Cutting Up The Competition (Horror High #2)

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  I shouldn’t be driving. Not while I was this tired. Not this late at night. And especially since I didn’t have my driver’s license…

  Releasing my lead foot from the pedal, I slowed down as I passed through Crimson County.

  I was getting closer to my destination.

  My eyes drooped but I fought against it—the overwhelming desire to just close my eyes and let go of everything—all the anxiety and pain.

  But then I saw the cemetery gates glistening ahead in the moonlight.

  It used to be a town called Flocksdale. Bad things happened here. Did the evil seep into Harrow Hill? I wondered, parking the car in front of the gate.

  There were no houses for miles, only businesses lining the sullen streets, all closed down for the day.

  The cemetery was dark and empty, sitting on a small hill by itself. The gates were locked tight every night as expected, but I knew how to get inside. I left the car running, pausing momentarily to look at the baby. Decidedly, I left Annie lying on the seat—jogging all the way around the property, moving for what seemed like miles.

  Where the gate ended was the beginning of a dark wooded area, grass and brush so tall and thick no would be stupid enough to try to venture in.

  But this wasn’t the first time I’d been here.

  I pushed my way through the gnarly branches, the only light guiding me was the moon—a tiny sliver of it poking through the canopy of leaves above me.

  I stumbled past trees and overturned branches, careful not to fall and get hurt, or get hung up on any sharp branches.

  Finally, I made it through, breaking into the back of the still cemetery.

  Hundreds of rows of tiny graves. This is where my father was buried.

  I’d only been here a few times, but I remembered just where it was.

  The second row from the back—that’s where they’d buried my father.

  Moments later I was standing in front of it, hands awkwardly clasped behind my back. Why in the hell did I come here?

  Terrance Loxx’s grave was small, probably the cheapest stone money could buy.

  His name was on the tombstone, along with tiny dates for his birth and death below it. No dedications, no words to mark his life or who would miss him…

  They put him in the back for a reason. This is where the bad guys belong, hidden from the world, pushed to the back in hopes that people will forget.

  I kneeled down in front of his grave.

  “I hate you,” I said.

  I willed myself to cry but couldn’t.

  “I hate you,” I repeated, my voice louder as it caught in the wind and floated out of the graveyard.

  Reaching out, I traced the name on his grave with my fingers.

  “I know I have all of these good memories of you, but the bad ones cancel them out. I want to miss you. I want to love you. I want to forgive you for what you did.”

  But I can’t.

  I sat there, still as a tombstone myself, waiting for something to happen. A change of heart, perhaps?

  But one never came.

  Finally, I went back out the way I’d snuck in, sliding back behind the wheel. I had to get back home, before mom or Grandma Mimi realized I was gone—along with Grandma Mimi’s car.

  So much for making amends with my father…

  Chapter

  Twenty-Nine

  “Take this baby.”

  Jordan was leaning against his locker—Lauren by his side, I noted—chatting with a group of basketball players about their upcoming opponent, the Tugglesworth Tigers. I flinched, remembering that there probably wouldn’t be any cheerleaders on game night, due to our once again postponed tryouts. The only good thing about it getting pushed back is that I didn’t miss the opportunity to go while I was suspended…

  “Take this baby,” I repeated, my voice getting louder. Jordan took one look at my wrinkly outfit and flat, tangled hair and he laughed.

  “Late night?” he teased, poking me in the belly.

  “Looks like your baby needs a daddy,” one of the boys joked, nudging the boys beside him and Jordan.

  Jordan’s face reddened; clearly he was embarrassed. Lauren, who was standing in his shadow, gave me an apologetic smile.

  “I have a test this morning. I’ll take it at the end of the day and keep it tonight,” Jordan mumbled.

  “Its name is Annie,” I reminded him before walking off, instantly feeling silly and overly sensitive.

  “Your brother is sort of being a jerk,” I said, stopping at Winter’s locker. She was taking out her chemistry book, getting ready for our first period class.

  Winter sighed. “Look, Amanda, I love my brother to death. But, seriously? He’s not sort of a jerk. He is a jerk. Especially when it comes to his girlfriends.”

  This was news to me. “Yeah, I heard about him and Lauren getting ready to split up. But I thought me and him had something good going on…”

  Before I could finish that thought, a stack of Winter’s textbooks fell to the ground. Jumping back, I barely missed getting some pretty sore toes.

  Winter was staring at a box on the floor. There was a note stuck to the bottom of it, written in tiny, blood red letters.

  “Not again,” I hissed, looking around the hallway. What was I looking for?

  “Someone go get Principal Barlow, now!” I shouted to no one in particular. Students started gathering around to see what was going on.

  “Don’t touch—” I started to say to Winter, but it was too late. She had picked up the note and box.

  Leery, I peered over her shoulder, quickly reading the killer’s words:

  United we stand

  Divided we fall

  The sound of Sydney’s screaming

  Just made my skin crawl

  At the sight of Sydney’s name, my entire body flinched. “What’s in that box?” I asked, my voice sounding weird and tinny—not like my own.

  Sliding the top off slowly like someone who was getting ready to receive a diamond bracelet or necklace of sorts, Winter peeked inside…

  She let out a blood-curdling scream. She jerked, jarring the box. It fell from her hands, hit the floor, and bounced.

  I stared at something slimy and pink on the floor, my brain barely able to register what it was…

  It was somebody’s tongue.

  Chapter Thirty

  I rode home from school in a daze, barely hearing my mother’s words of encouragement. “It will okay,” she said, or something stupid to that effect.

  Could someone survive without a tongue?

  And without a tongue…would they even want to?

  Was my friend dead?

  I pictured Sydney’s long, silky black hair falling around her face and mouth. She wasn’t the type to make jokes. She was serious, sometimes intense, and even a little narcissistic. But I’d grown quite fond of her since last year, and the thought of never seeing her again…that some crazy psycho had cut out her tongue…it was all too much for me to bear. Certainly too much for me to wrap my brain around.

  Please, let this all be some sort of sick joke…

  I’d passed off the plastic baby to Winter, demanding she give it to her brother for the night. As soon as my mom pulled up, I jumped out and ran inside Grandma Mimi’s house. Closing myself in the bathroom, I turned the faucet to the bathtub on and got the water hot enough to burn the memories away.

  I waited till the water was close to the brim, then climbed in, water splashing over the side and drenching the tiled floor.

  I didn’t care. I needed to feel clean, free from that disgusting tongue, even though I hadn’t touched it.

  There was a knock at the door. “Dakota keeps calling, honey, and she just stopped by too. She’s upset and really wants to talk to you,” my mom said, her mouth pressed up to the door.

  “Not now,” I said, slipping beneath the water. Opening my eyes, I stared up through the wavy surface, thick bubbles burning my eyes. Please God, don’t let my friend be dead…
>
  I stayed in the tub until the water turned cold, then I got out and put my same clothes back on. Moments later, my mom was knocking again, reminding me that we had to attend Genevieve’s funeral service at Merschel’s Funeral Home. I’d nearly forgotten, and a funeral was the last thing I wanted to go to…

  It suddenly dawned on me that I might be attending my best friend’s funeral soon too.

  ***

  Despite what happened at school today, the service for Genevieve was packed. So packed indeed, that people had to wait for a turn to go inside the viewing room. I stood next to my mom, waiting behind and in front of clusters of kids, all from Horror High.

  It sure earned its name this time, I thought glumly.

  “I heard the cause of death was blunt force trauma. Someone hit her over the head with something.”

  I shuddered, not bothering to turn around. I recognized the voices of some of the freshmen, one in particular—Blakely.

  No more punching people, I reminded myself.

  If my mom knew the girl behind us was Blakely, she probably would have made me apologize.

  I’m not sorry, I realized.

  Finally reaching the room with Genevieve’s casket inside it, I heard another freshman girl asking, “Did they sew her nose back on?”

  What the hell was wrong with these people? I mean, I couldn’t stand Genevieve, but still…have a little respect, people!

  My mom must have heard it too because she reached for my hand, squeezing it gently and nodding. We moved ahead, finally getting our turn to go up to the casket.

  It was closed, and I couldn’t help feeling grateful. Images of her butchered face and slumped body would be forever engraved on the backs of my eyelids.

  Framed photographs of Genevieve lined the casket. She was so pretty, with her silky blonde hair and aristocratic nose. I wanted to remember her like that—the way she looked in the photos, not the way she looked slumped over that toilet seat…

  The coffin itself was beautiful, trimmed in gold with delicate rose carvings. I stole a glance in the direction of her parents. I’d seen her mother and father at plenty of basketball games. They were always the ones standing up and cheering, getting too worked up over a high school game.

  But today they were quiet and sullen, of course. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how they felt…

  Mom and I hung around for a few more minutes, then made our way back outside.

  As soon as we were in the car, something broke inside me. I slumped across the seat, reaching for my mom. “Oh, please don’t let Sydney be dead…” I begged, crying against her chest.

  She rubbed my hair and held me, then took me out to get some ice cream. It didn’t make me feel better, but I did stop crying.

  When we got home, I crawled into bed again—my new favorite spot—wishing all of this could be some awful nightmare I’d wake up from, and my life would just be normal again…or as normal as it could get for me, that is…

  Chapter

  Thirty-One

  A soft rapping sound at the door woke me up. What time is it? I wondered, stiffening in bed.

  Soft moonlight beamed through the curtains. My clock read 11:36 p.m.

  The light knocking sounded again. It wasn’t coming from my bedroom door but rather, downstairs. Someone was at my front door.

  It seemed so strange for a school night, but thinking it might be news about Sydney, I shoved the covers aside and padded down the stairs as quickly as possible without slipping in the dark.

  Grandma Mimi might be up—she often stayed up late and sometimes woke me up with her bizarre singing—but I could hear sounds of Mom’s soft snoring coming from her room downstairs and the lights were off in Grandma Mimi’s room.

  I approached the front door, hesitant. What if the killer is at the door?

  But it seemed unlikely a killer would simply knock this late on a school night. I peered through the side pane, surprised to see Winter standing on my porch. She was dressed in a light yellow jacket, her black eyes smudged with day-old eyeliner, her hair tossed up in a careless bun.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered, quietly opening the door. She slipped inside, looking embarrassed.

  “Can I sleep at your house? I can’t sleep, what with that annoying baby over there, not to mention what happened today. I keep thinking the killer is going to show up and kill me. Take my tongue too!”

  I made a pained face, remembering Sydney…

  “Sorry,” Winter added, suddenly realizing it was my friend’s tongue she was so brashly speaking about.

  “Come upstairs, just be quiet so we don’t wake up my mom and grandma,” I warned, leading her up the stairs to my bedroom. I turned the light on, closing the bedroom door behind us.

  “Are you okay? I’m sorry I just took off. I know you’re the one who found her—it, in your locker. But I was so freaked out myself, I had to get out of there…” she said, apologetically.

  “It’s okay, really.”

  Winter smiled at me, plopping down on my unmade bed, looking around at my posters.

  “I wonder if they found any clues in Sydney’s bedroom,” she wondered aloud.

  I sat down on the bed too, picturing Sydney’s room and how it looked so neat and clean when I stayed the other night.

  “We should go over there. See if she left any clues,” I said. It was so random of me to say, and the idea completely surprised me. Where did that come from?

  Winter’s eyes lit up, like this would be an adventure. “I have my brother’s car. We could drive over there, if you think we can get inside.”

  “We can figure it out or…” I thought for a minute, about how long Dakota and Sydney had been friends. “If there’s an extra key hidden outside somewhere, like under a rock or planter, Dakota would know about it. We should ask her to come along.”

  The thought of actually going inside Sydney’s empty house should have frightened me, but for some reason, I didn’t care. I wanted to find out who took my friend and I was willing to take some risks to do it.

  I pulled out my cell phone, dialing Dakota’s number. As it rang, I peered out my side window, checking to see if her bedroom lights were on next door.

  Her bedroom was dark. I tried a couple more times, then resorted to texting her.

  Me: Are you up? Late night mission: we need you.

  I stared at the ‘we’ part. Usually ‘we’ meant me and Sydney when I was texting Dakota, but now Sydney was gone…

  “I still have feelings for Andy.”

  I whipped around, staring at this white-haired stranger on my bed. Really? Of all the times to confess her feelings for my best friend’s boyfriend, now is the time she does it?

  Fighting the urge to smack her, I found my Keds and slipped them on, then I opened my closet to get a jacket out.

  “I’m going to forget you told me that for now, ’cause we’re going over to Dakota’s to wake her up. Tonight—my only focus is figuring out something that can help us find Sydney.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-Two

  It wasn’t my first time throwing rocks at Dakota’s window, and like the last time, she poked her head through the curtains after a few minutes. She met us outside moments later.

  “Get in,” I said, pointing at Jordan’s Mazda parked in the street.

  “I’m not going anywhere with her.” Dakota was sleepy-eyed and groggy, but her focus was clear—she still hated Winter and didn’t trust her one bit.

  Can’t say I really blamed her after learning she was still after Andy…

  “Listen, Dakota. I’m sorry for kissing Andy last year. I didn’t know you guys were seeing each other…and the truth is, well…Andy and I have known each other since we were kids. We’ll always have feelings for each other,” Winter explained.

  If looks could kill, Winter would already be dead. Dakota glared at her. For a moment I was worried she might be the one throwing punches today…

  “Nope. Still not going,” Dakota
said, shaking her head back and forth childishly.

  “Do it for Sydney,” I pressed, walking toward the car and leaving them both behind.

  Moments later, Dakota climbed in the back and Winter took the driver’s seat. “I don’t know where she lives,” Winter said, starting up the engine and pulling away from the curb as quietly as possible.

  “I don’t know where she lives,” Dakota mocked in the back.

  “Shut up, both of you. I’ll give you directions,” I ordered.

  Less than five minutes later, we were parked in front of Sydney’s hulking McMansion.

  “Nice house.” Winter stared up at it, suddenly looking frightened. “Are you sure no one’s home?” she asked, voice quivering.

  “For Sydney’s sake, let’s hope there is. I haven’t been able to get a hold of her grandmother and Detective Simms can’t seem to reach her parents,” I murmured.

  The house was dark. I felt overwhelmed by a feeling, something inexplicable—dark and ominous.

  Dakota got out behind me and Winter came around from the driver’s side. We stood in Sydney’s driveway, unsure what to do now.

  “There’s a key in the back, in one of those extremely fake looking rocks,” Dakota told us. We cut through the yard and circled around to the back of the house. It was eerily quiet outside, albeit the usual songs of summer around here—a chorus of crickets and frogs.

  I used my cell phone as a flash light, shining it around a neatly manicured rock garden along the back of the house. It took a few minutes, but Dakota found the one perfectly shaped rock with a painted, porous texture on it.

  She held up the key and it glinted in the dark, casting an eerie streak of light across the back lawn.

  Winter and I took Dakota’s lead, following her up to the back door while she unlocked it, then slipping inside. The room the door opened up into was a kitchen; I could see it barely only because of the moonlight. I waited for Dakota to locate the light switch, breathing out a sigh of relief when the kitchen light popped on.