Deceived (9 page)

A click in the distance caught my attention. My mouth fell open. I was alone. Shadows of the last set of students danced along the outside of the windows. They were gone. Not a single girl or librarian in sight. The stillness sent goose bumps over my skin. Alone in the oversized room, I peered up into three empty stories above me. Thousands of volumes. No people. My skin snapped to attention. I coughed, and the sound echoed upward and out, bouncing off stone floors and sparse wooden furniture.

I turned in my seat, desperate for a sign of life. A cart loaded with books stood abandoned near a door marked “staff.” What a time to take a break. Didn’t the librarian know I had serious paranoia issues? I sighed and tapped my fingers against the heavy, lacquered table. I pinched my lips tight between my teeth and considered how quickly I could pack up and get out.

The week of weird had me more on edge than ever before. Brian warned me not to be alone, and the library was silent. My mind suggested some less-than-lovely possibilities. I’d spent an hour reading the awful details from article after article about some crazed serial killer who had stalked North America back when my family lived in D.C. It seemed to be the only story of interest from the year Mom died. The killer moved from Canada to the United States and even logged a few kills in tourist areas of Mexico during his run. I shivered at the thought of that man—I used the word loosely—being free. Good to know it was over a decade ago.

Yeah. Time to leave. I turned to retrieve my backpack from the floor beside me.

“Elle?” Brian appeared out of thin air and stood less than two feet away from my chair.

“Ahhh!” I gasped for air and clutched my chest. My heart tried to escape through my mouth. Swallowing was impossible. I leaned forward and hoped to avoid passing out completely. “Are you kidding me?”

“Sorry.” He sounded more amused than I liked. “What’re you doing? Planning a heist?” He took a seat beside me and leaned in close to take a look. I leaned away and scrunched my brows. He took my hand and checked my pulse.

I jerked it back. My mouth fell open again. “I’m fine. You scared me.”

His eyes shifted to my journal and I snapped it shut.

“One minute I’m completely alone and the next minute you’re right there.” I motioned with my hands for emphasis. “How long have you been here?”

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings. This is the second time I’ve startled you. You should’ve known I was here.” He shook his head in disappointment.

Fire burned beneath my skin. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you?”

“I’m studying.”

He looked at me skeptically. His eyes moved to the laptop and again to my journal.

He looked dubiously at the stack of closed textbooks.

One long arm dove before me and turned the laptop to face him.

I snapped the lid down. This silent conversation I understood. We both had secrets.

His eyes narrowed and he waited.

“I was researching for our Sociology assignment.” I cleared my throat twice mid-sentence.

“In the D.C. paper?”

He had seen more than I thought.

“Find anything interesting?”

“No. Well, yes. I couldn’t find any evidence of my existence, so I suppose I’ll fail the assignment. I did learn D.C. had a serial killer while I lived there.” I liked saying I had lived in D.C.

A long pause stretched between us. I wondered what he thought about us sharing a hometown.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you exist.” He looked deep in thought and then refocused. “You aren’t supposed to be alone. You promised.”

“I wasn’t alone when I got here.”

“Well, how long have you been here? Do you know it’s after eleven?”

“A while, and no. I was absorbed.”

“Right. Good thing you don’t need sleep, I suppose.”

He remembered. My heart rate jumped and my mind glazed over.

“How’s that coming?”

I sipped at the last cold drops of coffee, trying not to frown, thinking of the best reply. “Same.” I shrugged, hoping to make the topic less interesting. He didn’t need to know why.

“They never found the serial killer, you know?” I wasn’t going to discuss my inability to sleep with him or delve into any personal discussion without preparation.

“Yeah, I heard that.” His eyes were gentle, and they bounced around, always scanning the perimeter. He did the same thing everywhere he went, except in our classroom when the door was closed, but then again, he never had his back to it.

“How?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how old are you? You never answered me, and I’m guessing you were a little young to be following that story.”

“I’m seventeen, like you.” He searched my face. “I’m from a family of law-enforcement officers. They still talk about it sometimes. They say he’s still out there.”

So, he wanted to play the partial-honesty card with me. I appreciated that. “How do you know I’m seventeen?”

“I assumed.”

“You don’t look seventeen. Not even close.”

“Younger?”

I snorted and tipped my head.

“How old do I look?”

“Twenty. You know there’s a rumor about a serial killer here?”

He straightened up in his chair. His mouth opened and closed without a sound. Had he heard? His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket, only looking at it for a half second before walking into a long, high aisle of reference books. Like a true stalker, I slipped from my seat and tiptoed into the aisle next to his. He grunted and spoke in clipped words I didn’t understand. Thousands of pages muffled the already quiet conversation.

“Nicholas.” I caught one low word, a full octave lower than he spoke.

Nicholas. I turned back toward our table to find the man from my last library trip standing in the aisle ten feet away. The breath whooshed out of me. My eyes were glued to him. Terror gripped me. Tears welled and embarrassment pinked my cheeks. Silence stretched and I started toward the ladies’ room at the opposite end of the aisle. Every sound was amplified in the silent, empty room. I dashed into the ladies’ room. If there was an echo in the library, the acoustics in the ladies’ room could’ve rivaled an amphitheater.

The white-tiled room was nondescript. I washed my hands. It would seem more authentic if I came out smelling like soap. My heart pounded against my rib cage. A torrent of emotions whirled in my chest. Fear. Mostly fear. My dream pushed in, too. Why was that man staring at me from close enough to drag me off? He looked familiar in a way that enhanced my fear. Also, he’d caught me eavesdropping on Brian through the bookshelves. There were a lot of things I didn’t know, but I knew I didn’t want to be alone. Exhaling until my lungs went flat, I pulled the door open and screeched.

Brian leaned on the aisle of books less than five feet away, rubbing his face with both palms. “You want to get out of here?”

I nodded and looked around. The man was nowhere in sight. Only us. He led the way to my table. I packed my bag. The moment I finished, he reached out and tossed it over one of his shoulders. Brian moved toward the door without another word. I had to move double time to stay beside him.

A Jeep sat cocked at an angle on the cement outside the doors. Parking spots must’ve been too inconvenient.

“What happened to your motorcycle?” I was relieved not to be getting on it. Somehow I was certain that if I lifted one thigh toward it, my dad would materialize for a lecture on vehicle safety. Better to start my year of adventure with a seat belt.

Brian held the door for me. My last chance to decide. Was he dangerous? I stepped inside, arranging my bag at my feet before Brian shut the door behind me. Leaving with him felt wrong, risky, but walking home alone was impossible after reading all those awful newspaper articles. I glanced back toward the library one last time. A dark silhouette stood in the shadow of the building. I hoped it was just someone waiting for a friend. Brian slid in behind the wheel and I jumped. I was pretty sure he was dangerous. Something else told me I was in good hands.

The Jeep’s interior was gray leather. The fragrance of cinnamon and vanilla was strong, a fragrance I could pick out anywhere. A steaming latte sat in the cup holder on the passenger’s side.

“I thought if I ran into you, you’d be in the mood for coffee.” He looked years younger as he spoke.

I smiled. He had come looking for me.

He rolled his eyes and turned to face the windshield. “I couldn’t bring you coffee on the bike. Besides, the Jeep is safer.”

I snapped my seat belt into place and bit the inside of both cheeks. Faint memories of the plain black coffee Davis had brought made the gesture sweeter. I’d ordered coffee one time in Brian’s presence, and he had remembered.

The night was beautiful. It made small-town living seem nicer. The sky was clear. Deer grazed in pastures along the dark county roads. The trees showed the first signs of their fall apparel. I loved autumn in full swing. My heart fluttered. Images of swooning ladies a hundred years back crossed my mind. I understood. I couldn’t speak, or breathe. Or think.

I snuck peeks at Brian as we drove. He caught me every time. On the one hand, I was completely embarrassed, but on the other … he was looking at me, too. I raked at my hair with my fingers. Silence with him felt heavy on my lungs. Too many secrets. Too much unsaid. I wanted to ask a hundred questions, but I had no idea what to say. I sipped the fresh coffee to keep my mouth busy.

“How did you remember what I drink?” I licked a drop from my bottom lip. I wasn’t even sure Pixie would know without asking.

“I pay attention.” His eyes dropped to my lips and his mouth twitched at the side.

“Astute.” That’s what he’d called me.

“Is there anything you want to talk about? We’re finally alone. I thought we could drive for a few minutes. We can be candid, if you like.” His dimple disappeared, and he looked troubled. It seemed he wanted to talk about something. Well, he wanted me to talk, but he had all the information. Shampoo mingled with the scent of new leather seats to fill the space inside the car. Cologne swirled with the cinnamon and vanilla in the air, confusing me. Anywhere I looked gave me pause. He was everywhere. Hands large enough to palm a basketball stretched around the lucky steering wheel. His knee flopped into the gearshift. An elbow rested dangerously close to mine, heat radiating from it, invading my space. Permeating my brain.

I took a deep breath. “My life is an open book. Yours is … ”

“Not.”

I supposed that meant I shouldn’t ask, but if not, then what? All my questions were about him.

Too soon he angled his Jeep onto the curb outside my building. He had never asked where I lived. My muscles tensed as I thought of the car and the squeaky belt and the cigarette butts. I flipped open his ashtray and he looked at me with furrowed brows. The tray held loose coins and a pack of gum. I shut it and look at the floorboards.

“Thanks.” I lifted the cup into the air and tilted my head toward my apartment.

“Of course.”

I shoved open the door with my shoulder and spilled out onto the sidewalk, coffee in one hand, backpack in the other.

“Elle?” He leaned across the seat. “If you need me, you know how to reach me.”

The number in my bag. I hesitated before closing the door. Walking numbly up the stairs, I fumbled for my keys and went into the kitchen. Headlights flashed over the front window as he slowly pulled onto the road and away.

Chapter Eight

Despite my increased anxiety and paranoia, or maybe because of it, time moved quickly. All things considered, I grew comfortable in this strange new town. My dream evolved, plaguing me by day more often than night. Keeping it a secret was exhausting, but I wasn’t lonely.

Music blasted from Pixie’s car radio as she and Aubrie screamed the lyrics to a song I’d never heard. My cheeks ached from smiling all night. Nights out with the girls were plentiful, and I enjoyed the camaraderie. Darcy drummed a beat against the back of my headrest. We pulled up to a gas station a few miles from campus.

“Who wants snackers?” Pixie bounded from the car, skipping lithely across the lot. Darcy and Aubrie followed. My ears rang. I slumped in the passenger’s seat, feeling freer than I ever had. After two hours of playing darts at the rec center and laughing with Davis till my sides hurt, I was fully ready for a movie marathon with my three new besties. I peeked at the little store beyond the pumps and smiled. Pixie looked to have a handful of suckers. Of course. Pixie snackers.

Lights blinked off in the rearview mirror. A car had parked at an angle to Suzy Sunshine. Covered in shadows, a tiny flash gave way to a small glow. The glow came and went in a strange rhythm. Bright and soft, it repeated. I’d seen that glow before. I squeezed the tops of my thighs. Adrenaline shot through my veins. The same strange light had pulsed outside the coffee shop. I recognized the faint silhouette of a person inside the car. Someone was smoking a cigarette. How my brain had failed to put the glow and dim pattern together sooner was beyond me. Regardless of how hard I had tried to recognize the strange firefly outside the coffee shop, I hadn’t. I couldn’t put it together until this moment. Blood rushed and beat between my ears and my fuzzy brain connected dots all around me. How many cigarette butts lay outside our door? Red flags and rockets blazed inside my head.

Lots of people smoke.
I gripped the door handle, waiting. I looked to the store for my friends. I needed to see them. Safety in numbers. I couldn’t see them inside anymore. My chest constricted around my heart and a whimper slipped from between my teeth. I pulled my eyes back to the rearview. The glow had vanished. A tiny orange light lay on the ground outside the car.

The car hadn’t moved, but the cigarette’s small glow twirled in the breeze on the blacktop. Inside the car, the silhouette had vanished. I’d watched the store, so I knew the driver hadn’t gone inside. I looked around the side of the car. No one. My eyes jumped and scanned the larger scene. My heart pounded painfully inside my chest. My friends were gone. The driver was gone.
I can’t make out the license plate.