Grade a Stupid

by A. J. Lape

  EPILOGUE THE ROAD TO REDEMPTION

  ONE CRITICAL, SEVEN injured, 13 students all with future insurance claims to the psych ward. Not bad for a day that could be compared to front row seats in a hellish nightmare featuring the criminally insane.

  Things had died down, perpetrators were in handcuffs, parents were trying desperately to get to their children, and the highway was now moving from a citywide deadlock. I’d just finished being questioned by a group of detectives and had watered down my activities as much as possible without watering down the incriminating facts of those involved. All in all, today’s events were the master plan of resident rat killer, Eddie Lopez, which was quote-unquote “stumbled upon” by Justin Starsong and Juan Salas.

  You couldn’t escape the irony...

  Finding rodents was the end-all, be-all to Eddie, who would’ve thought it was Justin that turned out to be a rat himself? Evidently, as soon as his butt hit the squad car, he sang like a canary. My guess was he was cutting his losses and going for a deal. Apparently, he and Juan knew Eddie had recently jumped ship to AVO, and when they found out what she was doing, they jumped aboard because they had no other idea how to take her down. He said they were playing her, waiting for the right opportunity to set everyone free, that Juan was the shooter from the north trying to stop her before it got worse. And I had some gold bullion stashed under my bed—insert sarcasm. He could’ve called the authorities, and I sure as heck hoped a jury saw through his line of bull.

  All I knew was secrets might die with Eddie. Secrets and crimes that might be penned solely on her, and the dead couldn’t talk…and wouldn’t that be convenient for everyone else. Last I saw, she was being whisked away in an ambulance traveling the speed of light. It didn’t seem fair, and I guess it was a good thing I had no power over her fate.

  The squirrel remains on my front porch more than likely were by her hands. Maybe even the shoe. The chemicals on Juarez’s body? Now that I knew she was the murderer, they were probably rodent killers.

  Adam Neeley? Strangely, Justin claimed he wasn’t in on the escapade, opting according to school records to be absent for the day. I found it odd that Justin so openly threw Juan under the bus—admitting he was the shooter from the north—but why protect Adam? My guess was there was a jail cell waiting for him anyway.

  Then there was Jinx King. Maybe he wasn’t as soulless as I’d thought. Somewhere after my call, his father tracked him down, and Jinx got a burst of conscience. I knew that would go in his favor when he stood before the judge, but how far is yet to be seen. Jinx confessed Eddie murdered all three, and Justin told them to cover it up. Thankfully, the police were en route to arrest Eddie, but from my call as Jester, they thought the activity was at the edge of the property by the creek. When they got there, the others told them I was still at large.

  How did Dylan find me? Listen, Dylan’s a great accessory to have. Seventh period had started when he heard a gunshot and got an uneasy feeling. By the time the second fired (this had to have been when Eddie had me in her sights), he alerted his coach who replied, Son, it’s just the wind, to which Dylan countered, Respectfully, sir, that sounds like sniper shot in every language. By the third, his hero complex kicked into high gear, and he saw me running like a buffoon. Dylan was Dylan. Taking no prisoners; believing he alone could stop a speeding bullet. And Frank? He was Frank…he sort of fell on top of everybody, “franking” the whole thing up. Why was he out there, though? Oscar somehow got word to him that Eddie would be coming for me. Jeez, don’t you think he should’ve told me before I went outside?

  I was correct in assuming Eddie doubled back around to the students. When she took them hostage, Mr. Rafferty led her to believe Liam was dead. Thankfully, Liam crawled his way back to school where I found him in the back of an ambulance. He was surprisingly coherent after what Eddie unloaded on him. Evidently, while they were waiting for the Drawing & Painting class to arrive, all hell broke loose when he confronted her about her new tattoo. I could only assume that’s when Eddie’s wheels started rolling, and she decided to take me out of the equation, too.

  Liam disclosed he’d been suspicious of them for a while and challenged their odd behavior the day Alfonso Juarez was discovered. Apparently, Justin was calling the shots then, and when Liam walked over to check out the dumpster, he honestly didn’t see anything. When he headed back to class, he ran into Oscar who could barely breathe but looked him straight in the eyes and said, I didn’t do it. Liam was clueless to his meaning until everything fell into place.

  Harold King was walking around like a crazy man looking for Jester, and it remained to be seen whether I could keep my alter ego under wraps. I telephoned on AP Unger’s phone, which luckily for me, I then lost in the creek. AP Unger? He was “hanging on,” I was told. I pushed that thought to the back of my mind, telling myself I’d cry sufficiently later.

  And good, ole Rainn Webster. He was filming “live,” and suffice it to say, he didn’t have the decency to say he was operating on a tip. He claimed he’d been after Northside 12 for a while and was currently writing an exposé/tell-all. The nerve. I’d just given him a story that was going to go national. He owed me, and when the time was right, I was going to expose myself and call in that marker.

  While Dylan was getting patched up, I briefly spoke with Murphy and was now all alone, standing next to Vinnie’s Bug. I allowed myself a moment to be proud of myself—reveling in what I’d accomplished—but the cockiness barely had a chance to settle because next thing I knew, tires screeched and an angry hand was flat on my back, shoving me face-first into the trunk of a car.

  Huh-uh, I thought.

  This isn’t happening.

  Not again.

  Someone would have to convince me I wasn’t screaming like a banshee, but no one was currently around to ask. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, then I was thinking too much—the biggest voice in my brain telling me I was headed for a permanent nap in the county morgue. The sudden shifting and grinding of gears jarred me from the panic, placing me in what I’d quickly concluded was the trunk of a yellow Dodge Charger. I’d forgotten about this man...and how foolish to do so. It didn’t take a genius to deduce he’d had something to do with Alfonso Juarez all along. But what did he want from me? Especially when Eddie confessed?

  I saw a television show once where a victim in the trunk of a car knew exactly where they were once the engine died. They’d memorized stops and turns and listened for distinctive sounds. I’m here to tell you that’s a bunch of hogwash if you’re someone that battles motion sickness. The only thing I knew for sure was, we were traveling at a higher speed than normal, we’d idled four times, and my tacos had come up twice.

  We drove for miles on end, the sudden bumping making me think we’d taken an unpaved side road. I felt around the floor of the trunk. No chainsaw, no blowtorch, no guns, knives, or explosives the best I could tell. The only thing I found was a small rag. That gave me an idea. Wrapping the rag around my foot, I attempted to kick out a taillight and wave my arm, hoping a passing motorist would see and call the authorities. After three vigorous kicks, nothing happened. I kicked one last time even harder. When that got me nowhere, I wrapped it around my fist, and after two tries was able to clear a path for my hand. I waved and waved, praying someone would see.

  I tried to piece things together. Who was he? The only thing I could come up with was he was AVO. Who in the heck else would even care? My stomach was in my mouth when he finally slammed on the brakes, turned off the engine, and shoved his key in the trunk.

  I cut short the shiver that shook my bones. I didn’t have time for fear. When he popped open the trunk, the sunlight’s red and orange rays blinded me, clutching my throat with a pressurized heat that didn’t come from the sun.

  I literally was in the hot seat...and I didn’t know why.

  Meeting his cold, black eyes, I had one run-on thought: omigoshheisgoingtokillme. This man was a tank, a walking space station of 300 plus poun
ds in size 17 shoes. Wearing a black shirt, cargo pants, and combats, he was mission-ready, but I had a feeling he could morph into anything else just as easily. Something glowed around him that was not only danger, it was unyielding nobility. A faded black ball cap was shoved down over coal black hair, hiding a face that was chiseled and Romanesque.

  “Out,” was his only command.

  Well, guess what...I got out.

  Looking around, I honest to goodness couldn’t tell where we were. It was an old dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Old dirt roads in the middle of nowhere weren’t good. It’s called I’ve-watched-too-many-scary-movies-and-know-the-outcome. As best I could tell, we weren’t close to the highway. Interstate 75 ran next to the school, and I heard nothing but birds singing, bugs buzzing, the lull of a nearby creek, and nothing but more nothing.

  My bare feet stumbled out onto the gravelly surface, and if I needed to burst into a run, it wouldn’t be anything short of sprinting on broken glass. My feet had been bandaged, but were beginning to throb like a toothache.

  So here we were. Just me, the gravel, and a man whose name I didn’t even know.

  I started with an introduction, extending my hand, hoping he didn’t chop it off in the process. “I’m Darcy Walker.”

  He didn’t shake it...shocking. Before he uttered a word, he narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side as though I reminded him of someone. He stared for a long time, taking in every line of my face, my height and build, then rubbed a hand down his week-old beard that was as black and cunning as his all-knowing eyes. Who in the heck was this man? In any other situation—where odds were he wasn’t going to kill me—I might find him attractive. In fact, he was a far cry from Darwin’s Missing Link I’d compared him to the first time we met. His nose looked broken then, or swollen. Now, it was completely healed. He also appeared frumpy that day. Now, I realized that quadrupleX hoodie he was wearing wasn’t hiding flab. It was disguising a brawn that could take down an elephant.

  His next statement blew me out of the water. It oozed from a voice so deep it stripped you of your will, reminding me of a cobra trance where all of a sudden you’re dead.

  “She was in your backyard to kill you that night, but I stopped her.”

  I considered myself a fast thinker, but I have to say, that shook me for a minute. What was the night in question? Was he speaking of Eddie? “You stopped Eddie Lopez?” I asked incredulously.

  “I stopped Eddie Lopez. You stepped outside to look at the stars, I suppose, and she was waiting for you.”

  Ah, the night Murphy won the lottery. “But you didn’t take her to jail?” I guffawed.

  He gave me a look, and suddenly, I knew why. If he took her to jail, then he couldn’t pin the murder on her that he needed to. Was he a Fed? If he were a Fed, then he would’ve taken over the operation as soon as he hit Valley Township. He considered his next statement carefully, as though he didn’t want to give away too much about what he’d been doing or who he actually was. “I don’t normally make it a practice to come back and make sure people are okay,” he murmured. “Call this my Road to Redemption.”

  I snorted at his method of communication. “Couldn’t you have just sent an email?”

  He threw his head back, laughter rolling darkly. I couldn’t decide if the sound was simple humor or from realizing his methods were skewed a little toward the bizarre.

  He glanced down to my feet, frowning. “I returned your shoe. Did you forget to wear it?”

  Whoa...“I figured that was Jinx. Then I figured it was Eddie.”

  “I wanted you to keep figuring,” was his explanation, as he casually leaned up against the car. “So, what’s next for you?”

  Jeez, I felt like I was taking a college entrance exam. I lived in Darcyville, which meant no plan for tomorrow, no topic for my term paper, and fighting a case of boredom that was slowly enveloping my body.

  When I sheepishly shrugged as an answer, he folded his arms over his chest and appraised me as though I were some sort of lab experiment. There it was again. His black eyes went darker, with that all-knowing stare, as though I reminded him of someone—someone I was surprised to say—he liked.

  I asked, “Do I know you?”

  Combat Boots looked at the digital watch on his right wrist, checking the time. “First, I know you, and at this point, that’s all that matters. Second, you need to foster your relationship with Jaws if you’re going to survive doing what you’re doing. You may get dirty in the process, but if you want to live, you need to stick close to him.”

  Well, sure. No problem. Whatever you say. And furthermore, I know it’s useless to ask how you even know Jaws and I have a relationship.

  “Is there a third?”

  He raised a mocking brow. “I have a feeling all you can handle are two things at a time. Good luck, Darcy,” he paused, “you’re going to need it.”

  I knocked on the front door of the first house I encountered, requested a telephone, and dialed 911 calling off the manhunt I was sure was underway. Whoever this man was, he might’ve out-crazied me. He didn’t grace me with a return ride home. In fact, he simply piled back into the Charger and drove off into more nothingness. I came up with my own story. I told the 911 Operator he was an associate of Alfonso Juarez and merely wanted to know what I knew. I then said he got spooked by some passing motorists and dumped me at the side of the road. That wasn’t much unlike what actually happened, so it’s not like I had to pull out an award-winning performance. Still, it was an odd meeting, with an even odder ending. I wasn’t sure what his Road to Redemption was about and why he felt I was included. All I knew was, if someone needed redeemed, then they’d committed a lot of sins. I assume he thought he was in good company, or maybe he thought his redemption was redeeming me.

  As soon as I was reunited with the crowd, I passed out. Like lights-out-bit-the-pavement-passed-out. Holy bejeezus, how embarrassing. Once I regained consciousness, to hear Vinnie tell it, if I were a baby pig, I thought Dylan was my momma. I rolled all over him, nothing short of a girls-gone-wild video in the making. I’m glad it was fuzzy on the recall, otherwise I’d be obsessing over whether it was reciprocated or if my body was captured at the right angle (okay, don’t judge, I’m joking). He also added when Liam found me, we were like snakes mating, the queer spectacle where they slither all over one another and forget their surroundings. I literally put my hands over my ears, singing out a la-la-la, immortally embarrassed. Vinnie was a cad. I didn’t want to believe him but feared it at least might be marginally true.

  In the privacy of my own thoughts, I realized Liam might not be for me. When we were basically looking down a barrel, Liam didn’t pledge his undying love. He didn’t even pledge his undying like. He thought of someone else...and so did I.

  By the time the evening wound down, I was fighting exhaustion, shakes, nausea, and epic weeping. But if I had to describe the awesomeness that was this day, it would be simple...please do again. I shuddered at my own actions. I was to disarm; I provoked. I was to diffuse; I poured gasoline on the fire. My idea of a forced confession luckily ended well.

  Textbook speaking, it was a train wreck.

  It was that thought that took me out of bed and into the darkness of my closet. Standing on an old, tattered suitcase, I looked at the antique jewelry box on the top shelf I swore to never open again. I reached out to touch it then drew my hand back as though it’d been singed by a flame. Nothing I did today would be as scary as opening its lid. I took one measured breath after another and willed myself not to cry. I will not cry, I will not cry, I told myself. With a resigned and heavy sigh, I got down and slid back under the covers.

  I couldn’t help but think of Eddie. Eddie, who probably never uttered a nice word to anyone (at least in my presence), was barely alive. Maybe never to breathe air again. Had she opened “her box?” Had someone opened it for her? Regardless, Eddie was someone’s little girl, and even though I wasn’t mourning her personally as a friend, someone
else was as a daughter…well, at least mourning who they thought she was. Life was hard to fathom, but all I could come back to was Eddie had a choice, and she chose wrong.

  At ten o’clock, my iPhone predictably pinged with an invitation to SKYPE. Reaching over to my nightstand, I switched on the light then answered the call for the one person who never made me feel less than perfect. Dylan was my default setting. One sound of his voice and my emotions tumbled out. “Thanks for having my back, D,” I breathed.

  That’s a sight I’ll never forget. Dylan taking off through the field with the determination and bravery of a knight. All that was missing was a lance and white horse. I expected vintage Dylan—überlicious and heavy on the flirt, even heavier on the humor—instead a breath caught in his throat, and silent tears slid down his cheeks.

  A weakened Dylan wasn’t something I was used to. Burying his head in his hand, I was hit with the immediate understanding something was different about him. He’d lost something, or maybe a better description was something had changed—or evolved. Like me, he was lying alone in bed, trying to unscramble a day we’d never forget. Dylan didn’t even try to mask his feelings. The sound of my voice was the force that broke the dam.

  After several struggled seconds, he wiped his face with his wrist. “I was so afraid for you,” he whispered.

  With good reason, my expelled breath told him. “I froze,” I whispered back.

  Dylan’s voice was as smooth as silk, wrapping itself around the wounded part of my soul. “You didn’t freeze, sweetheart. You saved AP Unger and two times drew the fire away from other people. Crazy,” he laughed hollowly,” but it’s what I’ve come to expect from Darcy.”

  “Why couldn’t I have done that when it counted?”

  Dylan knew I was talking about the day that changed my life forever. He opened his mouth and closed it, procrastinating on an answer. “You were nine,” he finally said softly. “You didn’t freeze, and it was already…”