The Whisperer (Nightmare Hall) (9 page)

“I thought you were one of Dr. Stark’s few fans. Aren’t you going to visit her?”

“I can’t stand being around sick people. Besides, would I really cancel a great date to spend time with a bio teacher? Reality check, Shea.”

Shea went to the infirmary alone.

Bethany was awake, but she was still ghostly white, with navy-blue shadows under her eyes. She lay quietly in the infirmary bed. She seemed surprised to see Shea. Annette, sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair beside the patient’s bed, looked equally surprised.

I don’t blame them, Shea thought, wondering if she’d made a grave tactical error. She didn’t know Bethany very well, either. Wasn’t her unexpected visit likely to arouse suspicion?

She felt as if the word GUILTY was emblazoned across her face in vivid red paint. “I … I was visiting Dr. Stark,” she said hastily. “Thought I’d just stop in and see how you were doing, Bethany. Are you okay?” Say yes, Shea commanded silently.

“Sure,” Bethany answered quietly. “I’m fine, Shea. It was nice of you to stop by. Have you heard if they’ve found out who threw that horrible thing into our room?”

Conscious of Annette’s brown eyes on her, Shea somehow managed to say, “No, I haven’t. But I’m sure it was just meant as a stupid practical joke.”

“Some joke!” Annette said with contempt.

Shea couldn’t stay another second. If she did, she was liable to confess everything and beg Bethany and Annette to forgive her.

“Glad you’re feeling better,” she said. “Gotta go. I’m going to spend this lovely rainy day hitting the books.”

“If you hear anything,” Annette said, “about who did this, I mean, let us know.”

Shea thought for a split second that she saw something in Annette’s eyes, heard something in her voice.

I
don’t
know anything about the person behind it, she thought as she approached the reception desk. Except that he whispers. And enjoys making people dance to his tune. That’s all I know.

Afraid that Annette or Bethany might find out that she hadn’t been there to visit Dr. Stark, Shea impulsively asked the receptionist, “Is Dr. Stark seeing visitors?”

The receptionist, who appeared to be a student volunteer, laughed. “If she
had
any, she’d probably see them. I don’t expect a mad rush now that she’s here with us. She’s not exactly the most popular person on campus.”

“Doesn’t she have any family? Friends?”

“I guess not. The only person who’s been in to see her since she got here this morning was one of her students. Guy named Cooper. He was here this morning. But he actually came to see Bethany, like you. I guess he stopped in to see Stark on the spur of the moment. Probably felt sorry for her.” The receptionist regarded Shea from behind wire-rim glasses. “You want to see her? She’s not in a very good mood. But what else is new?”

Shea hesitated. What were the chances that she could talk to Dr. Stark without arousing the professor’s suspicion? She wasn’t even sure the teacher knew her name. The class was too big. She’d think it was really weird that a student she hardly knew had come to visit.

The chances of pulling off a conversation with Dr. Stark now without revealing anything, were nil.

Still. …

“Where is she?” Shea asked.

The receptionist pointed to a room off to one side. The door stood open.

Shea went over and looked inside, careful to make no noise.

Dr. Stark was lying flat on her back in a long, narrow bed draped in white. She was staring at the ceiling, a blank expression on her face.

There were no flowers, no boxes of candy, no magazines.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” A short, round nurse with curly hair appeared at Shea’s side. She sighed. “I’m going to try to get her into the whirlpool. The dean had it put in for her husband. He’s arthritic. Comes here every day. It should help Dr. Stark, too. Keep those muscles from atrophying.”

“Isn’t she getting physical therapy?”

“Not right now. She kept throwing the physical therapist out of her room at the hospital. Says he’s a sadist. He was only trying to help.”

Shea left the infirmary more depressed than when she arrived. She hadn’t imagined that was possible.

Although it was Sunday, which meant no mail delivery, Shea checked her mailbox when she got back to Devereaux. The whisperer might have sent instructions on where and when she could pick up the tape.

The mailbox was empty.

Dinah, in shorts and a yellow tank top, got off the elevator as Shea turned away from the mailbox.

“Where are you off to?” Shea asked.

“To the A.B.S. lab. Sid wants me to meet him there. Want to come? Coop might be there, too.”

“Dinah, you know what Sid always says. Three’s a crowd. Or four, or five, or any more than two, as far as he’s concerned.”

Dinah flushed guiltily. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Shea.” She turned away, shoulders slumped, and pushed the door open.

“You should have an umbrella,” Shea called. But Dinah had already disappeared from sight.

Sid wouldn’t be happy until Dinah had no friends left at all, Shea thought as she turned and headed for her room. No one to get in his way.

When she opened the door to her room, she almost tripped over the package lying just inside. A small box, wrapped in brown paper.

Shea bent to pick it up.

And saw her name printed on the top of the package in small black letters.

Something about the handwriting set off a warning bell in Shea’s head. It looked familiar. Like … like the note in her mailbox.

The package was from the whisperer.

Shea walked over to the bed and sat down, holding the package as if it might bite her.

She was afraid to open it. He had to be angry that she’d hung up on him last night. What if there was another snake in there?

But she had to open it. It
could
be the tape. He
had
promised. If she did what he asked … and she had. It
could
be in her hands right now.

Shea tore open the package. Suddenly, there it was, lying in her hands, in its black plastic case. The film that could have ruined her life. He had kept his promise. No copper paperweight in the package, but the tape was more important. The paperweight wasn’t incriminating all by itself, not without her image on the videotape.

She had to view it, see just what was on it. Make sure it really was
the
tape.

Would the lounge be empty on a gloomy Sunday afternoon? Rain slapped against the windows, and tap-tapped on the roof. There would be no tennis, no canoeing, ho hiking, or jogging on campus. Which could mean a crowded lounge, filled with people watching a movie on the VCR.

But she
had
to check out the tape.

Slipping the black case into her shoulder bag, she left the room and took the elevator down to the basement.

The lounge was empty.

Lunchtime. She’d forgotten it was that time of day. The dining halls and cafes at Salem University were probably packed, but the lounge was deserted.

The large-screen television set and the VCR were housed in a tall, wide shelving unit that ran half the length of one wall. The lower half of the unit was completely enclosed, large enough for storing lots of equipment and shielded by thick wooden doors with brass handles.

Knowing that she might have very little time, Shea thrust the tape into the machine and turned it on.

She backed away, her eyes riveted to the television screen.

The first sign that something was wrong was a burst of bright, lively music. Shea took a few more steps backward, never taking her eyes off the screen.

A cat … chasing a mouse … in vivid color …

Shea stared with disbelieving eyes.

No. He couldn’t
do
this to her. She had thought it was over, that she was safe now, that the tape she needed to stay in school, maybe even out of jail, was in her possession at last.

But what she was watching was not a videotape of a professor’s office.

It was a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

H
OW COULD HE
DO
this to her?

She had done what he’d told her. She hadn’t wanted to, and it had turned out even worse than she’d expected, but she
had
done it.

But he hadn’t kept his promise.

And you really thought he would?

Shea slid the cassette free and turned off the VCR.

“You should never hang up on me.”

The whisper caught Shea off guard. There was no one else in the lounge.

“It makes me mad,”
the voice continued.
“It’s really very rude.”

The whispered words seemed to be coming from directly in front of her. From … the cabinet?

Shea bent at the waist, reached out and tugged on the brass door handles directly beneath the TV shelf. The doors remained firmly in place.

He
had
to be in there. There was no other place.

He had guessed that she would come directly to the lounge to watch the tape. And he’d been waiting for her.

“You broke your promise!” she hissed. “I
did
what you said. It was stupid and cruel, but I
did
it. Now Bethany’s in the hospital. She could have died. And I still don’t have that videotape.”

“You would have it if you hadn’t exhibited such atrocious manners last night.”

“Tandy was in the room!” Shea cried. “I couldn’t talk.”

“No excuses, please. Actually, it’s Tandy I wish to discuss with you.”

“What?” Shea stared at the cabinet. “I don’t want to discuss
anything
with you. I just want that tape!”

“Sorry. Not just yet. You blew your chance when you had it. Now you’re going to have to prove to me all over again how much you want it.”

Furious, Shea grabbed the door handles on the cabinet again and yanked with all her might. In vain. They didn’t give an inch.

“Do you know the story of Samson and Delilah, Shea?”

“Yes!” she snapped, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the room was still empty. It was. How long before someone came in and saw her talking to the TV cabinet … “Delilah chopped off all of Samson’s hair and robbed him of his strength. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, I’ll tell you,”
the whisperer answered slyly.
“It’s that roommate of yours. Tandy is so vain. Disgustingly so. Always tossing around that hair of hers.”

“She’s not that bad,” Shea said loyally, even as an image of Tandy combing and brushing and blow-drying and braiding and tossing the waist-long hair danced before her eyes.

Ignoring her, the whisperer continued.
“You’re going to teach Tandy a lesson in humility. You’re going to play Delilah to her Samson.”

Voices sounded faintly in the distance. Were they approaching the lounge? “What are you talking about?” Shea asked quickly.

The whisper became harsh, with an edge to it.
“By tomorrow morning, Tandy had better have only a few inches of hair left on her head, or that videotape will be in the hands of the police by noon.”

Shea gasped. “You want me to cut off her hair? Why? That’s crazy!”

“Don’t you dare call me crazy! I told you, she needs to be taught a lesson. She needs to learn that beauty is only skin-deep.”
A wicked laugh, then,
“Or should I say hair-follicle deep? Just do it, Shea.”

The voices were coming closer. And they were definitely headed for the lounge. “I won’t! I am not doing something so stupid and cruel. Do whatever you want with the tape and the paperweight. I’m not touching one hair on Tandy’s head.”

“Someone’s coming. Turn around, now, and leave this room. Don’t look back or you’ll be sorry. And Shea, if Tandy shows up on campus tomorrow with long hair, your college days are over. And you’ll be wearing prison stripes instead of a university sweatshirt. Now go!”

Shea turned and hurried out of the room, arms hugging her chest to keep herself from turning around.

But when she reached the wide archway, she slipped around the corner into the hall and stayed there. She couldn’t leave yet. If there was even the slightest chance that she might catch a glimpse of the creep who was making her life so miserable, she couldn’t pass it up. But the whisperer mustn’t see her peeking.

Slowly, carefully, she peered around the edge of the doorframe.

Just in time to see a pair of shoes disappear behind a side door.

She had waited too long to look.

Furious with herself, she concentrated on the tiny glimpse. Black shoes? Brown? Low-heeled. Blood red laces … one of the school’s colors. Lots of people wore them. Were those a man’s shoes? A woman’s?

She couldn’t be sure.

Angry and disappointed, Shea sagged against the wall. The whisperer wanted her to cut off Tandy’s hair? Crazy. Insane. She wasn’t going to do it, of course.

“Hey, Shea, what’ve you got there?” Tom Neilsen said as he and a group of friends arrived at the entrance to the lounge. He was pointing at the cassette in her left hand. “Anything good?”

She looked down at the tape. She’d forgotten all about it. “Here,” she said, extending it toward Tom, “you can have it. It’s a Tom and Jerry cartoon. Have a good laugh on me.”

Tom took the tape. “Thanks! Want me to drop it back at your room later?” He looked hopeful.

Shea shook her head. “Just keep it. It’s not what I thought I was getting.” Waving, she turned and left.

Coop was waiting in the hall outside her room when she arrived. His dark hair was damp from walking in the rain. “Feel like seeing a movie?” he asked when she said hello. “Seems like the perfect day to be inside and I haven’t seen any of the movies at the mall. Have you?”

Shea shook her own damp head. “No. But I thought you guys all went last night. You and Sid and Dinah.”

“That fell through.” Coop slipped out of his blood red Salem U. windbreaker and shook the excess rainwater from it before putting it back on. “I guess Sid decided he’d rather have Dinah all to himself. Called me and said they’d changed their minds.”