CASSIDY STOOD BESIDE THE car, overwhelmed by helpless fury. Her knees began to shake, and she could feel the familiar tightening in her chest.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, she warned, clenching and unclenching her fists. Stay calm, you can’t afford to have an attack now. Stay calm! This is silly. The curb is right there, just a few feet away. And he’s not going to run over you. He’s just tormenting you. Someone will come out of the mall and scare him off. The shuttle bus is on its way. Relax, just relax.
But relaxing was impossible. She was cold and frightened and frustrated and furious. Why was he doing this? What possible reason could the eerie, invisible driver have for tormenting her?
She would have to stop shaking, pull herself together, and make an end run for the curb. Catch him off guard, race around the car when he was least expecting it.
So she forced herself to stand quietly, stilling her trembling limbs, for long, agonizing minutes. Didn’t move a muscle. Her ears strained for some sound of the approaching shuttle bus. The driver of the TransAm would see the bus in his rearview mirror, and he’d leave. He couldn’t keep up his torturous game with witnesses on the way.
But she heard nothing. What was taking the bus so long? When she felt that she couldn’t stand still another second without screaming, she turned her head to the right to see where the shuttle was. Her heart sank. The small yellow vehicle was still much too far away, and stationary. The driver was standing outside the bus, scraping at the windshield. Great. Couldn’t that have waited until he got to the mall?
Cassidy’s temper snapped. Enough! This was ridiculous. She had no idea why she was being held prisoner by the black TransAm, but it was going to end now. It was time for an end run. She would catch the driver by surprise and make it to the curb before he noticed that she’d moved.
She tried.
Taking another deep breath, she dashed forward, behind the car.
She almost made it. She was only inches from the safety of the curb when the TransAm suddenly careened backward with a roar. Its rear bumper slammed into her left ankle and foot, sending a shaft of pain up her leg.
The blow surprised and stunned her, but she didn’t stop. Instead, in one final, desperate lunge, she flung herself onto the curb, landing hard and pulling her legs in after her. She cried out as the palms of her hands and the right side of her face scraped against the cement.
With a triumphant honk of its horn, the TransAm jerked to a halt, gunned its engine, and then raced away with a screech of tires.
Cassidy roused herself enough to stare after the car, straining to read the license plate as the TransAm disappeared. But the plate was covered with mud. Deliberately? she wondered.
She lay there for a few minutes more, aware that a cold dampness was seeping through her slacks. And still the shuttle failed to arrive and dislodge riders to rush to her aid. Nor did the doors to the mall open and send forth shoppers to help her up from the curb. Cassidy felt as if the planet had been deserted, leaving only herself…and the black TransAm.
Afraid that the car would return, she pulled herself upright, conscious of a painful throbbing sensation in her left leg. Checking, she found a tear in her jeans that ran from her knee to her ankle. The exposed skin was torn and bleeding.
“It’s just a scratch,” she murmured, pulling the torn fabric together in a futile effort to cover the abrasion. Her tan raincoat was long, and would cover most of the rip.
She stood up, glancing over her shoulder to locate the shuttle bus. Still parked. But the driver was no longer standing outside. “It’ll be here in a minute,” she told herself in a shaky voice. “It’ll be here, and I’ll climb on and ride back to campus. I’ll take a nice, hot shower, put on my robe and a pair of warm, dry socks and crawl into bed and forget this ever happened.”
She knew that last part was a lie.
It felt like hours before the bus finally pulled up in front of her. Darkness was falling, and the temperature fell with it. Cassidy was shaking now not from fear, but from sheer cold. She had never been as glad to see anything as she was the squat, yellow bus when it finally skidded to a stop in front of her.
“Hey, wait for us!” she heard from behind her as she awkwardly made her way up the steps, one hand holding the raincoat firmly over the rip in her jeans. Turning, she saw Talia and Sophie running from the mall. “Hold the bus, Cassidy!”
Since the driver had already seen them, Cassidy moved down the aisle to take a seat at the back.
Talia and Sophie, packages in hand, their hair and jackets wet with sleet, joined her there a minute or two later.
“You must have been waiting for the bus forever, Cassidy. Look, I got a dress!” Sophie cried triumphantly. “You should see it, it’s beautiful…what happened to your leg, Cassidy? It’s bleeding!”
Cassidy had hoped the raincoat would keep them from noticing. But it wasn’t quite long enough. “I slipped and fell,” she fibbed. She was not going to tell them about the car. They hadn’t believed her about the car wash, and that wasn’t nearly as bizarre as what had just happened. They’d never believe that she’d been held “prisoner” by the very same car. “It’s slippery out there.”
Sophie nodded. “I almost fell, too. That cut looks pretty nasty. You’ve got a scrape on your cheek, too. Want to stop at the infirmary?”
“Don’t need to. It’s nothing. I’ll clean it up myself. What’d you buy?” She didn’t want to talk about her leg anymore. Didn’t want to think about it, either. That might not be so easy. She could picture the car, see the dark window glass hiding the driver, feel the blow to her legs as the TransAm raced backwards…
She didn’t hear a word Talia and Sophie said about their shopping.
Suite 56A at the Quad had never seemed so welcoming, a hot shower so comforting, her white terrycloth robe so luxurious, a pair of thick white socks so soft. The scrape on her leg, once it had been washed and disinfected, was less serious than it had looked. But it hurt, and her ankle had discolored and was beginning to swell. She could only hope it wasn’t worse by morning. She didn’t want to miss any more classes.
Although she felt totally drained and yearned to nestle into her bed, she took a few minutes to quickly type out a letter to Misstery, asking them to play at the dance. When she had signed and addressed the letter and sealed the envelope, she put it on a small stack of other envelopes waiting to be mailed. Someone would take them to the campus post office early the next morning.
That done, she crawled into bed. I’m lucky my leg wasn’t broken, she thought as she snuggled under her comforter. Why would someone want to break my leg? Scare me half to death? Why would someone do that?
She had no idea.
It wasn’t until, feeling completely warm and safe, she was slipping over the edge of consciousness into a deep, dreamless sleep that she remembered the psych paper. She hadn’t done it. Bruin would be expecting it, and it wouldn’t be forthcoming.
Unwilling to drag herself out of a warm bed to struggle through the assignment, Cassidy burrowed deeper into the covers, telling herself it wasn’t her fault, anyway. It was Travis’s. She’d finished the paper when she was supposed to. It wasn’t her fault he’d lost it. If he really had.
She’d just have to tell Bruin she hadn’t finished it yet. After what had just happened to her, the paper didn’t seem all that important.
Willing herself to ignore the painful throbbing in her left leg, Cassidy gave herself over to the luxury of sleep.
She awoke the following morning to a quiet, empty suite. The others had gone off to breakfast without her?
At first, Cassidy was hurt by the realization. They always ate breakfast together on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays because they shared the nine o’clock psych class. Why hadn’t they waited for her?
Talia and Sophie had seen her leg when it looked its worst last night. They’d probably decided that she wouldn’t be going to classes today, and had told Ann about the injury.
But I told them I was fine, Cassidy thought, annoyed. She glanced at her alarm clock. It was only eight o’clock. She had time to dress and even eat, if she wanted to, before class. She could catch up with the others if she hurried.
Hurrying, she quickly discovered, was out of the question. Her leg was too stiff and sore. And she had wasted ten precious minutes hunting for her wristwatch, which she always left on her nightstand. It wasn’t there. And it wasn’t in the bathroom, where she thought she might have left it when she was cleaning the wound on her leg.
She finally gave up, aware of passing minutes. She’d have to look for it later. By the time she left the room, dressed in warm wool slacks and a heavy sweater, the clock on her nightstand read eight-fifty. She was cutting it pretty close. Class started at nine, and Bruin hated tardiness. Arriving late wouldn’t help when she had to explain that she didn’t have the assignment.
Since her roommates hadn’t returned, Cassidy guessed they had taken their books with them to breakfast. Sometimes they did, to save time. She’d be walking to class alone this morning.
She tried again to hurry. But it was hopeless with her leg so stiff and swollen. She hated walking into a classroom after everyone else was seated, but it was going to happen this morning. What a way to start a new week!
As it turned out, she didn’t have to walk into the classroom at all. Because when she arrived at the psych 101 room, the door was open and everyone was coming out.
“Has class been cancelled?” Cassidy asked the first person she saw, who happened to be Travis McVey. Classes were occasionally cancelled for various reasons: a professor’s illness, unusually bad weather, an important seminar that required a teacher’s attendance.
“Cancelled?” Travis frowned down at her. “No. It’s over. Where were you?”
“Over? It can’t be over.” Cassidy glanced down at her wrist, and realized she wasn’t wearing her watch. “It’s only nine o’clock.”
“It’s ten o’clock,” Ann said, arriving at Travis’s side. Sawyer, flanked by Talia and Sophie, was right behind her. “You’re an hour late.”
“That’s crazy,” Cassidy said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. “I checked my clock. It said eight o’clock when I woke up. Not nine. Eight.”
Ann shook her head. “We got up at eight. Sophie said you hurt your leg last night and probably wouldn’t be going to class, so we decided to let you sleep.”
“It was eight o’clock,” Cassidy insisted stubbornly. “I know how to tell time.”
Sawyer shrugged. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. So you missed Bruin’s class. It was boring, anyway. Talia and Ann Freud here were the only two paying attention. Sophie was daydreaming about the dance and everyone else was dozing. So forget it.”
Cassidy couldn’t forget it. Easy for them to dismiss it. They hadn’t missed a class they couldn’t afford to miss. “I know what I saw,” she persisted. “My clock said eight o’clock.”
“And your watch?” Travis asked. “Did your watch say eight o’clock, too?”
Her flush deepened. “I couldn’t find my watch. I had it last night, but it wasn’t on my nightstand this morning. I don’t know where it is.” Glancing around the group, studying their faces, she saw the same doubt in their expressions that she’d seen when she told them about the missing money from the car wash.
And she felt every bit as alone as she had the night before, when she was lying, stunned, on the curb outside the mall.
“That clock read eight o’clock,” she said, biting off her words. Then she brushed past them and went into the psych room to face Dr. Bruin.
When she came back out, two red spots of embarrassment high on her cheekbones, the hallway was empty. She had hoped Sawyer would be waiting for her, but he wasn’t.
She walked back to the Quad alone, anxious to reassure herself that she had not read the clock wrong.
Sawyer was waiting for her outside the dorm. So. He hadn’t abandoned her, after all.
Noticing her limp, he asked with concern, “What happened to your leg?”
“I fell.” She wasn’t about to tell the bizarre truth to someone who was already questioning her ability to read a clock correctly. Maybe she’d tell him later, but not now.
Sophie, Talia, Ann, and Travis were already back in the room when Cassidy and Sawyer entered. It seemed to Cassidy that the three exchanged a look of concern when they saw her.
That annoyed her, and she hurried over to her bedside table, anxious to prove herself right. She reached down and picked up her alarm clock. “There!” she said triumphantly, holding it up and turning it toward them so they could all see its face. “What time does that say?”
There was a long moment of silence. Then Sawyer said quietly, “It says ten-fifteen, Cassidy. Not nine-fifteen. Ten-fifteen.”
Sophie nodded, her eyes huge.
“What?” Cassidy whipped the clock around to face her. Sawyer was right. The clock now showed the correct time.
After another long moment, Cassidy slowly, silently, bent to replace the traitorous clock on her nightstand.
And saw her watch.
It was lying exactly where it was supposed to be. It was lying in the same spot where she placed it each night after she climbed into bed. Exactly where it hadn’t been earlier that morning when she’d spent ten minutes searching for it.