Sever

by Jesse Grey

  Faith reacted with a wide beam of a glare. “You and Hugo made things official?”

  Nodding emphatically, Willa dazzled like a diamond melting waves of crystal in the sun as Kirby shrugged off the school girl swoons over Salem. “I’m glad for you, Willa. But Salem and I have a lot of history. We’re still getting to know each other again.”

  “Well, that’s good.” Faith declared with certainty. “Have either of you seen any of the guys? Straton and Hugo are super slow getting here.”

  “I haven’t, no.” Willa stated.

  Taking the suggestion to glimpse over the wave of illustrated high schoolers, Kirby just happened to make out Bridge, and then later Mercer as he came up to him hurriedly.

  “I’ll go see if they know anything.”

  Pushing past both the strangers and the familiars, Kirby was coming into her boyfriend and his best friends’ conversation as Mercer said the words, “We should do it soon.”

  “Do what soon?” Her eyebrows arched as she swapped intense eye-locks with each of them.

  “Go ahead and tell her.” Bridge decided, cracking his knuckles during the inevitable pause between them. “We may need her help.”

  “Bridge—” Mercer went to protest and debate the idea of his girl-friend into their clandestine meddling, but his friend was nimble to suspend his sentence.

  “The birthday boy hath spoken.” He said defiantly, holding his head high like a true regal candidate, which coincided with the cheap yet extensively detailed plastic crown wrapped around his dome.

  Mercer let his eyes somersault in dismissal, Kirby chuckling as he grabbed her hand as a tactile tether, a way to draw her attention to his eyes. Bridge wordlessly examined the area for Abram and Alex, but all he witnessed was his random skeletal subjects as Mercer filled her in.

  “Breaking back into Arclan?” Her voice lifted like a hot air bal-loon taking sudden ascension. “Wait, are you trying to get into con-tact with Frankie Ellery?”

  He confirmed her assumptions with the gentle clutch of his hand. “We have to. We’re preparing to tell Dagger the whole story, and Frankie is a part of that, at least whatever she knows.”

  “Frankie’s in solitary.” Kirby shook her head. “How do you—”

  “We’re out of options,” He exhaled harshly, throwing away his al-ready toxic feelings concerning the night’s transgressions. “It has to be tonight, while Paige is still in the hospital.”

  “Alright, alright.” She was beginning to interpret the urgency Mercer was warranting. “When is this going down?”

  “Preferably now.” Bridge mentioned with the wisp of his hair as he smoothed it with the quick flick of his wrist.

  “We have a problem.”

  The voice came from Alex, Abram right by his side where every-one knew he belonged. They came bounding from what looked like the parking lot, having observed something that required an urgent relay.

  “I really hate to ask for any follow up.” Bridge resolved.

  “There’s pretty stable security surrounding this place.”

  “More details, Abe.”

  Alex took it upon himself to interject. “Unmarked police cars surveying the perimeter of all streets leading out of here.”

  “Maybe it’s just Dagger keeping an eye on things.” Mercer gave his opinion with guarded optimism. “Just in case.”

  “That’s great and all, but that makes it more than difficult for all of us to sneak over to Arclan and badger a psycho in solitary.”

  Abram winced at Alex. “Can we refrain from the P-word when talking about people in Arclan?”

  “The point being that we all can’t go disappearing from the party and go straight to Arclan.”

  A series of bleeps reverberated from Abram’s phone then, the blond taking the time to read it. All the color blurred from his face, his emotions as untamed as wildlife in the Serengeti. His friends’ worry climbed without question when his entire body went as white as his sugar skull face.

  “Abe, what is it?” Alex’s agony grew when the phone holding his hand quaked.

  He allowed Alex access to the phone from his possession and re-ceived the non-verbal okay to read the text aloud.

  “Mr. St. James, I acquired your number from when you called our company. I believe it’s time I tell you the whole story.” Alex lifted his presence from the phone, eyes rebounding between Bridge and Mercer. “You deserve to know about Emmy Walker.” Alex looked up from the phone, bemused by its current glowing paragraph. “Reyna.”

  “Oh my God.” Bridge breathed carefully.

  Another text appeared on the surface of Abram’s phone. Alex gave it back to him, Abram’s grip on the device making a vein en-gorge.

  “She sent me an address.” Abram leered. “She wants to meet with me. Now.”

  “You have to go.” Mercer concluded. “You get the dirt on Emmy Walker, we’ll get whatever we can from Frankie Ellery, and we can take it all to Dagger to finally get everything out in the open.”

  “Ugh, please don’t say the detective’s name.” Alex pleaded rough-ly.

  “Why?” Abram relished on inquiry.

  “Long story, it can wait.” He grabbed Abram’s hand. “But Mer-cer’s right, you should go.”

  “What about getting into Shadows Manor? I’m the only one who knows how to get in.”

  “So tell me.” A gallop was performed as Mercer stepped forward. “I can do it.”

  “Mercer, are you sure?” Kirby’s tone vibrated prudence, convuls-ing every chord on the way up. “The last time you were down in that passage, you were shot.”

  “Go with him,” Bridge advised with an invisible shove. “You’re the only other person who’s familiar with Arclan’s layout. Do you know where the solitary block is?”

  “I had to hunt my mom down for lunch there once. I can get us there, no problem.”

  “Then let’s go, I can explain how to break into Shadows Manor on the way to Alex’s car.”

  “B, come with us to Arclan.” Mercer nodded.

  It was at that instant that Bridge found Salem in the crowd, a simper brightening his mood. Sure, they had secret stuff going on, but it was still Bridge’s day and he wanted to truly enjoy something before the night became transfixed on crime and confidentiality.

  “Actually, I’m going to hang around here for a bit.” Still looking over at Salem, Bridge added, “Good luck.”

  Alex lunged forward to clarify why him staying at the party alone was a bad idea, but Abram blocked him by outstretching his arm.

  “Abe, he’s so unprotected by himself.”

  “It’s still his birthday, Alex. Let him at least attempt to have a normal one while we do what needs to be done.”

  “Alright. Let’s go then.”

  Kirby nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Mercer and Kirby went ahead and bounced for the parking lot, Abram and Alex lagging behind. Alex turned around to see Faith popping up amidst the parade of teens, agitated and frantic judging by her erratic facial contortions and wild flailing of her limbs intend-ed to be seen as gesturing.

  “Take the car,” Alex presented his boyfriend with his car keys. “Faith needs me and it's obvious we’re meant to split up.”

  Abram strived to ease his ails with a suave grin. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Make sure of it.” Alex leaned in and kissed Abram swiftly before retracting back to his previous stance. “I love you, you know.”

  “I know.” he laughed. “I love you too.

  With the mutual declaration, Abram left for the parking area off the main part of the lawn as Alex went to meet his sister at the half-way point between their current locale.

  “Wait, no.” Faith let out when they were close enough. “Where is Abe going?”

  “Dealing with something.” Alex easily read the panic running a marathon back and forth in her darkly dressed eyes. “Why do you look like you’re waiting to faint?”

  “Because I’m still convinced that I might.” Faith as
sured with mock certainty. “But I need all of you for this. Straton and Hugo just got here.”

  “Well good for them.” He scoffed. “And everyone is out trying to deal with our stalker and other encompassing problems, so you’ve got me.”

  “Alex, this is big. Hugo and Straton have information on the stalker that are exponential.”

  “What? What intel could they have on Paige?”

  “No,” her eyes grew darker as she glimpsed her brother’s soul through their shared hazel eyes. “It’s not Paige.”

  Back across the lawn, Bridge joined Salem by the rim of the par-ty, leaning against someone’s car that started the parking arena. He was still in awe that he was back at the family farmhouse. It was the first time that Bridge had been back since his parents were claimed as missing. Having the party at the house was his way of connecting with his parents, of somehow sharing his birthday with them even if distance and conundrum exiled them from each other. Shifting pri-orities and all thoughts thereof, he laughed as he leaned next to the taller man sipping his self-concocted mixed drink.

  “You made it.” Bridge said, still chuckling. “Love your makeup, by the way.”

  “I told Kirby you would love it.” Salem nodded as a smirk set off his features. “Speaking of, have you seen her?”

  Bridge went to describe to Salem that Mercer and Kirby had left a few minutes ago, glancing to where Abram was issuing himself into Faith and Alex’s car unattended. Eyebrows raised, he watched as his friend eased out of the parking job, as anticipated. But then someone exited the shadows, someone also watching Abram, that was crouched behind an identical car to the one Abram rode off in, trying to thwart whatever this person assumed they were up to. Under added scrutiny, Bridge managed to make out two flat tires on the doppelganger vehicle, clearly caused by the cloaked character as a fury of fuming curses befell them, this person owning the title of their stalker without Bridge hesitating on the accusation. And then, their defeat discernible, the shadowy figure turned back to concealment, but they slipped up and Bridge was able to see the person’s identity for a two second window.

  His heart was instantly submerged in arctic water, drowning in hypothermic shock as their stalker’s true existence sent icebergs of skepticism to the void in his stomach.

  “Anyway, do you wanna dance?”

  Salem’s words were distant and suppressed, straining to compre-hend the verity of what he had just seen. Slowly stumbling steps car-ried him onward, away from Salem, undeterred by the latter’s beg-ging for a clarification, and Bridge thoughtlessly broke out into a run, craving an escape from the crushing reality of who had been torturing them since school had initiated. He wasn’t sure if Salem was following him when Bridge stumbled right up to Willa’s car and sent up an unspoken invocation that she had been careless enough to leave her doors free from latching closed.

  Luck must have sided with Bridge at his request, because the driver door to Willa’s Chevy Cobalt retracted at his will. As he slid into the seat, Bridge quickly thanked whatever karma was spectating him that the car had the breezy push to start ignition.

  The Cobalt thundered to vivacity. Bridge looked up and gazed into the rearview mirror and waited for Salem’s face to appear, having chased him for more details on his leaving his own birthday party, but the face fading on the glass belonged to his stalker. They were so stupid, so naive to think that it was Paige, someone who was an innocent bystander in all of this mess. Someone who had only tried to help Bridge in his time of need when he was without a place to stay without proper supervision. But he didn’t have time to send himself the onslaught of self-damnation. It was in the moment that their eyes connected in the mirror that Bridge knew that wherever he took the car, they’d follow him.

  And he knew exactly where to lead them.

  He drove the brisk ten-minute ride, trying to remain calm and vigilant when he threw the car into park at Armor Falls Cemetery. Two horrifying forces fought for supremacy inside as he calmly got out of the Cobalt. First, he hadn’t been to the property of Armor Falls Cemetery since the night that Sumner had snapped, and his first steps strolling past headstones were ones of untrustworthy stability. Second, a car had been tailing him since his departure from the farmhouse, a fact that quickened his heart rate without proper navigation.

  The stalker had just arrived as Bridge stopped at Marjorie Shad-ows’ grave, his pulse fluttering when footsteps met the crumbling leaves that plentifully decorated the lush of the cemetery. Still un-moving and his back facing the stalker, Bridge felt his heart doing trapeze tricks when the figure gridlocked the stomping toward him, presumably only a handful of feet truly dividing them.

  “I know you’re really the one who has been threatening my friends,” Bridge spoke, his shaking chest giving his words a coarse fringe. “I know who you are. I know when I turn around and see that I’m right, that it’s been you all along, that there’s no hope at some other conclusion.” He paused to sniffle out a bout of distracting emotion. “And I need a minute to believe that I’m wrong.”

  Nothing happened right away, which only fueled the thoughts Bridge knew were valid. A slick wave of nausea bubbled at the base of his esophagus. He gradually spun to face the stalker, a gasp catch-ing his breath when he looked into the eyes of the last person he wanted to be standing before him.

  “Ben,” Bridge managed to choke out, tears aligned and standing by for the okay to jump from the cliff of his reddening black eyes. “This whole time…”

  “Bridge, I can explain.” Ben’s demeanor was passive, sheer diver-gence to the harasser that had been plaguing their every waking move.

  “Explain?” Bridge was crying, a mixture of heartbreak and wrath. “Explain how you could do this?” Then, a burst of temperament permitted him to howl. “How could you!?”

  “I swear to you, my feelings for you—”

  “Stop!” He clutched where his heart was housed, taking his avail-able arm and using the sleeve of his sweater to smear his skeletal makeup, two thirds of his real face now evident. “I was so stupid!”

  “Bridge, please.”

  “If you ever felt anything for me, you will tell me why you did this, what you’ve done and what you know.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  Bridge wiped his face again, his tears smudging what remained of his masterful and meticulous Día de los Muertos inspired visage. Ben let out an anvil of a groan to free his lungs.

  “Where do I start?”

  “The very beginning.”

  Fearing Bridge’s retaliation if he didn’t accommodate, Ben cleared his throat as his confession iced his tone on the way out of his mouth.

  “My parents live on the same street as Kirby,” Ben began with re-luctant earnest. “And I was visiting them before second semester started at Heartmyth. We got into this fight about what I was doing with my major after I quit my psych internship, so I went out for a walk to cool down from the argument. I thought about going back to school for the party, but I decided on walking through the woods behind the house Athena and Kirby would move into. And then when I was walking in the woods…”

  “You saw us burying the body.” This realization shivered his fin-gertips with static apprehension. “You were the one Alex heard that night.”

  Ben affirmed the statement. “I was mortified. How could you just bury someone and not tell the police?”

  “Ben, you have no idea what we went through!”

  Ignoring him, Ben pursued the ending of his disclosure. “I thought you would come to your senses and tell the police, but then you all went away and so much time had passed, even more so once Abram was released. From there, it was easy to convince my dad that I could do some freelance psych tutoring when Abram’s dad confided in mine about his asylum woes. So, I became Abram’s therapist in training.”

  “So you decided to make us bend to your will? That means you knew who I was the night we first met at that Heartmyth party when school started this year.”


  Ben sighed. “Yes.”

  “You bastard.” He sobbed and scoffed simultaneously, avoiding Ben’s intent stare.

  “It started out as trying to get all of you to report to the authori-ties. That’s why I paid a couple freshman to write that ketchup mes-sage on your table the first day of school.”

  Bridge’s jaw snapped ajar, unable to avoid his eyes at such a reve-lation. “That was you?”

  “It’s all been me.” Ben admitted with exact clearance. “The rum-mage outside the RV, the messages on your cars, taking the pages from the passage and leaving them at Shadows Manor. All of it.”

  “Did you…” Bridge wrestled to enunciate the one act that really ate away at the hearth of his soul. “Did you set me up for Blanche’s murder?”

  Without sobbing or letting emotion dip into his tone, Ben re-plied with a simple, “Yes.” He sighed, searching for sympathy when he looked into his eyes, but all Ben found in them was himself re-flected back. “Bridge, I’m so sorry.” He stepped forward in a small way. “I just wanted you to tell the truth. You killed someone!”

  “Because Sumner was trying to do the same thing!” Bridge felt every overwhelming sense suffocate him to the brink of asphyxia-tion, a wobbly chance that he would faint from this very confronta-tion with their stalker. “You’ll never get what that night did to us.”

  “Bridge, you have to tell someone. Dagger has to know. It’s been eight months now.”

  Rage bewildered Bridge’s ribs, silencing the hate speech that bul-lied its way out of him. At the stillness, Ben furthered his verbal as-sault.

  “I’m sorry about what I’ve put you and your friends through, I re-ally am. I just wanted you to do what was right.” Approaching the high schooler with acute hesitancy in his progressing movements, Ben advanced him with comfort. “And I never planned on falling in love with you.”

  A callous clash emerged, Bridge’s braced fist interlacing haphaz-ardly when it rocked Ben’s jaw, a crack matching the release in Bridge’s wrist, waving off the pain in a series of shakes. Ben fumbled to the ground like a football that had failed to be caught, hitting cor-ners to teeter on the ground.