No Time to Die & the Deep End of Fear

  "If I find out who is behind this…" Walker's voice resonated in the darkness, deep and threatening. The whispers ceased.

  In that moment of silence something dropped. It sounded small but heavy, like a metal object. It rolled across the stage and stopped close to me.

  Kneeling, I groped with my hand along the edge of the gym mat and found it. A ring.

  The lights blinked on and I inspected the piece of jewelry. It was large with a gaudy red stone, the kind of ring that would be used as a stage prop. I slipped it on my finger. Glancing up, I noticed that everyone was looking at me. Katie, Keri, and Paul… Shawna and Lynne… Denise and Mike—everyone who had attended last year's camp was staring at the ring with troubled expressions. I pulled it off.

  "It's from Twelfth Night," Shawna said. "Remember? It's the ring Viola received, the one that Liza wore. We couldn't find it after Liza died. We looked everywhere."

  Brian walked toward me and held out his hand.

  Knowing that Liza had worn the ring, I gave it up reluctantly.

  "Who brought this in here?" Brian demanded.

  Kids looked at one another suspiciously. Walker wiped the sweat off his brow, and Maggie bit her lip. Mike's face was grim. No one answered Brian's question.

  "I want it," Paul said at last. "Give it to me."

  "No," Walker said firmly, "it's theater property. Put it where it belongs, Brian."

  Brian nodded, then headed for the backstage steps.

  I rubbed my palm, thinking. I hadn't felt anything when I held the ring, and there had been no glimmer of blue during this incident. Nor had there been blue light when I smelled my sister's perfume or heard her voice. These incidents were different from my visions and the last two were witnessed by others besides me. I didn't know how to account for them. Was my sister haunting the theater? Or was there a living, breathing person behind these three events? If the latter, someone among us wanted to rattle nerves.

  Perhaps someone suspected I was Jenny Montgomery and wanted to unmask me. Or maybe these pranks were aimed at torturing and unmasking another person, the murderer.

  What would Liza's murderer do if it was discovered that I was her sister? Til now it hadn't occurred to me that my relationship to her might put me in danger. I would have to be more careful that no one found out.

  Tuesday night I went to bed early. My room, where I had feared having more visions, was now my refuge.

  Not that I sat in the window anymore. I stretched out in bed and listened to another of Maggie's relaxation tapes, then read until I fell asleep.

  The sound of a bel startled me, pull ing me out of a dreamless slumber. It was a repeated, echoey sound, like a bell in a school building—a fire alarm! I had to get up, I had to leave, but my arms and legs felt too heavy to lift. I lay there listening to the bell.

  "Jenny, come on! Jenny, please!"

  Liza reached for my hand. I couldn't see her, but I knew it was she.

  "Don't be afraid," she told me, grasping my fingers.

  "But I am afraid!"

  "I'll help you," she said, her hand tightening around mine.

  "Jenny, Jenny, wake up!"

  I was shaken hard. Shawna was tugging on my hand, and Maggie was bending over me, her face pale and glistening with sweat.

  "It's a fire alarm," Maggie said, raising her voice above the shrill pulsing of the bell. Sirens sounded in the distance. "We have to get out."

  Shawna dragged me to my feet.

  "Where's the fire?"

  "Don't know," said Shawna.

  "May be a false alarm," said Maggie. "But go out the window. Go, girls!"

  We climbed through in our bare feet and landed softly on the grass below. Maggie followed us and pushed us away from the house, toward the fraternity, where others were gathering. I saw her mouth moving silently: she kept counting heads.

  "That's everyone from our place," Lynne assured her.

  Guys had come out of the fraternity and kids from the other two houses were arriving, awakened by the sirens. As the first fire engine pulled up in front of the house, Brian joined his mother and us.

  "In the kitchen again?" he asked, and I remembered that there had been a small fire at Drama House last year.

  "I didn't smell any smoke," Maggie replied.

  They headed toward the firefighters to talk to them. Our crowd was growing larger, not just with students but also curious neighbors who had heard the sirens. Ken stood next to Paul, her face flushed slightly. Paul's eyes roved the crowd. Mike stood apart, watching the firefighters who were circling the house. His eyes flicked over to me, studied me for a moment, then shifted away. Brian was at my elbow.

  "Everyone okay here?" Brian asked, addressing me and the other girls who were clustered together, but his eyes lingered on me.

  We all spoke at the same time, asking him what was going on.

  "It's probably a false alarm," Brian told us. "Did you notice anything odd? Did you hear anyone moving around inside the house or creeping around the perimeter?"

  I shook my head with the others, and Shawna burst out laughing.

  "Didn't hear anything, Jenny?" she teased. "Talk about waking the dead! From now on I'm keeping a trumpet handy to blow in your ear."

  "Did you have trouble waking up?" Brian asked.

  "I heard the alarm bell, but it became part of a dream, a dream I couldn't shake off."

  He frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I just couldn't wake up."

  "Don't worry," Shawna told him. "If it happens again, I won't mess around. Shel be up."

  Brian rejoined his mother. Tomas came over and Shawna filled him in on the situation. I sat on the grass next to them, thinking about my dream. I found it scary that a dream could take hold of my mind so powerfully, I could barely break free of it. Even when bel s were ringing and someone was shaking me, I had struggled to find my way back to waking life. I felt as if Liza had grasped my mind the way she had clutched my hand in the dream, and she wouldn't let go—not until I found her murderer.

  While the firefighters continued to search the building, making sure this was a false alarm, Maggie came over and called all of the students together.

  "This is unbelievable," she said, her gray eyes dark with anger. "It is senseless, stupid, and, most of all, dangerous. False alarms make people reluctant to respond quickly the next time they hear an alarm. And when a real fire occurs, thirty seconds can make the difference between life and death.

  "It is the policy of Chase College to expel any student found guilty of this kind of dorm prank and to press criminal charges. We know the alarm on the outside of Drama House was pulled. If we find out who did it, you know the consequences. I don't expect it to happen again."

  She strode away and everyone exchanged glances.

  "Has anyone seen Walker?" Denise asked after a moment of silence.

  "No, he lets Maggie take care of this kind of stuff," Katie replied. "She's a natural at lecturing."

  "Look, there's that strange custodian guy."

  I saw Arthur standing at the edge of the yard, half hidden by a bush, his eyes darting nervously here and there.

  "He gives me the creeps," said Lynne.

  "Me, too," agreed another girl. "You ever seen how his face twitches? It makes my own skin crawl."

  "He's been nice to me," Tomas told them. "He's helped me a lot with setting up scenery."

  "Why is he here? He doesn't live on campus, does he?" asked Shawna.

  "I bet he pulled the alarm," said Denise. "I bet next time he'll set a fire."

  "I bet he's a psychotic murderer," Katie added.

  "Maybe he just heard the sirens like everyone else," I suggested.

  "Hey, don't ruin our fun, girlfriend," Shawna chided me. "Every camp needs a murderous maniac."

  "This camp already had one." As soon as I spoke, I regretted it.

  Shawna raised an eyebrow at me, puzzled by the sharpness in my voice. "Okay," she replied with a shrug.

  We w
ere finally allowed back in the building. Brian and his mother continued to talk, while the other R.A.s shepherded their campers back to the dorms. As those of us from Drama House started toward the porch, Arthur cut across the lawn. We reached the steps at the same time, and some of the girls shied to the other side. Shawna and I turned to him.

  "Don't trust anyone," Arthur said softly. "Not anyone."

  Chapter 15

  Walker must have been told what happened before rehearsal the next morning, but he didn't bring it up. Katie was right: Maggie got stuck with the disciplinary stuff. Given that everyone was short on sleep, rehearsal went amazingly well. The play had been blocked in its entirety, and Walker was talking about our getting off book—getting our lines down—by next week.

  During our midmorning break I went downstairs to return a relaxation tape to Maggie and get the next one in the series. Finding her office door closed, I raised my hand to knock, then heard someone speaking.

  "You're blowing this way out of proportion," Brian said.

  "I don't think so," Maggie replied coolly. "I think it's rather important that a mother be able to trust her son.

  "But there was no point in tell ing you until—"

  "It was too late?" she suggested.

  "Don't put words in my mouth!"

  "Brian, how can I trust that you're not—"

  "You just have to," he told her. "I'm better at these things than you are. Let me handle the situation, Mom, okay? Okay?"

  "She won't," a hushed voice interjected.

  I jumped at its closeness. Arthur seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

  "Those two are always fighting," he said, his jaw quickly thrusting out and retracting like a turtle's.

  "Parents and kids do," I replied quietly.

  "They make me jittery," he went on. "People like that, you don't know what they're going to do."

  "What do you mean?"

  "People like that just go off suddenly," he said. "I've seen it happen."

  I wondered if Arthur knew of some real trouble between Maggie and Brian or if he was projecting on them his own uneasy state of mind.

  "Arthur, last night, when we were returning to Drama House, why did you tell us not to trust anyone?"

  He didn't answer, just chewed a square yellow fingernail. His clothes smelled smoky. Farther down the hall was the door to the tower. I reasoned that he had slipped in there to have a cigarette, then emerged and surprised me. He probably knew all the nooks and crannies of the theater. According to my mother, it isn't the CIA who knows the secrets of the world, but building custodians and hairdressers.

  "Have you worked at Stoddard long?" I asked.

  "Long enough," he replied.

  "Did you work here last summer? Were you around for last year's camp?"

  He shoved nervous hands in his pockets. "No. I move in winter. Winter always makes me feel like I should be somewhere else. I came here last winter."

  So he couldn't have observed something suspicious when my sister was killed. But he might have noticed some recent activities that would be useful for me to know.

  "When the electricity went off yesterday, were you around?"

  "I'm always around," he replied guardedly.

  "Oh, I know, I know you do your job. I was just wondering if you saw anyone doing something he or she shouldn't. Or perhaps you saw one of the campers alone in the building, not with the group of us."

  "You came back alone on Monday," Arthur noted.

  Oh, good. He'd seen me being suspicious, and I hadn't even been aware of him.

  "Anyone eke?"

  "Paul and the weird girl."

  "Arthur, do you have any idea who could be cutting the power?"

  "No," he replied quickly. "I don't know nothing! I don't see nothing!"

  "Okay, okay, no problem, I was just wondering."

  He was too nervous and worried to provide information now, and the best thing for me to do was back off. But I had been around a lot of custodians in my life; I would slowly make him my friend.

  "Where are we going?" I asked, two hours later.

  "If it were up to me, California," Brian said, taking my lunch tray from me, setting it down at the base of a maple at the far end of the quadrangle. "But that's a long walk, so let's stop here."

  The energy our troupe had shown earlier in the day had run out by lunchtime. Maggie didn't want kids returning to the dorms unsupervised, but she let us bring our lunches out on the quad and take a nap there, where she could keep an eye on us. Kids had scattered over the grass, some in the shade of tall, leafy trees, others basking in the sun.

  Brian stretched out on the grass. I sat and rested my back against the maple's rough bark.

  "The truth is, Jenny, there are two more long days til the weekend. Lots of stupid stuff is happening around here, and I have to deal with it. I need a reward—lunch with you."

  "It must be tough for you and your mother. Being in charge of the dorms as well as working all day in the theater, you never get a break."

  "I think it's getting to her more than me," he said.

  "How so?"

  Lying on his back, Brian gazed up at the tree, thinking before he answered. The movement of the branches, the shifting sun and shade, were reflected in his dark eyes. "She's overreacting to things. The pranks in the theater have got her really upset. This morning she accused me of them."

  I decided not to tell him I'd heard part of their argument.

  "Why does she think you'd do something like that?"

  "To mess things up. To get back at Walker."

  "I didn't realize you disliked him that much."

  "I don't. I know I'm a good actor, a good stage manager, too, and let what he says run off me. But I think his criticism of me over the years has gotten to my mother. She tries to act professional and doesn't let people see what upsets her, but she's pretty sensitive. She can get down about stuff, really down, and she imagines I feel the same as she does."

  "Do you have any idea who could be behind these pranks?" I asked. I was not about to mention my first theory that Liza was haunting us. I knew Brian was too practical to consider it.

  "Paul, but I don't have proof. Paul and someone else who can cut the electricity, maybe Arthur, someone not expected to be present when my mother counts heads."

  "Does Paul have a case against Walker?"

  "Not really. Walker has given him a lot of breaks." Brian rolled on his side and pulled himself up on his elbow. "I don't know if I should say this. I could be way off, but I think Paul does the pranks as a way of making Liza Montgomery live on."

  I thought of how Paul sniffed at her perfume, as if he couldn't get enough of it. My stomach felt queasy and I set down my sandwich.

  "Is something wrong?" No.

  Brian sat up. "Jenny, I have to tell you something. It may sound crazy, but I have a feeling it won't."

  I met his eyes warily. "All right."

  "This morning, when I was talking with my mother, I remembered a conversation I had last summer with Liza Montgomery. I remembered that Liza had a sister named Jenny."

  I looked away.

  "According to Liza, Jenny knew a lot about theater, and she had talent, but she was afraid to get up on stage. She never did any acting."

  "No," I said quietly, "she did gymnastics."

  I heard his quick intake of breath. He rested his hand on mine. "Why did you come here?" he asked. "It has got to be miserable for you."

  "I told her I'd come. I promised Liza I'd visit her. I just"—my voice caught in my throat—"arrived a little late."

  He lifted his hand and touched my cheek gently. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry about what happened."

  I nodded, pressing my lips together, hoping he wouldn't hear the sob building in my throat. He leaned closer and brushed my hair back from my face.

  "There is something else I want to know, but I'll ask when you're feeling better."

  "Ask now," I said.

  He waited a min
ute, until I was breathing more regularly. "Does anyone here know who you are?"

  I shook my head.

  "You're sure?"

  "There would be no reason for them to know. I don't look like Liza or act like her, and most people, like you, wouldn't expect me to come here after what happened. I love Liza with all my heart, but, as you probably noticed, she was a person who spent a lot of time thinking and talking about herself. I'm sure she bragged about Dad, but truthfully, I'm surprised you ever heard she had a sister."

  "It came up once, in a conversation about the pros and cons of being involved with theater when your parents are. That's something Liza and I shared.

  But, Jenny, don't you see, if I heard your name and finally made the connection, somebody else might." I suppose.

  "Does Mike know?"

  "I'm sure he doesn't." If Mike had figured it out, he wouldn't have lied to me about his relationship to Liza.

  "It worries me," Brian continued. "Because if Mike knows, Paul knows—they're close. And Paul was totally obsessed with Liza, still is. If he finds out you're her sister, he might…" His voice trailed off.

  "What?" I asked.

  I thought he was going to answer, then he changed his mind. "I don't know. My imagination's working overtime."

  "Brian, have you ever thought that Liza might have been killed by someone other than the serial murderer?"

  "I guess everyone here looked at everyone else when we first heard about her death. But then we learned that the murder had the trademark of the serial killer who was working his way up the East Coast."

  "Which doesn't mean anything," I replied. "Imitating the style of others is something theater people do very well."

  "What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you suspect someone?"

  "I'm mulling over the possibility."

  Brian's face grew worried. "Jenny, I think you should leave."

  "Not yet."

  "Before anyone else figures out who you are."

  "I can't. Not until the dreams stop."

  "What dreams?" he asked.

  I knew better than to say I was having psychic visions. "I keep dreaming of Liza. It's as if she is trying to tell me something."

  His eyebrows drew together. His mouth got the same determined look as his mother's. "I'm trying to tell you something, with no as if. You need to get out of here."