Phantom

by Laura DeLuca

  “Debbie . . . I don’t understand.”

  Rebecca was lost. Who did Debbie love? Justyn? That hardly seemed possible. She could barely stand the sight of him. Tom then? In all the years they had gone to school together, she had never seen Debbie look at Tom twice. Never once had she joined in at sleepovers when Carmen and Rebecca listed his many attributes. If she had, Rebecca would have never stood in her way. And there wasn’t anyone else that ever came up, at least not that Rebecca could think of.

  “Of course you don’t understand, Becca,” Debbie scoffed. “You never see what’s right in front of your eyes.”

  “Then tell me, Deb. Please. Tell me what I did wrong so that I can fix it.”

  Keep her talking right? That was the key. That was what they always did in the movies. She only needed to keep her busy long enough to come up with a plan. She saw out of the corner of her eye that Tom was trying to inconspicuously reach into the pocket of his jeans. Maybe he had his cell phone with him. Maybe he was calling for help at that very moment. Rebecca hoped Debbie wouldn’t notice. She tried her best to keep the attention focused on her.

  “You can’t fix it, Becca. It’s too late. Too late for them. Too late for you. Too late for us.”

  “Us, Debbie? What do you mean by us?” She had to ask aloud, too shocked to believe it could mean what she thought it meant.

  Debbie sighed in a combination of sadness and frustration. “Think about it, Becca. Who’s always been there for you? Who supported you before the tryouts? Who stood up for you when Wendy was giving you a hard time? Who was the only one who stood by you through everything? Everything. Even when the guys and Carmen deserted you, who was still there?”

  “You.” Rebecca was playing along; doing her best to hide the disgust she felt now that she knew Debbie was a cold-blooded murderer. “You, of course, Deb. You’re my best friend. You always have been.”

  Debbie laughed, a little bitterly. Rebecca swallowed hard. She was afraid she might have said the wrong thing—a mistake that could very well be her last under the current circumstances.

  “Your friend. You know, I was okay with that for such a long time. But suddenly, you had these two buffoons fighting over you, treating you like a possession.” She gestured at Tom and Justyn, each in turn, making Tom jump and Justyn, who had opened his eyes again, sneer. “They disrespected you. I couldn’t put up with that. That’s why they had to go.”

  “You’re the one who needs to go,” Justyn said with a roll of his eyes, a move that looked more than a little painful given the condition of his face. “Straight to the mental institution.”

  “Shut up, Justyn!” Rebecca and Debbie both shouted in perfect unison, albeit for different reasons.

  “You see what I mean,” Debbie continued. “They’re animals, Becca. You deserve so much more! That’s why I did all this. At first, I thought I would just scare you a little, and make you think it was one of them. I hoped that would make you stay away from them. That’s why I sent the notes, and made the curtain fall. That retard, Mr. Russ, almost caught me more than once—first with the curtain, then with Wendy. He was always lurking around—so annoying. I thought that after what I did with Wendy, making her trip into the mirror, you would finally realize I meant business. But just like always, you didn’t listen. That’s when I realized that it wasn’t going to be enough to just play games. I decided I had to kill the guys.”

  “Oh, Debbie . . . .” Rebecca couldn’t help herself. She started crying again as the full magnitude of Debbie’s illness hit her for the first time. She was sick. She was incredibly sick.

  “I thought it was going to be easy,” Debbie told her. “But I kept running into complications. The first time I went after Tom was at the Halloween dance. He had already left the bathroom when I went in to find him. Of course, I found Mr. Russ there instead. He confronted me about the accidents.” She made quotation marks with the hand that wasn’t touching the trigger of the gun. “He threatened to expose me. So what else could I do? I had to get rid of him. Luckily for me, the old guy didn’t have much strength in him. He didn’t even put up much of a fight.”

  “Debbie, you didn’t . . . you couldn’t . . . .” Rebecca already knew for a fact that she had. Actually hearing her admitting to her crimes out loud, and admitting it so matter-of-factly, made it seem so much worse and so much more real.

  “My next plan seemed fool proof. I grew up in a house with a mechanic dad and four older brothers who followed in his footsteps. There’s nothing I don’t know about cars. It was easy to cut the brake lines. I was sure I would get Tom that time. But then he had to ruin everything by lending Jay his truck. Not that that moron didn’t get exactly what was coming to him . . . .”

  “Aghhh!”

  That last comment was more than Tom could stand. He flung himself at Debbie, giving away their one advantage. He was still a little unsteady on his feet from his injuries, so Debbie easily sidestepped his desperate leap. When he tried to get to his feet he found the barrel of the gun less than a foot from his face, aimed directly between his eyes.

  “Don’t play games with me, surfer boy.” Debbie warned. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Just do it, Debbie.” Tom was sobbing. He thrust himself closer to her, daring her. “You’re gonna kill us all anyway, right? Why drag it out? You’re the one who’s playing games.”

  Debbie was thoughtful for a moment, and Rebecca found herself wishing the two men in her company would both keep their mouths shut for five minutes. Maybe then they would have a chance of surviving this nightmare.

  “You’re right, Tom,” Debbie said. “I should just get it over with. But let’s make it interesting, shall we? Let’s give Becca a choice. Let’s make our little game truly phantom worthy.”

  Rebecca didn’t like the sound of that. “No, Debbie. Just let them both go. I’ll stay with you. I promise.”

  “How noble.” Debbie smirked. “Placing yourself out there like a sacrificial lamb. But no, you need to learn a lesson, Becca. And the only way you’ll learn that lesson is by having to make a difficult choice.”

  “What . . . what kind of choice?”

  “The choice between life and death, of course,” Debbie explained. “So who will you choose, Becca? Tom or Justyn? Choose between them once and for all, and choose wisely, because one of them will die.”

  “No.” Rebecca gasped.

  “Screw her, Becca. Run!” Justyn tried to pull his arms free, desperate to come to her aid. Rebecca appreciated the sentiment, but it was pointless. He was too weak, and bound too tightly.

  “He’s right,” Tom agreed. “Let her kill us. She’s gonna do it either way. You just get out of here.”

  “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.” Debbie tapped her foot impatiently. “Time is running out. Make your choice, Becca.”

  Her whole body trembled. She thought she had known what fear was before, when she was being terrorized, when she found Wendy’s body hanging on the stage, when the gun was pointed at her. That was nothing. That was rated G in comparison to the way she felt now. She was afraid that someone was going to die right in front of her, and that she might as well be pulling the trigger herself. For Rebecca, that would be a fate worse than death.

  “Debbie.” Rebecca pleaded. “You can’t expect me to pick who dies. You can’t do this to me!”

  “I can’t do this to you?” Spittle flew from Debbie’s lips as she screamed at her, eyes flashing, lips pursed in fury. Rebecca felt herself flinch. She took an inadvertent step backwards in the face of so much rage. “I love you, Becca! I’ve always loved you. And you don’t even care. Now you need to know what it feels to lose someone you care about. You need to have your heart broken. So choose. Who do you love more?”

  Of course, her first instinct was to scream out Justyn’s name. She couldn’t live without Justyn. She loved Justyn. But she also couldn’t live with herself if she let Tom die because of her. She couldn’t choose. She wouldn’t choose. Instead, she started to sob a
gain just as her shaky knees gave out beneath her. She slipped to the floor in a broken, useless heap.

  “Oh, poor Becca.” Debbie sympathized. “Poor, poor Becca.”

  “Shoot me!” Justyn offered. He puffed out his chest as much as was possible, considering he was pretty well strapped down. “Leave her alone and just shoot me! You know you want to, you sick, twisted, demented . . . oufff.”

  Tom made one swift jump across the room and punched Justyn in the stomach just as it appeared that Debbie’s eyes were actually going to bulge right out of her head. Even though Rebecca hated what it must have done to his still healing ribs, she was grateful for the intervention. Tom had just saved Justyn’s life. Debbie had been ready to explode and Justyn had his finger on the detonator.

  “Time’s up,” Debbie said through clenched teeth. “If you won’t play, I guess I need to think of a new game. I know! This is perfect. You’re going to love this, Becca! So, here we go . . . eeny . . . .” Debbie motioned the gun in Justyn’s direction, very casually, like it was no more than a pointer or a ruler.

  “Debbie, what are you doing?” Rebecca asked, forcing herself back to her feet.

  “Meeny.” She ignored Rebecca’s question, and moved her hand so that the gun was now pointed at Tom.

  “Deb, no, I’ll choose! I’ll choose.” Rebecca begged. “Just give me a little longer to think. Please, just a few more minutes!”

  Just until whomever Tom called on his cell phone finally arrives. Assuming he got through to someone at all . . . .

  “Nope. Sorry, Becca. I like this game way too much to stop now.” The point of the gun went back to Justyn. “Miney . . . .”

  Rebecca knew what was coming—the last word, the last step in the game. Then the gun would go back to Tom, Debbie would fire, and Tom would be gone forever. Rebecca couldn’t let that happen. She had to stop it; she had to save Tom. It didn’t even matter if she killed herself in the process, just as long as Tom and Justyn were both safe. That was all that mattered.

  Rebecca flung herself toward Tom. Using the full power of her body weight, she managed to knock him to the ground, landing hard on his chest and winding him momentarily. Rebecca thought she had bought herself at least a few seconds. But Debbie was smart. Debbie had tricked her. Before Rebecca and Tom could raise their heads to see what was happening—before Rebecca realized that the gun hadn’t shifted at all but was stilled aimed at Justyn who could only sit in stunned, wide-eyed horror—Debbie laughed and pulled the trigger.

  “Moe,” she said.

  No one even had time to scream as the bullet plunged into Justyn’s chest.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Rebecca had never heard gunfire before. At least not up close and personal. She had no idea how loud it was. She couldn’t help but notice the intense ringing that lingered in her ears long after the shot had died away. Even as she climbed off Tom and ran to Justyn’s side, she could still hear the ringing. Along the way, she fully expected a second shot to take her down. She almost hoped it would. If anyone should have been hurt, it should have been her. Not Justyn.

  At first, when she dropped down on her knees beside Justyn, she thought maybe Debbie had missed. She didn’t see any blood, and he was still conscious, though he was paler than the palest shade of white. But too soon that fantasy was dashed. The blood hadn’t been visible until after it had soaked through his black t-shirt and began to steadily drip into a puddle on the floor. Justyn watched it drip with the same kind of startled disbelief that Rebecca felt.

  “She . . . she shot me,” he muttered.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Rebecca told him, and could only hope it was the truth. She also hoped he wasn’t picking up on the hysterical edge in her voice. “You’re going to be just fine.”

  “It . . .it . . . hurts.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly, Rebecca wasn’t sure that it really did hurt. She even had the brief, crazy notion that he was just playing a trick on her; getting her back for all the times she had doubted him. She would have forgiven him if he were. Anything would have been better than the uncontrollable spasms that started to rack his body. The more she tried to hold him down, the more his body shook and trembled. She struggled to unbind his wrists, but his spasmodic movements were making it impossible for her to get a good grip on him.

  Shock, she thought. He must be going into shock.

  The fact that she was getting that information from reruns of ER didn’t make her feel overly confident about her diagnosis. But shock was better than dying. Justyn couldn’t be dying. That just wasn’t a possibility that Rebecca was willing to consider.

  She wished someone would help her. Anyone. In the background, she could hear Tom breathing heavily as he watched the drama unfold. Helpless to assist her, Rebecca realized, because Debbie was standing beside him with a huge smile on her face and the gun aimed at his chest. She was watching Rebecca’s struggle with the true enjoyment of the deranged.

  It was probably only a few seconds, even though it seemed like hours, before Justyn’s body startled to relax. The violent shaking eased into an occasional shudder. He seemed relaxed, almost peaceful.

  It scared Rebecca to death.

  “Becca,” he whispered.

  His voice was so soft, so weak. He reached up his hand to try to touch her cheek, but he didn’t even have the energy for that. Rebecca lifted his hand for him, touching the fingers to her lips. Her tears mingled with his blood. She was crying. Crying because her heart was breaking.

  “Don’t you dare say goodbye to me,” she ordered.

  “Becca . . . I . . . I . . . love . . . .” His eyes slipped closed before he could even finish the sentence.

  “No!” Rebecca cried. “No, no, no, no, no! You can’t do this to me, Justyn! You can’t!”

  “Oh, how sad.”

  Debbie’s voice was probably the only thing that could have pulled Rebecca out of the deep chasm of grief she was starting to fall into. It was only her anger, her fury, her rage that gave her the strength to give Justyn one final kiss on the cheek before standing to face her former friend. The fact that she saw the slight rise and fall of his chest—knowing that he was still alive—empowered her even more. But she didn’t have much time.

  All feelings of guilt were gone. The slight pangs of sympathy she had felt for Debbie was also gone, replaced by the nagging need for revenge. Debbie had hurt Justyn. Debbie had to pay. But first, Rebecca was going to have to somehow gain control over the situation. She was going to have to get the gun.

  She could see Tom out of the corner of her eye. Now that Debbie had turned her attention away from him and back to Rebecca, he was trying to send her some kind of secret signal. He was waving one finger, pointing it first at Debbie and then at himself. Rebecca wished they had an interpreter. They didn’t have time for games anymore. Justyn didn’t have time.

  “Are you happy now, Debbie?” Rebecca demanded. “Another death on your conscience?”

  “Happy? How can I be happy, Becca, when I don’t have the one I love?”

  There was a whole string of four-letter words Rebecca had never even thought about using before that suddenly seemed appropriate. It took a lot of self-control not to scream them at the top of her lungs—harder still to keep from flinging herself, claws barred, towards Debbie’s unsuspecting face. But a plan was starting to formulate in her mind—one that wasn’t quite as kamikaze. Tom just needed time, and a distraction. And Rebecca was just the one to give it to him.

  “Did you even think of just telling me, Debbie?” Rebecca forced her voice to sound sympathetic. “If I had known . . . .”

  “What if you had known, Becca?” Debbie interrupted. “What? You would have loved me back? You would have suddenly changed your sexual orientation?”

  “You never gave me the chance. Maybe if you had, I would have felt something more . . . something more than just friendship.”

  The crazed look in Debbie’s eyes softened to an almost whimsical twinkle. �
��And if I gave you the chance now . . . would you . . . oufff!”

  Debbie was cut off in mid-sentence when the full bulk of Tom’s weight crashed into her midsection, in pure football tackle style. The two of them crashed to the ground and scuffled around on the floor for less than a minute. But Debbie was quick to recover, and Tom was already hurt. She never lost her grip on the gun. She had the advantage. She swiftly kicked Tom in the groin, and before he could even double over, she hit him hard in the temple with the edge of the gun.

  Rebecca wouldn’t let herself cry out or run to his side as he slipped to the ground, unconscious. Tom was out. Justyn might not even be breathing anymore, for all she knew. Rebecca was on her own. She needed to keep her one small advantage. She had to let Debbie think she had a chance. If she lost that edge for even a minute, they were all going to be dead.