Dial Em for Murder

by Bates, Marni;

  Sebastian interrupted the mocking tirade playing in my head. “You’re not—”

  “Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” I snapped. “I swear, if you so much as think about giving me another one of your orders, I will end you. So leave me alone.”

  Sebastian ignored my threat. “The cafeteria closes at midnight and there’s a campus security guard who starts his rounds there. He should be headed this way within the next twenty minutes.” He held out something that gleamed dully in the darkness. “If you want coffee, swipe in at the library. Third floor, third door on the left.”

  My fingers closed around two cold metal keys.

  “Why are you giving this to me?” I raked a hand through my hair, my head pounding with the pressure of a thousand unanswered questions. “Why are you pretending to be nice? We both know it’s an act. So what are you trying to weasel out of me now?”

  The lamplight illuminated a flash of his white teeth as he grinned. “Coffee, for starters. I take mine black. Oh, and grab me a bagel while you’re at it. Better hurry. The guard will be here soon.”

  Apparently I had been demoted to the role of barista/waitress/personal assistant.

  I totally should have seen it coming.

  “How will you guys get past the guard?” I called out to his retreating form as he began heading back to the computer lab.

  “It’s not hard. We’ll lock the door and turn out the lights in fifteen minutes. So feel free to take your time in the library.”

  He continued down the pathway again, but I wasn’t quite ready for him to leave. Not when questions still bubbled under my skin like the carbonation in a shaken soda can.

  “Do I want to know how you got these keys?”

  He turned slightly, his face half-cast in shadows. “Nope.”

  That was the last thing he said before he faded into the darkness, which made the whole situation feel like a setup. A trap. Maybe I’d be surrounded by ninjas the second I swiped my ID card and entered into the main lobby of the library. Maybe Sebastian wanted to keep me away from the computer lab so that he could blackmail my best friend without any interference.

  Or maybe I had become paranoid in the extreme.

  That last possibility—the paranoid one—had more than a little truth to it. Standing outside the building also increased my odds of getting busted by a security guard, escorted back to the girls’ dormitory, and given a lecture about respecting the curfew.

  That settled it for me.

  I swiped my ID card before fumbling my way inside. The lobby was a gaping black void but flicking on a light would’ve turned it into a beacon. No way would the security guards overlook my trespassing expedition then. Still, the darkness creeped me out. I was getting whiplash from craning my neck every time I heard a noise. It wasn’t distinct, nothing as easily dismissed as a branch tapping against a windowpane.

  It was infinitely more sinister, probably because it only existed in my imagination.

  I forced my mind to rewrite the script. Instead of being the stupid girl in a horror story, I was a secret agent. An international woman of mystery. A dark alter ego of myself who wore little black dresses and dark red lipstick. The kind of girl who could intimidate with a narrow-eyed glare and then follow it up with a roundhouse kick.

  An opposer to evil. The nemesis of bad guys everywhere.

  Nemesis, I actually liked the sound of that a lot. Nemmy wouldn’t stand in front of an unlocked door because she was too afraid to turn the freaking knob. She didn’t waste her time on self-indulgent displays of weakness. She kept her head down and focused on the task at hand. For tonight, I was willing to let her take the lead.

  My steps faltered only once as I passed the gleaming mahogany checkout desk. Empty of all life, the library looked like a ghost town. Almost as if a plague had ravaged the residents leaving only the building untouched in its wake. I breathed in the familiar scent of pages from well-loved books and forced my muscles to unclench. It went against every instinct, but I hurried past the rows and rows of books without pausing to read the spines. Audrey was stuck with Sebastian and Nasir until I resurfaced with the coffee, and while Kayla might be good at diffusing tension, she was way out of her league now.

  There were still ten minutes before Sebastian’s scheduled blackout. If I rushed, I could rejoin the others while the security guard made sure that no millionaire heirs were helping themselves to a late night feast. Shoving open the door to the stairwell, I took the steps two at a time, panting as I raced into the rare books section. A half dozen items were placed under what looked like a bulletproof display case.

  Nearly there.

  The Slate began to vibrate in my pocket, and just like that, Nemmy was gone. It was like she’d never existed, which technically she hadn’t. But still. It was as if I had never imagined her in the first place. That strong kickass, I-ain’t-afraid-of-no-killers persona deserted me.

  My heart thudding painfully in my chest, I fished the Slate out of my pocket.

  I told you I was bored. Now we’re going to play a little game.

  Chapter 28

  I was so screwed.

  My life didn’t flash before my eyes as I scrambled toward the room Sebastian had mentioned, I didn’t have any profound thought about existence or my place in the world, and I definitely didn’t care if my underwear was clean. There were exactly two words running through my head, and they were Oh, shit.

  Not “Run, Emmy!”

  Not “Hide, Emmy!”

  That would’ve been entirely too practical for someone who forgot to take the killer into account before stupidly storming off on her own.

  I deserved to die.

  Scratch that, I didn’t deserve to die. I wasn’t a mass murderer, or a child molester, or a corrupt accountant who’d just screwed a bunch of senior citizens out of their retirement funds. Unless I was paying for crimes from a past life, this wasn’t a case of karmic retribution.

  I didn’t deserve to die.

  And yet the only person I had to blame was myself. Ben had told me countless times to hand the Slate over to the authorities, but I’d been hell-bent on finding my own answers. I’d gambled on myself—on my nonexistent sleuthing abilities—and now I had to pay the price.

  The Slate vibrated again.

  Marco.

  I ducked behind a bookshelf, peering frantically into the darkness. I thought the dark blob ahead of me might be a doorframe, but I had no idea how many I’d already passed, and the sharp waves of panic crashing through me didn’t make it any easier to recall.

  The Slate jolted in my hand with a fresh set of vibrations.

  Marco.

  That wasn’t the only bit of information it had to share with me.

  Potential Hostile within 50 ft.

  My hand flew to my mouth to stifle the scream burning at my throat. It probably defied some primal instinct that believed screaming loud and long enough would send someone running to my rescue.

  Except right now? The only person who would rush over was the one currently hunting me down.

  Marco.

  I darted forward. I wanted to cling to the books and hide amongst the hardcovers forever, but instead I plastered my back against the wooden door and tried to hide in the dark recess of the frame.

  Potential Hostile within 45 ft.

  My fingers fumbled in my pocket for the keys. I should have tucked the one that unlocked the lobby door into the back pocket of my jeans. Instead, I had let them clink softly against each other as I’d raced up the stairs. Now I had to test two keys on what might be the wrong door, all without giving my position away to the killer.

  Because what my life really needed at this precise moment was another challenge.

  My entire body shook as if I’d tripped into an ice bank. The palms of my hands would probably still have the key imprint when the medical examiner saw me at the morgue. I was clutching the sharp ridges tightly enough to draw blood, but the pain cut through some of the fear.

>   It sharpened everything. The warm familiar musk of books became oppressive, the silhouettes of shelving units loomed menacingly around me. The darkness began to recede as my eyes adjusted to the room, which might’ve been comforting if the shadows weren’t my best source of protection.

  Marcooo.

  Potential Hostile within 43 ft.

  I shoved the key blindly at the lock, expecting it to immediately resist. Instead, it slid home so sweetly I wanted to weep in relief. Apparently, there was still enough Nemmy in me to keep it together because I didn’t make a sound. Maybe it was knowing, without a doubt, that these next few minutes were going to be my last. That every scare, every instinctive glance over my shoulder, every increase in my pulse, it had all been building to this moment.

  Sebastian wasn’t around with any of his so-called lifelines. Audrey couldn’t hack me out of danger. Ben couldn’t save the day by calling the cops.

  It was just me.

  Marco.

  Potential Hostile within 38 ft.

  I shut the door as quietly as I could before engaging the lock and jamming a chair underneath it for extra reinforcement. At best, it might stall him for an extra minute or two. It wouldn’t stop him. Not this time. He was still coming. I began searching the area for a weapon, a distraction, a distress signal; I wasn’t picky. Nothing I saw inspired much confidence.

  There was a long granite-tiled countertop with a whole set of utensils in a hard plastic container, but I didn’t think the killer would be impressed if I brandished the nearest piece of silverware and advised him not to fork with me. If I had even the slightest clue how to create a bomb, I totally would have used the butter knife to strip the wires on the coffeepot or something. Except realistically that seemed like a great way to electrocute myself and take care of the killer’s job for him.

  The cupboards were mostly empty. A few boxes of cereal, some granola bars that had probably been sitting there for the last decade. Five very stale looking bagels sat on the counter near the coffee pot, which had me hoping that I’d find a bread knife with razor sharp teeth.

  Instead, I came up with a handful of spatulas, a ladle, and inexplicably, a whisk.

  I continued ransacking the drawers for anything that even vaguely resembled a weapon more than, oh, say an eggbeater. A container of bleach was the closest to a chemical weapon that I could find, and it was too sludgy and crusted over to fling into my attacker’s eyes. My Slate vibrated again as I grabbed a floral-etched casserole dish.

  Marco.

  I held my breath and stared at the screen, bracing myself for the Potential Hostile update. It reminded me of being six years old and crawling scared into my mom’s bed during a lightning storm. She had held me protectively, whispering through every electric crack that the storm was God’s way of putting on a show. She said that the flash of lightning that blazed in the sky was a performer making a grand entrance and the answering thunder clap was a round of angel applause.

  The killer was putting on quite a show, but I wasn’t going to cheer his grand finale.

  Potential Hostile within 40 ft.

  He was headed in the wrong direction. All I needed to do was buy enough time for the security guard to reach the library. As long as the killer didn’t bust through the door within the next ten minutes, I stood a fighting chance. My fingers trembled. Flashing the lights on and off, heaving the ceramic casserole dish out the window, it might be enough to make the killer retreat. Bide his time for another chance to strike.

  Unless he decided a few more dead bodies wouldn’t make much of a difference.

  I stared numbly at the Slate, my body locked in a terror so complete it paralyzed me. I had a freaking casserole dish, a set of keys, and a password-protected tablet. If I had paused to grab my bag before exiting the computer lab, I could have at least called Audrey for help. Hell, I could have called the police. But no, I’d headed straight for the door with the one piece of technology I couldn’t crack to save my life.

  Literally, as it turned out.

  Marco!

  My heart lurched, the gleam of sweat on my palms threatening my grip on the casserole dish. I still couldn’t bring myself to move. To hide. To flee. To do something—anything—more than staring wide-eyed with horror at the door. My pulse pounded away like a jackhammer on a construction site, loud enough to be heard a mile away.

  Potential Hostile within 32 ft.

  He was getting closer.

  The message was replaced only by the achingly familiar password screen. Sebastian’s voice rang out in my head, complete with the annoyed gruffness that always seemed to simmer beneath his words.

  There has to be something that you know, Emmy. Something that I don’t.

  My grip on the casserole dish tightened. I knew that I didn’t want to die. Not here. Not now. Not ever, truthfully, but definitely not like this. The fear and panic began to slow as a sense of unreality settled over me. This couldn’t be happening, but since it was, well, then I might as well go down fighting. It was kind of amazing how quickly true desperation eliminated the fear of looking stupid. So what if my last-minute password attempts sounded ridiculous? If it didn’t work, I’d be dead. There was no downside to going straight for the jugular. Just like Frederick St. James had advised back in the coffee shop.

  I typed in J-U-G-L-A-R to make it fit and hit Enter.

  Invalid password.

  I tried to recall those first moments in Starbucks, the shock of having my drink snatched away from me. The way I’d met the icy blue eyes that Sebastian had inherited, right before I insisted that the Frappuccino was mine.

  There had to be something I was missing. Some clue. Some signal.

  Something.

  The Slate buzzed again.

  Come out, come out, wherever you are.

  Ignoring the words on the screen, I focused on my one memory of Frederick St. James. The kindness that had washed over his features when he had called me “Gracie.”

  G-R-A-C-I-E

  Invalid password.

  My stomach twisted and roiled as I fought back the tears pricking my eyes. There was so much more I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to see my name in print, to stand right next to Audrey when we tossed our graduation caps into the air, to have the kiss I’d always fantasized about with Ben. I wanted to tell him how I felt, even if it cost us our friendship. I wanted to hug my mom and trade “I love yous” with her one last time. To apologize for being defeated by a six-character riddle.

  I wanted one last chance to be completely honest.

  Maybe if Frederick St. James had been a little more upfront, nobody would be on the verge of gunning me down. The guy had obviously suspected somebody or else he wouldn’t have created his Potential Hostile alert. A sane person would have shared that fear with friends. Family members. Colleagues. Maybe if he’d trusted somebody they could have come up with a loophole out of this mess.

  Wasn’t that supposed to be the first rule of Emptor Academy? There’s always a caveat.

  Potential Hostile within 20 ft.

  My fingers shaking, I typed C-A-V-E-A-T onto the screen.

  Nothing happened.

  My legs nearly buckled in defeat, but I couldn’t give up. Couldn’t let this be the end. Couldn’t—

  A searing light burst from the Slate, blinding me as completely as a military-grade weapon designed to stun insurgents.

  There was no way the killer hadn’t noticed a flash, bright enough to have pink splotches dancing in front of my eyes, shining through the cracks of the door.

  My last-ditch, long shot of a backup plan had given me away for good.

  Chapter 29

  Time didn’t slow down for me the way it does in the movies.

  If anything, it sped up.

  The Slate in my hand vibrated out of control, probably trying to warn me that the Potential Hostile was closing in and that I should get the hell out. Unfortunately, I still couldn’t see two feet in front of my face. The pink splotches began danc
ing with some royal blue blotches and together they produced beautiful butterfly offspring that flitted across my vision. I shoved the Slate deep into my sweatshirt pocket, vaguely grateful that it was no longer trying to burn out my eyes. The electronic blast had died as quickly as it blazed to life. Except the damage was done. The multi-colored winged creatures continued flapping in front of my eyes, making it impossible for me to see the door.

  There was nothing wrong with my hearing. I couldn’t mistake the splintering crack of wood as a very strong, very motivated individual delivered a series of hard kicks to the door. I twisted instinctively to face the entrance, even though I wouldn’t be able to discern more than the general shape of my killer. It was almost funny, in a seriously twisted way; the killer had been a grayish blob on the security film and even meeting face to face wouldn’t give me any more clarity.

  Not unless he toyed with me long enough for the bright spots to fade.

  The chair I had propped up against the knob must have either broken or skidded across the floor. Not that it really made a difference either way, considering that the end result was the same. The barrier was gone and I was screwed.

  “Marco.” The cheery voice sounded eerily familiar. I stared at the doorway, desperately trying to place it. To identify the Starbucks killer who’d been terrorizing me ever since that first day in the coffee shop.

  Lime green blotches left me with only a hazy outline.

  “You’re supposed to say, ‘Polo.’” The faceless blob chided me.

  “Polo,” I said, right before I launched the casserole dish out the closed window. A loud crack rang through the otherwise silent room, sending glass raining down onto the floor. If that didn’t capture the attention of the guards, Emptor Academy seriously needed to upgrade their security system. Surely somebody would notice.

  Although now that the casserole dish was no longer in my hands, I wanted to hit rewind and throw it at the blob that was slowly taking form in front of me instead.