by Jon Athan
Breaking the silence, Dominique gently laughed, then she said, “You know, I was so scared about all of this, I completely forgot to tell my parents about... everything. I mean, I didn't tell them anything at all. I didn't tell them where I was going or why. No excuses... I wonder if they're calling the cops.”
Britney said, “Yeah, I did the same. My mom's been asking about her car all day. She's obviously worried, but I've just been trying to buy time. I've been ignoring her... Maybe it would be better if they called the cops. We could get arrested for trespassing and end up at the police station.”
“Yeah, or we could have just gone with Sheriff Jackson a few hours ago. I know we shouldn't trust anyone, but it's not like he would have killed us at the station.”
Stephen said, “If we went with that pig, I would have been arrested for sure.” Wilson and the students glanced at him with curious eyes. Stephen cracked a smile and clarified, “For the weed. I'm not walking around with a quarter or all that, but they'll arrest you for anything these days.”
The group shared a sigh of relief.
For a second, Charlene believed Stephen had something to do with the murders. She didn't want to suspect him, but she was desperately searching for a suspect. Despite her fear of death, she would feel comfortable at least knowing the identity of the killer. The paranoia in her mind—the constant doubt picking at her brain—was driving her insane.
Adam said, “I still think we did the right thing. If we went to the police, they would have told our parents about everything, then our parents wouldn't let us see each other.”
Britney said, “Yeah, I guess you're right. Adults are useless in horror movies, aren't they?”
Dominique smirked and glanced over at Wilson. She said, “You hear that, sweetie? You're useless.”
Wilson bit his bottom lip and nodded, disregarding the playful insult. He wasn't concerned about the students and their discussion. He was solely worried about being caught at the school with his teenage students. It didn't paint a pretty picture.
Charlene leaned forward on her desk and said, “Instead of just sitting here until morning, maybe we should talk about all of this.”
“About what?” Stephen asked. “We already talked about leaving and telling the cops, and we just got here. What are we going to talk about?”
“The murders. I've been thinking about it all day, trying to link the deaths to someone, but I just can't think of anyone. There's only one common denominator: Casey's masks. Do you guys remember Casey and his family?”
“I sold weed to Casey's brother once—Nico. Nico Marshall. He seemed like a good dude. They kind of disappeared after Casey... you know. It died down really quick, too. The kid died and everyone forgot about it in, like, a week. It's sad shit.”
Britney nodded and said, “Yeah. He had a younger sister, too—Bethany. He was one grade below her. Or was it the other way around?” She smiled—a bittersweet smile. She said, “I remember seeing Beth and Casey in the cafeteria. They'd always eat lunch together. Some kids made fun of them for that, but I thought it was cute. Brothers and sisters should take care of each other...”
Charlene said, “Well, maybe it's not a cop, a teacher, or a parent... Maybe this is a vengeance thing. Casey committed suicide because he was being bullied. What if someone is trying to avenge him?”
The group sat in silence as they considered the tragic possibility.
Charlene continued, “I don't think it can be Bethany. She was... She was just soft, you know? She wouldn't be capable of doing... that to anyone. And, besides, Melanie said the killer was big—big enough to be a teacher.”
Britney said, “If that's all true, then it might be Nico. I mean, I don't really remember what he looks like, but it makes sense. So... has anyone seen Nico recently?”
Yet again, the students remained quiet. While the teenagers stared at their desks, clearly contemplating the question, Wilson carefully examined the students. In the dark, barely illuminated by a cell phone's light, he had trouble reading them. He sucked his lips inward and nodded. He didn't want to get involved, but he had information—and the pieces were starting to come together.
Wilson said, “Last year in my math class, before Casey passed away, I vividly remember you, Adam, were a good friend of Nico's. I'm pretty sure I sent you and Nico to detention together a few times. Isn't that right?”
Adam furrowed his brow as he stared at his teacher. The expression on his face read: what the hell are you doing? He was thrown under the bus by a man who was supposed to protect him. He glanced at his friends—they all stared back at him with narrowed eyes.
Adam stuttered, “I–I don't... I don't know what you're thinking, but–”
“Did you kill Michael?” Dominique interrupted, furious.
“Wha–What? Are... Are you kidding me? How could you say that? He was, like, my... my best friend.”
Britney said, “You've been distant lately. You haven't been answering Charlene's calls. You were late the day after Tiffany died. You disappear and reappear whenever you want... It adds up, doesn't it?”
Adam nervously chuckled, then he said, “I didn't kill anyone. I mean, just think about what you're saying. I was with most of you the night Michael died.” He turned towards Charlene and said, “I was with you when we went to go talk to Melanie because you wanted us to.”
Charlene nodded and said, “He's right. In Melanie's video, it shows both of us going into Melanie's house. There was someone else there.”
Through the darkness, Charlene gazed into her boyfriend's eyes—you're not the killer, are you? Adam returned the gaze, trying to convince his girlfriend with a set of glimmering puppy eyes—please, believe me.
Britney said, “I don't think it matters if you physically did it. You're still the most suspicious person here. I mean, you... you could have been working with the real killer! Nico could have been killing everyone with your help. Oh, God, did you–”
Frustrated, Dominique slapped her desk with both of her palms. The thud echoed through the classroom and seeped into the lonely halls.
She said, “I think you should leave, Adam. Right, guys? If he's the lead suspect, we should lock him out and spend the rest of the night here. Right?” Her peers weren't as quick to toss their friend out, though. Dominique huffed, then she said, “Either he leaves or I do.”
“It's not me,” Adam sternly said. “I don't think it was Nico, either. You keep saying he was as big as a teacher, as big as Wilson, but Nico wasn't that tall.”
Chiming-in, Charlene glanced over at Dominique and said, “Think about what you're saying. If Adam is the killer or an accomplice, then it would be best if he stayed in our sight, right? He can't overpower all of us. We should just stick to the plan.”
“Yeah, you're right,” Stephen said as he leaned forward in his desk, elbows on the tabletop.
Dominique stared at her friends in disbelief. They spoke about the potential killers, they found evidence against Adam, but they refused to throw him out. She couldn't tell if they were naive, stupid, or brilliant. Their plan seemed logical on the surface, but she felt like it would crumble at the first sign of trouble.
Dominique glared at Wilson and said, “I need the keys for the restroom. I have to pee and I... I just need some air. I can't be around all of you.”
Wilson said, “We had an agreement. You're not supposed to leave my sight. I just don't think that's a good idea.”
“Just give me the keys, Wilson. I'm not in the mood for this.”
Wilson sighed and pulled the keys out of his pocket, obedient like a trained dog. He said, “Fine. I don't want you to go alone and I want you back here in ten minutes.”
Charlene said, “Stephen, you should go with her.”
Stephen furrowed his brow and asked, “What? Why?”
“She should be with someone who can protect her and you're the only guy I trust right now.”
“Fine,” Stephen responded. He glanced at Dominique and said, “
Ten minutes.”
Dominique said, “Whatever. Let's go.”
As Dominique and Stephen departed, Charlene glanced around the room. Wilson sat with his legs up on his desk, trying to keep a semblance of control. Britney sat to her right, flicking her finger across her cell phone screen. Adam sat beside Charlene. His arms were hidden under his desk—she recognized his position.
Charlene asked, “Are you texting, Adam?”
Adam glanced up, surprised. He stuttered, “N–No.”
“What are you doing with your phone? I thought you didn't have service?”
“I don't. I was just going to play some music. Just 'cause I don't have service that doesn't mean the phone doesn't work. Damn, get off my back.”
Charlene stared at Adam as he continued tinkering with his phone. She was suspicious, fear burdened her mind, but she couldn't muster the courage to confront him. With Stephen and Dominique gone, their numbers dwindled—and their chances of survival consequently decreased. She kept her eyes locked on Adam, though, ready to defend herself at a moment's notice.
Chapter Sixteen
Bathroom Break
Dominique stopped in front of the girls' restroom. She spun around and stared at her personal guard. Stephen followed closely behind her, using his cell phone to illuminate their path. He hopped and cocked his head back, surprised by his friend's sudden stop.
Stephen asked, “Aren't you, you know, going to handle your business?”
Dominique puckered her lips and nodded. She said, “Yeah, I'm going to get to that. I have to talk to you about something first.”
She playfully twirled her hair as she stepped closer to Stephen. As if the young man used a marijuana-scented cologne, she could smell the weed on him. It didn't bother her, though. She was a smoker, too.
Her body pressed on his, Dominique softly said, “I need your help, Stephen. I think we both know Adam had something to do with all of those deaths. The others won't listen to me 'cause they're all afraid of being 'bad' friends. I need you to be on my side, then Britney will follow, then Wilson... then Charlene. After that, we can get rid of Adam and survive the night. Please, help me.”
Stephen shook his head and stuttered, “I–I don't know about that. He... He's our friend.”
“Please, Stephen,” Dominique said in an unusually honeyed voice. She ran her fingers across his crotch, teasing him. She said, “You do me a favor and I'll do you a favor. Okay? You scratch my back and I'll... I'll massage something for you. I'll massage it with my hands, my body... my tongue.”
Stephen grabbed Dominique's wrist and pushed her hand away from him. He shook his head as he stepped in reverse. His heart belonged to one girl. His unrequited love appeared hopeless, but he was willing to do anything for Charlene.
Dominique sneered in disgust and said, “You're such a spineless bitch, Stephen.” As she strutted into the restroom, she said, “Wait out here and don't bother me, you selfish bastard.”
As the door closed, Stephen turned around and muttered, “Whatever. You can't even go to the bathroom by yourself, bitch...”
Dominique sat on the toilet in the first stall. The sound of pee splashing in the toilet echoed through the quiet room. As she urinated, she furrowed her brow and peered through the crack on the door. She heard a peculiar sound—creak. She thought: a squeaky hinge? The sound of a few drops of piss plopping in the water reverberated through the room as she nearly finished urinating.
Just a few more drops.
Dominique gasped and hopped in her seat. She held her hand over her gaping mouth as she stared at the wall to her right, eyes wide with fear. Over the plopping sounds, she swore she heard a light footstep—quickly followed by another. The restroom door was to her left, though. There were four other stalls and a set of small windows to her right.
Was someone in here before I got here?–she thought.
As her breathing intensified, Dominique shouted, “Stephen! Stephen, is that you?”
There was no response. The deafening silence was unnerving. Although she feared the killer, she just wanted to hear something—anything—in the restroom.
Teary-eyed, Dominique said, “Stephen, you better not be peeping, you freakin' perv. Please, don't... don't hurt me. I was just–”
The hinges squealed as the restroom door swung open.
From the hallway, Stephen poked his head into the restroom and asked, “Is everything okay in here, Dom? I thought I heard you shout.”
Dominique sniffled as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She shouted, “I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute.”
“Alright, just hurry up. It's kinda creepy out here in the dark...”
“Yeah, sure...”
Dominique whimpered as the door closed. She wanted to cry for help, she thought about begging Stephen to stay inside with her, but she couldn't muster the courage to ask. Her inflated ego wouldn't allow her to ask for a helping hand. She wiped herself, then she let the neatly folded toilet paper fall into the water.
With the toilet flushing behind her, Dominique approached the sinks. She carefully examined her reflection as she washed her hands—as if she didn't recognize herself. She grimaced and whimpered, breaking down due to the stress and fear burdening her timid shoulders. Her legs wobbled, her hands trembled, and her shoulders shuddered.
Before she could fall to her knees and weep, the door of the stall in the center swung open.
Through the reflection on the mirror, Dominique could see her uninvited guest. At that moment, time froze. The water stopped splashing, the stall door stopped rattling, and the lights stopped buzzing. The couple locked eyes through the reflection on the mirror.
Once again, the killer wore a black raincoat with a hood, dark jeans, and steel-toe boots. His face was veiled by a paper-mâché joker mask. The mask was decorated with clown makeup—smeared lipstick, vibrant eye-shadow, wide-arching eyebrows, and a red nose. Bloody tears were painted across the cheeks, too.
As time continued at its regular pace, Dominique glanced down at the intruder's hands. He held a large pair of garden shears. The sharp blades sent chills down her spine. A quavering breath escaped her pale lips.
She turned towards the door and screamed, “He's here!”
As she took her first step towards the door, the killer lunged towards her with the shears wide open. Dominique shrieked and staggered down to her knees as the blades penetrated the small of her back—around her spine. The intruder kicked her shoulder, causing the girl to fall to her stomach. The cheerleader tried to squirm forward, but to no avail. The killer's boot was firmly planted on her shoulder, pinning her to the ground.
The killer gritted his teeth as he tried to push the handles of the shears closer together—while the blades were still jammed into her flesh. Despite Dominique's resistance, squirming and shrieking, the masked person continued to open and close the shears until he reached her spine. A soft chuckle surfaced from behind the mask as the sound of Dominique's flesh squishing and her spine crunching emerged.
Stephen pushed the door open and stared into the restroom, awed. He saw the killer on top of Dominique, opening and closing the shears as he ripped through her spine. He saw Dominique on the floor, wheezing and groaning as she weakly reached for the door. She was paralyzed from the waist-down, though. A puddle of dark blood formed under her stomach.
Stephen stuttered, “Wha–What... What are you doing? What... What the fuck are you doing to her?!”
The attacker glanced up at Stephen. The stoner and killer gazed at each other. The masked person did not appear alarmed. In fact, he continued pushing on the shears' handles as he stared at Stephen. Stephen was surprised, though. The killer appeared smaller than he expected—smaller than him, in fact. He recognized something in the killer's eyes, too.
Stephen shook his head and snapped out of his trance, then he rushed into the room. He stepped over Dominique's body. He slid on her blood, but he was able to keep his footing. He pushed the killer off of her, causing him
to stagger in reverse. He didn't have time to drag Dominique out of the room, so he decided to put up a fight.
Stephen punched the killer's face, which caused the mask to crack. He wasn't the strongest person, though, so the hit didn't daze the killer. He kicked the killer's stomach, pushing the intruder to the farthest wall in the restroom. He punched him again, then he leaned closer and tried to grab the mask. He figured if he died during the confrontation, he would at least feel more comfortable if he knew the killer's identity.
The killer grabbed Stephen's jaw with his right hand and pushed him away while pulling his own head back until he hit the wall. He was clearly defensive about his identity. With his left hand, he retrieved a switchblade from his pocket. With the press of a button, a three-and-a-half-inch blade protruded from the handle. He stabbed the stoner twice in the lower abdomen. He even twisted the blade during the second stabbing.
Stephen took a deep breath. He furrowed his brow as he stared down at the killer's hand. He felt as if he were just punched. Then, he saw the blood soaking through his shirt. A twinge reverberated from his stomach, causing his entire body to shudder. He felt pain—pure pain. He gritted his teeth and held his hands over his wounds. A vein bulged from his brow as he held his breath.
He staggered away from the killer, who appeared calm throughout the stabbing. The stoner glanced down at Dominique as he stepped over her body. To his dismay, he knew he couldn't save her. He stumbled into the corridor, debilitated by the pain, then he lurched down the hallway and headed back to Wilson's class.
As he ran, Stephen murmured, “I'm sorry, Dom...”
The masked person grabbed Dominique's ankles and dragged her deeper into the restroom. Dominique wept hysterically as the shears were pulled out of her back. The killer tossed them aside, then he stepped towards the victim's head. He knelt down in front of her.
Although she tried to pull away, the killer grabbed a fistful of her hair and turned her head towards him. He held his index and middle fingers up to his eyes, as if to say: look into my eyes.