The Gallery (10 page)

“Mother, I can't stop practicing on the grand. I have a recital in May and I'm nowhere near ready.”

“And I can't quit my job,” LaDonna added. “I need the money.” No one,
nothing
was going to make her stop going to the basement room.

“Another girl was assaulted up there last night, LaDonna. She got away, but it could have just as easily have been you. That campus is not safe. Your boss will understand. Tell him you'll come back after they catch this maniac.”

“Mom, how did you find that out?” Johnny asked. “It hasn't been in the papers.”

“We hear everything at the store. Some students came in later and told us the whole story. They had gathered around when the girl got away and called the police.”

LaDonna turned and looked at Johnny. He was staring out the window. His hands lay in his lap. She stared at his long, slender fingers. Strong fingers.

How silly. She forced her eyes to move to his long bony face and she missed his crooked smile. It had been days since Johnny had smiled.

“Take me home, Mrs. Blair. We can still make the five-thirty movie, Johnny. Okay?”

“Sure. Be there in a little while.” Johnny held the door open for LaDonna. He looked upset. She ran inside, leaving him to deal with his mother.

Her father hadn't left for work, and she didn't ask why. When she walked into the kitchen he was eating a TV dinner. He glanced up but didn't say anything. My happy family, thought LaDonna. She hurried into her room to change clothes. She would wear her best jeans, and a new sweatshirt.

Thinking of something she wanted to ask her dad, she hurried back to the kitchen. He was sipping a cup of coffee.

“Dad, I've heard that there are tunnels under all the buildings on campus. Is that right?” She'd pretend she knew nothing.

“Sure. They're air ducts. They hold pipes and electrical systems. Phone lines. Some are closed off, but you can get through most of them. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. The idea fascinates me. I wonder if anyone could live down there?”

Her father studied his coffee. His fingers circled the mug where cream clouded the dark liquid. The fingers on his right hand were stained yellow with nicotine. The doctor had told him to stop smoking but he probably never would. He just didn't smoke at home any more. Permanent dirt and grime emphasized the lines and his fingernails. She had never noticed how long her father's fingers were. She was sure they were strong. He had used them for hard work all his life.

Finally he answered her question. “I guess so. But I've never heard of it. The transients stay on the streets to pick up spare change and sleep in the park or occasionally the homeless shelter if they can get out there. Most of the tunnels are locked since they have outlets into the buildings and the buildings are locked.”

“Johnny Blair and I are going to the early movie.” She jumped up and completely changed the subject so her father wouldn't think about her question for too long. “I'd better get some popcorn made.”

“I heard about a guy who got arrested for taking his own popcorn to the movies.”

“We're sneaky. We can barely afford the movie, much less the refreshments.”

“You need some money?” Her father reached in the pocket of his overalls.

“No, Dad, really. I'm working now, remember?”

“Maybe you shouldn't go up on the campus for awhile.” If he hadn't remembered before, he did now.

“I'll be all right. I'm careful.” She ran back to her room to unbraid her hair and brush it. She didn't need another lecture.

There were four movies showing at the dollar seventy-five theater, the only one she ever went to. Six or seven dollars for a movie just wasn't in her budget, and she never expected Johnny to buy her ticket. When they went someplace together, it was never like a date. Until now, she had never considered they were any more than friends. She wasn't sure she liked thinking anything else. It might ruin their friendship.

They chose the scary movie, of course. And they weren't disappointed. This woman kept running around inside and out of a big apartment building in New York City. And she just happened to have rented the apartment where another woman had killed herself—jumped out the window. But you knew she didn't jump. If she had, there wouldn't have been a story.

Some weirdo was watching her all the time, since he'd put a hidden camera in her apartment. How come he hadn't seen the former tenant jump out the window? Or be pushed? Unless he was the murderer, too.

“Da-da, da-da. Da-da, da-da.” Johnny hummed the Jaws theme as they left the movie. “Want to live in New York City some day?” He laughed.

“I don't think so. Fortunately artists can live anyplace.”

“So can pianists. But I'll have to travel a lot. So I guess it won't matter where I live. I'll just have one room and a piano.”

“With a cheap, cozy little restaurant down the block so you don't have to cook. Can you cook?”

“Is this a proposal?” Johnny teased.

“Well, I can't cook. Someone has to.”

“There are always TV dinners.”

LaDonna remembered her father's dinner. And sometimes you eat them when neither you or your daughter wants to cook.

“Did you hear about that girl being attacked when you came across campus last night, Johnny?” LaDonna moved back to the subject uppermost on her mind. Maybe they should have seen a light comedy at the theater.

“Is that a subtle way of asking me if I was up there?”

“You're really sensitive about that, aren't you?”

“You would be too if the police kept asking you questions. Why would I kill Katherine?”

LaDonna made an attempt at black humor. “She was a better pianist than you?”

Johnny sighed. He hadn't told a dark, tasteless joke for weeks. “That's not funny.”

“I know. I'm sorry. We'll talk about something else.”

They got very quiet for three blocks. Three dark blocks along Broadway and onto The Hill.

LaDonna laughed a little. “We're brilliant conversationalists, aren't we?”

“Your new art says a lot. Want to tell me why you're painting with that new style?”

“No. Did you notice that one of them is you? And that another is how I felt after I listened to your music the other day.”

“When you slipped out quietly.”

“You heard me.”

“No. But when I finished playing, I asked you if you were bored. You weren't. You were gone. I was playing for you.”

“I'm sorry. I appreciated it. But suddenly—well, it's hard to explain. I was so filled with emotion from listening, I thought I was going to burst. I just had to paint. I'm painting in the basement, on the job. But I don't charge off those hours.”

“I suspected you were. What's there that makes you able to paint when you can't paint in class? Or at home?”

“Have you forgotten that I told you someone was there with me?” If he had forgotten, she'd remind him. She needed to talk about Mr. Sable again.

“You still believe that? To tell the truth, LaDonna, I didn't pay much attention to you when you told me that the first time. That's your imagination.”

“No!” Wow, she didn't mean to be that adamant. In a quieter voice she said, “No, it's not my imagination. He's helping me paint. My style's a lot like his, but I've stopped worrying about that. I can't explain it, Johnny. It's like he—he gets inside my mind and guides my hand.”

“Then it's his painting.”

“No, I refuse to believe that. My emotion is reflected in the work.”

They walked a ways farther. “Should I worry about you, LaDonna? Are you losing your mind? Why don't you talk to the counselor at the school? She's pretty good. I went to see her last year when I had trouble with my scheduling.”

“I don't need a psychiatrist or a psychologist. I do need a friend, Johnny. Believe what I'm telling you.”

“It's hard.” He draped his arm around her loosely. “You're telling me you believe in ghosts. I don't. So we don't have a meeting of minds. Like—like you say you do with this—this person in your basement room. You were awfully stressed, LaDonna, when—”

“Why did I tell you?” LaDonna felt slightly hurt that Johnny couldn't understand what she was telling him. But if she thought about it for long, she could see his point. If he told her he was playing music that someone else put in his head, not off a page in a book, but coming to him through the air, would she believe him? Or would she say, you've lost your mind, Johnny.

“Because we've always shared everything.” He hugged her. “Don't stop sharing just because I think you're weird.” He pushed her and ran ahead. She chased him to the corner. Then they both had to stop for a traffic light.

After a couple more blocks they were passing the north end of the campus. “Want to go practice, Johnny?” she asked. “I can walk on home by myself.”

“Your dad and my mother would kill me.”

“They would never know. But I guess I'll try to paint at home tonight. That's the worst of this situation, Johnny, whatever it is. I'm starting to feel as if I can't paint any place except in that musty basement. If that's the case, I'm in trouble.”

“I heard that's called functional fixedness. A big word for being rigid. Only being able to do whatever it is you do in one place. I'll practice at home tonight. You paint in your room. Willing to try?”

“Deal.” LaDonna stuck out her hand and shook Johnny's. And when they reached her house, she knew their evening had ended with that handshake. She would rather have had a kiss.

thirteen

A
FTER TWO NIGHTS
of unsuccessfully trying to paint at home, LaDonna slipped out after her father left for work and hurried to the campus. Her father had not forbidden her to go to her job, but he had strongly suggested that it wasn't a good idea. Roddy had said the same thing. Johnny hadn't bothered. He knew she'd do as she pleased.

She figured she could always catch up on sorting the donated paintings, but now that she was working well, she hated to let her painting go. Facing a blank canvas was scary enough. Facing one, knowing you were blocked was hell.

She didn't know what it was like to be pregnant, but she could imagine how frustrating it must be to want to have your baby and not be able to. When she wanted to paint and couldn't, it was as if she had this huge living thing inside her trying to get out. The more it pushed and kicked, the more miserable she felt. And the less she wanted to live through the pain.

Spring had returned after the snow squall and the night was damp, smelling of hyacinths, and buds were bursting from all the trees.

But the night was also moonless. As she entered the campus from College Avenue, she realized that the lights on either side of Varsity Pond were either burned out or had been broken.

Her feet thudded on the walk as she walked faster and faster. All the warnings from adults around her had made her nervous. She hated the feeling. She hated being afraid.

“LaDonna, wait.” A low whisper escaped the grove of pines to her left. “LaDonna, what's your hurry?”

She stopped, glanced around, but could see nothing but dark, straight tree trunks against an even darker background.

For a couple of seconds she thought the voice belonged to Mr. Sable, but what would he be doing out here?

“Who's there?” she said, angry because her voice was tentative.

She stepped onto the bridge, grasped the cold wall to the left of the walk, leaned slightly over. A light on the other side of the pond reflected in the shiny water as if that was where the moon had tried to hide.

Trip-trap, trip-trap
. She continued to walk, remembering the story now. The troll was at the other end.

Why had the fairy tale come to mind? Because in third grade she had played the Biggest Billy Goat Gruff, the one who was supposed to deal with the troll. She had been as fearless in third grade as she had until—until just a few weeks ago. The other kids had known that when they chose her for the part.

Trip-trap
. She hurried on.
Trip-trap
. She ran.

His laughter followed her. She wanted to go back and fight. He had deliberately tried to frighten her. And he had succeeded.

Who? Someone who knew her. Someone who had followed her all this way from home? Or someone who knew she wouldn't be able to stay home and work for long?

That could be half a dozen people. Johnny, Luis Rodriguez, Eric Hunter, her father, Mr. Sable.

Or even her boss, Glen Walker. She didn't see much of him, but when she did, he waved. And he knew she liked to work at night. Maybe he wasn't the nice guy Roddy thought he was. Something could have happened to push him over the edge. Many people today, due to stress and unhappiness or anger, walked a fine line between being a nice person and one out of control, taking their anger out on society.

Was this person's scaring her tonight separate from what was happening on campus, or—or was he …

She couldn't think of any reason for anyone
she
knew to be attacking women at night. But suddenly she knew some very strange people. Why had Mr. Sable selected her to appear to in the basement gallery? He could be in her imagination, she realized, but she didn't think so. Someone speaking to her on the bridge wasn't made up, was it?

Her life had certainly taken a strange turn.

Artists, very creative people, walked a narrow line between sanity and a disturbed personality. Maybe … Wow, now she was thinking she was going crazy.

She had to use her key to get into the art building. The lock was stubborn. Twice she glanced around while she jiggled and twisted it. This outside light burned brightly. She saw no one, and there were no close bushes for anyone to hide.

Hurrying through the dimly lighted hall, she reached the stairway door. She stopped, listened. She had never come into the building this late at night, alone, she realized. She usually came in by day, when people were having classes in the building. Often she left at night, but entering the place at night felt strange. Sometimes there were night classes. Not tonight.