The Cabin in the Woods (2 page)

Statistics had yet to prove him right.

“I’m just saying that it’s a key scenario.” Damn, she really was the Ice Queen. Sitterson wondered idly whether her face would slide off her skull if he were to surreptitiously sever her hair band and relieve the pressure.

“I know what you’re saying,” Hadley said, pushing the electronic ignition. The cart started to purr beneath them. “But remember ’98? That was the Chem department’s fault. And where do you work again, Lin? Wait, it’s coming back to me...” He accelerated away, and Sitterson half-stood to avoid spilling his coffee.

“Gonna be a long weekend if everybody’s that puckered up,” Hadley continued, quietly. Then he seemed to liven up, weaving the cart back and forth across the corridor, narrowly avoiding striking both walls several times.

“Damn it!” Sitterson said as he lost the battle and spilled coffee on his sharp-creased trousers. Wiping it with a napkin, he rolled his eyes at Lin, who regarded him coolly. He glanced down at the front of her lab coat. She always wore it large and loose, and he always wondered...

But when he glanced up again, her expression forbore any wondering. He rolled his eyes again. She blinked slowly and looked away.
Later,
he thought.
When all this is over and the celebrations are starting, maybe
—

“Hey, you want to come over Monday night?” Hadley called back to him. “I’m gonna pick up a couple of power drills and liberate my cabinets.” He laughed like a banshee, and barely slowed the cart to take the first ninety-degree corner.

Sitterson gave up and tipped the rest of his coffee out of the cart.

Monday,
he thought.
This’ll all be over by then.

“Sure,” he said.

•••

Dana Polk loved to rock and roll. Most girls her age were into some of the softer, safer, middle-of-the-road rock music that the new millennium had brought. She could listen to Coldplay if she had to, but for her they lacked edge. She could put up with Nickelback, if they were forced on her. But her preference as a thoughtful—some would say sexy, though she still had trouble applying that word to herself—sophomore, was music with... well, balls.

She loved to rock out, feeling the music driving her blood and increasing her heartbeat, and sometimes she thought that was part of the reason she stayed so fit. The best workouts she’d ever had—well, the
second
best—were in the mosh-pits at rock concerts.

And so what better music to pack to than the Foo Fighters.
Dave Grohl... now there was a man. Her friend Jules would issue an
Ewww
whenever Dana mentioned him.
He’s too old for you by far, and too... hairy.
But he was a guy with edge. He had, as Dana’s mother liked to say, “The Grrr Factor.” He was also happily married, but that never stopped Dana’s mind from wandering his way now and then.

She bopped and skipped as she packed, shirt flapping around her bare thighs, swinging an invisible microphone stand in front of her and launching into a chorus just when a guitar solo burst in.
Whoops,
she thought, feeling a blush of embarrassment even though she was on her own. Perhaps for now she should concentrate just on filling her weekend bag.

Dana glanced around her room, wondering what else she should take. She’d miss this place. The room was neat and restrained; books stacked mostly in alphabetical order, CDs stored in tidy piles. Unlike some students, she’d quickly imprinted her personality on the place, displayed most prominently in the several sketches and watercolors about which she’d been confident enough to frame and hang.

Most of them were portraits, or pictures of imaginary people, but a few were more abstract landscapes which Jules said she sometimes found spooky. Forest scenes with ambiguous shapes suspended in high branches. Fields of corn with shadows where there should be none. Dana thought they were just offbeat, but she supposed someone who wasn’t living in her mind could justifiably see them as weird.
She ran her fingers along the bookshelves and pulled out a few political science textbooks. No harm in taking some reading, in case things were quiet this weekend. She threw in some art supplies, as well—stuff she never traveled anywhere without, including pencils and charcoals. Picking up her sketchpad, she started flipping through the pages.

Like any naturally artistic person she was eternally self-critical, but she could also remove herself to a distance and view the work objectively. And she knew that some of what she did wasn’t at all bad. Sure, she could find something to criticize in
everything
she sketched, but that was the curse of a true artist. She flipped the pages, musing more upon her passion for art than the pictures themselves, until—

There he was. The son-of-a-bitch.

Gorgeous. Longish hair, glasses... the very epitome of a college lecturer. Damn it, if only she hadn’t been so fucking stupid. But he was so handsome. Bastard.

She sighed, thought about finding a pair of jeans, and—

“What a piece of shit!”

Dana gasped, letting out a little shriek. She hadn’t even heard Jules approaching.

“I rushed it,” Dana said, recovering quickly and not taking her eyes from the picture.

“You know what I mean.” Jules’s voice was low and sultry, a natural attribute which she put to great use. “Why haven’t you stuck that asshole’s picture on the dartboard yet?”
“It’s not that simp—” Dana began, but as she turned around, shock cut her off. For a second confusion overwhelmed her.

“Oh my God, your
hair!”
she gasped.

Jules struck a pose that would have made lesser men weep, and even strong men quake in their boots.

“Very fabulous, no?”

“I can’t believe you did it!” Her friend certainly did look very fabulous. She’d been talking about going blonde for months now, but Dana had never believed she’d actually go through with it. Brunette had served her well, but Jules was nothing if not experimental. She sometimes called Dana “rock chick,” but she was far from the stereotype that usually went with that term. Rock yes, chick no. Out of the two of them, it was Jules who wore that badge with pride.

“But very fabulous, right?” she asked again, scowling a false frown. “Hurry up with the very fabulous, I’m getting insecure about it.”

“Oh God, no,” Dana said, “it’s awesome! It looks really natural, and it’s great with your skin. I just didn’t think you were ever gonna—”

“Impulse,” Jules said. “I woke up this morning and thought,
I want to have more fun. Who is it that has more fun?”
Still posing, she ruffled up her hair and pouted. “Marilyn, dahling.”

“Manson?”

“Monroe! Imbecile.”

“Curt’s gonna lose it,” Dana laughed.

“He’ll have more fun too,” Jules said. “And so will
you... ” She snatched the sketch pad from Dana and stared at it, scowling at the image. “...while we are burning this picture.”

Dana grabbed the pad back, her good humor slipping just a little. She understood that Jules was being protective of her, and angry at the man who’d hurt her. But really, it was only Dana who knew everything that had gone on.

“I’m not ready to,” she said. “And seriously, this isn’t all his fault.”

“What’s not his fault?” Jules asked. Her posing and pouting was over now, and she stalked Dana’s room like a cat looking for a mouse. “Being thirty-eight and married, fucking his student, or breaking up with her by email?”

“I knew what I was getting into,” Dana said, looking at the picture and silently acknowledging how much crap that was. She hadn’t known at all. In retrospect she’d come to understand it all, but that was what learning by mistakes was all about.

“Right,” Jules said. “Dana Polk, homewrecker. Puh-leeze.” She moved to the dresser, and started rifling shamelessly through Dana’s open drawers. Dana loved Jules as a best friend, but sometimes she was so damn...
close.

“You know what I—” she began.

“You know what you’re getting into this weekend?” Jules asked, her mood brightening again. She was holding up Dana’s little wine-colored bikini. “This. And if Holden’s as cute as Curt says he is, possibly
out of it as well.”

“That’s the
last
thing—” Dana said, then she saw the truth behind Jules’s smile. “If you guys treat this like a set-up, I’m gonna have no fun at all.”

“I’m not pushing,” Jules said, doing exactly the opposite. She crossed to Dana’s bed, flipped up her suitcase’s lid and ran her hands over the surface of the stuff she’d already packed. “Hmm. But we
are
packing the bikini. Which means...” She pulled the textbooks out and dropped them on the bed, one, two, three. “...we
definitely
won’t have room for these.”

“Oh, come on, what if I’m bored?”

Jules gasped and looked at her, and Dana closed her eyes, realizing just how lame that sounded.

“These’ll
help?”
Jules said.
“Soviet Economic Structures? Aftermath of the Cultural...?”
She tossed one of the books theatrically across the bed, not even blinking when it bounced onto the floor.

If that cover is broken, the library will charge me,
Dana thought.

“No!” Jules cried, grasping the remaining two books to her chest. “We have a lake! And a keg! We are girls on the verge of going wild— Just look at my hair, woman!”

Dana looked, and nodded, and she had to admit to herself,
Yeah, this has the feel of being an epic weekend.

“It
is
great,” she said, and she was about to add more when a voice called from the doorway—

•••

“Think fast!”

Curt had only been listening for a few seconds— well, maybe thirty... okay, perhaps a minute—and while the idea of snooping for longer on his girlfriend and her hot friend had its attractions, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He thought of himself as a decent guy, and decent guys didn’t do things like that.

Besides, there was the risk he’d hear something he didn’t want to. And he’d been timing himself.

So swinging around the corner into the room and throwing the football had seemed a suitable way to overcome his slight embarrassment. Perhaps he should have thought to check on whether both girls were dressed.

One of them let out a surprised yelp, though he didn’t know which one. As the ball sailed between them and directly through the open window, he had an instant to register two facts about the view: one, his girlfriend’s hair had changed color; and two, Dana was only wearing a shirt and panties.

It took him only a heartbeat to confirm that he liked both things.

“Well, faster than
that
,” he said, grinning.

“Curt!” Jules snapped, but he was already darting into the room. He shoved them toward the window, and all three of them looked out to see what had become of the ball.

It was a nice street, with close-built three-story town houses, mostly given over to student accommodations, and a variety of vehicles parked along the curbside.
Some students had new cars bought for them when they came to college, others had to buy their own— gleam sat next to rust, but both seemed very much at home here. The whole place exuded a good vibe, and that’s why Curt liked it so much.

Also out on the street was a guy dropping his duffle bag and rushing sideways into the road, hand reaching, arms stretching, feet leaving the road surface as he leapt. And the thrown football landed in his hands as if drawn by some invisible force.

The squeal of brakes was only slight—a perturbed gasp rather than an upset screech—and the car that touched his leg seemed to do so almost tenderly.

“Yes!” the guy said, holding the ball up in one hand. Then he became more contrite, backing out of the road and half-bending so he could look in at the car’s driver. “Sorry,” Curt heard him say. “Sorry. Move along.” “Niiice!” Curt breathed. Damn, the guy could catch. He detected disapproval battering him from both sides, so he remained looking out into the street. The guy saw him and waved up.

“Is that Holden?” Dana asked.

“Come on up!” Curt called, and he thought,
Is that interest I hear in her sweet little voice?
He took a step back so he could look from Jules to Dana, speaking to both of them. “Just transferred from State,” he confirmed. “Best hands on the team. He’s a sweet guy.” “And he’s good with his hands,” Jules said, looking pointedly at Dana.

Curt laughed out loud, then let his laughter fade away
as his expression dropped into one of embarrassment.

“Um, hi,” he said to Jules. “I’m sort of seeing this girl, but, uh, you’re way blonder than she is, and I was thinking we could... ” He glimpsed the book she was holding to her chest, and abandoned the play.
Time for another angle.
“What is this?” He snatched the books from her, tugging lightly when she tried to resist. She growled, but he knew when her eyes were smiling.

“What are these?” he demanded. “What are you doing with these?”

“Okay,” Dana said, “I get it, I’ll—”

“Where did you
get
these?” Curt asked Jules, stretching the joke.
“Who taught you about these
?”

“I learned it from
you
, okay?” Jules gushed, holding one hand up to her forehead, feigning tears and storming breezily out of the room.

Curt was enjoying himself. He felt Dana’s slight discomfort, but he was also enjoying denying her the opportunity to pull on her pants. His girlfriend sure chose some cute friends, that he
could
say. He leaned close to Dana, struggling to keep his eyes on her face and not those long, smooth legs.

“Seriously?” he said, voice anything but. “Professor Bennett covers this whole book in his lectures. Read the Gurovsky; it’s way more interesting and Bennett doesn’t know it by heart, so he’ll think you’re insightful.

“And you have no pants.”

He smiled, threw the books on the bed and shouted out into the living room, “Holden! Crazy mad skills of catching!”
Behind him he heard Dana’s small gasp of panic, and he glanced back to see her hauling her jeans up over her thighs and shapely behind.