Vickie Bronson, who sat in the front right desk, ignored Murray. Instead she looked at her phone, perhaps texting or playing a game, and giggled at something on the screen.
After a few minutes of writing equations on the board, Murray caught on. He stared for a long time, hoping Vickie would notice the sudden silence. When that didn’t work, he cleared his throat twice loudly. Nothing.
“Ms. Bronson, what’s so important on that phone of yours that you can’t put it away for forty minutes and concentrate on your school work?”
No response.
Murray slammed a fist against his desk, knocking over his calculator and ruler. “That’s it, Ms. Bronson. Get out of my class and head to the principal’s office. If you’re not going to pay attention, I don’t want you here. That goes for all of you. Especially the vamps.” He used his fingers to form mock-quotation marks for the latter part. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Vickie said, still not looking up from her screen.
“Then get out of here. Now.”
“No, thanks.” She turned her phone lengthwise as if watching a video. From where Justin sat he could just make out the screen. It looked like a horror movie of some sort, with blood and guts and some guy with a knife going to town on a screaming girl. Vickie held on to her mouth as if holding in a giggle. As if it was a funny kitten video instead of a faux snuff film.
Assuming, of course, it wasn’t real. He wouldn’t put it past some of them.
Murray swore under his breath, tossed his marker to the floor, and stepped in front of her desk. “I won’t say it again.”
“Then don’t.”
He moved quickly, grabbing onto her phone and tossing it across the room. It landed near the door with a loud thud, the screen cracking in the process.
She clenched her hands into fists, the black nails disappearing into her palms. She squinted her eyes so that the whites were obscured by her mascara, two dark chasms. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
“Ms. Bronson. I’m the teacher and you’re the student. I’ll be the one to toss around orders.” He grabbed onto her wrist and tried to pull her up from her desk.
He didn’t get very far.
Tom Parkins jumped up, knocking Justin back a few inches. He charged forth like the quarterback he’d been one month prior, locking eyes with Murray like he was the edge of the field and a touchdown was calling his name. He made contact, knocking the teacher over the front desk and into the white board.
Murray tried to get up but Tom held him in place without effort. A few non-vamps stood and tried to stop Tom but each of them froze before they took two steps.
“Don’t even think about it,” Tom said through gritted teeth. He looked less like a student and more like a demon. It was hard to imagine the kid beneath the white make up and eye liner and black tank top had once been one the most popular jocks.
Like wildfire, Justin thought again.
“You little shit!” Murray said, gasping for air. “You’re going to get expelled and I’ll laugh in your face when you go to prison.” He went on, spewing insults about the vamps, how they were throwing away their future, how nobody was scared of them. He didn’t sound too convincing on the last point.
“Tom, dear,” Vickie said, stepping up to the front of the class. “Would you do us both a favor and shut him up for a while?”
Tom smiled, looking drunk on love. “Anything for you. Melvin will be so proud.”
Justin and Art locked eyes, their ears perking up, recalling their interview with Busty’s mother last month. If Alyssa heard, she made no indication. She looked just as shocked as the rest of them.
Murray said something else but he was cut off quickly as Tom brought a fist down. Shannon Archer, the girl who sat behind Vickie in class, covered her eyes and began to sob. Murray groaned, blood flowing out of his mouth and onto the floor in tiny streams.
A minute or so later the door flung open and two police officers stepped into the class, grabbing Tom and cuffing him. Justin wasn’t sure who’d made the call but the fight could likely be heard from several rooms over. They ushered Tom into the hall.
He smiled the whole way.
●●●
Just before Frank’s free block, Principal Fisher called him into his office. Frank tried to get out of it, claimed he had a mound of tests that needed grades, which wasn’t far from the truth, but mainly Frank just wanted to be alone. He cherished any time spent away from the vamps. His classes were littered with them now and he found it hard to focus with them staring, refusing to do their homework and cooperate.
Fisher closed his office door gently as if he didn’t want to wake his sleeping mother. “Have a seat.”
“Everything okay?” Frank said, sitting down on a cracked leather seat with years of dried gum melded onto the bottom edges. The room itself was larger than most of the classes, with a sprawling oak desk and matching bookshelves. It seemed more like a business tycoon’s home study than a public official’s working office.
“Everything’s fine unless you count this school going to hell” He cracked his back and sat down, breathing heavily through his nose.
“You seemed pretty calm during your talk.”
Fisher snickered. “I just about passed out and you know it. Have to keep a good face on through this thing. We can’t have people panicking in the halls.”
“Give it a week or so and I think you’ll have exactly that.”
Fisher sighed and scratched at his double chin. A stray drop of sweat dripped onto the desk. He didn’t seem to notice. “Let’s hope not. But believe it or not, this isn’t about our little vampire club. This is about Alyssa.”
Frank nearly choked. “What about her?” His mind raced. Something bad had happened. She’d been in an accident or worse yet, she was already dead. He was finally two for two in that department, had failed at being a father twice now.
“I don’t know how to say this, Frank, and quite honestly it goes against just about every school privacy policy, but I overheard some of her teachers in the break room. Normally, the faculty keeps quiet whenever I’m around, like they’re going to get detention themselves. I think everyone’s too preoccupied lately to care. It’s almost refreshing. I did some investigating myself when I got back to my office just to be sure and it looks like her grades have plummeted. This isn’t exactly my highest priority but I thought you deserved to know.”
Frank’s nerves calmed but not much. He was glad she was okay but her grades, as he’d told her on more than one occasion, were crucial. He wanted her to do well but more than that, she was a reflection of him. He couldn’t have her bringing home F’s when he was teaching her fellow students. “That’s not possible,” he said, as if someone had told him Santa Claus did, in fact, exist. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a mistake. His daughter had been near the top of her class since she’d started kindergarten.
“I know you’re shocked. Trust me, I was too, but the proof’s there. Look, she’s a senior and she’s still going to graduate just fine but don’t be surprised if she has a few C’s and D’s on her report card.” Fisher slid a piece of paper across his desk, a collection of homework, quiz, and test scores. There was not a single A or B among them.
Frank shook his head, feeling like he was in a nightmare and ready to wake up.
“Let me ask you this.” Fisher stood up and leaned against his desk. The wood groaned in protest. “Has Alyssa gotten any new friends, any new acquaintances that may have caused her grades to drop? I checked with a few of her teachers and it sounds like she’s been skipping class, giving them attitude, all of which started recently. Doesn’t seem like her at all.”
Frank absentmindedly tore one of the gum chunks loose from the bottom of his chair and flung it onto the floor. It landed with a loud thud. “You know, there just might be someone,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll look into it.”
You should be happy. You finally have your reaso
n, your case for her to dump Busty’s ass. As if him pretending to be someone else wasn’t enough.
“I think that’d be for the best.” Fisher walked him out of the office and Frank headed outside through the back doors by the dumpster. He had ten minutes until his next class and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to put on a good face. Not that it would matter, considering his roster. The vamps would challenge him all period and the rest of the class would be too scared to do more than fidget in their seats. No one at Lynwood High was learning much this semester.
He lit a cigarette and ducked down out of habit, expecting Mona would walk by at any moment. He breathed in deeply and choked on the smoke when he saw the car pull up, a familiar beat-to-shit Honda that would never again be granted an inspection sticker. The engine groaned and puttered, sounded ready to die at any moment. Alyssa stepped onto the sidewalk and waved at Busty. She hopped in the passenger door and slammed it shut.
Frank watched as the car sped away, leaving clouds of dirt and dust in its wake.
He jogged to his classroom, used the Internet to find the phone number for the only record store in the state that specialized in goth and industrial music, the place Busty had claimed was his full-time job, assuming that, too, hadn’t been a lie. It was called Dark Tunes. He dialed the number and waited an eternity before someone picked up. “Dark Tunes, how’s it going?”
“Yes, I was just wondering if I could speak with Busty Brown.”
“He doesn’t get in until four. Can I ask who’s calling?”
He hung up instead of giving an answer.
●●●
Dark Tunes was nestled between a Radical Liberal bookstore and a shop that advertised clitoris piercing on its front windows. Frank watched from across the street, sitting on a bench and pretending to wait for the bus, smoking his third cigarette in the last hour and not giving a shit who saw him. He tried to calm down, told himself to think rationally before he barged in there. Alyssa was going to be royally pissed, would more than likely disown him, but a line had been crossed and he couldn’t just sit back. He was her father, not her friend, and he needed to keep her safe.
It was nearly four-thirty when Busty rolled up to the curb and headed into the front doors. Frank stayed put, let the kid put his things down and get behind the counter before he made his move.
Once inside, he pretended to look through the records. There wasn’t a single band or artist he recognized. The speakers played something loud and piercing. It reminded him of the drill at his dentist’s office. He wondered how odd he must have looked, a middle-aged, balding man flipping through albums, the covers of which displayed mostly skulls and leather.
Eventually Busty’s coworker, a girl with puke green hair and more piercings than teeth, headed out on her break.
Busty stocked the shelves with new releases, humming along to the noise, as if there was any semblance of a melody. He slid a CD into the slot just next to Frank, oblivious to who was standing beside him. “Can I help you?” he asked without looking up.
“As a matter of fact, you can.” Frank knocked the CDs out of Busty’s hand, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pushed him across the store until he slammed against the back wall.
“Jesus, Frank? What’s going on here?” He looked like a scared little corpse with his makeup and eye shadow and his pearly white skin.
“I don’t want my daughter seeing you anymore. That’s what’s going on. I saw you two cutting school earlier, and I know about you and that fucking little club of yours. I know you’re part of them, knew it the second you walked through my front door. From now on, you’re going to stay away from her, and I swear to God, if I hear of another slaughtered pet within a ten-mile radius of my house, I’ll come back here and rip out all your rings one by one. Sound reasonable?”
“I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”
Frank tightened his grip. “Sound reasonable?”
“Sure. Now let me go.”
“That’s the spirit.” Frank let go of Busty’s collar, straightened his tie, and headed for the doors.
“Mr. Tanner,” Busty called from behind.
Frank stopped in the doorway but didn’t turn around.
“You mind if I give you some advice?”
“Son, in what world would I let you give me advice?”
“I don’t mean to be forward but sometimes groups like these can be very dangerous, you know? From what I’ve heard of course. Especially when their numbers grow. When you have someone like Alyssa, so young and impressionable, these groups, they have a way of affecting the mind.”
Frank fought the urge to go back there and break the kid’s nose. Instead he pushed open the doors and crossed the street. He risked a glance through the shop’s window as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Busty smiled and waved.
Chapter Sixteen
Dwayne Rose had been the night janitor at Lynnwood High School since they opened their new location several years back. He’d graduated himself from the old location, though just barely. School had not been high on his priority list. In fact, there were several hundred other items that took precedence, getting stoned and getting laid among those at the top.
As much as he hated to admit it, his lack of wanting to do much of anything had come back to bite him in the ass. He was pushing thirty, had a sizeable beer gut, and not much of a future. In school, he’d had a six-pack and plenty of friends. And the girls, man. They seemed to flock to him like he was Jim Morrison or something.
How things had changed. Most of his friends had gone off to college and were making decent livings, had families themselves. Dwayne lived in his mother’s basement and hadn’t had a steady girlfriend for two years. He still got laid every so often, though. At least he had that going for him.
Usually, he enjoyed his job. Sure, it brought in a laughable salary and a constant reminder that his glory days were long gone, but he was his own boss and he didn’t need to answer to anyone. That and he could drink and smoke to his heart’s desire so long as he was careful.
Tonight, though, despite the booze and weed, he wasn’t feeling all that productive. It wasn’t a hangover or the munchies.
It was room 307. The meeting place for the honor society.
He’d cleaned most of the third floor in the past hour, half the time it normally took. He’d been dreading finishing up, thought several times of skipping the only room he’d yet to clean, but he was on good terms with the school and he didn’t want to be out of a job.
He brought his mop and bucket just outside the room, pulled out a pint of rum, and took a sizeable sip. It burned going down, made the world seem a little fuzzy, but his pulse did not slow.
The door was wide open, the light off inside. It seemed darker than the others, like the shadows were something tangible, something you could touch and feel. He couldn’t explain the dread he felt but he knew what had brought it on.
It was those kids. The vamps.
What had once been a meeting place for nerdy, stuck up teachers’ pets was now the hangout for that club or society or whatever they called themselves. The last few times he’d walked by during one of their meetings, getting ready to start his shift, he’d felt like they were watching him, like they were waiting for the opportune moment to… to what?
To get you alone.
He looked left and right, swore he saw movement in his periphery, but there was nothing.
Stop being such a pussy. Get in there, do a half decent job, and get the hell out. Then you can get stoned all you want, maybe go bar hopping and get lucky.
He nodded at the thought. It sounded good right about now.
He reached into the dark room, wincing as if something would latch onto his hand, and fumbled until he felt one of the light switches. He flicked it upward and was temporarily blinded by harsh brightness. When his eyes adjusted, he took a step back and nearly tripped over his bucket.
The illumination was far worse than not knowing what lay in the s
hadows. Because now he could see what was there, could take it all in with perfect detail. Every shade was pulled up as far as they would go but still a faint dimness permeated through the room. The windows were the problem.
Each of them was painted over in black paint.
How the hell had they managed that without getting noticed? He thought about notifying someone but realized he was the one that would need to deal with it.
So much for leaving on time tonight. He was just about to head back to the janitorial room to see if he had any paint remover when he noticed what lay in the middle of the room.
On the floor was a crudely painted pentagram, like something a little kid would’ve drawn without knowing what it was or what it meant. The desks were assembled in a wide circle. In the middle, there stood one of the model skeletons from the science wing. Like the windows, it had also been painted black, a real-life corpse whose skin had been charred to the bone.
The face was obscured by something. At first, Dwayne thought it was a mask but soon he realized it was a piece of computer paper with a printed image on the front, a face that looked immediately familiar.
It was a picture of Melvin Brown.
He hadn’t thought of the kid for years, not since he’d still been in high school himself. They’d been in the same grade, had several classes together. He remembered the way Melvin would talk to himself, whispering softly about not wanting to hurt people. It was well known that the kid had a screw or five loose. He seemed to stare right through you when you caught him working on one of those drawings. Dwayne shivered. Images sped through his mind, large tentacles, things with too many eyes and teeth.
It was no wonder the kid had gotten picked on. Dwayne wasn’t one to judge but if you went around dressing like a funeral curator and had conversations with imaginary friends, you were going to get a few passing glances, let alone name-calling and wedgies. The hazing had caught on. Though he wasn’t proud, Dwayne had participated more than once, right up until the day Melvin pulled the trigger.
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