Deceived (13 page)

I followed Pixie into the thick of the crowd. My first trip had been so intimidating. When I first arrived in the summer and knew only Pixie, The Pier completely overwhelmed me. Girls lounged against the railing of The Pier, looking fierce and fun in ways I never dared. My eyes bounced over the scene, scouting for danger. Lots of plastic cups in hands, several full-on bouts of PDA. Everything looked normal. Wherever I went to college, I was sure to be a loner. I hoped the fact that I didn’t have a mother would be less evident after a year with Pixie. I had nothing but girl time ahead of me. I smiled.

Sitting in the dark with her and her friends was mystical. One of those bigger-than-life moments that felt more like an out-of-body experience than reality. I’d never been part of the crowd. I had had a few friends growing up, but I had learned early to be self-contained. The air around us crackled with electricity. The whole school seemed to be present. Being part of the bigger picture felt good. Kicked back, listening to the music, laughter, and gossip, it was impossible to imagine that anything bad lurked nearby.

“Whoa!” A beautiful redhead stared over my shoulder into the night. “Did you see that guy?”

We all turned. At least fifty kids gathered in more than a dozen separate knots, but one head loomed above the rest. A hoodie covered his hair and cast a shadow, hiding his features. The redhead, Macy, squealed again. She’d apparently gotten a good look at him.

When we turned back to her, she fluttered her hands over chest. “Oh. My. Goodness.”

“What?” A dozen voices united.

“He’s the hottest guy to ever enter this town. No, this county. It figures. He shows up when I’m leaving next week.” Macy was moving home. She had no idea why, but I thought I might. Her parents probably watched our local news. A stalker seemed like enough motivation to pull your kid from any prep school. Thinking of it that way, why hadn’t my dad insisted I go with him? He was the most overprotective man I knew.

We spun around again, and a few girls headed over to where he’d been. The rest of us giggled, and I learned a few things about the girls who went after him. For one thing, he was lucky to get away, or so the other girls told me. I hoped if they caught him, they wouldn’t find a deranged serial killer under the hoodie. The glimpse I caught of his retreating frame felt familiar.

Waiting in line for the bathroom, some local schoolgirls complained about the academy girls. Too many girls and too few boys in one little town made for tension. I rolled my head against my shoulders and caught a glimpse of something in the trees. Familiar brilliant blue paint. Curiosity ate at me. On impulse, I worked my way out of line and left Pixie chatting up a group of kids I’d never seen before.

I crept off the edge of The Pier and onto the grass. Then I walked into the shadows. The music behind me was so loud I worried that I wouldn’t be heard if I screamed for help. It took all the courage I could muster to take the last few steps. I would’ve bet my backpack it was Brian’s bike. As I reached for the trees, I glanced back, hoping for witnesses. I was alone, and there it was.

“Ha!” I pointed. My arm swung out at the shiny blue bike. “I knew it!” I spun around, looking into the distance. Uncertainty crept in. What should I do?

Without thinking, I dug into my purse and searched for a pen and paper. The best I could come up with was a receipt from the coffee house and old eyeliner. “Gotcha!” I scribbled and wedged the note under the lip of the seat. I wanted to be sure he knew I knew he was there.

Climbing back onto The Pier, I smiled broadly and caught a glimpse of the hoodie in the distance. A head taller than the crowd, he leaned against the rail, head turned in my direction. I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized his posture. A shiver ran down my arms. That was no stalker. No wonder a pack of girls went after him. He raised his right hand in the distance and saluted. I shook my head and smiled at my shoes for a minute.

Swoon.

In my mind, I did a victory dance. Outwardly, I held still, hoping he couldn’t see my wild, toothy smile.

“What’re you looking at?” Pixie asked when she noticed that I had wandered off.

“Nothing.”

She slid into the restroom, and I pushed through the crowd. He should’ve been easy to spot. I stood in the parking lot alone. Where did he go? My eyes ran over the heads on The Pier. His hoodie moved away from me, toward the trees. I snuck after him. His bike and the party were in the other direction. Careful not to step on any branches, I crept through the shadows, forcing myself to remain focused. If I thought too long about what might be out here with us, I’d lose it and run back to Pixie. A coyote called in the distance and I froze. Looking back at the distant lights of The Pier, I reconsidered my adventure. When I turned away, Brian was gone.

“Frick.” Go on into the dark chasing nothing, or return to the party? I wasn’t brave. Painfully curious, but not stupid. I turned around and stopped cold when something caught my eye. A man leaned against a tree trunk a few feet away.

“Haven’t I warned you about staying with your friends? It’s not safe to be alone.” Brian stepped into the moonlight, erasing the space between us.

“Why? Because there’s a serial killer in town?”

His posture stiffened. The muscle in his jaw ticked in response to my question. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Everyone says so.” Embellishment. Whatever.

He covered his narrow hips with huge hands and glared at me long enough to set my hair on fire. I forced my shoulders back.

“You know there’s a cold-blooded killer in town,” he said. “Yet you walk off into the night. Alone. Again.”

A chill slid down my spine. When he put it that way, it didn’t feel so exciting to find him lurking at the party.

“Where were you going?” Subject changes were the liar’s best friend. I had learned it in therapy years ago.

“Why were you following me?”

Touché.

“Where were you going?” I anchored my hands to my hips to keep them from shaking.

“I’m proving a point. You need to be more careful.” He walked away, back toward the party. It took a minute for my brain to catch up. I walked double time to match pace with him.

“So, what, you’re my personal security? Stalk much?”

He stopped at the edge of The Pier and nodded toward a frustrated-looking Pixie pacing outside the bathroom where I’d left her. “Yep.”

I liked the notion more than I should have. I liked him more than I should have. Consistency counted for something, I hoped. “You coming?”

He shook his head. “Someone’s got to keep an eye out for the killer.”

I didn’t like his jokes. My brain rejected the possibility that he was doing exactly what he’d said. Reluctantly, I headed off to stop Pixie from worrying. By the time I reached her, Brian was nowhere in sight.

Senior year had serious excitement potential. I attended a school with a drop-dead gorgeous boy stalking/guarding me. I could get used to being followed by him. Assuming he wasn’t the killer from the news.

Chapter Ten

School went the same as every other day, except signs appeared all over campus for Harvest Festival. It was only a matter of time. Apple cider, pumpkins, acorns. All small towns had the same street-fair mentality. This particular festival would be held on campus and was closed to the public. Parents and alumni ran the show, and our skyrocketing tuition footed the bill. No one mentioned the serial killer. Life took a turn for the normal.

At first, I didn’t plan to go to the festival, but soon the fever took hold. Girls squealed and bustled about the Harvest Festival the same way girls in my past schools went on about formals or prom. They gushed over what to wear, who to ride with, and where to eat. According to Pixie, local officials attended every year, as well as some local “celebrities” and “heroes.” The school buzzed with excitement that was a little infectious. I hoped Dad would come. Our cabin in the mountains was close to a small town with a similar festival. Some of my favorite memories were made there drinking cider and eating caramel apples.

The art department chose a few pieces of Pixie’s art for display. Wild horses wouldn’t keep her away. With all the commotion, Brian would have to go. At the end of the day, images of meeting him at the festival filled my head. My smile fell as a flash of white caught my eye. From a distance, the tops of the lockers were visible, and something perched on top near mine. Part of me worried it might explode. I hastened my step before I lost my nerve. Stretching onto my toes, I reached for the apparition. A bulbous form slipped into my fingers and a folded strip of paper moved underneath. I recognized the item by touch. Pulling it into my trembling hands, I hoped the note was from an admirer and not the alleged evil stalker who might or might not be singling me out. Okay, so I hadn’t forgotten about the maybe-killer. The small white pumpkin fit into the palm of my hand. The paper said, “The wall at five? —Nicholas.”

I nearly squealed, and I wasn’t a squealer. I loved it. I shoved the note into my pack and carried the pumpkin in my hand.

“What’s with the cheese?” Pixie’s voice almost caused me to drop my precious treasure.

“Oh!” Heat rose in my cheeks. So busted.

“Is that a tiny pumpkin?” She wrestled it from my fingers. “Cute! I want one. Where’d you get it? Let’s take it home and paint it.”

“Hey! What? No! Give it back, pumpkin thief. It’s October in the Ohio Valley. They’re a dime a dozen, literally.” I narrowed my eyes. “Get your own tiny pumpkin.”

She laughed and threw her arm across my shoulders. Pixie liked my pumpkin a little too much for its own good, and I considered carrying it with me for its safety. She wanted to glue sunflower seeds on it to make a Zorro mask. To Pixie, the little white pumpkin was a blank canvas in need of some pizzazz.

I shuddered at the possibilities.

“Is your boy going to the festival?” Pixie did pinky waves at masses of people heading in every direction. Her attention, however, was focused on me.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I get to talk to him.”

Her eyes slid my way. She didn’t believe a word I said. Why should she?

Sunlight sprinkled through the changing leaves. The sidewalk underfoot resembled a piece of art more than I’d ever noticed. Puddles reflected shimmery lines of amber and scarlet from above.

“Fine. You’re all secretive, and I can respect your privacy.”

“Thanks.”

“Ha! I knew it, you hider. You do have secrets. Give me a clue. No.” Her head flew left and right. “Spill. Have you kissed him?”

I fought the smirk, but a huge smile grew in its place. “Of course not.”

“Then why the face?”

I shrugged and let her pass me on our steps.

“So freaking gross. I’m ready to buy one of those nanny cams and post it outside our door.” The welcome mat looked like an ashtray. Pixie kicked it, and the mat sailed over the concrete, away from our door.

I pulled my eyes up, resisting the urge to chase it down and count the number of butts. The smell wafted into the air and triggered my gag reflex. A sheen of sweat covered my face and chest. The expression “like I’d just seen a ghost” came to mind, but I hadn’t seen anything. I stepped carefully over the threshold and unloaded my arms. Whatever that freakout was about, I didn’t have time to think about it. I needed to eat and change for my date. Meeting? Appointment?

In the kitchen, I searched for something to make with the few ingredients we had available. We needed groceries. Mac and cheese looked like my only choice until then. Pixie wouldn’t eat, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to either. I got busy boiling water and wondering what to wear. Was it a date? Did he plan to speak to me in private to tell me that we could only be friends? My fingers drummed against the counter and stress bubbled in my tummy. What if the pumpkin wasn’t from Brian? What if Nicholas was someone else? I swallowed back my fear in exchange for, hopefully, getting some answers.

The mac and cheese fared better than the grilled cheese. Even this stove boiled water at a predictable temperature. My appetite faded fast as the questions piled up. Butterflies formed a mob in my stomach and tried to escape through my mouth. If I didn’t eat, I’d feel woozy later, so I tried. I took a couple of hasty bites, wishing I had cuter clothes.

“What’s with you and that pumpkin?” Pixie watched me eat.

I’d just run my fingertips over the little white angel. The tiny pumpkin had kept my mind on happy things instead of wallowing in my bad dream and self-pity. I loved the little thing for that. Also, I needed to protect it from her. I liked it just the way it was, plain and beautiful.

“I love fall. That’s all.” I shoved away from the table and took my bowl with me.

Pixie followed. “Are you going somewhere?” She stood in the doorway while I faced my closet, pouting.

“No.” I was so convincing that she rolled her eyes and left.

I flopped onto the bed and shoved another forkful of dinner into my mouth. My wardrobe was junk. I owned a closet full of jeans, sneakers, and hoodies. I put the bowl on the floor and rolled over onto my back when Pixie’s footsteps returned.

“Here.” Annoyance gave an edge to her voice.

Thrump!

I shot upright expecting to see a hole in the floor. A giant black trunk sat at her feet.

“It’s the wardrobe I came with. It’s three years old but still better than anything in there.” She pointed a perfect black fingernail at my closet. “Help.” We heaved the giant thing onto my bed.

I was never so happy to see clothes, and I couldn’t believe they were Pixie’s. Scratch that. They belonged to Priscilla.

“We’re practically the same size. Most of this will fit. If you’re going to be outside, I’d wear the belted coat. It’s cute. The designer was a friend of my mother’s. He got me interested in design. It was my gateway drug. Who knew I’d love everything artsy?” She winked and began to pull things from the trunk until every square inch of my room looked like backstage at a fashion show.

I marveled at the sheer volume of couture in one place. The trunk reminded me of the enormous steamer trunks carrying supplies on the Titanic, or maybe a U-Haul without a trailer hitch. I’d seen the thing before and assumed it held more of her art supplies, not clothes.