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“Who is this?” My breathing thickens again, and I stand from my chair, the book dropping to the floor.
The twisted crackle of a toned laugh blisters through my eardrums, and my pulse picks up. “Wouldn’t you like to know, my favorite little slut? Tell me… does Daddy know how fucking good you suck?”
“This isn’t funny.” I look down to my phone and then bring it to my ear. “Seriously—”
They hang up. The blank dial tone rings through my ears and I shove my phone back into my pocket, bending down to pick up the book. I look around the library. When I walked in here, there were lights on down a few aisles, but now it’s inky dark, with nothing but the weak lighting hovering over the reception desk where Miss Winters is sitting. Clearing my throat, I place the book back onto the bookshelf and collect my bag before swinging it over my shoulder. Whoever this caller is, he’s starting to freak me out. I haven’t even solved his first riddle—which, in my opinion, didn’t make sense.
Walking toward the student access door, Miss Winters stops me. “Madison?”
I turn to face her, my hand on the cold metal bar of the door. She walks to where I was, and then comes back to me, clutching the book. Shoving it into my hands, she says, “Just take it.”
“But I thought—”
She shakes her head. “Don’t ask, just…” She looks around nervously, as if she’s checking for the boogie man. “Just take it, okay?” Her eyes lock onto mine pleadingly.
Slipping my fingers around the old, worn leather cover, I nod. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do this, though.”
She looks over my shoulder, a shimmer of panic crawling over her face before she masks it with a fake smile. “It’s okay. It’s nothing. I noticed how much you’ve been coming in to read it, so I’m sure I can make up some story about it being lost and then magically finding it when you return it. It’s no biggie.” She brushes me off, but I still see the underlying panic beneath her words.
“Okay, well, thank you.” I slip past her finally, clutching the book in my hands, and make my way to the girls’ locker room near the gym.
Walking into the empty stalls, I place the book into my bag and pull out my dress, hair dryer, and flat iron. I can’t believe I decided to get ready here. Should I just brave it and go home? No. No, that’s a terrible idea. Shimmying out of my clothes, I wrap the towel around myself and walk into the scolding hot spray of water, scrubbing up in fast-forward, because, let’s face it, all people get murdered in the damn shower in locker rooms. I’ve watched Scream. I know what happens when you turn to get your shampoo. Not to me though, nope.
Turning off the faucet, I wrap the towel around my body again and slip out, drying my hair first, and then I run the flat iron through it quickly. I don’t know why I’m spending so much unneeded time on this; it’s not like my outfit is to die for. No pun intended. Slipping on the black strapless dress, which hugs around my butt a little more than I wanted for tonight, I brush on some makeup, going heavy on the eyes to add the effect to my zombie masquerade mask, and then slip it over my head. There. That’s all I need. Gliding on a deep burgundy matte lipstick, I walk back to my bag, pull out my Keds, and shove them on my feet before putting all my clothes back into my bag, on top of the book. Now that I have it, it’s all I can think about. Hopefully, the party won’t last too long, and people won’t notice I’ve snuck into my tent to read. Major regrets are rolling in now about me agreeing to do this. This isn’t even my idea of what camping is.
Shoving everything inside, I swing my bag over my shoulder and then make my way down the dark corridor to the elevator that’ll take me down to the basement of the student parking lot. Chills break out over my spine, and I get this overbearing feeling that someone is watching me. Someone I don’t know or am familiar with. Shrugging it off, and wanting to get the fuck out of here STAT, I push the button, and then push it a few more times in an attempt to hurry it up. It dings open, so I walk inside the warm enclosure, pushing the correct button. It’s a quick trip down, and once it pops open, I’m once again met with echoing silence of nothing between these concrete walls. Beeping Dad’s car, I pull open the driver door with my heart pounding in my chest, swing my bag inside, and quickly slide in, locking the doors instantly.
