The Conclusion

  “What dorm?” she asked. She took another sip of her drink. I noticed that she had torn her paper napkin into long, thin strips.

  “Fear Hall,” I said.

  Her mouth dropped open again. But she didn’t say anything.

  I decided it was time to stop acting so shy. I scooted over a few stools, closer to her. “I like your hair,” I said. “It’s so shiny.”

  The compliment seemed to embarrass her. She turned her eyes to the entrance.

  “I just came from the worst mixer,” I told her, trying to keep the conversation going.

  Why was she staring at the door?

  “Uh . . . listen . . .” she said finally, turning back to me. Her expression had become tense. She tore the napkin strips into smaller strips. “You really shouldn’t talk to me.”

  “Excuse me?” I replied. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I just broke up with a guy,” she explained, glancing again toward the entrance. “And he’s real jealous. If he saw you and me . . .”

  “But we’re just talking,” I protested. “There’s no law against it, is there?”

  “No, but . . . you just shouldn’t,” she replied. “He—he could be dangerous.”

  Dangerous?

  “Well . . .” I hesitated. She suddenly looked so tense. I scooted back to my place. “Could I . . . uh . . . call you sometime?” I asked.

  She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t think so.”

  She slid her feet to the floor and stood up. She pulled her long sweater down over her tights. Then she dropped a couple of dollars on the counter and started to leave.

  She squeezed past me, avoiding my gaze. Walked a few steps. Then turned back to me.

  “I could . . . meet you the day after tomorrow maybe,” she said.

  “Great!” I replied, a little too eagerly. “Where?”

  “How about here?” She glanced nervously out the window.

  “Yeah. Sure. Okay,” I said.

  She turned and hurried to the door.

  “Hey—my name is Chris. Chris Sandburg. What’s yours?” I called after her.

  She stopped and stared at me a moment. “Karen,” she replied. “My name is Karen.” She disappeared through the door.

  “Karen.” I repeated the name out loud. “What a nice name.”

  chapter

  * * *

  12

  Hope

  “I ran all the way home!” I exclaimed to Angel and Jasmine. I held my hand over my heart, feeling it pump, and waited to catch my breath.

  Jasmine lay sprawled on the couch, reading a magazine. Angel sat across from her in the big leather armchair, petting the cat.

  “Hope, what happened?” Angel cried, jumping up from the chair and hurrying over to me. “Did someone see you? Did someone chase you?”

  “No. Nothing like that,” I replied, still breathing hard. “No one recognized me. No one is looking for a brunette. They’re all looking for a girl with blond hair. Changing my hair color was the smartest thing I ever did.”

  “Then what happened?” Angel demanded impatiently.

  “I met a guy,” I told them.

  Jasmine laughed. She tossed down the magazine she’d been reading. “Is that all?”

  Angel shook her head. “From the look on your face, we thought something terrible had happened.”

  I couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across my face. “Well, it is terrible in a way,” I said. “I mean, here I am, hiding from the police in this empty old house. And I meet the guy of my dreams.” I sighed. “It’s not the greatest timing, is it?”

  Jasmine stared hard at me.

  Angel gasped. “The guy of your dreams?”

  I nodded and smiled again.

  “Where did you meet this guy?” Jasmine asked, sitting up.

  “In a coffee shop,” I told her. “You know that place. Java Jim’s.”

  “Details,” Angel insisted. “Come on, Hope. Spill. More details.”

  “Well . . .” I hesitated. “We just started talking, that’s all. I thought he was cute. But he seemed really shy at first. And I didn’t really want to talk to him because of . . . you know.”

  “What’s his name?” Jasmine demanded.

  I had to think. “Chris.” Then I couldn’t help myself. The words just exploded from me. I felt so excited.

  “He’s perfect!” I gushed. “I just know he’s the guy for me. I can just feel it!”

  “Whoa. Slow down!” Angel insisted. She put an arm around my shoulders and led me over to the couch. I sat down next to Jasmine.

  Jasmine snickered. “You couldn’t even remember his name!”

  “He doesn’t know my name, either,” I told her. “Not my real name, anyway. I couldn’t tell him that, not with my name in all the papers. But, you know what? I don’t even think he’d care if he knew I was the same girl. He’s so easy to talk to. He’d believe I’m innocent.”

  “Hope, I’ve never seen you so psyched!” Angel exclaimed.

  She was right. My heart was pounding like thunder.

  “Well . . . I just wasn’t expecting to meet anyone,” I explained. “You know. With all the bad luck we’ve had, and everything. I didn’t think—”

  “Yeah. Speaking of bad luck,” Angel interrupted. “What about Darryl?”

  I felt a chill at the back of my neck. My throat tightened. “Yes, I know,” I murmured softly. “Darryl . . .”

  “You told him not to come around anymore,” Angel said. “You told him you wanted him out of your life.”

  I swallowed hard. “That didn’t mean anything to Darryl. He didn’t believe me. And . . . and . . .” My voice caught in my throat. “He thinks I want him to kill those girls. Melanie and Margie.”

  “You have to talk to him again,” Angel urged. “You have to make it clear to him—”

  “You know Darryl!” I cried. “He’s out of control! He doesn’t listen to a word I say.”

  Jasmine picked up her magazine. She pushed her wavy, blond hair behind her shoulders and settled back against the couch. “You won’t feel safe around Chris,” she said softly, “unless you do something about Darryl.”

  I knew she was right. But what could I do?

  I started to reply—but cried out when I heard a clattering sound at the front door.

  I froze as I heard the front door slam open.

  Voices. A man, then a woman.

  Who is it? I wondered. Who would come here so late at night?

  “Quick! Hide!” I whispered to my roommates.

  I dropped behind the couch. Then I crawled into the dining room.

  I stayed down on the floor. Turned. Peered back into the front room.

  Flashlights played over the floor, swept up the walls.

  Who is it? I wondered. Who? What are they doing here?

  And then I heard a man’s voice, close, very close. He said, “We’ve found her.”

  chapter

  * * *

  13

  The words chilled me.

  I pulled my head back. I froze, thinking hard.

  Did they see me?

  Should I scramble to my feet and make a run for it? Can I make it to the back door before they catch me?

  “Yes. We’ve definitely found her.” The woman’s voice this time.

  “We’ve found the house we’ve been looking for,” the man said. “Thank you for showing her to us again. Sorry about it being so late.”

  “No problem,” another woman replied. “I knew this old house was right for you two. I don’t mind showing a house at any hour, if I know the people are really interested.”

  “Well, Myrna and I are definitely interested,” the man said. “Of course, we want to come back again and see it in the daytime.”

  “Of course,” came the woman’s reply.

  I let out a long breath of air. I sat down on the floor and leaned my back against the wall. And waited for my heartbeat to slow to normal.

  A close call, I told myself.


  And they’re coming back.

  I can’t stay here much longer. It’s too dangerous. I’ve got to get my life together. I’ve got to get back on track.

  Maybe Chris can help me . . .

  I listened to the footsteps of the three people as they made their way to the front. I held my breath until the door slammed behind them.

  Then I climbed shakily to my feet, still clinging to the wall—and the phone rang.

  “Hey—!” I cried out loud. “I didn’t think the phones in this house were hooked up.”

  It has to be a wrong number, I decided.

  No one knows I’m here. No one would try to call me here.

  I crossed the living room to the table near the fireplace, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hope, it’s me. Darryl.”

  “Darryl—no—!” I started.

  He didn’t let me get another word out.

  “Hey, don’t worry,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten. I’m going to kill Margie and Melanie for you. I’m going to take care of them for you.”

  “Darryl—please!” I cried. “Please, listen to me. I’m begging you—”

  “Stop worrying, Hope,” he said. He sounded so excited, so hyper, so . . . crazy.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Darryl repeated. “You know I won’t let you down.”

  chapter

  * * *

  14

  Darryl

  Margie was making me tense.

  Real tense. Because she kept glancing behind her, and I had to keep scrambling so she wouldn’t see me.

  Why did she keep doing that? Did she know she was being followed?

  I don’t think so.

  The sidewalk on Pine Street was pretty crowded. A lot of students on their way back to the dorms after their late afternoon classes. A lot of shoppers in and out of the long row of campus stores. Kids from the private boys’ school on Elm Street running around, chasing one another, bumping one another off the sidewalk, making a lot of noise.

  If one of them bumps me, I’ll smash his head like a ripe melon, I thought.

  That’s the kind of mood I was in. Tense. So tense I dug my fingernails into my palms and made them bleed. And I didn’t even realize it until I raised one hand to wipe my nose and saw it smeared with blood.

  I hate the sight of blood . . . when it’s my own! Ha-ha!

  Anyway, I’m sure Margie didn’t know I was following her.

  I’d been following her for a few days. You know. Getting her schedule down. Making my plan.

  I’m a hard worker. A good planner. Sure, I get a little hotheaded sometimes, a little out of control. But I don’t just rush into things.

  I work things out in my mind. Step by step by step.

  Maybe I lost it when I sliced up those two guys. And Eden. But it’s hard to plan ahead when you get jealous.

  Hope is always testing me. Always trying to see how far I’ll go to show her I care.

  Sometimes I pass the test. Sometimes I fail.

  Today I expected to pass. As I said, I had it all planned.

  I ducked low behind a parked car as Margie hesitated in front of the cleaners where she works. Marv’lous Dry Cleaners. Could you work for a place called Marv’lous Dry Cleaners? Doesn’t that name make you want to slap somebody?

  I’ve checked the place out carefully. It’s run by a guy named Marv. Get it? Marv’lous? Ha-ha.

  A few days ago, I brought in some shirts to be dry-cleaned. Just so I could check out the place. And so I’d have an excuse to come back when Margie was there.

  She works there four afternoons a week. You know. Writing up the laundry tickets. Running the cash register. Most of the time, she’s in back. Organizing the clean clothes, pulling plastic over them.

  She’s cute as a button, Margie. With that squeaky mouse voice and little turned-up elf nose that you just want to smash until it’s red and pulpy like shredded newspaper.

  I’m going to smash her nose, I thought, watching her enter the store. Her nose—and everything else.

  Hey, I know that’s cold. I’m a real cold guy. You’ve got to be cold if you want to stay with Hope.

  Hope constantly needs to know that I care. That I’m there for her.

  I’ve got to be cold for Hope.

  I walked the block several times. I wanted to give Margie time to get settled in. I had to make sure she was working in the back room.

  No way I could take care of her if she was out front where everyone could see.

  About the fourth time I passed the cleaner, I stopped and peered in the big front window. I could see Marv’lous Marv behind the counter. All by himself.

  Good, I thought. Margie is working in back.

  Sometimes things have to go your way. I smiled. Today might just be one of the good days.

  Good for me. Not for Margie. Ha-ha.

  I shoved my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out the pink cleaning ticket. I had to be ready. I had to time it right.

  Know what would be really cool?

  To take care of Margie—and get my shirts back at the same time!

  But that’s asking too much—isn’t it? Ha-ha!

  People hurried back and forth along the sidewalk. Late afternoon is a busy time of day on Pine Street near the campus.

  A woman had her eyes on the store windows and nearly ran me over with her baby stroller. I had to jump out of the way. And she didn’t even apologize.

  I had a sudden urge to grab the stroller from her hands and send it rolling down the hill.

  But I didn’t do it. Sometimes I can fight down these sudden urges. Sometimes—not always.

  I made my way back to the cleaners and waited until three or four customers had lined up in front of the counter.

  Marv had his hands full, I saw. So, holding my cleaning ticket, I pushed my way into the store.

  I’m pretty sure Marv didn’t even see me. I held up the ticket so he wouldn’t get suspicious. But he was busy arguing with a lady about a stain on a sweater, and he didn’t even look up.

  Taking a deep breath, I slipped around the counter and ducked through the narrow door into the back room.

  So far, so good.

  The back room held two long rows of dry cleaning, all wrapped in plastic, hanging on a ceiling conveyor belt. At the side stood the steam press, shaped like a huge ironing board, its lid standing straight up.

  “Where are you, Margie?” I whispered, feeling a rush of excitement. “Where are you, girl?”

  I let the cleaning ticket flutter to the floor when I saw her. She was standing with her back to me between two clusters of cleaning. She had a stapling gun raised over her head and was reaching up to staple cleaning tickets onto the plastic wrap of a bunch of sports jackets.

  Perfect. Perfect.

  Could I have planned it any better?

  I moved quickly now. The excitement made me fast and alert. I could practically feel the blood coursing through my body. My skin tingled. The top of my head felt as if it might shoot right off like a cannonball out of a cannon.

  I came up behind Margie.

  Wrapped one arm around her waist. Squeezed hard to take her breath away.

  Grabbed the staple gun away from her with my other hand.

  Smashed it hard against the side of her head.

  It only stunned her. But it kept her from screaming for help.

  Her eyes rolled. She looked dazed. I gave her another hard tap. Then tossed the staple gun aside.

  And dragged her. One hand over her mouth. One hand around her waist.

  Dragged her to the steam press.

  The excitement made me strong. She felt as light as a bird.

  I dragged her. Then hoisted her easily onto the big machine.

  I brought down the lid fast.

  It let out a long, loud hissssssssssss as I squeezed her, squeezed her . . .

  Hot steam poured out from under the lid.

  An arm and a leg dangled limply out of the machine.
r />   I pulled up the lid. Then brought it down and steamed her again.

  And one more time for luck.

  One more time for Hope.

  Hope, my soulmate. My Hope.

  I wish you were here with me now, Hope, I thought. I wish you could be here to see me work so hard for you.

  part three

  * * *

  Hope

  chapter

  * * *

  15

  All the way to the coffee shop, I kept thinking, Chris won’t be there. He doesn’t really want to see me. He forgot all about it by now.

  I had worked myself into a frenzy. Convinced myself that he was just teasing the night before. That he really had no interest in me at all.

  Why would anyone want to see me?

  I wasn’t slinky and sexy like Angel. And I didn’t have Jasmine’s emerald eyes or great smile.

  He won’t be there, I told myself, practically running to get to Pine Street. Don’t get your hopes up. He won’t be waiting for you there . . .

  So when I pulled open the glass door and saw Chris sitting at the counter, I nearly cried out.

  He lowered his newspaper when he saw me, and a smile crossed his face. He patted the red vinyl stool beside him.

  “Hi!” I called, too loudly. I hurried over and climbed up beside him. “How are you?”

  “Okay,” he replied. But his smile faded. “Kind of upset, actually. Did you see the paper?”

  He held it up, and I reached for it. NEW CAMPUS MURDER. The big black headline nearly hit me in the face.

  “Another girl from my dorm,” Chris murmured softly. He shook his head. “I knew her. I mean, I met her. Wow . . . I can’t believe someone I just met was murdered.”

  Chris continued talking, but his words faded to the background of my mind. I stared at the photograph beneath the headline. A high school yearbook photo. Of Margie.

  Margie. Margie.

  So Darryl had struck again. More dirty work on my behalf.

  I suddenly felt sick. The photo blurred. The whole restaurant blurred and started to tilt crazily. My ears filled with a loud, roaring sound. I grabbed the countertop to keep from falling off the stool.