The Bad Ones

by Stylo Fantome

  She was soft spoken. Soft mannered. Soft in generally everything she did. Unobtrusive to the maximum. She slipped around unnoticed. Had become so good at it that by the time they were all upper classmen, people hadn’t realized what a beauty they had in their midst. What an interesting soul.

  He was obsessed with her.

  Of course, her living in a trailer park on the outskirts of town worked against her, not to mention the fact her mother used to be a pro over in Charleston and her step-daddy supplied the outlying communities with most of their meth. Her older brother, Matthew Reid, was a known meth head and had already been arrested for armed robbery. Several times.

  Constantine was the star quarterback. All-American, three years in a row. He had a full scholarship to Ohio State, he was homecoming king, and his father was the mayor. Maybe of a tiny little middle-of-nowhere town, but that was almost worse. In a small town, everyone knew everyone, so being mayor was a big deal. Being the son of the mayor, almost just as big a deal. Con didn’t hang out with the kids from the trailer parks. He didn’t hang out with chicks like Dulcie. No, Con did what Con was expected to do – he dated cheerleaders, he hung out with jocks, and he went to awesome keggers. He had lots of sex and played a lot of beer pong.

  Even as he did those things and played his little part in the universe, he watched Dulcie. As she walked down the hall. As she tried to hide in the library. She called to him, and she didn’t even know it. Didn’t know that he understood why she worked so hard to remain obscure – because she didn’t want people to see the real her. A feeling he was very familiar with, since he always kept a large part 7of himself hidden.

  Maybe, just maybe, their hidden pieces matched.

  Con very much wanted to see the real her.

  *

  Detention wasn’t so bad. It meant missing practice, but Con owned the football field. Had practically built it. He could say he needed the afternoon off to go fuck the coach’s daughter, and the man would probably just tell him to go easy on his arm.

  Detention was held in the library, and he strolled in after the last period and immediately sat down with some friends, slapping high five, laughing and being loud. When Dulcie entered the room a couple minutes later, he didn’t acknowledge her, just kept talking to his buddies. But he watched out of the corner of his eye as she disappeared down an aisle. There were study carrels in the back of the room, offering more privacy. She was probably heading to one of them.

  She’d saved his ass, Con was very aware of that – as well as completely surprised. While he’d been noticing Dulcie, she’d never once seemed to pay any attention to him. But the way she’d stared at him, like she’d known him. Really seen him, through and through. A little scary. A lot exhilarating. Then she’d opened her mouth and covered for him. No hesitation, no questions asked. Well, at least not until the end.

  The car that was now a burned out husk belonged to the junior varsity quarterback. A punk kid who had long been giving Con shit. Beyond a punk, the guy was a bully and also had a reputation for getting aggressive with girls at parties. He cast a bad light on the whole football team, which made coaches and teachers come down harder on them. It was already hard enough for Con to sneak off to indulge in his own wants and needs; he didn’t appreciate the extra eyes on him.

  If junior varsity boy didn’t watch his step, he’d find more than just his car on fire.

  “Masters! Got your costume planned out?”

  Con snapped back to attention, dragging his eyes away from the aisle Dulcie had gone down.

  “What? Oh. Yeah, I got something,” he answered his friend.

  “What is it?”

  “You know I can’t tell you.”

  “Just a hint, man.”

  Halloween was only a couple weeks away. The holiday was a big deal in Fuller. The high school went all out, putting on a carnival and then having a large masquerade ball. People went nuts for it, traveling into Huntington and Charleston to get costumes, or having them handmade sometimes. Con always kept his outfit a secret.

  “Okay, a hint,” he started, and slid out of his seat. “It’s something historical. In fact, I gotta look something up for it.”

  The teacher who was presiding over detention was sitting behind the check out counter, reading a book. He glanced at Con once, then nodded and went back to his novel.

  She was hunched over in front of her carrel, a pair of large headphones covering her ears. Con stood behind her, his hands in his pockets, and he just watched her. Her right hand was moving rapidly, brushing back and forth, and it took him a second to realize she must have been sketching something. She was known for being quite the artist; Con was very familiar with the sketchbook she carried everywhere.

  He moved up behind her, close enough so he could hear the music trickling out from her headphones. She had a smell like clean linen and it suited her. He would’ve bet money that she was a virgin. Wondered if she’d ever even kissed a boy.

  Wondered if she’d been waiting for him.

  He couldn’t get a good view over her shoulder, so he began moving around the carrels. When he got to hers, she still hadn’t noticed his presence, so he tilted his head to the side, trying to get a good angle on her drawing.

  He couldn’t quite tell what it was, at first. She was drawing with a pencil and dark shading covered the top of the sketchbook paper. In fact, it covered most of it, though it lightened at the center of the page. There, she’d sketched out a figure. An exaggerated image of a man with impossibly long legs, giving him an eerie, skeletal look. His shoulders were broad, coming to razor sharp points. He was extending an arm down, and like the legs, the appendage was ridiculously elongated, ending in sharp, pointy fingers. They were all hooked, like he was about to snatch something.

  Just under the hand was what appeared to be a little girl. She was small and wearing a dress with a hooded cloak, and immediately Little Red Riding Hood came to mind, though there were no colors. The picture was haunting in its nature. A shadowy figure with a claw for a hand, reaching out of the blackness to snatch away an innocent little girl. Very dark.

  But as Con looked closer, he noticed other small details about the picture. The hood of the cloak hung down in front of the girl’s face, hiding her eyes and nose in shadows. Her mouth was visible, though, and upon closer inspection, it almost looked like she had fangs. Tiny little fangs, biting over her bottom lip.

  And the shadow man. There was more to him, too. He was completely shaded in, there was barely any detail to his form. But his thin waist and broad shoulders seemed familiar. Then Con saw it. It was barely noticeable, but on the chest of the figure, there were two letters. They were barely bolder than the shading surrounding them, but they were there. A jagged F, and a jagged H.

  F.H.

  Fuller High.

  He glanced down at himself. He was wearing his letterman jacket, and on the left side of the coat was a patch – a football, with a very clear “F.H.” on it in big, bold letters. They rested in the exact same spot on his chest as they did on the man in Dulcie’s sketch.

  Very intuitive. And if that’s me, are you the little girl?

  “Nice,” he said in a loud voice.

  Dulcie shrieked and jumped in her seat, the pencil flinging out of her hand. She glanced up at him before slamming her sketchbook shut.

  “Jesus, you gave me a heart attack!” she hissed, pulling her headphones away and letting them rest around her neck.

  “I’ve been here for a while,” he commented, leaning his forearms over the back of the carrel. He watched as her face lost some of its color. She cleared her throat.

  “You have? I didn’t even notice you,” she replied.

  “Music must be too loud.”

  He stared at her. He could tell it made her uncomfortable. Those amber eyes stayed locked on his for a moment, then she licked her lips and looked away. Shifted in her seat. Licked her lips again. He watched as her fingers clenched and unclenched around the edges of her notebo
ok, and he smiled.

  “Did you need something?” she finally asked.

  “Is that me?” he returned her question with one of his own.

  “What?”

  She licked her lips again. He wondered if she had any idea how sexy her mouth was, or how much time boys probably spent thinking about it.

  “Your drawing. It’s me, right?” he asked again, and leaned forward enough so he could tap a finger on top of her sketchbook.

  The color that had drained away came rushing back to her face, and the tops of her cheekbones turned a pale shade of pink. She slid her book further away from him, almost into her lap.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because it looks like me,” he pointed out. She frowned.

  “It looks nothing like you.”

  “Give it to me.”

  Con held out his hand, and was honestly a little shocked when she immediately complied. She looked surprised at herself, too, but couldn’t do anything when he took the book from her. She stared, wide eyed, as he walked back around the carrels while flipping through pages till he found the one she’d been working on.

  “Shouldn’t you be studying, or something?” she suggested when he came to a stop next to her. He snorted and leaned back against a chair.

  “Shouldn’t you?”

  “I am – I wasn’t lying, I have an art project due at the end of the semester,” she was quick to respond, her voice snide. He smiled. She had a backbone, it just seemed to be buried. It only came out when provoked.

  “Gotcha. So tell me something,” he sighed, turning the book around so the picture faced her. “Why am I in your art project?”

  “It’s not you,” she denied it, but she wouldn’t look at the picture.

  “It’s definitely me.”

  “Why would you think that? It’s a shadow, there’s no face. No features,” she argued. Con turned it again so he could look at it.

  “No. But still. Those shoulders, that hand,” he mumbled, smoothing his fingertips over her pencil strokes. It almost felt like he was touching her, and he took a deep breath through his nose.

  “You think you look like that?” she asked, her voice soft. He glanced at her, then back at the picture. At the little girl. Then back at Dulcie. She was wearing a red plaid shirt.

  “Sometimes. Yeah, sometimes I think I do. And this,” he traced a finger over the little girl. “This is you, isn’t it?”

  There was a long silence and he finally looked at her again. She was hunched over in her seat, her hands together and pressed between her legs. She looked small, almost vulnerable. But her eyes were wide and her mouth was set in a firm line. She wasn’t intimidated by him. Nervous, maybe. But not scared. No, she was something else, entirely.

  “Sometimes, I think it is,” she whispered, mimicking his own response.

  Con did not want to be in school at that moment. He wanted to grab her by the arm and drag her out of the building. Take her into the woods and tear her apart. Become one with her, consume her. Find out what was wrong with him, and see if maybe she could cure him. Or even better – maybe find out she was the same.

  “Yo, Masters, you slummin’ it back here?”

  Again, the spell was broken. Con glanced up to see his friends come around the end of an aisle. He smiled and stood upright. Dulcie hunched over even further and looked like she was thinking of making a run for it.

  “Jesus, is that Matt Reid’s sister? You scoring some drugs, Masters?” another friend joked.

  “Nah, I told you. I was doing research for my Halloween costume. What do you guys think?” he asked, flipping her sketchbook around so they could all take in the picture.

  Dulcie’s gasp was audible and she instantly reached for the book, but Con lurched forward, moving away from the carrels. The other guys crowded around, looking over the drawing.

  “This is what you draw? You’re a twisted chick,” one guy commented.

  “I don’t get it. Why doesn’t he have a face?”

  “Who’s got time for picture books? Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Everyone leapt on the last comment and in the moment of distraction, Dulcie yanked the book out of Con’s hands. The she stood up abruptly, her chair coming out so fast, he needed to jump out of its way. She began shoving things into her messenger bag while his friends filed out a back door.

  “You know,” she began, her voice low. “Just because everyone around you acts like an asshole, doesn’t mean you have to, too.”

  She could’ve stomped off. She was pissed, Con realized. But he didn’t want her to have the wrong impression of him. He roughly grabbed her arm, halting her movements.

  “See, that’s the problem. With me, it’s not an act,” he warned her. She stared at him for a second, then stepped closer.

  “There’s a difference between being an asshole, and being a monster. One is much better at hiding his character.”

  He was so shocked that when she pulled away, he let her go.

  *

  Dulcie stood out in front of the second hand store for a moment, her hand on the doorknob. She stared into the distance, up at a house that sat on a hill. At Constantine’s house.

  His father was the mayor, so of course they lived in the biggest house in town, the one with white pillars and green shutters. His mother was an interior designer, she traveled into Charleston and Huntington to work with clients. Rumor had it she’d been a big time designer in New York, but financial trouble had convinced her to marry Mr. Jebediah Masters, who really only wanted her for breeding purposes. Mrs. Masters had given her husband a son, and from that point on, was rarely home.

  Constantine was clearly beyond anything his father could’ve hoped for, and then some. He was tall and strong, with brown hair and smiling blue eyes. He could throw a football like he was born to do it. Like wherever he wanted the ball to go, that was the only choice it had – Con Masters did not miss. He had strong legs, could run fast. Broad shoulders, could knock anyone down.

  He was beautiful.

  Con was a year older than Dulcie, which was part of the reason they’d never shared a lot of classes. He was also exceptionally smart and took a lot of AP classes. Dulcie took the bare minimum of requirements, then filled up the rest of her schedule with as many art credits as were allowed. He spent all his extra time on the field or with friends. She spent all her extra time either at work or at home. They had no reason to interact. Had gone to school together their entire lives, and had barely ever spoken.

  So why do I think about him all the time?

  “Did you need help?”

  Dulcie was startled into the present when a store clerk pushed open the door. She managed a smile and shook her head no, then walked into the building. She began pawing through aisles, looking for anything that would work for what she had in mind.

  She didn’t usually wear a costume to the Halloween dance – she’d always taken pictures for the yearbook. It’s what she’d planned on doing that year, as well. But ever since their little tête-à-tête in detention, she’d known she would be dressing up.

  The clerk wandered over and smiled at her, then poked at the clothing Dulcie had in her basket.

  “Shopping for Halloween, huh? How fun. Do you know what you’re going to be?”

  Dulcie smiled and grabbed a thick, felt, burgundy coat from off a shelf.

  “I’m going to go as Little Red Riding Hood.”

  3

  It was dark, as dances tended to be, and she couldn’t tell who anyone was, obviously. No one really noticed Dulcie, but she was pretty sure that was also because no one recognized her. Her dress was indecently short, matching a lot of the other girls’ costumes, and she wore a demi-mask over her eyes, along with the hood of her red cape pulled low over her forehead.

  After laughing and chatting with a few friends for a while, Dulcie broke away and slowly walked around the room. The organizers had really outdone themselves, going all out with the decorations. A mum
my hung from the basketball hoop and every now and then, it twitched and writhed around. Other displays had been set up in the corners, and where the bleachers were stretched out, fake spider webs had been thickly stretched across either side.

  A DJ spun remixes of old Halloween classics, and some upperclassmen spiked the punch. A fight broke out at one point between a Legolas and a Frankenstein. It was actually pretty funny, watching while a sexy cat screamed at both of them.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking around when she realized someone was watching her. She hadn’t noticed at first because his mask made it hard to tell. And on top of that, she stupidly realized she’d been looking for him in normal clothes. How ridiculous. Con Masters was like the first son of Fuller, so of course he always dressed up for Halloween.

  Dulcie wasn’t sure what made her recognize him. She’d been in the act of turning around and had stopped mid-spin when she noticed the figure standing against a wall. He was dressed as a plague doctor, and absurdly, her first thought was to wonder who’d made his mask. It was gorgeous, crafted out of dark lacquer wood, with what looked like onyx for the eyes. A wide brimmed hat and black material clung to his head, completely hiding any trace of his identity.

  But she knew it was Con. He wore a long black duster to go with the theme of the mask, and the belt was cinched tight around his waist, accenting his narrow hips. The material fell away from his shoulders in a cape, highlighting how broad across he was, and all the black made him look even taller; he was every inch the shadowy figure from her drawing.

  It seemed inevitable that she should walk over to him. They had dressed to match each other, after all. When she went to step forward, though, someone blocked her path.

  “Dulcie! Lookin’ hot.”

  Chuck Beaty stood in front of her. He was in her class, a junior, and talk around the school was saying he would be the new quarterback after Con graduated. That was still almost a year away, but he’d already started acting like cock of the walk – emphasis on cock. Like he expected the entire student body and staff of Fuller High School to fall at his feet.