Chapter Seventeen
Carrie Nolan tapped her pink-tipped nail against the steering wheel as she glanced at the clock in her car: 10:00 p.m. Why did I agree to meet at this hour? Normally, she conducted business during the day, but when she got the call that the Deathriders wanted to book a show at the community center, she was beyond ecstatic. Having a big national band book a show in Alina was rare, and with a large concentration of heavy metal fans in the area, she knew landing the contract with the band would be a huge feather in her cap.
For the past eight years, she’d fought and scratched her way from working the ticket booth in a music venue to owning her own talent buying business. She was now the number one promoter in Alina, and the ones who used to turn their nose up at her when she started putting on local shows, now called her to book shows at their establishments.
She chewed on the cap of her pen. I wished I would’ve booked Iris Blue. I screwed up on that one. When she’d read about Isla Rose’s breakdown and return to Alina, she’d thought the singer was just taking a break from the music scene until her band signed with a label and they headed back out to tour. When she’d heard they had booked a performance at Trailside, she called their manager right away, but Kent had told her he’d already committed to the two shows in town. I can’t believe I blew that one, and I knew Isla when she was Jordan. Well, she didn’t actually know the singer, but they were in the same grade in high school, and she saw her perform in all the musicals. She wished now she would’ve taken the time to get to know Isla. Since she’s out of seclusion now, maybe I should call her for lunch. It wouldn’t hurt to befriend her for future contacts. Carrie pulled out her notebook and scribbled—Call Isla for lunch—and stashed it back in her tote.
Outside the wind had picked up, shaking the trees and rattling along the warehouses’ rooftops. Why did I think this was a good idea? She looked around the desolate area, cursing herself for agreeing to meet so late at night in the middle of nowhere. The message she’d received had told her the band wanted to find a warehouse and use it for the concert. She’d found the owner of the one she was parked in front of, and he agreed to rent it out for a low sum. When she’d relayed the message to the manager, they’d agreed to meet at the closed factory.
During the day, the area looked like any other, but under night’s cover, it looked ominous—like one of those abandoned mental institutions that were so popular in horror films. She shuddered. You’re letting your imagination run away. Stop it. She started tapping the steering wheel again and grew more and more agitated listening …
… for something. Anything.
The wind moaned loudly, and then a flurry of rain pattered against the car windows. She jumped and cried out when the clash of thunder roared as jagged lines of lightning lit up the sky momentarily. Inhaling and exhaling several deep breaths, she willed herself to stay calm.
Then she saw it.
The dark outline of a form fleetingly illuminated by lightning.
Someone’s out there. Watching me.
Scared out of her mind, she slowly turned her head, but she couldn’t see anything through the streaks of water running down her window. “I bet it was a deer or something,” she said under her breath. There were lots of wild animals around the area, especially in desolate places.
Another boom made her cry out. Then a spectacular light show.
And the figure again.
But this time is was closer.
Her heart pounded in her chest; her hands curled in nervous energy.
There is someone … or something out there.
I have to get out of here.
More lightning streaks, but this time she didn’t see anything. Could it have been the trees? It was so dark and rainy outside, she couldn’t trust her eyes to see anything correctly.
Suddenly, bright headlights came toward her, and she covered her eyes with her hand. Then her phone beeped. She looked down and opened the text.
Manager: Sorry I’m late.
Carrie: We’ll have to meet another time. I’m already on my way home.
Manager: No, you’re not. I’m here. My car is facing yours.
Annoyed, Carrie pulled down her visor but it provided little relief from the blinding lights.
Carrie: Is that you with the bright lights on?
Manager: Yes. Come to my car so we can go over the details and sign the contract.
A shiver shot through Carrie. Suspicion niggled at the back of her mind. Something feels off about this. She turned on the ignition.
Carrie: Let’s meet another time. The weather is getting real bad.
Manager: If that’s what you want. The band wanted a contract by the morning. I have been dealing with other promoters.
She thrummed her fingers on the dashboard. It won’t hurt to meet now.
Carrie: I’ll just take the contract and review it at home then we can meet up in the morning.
Manager: Perfect. I’m coming now.
She turned on the windshield wipers and watched as the person got out of the car and ran over to her, an umbrella covering all features. She unlocked the door and the person slid in, the face still obscured.
“Here,” the voice whispered. A hand gave her a yellow folder.
She turned on the overhead light and opened it. Confusion rushed through her as she frowned. Inside, there wasn’t a contract; rather, there were clippings from Jefferson High when she went to school there. The articles were reviews of her performances in choir, and there were also photographs of her over the years, the most recent one from the day before. Icy fear wove through her, strangling her nerves.
“What is this?” she said in a barely audible voice.
“It’s all about you.” The voice sounded hoarse like the person had a cold or something, but it also sounded familiar.
Where have I heard that voice?
“I’ve been following you for a long time, Carrie Nolan. You always thought you were better than me. Remember how you laughed at me in high school? I wonder who’s going to laugh tonight. I have a feeling it’s going to be me.” Again a low voice, but this time anger and cruelty laced it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know who you are. Get out of my car.”
The wind howled around them as hail beat down on the roof of the car sounding like gun fire. Carrie’s mind whirled as she tried to figure out what to do. If I run outside, the hail will get me, but it’s my only chance.
As if anticipating her move, the person grabbed her hands. The hood slid off, and under the overhead lights, she could now see the face more clearly.
“You!” she gasped.
Then the person broke the light and the car was plunged into darkness. Before she could react, the “manager” went into a frenzy: punching, scratching, stabbing. She screamed as she saw her own blood splattering across the windshield, the dashboard, and the steering wheel.
“No! Please no!” she cried, reaching forward to stop the knife.
But the sharp blade came down again, slicing through her, puncturing her dress and her flesh. The blade kept coming again and again, even after she stopped fighting.
I’m dying.
Then blackness descended over her.