by Diane Hoh
Quinn laughed. “You don’t have any money, Ivy.”
‘That’s not the point.” Ivy, in a thick white bathrobe, hair turbanned in a white towel, was sprawled across Tobie’s bed. “It’s the thought that counts. Come on, Quinn, the party’s going to be a blast. It’s bad enough that Tobie wimped out. Now you’re telling me neither of my best friends is going to be at this festive celebration?”
“Suze is going, isn’t she? I thought she was your best friend.” Maybe she wouldn’t be, Quinn thought, if you knew that she lies. “Besides,” she added dolefully, “what is there to celebrate with all the creepy things happening on this campus.”
“You’re all my best friends,” Ivy said. “And Tim said we’re having this party to show that we’re not afraid. Thumb our nose at that maniac, so to speak.”
“There’s bravery and then there’s stupidity,” Quinn pointed out.
“Look who’s talking. You and Simon are going out alone, as a couple, while the rest of us are going to be hanging out together. Not even a crazy person would be dumb enough to descend on a crowded frat house. But this particular crazy doesn’t seem to have any problem at all attacking a couple. That’s you and Simon, Quinn.”
“I need to be alone with him,” Quinn insisted. “We have some things to straighten out. Maybe we’ll drop by the party later.”
Ivy seemed satisfied with that, and left to get dressed, adding that if Quinn showed up at the party, she just might consider putting her back in the will.
Quinn was laughing as the door closed.
But the uneasiness had returned. Ivy could be right. Maybe it was foolish to go out as a lone couple on this particular Friday night. Were she and Simon just asking for trouble?
Well, that depends, a niggling little voice said, on who’s doing these nasties. Are you forgetting it could be you? You’d hardly attack yourself, would you?
Oh, I don’t know, Quinn thought drily. Seems to me, if I’m crazy enough to set off a stink bomb, pour paint on people, and attack a car with a hammer, I’m probably crazy enough to do almost anything.
They did not talk about the incidents on campus at dinner. Quinn was surprised to discover that no one else from campus was in the small Chinese restaurant. Although it wasn’t as popular with students as Vinnie’s or Burgers Etc., there were usually a handful of couples from Salem at the round, white-covered tables on a weekend night.
But not this weekend night.
“I wonder where everyone is?” she mused aloud.
“Probably at the frat party,” Simon answered, wielding chopsticks as if he’d been born with a pair in his fingers. “We can check it out after the movie if you want.”
They talked about life at college throughout dinner. It was a challenge to tackle that subject without mentioning what life at their particular college had become recently, but Quinn noticed. gratefully that Simon was as determined as she was to avoid such an unpleasant topic. He talked about prelaw, she about science, and after a while they became so caught up in their discussion that the recent attacks slid onto a back burner and stayed there.
The movie was less satisfying. A bittersweet romance, it ended unhappily, leaving a sour taste in Quinn’s mouth as they left the theater. “Tobie and Ivy would have loved it,” she said as they headed back to campus. “I can just hear both of them, saying, ‘Well, Quinn, what did we tell you? Nothing ever lasts!’ ”
Simon reached over and took her hand in his, driving one-handed. “Well,” he said with a grin, “now that we’ve straightened things out, it’ll be fun proving them wrong, won’t it?”
Satisfied with that, Quinn settled back in her seat for the ride to campus.
“So,” Simon said as they made the turn off the highway and onto the wide driveway leading between the dorms, “feel like checking out Tim’s frat party?”
“Yeah, I’d like to see if Danny and Tobie showed up,” Quinn replied. “She hasn’t been in much of a party mood lately, but Danny is a friend of Tim’s, so maybe he talked her into it. Tobie could use a good party.”
But, they discovered when they walked into the huge white house, if a “good party” was what they were looking for, they weren’t going to find it at Sigma Chi. Not on this Friday night.
“Where is everyone?” Quinn asked Ivy, who came to greet them. “This place is deader than a cemetery.” There were only half a dozen couples in the massive living room, sitting glumly on plaid couches, there was no music playing, and the only conversation seemed to be a tall, blonde girl complaining repeatedly that she was bored.
“No one showed,” Ivy explained, handing Quinn and Simon each a filled paper cup. “Can you believe it? Everyone I talked to on campus last week was looking forward to this party.”
She led them over to the fireplace, where they all sat on the raised stone hearth. “If you’re thinking that you got here too late to be a part of the crowd, forget it. It never got any bigger than this,” waving her hand to encircle the couples lounging on the couches. “They’ve got enough food left to feed all of campus for a week. What a waste!”
“Were Danny and Tobie here?” Quinn asked.
“Quinn, you’re not listening to me! I said, this is it. No one else came. Not Danny, not Tobie, not most of campus. People are scared.” Ivy shook her head. “It’s funny, I thought you and Simon were dumb for going out together as a couple. I thought people would feel safer here, in a crowd. Apparently, no one else agreed.”
Simon leaned forward, across Quinn, to address a question to Ivy. “You think no one showed because they’re scared?”
“Well, of course. A lot of people come to these parties with a date. But no one wants to be seen as a couple these days. They figure that makes them a target.” Ivy sighed heavily. “I guess I can’t blame them. I wish the police would come up with something, put an end to all this craziness. If this keeps up, there is going to be absolutely no social life left on this campus.”
Quinn and Simon saw no point in staying, and, in fact, before they took their leave, three other couples left.
The expressions on Tim’s and Ivy’s faces as Quinn and Simon left were desolate.
“I feel so sorry for Tim and his frat brothers,” Quinn told Simon as they walked to Devereaux. “I’ve always wondered what would happen if you gave a party and nobody came. Now I know. Grim. Very grim. And it’s not as if it’s their fault.”
Simon shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe they should have figured. I mean, you can’t blame people for being a little jumpy, right?”
“Are you nervous?” Quinn asked. “I mean, about the two of us being out here alone?” It hadn’t occurred to her that Simon might be at all rattled. He seemed so calm, so cool.
Simon laughed. “Well, let’s just say I’m not kissing you good night on the front steps of Devereaux. There could be someone on the roof armed with water balloons or, worse, another stink bomb. We’ll say good night at the door to your room, okay? And I think it might be a good idea to hike up six flights of stairs and avoid the elevator. Call me paranoid, but where do you run if you’re threatened by some maniac in an elevator?”
Quinn knew he was just being careful, but somehow the knowledge that someone as levelheaded as Simon was feeling cautious just made her more nervous.
She wondered what Simon would say if she told him about the smelly red jacket, the raincoat’s pockets, the blouse and skirt still balled up under her bed. She should tell him. He had said in the car that they were going to “last.” How could they last if she kept things hidden from him?
But … if she told him and he thought she’d had anything to do with the attacks, they wouldn’t last at all, would they? How could Simon love someone who’d done what she might have done?
She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t. Not yet.
She couldn’t tell him the truth until she knew what the truth was.
Chapter 15
THE TWO WERE SEATED on the low stone wall surrounding the fountain on the Commons. Darkn
ess had fallen, and campus was deserted. Couples who ordinarily would be meandering across campus hand-in-hand or lounging on one of the tower terraces or saying good night in parked cars had taken to giving up those activities. It no longer seemed safe.
It had turned suddenly chilly, and they huddled together for warmth, reluctant to end the evening.
They saw no one approaching, and in fact had commented on how empty and desolate campus seemed. They heard nothing but the sound of the few remaining leaves rippled by a gusty wind.
The hammer, when it hit, came soundlessly, with no more than a whisper as it descended, and descended again.
The attack was so swift, so sure, that neither made a sound as first he, and then she, toppled off the wall and onto the ground.
On the deserted late-night campus, no one saw the figure, hammer in hand, moving slowly away from the scene, as if in a trance.
Chapter 16
BEFORE QUINN TOLD SIMON good night, she asked him for the letter. He didn’t ask why she wanted it. He handed her the pink sheet of paper without comment, and kissed her good night.
Anxious to confront Tobie, Quinn hurried upstairs to their room, hoping her roommate would be home.
She was. Tobie was sitting up in bed, and Quinn knew she’d been crying again. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed.
Quinn hesitated. This seemed like a terrible time to accuse Tobie of something. But she had to know. And … would there ever be a good time?
Silently, she held out the sheet of paper.
Tobie looked at it with her swollen eyes. “What?” she said thickly. “What’s that?”
Quinn pushed the letter at her. “Read it!” Then she went over and sat down on her bed.
Tobie read quickly. She lifted her head. “You wrote this? I thought you two were back together.”
“I didn’t write that,” Quinn said sharply. She glanced pointedly at Tobie’s typewriter, sitting amid a mass of clutter on Tobie’s desk. “Someone else wrote it. Recognize the paper?”
Tobie looked blank for a second. “The paper? No … oh, well, I guess it’s like mine …” her voice trailed off and then her eyes opened wider. She stared at Quinn. “You don’t … you mean … you think I wrote this?” Fresh tears gathered in her eyes. “Quinn! I wouldn’t! Why would I?”
Quinn shrugged. “Maybe because Simon and I were happy and you hated that? Because you aren’t? Or maybe you were just worried about me. I mean, with your attitude about romance, maybe you didn’t want me to get hurt. How should know why you did it?”
Tobie sat up very straight. “But I didn’t! Quinn, I swear, I didn’t write this!” The tears spilled down over her cheeks. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d deliberately sabotage what you had going with Simon. You must think I’m a terrible person.”
Quinn relented. “No, I don’t think that, Tobie. But I do think you’re really unhappy. Because …” She had to say it sometime. “Because of what happened to you.”
Every last ounce of color drained from Tobie’s face. “What?” she whispered. “What are you talking about?”
Quinn sank back against the wall beside herbed. “I know, Tobie. Tim told me. I know that someone you loved died last year. I wish you had told me. It would have explained a lot. It explains a lot now, but I’d rather it had come from you.”
“You’re wrong,” Tobie said softly. “It doesn’t explain what you think it does, because I did not write that letter to Simon. Someone else did, on my stationery. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Peter.”
“Peter?”
“Peter Gallagher. Peter John Gallagher, the one love of my life. I know that sounds corny, Quinn, but it’s true. I couldn’t tell you about him because I knew if I tried, I’d end up bawling, and then you’d feel sorry for me. I don’t want sympathy, Quinn. I don’t want to be pitied. I came here to make a new start, and I couldn’t do that if everyone knew and felt sorry for me. Coming to Salem was what Peter and I had planned. So, even though what I really wanted to do was crawl into bed and stay there, I decided to come. I knew he’d want me to.”
Quinn sat silently for a moment, and then said, “Can’t you tell me about it now, Tobie? You shouldn’t be carrying around something so awful all by yourself. No wonder you’re so depressed.”
Tobie didn’t answer right away. She gnawed on a fingernail, her eyes closed, and then she said, “You’re right. If you’ll turn off the lights, I’ll tell you. It’ll be easier that way. I don’t want to see you looking at me with big, sad eyes.”
Quinn got up and turned off the lights. Then she returned to her own bed and settled against the wall again.
Tobie sighed heavily. Her voice, when it came out of the darkness, was soft but steady. “We’d gone to a Christmas dance. We went out, to dinner first, at a really expensive hotel in town, and Peter had spent too much money. So, on the way home from the dance, he wanted to stop at one of those automatic bank teller machines. I told him it could wait until morning. It was late and I was tired. But Peter insisted. So he found a machine, and we stopped.”
Quinn listened silently. A bank teller machine? What did that have to do with how Peter Gallagher had died?
“I stayed in the car,” Tobie continued, her voice eerily calm in the darkened room. “It was very late, and the machine only had this one tiny little light. So I didn’t get out of the car.” Her voice rose suddenly. “I didn’t get out of the car! If I had …”
“What happened?” Quinn pressed, knowing that if she let Tobie quit now, she’d never hear the whole story.
A deep breath from the other side of the room. Then, “The guy came out of nowhere. I didn’t see him coming, and I know Peter didn’t, either, or he would have turned around. He was facing the machine, and all of a sudden there was this guy in grungy clothes, standing right behind Peter, saying something. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I knew when Peter turned around and I saw the look on his face, that there was something really wrong. I rolled my window down partway so I could hear. Peter said, “No, I’m not giving you anything.” He was so stubborn. I loved that about him …” Tobie’s voice broke, and when she spoke again, Quinn could hear tears. …”but that’s what killed him. It killed him!”
“He was being robbed?” Quinn asked, disbelief in her voice.
“Yes. It happens a lot at those machines, I heard later, especially at night. But we didn’t know that. At least, I didn’t. Anyway, Peter wouldn’t let the guy have any money. The guy got really mad and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a gun. I almost died, I was so scared for Peter.”
“He was shot?” Quinn felt like she’d strayed into a detective show on television. This couldn’t really have happened, could it? To Tobie? A robbery? A gun?
“No. We didn’t know it then, but the gun was a fake. It looked incredibly real, though. I guess Peter panicked, because he made a grab for the gun, the guy tried to push him away, and Peter lost his balance and fell. He hit his head on the cement at the base of the machine.” Tobie was crying openly now. “That’s what killed him. The fall. But,” her voice hardened, “it wouldn’t have happened if the robber hadn’t been there. It was his fault!”
“Of course it was.” Quinn struggled to accept as reality what seemed so bizarre, so unreal. “Tobie, I’m so sorry. It must have been horrible.”
“You can turn the light back on now,” Tobie whispered. “I need to find a tissue.”
Quinn had just flipped the switch and flooded the room with light when a sharp rapping sounded on the door.
“Not now!” she called, thinking it was someone wanting to borrow shampoo or a hair dryer. “We’re busy.”
“It’s Meg Pekoe,” their RA’s voice said, “let me in! Something’s happened! Hurry!”
Quinn yanked the door open.
Meg was standing in the hall, supporting Ivy. Ivy had one hand to the back of her head, her eyes half-closed. When she took her hand away, it was bright red.
“I found her ou
t here in the hall,” Meg said. “She doesn’t know where she is or what she’s doing, and she’s bleeding. It’s her head. Help me get her to a bed.”
“Tim,” Ivy murmured, “Tim’s still out there. By the fountain. He’s hurt. …” then her eyes closed all the way and her knees buckled.
Chapter 17
WITH A DAZED IVY lying on Quinn’s bed, Tobie rushed into the bathroom to wet a washcloth, Quinn left to give Suze the bad news, and Meg ran to get a security guard to help her look for Tim.
She came back an hour later, after Ivy had been taken to the infirmary, to tell Tobie and Quinn that Tim had been found, lying on the ground beside the fountain. He was unconscious, and hadn’t revived by the time Meg left the infirmary. Suze had opted to stay there until a distraught Ivy had fallen asleep.
“Ivy said they didn’t see or hear anything,” Meg said wearily, leaning against the door. “We don’t know any more than we did before.”
But Quinn did. For the first time since the attacks had started, she knew positively that she’d had nothing to do with this one. She hadn’t been asleep this time.
And … if she hadn’t had anything to do with this attack … then didn’t it seem likely that she hadn’t had anything to do with the others, either?
But there was the matter of the red jacket that smelled of rotten eggs. And the raincoat … the glass in the pockets … and the paint-stained skirt and blouse and shoes. What about those? She couldn’t just ignore them.
Quinn, a rational voice inside her head said sternly, anyone could have put those things in your room. Anyone.
Why hadn’t the thought occurred to her before? She’d been so frightened … so scared that she’d been doing terrible things in her sleep. Why had it never crossed her mind that someone might be trying to make her think she’d done those things?
Because the idea was so crazy.
Who would do something like that? And why? Why would someone want her to think she was doing maniacal things?
Cruel. That was so cruel. Almost as bad as the attacks themselves.
