The Biker (Nightmare Hall) (7 page)

Echo fell into a miserable silence.

While she was thinking, Pruitt began enumerating aloud her many offenses: first circulating the infamous petition, then her very vocal denouncing of the administration from the campus library steps for not cooperating. She had almost started a riot, and the Twin Falls police had been called to campus. Then he related, in graphic detail, the afternoon in January when Echo had jumped up on a table in Lester’s cafeteria to decry what she had called “the slop we’re being fed in this dungeon.” He followed up with the story about her running into Liam McCullough on her bike.

“How do you know all that?” Echo demanded.

“I checked around. You also have no close friends and would never win the Miss Congeniality award in any beauty pageant. Although,” he added, “you might win for looks, I guess. There are some stunning bones in that pretty face.”

Echo stiffened. “Maybe you’re right,” she said coldly. “Maybe no one would believe that you had anything to do with the bike attacks. But I still think all I’d have to do is raise suspicion and you wouldn’t dare go near that bike again. Wouldn’t that spoil all your fun?”

In a split second, he was on his feet and at her side. His left hand came up and gripped her elbow with iron fingers. “You make as much trouble for me as you have for the administration of this university and you will be very, very sorry. Let me make this
very
clear. Trouble for me could be very hazardous to those good looks I just mentioned, Echo. After last night, you know what being hit by a Harley at high speed can do. Just think what it could do to those gorgeous cheekbones of yours.”

Too stunned to speak, Echo remained silent.

Pruitt let go of her elbow and backed away. His face was flushed, and Echo noticed that his hands were shaking. But when he spoke again, his voice was calm. “You can’t hurt me, Echo. But I could finish
you
off, just like that,” snapping his fingers. He sat back down again. “With you dead, I could pin that whole incident last night on
you.
But …” he grinned at her, “if I did that right now, I wouldn’t be able to have any more fun, would I? That would mean the end of my days as a wild biker. So don’t worry. I’ll have to let you live, for now. And maybe for as long as you behave yourself.” He studied her carefully, then smiled a long, slow smile. “Now that I think about it,” his words coming slowly, thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t mind being seen at the campus movie tonight with someone who looks like you. Might get me some attention for a change.”

A black cloud descended over Echo. The sun was still shining above her, but she felt chilled to the bone. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Oh, I think you are. Wherever I say, actually. Now that you know how hazardous to your health I can be, I don’t think you’re going to cross me, are you, Echo? That would be foolish.” He was looking very pleased with himself, his pale eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses taking on a dreamy quality. “Yes, I think that being seen with you will really up my image. Let’s see … a movie tonight, maybe the dance at the rec center next Friday night, then, who knows? This could develop into a really productive relationship for both of us, Echo. Pick me up at the frat house at seven. Be on time.”

And with a casual wave of his hand, he walked away.

He walked jauntily, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Well, why not? she thought bitterly. Isn’t he practically getting away with murder? If Lily dies, it
will
be murder. And now I’m next on the list.

She couldn’t go to that movie with him.

She sat down on a stone garden bench surrounding a bed of bright red flowers. What choice did she have? If she didn’t go, he’d come after her on that bike, maybe not tonight, maybe not even tomorrow night, but sometime soon. She knew it. She could feel it. That look on his face when she’d threatened to cast suspicion on him would stay in her mind forever. He had meant that look.

She couldn’t go to the police. She had absolutely
no
proof that Pruitt had been driving that motorcycle. Even if she could convince the cops to talk to Pruitt, he’d know perfectly well who had sent them and she’d be finished.

Where was she going to get proof that Aaron Pruitt wasn’t who everyone thought he was?

This was a scary, scary mess she’d got herself into. Even if she didn’t end up in prison, even if she could somehow prove that the real villain was Pruitt and convince the authorities that she hadn’t known what he was going to do at Johnny’s Place, she’d be expelled for having any part in the tragic, horrible incident.

And then what would she do? Where would she go? Back to her grandparents’? They had their own problems, and they wouldn’t welcome her when they found out she’d been kicked out of school.

She had to stay at Salem. She
had
to!

Get a grip, Echo, she warned silently. Okay, so she couldn’t go to the authorities until she had some proof. She would have
to find
proof.

How?

Echo stood up. If she spent some time with Pruitt, revolting as the thought was, she just might learn something. Like … like where he might have hidden that bike. If she had the bike, she could go to the police with it. He’d said it wasn’t registered in his name, but didn’t the police have ways of finding out things even when you didn’t want them to? Her criminology class first semester had had a lot to do with forensic science. If there were fingerprints anywhere on that bike, if there was a single hair from Pruitt’s head in the helmet hanging from the handlebars, the police could connect him to it.

That wouldn’t let her off the hook. She’d still be an accessory. But if she came forward with the identity of the biker, wouldn’t that improve her chances of staying at Salem? Prove that she was, after all, a good citizen who cared about justice?

Without the bike, she had no chance at all.

With the bike, she had a tiny chance.

And the only chance she had of finding the bike was hanging around Pruitt.

Echo left the bench and began walking slowly back to Lester. There was a problem. Being seen on campus with Pruitt and attending a movie in his company was a terrible idea. It linked her with him. It would make it look like they were friends. Later, when she turned in the bike, if she found it, everyone would assume they’d planned last night’s attack together.

But if she didn’t go to the movie, he would come after her. She could feel it in her bones … the same bones he had threatened to crush with the bike.

The prospect of Pruitt aiming that deadly machine at her was a lot scarier than being linked romantically with him.

She would go to the movie. But she wouldn’t look happy about it. Later, when the question of their “association” came up, people might remember that she had looked like she was miserable. Maybe that would help.

Remembering Pruitt’s newly arrogant walk, Echo thought, What choice do I have?

There didn’t seem to be one.

T
HERE WERE ONLY TWO
people in the shiny red Miata parked at the edge of an overlook above campus. They were arguing. The driver, a heavyset, blond male in jeans and a Salem T-shirt, repeatedly shouted and waved his arms angrily toward the ant-like people playing tennis or tossing a Frisbee or jogging far below the outcropping on which the car rested.

“Look at them down there,” the boy, whose name was Polk Malone, accused vehemently. “They’re
having fun!
And we’re sitting up here twiddling our thumbs because you didn’t feel like doing anything. You never want to do anything fun!” The car windows were rolled down, and the sound of his shout carried into the late afternoon silence, startling the wildlife living in the woods on the hilltop.

The girl, Nancy Becker, small and also blonde, was in tears. But they were angry tears. “When we played tennis,” she shouted back, “you blamed me because we lost to Ian and Jess. When we played golf, you said I lost too many balls. At Johnny’s Place the other night, you flirted with Ruthanne all night. I never should have dumped Aaron for
you!
He’s a lot nicer than you are.”

“Aaron Pruitt is a geek! You should thank me for saving you from him. Every time I pass him on the Commons, he looks at me like he’d like to string me up. Like that makes me shake in my shoes.”

The bump, when it came, might have gone unnoticed in the heat of their argument if Polk hadn’t been far more concerned about his shiny red Miata than he was about making up with Nancy. There were plenty of other girls on campus, but what were his chances of getting another car from his dad if something happened to this one?

“Hey!” he shouted indignantly when the bump came. “What was that?”

Nancy swiped at her angry tears. “What? What was what?”

Polk’s eyes flew to the rearview mirror. “Someone hit us from behind.”

“I didn’t feel anything.”

Bump! It came again, a little harder, jostling the car slightly.

“Oh. I felt that one,” Nancy said, her head swiveling to glance backward. “There’s someone back there, Polk.”

Polk’s expression was grim. “It’s a motorcycle.”

Nancy drew in her breath sharply. “Polk! A motorcycle?” Her face visibly paled. “It’s not that crazy biker, is it?”

Polk didn’t ask who she meant. “Nah. That guy wears black leather, I heard. This jerk behind us just has a sweatshirt on. And a helmet. Can’t see his face, but it’s just some jerk, fooling around.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Polk was about to add, “Stay in the car. I’ll handle this,” when another, much more forceful push came from behind, and the Miata slid forward half an inch or so.

Nancy gasped and grabbed the dashboard. Her eyes darted fearfully to the vast, empty void lying straight ahead of them at the edge of the cliff. That void led to a sheer drop straight down … “Polk! The car moved! Do something!”

“He doesn’t even have his engine on,” Polk commented in wonder, his own eyes still fastened to the rearview mirror. “That’s why we didn’t hear him coming. What’s he up to? He can’t be serious about it or he’d have his engine on, wouldn’t he?”

“How should I know?” Nancy snapped, still clutching the dashboard. “I’ve never been on one of those things in my life. But it looks awfully big and heavy to me, and this car is small. Didn’t I ask you not to park so close to the edge? You never listen to me!”

“What the
hell
is he doing?” Polk murmured, his own face losing some of its color. He moved then to jump out of the car and confront the biker. But a sudden, forceful blow from behind snapped Polk’s head forward and slammed it into the steering wheel. He let out a startled grunt. A second later, his eyes snapped shut. His mouth fell open and his head rolled to one side and then lay still.

Nancy, sitting sideways on the front seat, screamed his name. When he didn’t answer, her terrified eyes flew to the back window.

The biker was still out there. She could see his helmeted head.

Instinct told her to flee the car. But she was afraid to.
He
was out there. Sweatshirt or not, she knew it was him. He had almost killed Lily D’Agostino last night. He would kill her, too, if she got out of the car. And she couldn’t abandon Polk, anyway.

With shaking fingers, Nancy fumbled behind her for her seat belt, which she had removed when they parked. She called Polk’s name over and over again as she tried, failed, tried again and finally succeeded in fastening the belt. Then she reached across, still urging Polk to “Wake up, wake up!” to gently lift his head and fasten his own belt around his chest and shoulders.

She was just sliding the clasp into place when the motorcycle’s engine roared to life behind the car.

Nancy sat up very straight. Her head turned slowly toward the back of the car, her eyes wide with dread. “No,” she whispered, “no …”

Then, for just one tiny little second, hope sprang to life as she watched the bike move away from the car, backing across the road until it reached the edge of the woods on the other side.

He’s going to turn around, she thought, her eyes never leaving the motorcycle. Her body was shaking so violently with fear, her knees were banging against each other. She couldn’t stop trembling. Her breath came in tiny little gasps. “Polk,” she whispered to the boy lying unconscious behind her, “it’s going to be okay. He’s going to turn around now and drive back down the highway and then you’ll wake up and thank me for putting your seatbelt on and you won’t be mad at me anymore. We’ll drive straight back to campus and I promise I’ll play tennis or golf or go dancing or any fun thing that you want.” She was sobbing quietly now, as she watched the biker with agonizing anxiety. Her voice rose until she was speaking almost as loudly as Polk had during their argument. “And nothing bad is going to happen because he’s going to turn around and go away, he is, I can tell, but if you’d just wake up, Polk, why don’t you wake
up,
then I wouldn’t have to wait all by myself to see what he’s going to do.”

The biker did not turn around and drive back down the highway. He just sat there, staring at the car, his engine idling and snoring noisily and spewing out black smoke. He stared at the car for a long time, two, three, four minutes, while the terrified girl in the car kept her eyes on him, never taking them off him for a second.

She was praying aloud now, because he hadn’t left, and so she was praying for him to leave, “Please, please, let him leave, please, I want to get out but I’m scared, I’m so scared if I get out he’ll run me down, break my legs like he did Lily’s, and I can’t leave Polk, anyway, please, please, just make him go away and I promise I’ll never ask for anything else again as long as I live.”

She was still praying aloud when the biker gunned his engine, and flew across the highway, slamming into the back of the Miata at full speed.

Nancy screamed. She swiveled on the seat and threw herself on top of Polk. Maybe she hoped to protect him. Or maybe she was willing him to wake up and protect her.

The car lurched forward and sailed off the edge of the cliff as if it had suddenly sprouted wings. But without power, it only hung in the air for a second or two before plummeting down, down, straight down.