Terrorscape (29 page)

Val tucked her hands under her arms. A thin layer
of grime covered every surface, including the floor,
and made her afraid to inspect anything too closely.
At least the bar looked somewhat hygienic.

She took a seat at the bar, facing away from the
door as instructed, and pretended to study the drinks
menu as she scanned the room and its occupants.

Is he already here?

There were the rough-looking men playing pool
who looked like they'd gotten their vests done at a
Be*dazzled party. There was the crowd clustered
around the karaoke machine, watching a bleach
blonde woman sing an off-key rendition of Journey.
She looked down at her phone, then back at the bar.
Six-thirty. Where was—

“You won't be needing this.”

She felt her phone being tugged from her hand.
She was so surprised that it didn't even occur to her to
fight back. Because she
recognized
that voice.

Val spun around on the stool, eye-level with a
designer shirt, and when she lifted her head her
suspicions were confirmed as she met the hard, blue
gaze of Vance Benveniste.

He smiled crookedly. “Long time, no see.”
“You…you?” This was unexpected. This did not
make sense.

“Surprise.” He swung himself up on the stool
beside her, tucking the phone into his shirt pocket.
Well out of reach. “I guess you weren't expecting me.”
He raised a hand to signal over the bartender. “You're
looking mighty fine.”

“You were at the party. Mary's party. You were
the one who—” Val clenched her hands. “You creep.”

“That's right, Green Eyes. I'm a creep. A sexed-up
ignoramus. No way someone like
me
could possibly
pose as your precious grandmaster's rival, right, Val?”

He was right. The possibility really hadn't crossed
her mind. She hadn't suspected him at all.
“Aw, you mean I really did have you fooled? I
don't
know
whether
I
should
feel
insulted
or
flattered.”

“Where's Mary?”

The bartender came over, interrupting Vance's
reply. If he'd even intended on giving her one. She
watched him pass over his ID and some money. Once
the bartender left again, Vance said, “She's fine.”

“That's not what I asked.”

A beer was brought to him, amber liquid in a
clear frosted glass. His Adam's apple bobbed as he
took an indolent swig, regarding her over the top of
the mug. She kept her face frozen. Eventually he set
the glass down and wiped off his mouth with the
back of one hand. His lips were still moist. They
reminded her of worms. The big purple ones.

Night crawlers. They're called night crawlers.
“Where is she?” Val repeated.

“In the back of my truck—probably dizzy as hell,
and with a mean mother of a headache to boot.”

 

“What?”

 

“Don't look at me like that, babe. I was very
gentle with her. Can I buy you a drink?”

 

“I don't want anything from you except Mary.”

Vance waved over the bartender. “A glass of
water, please.” Val tried to catch his eyes, to beam into
his mind what could not be said aloud, and Vance
squeezed her thigh beneath the counter. “If you call
for help, your friend goes bye-bye.”

She twisted her hip away. “I wasn't going to,” she
hissed. “Don't touch me.”
The bartender glanced over in their direction, still
holding the water pitcher. A few limp slices of lemons
floated amongst the ice like corpses. Val felt the wet,
slimy lips brush against her ear.
“Smile for the nice man.”

“Get off me.”

 

“Remember what's at stake here, babe. Smile at
him. A real pretty one.”

 

Her jaw felt as if it would never unlock.

The bartender set the sweating glass of water in
front of her. The lemon wedge did nothing to mask
the tangy, unwashed smell of the glass. She took a sip,
made a face, and Vance scoffed. “Tap water.”

Val stared down at her drink without saying
anything. This was going all wrong, and fast.
After a few more minutes, Vance set his empty
glass aside. “Here's an idea. Wanna go see your
friend? Maybe say hello?”
“I'd rather stay here.”

The Last Chance might not have been a police
station but Val had the sinking sensation that if she
went with Vance she wouldn't come back. Not alive.

“Yeah,
because
even
I
can
see
that
you're
completely enjoying my company.”
Val bit her lip. Should she risk it? Scream?

His face hardened, like setting plastic. “Come on.
Don't make me ask you twice.”

She rose stiffly from the stool as he led her out by
the wrist like a dog on a leash. If only she hadn't had
her cell phone out. She could have texted—

Who? Who would she have texted? She had no
friends. Not anymore.

The police, maybe
.
Too late now.

Vance's “truck” turned out to be one of those gasguzzling Hummers she detested. There was even a
topless hula dancer on the dash.

First the smoking bar. Now this.

There was a jangling sound as Vance struggled
with his keys. “Just sit pretty right there. I need to
pop the trunk…”

“Mary?” Val edged around the massive tires the
way one would a sleeping predator. “Mary?”

She froze, blinking. The trunk was empty.
“What—”

“Sorry, Val.” He grabbed her from behind. This
time she did struggle, but the cloth covering her
mouth and nose pressed firm. “It's curtains.”

Sickly sweetness. A stabbing pain. Fireworks.
Then nothing.

 

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

 

My head hurts.

Mirrors of light swirled before her squinting eyes,
blurring
slowly
into
luminescent
halos.
The
vertiginous effect they caused was worsened by the
imminent dizziness that followed, pouring into her
head like cold, dark cement. She shivered, violently.

She was freezing. She was wet.

 

Where am I?

The air smelled strange, like birthday cake and
summer. Pictures flickered through her head with
Kodak clarity and she blinked them away impatiently.
Starbursts erupted in her periphery as she sat up.

Pain speared through her temples like a lancet.
Val reeled back and screamed as her head knocked
back against something hard and unyielding, with
sharp, jagged edges. Pain made her vision go black as
the sound of her cry echoed back at her from the
darkness. She froze, breathing hard, and thought she
must be having some sort of nightmare.

But no, one did not feel pain in dreams.
That must mean…it's real.

She leaned forward, as much in an attempt to see
as to help curb her nausea. The floor was a carpet of
dark water. A salty tang lingered in the back of her
throat, inspiring a vague but desperate thirst.

The walls and ceilings were rock. Jagged, porous
rock the reddish-brown color of damp clay, darker
still at the water line denoting high tide. A line, she
couldn't help noticing, that extended well above her
head.

He doesn't know I can't swim
. Her arms, bound
tightly behind her back with hemp rope, ached in
protest.
He's not taking any chances.

 

Vance had brought her here to drown.

Then
she
noticed
the
candles.
They
were
everywhere, balanced on the outcroppings of rock.
Short, squat candles that looked ugly and malformed
in the shadows. All of them were either black or
white, surrounding her like an army of chess pieces
awaiting orders from an unseen commander.

Chess again
.
It's always about chess.

She turned her head—slowly, this time, so as not
to hit her head against those sharp protrusions of rock
—and saw a blazing wreath of orange and emerald.
Lilies, silky and speckled like leopard's fur, and basil
with its spicy, rain-fresh scent.

Orange lilies for hatred
, she thought with alarm.
Basil, also for hatred.

 

Gavin himself had given her such a bouquet.
Vance hadn't just brought her here to drown; for
whatever reason, he was copycatting Gavin.
“Help!” she cried. “Somebody—help me!”

In the darkness, she heard a laugh. “That's a cool
effect. Candlelight is very flattering, from an aesthetic
perspective, although there's only so much it can do.”

Val sat upright, not sure whether she ought to be
relieved or afraid. Relieved that he hadn't left her, or
afraid for the very same reason. She settled for a
caustic mix of both. “Where are you?”

“I'm glad you're awake. I was afraid I'd gone
overboard with the chloroform. It can be lethal in the
wrong dosage, you know. I had to steal it from one of
the chemistry labs. But you seem feisty enough.”

Her shoulders tensed. His blue eyes were bright
and eager, almost electric with excitement.
She couldn't believe that she had ever thought
him handsome. There was something of the demonic
surrounding him—a dark, vile energy. She shivered
accordingly when he touched her face.
“What is this?”

“Your grave.”

His calm, matter-of-fact, almost cheerful tone
scared her far more than angry threats could have.
Anger was irrational, mercurial, erratic.

This—this was different. Worse.
She wet her lips. “Why are you doing this?”
(You know very well why.)
But she didn't know.

This must have been how those girls felt. All those
girls that Gavin killed. Because of me.

 

Poetic justice.

“You mean you haven't figured it out yet?” Vance
asked, in mock-surprise. “And here I thought you
were supposed to be quite the little puzzle-master.
Should I tell you? Or should I let you wonder about it
for the rest of your life? No—no, that won't be very
long at all, and really, I do want you to know. You
should
know.”

He walked closer, displacing water with each
step. The tribal tattoo, she noticed suddenly, was
gone.
Must have been temporary
.

“A year ago, you played a game. Remember, Val?
Remember the big spooky house?”

 

“I remember,” she said. “I never forgot.”

“Try to recall the players for me. Can you do
that?” He pressed both his hands to the sides of her
face.
As if he were trying to do a Vulcan mind meld.
“There was that big lug, Brent. There was the little
weasel. I forget his name—he's not important. And
then there was a girl named Charlene.”

“Charlie,” Val said automatically. “She tried to kill
me. Oh my God—was she your girlfriend?”
His hands tightened painfully. “She was my little
sister, you twisted bitch.”

Immediately, she saw the resemblance. It was as if
the dead girl's face were superimposed over his. The
dark hair, the blue eyes, the pale skin.

“I had to track Brent down to get the story since
you went into hiding and GM just, well. Disappeared.
He told me that GM killed Charlie. Brent did. He told
me that GM killed her as if she weren't even human,
because she tried to kill
you
. Do you have any idea
what that did to my family? Yes,” he answered his
own question. “Yes, I suppose you would know.”

“She was crazy.”

His eyes flashed in the wavering light. “And you
aren't? I know all about you, Val. You and your little
eccentricities. You were so easy to find it was almost
pathetic. We're all hunters in my family, you know.
Deer, ducks…damsels. I was expecting a challenge.
This was a farce. I mean, come on. Valerie Klein? That
was the best you could do? Pathetic,” he repeated.

Val couldn't feel her hands anymore. They had no
sensation. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Ah, self-preservation rears its ugly head.” He
reached towards her. Val pulled away and hit her
head against the rock ledge behind her again, and
through the veil of pain she was aware of his angling
her towards the gaping mouth of the cave. “You hear
that roaring off in the distance?”

She nodded, trying to shake him off. “What is it?
A freeway?”
“Oh no. Not even close. That, Val, is the sound of
the tide coming in. In about half an hour, forty-five
minutes tops, this little grotto will be completely
underwater—and so will you.”
Val made an involuntary sound of panic.

“Watery graves are so romantic, aren't they?”
Only if you're a psychopath.

“I originally planned to fuck you, you know. Not
now,” he said, when she recoiled, “now that he's had
you. But in the beginning. I liked the idea, of me
having you before GM did. Wouldn't that be ironic?”

“You're disgusting.”

“Too bad, Val. After what you did, I want you to
hear every single word. Besides, I'd have thought that
you'd be used to it by now what with all the rumors
about you. That was why you left town, wasn't it?
Because people were speculating that you liked bad
boys maybe a little too much, right?”

He thumbed the mark on her neck.
“I guess it was true.”
“Stop it,” said Val. “That's enough.”
“Even the children were in on it. I heard the
cutest little nursery rhyme in your hometown, where

a bunch of little brats were playing skip-rope. Wanna
hear how it goes?”

 

“No.”

 

“I'll tell you anyway.” He cleared his throat.
“Valerian Kimble means bad luck—”

 

“
Please
.”

 

“—how many psychos did she fuck? One, two,
three, four…”

 

He stepped back.

In spite of his words from earlier, Val was afraid
that it was to remove his pants. She squeezed her eyes
shut and her thighs together, bracing herself. He
didn't touch her, though there was a bright flash.

He was taking pictures.

“I really don't think he'll be able to resist coming
after me when I send him the rest of my little
scrapbook.”

The rest?
Good Lord. He was just as sick as Gavin.
“He'll kill you,” she said. “Just like your sister.”

Bringing up Charlie was a mistake. “I'm counting
on that,” he said nastily. “Him thinking he can,
anyway. I can make this look like a murder-suicide.
I've been watching him. I like to think I've picked up a
little of his style.” Vance gestured at the candles and
flowers, then recited, “'From forth the fatal loins of
these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their
life.' The press will eat that shit up.”