Rising Storm t2-2

by S. M. Stirling

  She went to the ornate staircase and climbed to the second floor. Mr. Labane's room was 207, at the far end of the hall. The hall was quiet and the ambience here was restful. She wished she could stay in a place like this: Diana's dorm was as noisy as the inside of a drum at a rock concert.

  She found the door to 207 slightly open, but the room was quiet. Biting her lower lip, Wendy hesitated. She really didn't want to be the first to arrive. How would she explain her presence if Rich and Joe weren't here? By the same token, she'd look stupid hanging out in the hall like this. And if she was first she'd actually get some private time with Mr. Labane. Taking a deep breath, she knocked twice.

  "Come in." It was Ron Labane's voice.

  She clasped her hands as her excitement surged, then nervously pushed the door open. Just inside the door on the left was the bathroom; Joe was coming out as she entered.

  "Hi," she said happily.

  Smiling broadly, he lifted his hand as if to blow her a kiss and blew a fine powder right into her face.

  Wendy started to suck in her breath in surprise, gagged, and fell to the floor unconscious.

  "Gets 'em every time," Dog Soldier said, brushing off his hands.

  "Get her out of there and close the door for crissake," Hate snarled. "Couldn't

  you have waited until she was further in?"

  "Picky, picky, picky." Dog grinned. He grabbed Wendy under the armpits and dragged her a few feet, dropped her like a sack of potatoes, and stepped over her to close the door. "That was easy," he said, watching Hate position the girl on the floor beside Labane.

  "Yes," Hate agreed. He spread the girl's right hand and touched the gun to her fingers in a number of different directions. "Why did we have to replace parts if we could do this?"

  "Extra measure of safety," Dog said. "Dude I knew got caught because of a fingerprint on the inside of a mother-of-pearl handgrip plate. Besides, we didn't know if we'd have the leisure. She might have brought a friend."

  Hate nodded, not looking up. Then he placed the gun in the girl's hand. Lifting Wendy up, he brought her close to Labane, the gun pressed against what was left of Ron's head, Hate's hand over hers on the gun. Dog wrapped the pillow around her hand and Hate pulled the trigger.

  Wendy got most of what splashed, though Hate caught some blood and matter on his face and hair.

  "Shit!" He dropped her and headed for the bathroom. He took a handful of toilet paper and cleaned off the worst of it, then pocketed the mess. "Let's get out of here," he growled.

  "Sure," Dog said. "Bye, Wendy."

  They pulled the door quietly to behind them and went down the back stairs, exiting through the inn's rear door, where Hate had unscrewed a bulb earlier, leaving the back path in darkness.

  "You wanna make the call, or shall I do the honors?" Dog asked.

  "You," Hate said. Why should he take the risk of having his voice recorded?

  "Oh! Y'know what?" Dog Soldier said. "You could imitate Ron! You could call up and say this coed stalker was threatening you and you'd seen her in the hotel and the cops should come and take her away, or something." He grinned excitedly. "It would be so cool!"

  Hate stopped walking and looked at him. Actually, it would be cool.

  Perhaps, thanks to a superior gag reflex, Wendy hadn't inhaled as much of the drug as Dog Soldier had assumed, or perhaps she had a resistance to it—for whatever reason, she returned, more or less, to consciousness before Labane's killers hit the back door.

  Slowly she realized she was lying on the floor, and she wondered how and why this was so. Then, for what seemed like a long time, she stared at what looked like a very messy piece of raw meat. All at once she realized what it was she was looking at and her stomach rebelled.

  Wendy tried to rise but couldn't. She threw up on the carpet and partly on the corpse. When she was through retching she pushed herself away from the body, weeping, her head turned away. She took shallow breaths, afraid the smell would make her vomit again, and struggled to her feet, sobbing.

  Staggering to the bed and grabbing one of its posts, she looked around the room.

  A very nice room. Wendy swayed, blinking, feeling the sweat dry off her face as she tried to make sense of what was happening. A quick glance at the floor told her the body was still there.

  Hadn't there been something in her hand? She looked at her hand clasped on the carved wood. Nothing there. But there had been something. Wendy looked down at the floor, but not at the body. There was a gun. It was lying in a pool of blood going tacky. The gun had been in her hand. She looked at her hand; there was blood on her fingers. And the smell…

  Wendy's knees gave way and she dropped, holding on to the bedpost for dear life. No! No matter what, she knew that she wouldn't kill anybody. Wait, she didn't even have a gun. She loved Ron Labane and everything he stood for; nothing could make her hurt him.

  Wendy forced herself to take deep breaths, fighting the dizziness and the panic.

  Her legs steadied and she leaned her forehead against the bedpost, trying desperately to remember what had happened. Something came to her—Joe coming out of the bathroom, lifting his hand…

  I have to get out of here, she thought. I have to find Diana.

  She got to the door, having trouble keeping her feet, weaving left and right as though she was drunk. Her stomach wanted to heave again, this time because her head was whirling, but she forced herself to move.

  Back stairs, she thought muzzily. Too many people out front. Wait, shouldn't she tell them? Someone had been murdered after all. She stood in the hallway, feeling as though gravity wanted to pull her flat to the carpet, trying to make up her mind.

  Deep inside, some instinct warned her to go, to sneak out. Good idea, she thought. She wasn't sure what was going on. She could always go to the police later, when she figured out what had happened.

  Once outside, she headed in the opposite direction from Hate and Dog. She thought she'd take a shower as soon as she got back to the dorm. She always felt dirty after she threw up and… she thought she smelled blood. Wendy caught her breath in a sob. Had that really been Ron Labane? What had Joe done to her and why?

  He seemed so nice, she thought plaintively.

  "Hey, sleepyhead!" Diana nudged Wendy a little harder, not entirely pleased with her friend right now. "Wake up!"

  With a wrenching effort Wendy managed to say, "Unh." If Diana hadn't started gently slapping her face, she'd probably have dropped off again. "Nnnno," she murmured, raising her hands. "Stop."

  "Listen, Sleeping Beauty, we've got an hour and a half to get you dressed and fed and onto your bus. C'mon"—she tugged on Wendy's nightgown—"sit up. That's a good girl."

  Wendy pressed her hand to her aching brow and felt her stomach clench. Oh

  God, she prayed, not again. She'd thrown up three times last night. "Oh God,"

  she said out loud, her voice sounding rusty.

  "What the hell happened to you last night?" Diana asked. "I come back, you're passed out on my bed, thank you very much, your clothes are in a soaking-wet heap on the floor." She raised her hands and did a little hootchie dance move.

  "Whoo-hoo! Those intellectual discussion groups. Wild times, I'm tellin' ya!

  Wild times!"

  Wincing, Wendy looked at her friend through narrowed eyes. "I have a headache," she said pitifully.

  "Thought you might." Diana collected two tablets and a glass of water from her night table. "I put your clothes, including your shoes"-she raised a brow—"in the dryer. What happened?"

  Wendy looked at her, her mind blank for a moment, then an all-too-vivid memory crowded in. She made an involuntary sound of disgust that sent Di arching back.

  "You're not going to be sick again, are you?"

  Wendy shook her head, then wished she hadn't. She put one hand to her aching brow and took another sip of water. "You were right," she said. The story took shape as she spoke, almost as if she were channeling it. "Those guys didn't know Ron Laban
e at all. They met me outside the inn and said I was too early." She let out a soul-deep sigh. "Let's go for a walk, they said. When we were a ways from the inn they admitted that they'd tricked me. Then they asked me if I wanted to do a threesome with them."

  "Bastards!" Di snapped. She put an understanding hand on Wendy's shoulder.

  Wendy smiled sadly at her and covered her friend's hand with her own, then she went on with her lie. "I told them they were assholes and to get lost." Her throat grew tight and tears threatened; she fought them back, but when she continued her voice sounded strangled. "The next thing I knew I was sitting on a park bench and I'd thrown up all over myself." She covered her eyes, for a moment, then looked at Diana.

  Her friend sat with her mouth open, an uncertain look on her face. "Are you all right?" Di asked carefully.

  Wendy nodded, looking down at her lap. "Yeah," she choked out. She shook her head. "I don't think they even tried to touch me. You can tell. You know?" She looked at Di.

  Diana nodded. "Yeah. I know." She bit her lips and said solemnly, "Do you want to go to the police?"

  Wendy gave her a deer-caught-in-the-headlights stare, then shook her head vehemently. "Oohhh," she groaned, clutching her temples with both hands and wincing. "No. No time, for one thing. I've got a bus to catch. And while it was a dirty trick and they're a pair of assholes, they didn't actually hurt me. They didn't even take my wallet. I checked." Wendy sighed, then wrinkled her nose. "I guess I'll have to chalk it up to experience."

  Turning down the corners of her mouth, Di nodded. "Get dressed," she said suddenly, rising from the bed. "We'll catch a burger at the bus station. We've

  only got about an hour and ten minutes."

  They were walking to the bus station, a good half-hour walk, at Wendy's request.

  She'd explained that she thought the exercise might clear her head. It did seem to be helping, though her mind was still a confused knot. "Fuck me!" Diana suddenly exclaimed.

  Wendy frowned at her. "You're one of my best friends, Di, but frankly, you're not my type."

  Diana tossed her a disgusted look and pointed to a newspaper box standing at the corner of the building beside them. Wendy stepped closer to look at it and her breath froze in her chest.

  ECOLOGY SPOKESMAN SLAIN IN

  LOCAL INN

  "Oh, my God," she said. Somehow it felt like she was just finding this out.

  "Are you okay?" Di asked. "You just got really pale."

  "I'm fine," Wendy said in a faint voice. She dug in her jeans for quarters and bought the paper. "I just can't believe it."

  She didn't want to believe it. The memory of Ron Labane's shattered head and the smell of his blood hit her and she staggered. Di took her by the shoulders and guided her to the curb, where she made her sit down.

  "If you're feeling faint you should duck your head between your legs," Di said gently.

  "I—I'm okay." Wendy looked at her friend and smiled faintly. "It's just… such a shock." She took a deep breath. "And I was there. I was right th—"

  "Stop right there," Di said firmly. "You were not right there. You were in the neighborhood; that's not the same thing at all. What you're saying is like saying everybody in Amherst was right there, and we weren't. So if you think you could have saved him just by standing next to the inn or have known what was going to happen, you're wrong. Don't you take that on yourself."

  Wendy smiled at her; she couldn't help it. A wave of affection caused her to hug her friend in gratitude. "Thank you," she said. "I needed to hear that."

  She knew in her heart that if she confessed to waking up beside his body with a gun in her hand, Diana would still have believed in her innocence. She was that kind of friend.

  "C'mon," Di said, standing and snatching the paper out of her friend's hands.

  "You can read this on the bus."

  There were a couple of policemen talking to a young, dark-haired woman as they entered the bus station. One of them glanced at Wendy and Di as they walked by. When they entered the Burger King he looked away. "You've only got twenty-five minutes," Di said, checking the clock.

  "Then I guess I'd better skip the Whopper." Wendy sighed. "I'm not really all that hungry."

  "Get some fries, then," Di suggested. "And some orange juice."

  " There's a combination," Wendy muttered. But she did as her friend suggested. It was easier, and she was too tired.

  Glancing out the window, Di pointed. Wendy looked out and saw the cops talking to yet another dark-haired girl.

  "Whaddaya think is going on?" Di asked.

  Wendy shook her head. "Maybe somebody ran away," she suggested.

  "Huh." Di shrugged. "Maybe they're trolling for dates."

  They looked at each other and grinned. Then they passed the next few minutes in eating and idle chatter.

  As they walked to the bus bay for Boston, Di said, "Y'know, you might want to think about reporting those guys. I'll back you about their invitation. I mean, you got away okay, but somebody else might not be so lucky."

  Wendy nodded. "I know," she said. "I just can't right now. I still feel kind of sick and I just want to get to my own room. Y'know?" She looked up into her friend's sympathetic face and reached out for a good-bye hug.

  "Excuse me, girls."

  They looked up to find themselves confronted by the police they'd noticed earlier.

  "Could we ask you a few questions, please?"

  "Sure," Di said.

  Wendy nodded, then she pointed vaguely toward the bus bay. "My bus is boarding, though."

  Both looked at her as though expecting her to continue.

  Wendy cleared her throat. "Sure, what do you want to know?"

  They wanted to know if Wendy and Diana knew who Ron Labane was, did they go to his speech, how did they feel about him, and most important, where had they been last night.

  "Well, I went out clubbing," Di said happily. "But my buddy here got food poisoning and spent the night at the dorm yawning in Technicolor."

  For some reason the phrase sent a spasm though Wendy's stomach and she put her hand over her mouth, just in case.

  "Sorry," Di said, wincing.

  "So you were by yourself last night?" one of the cops said. They both moved slightly closer to her.

  "Well," Di said, wincing again, "I just couldn't… I mean, she was soooo sick.

  She said it was okay if I went out. But I kept coming back to check on her, so it isn't like I deserted her." She gave the cops a kind of an accusing look.

  "How many times did you look in on her, miss?" the cop asked.

  "Oh, I dunno. Four?" She'd changed clubs four times, so that seemed right. Di looked at Wendy.

  "I think so," Wendy said. "I was kind of out of it."

  The cops looked at her. "You do look a little pale," one of them said.

  "There's a flu going around Boston," Wendy said, quite truthfully.

  The cops moved back slightly. Just then the station announced the last call for her bus and Wendy pointed outside. "I have to go," she said.

  The two policemen looked at each other. "Okay, thanks for your cooperation.

  We'll get your address from your friend here, in case we need to speak to you again."

  "Okay." Wendy hugged Di. "Thanks," she said, meaning it. "I'll call you later."

  "Yeah. I want to be sure you got home okay."

  As the bus pulled out Di was still talking to the police, but they were laughing at some joke she'd made. Except for the uniforms, they could have been any pair of young guys flirting.

  Wendy read the paper as the roadside ribbons of urban sprawl, interrupted by occasional patches of woods, rolled by outside the grimy window of the bus.

  Labane had made a call to the police to report that a young woman with long red hair had been stalking him, threatening him. He'd asked the police to investigate, but by the time they arrived at the inn he was already dead. Three high-caliber

  gun shots to the head from close range, the co
roner reported.

  They're looking for me, Wendy thought. They just don't know it yet. But they'd find her name on the list of New Day show attendees, they'd find her name on the pledge list, she'd subscribed to the magazine, her name was all over his lists.

  Just the way a stalker's would be.

  She'd been well and truly set up by those guys.

  Somewhere along the way she drifted off to sleep again. She came to with the bus driver giving her a gentle shake. "Miss," he said quietly. "Miss."

  She looked into his fatherly face for a moment, confused. Then she asked, "Are we there yet?"

  He grinned. "Yep. I came back to get something and I noticed you. You almost got a trip back to Amherst." He raised his brows. "Good weekend?"

  She shook her head tiredly, then smiled. "Memorable anyway."

  "Good for you," he said. "Make as many memories as you can." He tapped his head. "Supposed to be good for your brain."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Wendy smiled as she slipped out of the seat.

  "You got any luggage down below?" the driver asked.

  She shook her head and pulled her duffel from the overhead rack. "Just this.

  Thanks."

  They made their way down the aisle and he waited for her to get off before he closed the door, then they said good-bye and went their separate ways. Wendy moved slowly through the crowd of travelers, still feeling groggy. She wandered out the front doors and stopped to look around.

  John, she thought. The name brought her head up. Yes, John. He'd been running from the cops since he was, like… born! I need to talk to him.

  Gripping the strap of her duffel, she turned on her heel to go back into the bus station to the bank of phones and ran smack into Yam's narrow chest.

  "Hey!" she said, and gave him a one armed hug. "Am I glad to see you!"

  "Me, too," he said. "Keep walking, we've got to get out of here; the cops are looking for you."

  "Oh God," she said. "Already?"

  "Yep, we're supposed to meet Snog at the Coop."