Horrorscape Read online

  “I noticed,” was the dry response. “James, isn't it?”

  “Well, then I'm sure you've noticed that she doesn't appreciate the attention, even if she's too nice or too shy to say so. She doesn't really go for psycho stalkers.”

  One of his dark eyebrows shot straight up. “That's quite the accusation.”

  She bit her lip, painfully aware of how close they were standing. He had closed that distance; so subtly, that she hadn't even noticed until it was too late. Like a trap snapping shut, she thought. “I think it's reasonable enough under the given circumstances.”

  “Really.” He took a step closer. Then another. Until he nearly had her backed against the wall. He rested his hands on either side of her, casually barring her escape. “Then you're considerably more foolish than I gave you credit for, if you would confront a possible psychopath…alone…”

  She stared up at him, wordless with shock and fear. His eyes were as hard and steely as cold hematite, and his skin was so pale, she could see the veins of his throat, like purple striations in pure white marble. There was something unnatural about him, almost supernatural. His smile turned hard, sardonic before her eyes. And she realized, sickly, that in spite of his slender build and deathly pallor, there was absolutely nothing weak about him.

  Slowly, cautiously, she took a step to her right, and his hand closed into a fist, slamming inches away from her face. “We're not finished here,” he said quietly. Lisa jumped—and hated him for getting to her with these cheap intimidation techniques. Hated herself for falling for them.

  What have you gotten yourself into, Val?

  Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face. “You're going to hit me?” she said flatly, trying to mask her terror. She wondered if the others would be able to hear her if she screamed.

  “Nothing quite so barbaric. I'm merely suggesting you concentrate on the game at hand, before attempting any new ones with me. You won't win; and you might get hurt.” He chuckled humorlessly. “But, as I said. It's only a suggestion. You're free to do as you like.”

  “Val is off-limits.”

  “I suppose we'll see about that, won't we?”

  “You're so not functional,” she said. “Stay away from her. Go to Charlie, if that's what you want.”

  “Run along, Lisa. Your friends are waiting.” With that, he gave her a firm push out the door. Caught unaware, she stumbled out of the doorjamb, nearly falling flat on the floor. It slammed shut inches behind her.

  Shit.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  GM sighed, leaning against the closed door. Everything was going nicely to plan. He had created an obstacle course, leaving doors either locked or unlocked as he saw fit, to keep his little lab rats on the correct path. They were playing right into his hands. Well, mostly. People were slightly less predictable than plastic pieces, but that element of chaos lent an interesting bent to the game.

  He always had appreciated a challenge, provided he won.

  He could hear them, faintly, talking. Lisa's attempts to bait him had been laughable—almost insulting, really. She was quickly becoming more problematic than he'd anticipated. He had seen something in her eyes—a brief spark of recognition that made his pulse lift in anticipation.

  Do you know who I am?

  She didn't; it quickly faded. How lucky for her. He thought he really might have killed her if it hadn't. He couldn't have anyone spoiling his plans. He had already waited so long; he intended to see them come to fruition.

  And she'd seen part of that in his face. He had scared her, and she was not the type to be easily scared. Yes, Lisa would almost certainly still try to talk to Val. To warn her. But it would be nothing Valerian didn't already know for herself, not that she would say so. His foresight in swearing the red-haired woman to silence pleased him. No. There would be no problems from that quarter.

  Val's quickness to give into him made him wonder if he should have demanded a higher price. But he never reneged on a bargain; for now, he was content to take from her what he wanted in small, but ever-increasing increments. For now, the delay of gratification could be edifying.

  For now.

  He had, admittedly, been hoping that she would try and force his hand, but Val was nowhere near as strong as she once had been. Her frozen helplessness when he pinned her against the wall and kissed her; her broken sobs when he threatened her; her mindless terror when she saw the little surprise he'd left for her in the hall—all of these things concerned him. Conquest was not satisfying if it began with a surrender. He wanted her to fight, to struggle, to resist—

  He wanted the pleasure of subduing her.

  Perhaps he needed to up the ante a little…to get closer…to confuse her senses enough that she forgot herself. He could be very persuasive, when he wanted to be. All it would take was a moment, just one micron past her defenses—less than the time it took to sigh.

  She might try to resist then but it would be too late, merely futile struggle by that point. Because he noticed the way her breathing changed when he got too close, the way her pulse vibrated like a small pair of furiously beating wings trapped beneath the cage of her skin. Whether she knew it or not, Val lusted for control—for being controlled.

  Perhaps he would make her beg first, until she verbalized all those desires she wished so strongly that she didn't have. All that ugliness, out in the open where it could break her. Pleasure and pain, so closely intertwined that they were nearly indistinguishable from one another.

  Go to Charlie, if that's what you want, Lisa had said. She didn't understand. Comparing the two of them was like comparing two flowers—one strong and proud, cultivated in a green house; the other wilting and weather-beaten, having struggled through fierce storms and frosty winters. Not quite as glowing, perhaps, but wild, lovely, and far more tenacious.

  He had come to the remains of the buffet. The table still had some food. He picked up one of the grapes and ate it, closing his eyes as he washed it down with cool water.

  Delicious.

  Chapter Eleven

  En Passant

  Had Lisa really expected him to confess to everything, like a murderer in the bad parlor mysteries of which her mother was so fond? No, obviously. But it bothered her that GM hadn't exactly denied her accusation, either. If he was innocent, wouldn't he have been shocked, or even affronted, by her theories and not quite so coldly menacing? There was no question in her mind over the fact that he was completely out of Val's league and possibly hers, as well. GM had deliberately challenged her, and Lisa wasn't entirely sure she was up to the challenge.

  He's guilty of something. I'm not sure what it is. In a way, it would have been better if he had threatened her outright. At least then she'd have had some kind of proof.

  Lisa hoisted up the bodice of her dress and went over to see what Blake and James were discussing. They were trying to formulate a strategy for how best to go about searching the rooms for the pieces. James wanted to start with the smaller rooms first, which he thought would be easiest. Blake wanted to take them as they came, in case they got lost and missed some pieces along the way.

  It's like they didn't even notice I was gone.

  James was toying with something incessantly, and Lisa kept seeing flashes of movement in her periphery as a result. She tried ignoring him, at first, but he was being too distracting. “What is that?” she snapped.

  “This?” James stared down at his hands, as if only just realizing the object was there. “A chess piece.” He held the chess piece out for her inspection, one of the castled ones.

  “A rook,” Blake clarified.

  “You found one and you didn't say anything?”

  James shrugged and went back to rolling the rook over his knuckles and into his palm. “I didn't want to, not with GM there. He might've taken it, penalizing us. You were clearly pissing him off back there.”

  Lisa made a noncommittal noise, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from insulting him. James, the idiot, did have a
point—but he was right for the wrong reasons. She wished she could figure out how to articulate her misgivings, but how can you put into words what you don't understand yourself?

  “Look inside it,” Lisa ordered. “See if there's a message.”

  James pulled out the rolled-up paper, somewhat awkwardly because of his large hands. “It says winner.” He looked up at them, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe that means we've won a prize.”

  “I doubt it,” Lisa said. “I baited him, remember? He's docked us all fifty points from Gryffindor.”

  “Oh, for fuck's sake, Lisa—”

  “You should talk, anyway. Ditching your own girlfriend because you're afraid of the consequences of taking a stand for her—and for yourself. And for what? Points? A piece of plastic? What did he do, that made you so wary of him?”

  “I'm not going to answer that,” James said, tightening his fingers around the chess piece.

  So something, then. Only the guilty plead the fifth.

  Silence reigned between them, broken only by the sound of their footfalls.

  Well this is fun. I sure am glad I came. This is so much more fun than making out with Thomas in his parents' hot tub.

  Sullenly, James said, “How many pieces are there, anyway? These things are too small.”

  “They're not the only thing,” muttered Lisa.

  Before James could offer a retort of his own, Blake said, “Thirty-two.” Lisa's head swiveled towards Blake who, mistaking their stares for confusion, went on to add, “Sixteen pawns, four bishops, four knights, four rooks, and two kings and queens, respectively.

  “Oh God. Next thing you know, he'll be planting flowers and telling us the meanings of them.”

  Lisa's brow furrowed. “James—”

  A flush crept up Blake's collar. “I don't play. My mom does—did.”

  “Just don't go all GM on us, dude. Trust me, one is enough.”

  “Blake is about as threatening as a piece of lint,” Lisa said coolly.

  “I wouldn't go quite that far,” said Blake, drawing himself up. “I can be quite nasty sometimes.”

  James rolled his eyes. “Yeah. If you try hard enough, you can make fluffy bunnies shift in discomfort.”

  Blake slugged James in the arm. Pretty hard, for a geek boy. James winced. “Ow. That—” he sneaked a look at Lisa. “…almost tickled.”

  Sure, James. Lisa almost smiled at the blatant chagrin on his face but another, far less pleasant, thought had just occurred to her. If Blake was right, and there really were thirty-two pieces, then the task at hand suddenly seemed more daunting than juvenile. The pieces were small and finding them all could easily take hours, even with three or four people to a team. And what if we don't find them all?

  It's not like he could keep them here until they did.

  Lisa wondered if Val was having better luck. Probably not, she thought, and shivered. Penalty round. The name alone gave her the heebie-jeebies.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  The computer room led to a long, tapering hallway that gave the unsettling impression that the walls were closing in. An absence of good light gave the illusion of the floor being at a tilt, like the skewed angles of the chase scenes in horror movie cinematography. Val hadn't even realized she had been holding her breath until she reached the staircase and began to gasp like a fish out of water—

  And promptly found herself in another labyrinthine hallway that she didn't recognize. GM—Gavin—must have purposely taken her to the opposite wing of the house. So he could put her in another penalty round, no doubt. She slammed the wall with her fist, wishing it was his arrogant face instead. “Son of a bitch,” she whispered, finding herself close to tears. She felt like a mouse being tortured by a cat.

  Why? Because she had refused his advances in the dark? Because she refused to give into her fear, or into him? I'm breaking apart. I can't fight him the way I did before—

  And he's counting on that.

  “Valerian?”

  Val dropped her fist from the wall, whirling around. The voice had been male, and she could make out the speaker's white shirt in the darkness, but his features were a blur of darkness. It wasn't GM, though. The voice lacked Gavin's sense of sureness and the proprietary way he spoke her name, as if he owned her. Because in his mind, he already does. God, I wish I had a flashlight.

  She squinted, as if that would help. “Who's there?” It wasn't Gavin, and it wasn't familiar. There were really only two people it could be. Brent, or—

  “Jason.”

  Great. The nastier one. She wet her lips. “What are you doing up here?”

  “We've already started the next round. I'm sure your teammates will tell you about it.” His voice oozed smugness. “How's penalty round?”

  “It's been a blast,” she said flatly. “Because, you know, the name is so misleading. What do you think?”

  “I think you're being a bitch,” he said, in a deceptively pleasant voice.

  Irritation rippled down her spine like a shiver. “I'm sorry,” she said tartly, with an attempt at dignity. “I was lost, and it was dark, and I'm not in the best of moods right now—” What with my psychotic stalker being here, threatening my friends, threatening me if I so much as breathe a word, and he frightens me, and I can feel him watching me, and I can feel his breath on my neck every time I turn around—

  Val swallowed, hard, and added, “It wouldn't be called penalty round if it was fun, right?”

  Jason made a noncommittal noise that sounded farther than before—he was walking away! That asshole! “Wait!” She called, in a panic. “Where are you going?”

  “I don't have time for chitchat.”

  Chitchat? This is life or death. “Do you know the way back to the starting room, at least?”

  “It's clear on the other side of the house, Val.”

  I knew it. Evil bastard. I hate you. “Can you take me there?”

  Another pause. “What do I get out of it?”

  “E-excuse me?”

  “What are you willing to offer me in return for my help?” he repeated, as if she were dumb.

  The chess piece, along with its strange message, lay forgotten in the pocket of her jeans, else she might have offered it as a possible bargaining chip. Val's mind raced, trying to come up with some sort of a solution. She found none. “I don't have anything to give you.”

  “Oh, I think you do.” Her stomach twisted unpleasantly as he took a step in her general direction.

  No, she thought. Please, not him, too.

  “You're friends with Lisa, aren't you?”

  “Lisa?” It took a moment for her frenetic thoughts to click together. When he didn't correct her, she said, warily, “Yes. Why?”

  “Let's call it a matter of personal interest.”

  That sounds like something GM would say. Her sense of mistrust deepened. If Jason had decided to emulate Gavin that spoke volumes in itself. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, nothing bad. Just a few questions about the usual. What her favorite music is, and so on.”

  “You like her.” Val felt numbed by this realization, unsure whether it was due to relief or fear.

  “That's a pretty infantile way of saying it, but yeah. I like her.”

  “Then why don't you ask her those questions yourself?”

  “Because she refuses to talk to me.” He paused a beat. “Besides, this way we have a deal.”

  “A raw deal.” If Lisa didn't want to talk to Jason, she had a reason. He was creepy. But GM was worse. Infinitely worse. And if she didn't get out of here, he'd find her. He always did. She shivered violently, and was grateful the other boy couldn't see it in the shadows. “You're the only one who benefits.”

  “Maybe.” Jason laughed softly. “But it's the best you're going to get, so I suggest you take it. I'm doing you a favor. Think of how easy it would be for me to simply tell your boyfriend what you've been up to behind his back, Val. And I'm making it so you can actually get somet
hing out of this.”

  The air in her lungs deflated like a punctured balloon. “What I've…been up to behind his back?”

  “You go missing, GM goes missing. Could be a coincidence—I think not, though. Charlie doesn't, either.”

  There's no way—he couldn't have seen—

  “That's a load of bullshit,” she said hoarsely. “Nobody will believe you.”

  “Do you really want to put that to the test? Because I think GM would back me up. He seems to have it in for you, grilling you like that in front of everyone. I wonder why he hates you so much…”

  If you only knew. Val felt another dizzying headache coming on. Oh God. Jason, you idiot, you're playing with fire, and I'm the one who's going to get burned.

  But she couldn't say a thing to warn him off the subject. Not if she wanted her friends to remain unharmed. Jason wasn't the only one going around and making deals.

  “Just tell me what I want to know,” he coaxed. “Trust me, everyone will be so much happier.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  He hid a smile as he walked away.

  Well, well, Jason—I didn't know you had it in you. I had you pegged as a mild annoyance, and yet it seems there's a bit of the predator in you. In any case, you've got my Val backed up right against the wall, exactly where I want her. Thank you for that. It saves me a lot of trouble. Your little bargain with Valerian may well have a place in my plan—just take care that you don't take what's mine.

  As for you, my dear, I suggest you get comfortable with the feeling of what it's like, being trapped. Because this time, for you, there will be no escape.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sham Sacrifice

  There was no doubt in Val's mind that Jason was willing to follow through on his threat, damn him, hurting James in a way she might never be able to repair.

  Does what James believe really matter?

  Perhaps not. But then, what gave Jason—or Gavin—the right to decide that for her? Val's eyes flashed with a hint of her old fire. None, that's what. She was nobody's pawn. But…nobody could get hurt with a few questions, right?