Tom ran his fingers through his carefully gelled brown hair, his eyes staring blankly at the computer in front of him. He'd been sitting in front of the computer, drumming his fingers on the desk for the last half hour, but he still couldn't finish his script for the taping later that night.
"Come on, Watts," he muttered, picking up a piece of crumpled paper from his desk and tossing it on the keyboard. "Sum it up. Get out of here. Get a life."
"Talking to yourself, Tom?" a voice called from the doorway. Tom turned, and saw the smiling Angela Carter behind him. She held a stack of mail in her hands. "It's not healthy, you know."
"It's perfectly healthy," he grumbled. "And at least I know that I'll be partaking in some refined conversation."
"You're a real charmer, Watts," she laughed, leaning forward to slide the mail onto his desk. Tom tried to not stare down her low-cut shirt as she bent down, but it was almost impossible. Angela straightened up, flashed another smile in his direction and sauntered out of his office. Tom watched her walk away, the ghost of an appreciative smile on his lips. With her curly blonde hair, full curvy body and sparkling green eyes, she was undoubtedly a sexy woman. Tom could even see himself asking her out one of these days. But not today.
Because she wasn't Elizabeth.
He slowly lowered his head into his hands. "Stop it!" he told himself. "Stop thinking about her!" He raised his head and picked up the sheet of paper, and made his eyes focus. The first thing he saw was the name "ELIZABETH WAKEFIELD".
"Really?" he mumbled. His eyes scanned the sheet of paper, which was a list of the remaining competitors in 'The Murder Game'. He'd managed to convince Randy to work with him on this one, getting exclusive information and publicising the games on the campus television show. Randy had given him the newly narrowed down list that afternoon, and Tom had planned to put the update in that night's news segment.
He leant back in his chair, and minimized his Word Document window. As he brought up a game of solitaire, he thought back to the last three days, where the Murder Game had been running rampant. The campus had been bombarded with kills, some of them executed with crafty precision, whereas the others had much to be desired. The faculty had issued a warning that they were aware of the game, but that they didn't want the situation to escalate to vandalizing university property or illegal acts.
Tom snorted to himself as he clicked on the Queen card. The illegal acts part had only come up after Winston had eliminated Ethan Shaw from the competition by breaking into his dorm room and stealing his external hard drive. Copies of his browser history had been posted up on the Campus Website, which Winston had managed to hack into hours later. The less-than-savoury content had been deleted from the Sweet Valley University website within the hour, but not before the majority of the school had discovered it.
It had been one of the most memorable kills of the past few days. Winston had been on a roll, also knocking Marcy Jenner out by spilling cordial on her chair and staining the back of her jeans right before her presentation in Stats. Todd Wilkins had managed to eliminate four of the Sigma frat brothers in one hit; he'd put laxatives in the keg at their Monday night football party, and they'd been running to and from the bathroom all through the night and into the morning. Tom chuckled to himself as he recalled Peter Wilbourne passing out in the doorway of the toilets, from a mixture of inebriation and fatigue.
Tom opened the Microsoft Word window again and started to type. He mentioned some of his favourite kills so far, which included Bruce Patman's itching powder in the football team's shorts. The entire game had consisted of time-outs and several benches being made, due to the team's inability to run without jamming their hands back down their pants. Classic Bruce. He'd only been back from Prague for one day, but was already into the swing of things. He wondered how Lila felt about her boyfriend taking part in something she would have considered childish.
That being said, it wasn't just the guys who were blitzing the competition. Jessica Wakefield had had a couple of stunning kills so far. Tom's fingers flew over the keyboard as he described Kimberly Schuyler's embarrassing tumble at the frat party, due to Jessica manipulating her favourite pair of Jimmy Choo heels. Kimberley had tripped straight into the punchbowl, and crashed through the table. He added a warning to all other sorority girls, punctuating it with a line about how dangerous Jessica could be. He smiled smugly at his last line, picturing Jessica rolling her eyes when she saw the broadcast. He still couldn't resist a little dig at her, now and then.
One of the most surprising kills of the week had gone to Alison Quinn, who had almost immediately taken out her best friend Tina Choi hours into the competition. It was a tricky move; Tom knew that they now weren't talking, and had overheard Tina in the cafeteria earlier that day talking heatedly with Chloe Murphy about how Alison had to go down. Tom guessed that she was still smarting from her humiliating kill. Alison had managed to get a copy of Tina's answering machine tape, and had played a message where Todd Wilkins rang and asked her to please stop calling him over the PA on campus. Tom had gotten a copy to play on the broadcast later that night.
"Oh, and Tom?"
Angela ducked her head around the door. "This just arrived for you. Someone left it taped to the front door. Spooky, hey?" she rolled her eyes and wiggled her fingers. "Oooh!"
"Was that your version of a wailing ghost?" Tom teased, eyeing her appreciatively.
Angela smiled coyly and dropped her hands. "Shut up. I'll have you know that I've been getting straight A's in Dramatic Form all semester."
"Whatever," Tom dismissed her, snatching the letter from her hands. "I hope this isn't another love letter. I'm running out of places to put them in my dorm room."
"You're a real Romeo," Angela cooed.
"So you're going to need to stop writing them, Ange," he continued, ripping open the letter. "You might have to tell me how you feel in person instead of paper from now on."
"You wish," Angela called, disappearing out the door once again.
Tom laughed to himself as he pulled the letter out of the envelope. He was really considering asking her out. Maybe she wasn't Elizabeth, but wasn't that a good thing? That meant she wouldn't break his heart. He unfolded the letter and frowned. After skimming the contents, he read the letter aloud under his breath.
"Want something really interesting for your stupid television show? Be at the Student Centre at five o'clock tomorrow. Don't be late. Make me famous."
Tom let his breath out in a whoosh. "What the hell?" he mumbled, re-reading it. After a minute, he tossed it onto his desk and pushed it away. "Psycho."
He resumed his typing, and within minutes, had finished his prompt copy for that afternoon's broadcast. He hit a couple of keys and printed it, then stood and stretched. He caught site of his face in a hanging mirror by the bulletin board and winced. "You need to shave before you get on air, Watts," he told himself, reaching over and grabbing his printing.
Tom left his office and headed down the hall. He passed Ian Harrison, and handed him his papers. "Get this onto the teleprompter," he ordered. "I want to be ready to go in ten minutes." Ian nodded his head and scurried off. Tom felt a rush of pride swell in his gut. Everyone bowed down to him in the station. He was their God. It might have been an egotistical thought, but it was true.
As he headed back to his office, a wave of thoughts crashed in his head. Elizabeth sure didn't think he was a God. Dana Upshaw, another one of his girlfriends, had all but bowed down and adored him. She worshipped the ground he walked on. But that had gotten old. She was needy, constantly wanting him at her side and needing reaffirmations of his love. That was the whole reason they'd broken up: Tom couldn't bring himself to tell Dana that he loved her when he didn't. Who could love dog food when they'd experienced steak not so long ago?
His lip curled. "Stop thinking about Elizabeth," he ordered himself again. She wasn't worth it. There were plenty of girls just as good-looking, smart, funny and lively as she was on campus. He just had to find them. He walked back into his office and picked up the letter from his desk, staring at it. Don't be late. Make me famous.
It was a weird letter, all right. But Tom had followed weirder leads on less information. Who knows? Maybe it would turn out to be something worthwhile. Maybe it was from a secret admirer. Maybe Angela had written it.
There was only one way to find out. Tom rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully, and tucked the letter into the back pocket of his tight jeans. He'd be there at five o'clock tomorrow night, on the dot. He just wondered who else would be there, too.
