White is for Magic (17 page)

I descend the steps and approach it slowly. I know it's for me and I know what it is. And I'm right. It's a jump rope-- just like the one in my dream. Except this one's tied into a noose.

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The jump-rope-turned-noose hangs from a branch just overhead, the two plastic handles dangling down in front of my eyes. I take a couple steps away from it and cover my mouth, shaking my head like this isn't real, like it can't be true. A whistlelike sound sputters from my mouth. My name is written in thick black marker down each of the handles, so there's no doubting that it's for me--that someone wants to kill me.

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"Stacey?" says a voice from behind me. A male voice, one I don't recognize right away.

I feel my shoulders stiffen, my jaw lock.

"It's me," he says.

I turn to look. It's Jacob, partially concealed in shadows.

'Are you okay?" he asks, taking a step forward. He looks up at the noose and then makes his way toward it. "What's that?" he asks.

"What are you doing here?" I tighten my grip on the laundry bag, feeling the ample weight at the bottom. If I need to I can use it to fight.

He pulls the rope from the branch and runs his thumbs over the handles, maybe trying to sense something from my name.

"I
said,
what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" he asks. "We were supposed to meet."

"In the laundry room," I say. "On the other side of campus."

"I know," he says. "I just didn't think you should be walking around by yourself at night."

"How thoughtful," I say, looking at the noose in his hands, wondering if he's the one who left it for me.

'As soon as I hung up the phone with you, I sprinted over here so I wouldn't miss you," he says, now trying to sense something from the rope fibers. "Do you have any idea who could have put this here?"

"Maybe you could tell me," I say, taking note that he's fully dressed, that his hair looks slightly wet, as though from gel--like maybe he wasn't in bed at all.

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"Hmm--" he says, pausing at the knotted part, ignoring my remark.

"What?" I ask.

"Do you mind if I take this? I might be able to use it. I might be able to find out who put it here."

"I don't think so," I say, grabbing the noose from him. I feel over the handles as well, the tips of my fingers still tingling from getting pricked and splintered in my dream. I check them over for cuts, but there aren't any. And I can't seem to sense anything but my own fear.

"We should talk," he says. "But not here. Do you still want to go to the laundry room?"

I shake my head. All I really want to do is go back inside, beneath the haven of my covers, and start this night all over again. I tighten my grip on the rope, hoping to squeeze any sign, any clue, any
anything
out. But it's like my hand is numb, unfeeling.

"How about in the boiler room of your dorm?" he asks. "I know the way in."

As though I could forget. "I don't think so," I say.

"Then where?" he asks.

For just a second I think about telling him to leave, that we have nothing to say to one another.

But, all considered, I know I should hear him out. My dreams and the letter are telling me that I have less than a week to figure this out. Less than a week--which could be just a couple days away. Or closer. For all I know, it could be tomorrow. Or tonight.

I look over at the benches on the lawn, the heavy spotlights shining over them. "There," I say.

Before Jacob can

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answer, I clasp my hand over the crystal cluster rock in my pocket and start walking over to the spot.

"You know, we could get caught here. It's way after curfew."

"I don't really care," I say. "I don't even know why we had to meet. Why couldn't we have just talked on the phone?"

"I can sense more about you when we're together," he replies.

'And what are you sensing now?" I ask.

"That you're in serious danger."

I stop to look at him. "Is that why you were trying to call me tonight?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he says. "Why did
you
call
me?"

I take a seat on the bench. "Because I thought we needed to talk."

Jacob sits down next to me. He's nodding, his stare so penetrating, like he can see right inside me, into that faraway corner of myself, the place that I never reveal--not even to Chad. Chad. I look away and try to zap him into my mind--to remind myself that he's the one I love, the one I care about. And yet our relationship has been such a complete and utter mess, after months and months of near perfection.

"I had another nightmare about you tonight," Jacob says, zapping me back in place.

I venture a look at his face, noticing for the first time the mole under his bottom lip. 'About what?"

'About you getting sick."

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"Sick how?"

"Like sick to your stomach. Like hangover-sick--with vomiting."

"You probably just dreamed that because puking has become a sort of spectator sport for me lately. I think people have dubbed me the exorcist chick."

He settles back into the bench and looks away, like there's something else on his mind, something he's not telling me.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says.

"Not nothing."

"It's just I think there's more to it, that's all."

"Like what? What else did you dream about?"

"Hands," he says, looking back at me.

"Hands?"

He nods. "Encircling your neck."

"What do you mean?"
<
p>

"I mean I think someone is going to try ancr strangle you."

"Then what's with the noose?"

Jacob shakes his head. "It's like someone's trying to scare you. It's, like, either you pursue them, or they'll come after you."

"Who?"

"I don't know. But I'm pretty sure it's someone you already know."

"How do you know that?"

"Because when it happens, when the two of you come face-to-face, it's like you aren't afraid of the person--at least not at first. It's like you're almost expecting him."

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"Him? So it's a guy?"

He shakes his head. "I can't be sure. The hands look pretty strong, but I haven't been able to see much detail about them yet."

"What
do
you see?" I ask.

"I can see the hands constrict, and I can see you . . . choking."

I try to swallow the image, but it won't get past my throat. I let out a gasp and then cover my mouth to try and hold it all in.

'Are you all right?" Jacob asks. He touches my shoulder. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you."

"No. It's okay. I'll be okay." I shake my head, trying to get the image of it--of someone's hands encircling my neck, putting me to death--out of my head. But instead the image presses against my chest. I do my best to look up at the full moon and breathe its energy in, but instead I feel like the air is blocked, like I'm coming apart and there's nothing I can do about it.

Jacob's hand slips across my shoulders, until it wraps around me. "I know you'll be okay," he says quietly, firmly. "Because I'm going to help you."

A part of me wants to wipe his hand away, but I don't. Because there's a bigger part--a weaker part, maybe--that needs comfort right now. I keep my focus away from him so I don't reveal too much, even though I know I'm being so pathetically transparent. "I don't even know you," I say, wiping at my eyes. "It doesn't even make sense."

"What doesn't?"

"Why you started dreaming about me in the first place. You didn't even know me. When I was having nightmares

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about Drea and Maura, it was different. I knew them. They were important people in my life."

Jacob nestles me in closer, so close I can feel his chest now, moving in and out with each breath.

And I can smell him. He smells like lemongrass incense--a smell I want to breathe right into my skin. I close my eyes, trying my hardest to get hold of my emotions, to breathe the tension out.

We sit there for several seconds without saying a word.

"I'm sorry," I say, regaining a bit of strength. I sit back up and look into his face, so close to mine, his squarish chin just inches from my forehead.

"It's okay," he says. He lays a hand over my coat pocket and feels the crystal inside, sensing somehow that I'd be carrying it. "We're connected in some way. Why else would I be dreaming about your future? How else would I know you've been having nightmares about Maura, and-about Veronica Leeman? Haven't you considered that?"

I suppose I have. I suppose it's the connection he's talking about that has me all jangled up whenever I'm around him. I tug my coat away from his hand and focus down into my lap, doing my best to suppress the blush I feel crawling across my cheeks. I hate myself for feeling this way--now, of all times, when my life is at stake, when I'm having serious boyfriend issues. I take a deep breath to stifle the confusion and frustration I feel storming up inside my chest, in my mouth, and behind my eyes.

"How do you know what I dream about?" I ask.

"I just know," he says. "I can't explain it. I just feel things. I see things--sometimes while I'm sleeping, sometimes not."

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I nod and look away, too emotionally spent to ask him more about it. And besides, I know exactly what he's talking about--how he and I are so completely alike in this way.

"Say something," he says.

"Like what?" I swallow, looking back at him. At his eyes.

"Like you believe me, like you believe I can help you."

"I can't be sure of anything right now," I say.

"What can I say or do to make you sure?" he asks.

I think about it a moment, and the question becomes obvious. "How am I supposed to know you're really from Colorado, that you really came all the way here to try and help me?"

Without hesitation, Jacob pulls a wallet from his pocket and shows me a couple forms of picture ID--a driver's license from Vail, Colorado, along with a school ID card with his name and address.

"Okay, so if you really came all this way, just for me, then why did it take over two months to come out and contact me ... I mean, if I was in so much danger . . ."

"Because I was afraid," he answers.

"Afraid?
Afraid of what?"

"Of
this.
Of you not believing me. I wanted to watch for a while." He pauses. "And I wanted to dream about you more."

"You were watching me?" I ask, remembering the words written on the cassette tape left in our room.

"Look," he says, "I know you don't trust me. And with all the freaks around this campus, I'm not even sure I can give you a reason why you should, but I have no reason to lie. With or without my help, someone is going to try and

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hurt you. And if we don't do anything about it, I think they might succeed."

I glance down at the noose, still gripped in my hand. "I don't trust anyone."

"Not even Chad?" he asks.

"Leave him out of this."

"I can't," he says, biting his lip, staring down at my own.

"Why?"

"Because I can't." He turns away, leaving me hungry for more.

I'm tempted to ask him again, but I don't. Because maybe I'm just not ready to know . . . and maybe I already know.

"I should go," I say.

"No," he says, touching my arm. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."

I don't know what's wrong with me either. We sit in silence, both of us knowing we should say our goodnights_ but neither of us making a move. After several awkward moments, Jacob sits up and leans into me, his face so close I can smell his skin, that lemongrass scent. I do my best to look away--I blink. I look up at the moon. I even try reminding myself of the horrific reality of the noose still clutched in my hand. But nothing works. Jacob's pale-blue eyes stare right into me, almost paralyzing me in place. He leans in a little closer, and I feel my lips part.

"Stacey?" says a voice.

It's Chad.

My heart clenches. I press my eyes closed in disbelief, at how unbelievably stupid I am, and then turn around to face him.

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Chad glances back and forth between me and Jacob.

"Chad," I say, standing up. "It's not--" But I can't even finish the thought. Chad looks so completely confused--his face scrunched up like he doesn't understand. He looks away, as if the picture of Jacob and me, here, like this, hurts too much--as if
I've
hurt him too much this time.

"I can explain," I tell him, thinking how unbelievably trite that sounds.

Jacob gets up and stands beside me. "It's not what you're thinking," he says. "It's been a bad night."

'Apparently just for some people." Chad takes one last look at me before turning and walking away, making me feel even worse.

"I'm sorry," Jacob says. "Do you want me to go talk to him?"

"No," I say. "I will."

I just hope Chad is willing to listen.

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thirty-orx.

I try my best to catch up to Chad--I circle the dorm, run down the path that leads toward the center of campus, and even scour the parking lot area. But he's nowhere in sight.

I end up going back inside the dorm, where I find Drea and Amber, wide awake and waiting for me.

"Where have you
been?"
Amber asks.

"It's a long story," I say, moving toward the phone receiver. I pick it up, dial Chad's number, but get voicemail

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right away. "Chad, it's me. Please call me back. I need to talk to you. Please ..." I click the phone off, shaking my head that I didn't say more, that I really don't know what to say.

"Chad's on his way
here,"
Drea says.

"What are you talking about?"

"I called him. When I woke up and saw you weren't here, or anywhere around here for that matter, I thought you might have sneaked out with him somewhere. So I called him to be sure."

"I wasn't meeting Chad," I say.