The Biker (Nightmare Hall) by Diane Hoh Read Free Book Online

seen that no clear thought was possible. Fragments of sentences flew around in her mind like bats in a cave, but she was too stunned to gather them together.
    Because her senses were still numbed by the horror of what had happened, the tears she needed to shed, the screams she needed to scream, the fury she needed to give vent to, all remained locked inside of her, churning around until she became physically ill.
    By the time they reached Nightmare Hall, she was reeling with nausea and knew she was about to topple off the bike.
    Once again she pounded on the back of Pruitt’s jacket.
    This time he stopped, coming to a screeching halt at the end of the gravel driveway leading up to the spooky old house.
    Echo threw herself off the bike, ripped the helmet off her head, and lurched toward a narrow strip of grass beside a drainage ditch where, on her hands and knees, she lost her sandwich and coffee. Then she collapsed sideways, lying on her back on the grass, breathless and dizzy and weak.
    “C’mon, we gotta go,” Pruitt called over the loud sputtering of the engine.
    “No.”
    “What?”
    Echo covered her eyes with one hand in an effort to shut out the sight of the bike and its rider. “I’m not going anywhere with you. After what you did. …”
    “Don’t you mean what we did?”
    The question penetrated Echo’s consciousness like a wash of acid. We? We?
    Now she was alert. Yes, there had been a we. Whenever more than one person was involved in something, you had a “we,” wasn’t that right? And Echo Glenn, all by herself, had turned this nightmare into a “we” situation, as in a “couple,” as in “he and I,” as in “us.” There were two people on that bike when it smashed into those people, and I was one of the two, she thought. That thought made her sick again.
    Pruitt stayed on the bike. He didn’t turn off the engine. She could barely hear his voice. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?” he said. “If you’re worried about getting caught, don’t. Nobody but me knows who you are. And I’m not telling. And, of course, you won’t be telling about me, either.”
    Oh, God. Echo rolled over and hid her face in her hands. She couldn’t think clearly. But this much her stunned, sick mind grasped: he would use that against her. He would.
    “Go away,” she muttered from behind her hands. “Just go away and leave me alone. You’re sick, you’re crazy! You have to be to do something so awful. Get away from me!” She struggled upright just long enough to toss the helmet at him, then she collapsed again onto the grass.
    He laughed as he caught the helmet. The sound was laden with satisfaction. “I’ll go. But don’t forget, I was not alone out there tonight. Later.”
    The bike roared away, and Echo thought, Forget? Forget? How could I ever forget?
    She lay on the grass until her legs felt as if they might be willing to hold her upright, then got up slowly. She still felt weak and sick, but she was afraid that someone who lived at Nightmare Hall would come home from a Saturday night date, find her there and ask difficult questions. That fear moved her feet along the berm of the highway toward campus.
    As she walked, she couldn’t help imagining the scene in town: the bodies strewn everywhere, the shocked patrons of Johnny’s Place standing around, watching in horror as ambulances arrived and the victims were loaded into them. Were they all still alive? How could the girl who had tried to outrace the bike possibly still have a breath left in her?
    I should have stayed there, Echo told herself in misery as she plodded along the dark road toward campus. I should have jumped off the bike somehow and stayed to help.
    But Pruitt hadn’t slowed down long enough. Maybe he’d somehow sensed that doing so would have given her the opportunity to desert him. And he didn’t want that, did he?
    He wasn’t going to leave her alone now. She was as sure of that as she was that her