Fear Hall: The Conclusion
Author: R. L. Stine
Date: 1997-08-01 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Young Adult; Thriller; Childrens
Description: Having fled her dorm room, college freshman Hope is hiding out in an abandoned sorority house on campus. But there is no escape from the evil that follows her—because it has become a part of her.
Publisher: Simon Pulse

part one

Hope

chapter

1

I gripped the cold metal railing of the fire escape and leaned toward the open dorm window. I kept close to the brick wall, ready to hide if anyone inside my room looked out.

The police were in there. Two young-looking officers, rubbing their chins, shaking their heads.

The three girls from room 13-A across the hall also had squeezed into my little room. Melanie, Margie, and Mary. The three M’s.

I never liked those three snoops. So snobby and stuck-up. So perfect. Always acting as if they were the queens of Ivy State College. Listening to them talk to the police made me realize how much I hated them.

From my perch out on the fire escape, I could hear every word they said. I could hear every lie.

They were telling lies to the police about me and my roommates. Jasmine and Angel huddled close beside me on the fire escape. They listened to the conversation inside our room, their eyes wide with disbelief. And with fear.

“Hope doesn’t have any roommates,” Melanie was saying. “I never heard of any girls named Eden, Jasmine, or Angel.”

Hearing that, a sob escaped my throat. I pulled my head back and pressed tighter against the brick wall, hoping no one had heard me.

Poor Eden, I thought. My poor roommate. Darryl had murdered her.

I shuddered, picturing the horrifying scene again. Darryl in one of his rages. Totally out of control. He lifted Eden off the ground and brought her down hard over his upraised knee. He snapped her back. Cracked her like a snap pea. Then he tossed her out the window.

The window I was peering in now.

Darryl killed Eden. And now the police were in our room, listening to Melanie’s lies.

“I saw Hope talking to herself.” Melanie’s voice drifted out the open window. “She always seemed to be arguing with herself. I was worried about her. Really.”

Melanie had her back to the window. If she took two steps back, I could reach in and grab her.

I wanted to. I wanted to strangle her for telling lies about us. For telling the police that Eden, Jasmine, and Angel were all in my head.

“We might be dealing with a looney,” one of the officers said softly. “A dangerous looney.”

“Maybe we have a multiple personality here,” his partner murmured.

What was he talking about? Jasmine and Angel were right beside me. And I knew Darryl was nearby too. All the cops had to do was stick their heads out the window. They’d see us.

“What about this boy Darryl?” I heard a cop ask. “We received a report that he lives down on the boys’ floor.”

“There are no boys in this dorm,” I heard Mary reply.

Mary. Miss State Swimming Champion. She and Melanie both think it’s so cool to be on the swim team.

Why don’t you stick your heads in the pool and leave them there? I thought. Why don’t you drink chlorine and die?

Bitter, horrible thoughts.

But why were they telling the police I was crazy?

“Maybe we do have a multiple personality here,” a cop said. “Do you think this Hope Mathis is all four girls? And Darryl too?”

“Maybe,” his partner replied. I could see only part of him. He was scribbling furiously on a little pad. “The question is—did Hope cut up those two boys? Those boys who were murdered on campus were real. They weren’t imaginary.”

I heard Mary and Margie sigh. “It’s all so . . . unbelievable,” Mary uttered.

Boo-hoo.

Of course I knew who murdered the two guys. Darryl murdered them. Darryl in a jealous rage. He never liked other guys to get too close to me.

It made him crazy. And I really mean crazy.

Darryl is the crazy one, I thought unhappily. Darryl is the one you should be talking about in there.

The poor guy. I loved him so much. Since high school. Darryl is the only boy who ever really cared about me.

But he’d gone too far this time. He’d murdered two boys. Cut them up as if they were lunch meat. And then he murdered poor Eden.

Too far. He’d gone too far.

I knew I had to do something about Darryl. As much as I loved him, I had to get him away. Far away. Out of my life.

Inside the room, I heard Margie talking to one of the cops. “I knew Hope was crazy,” she was saying.

“But can she really be a killer?” Melanie cried.

I saw a blue uniform move toward the window.

Time to get a move on.

“They won’t find us—will they, girls?” I whispered.

Angel and Jasmine shook their heads.

“And by the time the police find us,” I continued, “Melanie and her roommates will be dead. They will pay for calling us crazy—right?”

“Right,” Jasmine whispered.

“Right,” Angel agreed.

“Right,” Darryl whispered in my ear. I knew he was near. I knew he was with me.

“Let’s go,” I whispered. Gripping the fire escape rail, I slid away from the window.

My shoe caught on the metal landing. It made a dull clang.

My heart skipped a beat. Had they heard that?

Yes.

I heard a sharp cry inside the room.

And then a policeman shouted, “There she is! On the fire escape! Catch her!”

My hand slipped on the railing. In my panic, I lost my balance.

Move! I ordered us all. Move, everyone! Run!

Too late.

A cop—eyes wide, jaw set angrily—rushed to the window. He reached out and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’ve got her!”

chapter

2

As his arms tightened around me, my breath escaped in a long sigh of surrender. My shoulders slumped, and I felt my knees start to buckle.

I should try to run, I told myself. I turned my head—and saw Jasmine and Angel bolting down the rickety metal stairs, already two or three floors down.

I knew I should try to break free. But I suddenly felt so frightened and confused.

Why was this happening? Why was this happening to me? I didn’t kill anybody.

Darryl, I thought.

Darryl, please—help me!

And as I thought of him, he appeared beside me. His pale blue eyes were wide with rage. Tangles of long, dark hair fell over his face.

He swept his hair back with one hand. Then his other hand moved quickly to the police officer’s throat.

I saw Darryl’s fingers wrap around the thin neck. The cop’s skin reddened as Darryl squeezed. Pinched and squeezed.

The cop opened his mouth in a choked gurgle. His arms slid off me. He appeared to fall back into the room.

I spun away. Dizzy. My heart pounding.

And started to run. The cold metal railing slid under my hand as I ran down the fire escape. My legs so heavy. My shoes clanging on the metal steps.

Clang . . . clang . . . clang . . . like bells ringing.

I heard angry shouts above me, but I didn’t glance up.

I heard shoes thudding heavily. The fire escape trembled and shook. The ivy-covered brick wall became a red-and-green blur as I made a sharp turn, stumbled, grabbed the rail, and kept moving.

Kept climbing down. Down. Following Jasmine and Angel.

“Darryl—are you behind me?” I called. My voice came out tiny and choked. I knew he couldn’t hear me over the clangs and thuds and angry shouts.

“Are you there? Did you get away too?”

“Stop right there!” someone yelled. Someone right above my head. So close. So close . . .

I didn’t think. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know I was going to do it.

I stopped running. And grabbed the rail.

And hoisted myself up with both hands. Lifted myself, wishing I weren’t so heavy, so chubby, such a whale. Wishing I were as thin and light as my mother always wanted me to be. As thin and light and graceful as Angel.

But I pulled myself up. And with a loud groan, jumped over the side. Off the fire escape.

And sailed down. My hands high over my head.

How many stories did I fall?

I don’t know. I didn’t look before I jumped. I didn’t look down. And even as I fell, I kept my eyes to the sky.

I fell for a lifetime. Or for a second or two.

And I died before I hit the ground.

chapter

3

No. I didn’t die.

But the thought flew into my mind. I was still thinking it as I landed. So hard. On my feet.

Pain shot up one ankle. And swept up my body.

My knees gave way, and I dropped to the cold grass. The pain swarmed over me. It hurt so bad, I could hear it. I thought of someone covered in angry bees. Covered like a blanket. An electric blanket that kept shocking me and shocking me and shocking me.

Still alive, though. Sucking in deep breaths. Waiting for the swarming pain to lift.

And then I was running again. Ignoring the throbbing ache of my ankle. Running beside Jasmine and Angel.

Were people staring at us as we ran across The Triangle, the big grassy area in the center of campus?

I don’t know. I kept my head down and didn’t gaze up. I listened for the thud of running footsteps behind me. Listened for the angry shouts of the two police officers.

And ran like a horse with blinders.

I crossed Pine Street and ran along the campus stores on Elm. A car horn blared as I ran across Elm. I hadn’t stopped to check for traffic.

I heard the driver shout a curse at me. But I didn’t turn or slow down.

I bumped into a man carrying two bags of groceries. He cried out in protest, struggling to balance the bags in his arms.

“What’s your hurry?” he called after me.

I darted past the little post office and turned into the alley beside The Ivy, the shabby, old campus movie theater. Two high school kids were huddled against the theater’s back exit. Probably making out.

I barreled past them, catching their startled expressions as I ran.

The alley opened onto Vermont Avenue. I stopped short, narrowly avoiding two girls on bikes. Then I turned and began trotting along the row of rambling, old houses.

No one behind me. No one chasing after me now.

I’d lost them. I’d jumped to safety.

Had I really done that? Did I really jump off the fire escape behind the dorm?

Where did I get the courage?

“What are we doing?” Angel demanded breathlessly. Her blond hair flew wildly about her face. “Where are we going?” Leaves had caught in her purple sweater, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Jasmine ran hard to catch up. She held her side, leaning against the pain as she ran. “We have to talk,” she choked out. “Why are we running? We didn’t do anything!”

“Slow down, Hope,” Angel urged, grabbing my arm, forcing me to stop. “Jasmine is right. We have to talk.”

I swung around to check the street behind me. Two guys wearing Ivy College Athletic Department sweatshirts glided past on RollerBlades. One of them kept his eyes on me, but didn’t smile.

“There’s no one chasing us,” Jasmine reported. “We lost them.”

My eyes swept up and down the street. The broad, old trees were mostly bare. Behind them stood the big brick and shingled houses of Fraternity Row.

Hundreds of campus fraternity and sorority members lived in these old houses. I’d always wondered what they looked like inside. I’d never been invited to one.

Actually, some of the houses were starting to look ramshackle and run-down. The fraternities and sororities weren’t as popular as they used to be. A lot of kids couldn’t afford them.

Several buildings had been turned into rooming houses or student apartment houses. A few were boarded-up and vacant. I saw a FOR SALE sign in front of the big, white-columned house across the street.

Loud music roared from an open window in the sorority house across the tall hedge from it. The sound jarred me from my thoughts.

“Why did we run?” Angel demanded, still breathing hard. “Why didn’t we stay and tell the police about Darryl?”

“How could we?” I replied sharply. “You heard what they were saying in that room. They were saying that I was crazy.”

“But, Hope—” Angel started to protest.

“Do you think they’d believe a word I said?” I demanded. “They believed Melanie and her friends. You heard the whole thing, Angel. You know they wouldn’t give me a chance to explain.”

“Hope is right,” Jasmine told Angel. She straightened her baggy sweater. Then she pulled the leaves from the front of Angel’s sweater. “We had no choice. We had to run.”

“They think I’m a murderer,” I said, shaking my head. “Do you believe it? They think I killed those two boys. They think I’m a crazy murderer. The three girls think it. And now the police think it too.”

I let out a disgusted groan. “I couldn’t stand there and listen to that,” I told my two friends. “It—it’s just too crazy!”

My voice broke. I felt tears welling in my eyes. I turned away so that Jasmine and Angel couldn’t see.

I don’t know why. But I just didn’t want to appear weak right then.

They were counting on me, after all.

They had followed me. They had run away with me. They had stuck with me all the way.

I didn’t want to let them down.

Eden was gone. Darryl was totally out of control.

Angel and Jasmine were my only real friends in the whole world.

I put one arm around Angel’s shoulder and one arm around Jasmine’s shoulder. “Let’s go,” I told them. “I think I know where we can hide.”

We needed a place to hide from the police until we could figure out what to do. I wanted to hide from Darryl too. But I knew he would find me.

Moving along Vermont, I kept in the shadows of the tall hedges that lined the street. A van filled with guys from one of the fraternities rolled by. Someone inside it called out to me and waved. The others laughed.

I didn’t turn around. I just kept walking.

I passed an old house that had been turned into apartments. Two students were tucked into the front doorway, kissing, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

I looked away. They made me think of Darryl and me.

How could you do this to me, Darryl? I thought bitterly, crossing the street. I care about you so much. We’ve been so close, ever since . . . since high school.

How could you ruin our lives like this?

I took a deep breath and forced Darryl from my mind. I couldn’t feel sorry for myself now. I knew I’d have plenty of time for that after I found us a place to stay.

We crossed the street and passed an empty lot. The bare trees shivered in the light breeze. Someone had stuck a pair of blue boxer shorts high in a tree limb. Probably the result of some wild fraternity party.

Beyond the empty lot stood the house I was looking for. A large, three-story red-brick house nearly hidden behind a thick cluster of tall evergreens.

I looked up and down the street and saw no one. So I jogged up the front lawn, overgrown and choked with weeds. The large bay windows in front were covered by dark drapes. One small window in the front door was shattered. Someone had spray-painted the name MARIO on the wall beside the door.

I stepped onto the old-fashioned front porch, which stretched along the whole front of the house. A wooden swing stood under one window. One side had fallen to the porch floor.

I led the way to the front door. “Be careful,” I warned Angel and Jasmine. “Some of the wood planks on the porch are loose.”

“What is this place? Does anyone live here?” Angel asked nervously.

“It’s the old Phi Beta house,” I told her. “The girls in Phi Beta used to live here. But the sorority closed down. The house has been empty for a long time.”

They stayed close behind me, glancing warily toward the street. I tried the knob. The front door opened easily.

“How did you know about this house?” Jasmine asked.

I motioned for them to follow me inside.

“I had some meetings with my French instructor in September,” I told her. “You remember. The cute one with the curly red hair. His house is on the next block. I used to pass this house all the time.”

“What are we going to do for money?” Angel said.

“I only have about twenty dollars on me,” I admitted.

“I have some money saved up from my waitressing job,” Jasmine told us. “And I’ve got my cash card in my pocket. We should be able to buy some clothes and food and stuff. Enough to last until one of us finds a job.”

“Stay here for a moment,” I told my two friends. I wanted to check out the house.

I glanced around the front entryway. Straight ahead, a wide stairway led to the rooms upstairs. The big front room stretched to my right.

I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I made my way to the front windows to pull open the drapes.

I was halfway across the room when I heard the floorboards creak behind me.

And realized I wasn’t alone.

Before I could cry out, someone grabbed my neck from behind and I stumbled to the floor.

chapter

4

I spun around to face my attacker.

No one there.

I tore open the heavy drape—and as light washed into the room, I saw him.

A cat. A black cat.

He hunched tensely on the floor, his back arched, tail straight up. His green eyes glowed up at me.

I rubbed the back of my neck.

“You—you jumped on me!” I cried down at it. My heart still thudded in my chest. “You nearly scared away all of my nine lives,” I scolded.

It narrowed its eyes, studying me. Its tail slowly lowered. It started to relax.

“I guess I scared you as much as you scared me,” I said, starting to feel better. “What are you doing in here? Are there more of you?”

I pulled open the drape on the other front window. Then I let my eyes sweep over the room. Two couches and several armchairs had been pushed to the center of the room. They were covered with bedsheets. The fireplace screen had fallen over, revealing black, charred logs in the fireplace. Two crushed beer cans adorned the mantel above the fireplace.

I tugged the sheet off one of the couches. “At least we have something to sit on,” I murmured, watching a cloud of dust rise from the sheet.

The black cat tilted its head and meowed.

“I’ll bet you’re hungry,” I said softly. I bent down to see if he would allow me to pick him up. He did.

I raised the cat in both hands and brought him face-to-face with me. “I’m going to call you Lucky,” I announced.

I gazed into his glowing green eyes. “Are you going to bring me luck, Lucky?” I asked him. “Are you?”

I sighed. “I really could use some luck,” I told the cat. I set him back on the floor.

“Are we really going to live here?” Angel asked, glancing around the room. “It’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?” She made a disgusted face.

“It isn’t so bad,” Jasmine said, tugging the sheet off the other couch. “We can fix it up.” She forced a smile. “It’s so huge. I’ve never lived in such a big house.”

“And we have it all to ourselves,” I added, trying to sound cheerful. “It’s the perfect place to hide, and—and . . .”

I tried to look on the bright side. But I couldn’t fight down my anger. My anger at Melanie, Margie, and Mary.

My throat tightened. My temples started to throb.

I slammed the back of the couch with my fist, sending up another cloud of dust.

It’s their fault, I told myself. It’s their fault I had to leave the dorm, run away, hide like a criminal in this abandoned dump.

I want to pay them back, I decided. I really do. I want to hurt them and make them suffer. The way they hurt me.

As if reading my thoughts, Darryl appeared in the front entryway. “Hey—!” he called, his pale blue eyes sweeping over the front room before locking on me. “Thought you could get away?”

He moved quickly across the room and took my arm. “You didn’t try to leave me behind—did you, Hope?”

I pulled my arm free and didn’t reply. I scowled at him.

“Not a bad place,” he said, running a hand over the arm of the leather couch. “I think I could get used to it here.”

“No, you won’t,” I said sharply.

His eyes widened in surprise. His smile faded. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hope,” he said softly. “I’m going to help you.”

His gentle touch brought back a lot of memories. Warm memories.

“Help me?” I replied. “How?”

“I’m going to take care of the three M’s for you,” he said, caressing my arm. Then he raised his hand and trailed one finger tenderly down my cheek. “I’m going to hurt them for you.”

“No!” I cried. “No, Darryl!”

He took a step back, his face twisted in surprise. “What’s your problem?” he demanded. “It’s what you want—isn’t it? It’s what you were thinking.”

“How do you know what I was thinking?” I demanded. I could feel my anger growing. My chest felt about ready to explode.

A strange grin spread across Darryl’s face. “I know you,” he said. “I know you better than you know yourself, Hope.”

“I don’t care!” I shouted. “Look what you’ve done, Darryl. You’ve ruined my life. You’ve ruined all our lives!”

“You’re wrong,” he insisted. “Melanie has. Melanie and her two friends.” He swept back his longish dark hair. “They called you crazy, Hope. They told the police you were crazy.”

He gripped the back of the couch and squeezed the leather. Squeezed it until his hands turned red.

“You’re not going to let them get away with that—are you?” he demanded.

I could feel his eyes burning into me. I crossed my arms in front of my chest, as if to protect myself. “I don’t want you to do anything,” I said through gritted teeth. “I just want you to leave.”

His eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Huh?”

“You heard me!” I cried. My anger exploded. I couldn’t control it any longer. “Go away, Darryl!” I screamed. “I mean it. Get away from me. Get out of this house! I can’t take it anymore! You’re too much trouble! Too much!”

Circles of dark red spread over his cheeks. He shoved his fists into the pockets of his leather bomber jacket. His mouth curled into a sneer.

“You’re not serious,” he uttered in a low voice. “You don’t mean it, Hope. You know you need me. You know you want me to hurt those three girls for you.”

“Get out!” I screamed. “Get out—now! And don’t come back!”

I raised my fists and shoved him. “Get out! Get out! Get out! I don’t want to see you again!”

I’d never talked to him that way before. His mouth gaped open in shock.

And then the shock faded, and his expression turned to anger. His blue eyes froze. The lines on either side of his mouth twitched.

He uttered a curse. And moved quickly, menacingly toward me.

“No—don’t!” I cried. “Please, Darryl—don’t!”

chapter

5

I staggered back.

I’d never seen anything as cold as the hatred on his face. Those blue eyes like ice. The jaw clamped shut so tight, mouth twitching . . . twitching.

“Don’t touch me!” I shrieked.

To my shock, he moved past me. His shoulder bumped mine. I felt the rough leather of his bomber jacket. He kept going, as if walking right through me.

Feeling dazed, I turned. I couldn’t see his expression now. I saw only the back of his head, his longish hair falling beneath his jacket collar.

He moved past me, walking heavily. Stepped up to the black cat, my new pet. Lucky. Lucky the cat.

Without breaking stride, Darryl swung his leg back and kicked the cat. A sharp, lightning kick.

The toe of his boot caught the cat under its stomach and sent it flying off the floor—into the front window.

The cat opened its mouth in a high squeal.

It hit the windowpane with a solid thud. And dropped on its side to the floor.

“Don’t kill it! Don’t kill it, Darryl!” I wailed.

Darryl took a long stride toward the fallen cat. Changed his mind. Turned. And headed toward the front door.

As he reached the front entryway, he muttered something under his breath.

“What? What did you say?” I called after him, my voice trembling. My whole body shaking with fear.

“I said you can’t get rid of me,” he repeated, his jaw still clenched tight with fury. “You’re stuck with me, Hope. And don’t forget it.”

And then he was gone.

Jasmine and Angel were gone too. Probably hiding in another room. Hiding from Darryl.

I watched the cat slink to the back hall, its tail between its legs.

I’m alone now, I thought, still trembling, still hugging myself tightly. I’m all alone in this place.

“Lucky? Hey—Lucky?” I called the cat. But, of course, he didn’t come.

I took several deep breaths, waiting for my temples to stop throbbing, for my heartbeat to slow down. Then I pulled the sheet off the armchair, balled it up, and tossed it into the corner.

I sank down into the plush, leather chair. It smelled stale and mildewy, but I didn’t care.

I needed to think.

What next? What to do next?

I didn’t stay seated for long. Two large portraits on the wall across from the mantel caught my eye. A man and a woman.

I climbed up and crossed the room to examine them. A gold plaque beneath the portraits explained that the couple had donated the house to the sorority.

The man was old, bald, and had a beak like a chicken. Feeble-looking despite his expensive, well-tailored suit. He had a half smile on his face that made his expression kind of sad.

And the woman. The woman was kind of horsey-looking. A long face. Big teeth. She wore a flowered dress with a high collar up to her chin.

And her hair was up . . . just like . . . just like . . .

Just like my mother wore.

Her hair pinned up behind her head like a tilting beehive.

The same eyes too. My mother’s eyes. So small and cold and disapproving. Eyes like steel marbles.

I could smell that awful perfume, so sweet you wanted to puke. The only sweet thing about her. It’s a miracle the perfume didn’t turn sour on her skin.

Sour.

Yes. That’s my mother, all right.

She followed me here.

Will she follow me everywhere?

Follow me to summer camp, Mom? Did you follow me? Did your sourness follow me all the way to Maine for my one measly summer away at camp?

Dear Buttertubs.

That’s how you addressed every letter you wrote to me that summer when I was twelve.

Buttertubs Mathis. That’s what you wrote on the envelopes.

And when the counselor called us together for mail call, she would shout out the names on the envelopes. Shout them out for us to come forward to claim our mail.

“Linda Edwards . . . Marci Kass . . . Buttertubs Mathis!”

They howled, Mother. The other girls—they thought it was a riot.

But I didn’t laugh.

When no one was looking, I cried.

Dear Buttertubs,

Are you getting enough to eat up there? Don’t dive into the swimming pool. You want to leave some water in it for the others . . .

You wrote only two letters that entire summer, Mother. But they were enough.

Enough to make me look like a total geek in front of everyone. Enough to make sure that I came home without making any friends.

That awful hairdo. Those lipsticked lips, curled into a smug sneer. The perfume . . . Sweet Gardenia, was it?

Where was the sweetness, Mother? Where?

Dear Buttertubs . . .

You didn’t give up. Even later. You never stopped.

In my senior year in high school, when I thought I was in love with Mark . . .

Mark, with the laughing dark eyes. The wavy, black hair, so shiny and wild. That insane, yelping laugh. The jokes. Always cracking jokes.

Mark . . .

You did everything you could to keep me from him, Mother. You stayed in the room and never let us talk alone. You listened in on our phone conversations.

You called me Fat Girl and Buttertubs in front of him.

Do you think I’ll ever forget the day you told Mark you had a new game to play? It was called Let’s-All-Count-Hope’s-Chins.

How many tears did that little joke cost me?

I tried to lose weight. You know I did.

I tried to be the daughter you wanted. So why did you hate me so much?

The night I planned to sneak out and meet Mark . . .

Homecoming night. My senior year. I was seventeen, Mother. Old enough to go out with a guy I liked.

But you said I was too young to date. You would never let me see Mark unless you were there to chaperone.

I had to sneak out—because of you. I had to sneak and scheme and plot because you wouldn’t let me have a normal life. You locked me in my room. You refused to let me eat.

You refused to let me be . . . normal.

And so I planned to sneak out to go to the game and the dance with Mark. And you called me into the kitchen. I remember it so well.

How did you know my plans? How?

“I have a surprise for you, Hope,” you said. I remember the blank look on your face. So calm and cold. Your eyes so dull, revealing nothing at all.

“I have a surprise for you,” you said. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

I had no choice. I knew you were up to something. But I did as you said.

I held out my hands.

And heard that metallic click.

And opened my eyes to see the handcuff around my wrist. The heavy chain. The other handcuff—on your wrist!

You handcuffed me to you, Mother.

You knew I planned to see Mark. To go to the game. To dance and be normal.

And so you handcuffed us together that night. Together. We were together all night.

We ate dinner with one hand. We did the dinner dishes. You washed and I dried. Together. Together. We even had to sleep in the same bed.

You were so pleased with yourself.

You didn’t release me until the next morning.

And then you grounded me for two weeks. You punished me for planning to go out.

In my room for two weeks. Two weeks, still feeling the burn on my wrist from where the handcuff had rubbed.

That’s when my friends appeared.

I needed them, and that’s when they appeared.

Eden, Angel, and Jasmine. They came to me when I needed them most.

My friends . . . such good friends.

At last, I had someone to talk to. Someone to laugh with and cry with and share my life with.

You couldn’t keep me from them, Mother. You couldn’t keep Eden, Angel, and Jasmine away.

Handcuffs wouldn’t work. Locking me in my room wouldn’t work, either.

Insulting me, calling me names wouldn’t keep them away.

We were so close, the four of us. Like one person.

I was so happy when I was awarded my scholarship. I was going off to college with my friends.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

Nothing . . .

I stared hard at the photograph on the wall, stared until it blurred before my eyes.

“Stop following me!” I shrieked. “Stop following me! Stop following me! Stop following me!”

I smashed her portrait with my fists. Again. Again.

“Stop following me! Stop following me!”

The glass shattered. And fell to the floor.

Now I could reach the photo. Now I could reach her.

I clawed at her face.

Clawed with both hands.

“Stop following me, Mother! Stop following me!”

I clawed and clawed.

Clawed till my fingernails tore. And my fingers bled. And the blood flowed down my mother’s face.

part two

Melanie

chapter

6

I closed my French textbook and turned to Mary. She was down on the floor at her dresser, pawing through the bottom drawer. She stopped and scratched her curly red hair with both hands.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Chlorine,” she replied. “It totally dries out my hair. Makes my scalp so itchy.”

I tossed my textbook aside and stood up. “No. I meant, what are you searching for?”

Mary frowned. “I thought I had another swimsuit in this drawer. You know. The blue one?”

I laughed. “Mary, all of your swimsuits are blue.”

She returned to the dresser drawer. “But this one is blue blue,” she said.

“Where’s Margie?” I asked. “Still at the library?”

Mary nodded. “Margie said she’d be studying late. I think she’s taking Perfect Person lessons from you!”

“Hey—I’m not perfect!” I protested. “Stop saying I’m perfect all the time. You’re giving me a real complex.”

Mary shoved the dresser drawer closed and climbed to her feet. “Look at your hair, Melanie,” she said, pointing. “When is the last time you brushed it?”

I thought about it. “This morning, I guess. When I woke up.”

“And look at it!” Mary declared. “It’s four in the afternoon, and your hair is still perfect. Even the bangs are perfectly straight.”

“Give me a break,” I sighed. “You’ve lived with me all semester. You know what a total slob I am.”

“Hah!” Mary cried, putting her hands on her hips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

“It means hah!” she replied.

Mary is a very sweet person, and I love her dearly. But she’s not very good at arguing.

Margie is the great discusser and debater in our room. She loves to tear things apart and put them back together again. She loves to tear people apart too. What I mean is, Margie is very critical. Very opinionated.

But Mary is from South Carolina. She says people in the South are too polite to be opinionated. So she usually ends every argument with a “Hah!” And that’s that.

Margie and I both grew up outside of Boston. Sometimes Mary thinks we two Northerners are ganging up on her.

Margie and I will talk about anything. Anything. But Mary often gets embarrassed. She’s actually very private. She doesn’t like to talk about herself. And she hates to gossip about others.

I often wonder if the three of us will be friends after college. We’re all so different. But I think the horrible things that have happened this semester have made us a lot closer.

Mary glanced at the clock on her dresser. “Hey, we’re late, Melanie. Aren’t you going to swim practice?”

I shook my head and reached for the French book. “Can’t. I have a make-up test in French in half an hour.”

Mary’s mouth dropped open. “You? A make-up test? How did you miss the test?”

I sighed. “You remember. I went to see that shrink. Because of my nightmares after the whole thing with Hope across the hall.”

Mary nodded solemnly. “Oh, yeah. Right.”

“I saw the doctor three times that week,” I told her. “She really helped me a lot.” I opened the French book. “But I missed a bunch of classes.”

Mary’s blue eyes studied me. “I guess you’re not perfect after all,” she said softly.

I laughed. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Mary didn’t smile. She shuddered. “I can’t believe it’s been over a week, and the police haven’t found Hope.”

“It’s really scary,” I agreed.

Mary bit her bottom lip. “My mother keeps calling me. Asking me if I want to come home till they catch her.”

“Huh? The murders were on the news down there?” I exclaimed.

Mary nodded. “I guess it’s a big story because Hope has all those personalities.” She frowned again. “I don’t understand it. I really don’t. How can one girl think she’s three other girls?”

“And a boy,” I added. “But that’s not the scariest part. How can a normal-looking girl go out and murder two boys? Cut them to pieces, and then just go back to her dorm room as if nothing happened?”

Mary raised both hands in the air. “Enough. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I really don’t.”

“Hey—you brought it up,” I replied.

“It—it’s just because I’m still so frightened,” she confessed. “I mean, Hope lived right across the hall from us. A crazy murderer—and we knew her!”

“I used to hear her talking in there,” I recalled. “Arguing. Laughing. I thought she was talking on the phone. I never dreamed . . .”

“Enough!” Mary repeated. “I mean it. It’s so scary. Everyone on campus is scared. Scared to go out at night. Scared to cross The Triangle after dark. Scared to do anything.”

She turned away from me and pulled her swim bag out from under her bed. Then she started stuffing things into it.

“They’ll catch Hope,” I assured her.

Mary shook her head. “Melanie, it’s been over a week. The girl has disappeared. No one knows if she’s still around campus or not. That’s what’s so scary.”

She zipped the bag. “I’m afraid to walk to the swim center. I really am. It’s way on the other side of campus. You know. The neighborhood isn’t too great there.”

She sighed. “It’s just so horrible to be afraid all the time.”

I jumped up. “Tell you what. I’ll walk you to the swim center,” I offered. “Then I’ll go to French from there.”

“No thanks,” Mary replied. “You’ve got to study. I’ll be okay. Really.”

“You sure?” I asked. “Sure you wouldn’t feel better if I walked you?”

“No. Thanks. I’ll be fine. See you later.”

I said good-bye and watched her walk out the door.

I felt a little guilty. Mary looked so scared. I think she really did want me to walk her to the pool.

I should have. Maybe I could have helped her.

But I had no way of knowing that I would never see her again.

chapter

7

Darryl

I’m watching you, Mary.

I’ve been watching you for days. Following you from your dorm, Fear Hall—which used to be my home too. Following you to your classes.

I can’t go to classes anymore, thanks to you. Thanks to you and your roommates. Since you talked to the police, I can’t lead a normal life like the rest of you. I have to hide like a criminal.

Well, maybe I am a criminal, Mary. Maybe I’m a very dangerous criminal.

I guess you’ll soon find out the truth.

Because I’ve been following you every day. I know your schedule by heart now. I know when you have classes and when you don’t. I know where you eat lunch, and I know where you go to study.

And I know when you and Melanie go to the swim center for your team practices. I’ve been watching you swim. Yes, I have.

You’re not bad. Not as strong or fast as Melanie, of course. But she’s perfect. That’s why they named her team captain.

How do you feel about that, Mary? How do you feel about having to compete with a roommate who is always perfect, always the best?

She even looks better in her swimsuits, doesn’t she. Her legs are so long and slender. No chubby thighs like yours.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Does that annoy you sometimes, Mary? Does it make you wish you didn’t know Melanie? How do you really feel about living with perfect Melanie?

Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. You’re not going to be living with her for much longer.

I’ve watched you practice all week. I’ve seen you work on your butterfly stroke. That’s really a hard stroke, isn’t it? You have to be as strong as Melanie to perform the butterfly well.

You’ve got to keep your head down, Mary. You’ve got to steady your breathing. That’s what the coach has been telling you.

I could hear every word. You haven’t seen me. But I’ve been watching you so closely.

I’m up here in the high balcony above the pool. Where the newspaper reporters sit. There’s no one else up here during practices. I can watch you and listen. And make my plans.

What a shame that you and your friends talked to the police, Mary. You got Hope in a lot of trouble. And now Hope is angry at me.

Hope blames me. She doesn’t want me hanging around. She doesn’t want to see poor Darryl anymore.

Hope and I were so close, Mary. So close.

And now she doesn’t want to see me. Because she’s in trouble. Thanks to you.

So I have to fix things. I have to win Hope back.

And I know just how to do it. I have to show Hope how much I care about her.

She would never pay you and your roommates back for what you did to her. But I will do it for her. And then Hope will know how much I care. She will know how much she needs me.

I’m watching you now, Mary. I’m sitting up here in the dark press room. Staring down at you through the long glass window.

Where is Melanie this afternoon? Why isn’t she at practice today?

I can’t believe she’s going to miss your last swim . . .

• • •

The coach squatted on the edge of the pool, her stopwatch raised in front of her face. She was timing the girls’ laps, one by one.

Her whistle rang through the building, echoing off the tiled walls. The first swimmer dove into the pool with barely a splash.

Mary was fourth in line. I figured I had plenty of time.

I slid off my seat in the press box, backed away from the window, and made my way to the narrow stairway in back. I hurried down the curving stairs, leaning my weight on the railing to keep my steps as silent as possible.

A doorway opened into the pool area. I hesitated. Heard the coach’s whistle followed by another splash. Girls shouted encouragement to the new swimmer.

I followed the stairs down. I knew exactly where they led. I’d checked it all out carefully. I’d been running the plan through my head endlessly.

The doorway at the bottom of the steps led into the training room. I stopped at the closed door. I suddenly had a bad feeling.

Had someone locked the door?

That would ruin everything.

I turned the knob. The door opened easily. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, I slipped inside.

I glanced up and down the rows of lockers. I crept along the wall to the long shower room and peered in. No one around.

I checked out the coach’s little office across from the locker room. Sometimes people wait in there to see the coach after practice.

But today it was empty.

“Perfect,” I murmured to myself.

The word made me think of Melanie. Where was she this afternoon? Why had she skipped practice?

Sometimes Melanie joined Mary in the Jacuzzi after practice. If she had shown up today, I could have killed two birds . . .

The Jacuzzi bubbled and hissed on the other side of the shower room. Steam wisped up from the bubbling water.

They keep that baby really hot.

I guessed that was good for the swimmers’ muscles after coming from the cold pool.

It won’t be good for your muscles today, Mary, I thought.

I moved quickly to the supply cabinet. One more important hurdle to cross. One more lap before I could head for the finish of the race.

Had someone locked the cabinet?

No. I pulled open the door and peered inside.

My eyes swept from the top shelf to the bottom. Ace bandages and other medical supplies on top. One shelf of gray towels. Books and papers and equipment manuals on the next shelf.

And on the bottom of the cabinet, my precious supplies. The things I needed to pay Mary back. To win Hope back.

The white plastic, gallon-sized bottles of chlorine. I knelt down and counted six of them. Six gallons of chlorine.

That should be more than enough, I thought.

A few days before, I’d hidden back by the lockers and watched the coach add chlorine to the Jacuzzi. She’d poured about two cups into the dispenser on the side. The chlorine would be fed into the circulating water a little at a time.

Six gallons would do the trick, I knew. I hoisted the first one off the floor. Heavier than I thought. But I dragged it over to the bubbling Jacuzzi, pulled off the cap—and poured the clear liquid into the steaming water.

I carefully replaced the empty gallon bottle on the floor of the cabinet and lifted out another one.

It took longer than I thought to pour all six gallons of chlorine into the Jacuzzi. I was just emptying the last bottle when I heard the door swing open and heard girls’ voices from the hall.

I swung around quickly. Tossed the empty bottle into the cabinet. Shut the door.

Behind me, bare feet slapped against the concrete floor. I heard a girl complain about how cold the pool was. A girl sneezed. Two girls called out, “Bless you.”

I backed away from the Jacuzzi. Found the hiding place I’d picked out days ago—an empty cubby way in the back where no one ever went.

In front of me, the Jacuzzi steamed and gurgled.

Holding my breath, I slipped into my dark hiding place.

And waited.

chapter

8

The girls changed quickly into their street clothes. Most of them seemed in a hurry to leave.

I heard someone call to Mary, “Are you coming to dinner?”

Mary moved into view. I saw her pull off her swim cap. Her red hair bounced out. She had her back to me. She adjusted her swimsuit. Then she raised one leg and rubbed her knee.

“Mary—you’re always the last one dressed,” one of her teammates said.

“I just want to go in the whirlpool for a few minutes,” Mary replied. “My leg muscles are all cramped.”

Voices trailed off down the hall. The training room door slammed shut.

A few seconds later, the room stood silent.

I peeked out from my dark corner and, between the row of metal lockers, I could see Mary. She dropped a white towel beside the Jacuzzi. Then, resting a hand on the chrome ladder, she stepped into the steaming water.

I poked my head out farther. I wanted to see what happened next.

I watched her lower herself into the swirling, hot pool.

I could see her face and her pale shoulders above the water.

It took a few seconds before she started to scream.

Her mouth opened in shock. Her hands shot up.

Her shrill cry echoed off the walls and metal lockers.

“Ohhhhh! Help me! Somebody—help!”

She thrashed the water. She raised herself up, but appeared to fall.

She screamed again. “It burns! Oh, help! It burrrrrrns!”

Her face flamed bright red now.

The water splashed and churned.

She pulled at her hair with both hands. “Help me! Somebody! I’m burning! I’m burning!”

Screaming, she lurched across the whirlpool, sending a wave of water crashing over the side. She splashed and thrashed some more. Then I saw one hand grab the railing, and she pulled herself out.

Her eyes were wild. She held her head with both hands. And staggered over the floor.

Her skin—her arms, her legs—were red as fire.

Squinting through the lockers, I saw the skin on her arms start to peel.

“Help me! Help me!”

She dropped to her knees, still wailing and crying.

And someone appeared. A woman bent over Mary. The swim team coach. She tried to wrap a towel around Mary’s shoulders.

“I’m burning! Make it stop burning!” Mary wailed.

The towel fell off. Blisters had formed on her shoulders.

The coach grabbed for the towel. “I don’t know what to do!” she screamed.

“Help me! Help me!” Mary wailed, her cries growing weaker.

And then the coach turned, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She turned—and stared right at me.

I’m caught, I realized.

I’m trapped back here. Nowhere to escape.

What do I do now?

chapter

9

Hope

I jumped up when I heard someone pounding on the front door.

Had I been napping? Did I fall asleep on the living room couch? I blinked several times, my heart thudding. I didn’t remember falling asleep.

The pounding continued. I froze in the middle of the room, staring toward the door.

Who could it be? No one lived here in this old sorority house. No one knew I’d been hiding here for over a week.

I moved unsteadily to the door. “Who is it?” I called out.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice replied.

I didn’t want to see Darryl. I didn’t want to see him ever again.

But he was pounding on the door so urgently, and his voice sounded so excited. I couldn’t help myself. I pulled open the front door.

He burst in, breathing hard. Hurried past me, into the living room, his hair wild, his hands balled into tight fists.

“Close the door! Hurry!” he ordered.

I obediently shut the door. I suddenly felt dizzy. Why was he here? Why was he so pumped up?

“I did it for you, Hope,” he choked out breathlessly. He began pacing back and forth in front of me, fists swinging at his sides. His leather bomber jacket was open. The red T-shirt he wore underneath was torn at the collar.

“Did what?” I demanded. I had a sudden cold feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“I burned her,” Darryl said. He stopped pacing. I’d never seen his eyes so wild, so crazy. “I burned her. I burned Mary.”

The words didn’t make any sense to me. “Mary?” I asked. “From Fear Hall?”

He nodded. “She’s dead. I did it for you, Hope. I knew you wanted me to.”

“You what?” I cried. The cold feeling shot through my whole body. I grabbed the front of Darryl’s jacket. “Did you really kill again? Are you telling the truth? You really killed Mary?”

He nodded. He took a deep breath. “I watched her skin burn from the chlorine while she sat in the Jacuzzi. She kicked and screamed for a while. Then it was over.”

“No!” I cried. “No—you didn’t!”

He nodded again. “I almost didn’t get away. I almost got caught. The swim team coach. What’s-her-name. She was in the training room. She saw me.”

“She recognized you?” I cried.

Darryl shrugged. “I don’t know. She saw me. She started to scream. I didn’t know what to do. I was trapped, back against the wall. I had to get out of there.”

“So what did you do?” I whispered. I shut my eyes. I really didn’t want to hear the answer.

“I ran,” Darryl replied. “I lowered my shoulder and barreled right into her.”

“You knocked her over?” I cried, my eyes still shut.

“I shoved her into the Jacuzzi,” he replied breathlessly.

I gasped. And opened my eyes. “You killed her too?”

He scowled at me. “How should I know? I didn’t hang around. You know? I ran out of there while she was still splashing and crying.”

“And you ran all the way here?” I asked him. My eyes went over his shoulder to the front door. “Did anyone see you? Did anyone follow you?”

“No. Why would anyone follow me?” he replied. He sank into the leather armchair.

“No!” I shouted. “Get up!” I tugged him up by the jacket sleeves. “Get up, Darryl. You can’t stay here!”

He narrowed his pale blue eyes at me. “What’s your problem, Hope? You and I—”

“You killed again!” I shrieked. “That’s my problem! You can’t stop killing, Darryl! You’re sick. You’re horribly sick. And—and—”

My words caught in my throat. I choked.

He stepped forward and put a hand tenderly on my shoulder.

His touch used to thrill me. But now it made my stomach churn.

“Those three girls said you were crazy, Hope,” he said softly. “They forced you to run from the dorm. I burned Mary for you. And now it’s payback time for the other two. I’m doing it for you. I’m doing it to show you how much I care.”

“No!” I protested. “No! No! No! I don’t want you to, Darryl. I just want you to go away. Go away and don’t come back!”

He pulled his hand away. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do!” I shrieked.

I grabbed his hand with both of mine. And pulled him and shoved him out of the room.

And out the front door.

He stumbled off the porch. Caught his balance. Turned angrily toward me. “Hope—you and I have to stay together. We don’t really have a choice. We—”

“No! You frighten me!” I told him, my voice trembling. “You frighten me too much, Darryl. You’ve got to stop killing. You’ve got to stop. But I don’t think you can.”

“You don’t want me to stop!” he insisted. “Not until Margie and Melanie—”

“Good-bye.” I cried. I couldn’t listen to any more of this. I was shaking all over. I felt so dizzy, I grabbed the side of the house.

“Good-bye, Darryl,” I said. “I really mean it this time. Good-bye.”

He opened his mouth to reply. But I slammed the front door shut.

I pressed my back against the door and crossed my arms tightly around myself. Holding my breath, trying to force my heart to slow down, I shut my eyes and listened.

I didn’t move until I heard his footsteps thud down the driveway.

Then I took a deep breath and made my way shakily into the living room.

The sun was setting. A rosy red glow washed in from the two bay windows at the front. Long blue shadows stretched across the dusty floor.

A shadow moved toward me. I jumped back. It was just the cat.

I felt so shaky, I had to sit down. I started toward the armchair, but stopped.

Something caught my eye. A sheet of paper on the couch cushion.

I picked it up. It had writing on it.

A note?

How did it get here? I wondered. Did someone come into the house while I was napping?

I raised it close to my face to read it. The light was so dim, it was hard to read.

My hands were still shaking. I had to hold the paper tightly with both hands to keep it steady.

I squinted at the tiny handwriting. So small and light. The handwriting looked familiar.

It’s from someone I know, I thought. Someone who has written to me before.

But who? How did he or she know I was here?

And how did they get in here without my seeing them?

I squinted harder and read the words:

I’m coming for you, Hope. You can’t run away from me.

chapter

10

Chris

I dropped my two heavy cartons on the floor and studied the doors on both sides of the long dormitory hall. I was standing in front of 2-C. So, I figured, 2-J must be at the end of the hall.

With a groan, I hoisted up the cartons and made my way unsteadily down the hall. Reggae music jangled from one room. I heard guys laughing and shouting in the next.

Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. These cartons weighed a ton! And I still had three more cartons and two suitcases to carry over to Fear Hall.

At times like these, I wish I was really strong. I wish I worked out and had biceps out to here. But, hey—I’m a history major. I’m not a jock. And my whole family is small and wiry. So why should I be any different?

At least people don’t call me Mouse anymore. I left that nickname behind in high school.

I shifted the weight and staggered down the hall. Two guys in jogging sweats squeezed past me. They didn’t offer to help.

It reminded me of Al, my apartment roommate. Big Al. He didn’t offer to help, either. Of course, since most of our apartment building had just burned down, Al had to move too.

He found another apartment, even closer to campus. But I had to move into the dorm.

“Are you really moving into Fear Hall?” he asked, grinning his dumb grin at me. “Isn’t that dorm for girls?” His grin grew wider. “Hey—are you going to be the only guy there? You’ll invite me over—right?”

“The college opened up the second floor for guys,” I told him. “I won’t be the only one. A bunch of guys from Carver Hall were moved in last week.”

“Carver is a bigger dump than Fear Hall,” Big Al said with a sneer. He scratched his head. “Isn’t Fear Hall supposed to have ghosts and stuff? Aren’t you scared?”

“Yeah. For sure.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m shaking all over,” I said sarcastically.

“And didn’t the police say whoever murdered those two guys may have lived in Fear Hall?” Al demanded.

“Yeah. I read about that,” I said.

“You’re going to move in with murderers?” Al cried.

“It couldn’t be any scarier than our apartment building,” I told him. “Every time I climbed the stairs, I could hear rats scurrying around in the halls.”

Big Al laughed. “At least the rats kept away the cockroaches.”

I waited for him to offer to help me carry my stuff to Fear Hall. But he didn’t offer. So I said, “Catch you later,” and started lugging my cartons downstairs. He sat and watched me, a dumb smile on his face.

Nice guy.

Moving in the middle of the semester is not too great. I have a European History exam on Monday. I should be studying for it instead of lugging my stuff across campus.

Anyway, the door to 2-J was open. I set down my cartons and poked my head in. Two guys were seated at desks across the room. They looked up from their computers.

“You the new guy?” one of them asked. He was a big, round guy. Big, thick neck. Huge shoulders. Looked like a middle linebacker.

I nodded and mopped sweat off my forehead with my shirtsleeve. “Yeah. I’m Chris,” I told them. “Chris Sandburg.”

“They told us you were coming,” the other guy said. He walked over and shook hands. “I’m Will, and he’s Matt.” Will was tall and lanky, with dark skin. He had a friendly smile.

“Your old apartment burned down?” Matt asked, studying me.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Only half the building. But we all had to move out.” I started to drag my cartons through the doorway. Will picked up the top one and carried it in.

I followed him through the front room into the bedroom. There were small dressers in the room and two bunk beds against the walls.

“Matt and I took bottom bunks,” Will said. “You can choose either top one.”

“How is it here?” I asked. “I mean in Fear Hall.”

“It’s great!” Matt replied from the other room. “The place is crawling with girls!” He appeared in the doorway, chewing on a pencil. “You going with anyone?”

“No,” I replied awkwardly. “Not yet.”

I’d been really shy in high school. I just found it hard to talk to girls. I didn’t have a girlfriend. I had a couple of good buddies. Guys. But I don’t think I went out with girls more than three or four times in all four years of high school.

When I came to Ivy State, I promised myself things would be different. I’m older now, and more mature, I decided. I don’t have to be shy anymore.

But this was my second year at Ivy State. And so far, I hadn’t met any girl that I was really interested in or who seemed interested in me.

Maybe living in a dorm jam-packed with girls will change things, I told myself. Maybe Will and Matt will help me meet some girls I’ll like.

It took a couple of hours to bring up my stuff and unpack it all. Will had to go to a meeting. But Matt helped me carry everything up to the room.

By the time I finished unpacking a few hours later, I was pretty wrecked, and drenched with sweat. I still had a carton of books to arrange on a shelf. I thought maybe it could wait until the next day.

Will reappeared and dropped down on his bunk. Matt leaned in the bedroom doorway. “You know about Fear Hall’s reputation?” Will asked.

I nodded. “I’ve seen the sweatshirts,” I replied. “You know. I SURVIVED FEAR HALL.”

Matt smiled, a strange smile, not exactly pleasant. “It’s all true,” he said softly.

I squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

“The stories about strange howls at night and missing students,” he said. “They’re true. They’re not made up.”

“Give me a break,” I sighed.

Will’s expression turned serious. “It’s no joke, man. There’s a guy down the hall we know from Carver. His name is Freddie. He just moved in last week, like we did. He went to take a bath two days ago—and the tub was filled with blood. Boiling hot blood.”

I laughed. “You’re joking—right?”

“No joke,” Will replied, his brown eyes locked on mine.

“And what about the girl upstairs? The one on the eighth floor?” Matt chimed in.

“What about her?” I asked.

“She keeps seeing a face in her mirror,” Matt replied.

“Her own face?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. She keeps seeing a girl’s face. An old-fashioned-looking girl, real faded and pale, with her hair in those tight, curly ringlets. You know. Like they wore in old photographs.”

“You’re kidding me,” I murmured.

He raised his right hand as if swearing an oath. “No. Total truth. She’s seen the face in her mirror two or three times. And each time, the girl’s lips move, as if she’s trying to talk to her. As if she’s trying to tell her something.”

I didn’t say anything. I turned from Matt to Will, then back to Matt. I was trying to decide if they were serious.

Finally, I shrugged and muttered, “Weird.” What else could I say?

“Yeah. Weird,” Will repeated.

“I’m going to take a long, hot shower,” I announced. “I’m so sweaty and sore from unpacking.”

They made their way back to the front room. A few seconds later, I could hear Will tapping away at his computer. Matt started talking on the phone.

Thinking about their strange stories, I got undressed and walked into the bathroom.

Steaming hot blood in the bathtub? A strange girl’s face in the mirror?

I stepped into the shower. Checked to make sure there was soap and shampoo. Closed the glass shower door and turned on the hot water.

The shower head hissed and coughed.

I turned the hot water knob.

Another hiss. And then the water sprayed out.

Hot and—red!

Red water!

Bright red.

No. Not water. Not water . . .

Hot red blood sprayed over my face, my chest.

I opened my mouth in horror. And started to scream.

chapter

11

I shut my eyes and slapped at my chest, trying to brush away the steaming red liquid.

I staggered against the shower door. Pushed it open with my shoulder.

And heard laughter, high-pitched laughter from the other room.

The bathroom door swung open. Matt and Will burst in, grinning. “Did we hear a scream?” Matt shouted over the rush of the shower.

“The blood—” I started.

But I knew. I knew from their grins that I’d been had.

“Smell it,” Will instructed.

I inhaled deeply. And smelled cherry.

They both laughed again and slapped each other a high-five.

“We put red Jell-O in your shower head,” Matt explained.

“The old red Jell-O trick!” Will said, laughing. “Hey, man—you’re a good screamer!”

That started them both laughing again.

“Welcome to Fear Hall!” Matt declared.

I gazed down. My chest was streaked with red. The water from the shower head was clear now. “Ha-ha. Funny,” I muttered.

And I slammed the shower door shut.

• • •

Of course I felt like a total geek. Why did I scream like that? Why can’t I ever be cool about anything?

I was still thinking about it, still embarrassed, as I made my way downstairs to the big meeting room after dinner. I didn’t feel much like partying. But the dorm had organized a mixer—desserts and dancing—a chance for the new guys in the dorm to meet the girls who lived upstairs.

I felt my usual nervousness as I stepped into the room. My throat choked up a little, and my hands were suddenly ice cold.

Be cool, Chris, I ordered myself. For once in your life, be cool.

When I started college, I promised myself I’d get over my shyness. Now is the time to keep that promise. Maybe I’ll meet some nice girls, I thought.

I glanced around the room. The chairs used for dorm meetings had all been pushed against the walls. A long table with a bright yellow tablecloth stood in one corner, loaded down with cookies and doughnuts and soft drinks.

About thirty or forty dorm residents—mostly girls—clustered in the middle of the room, chatting in twos and threes. Loud dance music thudded from a huge boom box. But no one was dancing.

With my hands shoved in the pockets of my khakis, I shambled over to the yellow table to get a Coke. As I walked, I counted the guys in the room. Only eight.

Pretty good odds, I thought. Eight guys and about thirty girls.

I wished Matt and Will had come down with me. It would have helped break the ice to have a couple of guys I already knew. But Matt went to see his girlfriend across campus. And Will said he had to study for an exam.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I bumped into the girl ahead of me in line at the drinks table. “Oh. Sorry,” I mumbled.

She turned around, startled.

She was really a babe. She had short, dark hair with smooth bangs across her forehead. She wore one long, dangling, glittery earring. Great smile.

“Hi. Did you just move in?” she asked. Her round, dark eyes studied me.

I could feel myself blushing. “Yeah. This afternoon, actually,” I managed to reply. “My apartment burned down, so . . .”

“You were homeless?” the girl next to her chimed in.

I nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I’m Melanie,” the first girl offered. “And this is my roommate Margie.”

Margie was short like me. She was kind of cute. She had sort of frizzed-out hair, a squeaky voice, and a little, turned-up nose.

“I’m . . . Chris,” I told them. Why is it always so hard to announce your own name to someone? Why does it always sound so awkward?

Margie handed me a Coke. “Have you ever lived in a dorm before, Chris?”

I shook my head. “No. Only in an apartment.”

Melanie sighed. “Dorms are supposed to be safer. But . . .” Her voice trailed off. She glanced away.

The music pounded louder. “No one is dancing,” I said, motioning to the crowd of kids squeezed together in the center of the room.

“No one is really in a party mood,” Melanie replied. She spoke softly. I could barely hear her over the music.

“It’s been so frightening here,” Margie added.

“Our roommate was murdered,” Melanie said. Her chin quivered.

I gasped. “Oh no—!” I cried. “Was she the one . . .?”

“In the whirlpool. At the swimming center,” Melanie said.

“That was so horrible,” I replied. My mouth suddenly felt very dry. I took a long sip from the paper cup of Coke. “I saw the body on TV. She was burned so badly—”

Margie let out a sob.

“I’m sorry!” I cried. “I didn’t mean . . .”

Melanie slid a comforting arm around Margie’s waist. “It’s okay,” she said to me. “Margie and I probably shouldn’t have come tonight. We’re both still pretty messed up. Mary was . . . such a good friend. We really can’t believe it happened.”

I nodded. I didn’t know what to say.

“We thought if we came to the mixer, we could forget about Mary for a few minutes,” Margie said sadly. “But I guess we can’t.”

“Everyone on campus is so frightened,” Melanie added. “Three murders in the past month. Plus the swimming coach is in the hospital. And the police just seem helpless. They can’t find the girl . . . the girl who . . .”

Her voice cracked.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think Margie and I had better go upstairs. Sorry. Really.”

“Me too,” I murmured. “Such a horrible thing.” What could I say to them? I’d read about the murders and watched the TV news shows. But I didn’t know any of the three victims personally.

How would it feel to know someone who was murdered? I asked myself.

“See you again,” Melanie said.

“Good luck in the dorm,” Margie added.

They hurried out of the room.

I hung around the mixer for a while. But it wasn’t much fun. Melanie was right. No one felt like partying.

I met a few other girls who seemed okay. But even though I tried to be cool and confident, I felt really uncomfortable.

It’s hard to get over being called ‘Mouse’ your entire life.

And I think some people are party animals and some aren’t.

By nine o’clock, a few couples had started to dance. And some kids were laughing and joking around.

But I decided I’d had enough. I didn’t feel like going back up to the room. I was too wired to sit down and try to study.

So I grabbed my down jacket and headed across The Triangle to a little coffee shop called Java Jim’s at the far north edge of campus.

Java Jim’s is away from most of the campus shops and restaurants. So it’s not really a student hangout. But I like it because it’s quiet, they have great chocolate chip cookies, and they let you sit over one cup forever.

I sat at the white Formica counter, chewing on a giant cookie, dunking it in my coffee. Thinking about Melanie and Margie. Thinking about how I couldn’t think of the right thing to say to them.

After I’d been there about fifteen minutes, I heard a cough. I turned and saw a girl down at the end of the counter. She had straight dark hair around a round face, and bright red lipsticked lips. She wore an oversized black sweater pulled down over black tights.

She stared straight ahead at the tile wall. Every few seconds, she’d take a short sip from her tall cappuccino.

I waited for her to glance over at me. I waited a long time. Finally, our eyes met. “Hi. How’s it going?” I called over to her.

She hesitated. Her brown eyes narrowed on me. “Okay,” she replied finally. She took a sip from her cup, then wiped foam off her upper lip with one finger. “Good coffee here.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed. Did she want to have a conversation? I wondered. Or was she just being polite?

“You go to Ivy State?” I asked.

She appeared to think about it. “Yeah. Sort of,” she said. She uttered a short laugh. “I had to drop out for this semester.”

I nodded. “I’m a sophomore,” I told her. “I just moved into the dorm this afternoon. My apartment burned down.”

Her mouth formed an O of surprise. “Burned down?”

“Yeah. Well, actually, half the building,” I said. “The other half. Not my apartment. But—”

“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.

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.

“Hey—what’s wrong with your hands?” Chris’s voice broke through the roar.

“Huh?” I blinked several times, struggling to focus.

Chris took my right hand and turned it palm up. We both stared at the line of little red bruises in the center of my palm.

“Did you cut yourself?” Chris asked.

“In my sleep, I think,” I told him. “I dug my nails into my skin. Must have been having a bad dream.”

He examined the palm, holding my hand gently. I liked the way he held my hand. It sent a tingling feeling up my arm.

“It must have been a really bad dream,” he said, finally letting go. “I don’t blame you for having bad dreams, Karen. Not with the horrible murders on this campus.”

I felt guilty about not telling him my real name. It was probably better to play it safe, though. He might slip and tell someone he’d met a girl named Hope. Then I’d be in big trouble. It was better to let him go on thinking my name was Karen.

Chris shoved the newspaper away. “Can you believe it? Two girls from the same dorm room?”

I didn’t know what to say. I almost blurted out that I knew them too.

But of course that would be a stupid thing to admit. It would bring up too many other questions. I certainly didn’t want to tell Chris that I knew Mary and Margie because I had lived across the hall from them!

It wouldn’t take Chris long to figure out that I was the girl the police were looking for. So I just shook my head sadly and didn’t say a word.

“I think we should talk about something else,” Chris suggested. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you down.”

“It’s okay,” I told him. “I’ve been thinking about the murders too.”

We ordered tall iced mochas and split a plate of cookies. I think he felt as shy as I did. But when we finally started talking easily, we couldn’t stop.

I told him some stories about Jasmine and Angel. After I described Angel to him, he started teasing me, saying I should definitely bring her along next time.

Next time? I thought.

Is there really going to be a next time? Does he like me enough to see me again?

We ordered more iced coffees and another plate of cookies. He told me about Big Al, his roommate at the apartment that burned down. Chris said that Big Al could talk his way out of anything.

“You won’t believe how Big Al talked a police officer out of giving him a speeding ticket,” Chris said, snickering.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“Al told the cop that it wasn’t his fault he was speeding because he had fallen asleep behind the wheel, and so he had no way of knowing how fast he was going!”

We both laughed.

“And the cop bought that excuse?” I cried. “He didn’t give your friend the ticket?”

“No,” Chris replied. “He just walked back to his cruiser, scratching his head.”

We laughed some more.

And talked some more.

It was well after dark when we finally made our way out of the coffee shop. I was feeling so happy. Warm all over.

I took Chris’s arm and wrapped it around my waist. We sort of snuggled together as we walked. At the corner, I leaned closer and kissed him.

The kiss lasted a long time. I didn’t care if people passing by wanted to stare. I felt so good.

“I’ll walk you home,” Chris said, when we finally pulled apart.

His words ruined my warm feeling. “No!” I cried, way too sharply.

I could see his surprise.

“No. That’s okay,” I said, softer. “I live that way.” I pointed away from Fear Hall. “It’s way on the other side of campus. Too far out of your way. You don’t have to walk me.”

“Okay. When can I see you again?” he asked.

Yesssss! I thought. He really does like me!

I told him I’d call him at his dorm. He gave me his number. Then I turned and ran off before he insisted on walking me home again.

I practically flew home. I crossed streets without looking.

I’m not sure, but I may have been singing at the top of my lungs.

I knew he was the guy for me, I told myself. I knew it the first time I saw him.

Love at first sight. What a concept.

I jogged along Vermont. Then I trotted up the cracked and broken walk to the abandoned sorority house. It loomed dark and cold over the weed-choked yard. But I didn’t care. It looked like a palace for a fairy princess tonight.

I pulled open the door. I couldn’t wait to tell Jasmine and Angel about my time with Chris.

I burst into the living room.

A few steps from the entryway, I stopped—and uttered a cry. “Oh—!”

I pressed my hands against the sides of my face. “Darryl!” I cried. “What are you doing here?”

chapter

16

He scowled at me. He was breathing hard, and his face was bright red. He tore off his leather jacket and heaved it at the wall.

I pressed my hands to my waist and glared back at him. I stood my ground. I didn’t back away. I’d seen Darryl like this before.

“Well?” I demanded. “What are you doing in my house?”

His lips twisted into a bitter sneer. “Your house? This old wreck is now your house?”

I tried to hold back my anger. But it wasn’t easy. “Darryl, it’s all your fault that I have to live here,” I told him, spitting out the words. “It’s your fault I had to run from the dorm.”

His pale blue eyes grew even colder. “I did it all for you, Hope. You know that.”

“I didn’t ask you to kill Margie and Mary,” I cried. “I didn’t ask you to kill those girls!”

“You didn’t ask me,” he snapped. “But you wanted me to. Admit it.”

“I won’t admit it,” I shouted, folding my arms over my chest. “I was angry at them. But I didn’t want them to die. That—that’s crazy!”

He stared at me for a long moment without speaking. Then he said softly, “I didn’t come here to talk about that.”

“I want you to stop killing—” I insisted.

“I saw you with that guy,” Darryl said. His cheeks darkened to purple. “I saw you with him, Hope. You know I can’t allow that.”

“Allow that?” I shrieked. “Excuse me? Did you say you can’t allow that?”

I balled my hands into tight fists. My fingernails dug into the bruises in my palms, but I hardly noticed the pain.

I wanted to rush over and strangle Darryl. I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat, and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

How could I have cared about him so much? How could I have felt so close to him?

“You don’t own me!” I cried. “You can’t say what you’ll allow and what you won’t allow. Do you really think you can control my life? Do you really think you can control who I see and who I don’t see?”

By the time I finished that speech, I was gasping for breath.

Darryl stared back at me calmly. His face revealed no emotion at all, except for his red cheeks. “I can’t let you see this guy,” he said through clenched teeth. “He’ll only hurt you, Hope.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists. “Darryl, go away,” I ordered in a trembling voice. “I want you to go away and not come back. I really do.”

He didn’t react. Just stared back at me coldly, so coldly I could feel the chill.

“Go away, Darryl,” I repeated, shaking my fist. “Go away. And no more murders. Do you hear me? No more. And leave Chris alone. Don’t you dare come near him.”

Darryl finally broke his silence. He tossed back his head and laughed, a cold, cruel laugh. “Do you really think this guy Chris likes you?” he demanded.

“Yes. I—”

“Have you forgotten Mark?” Darryl cried. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten Mark Grazer.”

Of course I hadn’t forgotten Mark.

Just hearing his name made all the memories—the bad memories—flood back into my mind.

Mark Grazer . . .

I was so unpopular in high school. Shadyside High. It’s in a town called Shadyside, about fifty miles from Ivy State College.

My high school years were so unhappy. I wasn’t pretty, and I was so shy and overweight. And Mom never let me forget for a minute what a failure I was.

Then Mark came along. He was the first boy who ever liked me.

At least, I thought he did.

Even after my mother kept me from going to the dance with him, Mark asked me out again. He was so nice to me. He introduced me to all his friends. He said such wonderful things to me.

We went out to a diner with some of his friends. We talked for hours. We laughed and joked. Mark kept his arm around me the whole time.

What a feeling!

I didn’t get home till two in the morning. I knew my mother would be angry, but I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I felt normal. Part of a group.

Part of a couple.

I thought my life had changed. I thought I was in love.

Can you imagine how I felt when I found out that Mark had asked me out as a joke?

The day after our date, someone sent me a note. Unsigned.

It said that I should know the truth. That Mark had lost a bet with his friends. The loser of the bet had to ask me out and pretend to like me.

It was all a cruel joke. And the whole school knew about it.

They were all laughing at me behind my back. Everyone.

I locked myself in my room and cried for hours. How could Mark do that to me? How could everyone let him?

I couldn’t go back to that school. I couldn’t bear the staring eyes, the grinning faces.

Everyone knew. Everyone.

I stayed home the entire next week. I stayed in my room, crying and thinking. Thinking about how much I hated everyone in the world. Especially myself.

Luckily, I had Eden, Jasmine, and Angel. They stayed with me. They talked with me night and day. They were such good friends.

They tried to comfort me. They tried to tell me to be strong, to go back to that high school and pretend that nothing had happened.

But I couldn’t do that. My heart was broken. And I felt so . . . stupid and ashamed.

And then Darryl appeared.

Darryl was so wonderful. A boy I could trust.

Darryl really cared about me. He asked me out. He asked me to go driving around with him.

Darryl understood me right from the start. He knew all about Mark’s joke. He agreed that Mark was a sick creep.

I felt so good cruising around Shadyside in my car with Darryl at the wheel. So relaxed. So comfortable and happy.

We saw Mark walking on Park Drive, two or three blocks from the high school. Darryl tensed and leaned forward. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

He waited for Mark to start across the street.

Then he jammed his foot down on the gas pedal—and shot the car into Mark.

Mark never knew what hit him.

The front of the car slammed into Mark’s side and sent him flying. His arms and legs flew out. He hit the pavement on his face and stomach. And bounced a couple of times.

I’ll never forget the feel of the bump under our tires as Darryl drove the car over Mark’s body.

First the front tires bounced, then the back.

Then Darryl shot the car into reverse—and backed over Mark. Bump. Bump.

And then we rolled over Mark again. Bump. Bump.

Then we backed over him again. Bump. Bump.

Then we zoomed away, squealing with laughter, laughing till tears rolled down our cheeks.

What a day. What a memory . . .

I blinked a few times, blinking my thoughts away. I gazed around the dark living room of the abandoned sorority house, and realized that Darryl had vanished.

Has he left for good? I wondered.

I didn’t think so. Darryl was impossible to control. Impossible.

Melanie and her roommates in Fear Hall said I was crazy, I remembered. That’s what they told the police.

But I’m not crazy.

I need my friends. My good friends. Friends who will never leave me, never leave me alone.

I hugged myself tightly, feeling a deep chill. The room seemed to grow darker as my eyes wandered around it.

What will Darryl do now? I wondered.

He was in such a rage. Will he try to hurt Chris? Will he try to kill Chris?

“I hope not,” I murmured aloud.

Chris is such a great guy. He doesn’t deserve to be murdered by Darryl. He doesn’t deserve what happened to the others.

But, of course, I can’t control Darryl.

Can I?

chapter

17

Chris

Will and I had been shooting a few racks at the pool hall on Elm across from the campus. The place was noisy and crowded as usual, and Will and I had a good time.

It helped to take our minds off all the horrible things that had been going down in the past few days. When you have to concentrate on hitting a cue ball straight, you don’t have time to think about crazed murderers stalking the campus.

Will and I were becoming pretty good buddies. We hung out together more and more. He was nearly as bad a pool player as me, so the game was close and exciting.

Naturally, I ran into Big Al there. At first, he pretended he didn’t know me. His idea of a funny joke. Then he joined Will and me at our table.

He cleared the table before we could pocket a single ball. Big Al has spent a lot of time in pool halls.

“I’ve got to run, man,” he said, after slapping my back so hard that my eyes nearly popped out. “You guys are no competition.”

“We’re just suckering you,” Will joked. “Play one more game, and we’ll show you how really bad we are!”

“Do you live in Fear Hall too?” Al asked Will.

Will nodded. “Chris and I are roommates.”

Big Al finished his can of beer and let out a ferocious burp. “I’d clear out of there now if I was you,” he advised, only half joking. “I think the stories about that place are true. The kids in that dorm are dropping like flies.”

Will and I exchanged glances. We had escaped the fear for a few minutes. But Big Al’s remark brought all the horror back.

“Catch you later,” Al said, giving us a two-fingered military salute. We watched him push his way through the crowd to the door.

“Is he always that loud and gross?” Will asked.

“You get used to it,” I replied.

A few minutes later, we finished our game and headed out of the pool hall. It was a cold, cloudy night. No moon or stars in the sky. The air hung heavy and wet, threatening rain or maybe snow.

I pulled the collar of my jacket up and ducked my head into the wind. Will pulled down the black wool ski cap he always wore.

“So what’s up with that girl you told me about?” he asked, hurrying to keep up with me. I walk fast when it’s cold.

“You mean Karen?” I asked. I felt a cold raindrop on my forehead.

“Yeah. Karen. You see her again?” Will asked.

I shook my head. “Not since the other night. She’s kind of strange.”

Will grinned at me. “How strange?”

“I—I don’t really mean strange,” I stammered. “I mean . . . strange!”

He laughed.

We crossed the pool hall parking lot and turned onto the street.

“She’s very private,” I explained. “I mean, it’s very hard to get any information from her. Hard to get her to tell me anything about herself. She wouldn’t even tell me her last name!”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk,” Will teased. “Maybe she just wants some action!”

I shook my head. “She won’t give me her phone number,” I complained. “And she won’t tell me where she lives.”

“Weird,” Will muttered. “Hey—it’s starting to rain.”

“The other night, I offered to walk her home,” I continued. “And she acted . . . I don’t know . . . almost frightened.”

Will’s grin faded. “Maybe she has a boyfriend,” he suggested. “Maybe she’s sneaking out with you behind his back. That would explain why she doesn’t want you calling or coming around.”

“Hmmm . . . maybe,” I replied, thinking hard about it. “No—wait.” I stopped walking. “She told me she just broke up with a guy. That’s right. The night I met her. She said she broke up with a guy who was really jealous and possessive.”

“Do you think she was telling the truth?” Will asked.

I didn’t have a chance to answer.

I saw car headlights flash on.

I heard the squeal of tires.

“Hey—!” I opened my mouth in a startled cry.

The headlights washed over me. The car engine roared.

It’s not going to swerve! I realized. Frozen. Helpless.

It’s not going to turn.

It’s going to crash right into me!

chapter

18

With a terrified scream, I shot out my arms, stretched forward—and dove to the side of the street.

I landed hard on my stomach and hands, and slid about six feet over the wet asphalt.

“Oww!” Gravel sprayed up into my face. The street scraped the skin off my right hand.

I turned in time to see the car squeal to a stop.

I shook my head, trying to shake away the dizziness.

Whose car was it? Who is driving? Why did he or she try to mow us down?

Questions flew through my brain, racing by as fast as my heartbeat.

Will! I thought. Where is Will? Is he okay?

Still on my stomach, I saw Will on the other side of the car. He was shouting something. Shouting angrily.

I pulled myself to my feet, my hand throbbing with pain, my heart thudding.

Will jerked open the driver’s door. He was shouting and cursing.

I stumbled toward him, my legs shaky, heart still racing.

I was nearly to the car when I saw Matt climb out from behind the wheel. He was laughing like a lunatic.

Will grabbed him by the front of his jacket. “You almost killed us!” he cried.

Matt shook his head, still laughing. He pulled himself free of Will’s grasp. “You should have seen your faces!” he cried. “I could see you saying your prayers!”

“Are you nuts?” Will screamed. “Matt—what if Chris and I hadn’t dove away? Then what?”

“Roadkill!” Matt laughed. “Mashed road potatoes!”

I leaned on the car hood, catching my breath. I studied my cut hand in the light of the headlight. It wasn’t too bad. I pulled a cinder out of the cut. It wasn’t as deep as I’d thought.

Will and I narrowed our eyes at Matt.

“Hey, guys—” He raised both hands in the air and backed away. “Don’t look at me like that. I would have stopped. Really. I can stop on a dime.”

We didn’t reply. We just glared at him angrily.

“Really. I would have stopped,” he insisted, grinning. “I just wanted to give you guys a thrill.”

He started back to the car. “Come on. Get in. I’ll give you a lift to the dorm.”

Shaking my head grumpily, I climbed into the backseat. No way I’d ride up front with that lunatic!

“Matt, that was really dangerous.” I sighed.

Of course, I had no idea how much danger I was really in. No idea how frightening my life would become in the next couple of days.

part four

Darryl

chapter

19

Melanie is the problem.

Melanie was always the problem.

She was the one who led the police into Hope’s dorm room. She was the one who told the police that I didn’t exist. That none of Hope’s friends are real.

That Hope is crazy.

Hope never liked Melanie.

Melanie is such a stuck-up snob. Always strutting around with her perfect nose in the air. Always dressed so neatly. Such a total preppie. Her dark hair cut so perfectly, always falling where it should. Her lips always perfectly glossed, never dry and chapped. Her clear skin so rosy.

How did she dare say that Hope is crazy? How could she say something like that about someone she barely knew?

Yes, Melanie is the problem.

But not for long . . .

She is the last girl alive in room 13-A. If I take care of her, Hope will be so grateful. Hope will welcome me back with a smile and a hug.

And Hope and I will be together again. Everything will be the way it was before.

Hope says she doesn’t want me to kill again. But I know she doesn’t mean that.

I know Hope better than she knows herself.

Of course she wants Melanie to get what she deserves. Of course she wants payback time for Melanie.

Of course she wants Melanie to die.

It’s so cold tonight. I can feel the chill through my down parka and two sweaters. The ground crunches hard beneath my shoes as I cross The Triangle. The stars in the sky above the campus look like chunks of ice.

Soon, very soon, Melanie will be colder than ice.

I hesitate at the front doors to Fear Hall. I back up and let two girls go in. One of them glances at me but doesn’t smile.

It’s late. Nearly midnight. I peer through the glass into the brightly lit front lobby. Ollie, the feeble old guard, leans over the front desk, half snoozing.

Can I get past him without waking him up?

I shove my hands into my parka pockets and try to look as if I belong here. I walk quickly, but not too quickly, my eyes straight ahead on the elevators, a casual smile on my face.

Ollie glances up.

I can see him studying me.

For only a second.

Then he lowers his eyelids again.

Yesssss!

My heart pounding, I keep on walking to the elevators. My hand trembles as I push the button. But I’ve made it so far.

So far, it’s been real easy.

I’m surprised that the college hasn’t increased the security at the dorm. Why haven’t they added a few more guards? Why haven’t they at least replaced Ollie with someone who can stay awake?

They probably can’t believe this is happening. That’s what I think.

Such hideous murders on a peaceful little campus like Ivy State?

The college deans don’t believe it’s happening. And maybe they don’t believe it will happen again.

But it will.

In a few seconds.

The elevator hums gently as it begins to rise. I lean my back against the elevator wall and take a few deep breaths.

The dorm is quiet. As I glide up, I hear no music, no voices. Only the hum of the elevator and the loud whisper of my breathing.

Melanie will be asleep, I figure. Such a perfect student, she never had to put in any all-nighters, cramming for an exam.

She’d be getting her beauty sleep, I knew. All alone now. Her roommates gone. Poor Margie and Mary.

I picture Melanie all alone in that big dorm room. The bunk beds all empty now, except for hers.

The elevator bounces to a stop. My heart bounces with it.

Take it easy, Darryl, I tell myself. You have a job to do for Hope. So do it. Don’t make a big deal out of it.

The doors slide open. I peer out into the long, brightly lit hallway. I look both ways, making sure the coast is clear.

No one in the hall. Almost all of the room doors are shut.

Good.

I turn and walk quickly but quietly toward 13-A. My hands are squeezed into tight fists inside my coat pockets. The top of my head starts to tingle.

A sour smell fills my nose.

The smell of death?

The hall seems so much longer than it used to. I can see 13-A at the end, but it seems miles away.

A sound behind me makes me spin around.

No one there. Just the old building creaking, I guess.

I stop outside 13-A. I glance across the hall to Hope’s old room. The door is closed. I’m tempted to open it and see if anyone has moved in since Hope and her roommates had to leave.

But there’s no time for that, I remind myself. I have a job to do.

The top of my head tingles and itches. My temples throb. I ignore it. It’s happened before when I . . . had to take care of someone.

I grasp the doorknob to 13-A and slowly . . . slowly . . . turn it. And push.

The door slides open silently.

The room is dark. Pale yellow-green light floats in from the twin windows. The light washes over the room like ocean water.

For a moment, I see green waves rolling over the room. I have to blink several times to make the waves disappear.

My head throbs painfully now.

I press my thumbs against my temples, trying to soothe the pain away. Then I cross the front room and step into the bedroom.

Melanie is asleep with her back to me in the bottom bunk against the back wall. She is wearing striped pajamas, the stripes black in the dim, green light.

Her covers are twisted. One leg rests on top of the blankets. Her bare foot appears slim and green in the eerie light from outside.

I ignore the throbbing, the steady, painful throbbing that makes me feel as if my head is about to explode.

I pick up a pillow from the bottom bunk on the near wall. I grip the pillow in both hands. I already can see myself pressing it over her face. Holding it there. Holding it down. Pressing it . . . pressing it . . . until she stops squirming and struggling.

Until she stops breathing.

Melanie stirs but doesn’t awaken.

I move carefully, silently across the bedroom to her bunk.

I raise the pillow to my chest.

I bend down, bringing the pillow down with me.

This is going to be so easy.

So easy . . .

chapter

20

My hands squeeze the ends of the pillow.

I lower it into a pool of green light. Everything glows green now. My hands. The pillow. The blankets. Melanie’s long, dark hair. Long hair?

She groans in her sleep.

I jump back a step.

Her arm rolls off her side. She moves. Turns onto her back.

Her mouth is open. One eye opens.

Long hair?

Melanie has short hair.

I stare into the billowing green light. Into rolling ocean waves.

Stare through the throbbing . . . the hard pulsing . . . the rocking of the waves inside my head.

Stare down at the girl in the bed.

It isn’t Melanie!

I stagger back.

She stares up at me, both eyes open wide now. Wider.

She lowers her gaze to the pillow, still clenched between my hands.

She opens her mouth—and screams.

For a moment, I freeze. I stare back at her, trying to make her look like Melanie. Trying to make things right again.

Who is she?

Another scream makes me gasp. A shrill scream from behind me.

I turn and see another girl. In the top bunk against the front wall. She has pulled herself up. Her head is tossed back in another scream. Another.

“No! This isn’t right!” I cry. I don’t know why.

Their screams are making my head throb even harder.

I toss the pillow over the girl’s face.

I spin to the door.

Move, legs! I try to order my legs to get going.

But they’re caught in the billowing waves. The green swirls around me. I’m a prisoner. I’m trapped inside it.

Move! Move!

Finally, I take a heavy step toward the door.

“No—!” I cry out as arms wrap around my waist.

I hear a grunt. And a cry.

The other girl—the girl from the top bunk—has jumped down. Her hands grab at my waist. She tackles me from behind. She butts me with her shoulder. Tries to shove me against the wall.

“Let . . . go!” I choke out.

“Call downstairs!” she shrieks to her friend. “Call the guard! Becky—call him!”

Becky?

All new girls in this room. And one of them has her arms around my waist and is trying to pull me down to the floor.

No! I tell myself. Darryl, you can’t let this happen. You can’t let Hope down. You can’t get caught. Hope needs you too much.

I twist around. I pull the back of my hand up . . . and smash it against her face.

She lets out a startled sob. A gob of spit runs down the side of her mouth.

I slap her again, and her hands slide off.

And I’m running now. Running through the green light. Pulling myself against the waves, through the throbbing current.

I’m out the door and pounding down the hall.

I know I shouldn’t be so noisy. But I don’t care now. I have to get to the elevator. Or maybe the stairs.

I have to run hard. And not slow down. Keep running until I’m free.

They can’t catch me. They can’t.

I hear screams behind me now.

“Stop her!”

“Somebody—stop her!”

“Don’t let her get away!”

Her?

Why are they calling me her?

Do they really think I’m a girl?

Their screams confuse me. I nearly stop running.

I want to stop and turn back. I want to shout, “Why do you think I’m a girl? My name is Darryl! Do I look like a girl to you?”

But of course I can’t stop.

I glance back and see girls in nightgowns and pajamas, running down the long hall. Running after me, screaming and crying for me to stop.

No time to wait for the elevator. I dive into the stairwell. Nearly take the stairs headfirst.

But I catch my balance, so glad to be out of the green waves. And I barrel down the stairs. Am I breathing? I’m not sure. I’m flying now. Flying down one flight, my shoes thudding on the concrete steps. I turn and take the next flight.

Down, down. Like a car flying blindly down a roller coaster track. Everything a gray blur.

I hear cries above me. Shouts and frightened words. Far above me.

I’m going to get away. I’m going to lose them, I know. I’m going to be running across the campus in a few seconds. I’m going to be breathing the cold night air—and shouting for joy that I escaped.

I stop for only a second as I reach the ground floor. I push hard on the door to the front lobby.

It doesn’t move.

Is it stuck?

“No!” I gasp.

I push harder. Lean my shoulder against the door. Push with all my strength.

No. No. No.

The door won’t open.

Am I trapped here? Trapped in the stairwell?

I hear the angry, excited cries above me. The heavy footsteps—bare feet thudding down the stairs after me.

Close.

They’re getting closer.

Am I trapped here? Am I?

No. No. No.

chapter

21

I give the door one more hard push.

No. It won’t move.

I turn. The girls are on the landing above me.

I swallow hard. Panic makes my whole body tremble.

I pull the door.

Yes!

I pull it open.

So stupid. How could I be so stupid?

I’m through the door. Into the front lobby. Ollie glances up from his desk.

I’m running across the shiny granite floor.

Ollie jumps to his feet. “Miss—?” he calls. “Hey—Miss?”

He thinks I’m a girl, too!

I don’t stop to think about that. I turn back and see him shouting excitedly into a black telephone.

And then I shove open the glass doors. And I’m out of there. Running hard into the wind. My head bent low. My hair blowing around my face.

Breathing the cold, fresh air. And running . . . running . . .

Running to the old sorority house . . . running through a blur of trees and dark buildings. The ground hard, the grass of The Triangle so wet, wet and slippery from a freezing dew.

And I keep running, running . . .

Until the buildings all fade away. And the trees fade. And the yellow streetlamps vanish too.

The campus disappears completely, and I fade away with it . . .

chapter

22

Hope

I ran through the darkness. My feet hit the ground hard and slid on the dewy grass.

I ran . . . ran past trees and dark campus buildings. My heart pounding. My head throbbing with each heavy step.

I slowed my pace. And then I stopped beside a water fountain in the middle of The Triangle.

I stopped and gazed around, my chest heaving up and down, my throat burning.

Where am I?

What am I doing out here?

I blinked several times, trying to blink the scene away. My knees suddenly felt weak and rubbery, and I grabbed the water fountain for support.

Why am I running? I asked myself.

Why am I out here in the middle of The Triangle so late at night? Why am I running across campus now? Where have I been? Why do I feel so strange, so . . . frightened?

Question after question forced its way into my throbbing head. But I had no answers.

I couldn’t remember.

I couldn’t remember how I got here or why. Holding on to the top of the stone fountain, I shut my eyes. And struggled to think.

When did I leave the sorority house? Where was I going? Did I plan to meet someone? Did I plan to meet Chris?

No answers. None. Not a clue.

Do I have amnesia? I wondered. I started asking myself questions, seeing what I did remember.

What is your name? Hope Mathis.

Where do you live? In an old sorority house at the end of Vermont Avenue, because I was forced to leave Fear Hall.

What was your mother’s name? Helayne.

“Helayne. Rhymes with insane.”

I remembered the expression on Mom’s face when I wrote that on a birthday card I gave her. And I remembered laughing like a fiend. She looked so shocked and hurt.

She said she’d never forgive me. And I couldn’t help myself. I laughed again.

Of course, I was older then. I wasn’t a little girl. I was in high school. She couldn’t lock me in my room for a week. She couldn’t starve me for days, the way she did when I was younger.

Memories. Such clear memories.

“I don’t have amnesia,” I murmured out loud. I still remember everything. Everything except tonight.

I felt a chill. Such a cold night.

I checked myself out. What on earth was I wearing? My down parka. And underneath . . . two sweaters?

Did I remember putting on the two sweaters? No. Did I remember pulling on the parka and leaving the house? No.

But here I stood in the middle of The Triangle, shivering in the cold, wondering if I was losing my mind.

“Get home, Hope,” I ordered myself. “Get home where it’s warm. And a little bit safe. And maybe Jasmine or Angel will help you. Maybe one of them will clear everything up for you.”

I let go of the fountain and took a step over the grass. My legs felt shaky. But my head no longer throbbed, and my heart had slowed to a normal pace.

Tucking my hands into the coat pockets, I lowered my head against the wind and began walking quickly in the direction of the sorority house.

Near Pine Street, a couple of students—a boy and girl, arms around each other—came walking slowly toward me. She had her head resting on the shoulder of his coat. They murmured, “Hello,” as they passed.

I mumbled, “Hi.” And thought about Chris. I wished I was walking with him tonight, my head resting on his shoulder, our arms around each other’s waists.

Yes. That would be so nice, I told myself. So much nicer than wandering around by myself in a daze, not knowing where I had been or what I was doing.

I was still thinking about Chris when I walked up the front lawn to the sorority house. But he vanished from my thoughts—and I stopped and gasped when I saw the front door standing wide open.

Had I left it open like that?

Or did I have a visitor while I was out?

Taking a deep breath, I ran the rest of the way to the porch. I burst into the house. Slammed the door shut behind me. And hurried to the living room.

“Anybody here?” I called. “Anybody—”

I didn’t finish my question.

As my eyes swept over the room, I pressed both hands to my face and opened my mouth in a scream of horror.

chapter

23

“Nooooooo! Oh noooooo!” I wailed.

The furniture, the drapes, the . . . the whole room—it had all been trashed.

One armchair lay on its back, the seat ripped open, the stuffing pulled out. The couches had been slashed again and again, the leather falling off the frames in jagged strips.

The legs had been pulled off an end table. Deep cuts rutted the tabletop. The curtains had been ripped off the windows and shredded.

“Who—?” I choked out weakly.

“Who—?”

And then I saw the note. Stuck on a knife on the wall beside the window.

I lurched across the room and pulled the heavy kitchen knife from the wall. I tossed it to the floor. Then I raised the note close to my face and read the handwritten words:

You cannot escape from me.

I stared at it for the longest time, silently reading the words over and over.

Who came here? I asked myself. Who knows that I am living here?

Who is doing this to me?

• • •

That night, I slept curled up in a tight ball under my coat and all my clothes on the balcony outside the upstairs bedroom. It was a cold night, and I shivered myself to sleep.

The balcony was damp and rickety. The wooden railing was about to break away. But I didn’t go inside. I wanted to be as far away from the front door as possible. As far away from any intruder who might come looking for me.

I’m not safe in this house anymore, I realized, pulling my coat up over my head. I’m going to have to find a new place to hide.

But I felt too exhausted to think clearly about it. I fell asleep under the coat, my head resting on a balled-up sweater for a pillow.

The next morning, I woke up still feeling shaky and frightened. I need to clear my head, I told myself. I need a new plan. A new place to live. I have to get some money. I’m going to need to buy more food soon.

I brushed my hair, staring at myself in the mirror, still surprised to find myself a brunette. So many changes . . . I suddenly felt as if I were no longer the same person.

I walked along Vermont for a while, checking out the old fraternity and sorority houses. It was a gray, cold day. The air felt wet and heavy. A low fog drifted between the bare trees along the street.

I hoped to spot another abandoned house where I could move. But the places I passed were all occupied.

Where shall I go? My mind felt as hazy and foggy as the sky.

Without realizing it, I found myself crossing The Triangle. Bundled against the cold, students hurried along the crisscrossing paths to their classes. In a wooden booth in the middle of the grassy area, two girls in clown suits were selling tickets to a student musical. A loudspeaker blared a song from the show, “Send In the Clowns.”

Normal life.

I let out a sigh. I couldn’t help myself. I had to force back the tears.

That’s all I wanted. A normal life. I gazed up at the Language Arts building, rising like a dark castle through the wisps of fog. I pictured myself sitting in class, taking notes, discussing Othello or Mark Twain or some ancient writer I never heard of.

That’s why I had come to Ivy State, after all. For a normal life.

Now here I was, homeless and broke. Hiding from the police because my boyfriend was a murderer.

It isn’t fair! I told myself.

I crossed the street—and stopped.

Chris! I spotted Chris huddled with someone at the side of the library.

Feeling a rush of excitement, I started jogging toward him. I opened my mouth to call his name. But instead uttered only a startled gasp.

He was talking with Melanie.

I stopped running and ducked behind the wide branch of a tree. Had they seen me?

I leaned against the cold tree trunk and peered out at them.

No. They hadn’t seen me. They had their heads close together, and both appeared to be talking excitedly.

Chris had his parka hood pulled up over his head. But I could see his dark eyes gazing hard at Melanie. He was gesturing with his hands. She kept nodding and talking at the same time as he.

“I—I can’t believe this,” I murmured out loud.

Do Chris and Melanie know each other? What are they talking about?

Peering out from behind the tree, I tried to concentrate. I could hear their voices. But the rush of the wind drowned out their words.

Are they talking about me? I wondered.

Is Melanie telling Chris that I lived across the hall from her? Is she telling Chris what she told the police? That I’m crazy?

Chris is the only decent guy in my life right now. The only bright spot for me.

Is Melanie going to spoil that too?

I needed Chris. I really did. Why was he talking to Melanie?

I couldn’t bear to watch them anymore.

I pushed myself away from the tree, turned, and began running back across The Triangle. I ran as fast as I could. The cold, wet air felt so refreshing on my skin. My face felt as if it were burning up.

I must have been crying. Or maybe I had a strange expression on my face. Because several students turned to look at me as I ran past them. A few jumped out of my way.

I didn’t stop my mad dash until I reached Pine Street. Then I turned away from the campus and kept going, taking long, hurried strides, breathing hard, unable to run away from that image of Melanie and Chris together . . . together . . . together.

Why weren’t Chris and I together?

Without realizing where I was going, I found myself pulling open the glass door of Java Jim’s and dropping onto a seat at the end of the counter.

My heart throbbed. My chest ached. I held my breath, waiting for the pain to fade.

“You okay?” the waitress asked, wiping the counter in front of me with a towel.

I told her I was fine and ordered a coffee. I tried combing my hair with both hands. Then I pressed my cold hands against my burning cheeks.

Wow. Seeing Chris with Melanie had really messed me up. I shook my head, trying to clear it. They probably met in the dorm, I decided. They both live in Fear Hall. So they probably met at a dorm meeting or something.

No big deal.

Unless Melanie was telling Chris about me . . .

Had Chris made the connection? Did he realize now that the girl he thought was Karen was really Hope—a wanted criminal?

Hope, you’ve got to think, I told myself. You’ve got to make a new plan. A survival plan.

The waitress lowered my coffee to the counter. As I reached for the sugar container, my eyes fell on two girls in a booth against the wall.

They were both staring at me. One of them pointed a finger in my direction.

When they saw me staring back at them, they both instantly turned away.

My heart skipped a beat.

Have they recognized me? I wondered. Has my photo been in the newspaper? Do those two girls know who I am?

I jumped off the stool. Landed off balance. Steadied myself against the counter. Then took off.

As I reached the door, I heard the waitress shout after me, “Hey—your coffee!”

But I pulled open the door and bolted outside.

I lowered my head and began to run. “Whoooa!” I cried out as I nearly plowed into a double baby stroller.

“Watch where you’re going!” the mother behind the stroller angrily snapped.

“Sorry!” I choked out. And kept running. My open coat flapping behind me. The shops and restaurants whirring past in a blur.

And then I was back on Vermont. Still running as hard as I could. My legs aching. Each breath making my chest throb with pain.

A horn blared as I started across the street. I staggered back, and a blue minivan screeched around me, the driver waving a fist in the air. “Watch where you’re going, idiot!”

I took a deep breath, looked both ways, then crossed the street. My abandoned house was on the next corner.

I’ll be able to stop running for a while, I told myself as it came into view. I’ll be able to get myself together, to think clearly.

“Oh—!” I let out a cry as I saw someone in the driveway.

Someone running from the house.

Chris!

chapter

24

Chris? At my house, my hiding place?

How weird, I thought.

What was he doing here? How did he find out where I live?

And why is he running from the place?

I watched him for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do.

I can’t let him run away, I decided. I have to talk to him. I have to find out what’s going on.

“Chris—! Hey, Chris!” I shouted.

He stopped when he heard my calls. His mouth dropped open. I could see the surprise on his face.

Surprise and . . . guilt?

His cheeks flamed. “Karen—hi!” he called, forcing a weak smile. At least he hadn’t learned my real name.

I trotted up to him, my heart pounding again. “Chris—what are you doing here?” I blurted out.

His cheeks darkened to a deeper scarlet. “I . . . I came to see you,” he stammered. “But you weren’t home. So I just . . .” His voice trailed off. He shrugged.

“But, Chris—how did you know I live here?” I demanded breathlessly.

“Well . . .” He hesitated. His eyes burned into mine. “I might as well confess,” he said finally. “I followed you home one night.”

“Excuse me?” I cried.

A smile spread over his blushing face. “I was just curious,” he explained. “You wouldn’t tell me where you lived, so I found out for myself.”

Then, to my surprise, he leaned forward awkwardly—and kissed me. A short kiss but sweet, his lips dry and warm.

He pulled back before I wanted him to.

Did he kiss me to stop my questions? I wondered. Or because he likes me?

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why are you living in this abandoned house, Karen?” he asked.

I sighed. What could I say?

I couldn’t tell him the truth. No way.

And I couldn’t think of a good lie.

“I don’t understand,” Chris said, gazing up at the old wreck of a house. “Why are you here?”

Before I could think of an answer, I heard another voice. A boy’s voice.

“You ask too many questions, Chris!” he growled.

Darryl!

“No! Darryl—leave him alone!” I shrieked. “Darryl—don’t touch him!”

But Darryl ignored my cries.

With an angry snarl, he reached up both hands. Grabbed Chris by the throat. And started to strangle him.

chapter

25

“Let go of him!” I wailed. “Darryl—let him go!”

Darryl’s hands tightened around Chris’s throat.

Chris uttered a choked cry. His eyes bulged. He twisted his whole body and shot out his arms, struggling to break free.

But Darryl was so strong when he became angry. His jealousy gave him amazing strength.

“Karen . . .?” Chris choked out. He dropped to his knees, struggling . . . struggling . . . unable to breathe.

“Let go! Let go! Let go!” I pleaded with Darryl.

With a desperate cry, Chris ducked his head. Hit the ground. And rolled free from Darryl’s grasp.

He jumped to his feet quickly and raised both hands to rub his neck. “Karen—I don’t understand!” he gasped.

“Darryl—go away!” I cried. “I mean it, Darryl! Go away! Leave us alone!”

Chris stared at me, trying to massage the pain from his neck. “I don’t like this, Karen,” he murmured softly, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Darryl—stay away from him!” I begged. I turned to Chris. “Darryl is just so jealous,” I tried to explain. “He can’t help himself, see? He gets jealous and then he goes berserk. It isn’t his fault, Chris. He—”

“I don’t like this,” Chris repeated. He stared so hard at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “I don’t like this. I’m very confused.”

He continued to squint at me, massaging his neck. “What’s going on here, Karen?” he demanded. “What’s happening here? Tell me.”

“It’s Darryl,” I insisted. “Don’t look at me like that. Please—Chris. You’re upsetting me. You’re really upsetting me. It’s Darryl. See? It’s always Darryl. He . . . he’s so bad. But he cares about me so much. He just can’t control himself.”

Shaking his head, Chris spun away, stumbling over the grass. Then he began to lurch down the front lawn.

“Chris—wait!” I shouted after him. “Wait—please!”

He hit the street and kept running. He glanced back once, his face filled with fright and confusion.

“Chris—please!” I called. I started to chase after him. “I’ll send Darryl away!” I cried frantically. “I can do it! Really, I can! I’ll send Darryl away if you’ll come back!”

He turned the corner and vanished behind tall hedges.

I stood in the middle of the lawn, my chest heaving up and down, hot tears running down my cheeks.

“Chris? Chris?” I called his name, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” I murmured. “I’m so, so sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

My sadness quickly turned to anger. Clenching my fists, I turned to Darryl.

“How could you do that to him?” I cried. “How could you do that to me?”

But Darryl had vanished too.

I searched the front yard for him.

“Darryl—?”

My eyes swept up and down the street. Then I turned back to the house. Had he gone inside?

The front door stood closed. I peered into the living-room window. Total blackness inside. I couldn’t see a thing.

What am I going to do about Darryl? I wondered, pulling open the front door and stepping in. He’s ruined everything for me. Everything.

I made my way into the living room. “Darryl? Are you here?”

No reply.

I stopped behind the slashed couch. I shivered. It was nearly as cold indoors as out.

I had moved all the couches and chairs back where they belonged. But they had all been ripped and slashed beyond repair.

I turned away from the couch—and saw a sheet of paper on the low table beside it.

Another note?

Another one?

Yes.

I picked it up with a trembling hand and raised it close to read it:

There is no escape, Hope. No escape from yourself.

I shivered again as I stared at the handwriting.

Did Chris write this? I asked myself. Is that why Chris was running from the house? Has he been the one leaving me these frightening messages?

No.

No. Not Chris.

Staring hard at the small, thin handwriting, reading the words again and again, I recognized the handwriting.

Handwriting I knew so well.

Because it was mine.

chapter

26

I don’t know how much time passed. It could have been a few minutes or several hours.

Sitting in the slashed armchair, staring out at the darkening skies, the gathering storm clouds, I lost track of time. I held the note in my lap, held it tightly in one hand, so tightly my hand ached.

Every few minutes I’d stare down at it. I’d read the words again, hoping that this time the handwriting would be different. Praying that the handwriting would belong to someone else.

There is no escape, Hope. No escape from yourself.

The message was pretty clear. But when had I written it? And why?

And was I the one who trashed the house and destroyed all the furniture?

Why couldn’t I remember?

Was I losing my mind?

I didn’t want to believe that. When Darryl suddenly appeared in front of me, his expression so hard and cold, his eyes like blue ice, I held the note up to him.

“Did you write this?” I asked wearily. I suddenly felt so tired. Tired of being afraid. Tired of running.

Tired of Darryl and all the trouble and heartbreak he caused.

“Did you?” I demanded, shoving it in his face. “Is this your message to me?”

Darryl’s lips curled into a sneer. “I’ll do much worse if I catch you with Chris again,” he said softly.

“You can’t do that to her!” Angel cried out from the torn couch.

“Darryl, it’s time to give yourself up,” Jasmine added. “You know you need help. You know you are out of control. Give yourself up, Darryl. It’s time. You know it’s time.”

Darryl let out a cry of rage. He spit on the floor. His cold, cold eyes froze me in a terrifying grip.

“Angel and Jasmine are right,” I said softly. “Listen to us, Darryl. It’s time.”

“No—!” he shrieked. “No! No! No! I won’t listen to you! I won’t listen to any of you! What do you know? What do you know about anything?”

“Darryl, please—” I pleaded, jumping to my feet.

“What do you know about me?” he cried. “Do you have any idea what I think? What my feelings are? If you cared at all about my feelings—about me—would you be standing out in the middle of the front lawn kissing that guy Chris?”

“Darryl—” I was desperate to stop him before he flew into another wild rage.

“If any of you cared about me,” Darryl screamed, “you wouldn’t tell me to turn myself in. You’d know that everything I did, I did for you!”

“And now it’s time to stop,” Angel insisted.

“Nooooo!” Darryl wailed hoarsely, his face red with fury. “I won’t stop. I won’t. I’ll show you. I’ll kill Chris now! I’ll kill him tonight!”

“I won’t let you!” I shrieked. I grabbed the front of his T-shirt with both hands. “I won’t let you! I won’t let you touch Chris!”

A knock on the front door made all of us turn around.

I dove to the window and peered out. But I couldn’t see who was on the porch.

Another knock. Harder. More insistent.

I dodged around Darryl and hurried to the door. “Who is it?” I shouted.

“It’s me. Chris,” came the reply.

A grin spread darkly over Darryl’s face. “Excellent!” he exclaimed softly, his eyes dancing. “Here he is. How did he know I was looking for him?”

“No—Chris! Go away!” I shouted through the door. “Go away—now!”

“I won’t go away,” Chris called back. “Open the door. I really want to see you.”

Darryl’s grin grew wider. He clenched and unclenched his fists, readying himself.

“Chris—you can’t come in!” I cried. “Please—”

“Open up! Come on!” Chris pleaded.

Darryl stepped up to the door. “Let him in, Hope,” he murmured, grinning gleefully. “You heard the man. He wants in. So . . . let him in.”

He bumped me out of the way—and pulled open the door.

chapter

27

Chris entered reluctantly, his expression tense. His eyes darted from side to side, landing on me, then quickly moving over my shoulder to the living room.

“Chris, please—”I started. “You shouldn’t be here. You should leave before—”

But as he stepped shyly into the entryway, I saw to my shock that he wasn’t alone.

Melanie walked in behind Chris, biting down on her bottom lip, her hands shoved into the pockets of her brown sheepskin jacket.

And behind her came four dark-uniformed police officers, their faces grim, their arms stiffly at their sides, hands near their black leather gun holsters.

“Hey—!” I cried out. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Yes. That’s her,” Melanie told the officers, her voice just above a whisper. She kept her eyes on Chris, avoiding my angry stare.

“That’s Hope,” Melanie said, her face a blank, revealing no emotion at all. “She changed her hair color. But I recognize her.”

“I thought so,” Chris mumbled, also afraid to look me in the eyes. “I hoped I was wrong. I wanted to believe her name really was Karen. But, after Melanie described Hope, I wasn’t sure. Then when she freaked out on the front lawn this afternoon, I knew she was the one you’ve been looking for.”

A tall officer, with steely blue eyes and pale blond curls falling out from under his uniform cap, stepped forward. He reached out a hand, as if inviting me to dance. “Please come with us, Hope,” he said softly.

“Nooooooooo!” A horrified animal howl burst from my throat.

He reached for me.

But I slapped his hand away.

I spun away and ran for the stairs.

“Hope—stop!” Angel cried. “You can’t run away from them!”

“Yes! Run! We’ll protect you!” Jasmine shouted. “We’ll all protect you!”

And then I heard Darryl close behind me. “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all!” he raged.

And now all four of us were running, pushing our legs, grabbing the old wooden banister, running desperately up the long stairway.

I glanced back and saw all four cops on the stairs behind me.

“Please stop. We won’t hurt you!” one of them called.

“We want to help you,” another cop chimed in.

Below them, I saw Chris and Melanie at the bottom of the stairs, eyes wide, staring up at me in horror.

I spun away from them and ran. Followed by my three friends.

My good friends.

Into the bedroom. And out the narrow door to the balcony.

The little balcony where I’d slept the night before. Slept under my coat like a poor, homeless orphan.

“Stop! Please stop!” a cop shouted from the bedroom doorway.

“We want to talk to you!” his partner insisted.

My heart pounding from the run up the stairs, I swept Jasmine and Angel into my arms. And held on to them tightly. So tightly.

“You’ve been such good friends,” I told them. “You’ve been such wonderful friends. The best I ever had.”

I hugged them close and pulled Darryl into the hug too. “You’ve been a good friend too, Darryl,” I told him. “I know you only tried to help.”

And then all four of us hugged.

Hugged until a police officer burst onto the balcony.

And my friends and I leaned back. Leaned against the old wooden railing.

I heard a crack.

I heard it break away.

I tried to save myself. I tried to save us all.

But we were hugging so tightly. So tightly.

I couldn’t break free from my friends.

I couldn’t break the hug.

And so the balcony railing gave way.

And all four of us fell.

chapter

28

Chris

It was so horrible. I think I’ll keep seeing it for the rest of my life.

If only Melanie and I hadn’t turned to the side window. If only we hadn’t looked out at the moment Hope fell.

At first I didn’t realize what was happening.

I saw something hurtle down.

A flash of color. Arms and legs.

Then I heard a heavy thud.

And a sickening, cracking sound.

And as I stared out the dust-smeared window in horror, I realized it was Hope.

And I realized she had landed on her head.

The sickening crack . . . it . . . it . . .

My stomach lurched. I gasped for breath.

I . . . I couldn’t think about it. I couldn’t put it into words.

But I kept seeing it. And hearing it. Again and again.

I know I’ll never erase the picture of her broken, bent body sprawled in that deepening pool of blood.

Melanie turned away from the window with a gasp. She buried her face in the front of my coat.

She was sobbing, her entire body trembling. I hardly knew her. But I wrapped my arm around her to try to calm her.

I’m not sure how long we stood like that, holding on to each other, holding each other up. But I stepped back as the grim-faced officers returned to the house.

“Is she . . . dead?” I asked, my voice breaking.

The tall, blond officer nodded.

“You two can leave now,” his partner said softly. “We’ll want to talk to you later. But you’ve had enough. You don’t have to hang around.”

“Thank you for calling us right away,” the blond officer said to me. He turned to Melanie. “And thank you for agreeing to come and identify her.”

We left our names with them and told them we both live in Fear Hall.

“Fear Hall,” one of the cops muttered, shaking his head. “I should have known.”

Clinging close together, Melanie and I made our way shakily from the living room. As I stepped past the ripped-up couch, a sheet of paper on the floor caught my eye.

I bent down and picked it up.

“Wow,” I muttered, shaking my head as I read the handwritten message. I handed it to Melanie. “It . . . it came true,” I choked out.

In a low whisper, Melanie read the note out loud:

There is no escape, Hope. No escape from yourself

About the Author

R.L. Stine is the best-selling author in America. He has written more than one hundred scary books for young people, all of them best-sellers.

His series include Fear Street, Ghosts of Fear Street and the Fear Street Sagas.

Bob grew up in Columbus, Ohio. Today he lives in New York City with his wife, Jane, his teenage son, Matt, and his dog, Nadine.

“This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental”.

Simon Pulse / An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions there of in any form whatsoever.

ISBN: 978-0-6710-0875-8 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-4814-1376-3 (eBook)

First Archway Paperback printing August 1997

FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.

Simon Pulse and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

Contents

Part One: Hope

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Part Two: Melanie

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part Three: Hope

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Part Four: Darryl

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

About the Author