Pretty Savage

by T. A. Kunz

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Hey, Deputy, could you keep us updated on anything you can?” Drea asks.

  I’m clearly too angry to think straight or I would have asked the same thing.

  The deputy grumbles and then retrieves his cell phone. “Sure, but I can’t promise anything. What’s the best number I can reach you at?”

  Drea rattles off her cell number and then I do the same. He inputs them into his phone before stowing it away. “I know this whole situation is really difficult and confusing, but I’m not going to lie to you and say things look good. They don’t. Just be prepared for that, okay?”

  I nod, but all I want to do is cry out in frustration. I feel tears form in the corners of my eyes, but I fight them back. Helpless doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling in this moment. My heart is in pulpy shreds within my rib cage. I can’t even imagine what’s going to happen to Connor.

  None of this makes a damn bit of sense.

  Drea gives my arm a little tug. “Are you okay?”

  “Not in the slightest. Not at all,” I reply.

  I watch the deputy drive away before my eyes move to the darkness of the trail leading deeper into the forest.

  What the hell happened down there?

  Drea

  I guess I’m flying solo tonight.

  Leaving Donovan behind in his current state was rough, but I would’ve felt worse dragging him along to the dance while he’s this distraught. I was surprised when he asked me to drop him off at school so he could pick up his bike. I was under the impression it was out of commission, but apparently his aunt let him borrow hers until they can get his fixed.

  I decided to accompany him back to his house. I felt for him and his situation. I wanted to ensure he made it back safe, especially after the last time he rode his bike home alone. I also wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything rash like go straight to the sheriff’s office or something. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did though. I’m still worried he might try, but he promised me he wouldn’t.

  I want to believe Donovan when he says he trusts Connor is innocent. I understand his instant reflex to defend someone he cares about. But I don’t know Connor like he does. It pains me to think this, but honestly, I don’t know Donovan well enough even to know if he’s thinking rationally or not.

  A piece of me is relieved to know they’ve potentially caught someone who might be involved in all of this. It just kills the other piece of me that wants to see Connor absolved for no other reason than to give Donovan peace of mind.

  This whole situation blows.

  The entire drive to the school, my mind is preoccupied with thoughts about what I may be walking into. If the flyers we both received were an indication that something might happen at the dance, will I be able to deal with what lies ahead? A part of me is second guessing the idea of going at this alone, and wishes I’d forced Donovan to come along.

  I approach the check-in table for the dance. “If a guy named Donovan Walsh shows up, this ticket is for him,” I say, handing over his ticket stub. “He most likely won’t come, but just in case.”

  My focus shifts to the gym’s entrance. I’m surprised to see Deputy Owens standing there with two other officers. Our eyes meet and he nods in my direction. I feel safer with them here.

  “What are you all doing here?” I ask, coming to stand near their gathered trio.

  “Safety precautions,” Deputy Owens answers as he surveys a handful of students filtering into the gym. “A lot has happened lately, and since all involved have been high school students, we thought it would be best to monitor the largest congregation of young adults we could think of.”

  “Oh, I see. Any updates … on anything?” I probe, desperate to receive any amount of positive news no matter how insignificant it might be.

  He shakes his head as the other two officers break off and head inside the gym. “Where’s Donovan? I figured he’d be here with you.”

  I release a small sigh. “Nope. He’s at home. He’s probably not coming. I bet you can guess why.”

  “Yeah. It’s a tough situation,” he replies, his demeanor subdued. “Sorry, I have to stay focused. Safety first. You should head in and try to enjoy yourself. Besides, talking to me is probably cramping your style.”

  “Hardly. I think I succeeded doing that way before this conversation.”

  A hint of a smile breaks through his stoic face. “I still think it’d be best for both of us if you head on inside.”

  I nod and begin to move away.

  “Hey, Drea?” he calls me back.

  I turn. “Yeah?”

  “I know it’s been hard for you too, with Lori’s case. I want to personally say I’m sorry it hasn’t been resolved it yet. I just want you to know it’s been eating up the whole department, myself included.”

  “I appreciate that, Deputy.”

  He tilts his hat to me, and I take my leave inside the gym. For the past three days, the Homecoming committee and the cheerleading squad have been transforming our gym into a neon rave wonderland. They completely nailed the theme. I only wish Lori was here to see her idea come to fruition.

  The basketball court is walled off from the bleachers with black drapery. The fabric is splattered with an array of neon colored paint which radiates brightly in the black lights positioned about the space. The whole room resonates like a hypnotic, surreal fantasy land. The dancefloor is just as vibrant with the glow of everyone’s masks and dress attire. There are so many creative painted mask designs, and they add another layer to the overall visual spectacle.

  My focus is drawn to the large stage erected at the far end of the gym. It’s a full professional setup complete with a lighting rig above it and a massive sound system on either side. A DJ wearing a purple neon light-up cat head sits dead center on the stage controlling the songs blasting from the speakers.

  The energy of the dance grows more infectious the further I venture inside. A laser light show swirls overhead, distorting the view up into the rafters, cementing the feeling of being in some kind of otherworldly place.

  Beautiful chaos, indeed. Lori would have loved this.

  I’m in a little black dress—with freaking pockets!—that I found in the back of my closet. The material allows quick movements, which is good since tonight I need to be ready for anything. A wide neon purple belt I borrowed from my mom is wrapped around my waist. It’s made of cheap material that seems like it might tear if I simply look at it the wrong way. It matches the purple lightning bolt earrings I have on, so not a complete loss. Sensible black flats are on my feet. Never know when the need to run will arise. My mask is painted like a large neon yellow smiley face with its tongue sticking out. Basic. Effective.

  It’s becoming quite clear to me that finding Trent in this mess might be almost impossible with everyone wearing a mask. I decide to begin my search with the left side of the dancefloor. I’m hoping his mask has some kind of tell on it, if he’s even here at all.

  Giant inflatable neon balls are tossed out into the crowd by the DJ. Cheers ring out as people swat them around, back and forth, up and down. They flit through the air like brightly colored bubbles. One flies over at me. I react, bopping it back toward the middle of the dancefloor.

  “Nice form,” I hear.

  I turn and am met by a tall figure wearing an all-black suit. Black tie, black button-up shirt, black gloves, and black shoes. The only touch of color is their mask, which is painted like an intricate green skull.

  Harrison slides back his mask, revealing a hesitant grin underneath. “And your mask is also very fitting.”

  I slip mine back as well. “I kind of did it last minute,” I admit, speaking at a high volume to compete with the current song’s deep bass.

  “Really? I couldn’t tell.” His playful tone is present and accounted for. “It still looks good though.”

  “Thank you.” I suddenly want to pull the mask down to hide the blush that’s forming.

&
nbsp; “I’ve been working on mine since the day we got them,” he says.

  “It’s beautiful. I had no idea you could paint like that.”

  A smirk curls the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  Be direct with him.

  The guilt over our last conversation creeps in. “Hey, Harrison, I should have told you yes the moment you asked me to the dance.”

  “Oh?” the smirk turns into a full-blown smile.

  “I like you too, okay?”

  His smile then grows into the largest grin I’ve ever seen on his face.

  “There were just things … feelings … that I hadn’t processed. I wasn’t ready to open up again.” He goes to speak, but I continue. “I’m bi. Those feelings were for another girl.”

  Well, damn. I just came out.

  His face shows the faintest hint of surprise, and then it relaxes. “Thank you for telling me. I’m honestly flattered you feel comfortable enough with me to say something like that. I know it couldn’t have been easy for you. I’m proud of you.”

  “Does this make you feel any different?”

  “Are you asking if I still like you even though you’re bi?”

  I nod. It’s surreal hearing him say I’m bi out loud. He’s the first person other than me to say it.

  My heart teeters on the edge of a cliff, waiting for his answer. Then his lips part with a contented sigh.

  “Drea,” he says, taking my hand, “I like you because I like you, regardless of anything else.”

  My heart stutters. No, it sings. “Really?”

  “Of course. Why would that change anything?”

  I beam. It’s as if the many walls I’d been building up over the past month have crumbled away with that one statement.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asks.

  I want to say yes, scream it even. I want to throw my arms around him and not let go for the rest of the night. But then I remember one of the big reasons I’m here.

  Reality is quite the boner killer.

  “I’d love to, really. Please believe me. And I realize this is, like, the worst timing ever, but I’m kind of in the middle of—”

  “Just one dance,” he implores, interrupting me.

  His beautiful eyes entrance me. He looks so gorgeous right now I’m finding it hard to focus. I can’t believe I’m even considering denying him. Then I think about Donovan and wonder how he’s doing, followed shortly by the situation that I’m dealing with outside of this secure dome of loveliness.

  Distraction.

  “I want to, I do. Seriously, more than you know,” I say.

  He gives my hand a light squeeze followed by a soft tug. “Then why not?”

  I find myself drawn to acquiesce to his request. As if he were a giant magnet and I was made of metal filings, I gravitate toward him. We both keep exchanging foolish smiles as he leads me out to the dancefloor. We find our spot, and as he turns to face me, a purple light passes across his face, showcasing his striking features in one of my favorite colors. I snap a mental picture.

  That’s an image I’m going to hold onto for a long time.

  There’s a question that keeps nagging at my brain, fighting for my attention. I don’t want to ruin the moment we’re sharing, but deep down I know I have something important to take care of.

  We continue dancing to the current song. I’ve decided to allow myself time to revel in this moment a little longer before its inevitable interruption. By me.

  Then the next song begins. Slow and romantic.

  “Thank you for that,” he says. “I’m a man of my word, and a deal is a deal.”

  “Maybe just one more,” I reply, stepping closer to him.

  A smile fills his face. I find myself staring at his mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. His full, magnificent lips.

  He drapes his arms around my waist and his hands land at the small of my back. He pulls me closer with smooth precision. His arms are strong. Safe. I lean my head to rest on his shoulder as the blush creeps in. His muscles flex underneath his suit as we continue to sway to the song. He’s an impressive dancer.

  Yet another thing I didn’t know about him.

  “Where did you learn to dance?” I ask.

  “Depends,” he says with humor in his tone. “How am I doing?”

  “Moderately well,” I reply with a smile.

  His chest vibrates from a low chuckle. “The coach had us all take ballet for a semester. And yes, before you ask, I’m surprisingly limber.”

  I can’t hold back my laugh. “I wasn’t going to ask that.”

  “Well, then just consider that a little nugget of special trivia about me.”

  The current song ends and another slow one begins. I decide this is my moment. I’ve stalled long enough. I have to find Trent and I could use Harrison’s help. Maybe I can get it without completely killing the mood.

  “Harrison?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think you’ll win Homecoming king tonight?”

  He lets out a short laugh. “Doesn’t matter really.”

  “But it would be nice though, right?”

  “It’s just a popularity contest. Me winning won’t define my future after high school.”

  “True, but wouldn’t it be nice to beat Trent?”

  A sharp exhale leaves his nose. “That ass texted me earlier saying he’d see me tonight.” My ears perk up when he confirms Trent’s attendance. “He joked about how I’d get the crown over his dead body. Typical A-hole Trent making everything a competition.” He groans. “And speak of the smug bastard.” He nods to the section of the dancefloor butting up against the seating area filled with tables and chairs.

  “Wait, you see him? What’s his mask look like?”

  “He’s the one with the large pink X’s painted over the eyes and mouth. He showed it off in the locker room. It’s clear he didn’t put a lot of thought into the design,” he says. “I guess you still need him to answer that question about Lori, huh?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  I’m distracted by the vision of Trent’s mask floating over Harrison’s shoulder in the distance. He looks to be moving toward the exit on the opposite side of the gym. My pocket vibrates on my upper thigh. I dig into it and retrieve my phone.

  “Everything okay?” Harrison asks.

  I see a missed call from Donovan followed by a text.

  I know I promised, but I’m heading to the station. Just wanted you to know.

  “Hey, I have to make a call real quick,” I say. “Be right back.”

  “Okay. I’ll be here,” he replies as I hurry off.

  I press on the missed call from Donovan to redial. It goes straight to voicemail. I try again with the same result.

  “Dammit,” I say under my breath.

  My eyes rise from the phone and zero in on Trent as he makes a beeline for the exit. I follow behind, pushing through the double doors and revealing the hallway beyond. No one’s there. The majority of the fluorescent lights overhead are darkened, leaving the hallway shadowed. The red glow emanating from the exit sign over the door at one end of the hall acts as a beacon. A warning. I move my gaze to the other end and glimpse Trent about to turn down another hallway.

  “Trent,” I call out.

  He doesn’t stop. I pick up the pace in an attempt to catch him.

  “Trent, wait up,” I shout again.

  I skid to a stop after taking the corner into the next hallway. Trent stands there, positioned partway down the hall, facing me. His hand rises into the air and it waves back and forth, slow and methodic.

  “Trent, didn’t you hear me calling you? I need to ask you something.”

  The more I talk, the more hesitation seizes my gut. Something doesn’t feel right about this. There’s a faint smell of gasoline hanging in the air.

  I realize he’s standing next to Lori’s locker. The flowers on the ground are silhouetted in the
dim light. I was so focused on him that I hadn’t realized it until now.

  He digs in his pocket and pulls something out. I can’t see what it is from this far away. I take a few steps forward and hear a quick scratching noise as Trent fidgets with something in his hands. A flame flickers to life in front of his mask, casting an eerie glimmer.

  Unease envelopes me. “Trent, what the hell are you doing?” I yell, taking a few more steps toward him.

  He moves the match to hang over Lori’s memorial and then presses it to the pictures on the locker, setting them ablaze. In a matter of seconds, the entire locker is engulfed in flames.

  “No!” I scream, sprinting in his direction.

  He drops the match to the ground. It ignites the rest of the memorial gathered at the base of the locker. The closer I get, the further he retreats, all the while waving at me. Tears fill my eyes as I attempt to stamp out the edge of the fire with my shoe, but I fail miserably. The flames intensify and I have nothing to help extinguish them. I’m forced to watch the whole thing burn, reducing a little piece of me to ash in the process.

  It’s beyond torturous. I stumble back and slump to my knees as the sobs completely take over my body. Sudden moisture showers down from above, soaking everything. I watch through waterlogged eyes as the fire is diminished to a puddle of black soot by the sprinkler system. The water mixes with the tears streaming down my cheeks as I continue to stare at the scorched remnants. The sound of the fire alarm filters in like some sort of messed up soundtrack to the scene.

  “Drea?” Harrison calls out. His shoes slosh across the wet floor as he hurries over to me.

  I’m at a loss for words as I just continue to stare at the mess left in Trent’s wake. Harrison joins me on the floor and captures my shoulders with his arms.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  I shift my head to lay on his shoulder. My crying intensifies.

  “Trent,” is all I can muster.

  “Trent?” he echoes.

  I tilt back to look at him. “That asshole did this.”