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Authors: Brian Freeman
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Glory with someone else, but she didn't think so.
Glory
was the girl she'd seen. The one Gary was talking to. She'd seen them together
that Friday night.
'What's
wrong?' Katie asked.
'I
recognize her,' Amy said.
'The
girl who was killed?'
'I
saw her. I remember her from the hotel.'
Katie
looked dubious. She grabbed Amy's phone again and eyed Glory's picture herself.
'Are you sure? Yearbook pictures make everybody look like everybody else.'
'I
know, but I think it was her.'
Katie
closed the cover of her laptop and shifted in her seat so she was sideways. She
pulled her skinny legs underneath her. She was medium height and lean compared
to Amy, who had a big-boned, muscular frame. Katie poked Amy in the shoulder.
'OK,
so you saw her. I know it's creepy.'
'It's
not just that. It's who I saw her with.' 'Who?'
Amy
opened her mouth and closed it. Her eyes darted around the bus to see if he was
nearby, and her full pink lips sank into a frown. 'This is crazy. I must be
wrong.'
'Come
on, you're freaking me out, Ames.'
'It's
nothing,' Amy insisted. 'Write your article.'
'Tell
me.'
'There's
nothing to tell. I'm a dork.'
'You
think that's news to me? Spill it. What did you see?'
'Forget
it. You've got a deadline. I'm going to sleep.' Amy gave her it hollow smile.
She
waited until her roommate was typing again, and then she closed her eyes. Her blond
curls splashed across her face. She tried to convince herself that she was
being stupid. She wasn't sure of anything; she'd made a mistake. Or if she
hadn't made a mistake, maybe it didn't mean anything at all. What she'd seen,
what she'd heard, was a misunderstanding.
She
breathed slowly in and out. She was certain she wouldn't be able to sleep, but
the vibrations and noise worked on her brain like 11 drug. Glory Fischer went
away. The bus went away. She was back at school in Green Bay.
In her
dream, Amy practiced a dance routine, solo, in the center of the gymnasium,
moving to the beat of a song by Kristina DeBarge. She knew her moves were
feline and sexy, and she wished she had a crowd to admire her, but the gym was
almost deserted. She could see only one person in the uppermost row of the
bleachers, almost invisible in the shadows, and she realized it was her old
dance teacher from high school in Chicago. Hilary Bradley. She hadn't seen
Hilary in years, but she looked the same, still pretty and confident, exactly
the kind of woman Amy wanted to become. Hilary waved at her and cheered.
Seeing
Hilary made Amy want to hit every step, to show off how good she was. She
wanted to dazzle her and make her proud. Instead, she felt her body lose the
rhythm of the music. Every motion felt awkward and clumsy. It was as if she
couldn't remember dancing before in her life, as if her mind had erased every
move she'd ever learned. She stuttered. Tripped. Stopped. Her face grew hot and
red with embarrassment. She stood in the center of the lacquered floor, frozen.
The
music ended. The gym had an echoing silence. She stared up at Hilary and wanted
to shout an apology to her for failing, but Hilary was gone. The bleachers were
empty.
She
heard sarcastic clapping, slow and mean. She realized someone else was with her
in the gym. She wasn't alone.
It
was him. Her coach. Gary Jensen.
Gary
walked toward her. He wore a black turtleneck and gray slacks. His black dress shoes
tapped on the floor. He smiled at her, but his smile was like the snarl of a
wolf. She heard herself begin to explain and ask for another chance, but he
said nothing at all. He came up to her until he was so close that she smelled
burnt coffee on his breath, and then, still smiling, he wrapped both hands
firmly around her neck and began to choke her. His fingers were strong. Amy
struggled. Pushed back. Fought. She tried
Glory
was the girl she'd seen. The one Gary was talking to. She'd seen them together
that Friday night.
'What's
wrong?' Katie asked.
'I
recognize her,' Amy said.
'The
girl who was killed?'
'I
saw her. I remember her from the hotel.'
Katie
looked dubious. She grabbed Amy's phone again and eyed Glory's picture herself.
'Are you sure? Yearbook pictures make everybody look like everybody else.'
'I
know, but I think it was her.'
Katie
closed the cover of her laptop and shifted in her seat so she was sideways. She
pulled her skinny legs underneath her. She was medium height and lean compared
to Amy, who had a big-boned, muscular frame. Katie poked Amy in the shoulder.
'OK,
so you saw her. I know it's creepy.'
'It's
not just that. It's who I saw her with.' 'Who?'
Amy
opened her mouth and closed it. Her eyes darted around the bus to see if he was
nearby, and her full pink lips sank into a frown. 'This is crazy. I must be
wrong.'
'Come
on, you're freaking me out, Ames.'
'It's
nothing,' Amy insisted. 'Write your article.'
'Tell
me.'
'There's
nothing to tell. I'm a dork.'
'You
think that's news to me? Spill it. What did you see?'
'Forget
it. You've got a deadline. I'm going to sleep.' Amy gave her it hollow smile.
She
waited until her roommate was typing again, and then she closed her eyes. Her blond
curls splashed across her face. She tried to convince herself that she was
being stupid. She wasn't sure of anything; she'd made a mistake. Or if she
hadn't made a mistake, maybe it didn't mean anything at all. What she'd seen,
what she'd heard, was a misunderstanding.
She
breathed slowly in and out. She was certain she wouldn't be able to sleep, but
the vibrations and noise worked on her brain like 11 drug. Glory Fischer went
away. The bus went away. She was back at school in Green Bay.
In her
dream, Amy practiced a dance routine, solo, in the center of the gymnasium,
moving to the beat of a song by Kristina DeBarge. She knew her moves were
feline and sexy, and she wished she had a crowd to admire her, but the gym was
almost deserted. She could see only one person in the uppermost row of the
bleachers, almost invisible in the shadows, and she realized it was her old
dance teacher from high school in Chicago. Hilary Bradley. She hadn't seen
Hilary in years, but she looked the same, still pretty and confident, exactly
the kind of woman Amy wanted to become. Hilary waved at her and cheered.
Seeing
Hilary made Amy want to hit every step, to show off how good she was. She
wanted to dazzle her and make her proud. Instead, she felt her body lose the
rhythm of the music. Every motion felt awkward and clumsy. It was as if she
couldn't remember dancing before in her life, as if her mind had erased every
move she'd ever learned. She stuttered. Tripped. Stopped. Her face grew hot and
red with embarrassment. She stood in the center of the lacquered floor, frozen.
The
music ended. The gym had an echoing silence. She stared up at Hilary and wanted
to shout an apology to her for failing, but Hilary was gone. The bleachers were
empty.
She
heard sarcastic clapping, slow and mean. She realized someone else was with her
in the gym. She wasn't alone.
It
was him. Her coach. Gary Jensen.
Gary
walked toward her. He wore a black turtleneck and gray slacks. His black dress shoes
tapped on the floor. He smiled at her, but his smile was like the snarl of a
wolf. She heard herself begin to explain and ask for another chance, but he
said nothing at all. He came up to her until he was so close that she smelled
burnt coffee on his breath, and then, still smiling, he wrapped both hands
firmly around her neck and began to choke her. His fingers were strong. Amy
struggled. Pushed back. Fought. She tried
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