by Nancy Holder
“I got nothing,” he confessed.
“Me neither. I’m not sadistic. What’s that about?”
It didn’t make a whole lot of sense. This hunt was hard. He had half a mind to blow it off, get wasted, and see if Morgan wanted to hook up. He wasn’t going to win—he was stumped by the first clue, and Morgan wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist, either. But she was looking hot tonight. Sizzling. He and Morgan had gone a couple of rounds at parties, but it had been a while.
They had wandered all over the cannery and were now lumbering across the parking lot. August’s Porsche was so sick. Cage’s family was well off, but they weren’t rich like the DeYoungs. Cage drove a used Honda Accord. Not exactly a sexmobile, but he did okay.
Above the steep, weedy embankment ran the road they’d all taken to get here. They both saw the mouth of the cave at the same time, and as they approached, neon red lights shaped into capital Cs and Ms flashed on and off on either side of the entrance. Morgan stumbled backward and then they both started laughing.
“Guess this is our first stop,” Morgan said.
“And our last,” Cage said in a creepy stage whisper.
She batted his arm. “You’re not funny.”
The arrows went dark. Cautiously, Cage stared into the cave, then shined his flashlight into it. The maw of deep, black velvet devoured the light but shadows were moving around. August’s holographs, the bodies in the coffins, and the bats in the factory all came to mind and he braced himself for something to jump out at them.
Morgan brushed up against him. He felt her body heat, smelled her recently applied perfume, and grinned to himself. Fear was an aphrodisiac, right? That was why teenagers liked to watch scary movies.
“Something is going to jump out at us,” she said. “I just know it.”
“Guaranteed.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and moved closer, waiting for August’s jack-in-the-box to scare her right into his waiting arms. “Something really horrifying and gross.”
She pouted like a baby. “I can’t believe August said I’m into sadistic pleasure or whatever. I am so going to kick his ass.”
“Before or after you win an audition to become a Laker Girl?” Her prize for the win.
“After,” she said dreamily.
Shapes came into view as they entered the cave. It was packed with stacks of wooden pallets, steel buckets, and random piles of junk. A lit camping lantern had been hidden behind a battered piece of metal adorned with a skull and crossbones.
There.
He hid a smile as he visually traced the outline of a figure propped against the cave wall to his right. It was about the same height as the writhing bodies in the coffins. He subtly eased her toward it so it could jerk or moan or whatever it was programmed to do. He could barely make it out in the dark but its head was hooded and it was wearing something long, like a duster. As he watched it, he was sure that it began to move, and he herded Morgan even closer to it, unable to hide his grin.
She was oblivious. Her attention was focused on the swaths of light her flashlight painted on their surroundings. She ran the light against the back of the cave, then swept it upward.
At once, a dozen or so Barbie-style dolls dropped from the ceiling on spirals of red lights in clear plastic tubing. They were dressed like Callabrese High cheerleaders in green-and-yellow sweaters and pleated minis, and they chattered in high-pitched childlike voices. It was Alexa DeYoung’s voice, and the words were spoken through racking sobs.
“I’m too fat, I’m too fat, I’m too fat.”
Yodeling with terror, Morgan climbed up his body and clung to him. He grabbed one of the dolls and yanked it free of the tubing.
“I’m too fat I’m too fat I’m too fat—”
Morgan dug the doll out of his hand and threw it onto the ground.
“Okay, August! Whatever!” she shouted. She pulled two more dolls free and stomped on them. They kept yammering; Morgan wrapped her hands around another dangling doll body and pulled the head off. She ran forward, grabbing them and pulling them down as if they were tiny piñatas.
“What the hell?” Cage said, following her, stepping on fist-sized torsos and heads.
Then he came upon a small wooden table with a black velvet cushion on top. On the cushion was a very familiar cardboard box tied up like a present with a green measuring tape. And a small ceramic sea lion.
Cage’s stomach clenched. His jaw tightened as his heart went into overdrive. His anger was nearly overpowering—a side effect, he had been warned, of what was in the box: it contained the same brand of anabolic steroids in the same dosage that he was using. He had never told anyone, not one person, that he was on steroids. Not even his coach.
But somehow Alexa DeYoung had found out. And she had threatened to tell the world unless he got her something to help her lose weight, fast. He had been shocked. Her wrists were sticklike, and her face gaunt. She sure as hell didn’t need to drop any pounds.
She was trying to lose weight so she could become a cheerleader, he realized, looking from the box of steroids to the doll bodies to Morgan. That’s why she was freaking out, too.
“So what did he leave for you?” Morgan snapped as she picked up the box. He grabbed it away from her. “Hey. What is it?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
If his coach found out he was using, he’d kick him off the team. Coach always said that the players at Callabrese High played clean or they didn’t play at all. Cage had told himself he’d take them for just one more game, then just for the season, but what about the college scouts?
He’d heard that collegiate coaches would look the other way, sure, but not if someone publicly denounced him before he even got accepted to a university. He’d be blackballed before he even got his chance to make his mark, hopefully go pro. He was a superstar at Callabrese, but high school was almost over. Who would he be without football?
I have to talk to August, he thought desperately. Alone.
He could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing in time with his accelerated heartbeat. At school they laughed and called him Hulk on the field, but they had no idea how accurate that nickname was. His strength and speed came from rage. It was a side effect that he usually kept under control.
Alexa must have told August that he got her some speed to help her lose weight. And now August was making him sweat.
All I did was get it for her, he thought, ripping the dangling measuring tape off the box and stuffing the steroids into the pocket of his letter jacket.
Morgan let go of him and picked up the sea lion. “Alexa collected sea lions,” she said. “This is weird.”
Then she crossed her arms over her chest and stomped on the nearest chattering doll.
Obviously he wasn’t the only one standing there with a guilty secret.
“Oh my God, she was so uncoordinated,” Morgan said in a rush. “I don’t know why she even tried out for the squad. She had to see what a klutz she was.”
“Shit, Morgan,” he said as they gave each other a long, hard look.
Confessing.
“What was I supposed to say to her? ‘Alexa, you’re too short and too weird to be a cheerleader’? So I told her what we always tell girls we don’t want. What’s he going to do about it? He can’t do anything. Because I didn’t do anything.”
Cage was rooted to the spot. “Morgan,” he said thickly, feeling both dizzy and sick, the blood roaring in his ears. It sounded like the world was crashing down around him. “I have to talk to August.”
“What a crummy trick,” she said. “Lure us all here for one last major party, fool us into playing for big prizes, and then dis us. I didn’t do anything illegal.”
But I did. He was reeling. They say sometimes you just know things. And he had a funny feeling that his life was over.
From out of the dark, the figure in the hood and duster shot toward them, a baseball bat in his gloved hand. He slammed it against the back of Cage’s skull. The impact spun Cage a
round just as his attacker swung it again, hard, against his face. His nose broke and he grunted as he staggered backward.
Morgan tried to run, but the figure grabbed her, yanking her head back by her hair and forcing her into an arch, but finally he let go. She went sprawling.
The bat came across Cage’s knees, then his face again. All Cage was, was pain. The force kept coming down and down and down.
August, he immediately thought. God, stop. He couldn’t speak.
The bat came down again.
Why? he thought. But he knew why. He knew several reasons why:
His last image was of Alexa at the party. Of her crying and saying, “I need to go home. Can you take me home?”
And he hadn’t. Not just blowing her off, but laughing at her, too. Saying, “C’mon, Alexa, just call your private helicopter or whatever. Or your brother. That’s why you don’t get invited to our parties. Because you can’t even get from point A to point B in a shitty little town like this.”
He never saw her alive again.
I didn’t even really know her, he tried to tell the person in the ski mask. The person he assumed was August.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
Then he wasn’t sorry anymore.
He was dead.
MORGAN’S RULE #1: Do what it takes to stay on top.
The masked figure turned on Morgan. Pain skittered through her body as she tried to move. He pried her mouth open and stuffed something into it that was thin and pliant and tasted like plastic.
He picked her up and flung her over his shoulder, trapping her arms against her sides. She tried to spit out the plastic but it was stuck. She moved her head from side to side, fighting to catch the plastic on his coat and work it loose from her mouth. It remained lodged in her throat.
He carried her deep into the cave, skirting piles of junk. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, where he was taking her: away from Cage, and escape.
Cage, be alive, she pleaded. Save me.
They went down at an angle, descending a spiral of cement stairs surrounded by rock. She felt like she was doing cartwheels as she spun dizzily, gagging and sucking air through her nose.
They ended up in some kind of room. Dusty crates and barrels were stacked, broken alcohol bottles strewn all over the place. He carried her through the room and into a small, narrow tunnel. It twisted and turned as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
When she came to, she heard crashing waves, the smell of the sea, blood, and an odor that reminded her of cars. He flopped her down in the darkness. A light flared on and all she saw was a coat, a hood, and gloves.
Morgan could only manage a dry, husky retch. The ski mask loomed over her. The gloved hand reached into her mouth, pulling out the plastic and automatically clamping his hand over it, hard. She got out one ragged, hoarse shriek, but the hand muffled it. A fist slammed against the left side of her head and her skull clanged like a gong. Everything went black, and then yellow dots bubbled and popped behind her eyelids.
The hand moved away.
“Help,” she ground out. Her voice sounded like she had eaten broken glass. “Help me!”
“Tell me you know why,” a voice whispered gruffly over the roar of the ocean, as if he were trying to disguise who he was. But wasn’t it too late for that?
“I’m sorry.” Tears ran down her face. “I did say she was too fat. And…and I did lie about the vote.”
The blank black hood moved closer, the fabric brushing against her nose. She could smell something sweet. She began to panic. What was that smell?
What did it matter? It didn’t matter. She had to concentrate on things that mattered. On getting out of this alive.
He stayed where he was, and her mind darted back to what she had been saying. Her confession. He must already know, but maybe he wanted her to admit everything and ask for his forgiveness. If she begged him, promised him she would make up for it, then maybe all this would stop.
He tapped the other side of her head and she sobbed, a jolt of pain coursing through her as a painful reminder of how hard he had hit her.
“The vote,” her attacker whispered.
“Okay,” she said, gasping. “Okay, whatever you want.”
“Tell me.”
“Alexa…,” Morgan sobbed, “tried out for j-junior varsity cheer when she came to Callabrese.”
The masked head nodded. So far, so good.
Morgan cried harder. He raised his fist and a shudder went through her entire body. “I got everyone to say that she was too fat but that she could try again in the fall. She came back.” She spoke in a rush, almost babbling. She would tell him anything he wanted to know. She would tell him what she knew about Heather and her teacher if he wanted that, too.
“She was pretty g-good. I didn’t expect it.”
Her attacker waited for her to go on. When she heaved and panted, he hit her again. Her entire body convulsed.
He waited.
“Then w-we voted on all the girls who tried out.” She tasted blood. Oh God, blood was streaming all over her face. Her left ear was still ringing. She could barely hear herself speaking. “I counted the votes alone. The other cheerleaders had voted Alexa in. But I lied and told them she didn’t make it.”
The hood nodded encouragingly. She burst into tears and began to hiccup with fresh sobs.
“We all had a terrible fight. But then she stopped coming to Callabrese, and it didn’t matter.”
“It didn’t matter?” he whispered.
“You can’t be a cheerleader for a school you don’t go to!” she cried desperately. Snot ran down her face. “Oh, please, August, please let me go. I won’t tell anyone you did this. I’ll never tell.”
The hood moved out of her field of vision. Receding footfalls echoed in the tunnel, and tears and blood and mucus made her gag as she prayed that he was leaving, letting her live.
“She didn’t die because she didn’t get to be a cheerleader,” she said. Then she shut her eyes. That was a terrible thing to say.
The wrong thing to say.
The footfalls stopped abruptly. She sucked in her breath, held it. She heard him walking back toward her.
Coming closer.
He jerked her head sideways, exposing her right ear, and bent down low.
“You’re a liar. All you do is lie. This time, you won’t get away with it.”
He clamped her nostrils shut with his other hand and pushed down hard on her mouth.
The roar of the waves.
The roar in her head.
The roar of the crowd in the stands at her last football game washed over her as Morgan drifted far, far away.
ROLLING THE DICE
THEA’S RULE #2: If you aren’t strong, find someone who is.
“You guys, something touched me!” Thea cried, twisting right. Her elbow collided with something hard.
“Thea, Thea, Thea, ow,” Beth said, rubbing her chin. She waved her flashlight at the sky and a white-winged moth circled it. Probably the same moth that had tickled Thea’s cheek. “Good Lord, have you considered medication? Is this post-traumatic Jackson disorder?”
Thea clamped her jaw shut so she wouldn’t yell at Beth for making jokes at her expense when she was so scared. They were only halfway down the stupid cliff, and it was steep and dark. It was Jackson plus this whole creepy night. She didn’t like being trapped out here in the middle of nowhere with no car and no cell.
They inched down the rest of the way. As they reached the bottom of the trail, Thea felt her ankle turn and sucked in her breath. She abruptly stopped, causing Beth to bump right into her.
“What’s wrong now?” Beth asked.
“Are you okay?” said Robin, turning around to face her.
“Perfecta.” Thea flashed them a very weak half smile, even though she didn’t want to. Robin was always so nice. But Beth had turned into such a major bitch.
“Well, let’s start looking,” Beth said.
Robin and Beth took off toward the breakers, leaving Thea alone in the dark, their flashlight beams bobbing up and down farther and farther away. She waved her flashlight back up at the trail. If Thea knew she could make it back by herself, she would already be gone. But it was so steep she was afraid she’d get dizzy and fall.
“Wait!” she croaked as she chased after the two girls. She wrenched her ankle again but forced herself to keep going.
Robin and Beth stood beside a couple of beached rowboats riddled with rusty holes. It looked as if someone had shot at them with a machine gun.
“Look at what someone’s written on this one,” Robin said, playing her light over some spray-painted words:
“ ‘Rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub,’ ” Beth read.
“And what better place to have soap than in a tub?” Robin asked triumphantly. “Check this out.”
She and Beth focused their flashlight beams on the rope that was resting in the bottom of the boat. It was thick, long, and coiled like a snake ready to strike, and for some reason Thea shivered when she saw it.
“Don’t touch it,” she murmured.
Neither of the others seemed to hear her, or if they did, they didn’t care. They hauled the rope out.
“The envelope!” Beth shrieked, jabbing both forefingers machine-gun style at the white rectangle. It was so white it nearly glowed.
“Remember, we can’t open it until we take this back to the party,” Robin cautioned.
“Gross. It’s wet.” Beth turned and wiped her hands on Robin’s jeans.
“Not on the bomber jacket, please. You should have worn scavenger-hunt clothes,” Robin teased, clearly in a better mood now that they’d found their object.
“How did you know?” Thea blurted.
“Know what?” Robin asked as Beth bundled the rope in her arms. “Blech, you’re right. It is wet.”
“Told you,” Beth said.
“How did you know there’d be boats? You couldn’t have seen them from where we were. But you came straight here.”
Robin shrugged. “Lucky hunch. Now help us carry this thing. We’ve got to get it back to August so we can move on to our next clue.”