by Jon Athan
Charlene asked, “Why? What did we do to deserve this? Huh? What did Anna, Tiffany, Michael... What did any of us do to deserve this?” The killer stopped in his tracks, silent but curious. Charlene nodded and said, “Yeah. You don't have an answer, do you? You're just another psychopath killing innocent people. You... You're a sick bastard! You hear me? You don't deserve to live! I hate you!”
Still, the killer did not move. Adam pushed his girlfriend from behind, causing her to stagger down to her knees in front of the killer. Charlene glanced back at Adam, shocked by his betrayal.
Zany-eyed, Adam said, “Kill her. I did everything you asked me to do. I told you where they were, what they were doing... Fuck, man, I even helped bring them here. I held up my end of the bargain. If you want her, take her. I'm done with this. It's over.”
Awed, Charlene stared at Adam with sorrowful eyes and stuttered, “You–You've been... You've been helping him this whole time? It was... It was you? You bastard...”
“It was us,” the masked person said. “It was all of us.”
Charlene glanced back at the intruder, surprised.
The killer lifted his mask over the hood of his jacket, revealing his face. A young man stood before the couple—seventeen, maybe eighteen years old. He had a chiseled, clean-shaved face. He was clearly a lean, strong person. Locks of his wavy black hair protruded from under the hood, falling over his moist forehead. His blue eyes revealed the pain and anger in his soul.
“I'm tired of masks. I love these with all of my heart, but they're tacky. They're not good for this, either,” the killer said. “You deserve to know why you're being punished. Being punished without reason is pointless... I've been hiding the truth in me for so long. It has to come out. Everyone has to know about this. Besides, it's not like I can kill you both at the same time. I'm sure one of you will get away for a minute while I talk... but I'll still come after you. I'll come after you until you're all dead.”
As she stared at him, Charlene said, “Nico... You're Nico Marshall, aren't you?”
The killer did not respond. He appeared to be lost in his thoughts—thoughts of the past.
“That's exactly who he is. Wasn't it obvious from the beginning?” Adam said in a condescending tone, blatantly anxious. He nodded at his partner and said, “I did what you asked me to do. I got all of the bullies for you. I handed them to you on a silver fuckin' platter. I did it, Nico. You said you wouldn't bother me. You said this would make us even. Why is that emergency door locked? That wasn't part of the deal.”
Nico remained quiet as he stared at Adam, reading every twitch on his face and every shudder on his body. Adam stared back at Nico, hoping to conjure a sense of sympathy in the wicked killer. The pair had a deal—but it wasn't carved in stone.
Charlene stared up at Nico and said, “This was about Casey... You did all of this for your brother, didn't you?”
Nico said, “We all have history together. Everyone who died this past month... They deserved to die. All of them contributed to the toxic gossip of this shitty high school 'culture.' If you can even call it a culture...” He nervously chuckled, clearly deranged. He glared at Adam and said, “It's amazing, isn't it? All of this started with a rumor—a rumor you started. And now you think you deserve to walk away without being punished? You're an idiot. A fucking idiot...”
Charlene furrowed her brow upon hearing the revelation. She was aware of Casey's suicide, but she didn't know all of the details. Bullying killed him—that was what she always believed. She glanced back at Adam—confused, frightened, disgusted.
As he glanced around the underbelly of the bleachers, Nico said, “It all started here, too. My brother hid down here after he was jumped by Michael and Kyle. I came down here and tried to talk to him, I tried to make him feel better... But, that's not what you told everyone, was it, Adam?” Adam stared down at himself, ashamed. Eyes welling over with tears, Nico continued, “For some reason, you told people you saw me fucking my brother—and they believed you. These idiots actually believed you... From there, it just spread like wildfire, just like everything does on social media. You told Anna, Anna told Tiffany, Tiffany told Hailey, Hailey told Stephen, Stephen told Dominique, and Dominique told Britney... Everyone told someone!”
Charlene stumbled back, surprised by Nico's bellow of pain. She staggered to her feet. She gasped as she bumped into Adam. She teetered away from him, too. The truth tainted her vision of him—he was a bad person.
She felt a strong vibration in her pocket. As she cautiously moved towards the exit, she pulled her phone out. She just received a message from Britney. The message read: He's in the administration area, Charles. Get out. Get out alive. I love you, sweetie.
Charlene shuddered as she read the message. How can he be in two places at once?–she thought. She blinked erratically as she struggled to comprehend the situation.
Nico turned his attention to Charlene and said, “People like you just stood around and watched. You didn't help spread the rumors, but you listened to them and you did nothing to stop them. You're just as guilty. After all of those years, being beaten and ignored, Casey finally took his own life. It wasn't fair. All of you have to die...”
Nico took a step forward, knife in hand. Adam didn't move, though. Charlene staggered in reverse, teetering towards the other end of the bleachers. This is it, she thought, he's going to kill one of us.
Interrupting her thoughts, Adam said, “It's over, Nico.” Charlene glanced over at her boyfriend and saw the partners standing face-to-face. Adam continued, “The truth is out. Spreading a lie isn't a crime, but killing people is. I think you've killed enough, man. You don't have to do this. I told you before: it was just supposed to be a joke. I'm sorry. What else do–”
Mid-sentence, Nico thrust the large knife through Adam's chin and into his mouth. The blade ripped through the muscle and tissue. The knife sliced half of his tongue, too. Blood spilled from his mouth and streamed across his neck.
Adam, shocked by the attack, staggered to his knees. He fell limp and leaned on Nico's legs. He mumbled indistinctly as he glanced around. He couldn't form a single comprehensible sentence, though—a garble of noise spewed from his mouth along with plenty of blood.
Nico crouched beside his victim. He grabbed the handle of the blade, then he began sawing into Adam's jaw. He planned on ripping his jaw and tongue off.
As he vigorously sawed through the tendons and ligaments, Nico gritted his teeth and said, “You don't... deserve... to speak.”
Charlene held her hands over her mouth as she watched the violent attack. She wanted to scream, she thought about running, but she was paralyzed by her fear. Only one thought ran through her mind: I'm next.
The motorized bleachers rumbled, then the seats retracted—one row at a time. Charlene glanced over her shoulder. She couldn't help but smile as she spotted Stephen at the end of the bleachers. The stoner didn't abandon his friends.
Still holding his stomach, Stephen beckoned to Charlene and shouted, “Let's go!”
Charlene crouched under the seats, then she stumbled out from under the bleachers. She placed her palms on Stephen's cheeks and planted a kiss on his lips—thank you. She wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him hobble across the basketball court.
As the bleachers retracted towards him, Nico yelled, “Charlene! Stephen! Don't run from me, you bastards! You owe me! You owe my brother!”
He firmly grabbed Adam's bottom teeth, then he violently tugged on his jaw. A wave of blood spilled on the floor as he ripped his jaw from his face. His partially-severed tongue dangled over his remaining jaw. The killer threw the detached jaw aside, then he ran forward. As he slipped out from under the bleachers, he spotted Charlene and Stephen running back into the school corridors.
Nico shouted, “Get back here!”
Charlene and Stephen hobbled down the hall and headed back to the main entrance. They didn't have any other options. Stephen leaned on the lockers and dragged his feet
. Despite Charlene's help, he could barely walk due to his severe loss of blood. Down the hall, past five classrooms and an intersection, they could see the finish line—the main entrance. The doors appeared to be open, too, as moonlight poured into the hallway.
Stephen pushed Charlene away from him and said, “Run. Hurry, Charles.”
Charlene gazed into Stephen's eyes, reluctant. She could see he was sincere with his request—he wanted her to live. She glanced back down the hall and cried upon spotting Nico behind them.
As he spotted the killer running towards them, Stephen shoved Charlene again and yelled, “Go!”
Charlene sobbed as she ran down the hall. She could hear radio chatter near the entrance—the sound of police radios. She heard the sound of footsteps behind her. One set was fast and loud, the other was weak and inconsistent. She didn't stop running, though. She sprinted towards the light at the end of the hallway.
“Get on the ground!” a booming male voice shouted.
Other variations of the same demand echoed down the hall: Stop! Don't move! Put your hands up!
Another male officer shouted, “Knife! Knife!”
Upon hearing those words, Charlene knew the confrontation would end in a shooting—they always did. Near the entrance, the young woman fell to the floor with her hands on her head. She tightly closed her eyes as she lay on her stomach, waiting for the inevitable shooting. She winced as the sound of gunfire reverberated through the building.
The police shot into the corridor for ten seconds, but it felt like ten minutes. Twenty rounds sounded more like a thousand.
As the gunfire stopped, Charlene lifted her head from the floor and glanced around. Police officers moved in front of her, but the noise was muffled. She glanced back into the hallway. Nico lay near a set of lockers. He appeared to be screaming, but he was neutralized by the gunfire. Stephen lay near the lockers across the hall from the killer. He held his leg up and screamed at the top of his lungs. He was hit by a stray bullet—collateral damage.
Charlene turned back towards the main entrance. Two police officers lifted her from the ground. She could finally hear the sound of chaos—and it was deafening.
***
Charlene sat in the passenger seat of a police cruiser, a fleece blanket draped over her shoulders. She watched as police officers, detectives, forensic specialists, and paramedics wandered the area. The process was methodical—some gathered evidence, others helped the survivors, and all of them worked in perfect harmony.
The young woman turned her attention to the windshield. An ambulance was parked in front of the police cruiser. Due to the severity of his wounds, Nico was being loaded into the wagon. The killer was going to spend a few nights in the hospital instead of jail. The ambulance reminded her of Stephen, though. The stoner was already taken away in another ambulance. Are you okay? Did you survive?–she thought.
Charlene snapped out of her contemplation as the door beside her swung open. She smiled at her savior—Sheriff Cameron Jackson. Jackson returned the smile and nodded.
He said, “I'm sorry to keep you waiting, miss. It's just part of the... the job.” He glanced over at the ambulance, despondent. He asked, “Are you sure you don't need any medical assistance? It wouldn't hurt to get checked out, right?”
Charlene shook her head and said, “No. I'm fine, really. I just want to go home. I want to go to bed. I want to sleep. I just want to get away from this nightmare.”
“Unfortunately, you won't be going home right away. We're going to have to take you down to the station to ask you some questions. We just want to get your side of the story as soon as possible. Then, we'll send you home with your parents.”
Charlene bit her bottom lip and stared down at her lap. She escaped from the school, unscathed and informed, but she was still trapped in the nightmare. She didn't expect to escape from her nightmare anytime soon, either. The massacre clung to her mind, poisoning her every thought.
As she blankly stared at the dashboard, Charlene asked, “Do you have any idea what happened in there?”
Jackson said, “Yeah, we have an idea. Our suspect, Nico Marshall, wanted to kill you and your friends. Unfortunately, under my watch, he mostly succeeded.”
He sighed and stared down at his boots. Guilt festered in his heart, tormenting him. He sought to protect and serve, but he felt like he harmed and neglected his community instead.
The sheriff said, “I'm sorry about that. We tried our best to stop this from happening. It just felt like... like we were sent on a wild-goose chase. Things just didn't add up, but we still tried to force it.” As the ambulance drove away from the school, Jackson said, “One thing is for certain: the killer has been caught and this nightmare has ended.”
It's just getting started—Charlene bit her tongue before she could blurt the blunt response. The sheriff was genuine. His sincerity was comforting during the chaotic time. She didn't want to agitate him by placing more guilt on his shoulders.
Charlene said, “Nico did this for his brother. I don't know if you remember it, but a kid named Casey Marshall killed himself a year ago—maybe it was a year and a half. He killed himself because he was being bullied. Nico was just getting vengeance and my boyfriend, Adam, helped him. I didn't know about it. I swear, I would have said something if I knew. I–”
Charlene stopped. She furrowed her brow and tilted her head as she stared off into space. She remembered Nico's rant. She wasn't accused of bullying Casey, but she was scolded for her apathetic negligence. She didn't tell the faculty about Casey's bullying, so she wondered if she really would have told the police about Nico and Adam if she had found out about them earlier.
Jackson patted her shoulder and said, “Don't dwell on it, miss. None of this is your fault. I'd like to hear everything you have to say, but maybe we should wait until we're at the station. We can get you some coffee or water when we arrive. Let's–”
“Jackson!” a police officer interrupted as he approached the sheriff. The officer said, “Jackson, mount up. We're in pursuit of two suspects—possibly three—who escaped the school through the rear exit. Miller said they were wearing raincoats. They hopped into a black sedan and they may be heading towards Kamala.”
“More suspects?” Jackson whispered, shocked. He hit the hood of the police cruiser and said, “Get her to the station. I'll go with Webb. Go!”
As Jackson slammed the door in her face, Charlene tapped the window and cried, “I don't know who they are! Be careful! They killed my friends! Please... be careful.”
She watched as the sheriff sprinted towards a police cruiser in the parking lot to join another officer in the pursuit. She was amazed by the cops' bravery.
Another officer sat in the driver's seat beside Charlene. The officer offered some words of comfort to the traumatized student. Charlene didn't hear his words, though. She remembered Britney's text message, which revealed a third party in the attack. She could only think about the killers and the victims as the car rolled away from the school.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tragedy Begets Tragedy
Police cars surrounded a one-story house in a suburban neighborhood, blue and red lights blinking. The front door of the house was left open, swinging in the doorway. A black sedan was parked on the front lawn, driver and passenger doors open.
Jackson, along with five other officers, lined up beside the house. The sheriff stood at the back of the line while the officer at the front led the way with a ballistic shield. Weapons drawn, the officers held each other's shoulders.
As they marched into the house, Jackson shouted, “Police! Stay where you are! Police!”
Police, don't move, keep your hands up—the words echoed through the home as the officers screamed different variations of the same statement: comply or die. The police moved swiftly, shouting their positions while individually clearing the rooms in the house. They were not met with any resistance, though. Although the door was open and the car was parked on the lawn, the hom
e appeared to be empty.
Jackson pulled away from the group in the living room, shocked. The furniture was overturned and damaged. The glass coffee table was shattered into a hundred pieces. The end-tables and the sofas were flipped. The sofa cushions were shredded. The large flat-screen television was broken, cracked as if something were hurled at it. A lamp on the floor, likely knocked over from one of the end-tables, illuminated most of the room. The destruction was surprising. On the other hand, the blood on the walls was terrifying.
As if a child were using the house as a canvas for his finger-painting, large messages were scrawled on the walls in blood. One message read: Egos lead to ignorance. The message below it read: Ignorance leads to hatred. The next message read: Hatred leads to tragedy. Above the archway leading to the kitchen, the final message read: Tragedy creates tragedy
Jackson strolled through the archway and entered the kitchen. The floor was flooded with shards from broken plates and cups. He couldn't take a single step without crushing a shard. Blood stained the countertops and floor, streaming across the drawers and cupboards. The cupboards appeared to be punched through the center. The kitchen table and the chairs were also overturned and broken.
As he examined the damage, Jackson whispered, “What the hell happened here?”
Jackson, visibly rattled by the discovery, returned to the living room. He walked through an archway on the other side of the room and found himself in a hallway. His team was clearing the rooms at the end of the hall. Still, they didn't find any resistance in the house.
The sheriff opened the first door to his left. Like the living room and kitchen, the furniture in the bedroom was overturned and broken. The drawers from the dresser were pulled out and tossed onto the floor. The mirror attached to the dresser was shattered, blood dripping across the glass.
Judging from the pink walls and the photos of girls in the room, Jackson assumed the bedroom belonged to a teenage girl. He closed the room, then he proceeded to the second door to the left. He opened the door and stood in the doorway, baffled.