First Date (14 page)

Fear Street was dark. The only sound was the whisper and creak of the bending trees.

“Don't run away, Chelsea,” Will said softly, his voice nearly drowned out by the hiss of the night wind. “Let's go inside and talk about what's bothering you.”

“No!” she screamed, all her fear bursting out of her in that one word.

She started to run.

He let out a cry, an angry cry, a wild cry like an attacking animal.

He caught up to her quickly and threw his arms around her waist in a running tackle.

“Oh! No!” she protested as she fell forward onto the cold, hard ground. Her forehead hit the dirt hard. Her head bounced back up, throbbing with pain.

He leapt on top of her quickly.

The cord slipped easily around her throat.

As he pulled it tight, she struggled to roll over. She turned to face him, her eyes wild with horror.

Good, he thought.

He didn't care if she watched him.

His muscles tightened as he tugged on the cord.

She made a final choking sound.

Her arms flailed the air helplessly. She frantically twisted her body one way, then the other, trying to pull away from him.

But quickly she stopped struggling.

She's dead, he thought, checking to make sure she was no longer breathing.

That was easy. It took less than a minute.

So easy. Child's play.

Child's play. The phrase kept repeating in his mind as he rolled the cord around his hand, then jammed it into his pocket.

He stood up, filled with the usual feeling of excitement.

Of victory.

Of revenge.

He remembered he didn't have much time. He had to get ready for the next one.

Nina. That was her name.

He had to kill her too.

Then get away from the house—fast.

The FBI had never come this close to him before.

It meant he had to work fast. Real fast.

He'd kill the friend and be out of there in a flash.

This was odd, he realized. He usually didn't kill them until he got to know them.

He usually didn't kill them until after the first date.

But this was an emergency.

He really had no choice. No choice at all.

Next time he'd be more careful. Next time he'd find someone even lonelier than Chelsea.

His eyes on the driveway, he reached down and grabbed the dead girl's arms. Then he started to drag her to the side of the house, out of view.

Nina would be driving up soon. We wouldn't want Chelsea to spoil the party, he told himself.

He pulled her to the side of the house and left her behind some low shrubs. Breathing hard, he made sure the body couldn't be seen.

Child's play, he thought. Child's play.

He was standing in the driveway when he saw the headlights brighten the street. A car came into view.

He darted into the shadows as the car headed slowly up the drive. Then he made his way along the side of the house to hurry in through the kitchen door, which he found wide open.

One down, one to go, he thought cheerfully.

Most people wouldn't enjoy this, he realized.

But it was so easy. And so satisfying.

It made his hate melt away. All of the hate that weighed him down, all of the hate that he woke up
with every morning and went to bed with every night, all the hate that kept him tossing and turning, wide awake when he wanted to sleep, all of the hate that drew him into the most frightening, painful dreams—all of the hate melted away when he killed one of them.

At least, for a little while.

He reached into his pocket, making sure he had the cord.

Then he straightened his sweatshirt and wiped the cold perspiration off his forehead with one hand.

He stepped into the living room just as someone knocked loudly on the front door.

chapter 22
 

“W
ho's there?” he called, his hand on the brass doorknob.

“It's Nina,” a girl's voice called in.

He pulled open the door and smiled at her. “Hi,” he said.

She was short and pretty, perky looking with very short, straight white-blond hair.

Not his type. Not his type at all.

But he had to kill her anyway.

She smiled back. “Are you Will?”

He nodded shyly as she stepped past him into the hallway. “Where's Chelsea?” she asked, peering into the living room.

“Upstairs,” he said. “She'll be down in a minute.”

As he pushed the front door shut, he glanced
down to the street. No headlights. No cars. No one was around. Perfect.

He reached for the cord. He knew he had to work quickly.

Might as well strangle her there in the hallway. Why prolong it?

But Nina had already made her way into the living room. She tossed her blue jacket onto the floor, then dropped down into the big armchair across from the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.

She was wearing black leggings with an oversize T-shirt top. She shook her head to make her hair fall into place and smiled up at him as he entered the room.

“So you're in Chelsea's homeroom?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

He wanted to come up behind her, reach down over the chair back, and put the cord around her neck. But it was too late. She was staring at him. Watching his every move.

He hated it when they stared at him like that, as if he were some kind of specimen they were studying under a microscope.

“Chelsea's told me all about you,” Nina said cheerily.

I know, he thought bitterly.

That's why I have to kill you.

“You too,” he said shyly. “Uh—how long have you and Chelsea been friends?”

He was stalling now, thinking hard, trying to figure out how to get behind her.

“Not very long,” she said. “Chelsea just moved here, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Me too,” he said. He could feel his cheeks reddening.

“Do you work out?” she asked, staring at his arms.

“A little,” he said.

“At a gym?”

“When I have the chance. I like it,” he told her honestly. “I like to sweat. I like to push myself. You know. Push my body.”

“I could tell you work out,” she said, shifting her position in the chair. “You look really strong.”

I
am
really strong, he thought. I'll show you how strong in just a minute.

His eyes went to the living-room window. He felt a stab of fear as the pale white beams of twin headlights appeared in the street.

Quickly he made his way to the window.

The car, an old station wagon, rattled past.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“What's the matter?” Nina asked.

“Nothing,” he said softly. “Thought I saw someone.”

He realized he was behind her now. The chair faced away from the window.

Pulling out the cord, he stretched it taut between his hands and stepped forward silently.

She turned suddenly, twisting her head around to look at him.

He dropped the cord.

“Maybe I should go upstairs and see what's keeping Chelsea,” Nina said, starting to climb out of the chair.

He quickly bent down and retrieved the cord.

“No. Really,” he said. “She said she'd be down.”

Nina got up and crossed over to the couch. She sat down on one end, facing him now. “That chair is so uncomfortable,” she said, making a face. “It looks like it should be soft and comfy, but it isn't.”

Will glanced out the window impatiently. Nothing but darkness.

Nina tapped her fingers on the arm of the couch. “Come sit down,” she said, smiling at him. “You're making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” he replied. He obediently came around and sat down on the edge of the armchair.

“See what I mean about that chair?” she asked. “Sit back in it. You can't really tell how uncomfortable it is unless you sit back.”

He obediently sat back.

I'm wasting time, he thought.

This girl is wasting my time.

I've got to finish. I've got to get out of here.

“Hey—Chelsea!” Nina shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth to form a megaphone. “Chelsea, what are you doing up there?”

Of course there was no reply.

Will pictured Chelsea's eyes goggling as he choked her to death. Once again, he saw her eyes roll up in her head, saw her whole body go slack, give up. He pictured her lying out there behind the low shrubs at the side of the house.

She was so easy, he thought.

Child's play. Child's play.

Why was this one being so difficult?

“Hey, Chelsea!” Nina called again, turning her head to the stairway beyond the living-room entrance. She turned to Will. “You sure she's okay?”

“Yeah. She's okay.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh. I just remembered,” he told Nina. “She went out.”

“Huh?” Nina's face filled with suspicion.

“Yeah. She went out,” Will said casually. “To get ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Nina's suspicious expression didn't change. “But it's freezing cold out. And Chelsea doesn't like ice cream,” she insisted.

“She thought you might like some,” Will said, feeling beads of cold perspiration break out on his forehead.

“That's weird,” Nina said thoughtfully. “Where'd she go to get ice cream?”

“Out,” Will said and uttered a high-pitched giggle.

Enough, he thought.

I'm wasting too much time.

I was hoping to get her without any screaming. But I'll have to put up with it. There's no one close enough to hear.

I really have no choice.

He stood up and pulled the cord between his hands.

“What's that?” Nina asked, recoiling on the couch, eyeing him with sudden fear.

He didn't reply.

Instead, he lunged at her, pressing her against the couch back.

She screamed and struggled, pushing at him with both fists, trying to knee him, trying to wriggle away.

But he was too strong for her.

Quickly he slipped the cord around her neck.

chapter 23
 

A
s Will tightened the cord around her neck, Nina raised her knees and kicked him hard in the chest. Will gasped in surprise and staggered back, struggling to breathe, his chest throbbing.

The cord. He had dropped the cord.

Nina screamed and scrambled off the couch.

He hated it when they screamed.

He hated it when they gave him such a hard time.

He'd have to teach her a lesson.

Desperate to get away, she stumbled over the low coffee table. Will grabbed up a heavy ceramic flower vase from the table. Swinging it in one hand, he turned to chase her.

She was in the center of the room, running awkwardly, her eyes wide with terror.

She screamed again.

Then, suddenly, she stopped and looked back at
him, breathing hard. “Why?” Nina asked, staring at the vase in his hand. “Why?”

“Sorry,” he said.

He couldn't think of anything else to say.

How could he explain it to her?

Even if he could put it in words, he didn't have time.

“Where's Chelsea?” she asked, and then her mouth dropped open in horror. “You killed her? You killed Chelsea?”

He nodded. No point in lying to her.

“Chelsea!” she screamed. “Chelsea!” As if she didn't believe what he had told her.

He moved toward her quickly.

She had reached the hallway. She turned, her feet slipping on the bare wood floor, and headed toward the kitchen.

He couldn't let her go. He couldn't let her run out the back door.

He couldn't let her outside where she would scream for help, where someone might hear her.

Didn't she understand?

Didn't she understand that he had no choice?

“Chelsea!” she screamed. “Help! Oh, help! Somebody—help me!”

Her sneakers thudded down the short hallway.

He caught her as she reached the kitchen doorway.