by R. L. Stine
She stared hard into my eyes. “I want you to kill Angel. I want you to kill him tomorrow night.”
35.
“Are you okay?” Pepper narrowed her eyes at me, studying me.
“Yeah, I guess. Why?” I said.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in study hall? Why are you wandering around the halls?”
I blinked. I couldn’t get her face to come into focus. The long hallway stretched in front of me, gray lockers on both sides, classroom doors closed because the bell had rung … some kids on ladders hanging a maroon-and-gray banner on the ceiling.… All a blur.
I’d felt confused all morning. Kind of in a daze.
Pepper stood with her hands on her waist, waiting for an answer.
“I … don’t know,” I blurted out.
“You don’t know what? You don’t know why you’re wandering the halls?”
It was Pepper’s first day back at school. She had the floppy blue cap down tightly on her head. I knew she was afraid kids would make fun of her if they saw her cut-up scalp. But, of course, she was wrong. Everyone was being super-nice to her. Everyone in school knew she’d been attacked, been through a horrible ordeal. No one would ever laugh about that.
Not even Diego, who liked to get in everyone’s face and had a totally gross sense of humor. Diego drove Pepper to school this morning and told her she looked awesome in the cap. She said she thought maybe he’d been inhabited by a Martian or something. He didn’t act like Diego at all.
“I’m just feeling a little weird,” I told her. “Like my head is in a cloud. I think I froze my brain walking to school this morning.”
Lizzy said she’d get a gun.
I said okay. Did I really say okay?
How COULD I?
She said she’d get me a gun, and I said okay.
I said I’d kill Angel tomorrow night.
I had a powerful urge to tell Pepper everything. I knew she would stop me. I knew she would take care of me. I knew Pepper would be … horrified.
I opened my mouth to start telling her about Lizzy in the snow this morning. But no sound came out. I made a choking sound.
Pepper stared harder at me. She grabbed my arm. “Michael? Do you need the nurse? You look so weird. Are you sick or something?”
Lizzy said she’d get me a gun.
She told me where to meet her.
“No. I’m okay. Really.” I pointed to the door, the exit to the student parking lot. “Maybe a little fresh air…”
“It’s still snowing, Michael. Don’t go out without a coat.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re an idiot,” she said.
I said I’d kill Angel tomorrow night.
“If I’m an idiot, why are you standing out in the hall, missing class and talking to me?”
She shrugged. “Beats me.” She turned and started to walk away, adjusting the cap on her head. Her sneakers squeaked on the floor. She turned. “Are we still meeting after school to work on the yearbook?”
I nodded. “For sure.”
She shook her head. “Don’t wander the halls in a fog, Michael. Don’t get weird, okay? We’ve got enough problems without you getting weird.”
“Okay,” I said. I watched her till she disappeared around a corner. I turned and jumped in surprise when I saw Mr. Oliphant, the principal, looming over me. He’s about eight feet tall and big like a middle linebacker. In fact, I heard that he played linebacker in college at Howard University. The dark blue suits he always wears are always stretched at the shoulders and the chest.
Oliphant is the first black principal at Shadyside High, and everyone agrees he’s an awesome guy. He’s friendly, he always seems calm, he never loses it, and he’s always out in the hall talking to kids.
“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you, Michael,” he said. The ceiling light spread over his glasses. I couldn’t see his eyes. You expect a big guy like Oliphant to have a booming big-dude voice. But he’s very soft-spoken and quiet.
“I … I should be in study hall,” I blurted out.
Why did I say that? What’s wrong with me?
“If you have a few minutes…” he said. He motioned with his head toward his office down the hall. “I’d like to talk to you about this girl I believe you encountered. Lizzy Walker?”
He put a big hand on my shoulder and gently began to lead me down the hall. “I understand we had an imposter in school, someone who didn’t belong here.”
“Lizzy said she’d get me a gun,” I told him.
36.
He turned and squinted at me through his glasses. “What did you say?”
I swallowed. “I said I knew Lizzy. We kind of became friends … after I helped her find her way to a class. She always seemed to be lost.”
Oliphant stepped into his office, nodding at Miss Greer, his secretary. “Come sit down, Michael. Let’s talk about her. Did you have any clue at all that she wasn’t registered here?”
“No. Not a clue,” I said. “I didn’t really get to know her that well.”
Oliphant dropped into his leather desk chair. The seat cushion made a whoosh sound as he sat down. He really needed a bigger chair. He took off his glasses. His dark eyes studied me.
“Michael, you were here when this Lizzy Walker was assaulted in the school building,” he said. “But you weren’t an eyewitness—”
“No,” I said. “I heard her scream. Then I came running into the hall and I … I found her on the floor.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We are cooperating with the police investigation to find this young man they believe attacked her.”
“His name is Angel,” I said.
“So far, the police seem to be at a dead end. Not a clue as to where to find this man.”
He waited for me to say something, but I didn’t know what to say. It was an awkward silence. I stared at the photo of a little girl on his desk. Probably his daughter.
“I know the police believe this Walker girl can help them,” Oliphant finally continued. “If you have any way of contacting her…”
I’m going to see her tomorrow night. She’s going to help me kill Angel.
“I don’t know where she is,” I said. “She hasn’t come back to school.”
Oliphant tapped both hands on the desktop. “If you hear from her, or if you hear anything about her, let me know, okay?”
“Well, sure…”
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this is very serious,” he said. “We’ve had a trespasser in school for several days, and she was attacked by an intruder. A guy no one saw come or go. You can imagine that we’re having serious talks about security issues here.”
I stood up. “I’ll keep my eyes open,” I said. “If I see or hear anything…”
He nodded. “Thanks, Michael. You’d better get to class.”
I started to the door, but he called me back. “I know you were good friends with Gabe,” he said. “How are you doing? If you would like to talk to a counselor…?”
“I-I think I’m okay,” I stammered. “I think about him a lot. But I don’t need to talk to anyone now.”
He nodded, and I stepped out into the hall.
I’ll feel a lot better after I kill Angel.
* * *
Diego stopped me after school. He stepped in front of me just as I closed my locker and bumped me hard with his belly. I went stumbling back and crashed into the wall.
“Hey, what’s that about?” I cried.
“Just wanted to get your attention, Scout.” He tugged me away from the wall. “Come with me. I’ve got a plan. For our Macbeth project.”
“Macbeth project? We don’t have a Macbeth project,” I said. “Remember? We bagged our project because it sucked?”
“It’s due tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve got an awesome idea. You and me. We’re going to nail it.”
“I can’t,” I told him. “I told Pepper I’d meet her in the yearbook office. We have to look through a
pile of dusty old yearbooks.”
“That can wait,” he said. “Follow me.” He didn’t give me a choice. He gripped my shoulder and pushed me through the crowded hall.
“Why are you wearing that raincoat?” I asked. “What happened to your coat?”
“It’s a costume,” he said. “For Macbeth.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”
He raised a small black leather case in his other hand. “I brought my GoPro camera,” he said. “We’re going to act out some scenes. Do some long speeches. Make it look really dark and scary. Miss Curdy will go nuts.”
“I think you’re nuts,” I said.
“I’ll do a scene and you’ll do a scene,” Diego said. “I’ll take it home and put a background music track behind it tonight. We can’t miss. But you’ve got to be serious. No goofing. No clowning around.”
“Huh?” I cried. “You’re telling me to be serious? That’s a switch.”
He turned me to the stairs. “Keep walking.”
“Where are we going?” I demanded. “We can’t stand out in the hall and act out scenes from Macbeth. We’ll get a crowd. We’ll look ridiculous.”
We started down the stairs. “Not in the hall,” Diego said. “In the basement. I found the perfect place.”
The basement hall was dimly lit. Deserted. The door to the custodians’ lounge was open. No one inside. We passed some supply closets and the textbook room. One large room was filled with electronic cables and wires, all tangled, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. So many wires I couldn’t see what they were attached to. At the far end, I could hear the loud hum of the furnace and boiler room.
“Yesterday, Miss Curdy sent me down to the book room to get some things for her,” Diego explained. “She’s always sending me for stuff because I’m big and strong and manly and everyone else is a wimp.”
“If you don’t say so yourself,” I murmured.
He gave me a sharp push. “Anyway, when I was down here, I peeked into the furnace room, and it’s perfect. It’s dark and there are all these weird pipes in the ceiling and lots of steam and weird machines everywhere. It looks like it could be from a horror movie.”
We were halfway down the hall, and I could already feel the heat pouring from the wide furnace room doorway. I heard a chug chug chug sound that must have been the boiler.
“I don’t like this,” I said. “Too hot in there.”
“Man up,” Diego said. “It won’t take long. I brought the book. I’ll read a scene, then you. Just stay back from the boiler.”
“And you think Miss Curdy will be impressed?”
“No one else is doing a video,” Diego said. “Check it out. How awesome is this?”
We stepped through the open doorway into the vast concrete room. It did look like the set for a horror movie. Wisps of steam floated from a back room. The boiler was solid black and looked like one of those pot-bellied stoves, only a hundred times as big. Beside it, the furnace was like a small house with dozens of fat pipes climbing out of the sides and top like octopus arms.
“Whoa! That boiler is burning hot!” I cried. I stepped to the other side of Diego, trying to move away from it.
“Just be careful,” Diego said. “Stand over here. You can go first.” He opened the GoPro case and pulled out the Macbeth play book. He handed it to me. Then he slid the little camera from the case.
“But this is crazy. I don’t even know what I’m reading,” I protested.
“Pick something,” Diego said. “Here. Wear the raincoat.” He tugged the long tan coat off. He wore a Shadyside High sweatshirt and baggy jeans under it. I took the raincoat from him. I knew it would be huge on me.
The boiler chugged behind us, sending off waves of heat. The furnace made a sighing sound, then came to life with a groan. The furnace shook. The whole room shook. Wisps of hot steam snaked low to the concrete floor.
“See? A horror movie,” Diego said, grinning. “Atmosphere. Perfect for Macbeth.”
“How do you know?” I demanded. “Have you read it?”
Diego grinned. “Not yet.”
I started to skim through the play. I thought this was a totally dumb idea, but it was hard to argue with Diego. He seldom had any patience for anyone else’s point of view. Can you picture a steamroller? That’s Diego.
So I figured, Let’s just do this as fast as we can and get it over with.
But then I had an idea. “There’s a sword up in the art room,” I told him.
He squinted at me. “Really?”
“Some kid made a sword out of wood and painted the blade silver. It would look great in our video. You know. A prop. Make us look professional.”
Diego grinned at me. “I like it. Hurry. Go get it. I’ll figure out the lighting and stuff while you’re gone. I never really used this camera before.”
I turned and headed back down the hall. I was happy to have an excuse to get out of the heat. The sound of the chugging boiler and roar of the furnace followed me all the way down the hall.
On the main floor, a few kids lingered outside the seniors’ lounge, talking and laughing. Otherwise, the hall was empty. The building had been cleared out.
I was outside the art room, reaching for the door handle, when my phone dinged. A message. I fumbled the phone from my back pocket, raised the screen to my face and stared at the words:
If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the furnace.
It took me a few seconds to realize I was staring at a message from Angel. My brain whirred. It took a few more seconds to realize it wasn’t a comment. It was a threat.
I wheeled around, lowered my head, and began to run full-speed back down the hall.
Diego, be okay, I prayed. Please be okay.…
37.
I heard his screams as soon as I reached the downstairs hall. His screams didn’t sound human. Shrill and hoarse, they rang through the hall like the howls of an animal in pain.
The heat rolled over me as I burst into the furnace room, my shallow breaths wheezing noisily.
“Noooooooo!”
A horrified howl escaped my throat as my eyes stopped on Diego, strapped to the boiler.
A cord stretched tight around his chest held his back to the churning boiler. Diego thrashed his arms helplessly, eyes shut, mouth open in scream after anguished scream. “Help me! Hellllp me! It’s … so … hot … Oh, please … I can’t … I can’t … I’m burning … I’m BURNING!”
His face, darkened to a deep red, was drenched in sweat. As he twisted his head, struggling to pull away from the intense heat, I could see blisters already breaking open on the back of his neck.
Wave after wave of heat roared off the boiler. Diego let out one more animal scream. Then his head slumped forward. His arms fell limply to his sides. He didn’t move.
He’ll burn to death.
Is he already dead?
The horrifying questions swam in my head as I fought back my shock and terror and lurched forward. The heat radiating off the boiler made my face burn. My eyes began to water. I struggled to breathe.
Grabbing the cord in both trembling hands, I fumbled till I found the knot on the other side of the boiler. I couldn’t see at all through my tearing eyes. My whole body felt on fire, as if I was roasting on a spit.
Frantically, I struggled with the knot. Loosened it. Yes. Loosened it and kept working at it … until the cord snapped off and slid to the floor.
Diego’s head bobbed forward, and he slumped lifelessly into my arms. I caught him. Staggering back under his weight, I gave a hard tug to pull him from the boiler.
A deafening rrrrripppp made me gasp. The sound of Velcro tearing open. A sound I knew I’d never forget.
I raised my gaze, forced my eyes to the boiler—and opened my mouth in a silent howl of horror and disgust.
Diego’s sweatshirt had stuck to the metal boiler. The fabric melted against the intense heat. And his skin … oh, wow … the skin … the skin of Diego’s back�
��it stuck to the boiler wall.
“Nooooo! Oh, nooooo!” Horrified howls escaped my throat.
When I pulled him off the boiler … I ripped his skin off … left his skin sizzling on the metal boiler wall. And as I lowered Diego face down on the floor, I couldn’t avert my eyes in time … and I saw bubbling rivulets of blood … bits of shirt fabric …
His back … his back was nothing but raw red meat.
38.
Police swarmed the school. Pistols drawn, dark-uniformed cops made their way down the halls, moving cautiously, stopping to inspect every classroom. I imagined that Angel was far from the school by now.
I phoned my parents and told them to hurry over. My hands shook so hard, I could barely hold the phone. As I spoke to my dad, I heard the ambulance siren as they took Diego away.
“He’s breathing,” someone said from the crowd of onlookers. “He’s still alive.”
I could still feel the heat of the boiler on my skin. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the shiny raw meat of Diego’s back, pulsing with dark blood. And I couldn’t erase from my memory the sound of his skin ripping away.
Meat. His back was raw meat, shiny and wet, the blood pouring down over the red meat like steak sauce.
Outside the windows, I saw the late afternoon sun lowering behind the bare winter trees. The police were still searching the school, every floor, every classroom, every inch of the basement and furnace room.
Did they find anything helpful? They wouldn’t tell me.
I felt sick, too sick to talk to them. But what choice did I have? I was the only witness, the only one who could tell the story.
When I finished telling them everything I knew, everything I’d seen, I couldn’t believe they said to carry on as normal. “We’re closing in on him,” they said.
Were they lying?
They told the principal to keep the school open. They said they’d increase their patrol. They said school life should go on. But how could it?
As my parents drove me home, I couldn’t speak. In a strange way, I blamed myself.
If only I hadn’t waited to kill Angel.
Now I knew I was ready. I knew I could do it. I knew I could kill him tomorrow night. No problem.