Kiss Me, Kill Me Part 6

If she'd just stuck with the online s.e.x chats she'd have been fine. But then another Party Girl, Jessie, told her about the big blowout bashes in New York, so she started coming up, and was astonished at how invigorating the raves were. Not raves as she'd imagined them, but even more intense.

Somewhere along the way, Kirsten had lost control. She was offered money to go to parties big and small. When she was high, she lost all sense of time and place. Everything began to fall apart, but she hadn't wanted to quit because she felt more alive, more real, when she was pretending to be someone else.

But now Jessie was dead! And Jessie had tried to tell her something. She had called her Friday morning begging her to meet her at the party Sat.u.r.day. And she'd said something else, but Kirsten had been too distracted. Then Jessie wanted to meet outside.

But Jessie didn't send that text. She'd called Kirsten "Ash" instead, her party name.

If Jessie hadn't texted her at the party, who did? Someone who knew what she looked like. Someone who had Jessie's phone. If he had Jessie's phone, he had her phone number, and he might be able to find out where she really lived. Kirsten could call her mother, but would she be safe even back home?

Kirsten was increasingly anxious about the arrangement. She was staying in this amazing apartment. She hadn't left the bedroom and bathroom, but everything was expensive and cla.s.sy. She'd been so out of it after finding Jessie dead, and then getting sick, she didn't know what she'd agreed to or why the guy had let her stay here in the first place, especially since he himself didn't live here. She couldn't remember what he'd told her about who owned the penthouse or why the owner wasn't here, but she would find out today. Now that she was thinking straight, she would figure out how to make it all right again.

She leaned over and locked the bathroom door, turned on the water in the tub, and pulled off the large T-s.h.i.+rt she wore. Her muscles were stiff from lack of use. She stretched her arms, staring in shock at her naked body, as if it were foreign.

She had small cuts all over her arms and legs, some so deep they would probably scar because they hadn't been st.i.tched. Bruises of all shapes and sizes and colors dotted her limbs, with one large, sickly yellow bruise covering most of her left hip. She touched it and winced. It was tender and painful. She didn't think she'd broken any bones, a miracle considering the state of her body.

She should have gone to the hospital. What must she have looked like when that guy found her running through the parking lot?

You weren't running. You'd fallen, remember?

She didn't remember much, mostly only her feeling. Disconnected when the blond guy was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her against the wall. Cold when she was outside. Shock when she found Jessie dead. Fear as she ran because she heard something, thought she was being chased. Was she? She'd heard a voice, but she didn't recognize it. She thought it was Jessie's murderer, but maybe it was help. Or just another partygoer.

She'd never forget her friend's dead eyes.

"What happened to you, Jessie?" she whispered.

Don't you dare, b.i.t.c.h ...

Kirsten lowered herself slowly into the water. "Ow, ow, ow!" She kept the water only a little warmer than lukewarm, but whatever the temperature, every cut and sc.r.a.pe on her body screamed in protest. Then the sharp pains subsided to a constant, but bearable, ache.

She wanted to believe that Jessie's death had been an accident, but Kirsten knew it wasn't. Someone had been lurking around Jessie's body. It was the text message that tipped her off, that someone wanted Jessie and her dead. But why? What had she done? And if Kirsten went to the police, what would she tell them? She didn't know anything! She didn't know why Jessie had been scared or even why she had asked Kirsten to come to New York.

Jessie had been involved in Party Girl a lot longer than Kirsten, but they didn't talk about their online activities when they met up at the secret parties in New York. They kept an eye out for each other. Kirsten had been thinking of going to Columbia with Jessie next year, had even sent off an application without telling her mother. But her grades had tanked last semester and she didn't think she'd get in.

Maybe quitting softball had been a mistake. She had an amazing batting average, and last year was the third-ranked pitcher in the state and twenty-ninth in the nation. She still had two weeks before she had to commit to her final high school season.

She stared at her feet. How could she run in two weeks when she couldn't even walk today? How could she think about college when her only true friend was dead? What if they found out about Party Girl?

Heart racing, she realized that she'd never considered what anyone would think about her online activities. She almost didn't care if her parents found out, but it wasn't as if she'd announced to everyone at school that she was "Ashleigh." Maybe in the back of her mind she thought no one would recognize her, or she could say, Wow, that girl looks a lot like me. Don't they say everyone has a double?

For the first time since she joined Party Girl, she considered her future. It looked bleak.

She washed her hair under the bathtub faucet, which was difficult and c.u.mbersome, but it was too painful to stand in the shower. Her arms shook when she hoisted herself out of the tub. When she'd been conditioning for softball last year, she could bench-press ninety pounds. Now, she didn't think she could lift a ten-pound weight over her head.

She rebandaged her feet and put a large Band-Aid on her knee where the scab had split.

A knock at the door provoked a scream, but she cut it off quickly.

"It's me, Dennis," the voice said.

Dennis? Who was Dennis? She didn't remember the name of the guy who'd found her. It could have been Dennis. It sounded right.

"Kirsten? Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, her voice scratchy. "I'm just cleaning up."

"I'm glad you're feeling better. I brought you some clothes. I'll wait in the kitchen."

He walked away. Kirsten had flashes of a boy, not much older than she, carrying her into an elevator that smelled of mint and lavender. There was something off about him, but she had been so sick she couldn't figure it out. He'd brought her water and chicken broth, and she thought he might have even cleaned up when she got sick.

Why was he helping her? Who was he?

She tried taking a step, but the pain was too great and she wondered if there were still rocks and gla.s.s embedded in the cuts. Another flash of Dennis cleaning her feet and pulling out a long, jagged piece of gla.s.s had her wondering why he hadn't taken her to the hospital.

Kirsten vowed never to take drugs again. She didn't like these dark holes in her memory.

She crawled back to the bedroom and pulled herself onto the bed. Her skin was clammy, and she started to feel feverish again. She wanted to sleep. She rested for a minute, then spotted the shopping bag from Abercrombie & Fitch. She stared at the outrageously expensive clothing inside-all her size. Had she told him, or had he guessed?

The entire ch.o.r.e of bathing and dressing exhausted her and she didn't want to go to the kitchen. She didn't want Dennis to see her crawl, but then again, maybe he already had. All she wanted was to sleep.

Dennis knocked on the bedroom door.

"Come in," she said, her voice raw and scratchy.

Dennis looked sweet, if that was possible for a guy. He was only a few inches taller than Kirsten, but broad-shouldered, as though he worked out. Cute, in a little-kid way, which seemed odd with his build. He looked at her with pale blue eyes through wire-rim gla.s.ses.

"I made some soup."

Dennis didn't scare her, but maybe she should be scared. "Why didn't you take me to the hospital?" she asked.

He frowned at her and looked worried. "You told me not to."

"I don't remember that."

"Are you still sick?"

"I don't remember a lot of things. Just bits and pieces. Why didn't I want to go to the hospital?"

"You said someone was going to kill you and you needed a place to hide."

Kirsten definitely didn't remember saying that, though she certainly remembered being terrified that someone was chasing her.

"And you brought me here?"

"My brother is in Europe."

She frowned. Something was wrong. "You said your brother was at the party. Didn't you?" Maybe she was remembering another conversation.

"I have two brothers. Charlie is in Europe, and he always tells me I can stay here whenever I want. I take a cla.s.s at Columbia." He spoke proudly, and it was his tone that told Kirsten that Dennis was a little slow. Not severely r.e.t.a.r.ded, but not quite normal.

"My brother knows the dean and they said I can audit one cla.s.s a semester. I'm doing really good."

She didn't know why, but that made her feel better. "Okay. So this is between you and me, right?"

Dennis nodded. "Do you want some soup?"

"Yes, but I can't walk." She frowned at her feet. "It hurts too much."

"I can bring the soup in here."

"Why are you helping me?"

His baffled expression indicated that he didn't understand her question.

"I mean, I must have looked awful the other night. Like I was crazy or something."

"You were scared. Charlie always says we have to help our neighbors."

"I think I'd like Charlie."

Dennis smiled, his eyes lighting up. "I love Charlie. He's nice to me."

"What about your other brother?"

Dennis shrugged. "He's moody. Charlie says he's selfish and won't grow up. But he always takes me to see baseball games. I love baseball."

"I love baseball, too."

Dennis grinned. "And then after the game, if he doesn't have a girlfriend, I get to stay in his apartment and we watch movies, but not scary movies because I don't like them. Last time, we watched Star Wars, my favorite."

He really was sweet. Kirsten felt awful for dragging this kid into her problems. "Thank you for the clothes."

"I looked at the tag in your dress for your size when-" He blushed several shades of red and averted his gaze. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "It was torn and you weren't talking. I didn't touch you, I promise. Just helped you put on one of Charlie's old s.h.i.+rts."

"It's okay. You took care of me, and I feel a lot better."

"I can take you home, if you want."

She shook her head. "Something strange happened at the warehouse."

"I know. It was in the newspaper."

"What? What was in the newspaper?"

"I didn't read it because it sounded scary, but I saw the picture of the warehouse. I'll bring it in, with your soup. Is it okay if you have soup for breakfast? It's only eight."

"Thank you. And water, please."

A few minutes later, Dennis came in with a tray. It was almost surreal-a fake rose in a bud vase, a bowl of soup, soda crackers, a tall gla.s.s of ice water, and the New York Post folded neatly. Everything was placed just so.

"It smells great." Though she was starving, the thought of eating made her ill.

He beamed. "I have to go to cla.s.s. It starts at nine, and I don't want to be late."

"Is it really okay that I'm here?"

He nodded. "Charlie isn't coming back until next week. And he won't mind."

Kirsten wasn't so sure about that, but she didn't argue with Dennis.

"I'll be back after my cla.s.s." He smiled and waved as he left.

Kirsten opened the newspaper. A headline on the bottom front read: Cinderella Strangler Strikes Again! P.13 Hands shaking, Kirsten turned to page thirteen.

Fourth victim found at abandoned Brooklyn warehouse BROOKLYN-Early Wednesday morning the body of an unidentified female was discovered by a private security company in the weed-choked parking lot of the abandoned paper mill near Gowa.n.u.s Bay.

NYPD lead detective Victor Panetta refused comment, other than to confirm that a female between the ages of 18 and 25 was found at dawn Wednesday and that the investigation was his top priority.

However, sources in the NYPD report that the crime scene matches three previous homicides. The first victim, 19-year-old Columbia University student Alanna Andrews, was discovered at a Haunted House set up in an abandoned apartment building in Harlem in the early morning hours of October 31. Erica Ripley, 21, an employee at a Java Central, was alleged to be the Cinderella Strangler's second victim. She was found on January 2 on the south side of the Bronx, in a field near an abandoned factory. And the third victim was identified as third-year NYU student Heather Garcia, 20, killed on February 5 at a party in Manhattanville. Her body was discovered next to a dumpster by sanitation workers. All four victims were found after attending an illegal "underground" party at an abandoned site.

The Cinderella Strangler suffocates his victims and takes one of their shoes. Authorities refuse to comment on what the shoe may represent, but psychiatrist Emile DeFelice said the killer may have a foot fetish, or use the shoe in a bizarre s.e.x ritual. Some experts claim that serial killers take personal effects-usually panties or jewelry-from the victim as a so-called souvenir, in order to relive their crime at a later date.

The FBI has created a task force with NYPD and the NY Port Authority, suggesting that they are, in fact, tracking a serial killer.

Those close to the investigation say the task force has no leads. The FBI has sent a communication to all local colleges to raise awareness among students to be extra cautious when attending a rave. Authorities are looking for new ways to put a stop to the illegal parties. Community activists advise caution when attending any event. "Go with someone you know, and leave with someone you know," said a regular partygoer who asked to remain anonymous. "Have fun, but be smart."

Police are asking that anyone with information that may help them in their investigation call the task force hotline number. A $10,000 reward is offered by the FBI for any information leading to the conviction of the killer.

Kirsten pushed the tray aside. Jessie had been murdered by a serial killer?

Girls like you ...

Kirsten didn't know what to do. No one knew where she was.

She looked at the date on the paper. Thursday? It was already Thursday? She'd been sick for five days? She had to call her mother, let her know she was okay. The weekends were one thing, but she'd left home Friday night and now her mother must be frantic.

But what could she do? She couldn't crawl around the city. She needed someone she could trust, but she had no one.

Except ...

Trey would help her, she knew it. Her ex was still furious about the video, but they were talking again, and he'd told her that if she ever needed anything to just ask.

She saw a phone charger in the bedroom, but no phone. What if the owner had only a cell phone?

She crawled out of the bedroom and realized she hadn't been outside the room since she'd arrived. The view of New York City from the picture windows took her breath away. She sat on the floor and looked around.

If she'd thought the bedroom was nice, the living room was gorgeous. Plush gray carpeting; dark-gray leather furniture; gla.s.s tables and splashes of blues and greens in paintings and throw rugs. This guy, Dennis's brother, had to be rich.

She saw double doors across the room and made her way over, the effort depleting her energy. She was dizzy and tired.