Reunion (A Psychological Suspense with Murder, Mystery and the Paranormal)

by Jeff Bennington

  • • •

  Tanner’s bus arrived at the school at 8:00 a.m. He stepped down from the bus and squinted as he entered the bright daylight, wondering what was troubling him. Everything seems pretty normal, he thought. Yet something in his gut twisted with nervousness. Noah Berkley stepped out of bus number three holding Lana Jones’s hand. That was normal. Nick Tooley and his twin brother Randy hopped out of their 1983 Silverado apparently arguing about something. That was normal.

  Tanner tapped on Kenny’s arm. “Hey. Look at the Tooleys.” He pointed toward the scuffling brothers. Kenny glanced at the twins and laughed.

  Nick grabbed Randy by the neck, put him in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles deep into Randy’s skull. Their books fell to the pavement. Randy responded by landing a solid blow to Nick’s kidney. Nick let go and grimaced.

  “Ah. Whew!” said Nick, arching his back and rubbing his side. “The next time you won’t be so lucky!”

  Randy smirked at his boisterous twin. “You’re just a big slab of meat, Nick. All talk. That’s all you are! All talk.”

  Randy picked up his books, walked toward the school entrance and saluted the American flag as a group of eighth graders hoisted it heavenward.

  Tanner had always loved school. He loved the sounds and excitement of the beginning of a new school day, but he couldn’t shake off the dark feeling. What’s wrong with me, he silently questioned.

  Kenny popped Tanner in the back of his head with the palm of his hand. Tanner’s head jetted forward.

  “I gotta go, Tan. See ya later.” Kenny threw his duffle bag over his shoulder and hurried away.

  Tanner forced himself to smile. “See ya.”

  Tanner followed the crowd of students who were walking up the concrete steps toward the large glass doorway at the front of the building. His dusty blond hair waved across his forehead. As he approached the door, he noticed his reflection looking back at him, worried, scared.

  The cool air rushed across his face. He turned his head in all directions, looking at the junior and senior high students laughing and teasing as usual. He watched some of the teenagers make a desperate attempt to complete their assignments, while a few couples grabbed last-minute kisses before class began. An unrecognizable heaviness pressed down on him. Tanner warred within himself. Something wasn’t right; he just knew it.

  • • •

  By 8:02 a.m., students were flooding into the school. David plopped down on his bed and threw his hands behind his head, locking his fingers tight. His thin frame barely made a dent in the mattress. He looked up at his ceiling and studied the glowing galaxies that he’d stuck to the drywall a few years back. The stars and planets represented the hope of something else—a new frontier. When he was younger, he had dreamed that someday he would blast off into a world where he was the superhero. As he grew older, the dream faded, crashing like the Challenger space shuttle. He closed his eyes and began the recurring process of placing blame.

  John Ray. Don’t even wanna say his name. Wish I could kill him, but he’s back in jail. Son of a bitch. Bill and Sheila—I hate ‘em both. A match made in heaven is what they are. And those damn cheerleaders, what a bunch of sluts. Ask one out and they give you crap for the rest of your life. Think I’m some kind of nerd they can laugh at behind my back, huh? And that fat ass, Nick Tooley. God I hate him! Can’t wait to blow his brains out! Who else? Stupid-ass jocks. I’m sure I’ll know ‘em when I see ‘em. Bryan Jacobs? Nah. He’s all right. He stood up for me. And his dad gave me a summer job last year. He’s gonna be a doctor someday. Well they’re gonna need him when I’m finished. I don’t remember him givin’ me problems. Yeah. He’s okay.

  David remembered when Bryan had helped him out earlier in the school year. Nick Tooley had flicked his sock cap off his head and tossed it back and forth with some of his football buddies. David had stood in the middle of the jocks, humiliated, grabbing for his cap while they laughed and poked fun at him. When he turned to one of his abusers, the one behind him swatted him in the back of his head. They’d pushed him around as if he were human waste, grabbing his long hair and tugging until his head jerked backward and his body joggled like a pinball. He had felt powerless, humiliated, and exposed—a weakling to the core.

  “Come on, you little pansy!” Nick Tooley said. “Can’t you reach your hat? It’s right here! Too high for you?”

  The others laughed as Nick dangled David’s hat in the air. David awkwardly jumped up to grab it, but fell to the ground. Nick’s twin, Randy, stood at a distance, looking torn, but remaining silent.

  “Come on! Give it back, Nick!” David had yelled.

  Finally, out of utter despair and nearly in tears, he had shot his fist at Nick and, surprisingly, hit him square in the jaw. Shocked and embarrassed, Nick stood still, his cheeks turning as red as boiling lava. The students nearby held their breath, waiting to see what Nick would do. His large blue sweatshirt expanded and his fists tightened.

  “You little prick!” Nick gritted his teeth and tightened his thick jaw. “I’m gonna kick—your—ass!”

  David turned to run away, but Nick grabbed him by his T-shirt and slammed him against one of the lockers that lined the hallway. David’s small frame was no match for the girth of the thick athlete. His head crashed against a steel locker door, followed by the rest of his bony frame. He grunted. Nick reached his fist back to finish him off. David closed his eyes and waited for his lashing. It never came. Bryan Jacobs stopped Nick’s fist in midair.

  “He’s had enough!” Bryan said. “Let him go.”

  Bryan glared at the others, asserting his authority. “Come on, guys! Can’t you just leave him alone for once?”

  Nick reluctantly lowered his fist. Bryan confiscated the hat from one of the athletes and handed it to David, who grabbed it and backed away from Nick.

  “You okay?” Bryan asked. He extended his hand toward David.

  David nodded his head and scuttled away.

  Nick rubbed his jaw and watched David escape. “Better run, you fricken loser!”

  David remembered faces and names. He kept a list of all his abusers. He cleared Bryan because of his valiant behavior, but the others remained in his mental inventory. From that day on, David fell deeper and deeper into the depths of despair, cementing his homicidal plans.

  He opened his eyes and reached for his cassette player. Bill and Sheila were sound asleep. They usually slept until 11:00 a.m. or later. He put his headphones on and readied himself for the big show.

  2nd

  Tanner entered the school and hurried toward his locker in the senior hallway. He awkwardly balanced his many textbooks and spiral-bound folders, weaving his way through the roaring crowd of students. Just get to the locker without getting noticed—quickly and quietly, he thought.

  A nameless voice shouted, “Nice floods, Tanner!”

  “Ha-ha!” said Tanner, artificially chuckling along with the other voices, which he dared not identify. He kept his shy eyes locked on the polished tile work, pushed down on his pants and continued walking.

  The hallway bristled with energized seniors and a few underclassmen. Some stopped to stare at the trophy case on the senior wall, and some played cat and mouse with each other on their way to first period. Tanner stopped at his locker and began turning the combination at precisely the same moment that a new figure entered his peripheral vision. He lifted his head, turned to the left, and his heart revved up, full throttle.

  Lana Jones strolled down the senior hallway, arms crossed, holding her books, brunette ponytail swinging. Her eyes glistened with excitement. She stepped out of the flow of teenage traffic and stopped at her locker—right next to Tanner. She cocked her head in Tanner’s direction and looked at him with a smile. He smiled back. She’s gorgeous, he thought. And she smells good too.

  “Hello, Tanner.”

  “Hi, Lana.”

  He quickly turned back and attempted to look busy. He shoved his books into his locker in the order of
his daily schedule, and then peered into a magnetized mirror stuck to the door and pulled a stray hair away from his eyes. He glanced back at Lana. She leaned against her locker, gazed at the adjacent wall and smiled.

  Studying her joyful face, Tanner thought, she’s probably thinking about Noah and how awesome he is. Tanner rolled his eyes. Pfft. I mean, I’m no James Bond exchange student like Noah, but I’m not so bad. He wished she would look like that when thinking about him.

  Tanner loaded his books into his arms and almost left when Noah showed up. Noah’s locker was at the end of the hallway, but he always managed to visit Lana before first period. Tanner looked into his locker mirror and watched the two lovebirds embrace.

  Noah towered over Lana. He stood six feet two and she was a petite five feet three. Tanner marveled at how composed Noah appeared at all times. He had a charismatic, yet distinguished, personality that enticed Tanner to listen to him when he spoke. Lana stretched up on her tiptoes and grabbed his neck. Noah squeezed her and whispered in her ear.

  “Hiya, little bird, you ready for class?”

  “Yes,” Lana said, wearing the same smile that she’d had on her face before he arrived.

  Lana visibly turned to mush every time she heard Noah’s British accent. Tanner had secretly watched them every day, all year long. One day she had told Tanner how privileged she felt to be with such a catch, and that she feared that, like Cinderella, the clock would strike midnight and he’d return to England without her. Tanner thought he’d never do that to Lana—but he kept that to himself. After all, she was the captain of the cheerleading squad, perpetually optimistic, outgoing and drop-dead gorgeous. Tanner looked at her with adoration. Noah had fallen in love with her the minute he laid eyes on her. At least that’s what he told her while Tanner was gathering his things for history class one day.

  Tanner looked at the hallway clock—8:06 a.m. I’m gonna be late, he thought, but he couldn’t stop looking in the mirror, which functioned like a television airing an early morning soap opera. Lana’s deep-blue eyes gazed at Noah with a tender innocence. Tanner never saw her face light up like that until he came along. It seemed she had only known awkward attempts at love by unskilled boys who had no idea how to care for someone of her caliber. Noah was different.

  Tanner didn’t despise Noah. He sort of liked him and felt happy for Lana. Besides, he appreciated the love lessons—love lessons that played out like a fairy tale. That’s what it looked like to him anyway.

  He’d learned a valuable lesson about love the day Lana had dropped her journal as she headed to class. She’d slammed her locker door closed and jetted down the hall. Tanner noticed right away that something had fallen out of her locker. When he reached down to pick it up, he couldn’t help but read a short blurb as he lifted it off the floor.

  I had a great day at school today. Noah left a poem in my literature book and a Hershey’s Kiss on my lunch tray. HE IS SO AWESOME! It’s probably way too early to say this, but I think that one day we’re going to get married. I know it seems impossible because he’s from England but…

  Tanner called her name and returned the journal to her. The lesson; leave poems and Hershey’s Kisses.

  At 8:08 a.m. Tanner was still peering into the mirror, discreetly moving his body as if he were actually doing something important. Noah brushed his fingers through Lana’s smooth brown ponytail. His robust frame pressed ever so gently against hers, making full-body contact.

  “I’m gonna miss you,” said Lana.

  Her typically strong voice grew weak in his presence. Her blueberry eyes sparkled as she looked up at the boy she hoped to wed.

  “I’m going to miss you too, little bird. But somehow I think we’re going to get through the next hour.” They both laughed. “And by the way, I dreamt about you last night.”

  Lana smiled, eyelashes fluttering.

  Noah whispered, “Do you want to know what it was about?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Lana bit her lower lip.

  Her eyes studied him with passion. He put his hand behind her neck, brushed his lips against her ear and murmured the details of his dream. Lana smiled and giggled. She closed her eyes and curled up inside his arms before they separated for their respective classes. Lana’s smile was rarely absent in Noah’s presence and usually stayed on long after they detached from each other.

  Tanner looked at the clock: 8:09 a.m. I have to go. He closed the locker door and headed to class. He suddenly felt cold. He looked out at the remaining students in the hallway, weighted by a heaviness that came to rest upon his shoulders, and then ran as fast as he could to Mr. Gardner’s senior English class. The dark feeling had returned.

  • • •

  At 8:43 a.m. David got up from his bed after filling his mind with rage from his music. He slipped out of the house and loaded his duffle bag into the back of his rusty ‘76 Chevette. The old clunker embarrassed him. Most high school boys in Crescent Falls drove trucks or sports cars. However, David came from a family of little means. He lived in the local trailer park, where inoperative vehicles and broken dreams were commonplace. That’s what he told himself every time he witnessed another car raised up on concrete blocks. David had managed to save a little money for his first car by working a few odd jobs, but his lack of motivation kept him perpetually moving from part-time job to part-time job. Over time he became less concerned with his wheels. Revenge became the crux of his existence; his focus, delivering a militant and sulfur-laced message at exactly 9:35 a.m.

  David packed his gear in the trunk, and slammed the warped hatchback closed. It barely held. Figures, he thought to himself, pathetic car—pathetic life. He exhaled a frosty cloud into the air and peered into the blue sky. He took pleasure in his progress and smiled for the first time that day. Yet a deviant smirk expressed all the joy he could muster.

  With tired eyes from a brutal night of tossing and turning, David flicked his shoulder-length hair out of his face and stepped into the subcompact vehicle. When he sat down, he reached into the inside pocket of his black jacket and pulled out two sheets of neatly folded paper. The first: his checklist. The second: his personal manifesto.

  The checklist kept him on schedule and the manifesto kept him motivated. He read it daily. It fed his desire to kill, reminding him to loath nearly everyone around him. Of course, not everyone caused his pain, but the manifesto made him believe that they did. He wrote it after Nick Tooley had pulled the stunt with his hat. One of many humiliating and painful moments, it became a turning point for David. He drove home from school that day and ran into his bedroom. He shut out the world, cranked up his music and cried for hours. It was the first time he’d cried in months. A hard shell had already begun to form around David’s heart, but not so much that Nick’s abuse couldn’t crack it. David already hated himself. Filled with shame and self-loathing from his home life, he didn’t need any help from his schoolmates to make his life miserable. That day in the hallway created enough scar tissue that his heart never felt pain again. It opened a portal for evil to root into his soul.

  He opened the checklist to review his plan and affirm that he had not forgotten anything. The checklist consisted of the following: set alarm clock for 7:00 a.m., shower and get dressed, finish loading gun clips, organize guns, load guns and ammo into car, smoke a little weed, kill Bill, drive to school, and finally—fix my world.

  After lighting up a joint, David sat in his little car and inhaled the mind-altering fumes. He wanted to relax, because he thought it would make the killing easier and give the demons free rein over his actions. He sucked the smoke long and smooth.

  “In with the reefer…out with giving a shit.” David laughed at his verbal creativity.

  His counselor had told him once that he had a misguided case of cognitive dissonance. Whatever that means, he thought. David figured what would appear psychotic and deranged would become his infamous fifteen minutes of fame. In one of his counseling sessions, he confessed that he had dreamed about killing so
me of his classmates, and that he heard voices demanding vengeance for their bullying. The counselor assured him that he could make healthier choices and that the voices were not real. However, after repeated abuse, exploitation, and a long list of crimes against his humanity, David had given in to the voices in his head. He felt that he no longer had a choice, but rather, a calling.

  When David continued to bring up the idea that he was hearing things, the counselor had him tested for schizophrenia. Although the test results were still pending as David sat in his car smoking weed, the look in his eyes and the heinous smirk on his face was not one of paranoia. On that morning, his smile exemplified sheer evil. Lost as he was, something unearthly arose in his spirit, and even David knew it had little to do with peer pressure. His expressions that morning did not feel normal; they were paranormal.

  • • •

  At 8:55 a.m. Bryan Jacobs sat in his first-hour English class. He glanced at the clock and then looked at Kate Schmidt. She peeked out of the black hair hanging over her eyes and smiled at Bryan. He grinned and turned back toward the balding Mr. Gardner, who was sitting on his cluttered desk, littered with papers, books and other school supplies. He stood up, loosened his tie, rolled up his white sleeves and began to write a few notes on the chalkboard.

  “Okay everyone—just a quick reminder about the year-end award ceremony at nine thirty this morning. Be sure to go to your second-period class, and then you’ll walk to the cafeteria together with your teacher. Okay? Great! And finally, I’d like all of you to read the final chapter from The Grapes of Wrath tonight, and we’ll discuss Mr. Steinbeck’s use of imagery tomorrow. Any questions?”

  Kate Schmidt raised her hand and pulled her hair away from her eyes, revealing the black eyeliner that encircled her rebellious punk-rock eyes.

  “Yes, Kate. Go ahead.”

  Bryan heard a hint of exasperation in Mr. Gardner’s voice.