’t slide open, friendly faces didn’t smile in at her, saying, “Well, Shea, what are you doing in there?”
No one came.
Was the elevator soundproof?
She leaned against the wall, her arms wrapped around her chest, staring into the complete blackness. She waited. … It seemed like hours that she waited anxiously, chewing on her lower lip, nerves tingling, ears straining for any sign of approaching help.
None came.
When she finally realized that no one was coming to rescue her, panic took over. She threw herself at the door, her fists pounding against it. Hammering with all her might on the unyielding metal, kicking at it with her feet, she croaked in a hoarse, raw whisper, “Open, damn you, open!”
She was so lost in her fit of panic that when the lights suddenly came back on, she blinked, startled. The elevator lurched, jerked, and began moving slowly upward again. At first, Shea thought she was imagining the movement.
But she wasn’t. It was moving.
She fell against the wall and let out a deep, shaky sob of relief. When the elevator slid to a halt and the doors opened, she was greeted by a sea of anxious faces awaiting her in the hall.
Voices wanting to know if she was all right swam around her as she stumbled free.
“What happened?” she ask
ed hoarsely, her vocal cords throbbing in pain, her knuckles scratched and raw.
“Electricity went off,” a tall boy in shorts told her. “Nobody knows why. Back on now, though,” he added unnecessarily.
“We heard you screaming,” a red-robed girl named Molly said. “But with the electricity off, there was nothing we could do. A couple of the maintenance men went downstairs to check it out. I guess they fixed whatever was wrong. You sure you’re okay?”
Anxious to get to her room and collapse on her bed, Shea assured everyone that she was fine except for a sore throat from screaming, and left the group, half leaning against the wall as she went.
As she went, Shea wondered if it had begun raining again. Thunder? Lightning? A lightning strike nearby might explain why the electricity had gone off.
She listened for thunder, and heard none. No deep, rumbling growls from overhead.
Then why had the electricity failed, trapping her in that elevator?
Shea heard doors slamming behind her as everyone returned to their rooms. Why did her own room suddenly seem so far away? Miles and miles away from her, down the long, long corridor. And she had to walk it on legs that felt boneless.
She hoped Tandy was home, and awake. The need to tell someone about her horrible imprisonment in the dark, airless cage was overwhelming. Talking about it seemed like the only way to get rid of it. She would let every frightening moment spill out of her mouth and, once it was out, she could push it away and forget about it.
Maybe.
Tandy was home, but she wasn’t awake. She was sprawled across her bed, still fully clothed, headphones on, Walkman lying beside her. She was sound asleep, her head half-covered by her pillow.
Shea sank down on her bed and curled up in a small ball. The window beside Tandy’s bed was open, filling the room with the fresh, cool smell of recent rain.
She envied Tandy, so soundly asleep.
Shea lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Their room was small … but so much larger than the elevator. She could breathe again.
What if the electricity hadn’t come back on? What if it had stayed off for an hour, or two, even three? What would she have done then?
Lost it totally, she admitted silently. No question. Another five minutes in that place and they’d have had to peel her off the ceiling when the elevator door finally opened.
Her eyes drifted over to the clock radio on her bedside table. It read nine fifty-three.
Except, of course, it couldn’t be nine fifty-three. Because the electricity had been off.
How long had the blackout lasted?
If she didn’t correct the time on her clock before she conked out for the night, they’d be late for class in the morning. She hated being late on Mondays. A terrible start to a new week.
As if having to confess wasn’t the worst way in the world to start a new week.
Shea sat up and leaned on one elbow to reset the clock, using her wristwatch as a guide. Ten thirty-eight. She’d been in that elevator forty-five minutes.
It had seemed like years.
She was about to lie back down when the phone rang. Tandy never stirred.
Shea grabbed the receiver quickly to prevent another shrill ring. Maybe Coop or Dinah had heard about her being held captive by the elevator and wanted the details. It would be nice to talk to one of them. Then she might be able to sleep.
But it wasn’t Coop’s voice on the line. Or Dinah’s. It was, instead, the familiar whisper, soft, hushed, so sly, so sinister. And the words it whispered made no sense. Even as Shea realized who was calling and her teeth clenched in sudden dread, the voice sing-songed its incomprehensible message in her ear.
“Shave and a haircut, two bits!” Click.
Shea knew the ditty. When she was small, with hair falling almost to her waist, her grandfather had sometimes teased her by singing the jingle while making scissoring motions with his hands, pretending he was going to cut off her hair so her grandmother wouldn’t have to braid it anymore.
“Shave and a haircut …”
A haircut. …
Was he … was he reminding her that he was angry with her? Because she’d refused to hack off Tandy’s hair?
No. He wouldn’t just call her. He’d … he’d show her how angry he was. He’d … he’d do something. Something nasty.
“Shave and a haircut …”
Something nasty. …
Moving as if she were an old woman, Shea reached out and switched on the small blue lamp next to her bed. A vein at her temple throbbed visibly as her head turned slowly, slowly. Her eyes, wide with dread, scanned Tandy’s sleeping form, saw nothing frightening or weird. Moved away from Tandy, along the bed, then down, over the side …
And there it was.
On the floor.
A round pool of yellow, like melted butter.
Tandy’s hair.
Tandy’s beautiful, lemonade-hued hair, thick and silky and curly, was puddled on the floor beneath the bed.
And Tandy slept on, unaware.
Chapter 13
SHEA GASPED. ONE HAND flew up to keep any louder sound from spilling out of her mouth. No, oh no, he couldn’t have, he couldn’t have …
But he had.
Shea’s lips formed a small, round “O” of horror. If Tandy awoke and saw that splotch of yellow lying on the floor …
Shea switched off the lamp and the room disappeared into darkness, taking with it the sickening sight of Tandy’s shorn hair.
But it was still there. Waiting for Tandy to awaken and see it …
Shea slid backward on her bed until the wall stopped her flight. Pulling her comforter up to her chest, she sat huddled in the corner, staring wide-eyed, fighting tears. Her lower lip quivered, and she had to bite down on it, hard, to keep it still.
She knew exactly what had happened. The scene played itself out in her mind as clearly as if she were sitting on her bed watching it happen:
Tandy comes back to an empty room. She’s glad to have it to herself. She doesn’t lock the door because she knows Shea will be coming in soon.
Tossing the clothes she was wearing onto the floor, Tandy slips into a long white T-shirt and sits on the edge of her bed brushing her long hair fifty strokes, a ritual she never skips, no matter how late she arrives home. Then, humming softly to herself, she washes her face and brushes her teeth.
She spends a few minutes writing in her diary. Then she slips a tape into her Walkman, dons headphones, and flings herself across her bed on her stomach.
She is asleep in minutes.
Shea shivered and yanked the comforter up to her chin, her fists clutching the edges so tightly, her knuckles ached.
The movie in her head continued.
Tandy has been asleep for a while when the electricity goes off. The clock radio stops and the lighted lamp on Shea’s table goes out.
The room is dark.
But Shea can still see everything perfectly, as if the room were bathed in daylight.
The door opens. A figure moves inside, quickly, quietly, an air of stealth about it. Of course. Because it shouldn’t be in this room. It doesn’t belong. Tandy is asleep, unaware of the sneaking, slithering figure. Meanwhile, Shea is being held captive in a dark, stuffy elevator, so she can’t come to Tandy’s aid.
I would have, Shea thought miserably, tears pooling in her eyes. I would have stopped him if I could have. But I couldn’t.
The figure is holding something shiny in its right hand. Something shiny and silver is being lowered toward Tandy’s sleeping form. It looks … it looks sharp, pointed …
A knife. A knife!
No … there are two blades, not one. And the two blades make a slicing noise against each other as they’re wielded threateningly above Tandy’s head.
Scissors. The thing in his hand is a pair of scissors.
Tandy doesn’t hear the slicing sound. Tandy is asleep, and wearing headphones. The music is still playing in her ears, drowning out any sound ma
de by the silvery, shiny scissors.
Shea wanted to stop it from happening. She strained forward on the bed, about to scream, “No, no, don’t!” She bit back the shout only a split-second before it slid over her lips and hit the air, realizing that shouting would do no good now. Too late. The scene that was playing itself out in her head had already happened. It was over … and Tandy didn’t even know yet that it had taken place.
He bends low over Tandy, the shiny, silvery blades in his right hand. He lifts the thick strands of pale yellow and begins chopping. … quickly, deliberately, chop, chop, chop. As each clump falls free of Tandy’s head, it drops carelessly to the floor, until, in a brief few minutes filled only with the cold, slicing sound, the clumps form their soft round pool.
Tandy, asleep, perhaps dreaming, never feels a thing, never stirs as she’s being shorn.
So quickly, it’s over.
There is a deep, triumphant chuckle from the figure as it straightens up, holding the last chopped clump high in the air, like a trophy. Then that handful, too, drops to the floor.
The figure turns and leaves, closing the door quietly behind it.
Tandy sleeps on.
Shea did not sleep. All night long, as the shadows in the room deepened and darkened and then slowly faded, she sat huddled in the corner, the comforter to her chin. Her anguished mind tortured her with what-ifs … what if she hadn’t done this or that, what if she had done this or that, wasn’t there some way she could have stopped the cruel attack on Tandy?
And it was an attack. He hadn’t beaten Tandy, or stabbed her, or slapped her. But he had injured her just as surely.
And when Tandy saw what had taken place while she slept …
Shea groaned aloud, and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, dawn had crept into the room, lighting the hardwood floor with a grayish hue. Monday morning had arrived.
For one brief, hope-filled second, Shea allowed herself to believe that none of it had actually happened. Maybe she’d been asleep and dreaming a terrible dream.
