The Captive Page 0,23

perfume. I think Suzan used too much."

"Don't be silly. It's you. You're a perfect little-gazelle. No, a little white unicorn, one of a kind. I think even Adam has noticed."

Cassie went still. "Oh, I doubt that," she said lightly. "He's just being polite. You know Adam."

"Yes," said Laurel. "Sir Adam the Chivalrous. He turned around and asked Sally to dance after you left with Jeffrey, and Sally almost decked him."

Cassie smiled, but her heart was still pounding. She and Adam had promised not to betray their feelings for each other, not by word or look or deed-but they were making a horrible mess of things tonight on all fronts. Now she was afraid to look for Adam, and she didn't want to dance any more. She didn't want to be the belle of the ball; she didn't want every girl here to be furious with her. She wanted to go to Diana.

Suzan arrived, her extraordinary chest heaving slightly in her low-cut dress. She directed an arch smile at Cassie.

"I told you I knew what I was talking about," she said. "Having a good time?"

"Wonderful," Cassie said, digging her nails in one palm. She opened her mouth to say something else, but just then she glimpsed Sean making his way toward her. His face was eager, his usually slinking step purposeful.

"I should have warned you," Laurel said in an undertone. "Sean's been chasing you all night, but some other guy always got there first."

"If he does catch you he'll be all over you like ugly on an ape," Suzan added pleasantly, rummaging in her purse. "Oh, damn, I gave my lipstick to Deborah. Where is she?"

"Hi there," Sean said, reaching them. His small black eyes slid over Cassie. "So you're free at last."

"Not really," Cassie blurted. "I have to-go find Deborah for Suzan." What she had to do was get away from all this for a while. "I know where she is; I'll be right back," she continued to the startled Suzan and Laurel.

"I'll come along," Sean began instantly, and Laurel opened her mouth, but Cassie waved at both of them in dismissal.

"No, no-I'll go by myself. It won't take a minute," she said. And then she was away from them, plunging through the crowd toward the double doors.

She knew where the boiler room was, or at least where the door that led to it was. She'd never actually been inside. By the time she reached C-wing she'd left the music of the dance far behind.

The door marked custodian's office opened onto a long narrow room with unidentifiable machinery all around. Generators were humming, drowning out any other noise. It was cool and dank... spooky, Cassie thought. There were NO smoking signs on the walls and it smelled of oil and gas.

A stairway descended into the school basement. Cassie slowly went down the steps, gripping the smooth metal handrail. God, it's like going down into a tomb, she thought. Who would want to spend their time here instead of in the light and music up in the gym?

The boiler room itself smelled of machine oil and beer. It wasn't just cool; it was cold. And it was silent, except for the steady dripping of water somewhere.

A terrible place, Cassie thought shakily. All around her were machines with giant dials, and overhead there were huge pipes of all kinds. It was like being in the bowels of a ship. And it was deserted.

"Hello? Deborah?"

No answer.

"Debby? Chris? It's Cassie."

Maybe they couldn't hear her. There was another room behind the boiler room; she could glimpse it through an archway beyond the machines.

She edged toward it, worried about getting oil on Laurel's pristine dress. She looked through the archway and hesitated, gripped by a strange apprehension.

Drip. Drip.

"Is anybody there?"

A large machine was blocking her way. Uneasily, she poked her head around it.

At first she thought the room was empty, but then, at eye level, she saw something.

Something wrong. And in that instant her throat closed and her mind fragmented, single thoughts flashing across it like explosions from a flashbulb.

Swinging feet.

Swinging feet where feet shouldn't be. Somebody walking on air. Flying like a witch. Only, the feet weren't flying. They were swinging, back and forth, in two dark brown loafers. Two dark brown loafers with little tassels.

Cassie looked up at the face.

The relentless dripping of water went on. The smell of oil and stale alcohol nauseated her.

Can't scream. Can't do anything but gasp.

Drip and swing.

That face, that horrible blue face. No more lady-killer smile. I have