All The Pretty Dead Girls (17 page)

Billy grinned at her. “I care about plot. The movie had a plot.”

“With holes in it big enough to drive this car through,” she said, laughing more than she would have in real life. In real life, she probably wouldn’t have teased Billy quite so much. But in her dream, Sue had known Billy a long time.

All her life, it seemed.

Maybe even longer.

His hand went from the side of the steering wheel to her knee. She looked down at his hand, and then back up at him and smiled. She felt a tingling where his hand was touching her bare knee, a vague sensation of warmth that started slowly creeping up her leg. “That’s nice,” she barely whispered, catching her breath and looking over at him.

This is what it’s supposed to feel like, this is what a woman is supposed to feel when she wants a man. I’m not frigid, I just hadn’t met the right guy yet.

“I love you, Sue,” Billy said, moving his hand further up her leg.

She felt a strange sensation between her legs, in her lower abdomen, like hot liquid poured all over her.

“I love you, too, Billy,” she said, and placed her left hand on his right knee. His leg was solid and strong, yet somehow soft to her touch, and he began to shift a little in the driver’s seat.

“I want you, Sue,” Billy said.

“And I want you, Billy,” she whispered back.

But her eyes were on the dark road in front of the car, and she barely had time to scream—

—because there was a bicycle in front of them and on it, a girl with long blond hair and a baseball cap, looking back over her shoulder at them, and her mouth was screaming, screaming just like the girl in the window. And then there was a terrible thud and for a brief moment, the girl’s face hit the windshield and her eyes locked onto Sue’s. After that, the windshield was all covered in blood.

Sue sat up in bed screaming.

“Sue!”

Malika’s voice.

She was feeling around for the light, but the power must have gone out. The digital green clock on the side of Sue’s bed was dark. Outside the storm still raged.

“Sue, are you all right?”

Her heart was thudding in her ears. She tried to find the words.

“A dream,” she mumbled. “A bad dream.”

“It’s okay.” Malika was at her side now, having gotten out of bed and come around to hers. “It’s probably the storm that freaked you out.”

Lightning suddenly lit up the room, and then a few seconds later came a huge crash of thunder. The building literally shook.

“A really bad dream,” Sue mumbled.

“It’s okay, Sue,” Malika was saying. “Put it out of your mind and go back to sleep.”

Sue lay back down. Her heart was still racing, but she seemed unable to fight off the sleep that was already overpowering her. She was vaguely aware of Malika going back to bed, and then she was asleep again.

The dream wasn’t over.

She was outside. Just where, she wasn’t sure. The night air was cold. There was no moon, and the clouds blocked out the stars.

“Sue,” came a voice.

It was Billy.

And his eyes were glowing red.

“Billy?” she asked, her voice shaking.

He laughed—a low, guttural sound.

Sue’s entire body went cold.

“Billy, what’s—what’s wrong with your eyes?” she stammered, taking a step away from him.
Run, run, you’ve got to get away from him…

Because suddenly she knew.

This is what really happened to Bonnie Warner.

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes, Sue.”

Billy’s voice was lower, deeper than it usually was.

“Come on, Sue, let me take you home…come let me drive you home. Don’t you want to go home, Sue?”

Her entire body was frozen in place. She willed herself to run, to get away, but somehow she couldn’t move.

“Come on, Sue,” Billy purred, and he took her hand—only his hand wasn’t warm—

—
it was cold, and it didn’t feel like skin, it felt like scales…

Sue yanked her hand away.

“Get in my fucking car!” Billy raged.

Sue turned and ran. She could hear Billy’s footsteps behind her. She ran hard, she ran faster than she’d ever run before. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong. She didn’t know what, but all she knew was she had to get away from him.

He’s going to kill me, just the way he killed Bonnie Warner!

She saw the gates of the college in the distance. There were lights on in Bentley Hall, warm welcoming lights, safety.

Almost there, almost safe.

She heard laughter from behind her, and it wasn’t Billy laughing.

She glanced back and what she saw—

It wasn’t human. It was a thing of blackness, of cold, mad hatred and fury.

Sue screamed.

And then she was falling, falling hard—having tripped over two bodies on the ground. She came face-to-face with them.

Joelle Bartlett and Tish Lewis.

They were dead. But even worse—they looked deflated. Like plastic balloons that had been popped. As if all the life had just been sucked out of them.

Sucked out—by that—that
thing
—that was bearing down on her!

Somehow, Sue staggered to her feet and kept running. She ran through the gates of the college, the hot breath of her pursuer on her neck. In front of Bentley Hall, she looked up at the window of Room 323.

And yes, there was a face.

Only the face wasn’t screaming.

It was her mother’s face—kind and smiling—exactly as Sue had seen her in all those old photographs. Her mother was smiling, gesturing for Sue to enter.

“No,” Sue said, backing away.

“Go ahead, Sue,” came the voice of the thing behind her. “Don’t you want to go home?”

She turned around. It was Billy. Billy in all his sweet boyishness. He smiled.

And revealed a mouthful of fangs.

As he leaned forward to kiss her, Sue didn’t resist. She couldn’t run. Not anymore. She was too tired. Besides, if she gave in to him, she’d get to go home, he promised. And there, her mother was waiting for her. Billy put his arms around her, and placed his cold lips against hers. He smelled of dead things, of rotting flesh, of death.

Sue surrendered.

And then she sat up in bed, shivering, just as lightning lit up the room.

Lightning—but no thunder now. The storm had passed.

But Sue’s fear had returned.

In the morning, Sue awoke with a start, even if the power outage had ensured the alarm clock just sat there, blinking uselessly. She lay there unmoving, watching as Malika dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. Sue listened as the shower came on.

A bad dream,
she thought to herself.
That’s all it was, just a bad dream.

The dream had been too monstrous.

You’re just being silly, that’s all,
she told herself.
It was the storm. And all that thinking about Billy before bed, worrying about the whole sex thing—it’s easy to explain. Anyone with a basic understanding of psychology would tell you that your subconscious mind—fearful of sex—turned Billy into a monster, a threat to you.

But what about the Bonnie Warner stuff—where did that come from?

And Mother?

The shower shut off, and Malika opened the bathroom door to let out some of the steam. “Come on, lazybones,” she called. “Time to rise and shine.”

With great effort, Sue got out of bed and walked across the room to the window. She looked out onto the campus. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, and there was a steady drizzle of rain. Dark and gloomy. Sue sat on the sill, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning back against the wall, watching the water run down the glass.

All at once, pain shot through her head.

“Damn.” She tried to stand, then stumbled and fell against the side of her bed. The pain was blinding, intense, like no pain she’d ever felt before. She was aware of nothing except the pain, like her brain was being ripped in two. She held on to the side of the bed, her face twisted, unable to think because of so much pain…

And then it was gone as suddenly as it had started.

She gasped, trying to catch her breath. She tried to call to Malika, who she could hear humming to herself in the bathroom as she brushed her teeth. But she found she couldn’t make a sound. She attempted to stand—

—and then the pain returned, like a lightning bolt through her head. My God, it hurt so bad, as if her brain was being torn apart inside her head, as if something was going on in there that she couldn’t stop or control. She could barely breathe.

And then it was gone again.

Except now her stomach was churning. She knew she was going to be sick.

Like a cannonball, she forced herself to her feet and ran into the bathroom, scaring Malika with her intensity. She fell to the floor before she could make it to the toilet, and she began crawling across the tile, fighting the violent heavings of her stomach just as the terrible headache returned.

The pain…oh God, the pain.

The tiles felt cool to her burning skin, and she hoisted herself up through the fog of pain—everything seemed to be tinted red—and hugged the toilet, opening her mouth and retching. The pain in her head didn’t abate as her stomach emptied, even as she continued to heave and vomit after there was nothing left to come up.

“Jesus!” Malika was shrieking. “Sweet Jesus!”

Sue slid to the side of the toilet, lying facedown on the floor, the hard yet cool tile feeling good to her burning face.

And then, mercifully, the pain in her head was gone again.

“Sue,” Malika called, stooping down and cradling her head in her arms. “Baby girl! What the hell is wrong?”

“I—I don’t know…”

Malika made a face and turned her face away from the toilet, even as she managed to reach out and flush away the vomit. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

She helped Sue to her feet and across the room, easing her down on the bed.

“My head,” Sue mumbled. “I had this wicked headache—and then—I knew I’d be sick…”

“Food poisoning,” Malika said. “It looks like food poisoning to me. What did you eat last night?”

“Lasagna,” Sue managed to say.

She and Billy had eaten at their favorite little Italian place near the movie. She could taste the sour bile of half-digested pasta, meat sauce, and cheese in the back of her throat.

“It must have been bad,” Malika said. “We ought to report them. It could be salmonella.”

“No,” Sue said. She didn’t know why she was so certain it wasn’t food poisoning, but she was. “It wasn’t the food.”

“Have you ever had that kind of a headache before?”

“No, I definitely have not.” She was feeling better—at least, she knew she wasn’t going to be sick again. She managed to sit up, and Malika propped her pillows behind her back. “That was the real problem. The headache was so bad it made me throw up. It was the headache, not the food.”

“Well, we need to get you to the infirmary,” Malika told her.

Sue knew she was right, but all she wanted to do was stay right where she was. She was afraid if she moved, the pain in her head would come back. She didn’t think she could take another bout of that pain.

But finally, she allowed Malika to help her into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, and traipsed out into the rain with her across the campus to the infirmary. The nurse on duty took one look at Sue and must have seen how pale she was, because she immediately took her by the shoulders and got her to lie down.

“You can go on to your classes,” the nurse told Malika. “I can take care of her from here.”

“Is that okay, Sue?” Malika asked.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I’ll be fine. There’s a test in Dr. Marshall’s class today that I can’t miss. I’ll skip biology and rest up for it.”

“Okay.” Malika gripped her shoulder once and headed out.

The nurse, meanwhile, was placing a cold damp cloth across Sue’s forehead. “Want to tell me what brought this on?” she was asking.

The nurse was a small woman, small yet round in her white uniform, with short dark hair and large breasts that seemed to push the uniform top to its breaking point. Her name tag read
POPPY COCHRANE
.

“Well, I’ve had headaches before, but nothing like this,” Sue explained. “After I threw up, I felt better. Just really weak.”

“It could be an allergic reaction. You’ve never had a problem with the foods you ate before?”

“No, in fact, I’ve eaten the exact same meal at the same place the last two Saturdays before.”

“Well, maybe the meat was bad this time out.” Nurse Cochrane nodded her head. She opened the file in front of her, and a frown crossed her round face. “This is odd.”

“What?” Sue frowned. “What are you looking at?”

“Your medical history.”

“You have my whole medical history there?”

Nurse Cochrane eyed her. “Of course. We have it for all our girls. It’s a requirement. Your grandparents had it sent up before you even arrived.”

Sue made a face. “How would you know it was my grandparents? Wouldn’t you have assumed it was my parents who sent it?”

The nurse smiled. “It says it right here. Grandparents are guardians.”

“Oh. Okay.” Sue sat up, removing the cloth from her head. She was feeling better. “So what’s so odd?”

“You’ve never been sick.” Nurse Cochrane looked over the top of the folder at her. “Nothing.”

Sue shrugged. “I’ve had colds.”

“No chicken pox, no measles, no mumps, no flus, no hospitalizations, no broken bones except for that little trouble with your nose.” Nurse Cochrane closed the file. “You’re a medical miracle, Miss Barlow.”

Sue shifted in her seat. “So, I’m healthy. Is that a problem?”

“Well, no, of course not, that’s not what I meant.” The nurse gave her a beaming smile. “It just means you’re a phenomenally lucky young lady. Children, as you may know, are incredibly susceptible to diseases—and most children run fevers, catch colds, get the chicken pox—I don’t think I’ve ever seen a file like yours once in my entire career. And other than regular checkups and flu shots, you’ve never really had to see a doctor in your life. That’s really amazing.”

“Is that all?” Sue started to stand up.

“Well, I think I’d like to make an appointment for you with Dr. Bauer when he’s in tomorrow—see what he thinks. He might want you to go up for a CAT scan in Senandaga, just to be on the safe side.”

“CAT scan?” Sue suddenly felt defensive. “It was just food poisoning.”

Earlier, with Malika, she’d been opposed to that idea, certain the headache had brought on the sickness, not the other way around. But now…

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she told the nurse.

She didn’t quite believe it. But some strange sensation inside her didn’t want to know what might exactly have gone on in her head earlier this morning.

It had felt as if her brain was being torn in half.

“It was just a bad headache from eating bad meat, you said so yourself,” said Sue. “And now it’s gone and I puked out all the poison and I’m fine. Having to go to the hospital and have all kinds of tests would just upset my grandparents. No need to get everyone all upset. They’d worry—and would make me go to every specialist under the sun, and I’d rather not get everyone all worked up over a headache.”

“It’s your decision, but still—” The nurse removed an appointment book from the drawer of her desk and opened it. “Do you have class tomorrow at three?”

Sue shook her head. “No,” she admitted.

“I’d like you to see Dr. Bauer then.” She wrote Sue’s name in the book. “Until then, stay away from that restaurant. And if you get another headache, get over to the emergency room. Lebanon General is a very good hospital.”

“An appointment with the doctor is not necessary,” Sue told her.

“I’d be remiss if I didn’t make it.” She narrowed her eyes at Sue. “What are you afraid of finding out, Miss Barlow?”

Sue quickly stood and thanked the nurse. More than anything, she just wanted out of there. She felt absolutely fine now. She hurried through the rain, her untied sneakers sloshing through the mud.

What are you afraid of finding out?

“Nothing,” she said out loud to herself in the elevator. “I’m just afraid of failing Dr. Marshall’s test.”

Back in her room, she called Billy’s cell. He was in school, of course, so she knew she’d get his voice mail. “Hey, it’s Sue,” she said. “Listen, were you sick last night? I had a wicked headache and then hurled all over the place. Maybe it was the food? Hope you’re okay. Talk to you later.”

She flopped down onto her bed. In a way, she hoped Billy had gotten sick, too. They’d had the same lasagna. If he got sick, it would confirm the idea that it was food poisoning. Sue felt awfully mean thinking it, but she hoped right now Billy was puking his guts out.

She needed to study if she was going to pass this test. Sue found her notebooks on the floor and picked them up so she could flip through her notes. She liked Dr. Marshall’s class. Her lectures were interesting, and the subject matter Sue found fascinating. She’d never really given much thought to the things Dr. Marshall brought up about the history of the Church. She’d learned at Stowe about the Reformation and the religious wars that had torn Europe asunder in previous centuries, but it had never occurred to her to question the actual books of the Bible, and to wonder if they actually said today what they originally said two thousand years ago.

Some of the other girls in the class didn’t like the things Dr. Marshall had to say, and there had been some heated discussion. Wilbourne had a lot of fundamentalist Christian girls, and most of them took what Dr. Marshall was saying very personally. “Jesus was the ultimate questioner of authority,” Dr. Marshall would say. “He’d welcome a challenge to orthodox teaching. You might still end up believing exactly what you believe today, but until you actually examine your faith, you can never know for sure.”

Sue didn’t participate in these discussions in class. She just listened, but took it all in. She knew that her grandfather wouldn’t approve of the class—or Dr. Marshall. “Anyone who attacks Christianity attacks the basic foundation of this country,” he’d said once at the dinner table, “and is therefore anti-American.”

But Dr. Marshall wasn’t attacking Christianity. That she’d made clear once after class, when Sue sometimes stopped at her desk to talk about the day’s discussion.

“Challenge—even dissent—should not be construed as an attack,” she told Sue, who’d nodded.

“I think,” Sue had told her teacher, “that those who cry that they are being attacked by such discussions are the ones least secure in their own faith.’

Dr. Marshall had smiled. “Very astute, Sue. I wish you’d share such thoughts in class. You’d add quite a bit to the discussion.”

But Sue preferred not to speak in public. She’d probably stumble over her words or mangle her point. She preferred just to listen to Dr. Marshall—so eloquent, so articulate, so passionate.

It’s odd,
Sue thought,
that I can admire both Dr. Marshall and Joyce Davenport
. Both so different—but in their passion and conviction, the same.

Her cell rang, startling her out of her reverie.

She glanced at the Caller ID, hoping it would be Billy. But it wasn’t. She flipped open the phone. “Hello, Gran.”