Bad Games: Hellbent - A Dark Psychological Thriller (Bad Games)

by Menapace, Jeff

  Kevin’s next move was a no-brainer. Kelly Blaine.

  ***

  Kevin knocked harder than he needed to on the front door of Kelly Blaine’s cabin.

  Nothing. He knocked again.

  “Kelly? Kelly, open up, it’s Mr. Lane.”

  He waited. It was still early. Breakfast would not be for another half hour. Breakfast was not mandatory at Stratton Grove. Many kids chose to sleep in instead. Kelly Blaine was often one of them.

  Kevin knocked a third time, rattling the wooden door on its hinges.

  “Kelly!”

  He was tempted to use his emergency key to open the door. Except if he caught the girl changing, it could be a messy situation indeed, especially in the hands of someone like Kelly. For all he knew, she was standing naked at the door, waiting for him to enter. He’d be screwed after that. What would his justification be? Mrs. Sands’ car was in the lot, yet there seemed to be no sign of her? Okay, we’ll give you that. But why make a bee-line for Kelly Blaine’s cabin, Mr. Lane? Is there something you’re not telling us? Something Kelly Blaine might have said to someone off-the-record?

  Kevin gritted his teeth, was prepared to knock for a fourth time when an approaching student stopped him.

  “Mr. Lane, I think you should—”

  He interrupted the girl. “Shannon, have you seen Kelly Blaine this morning? Is she at breakfast?”

  The girl shook her head. “No, but—”

  “You haven’t seen her at all this morning?”

  “No, but, Mr. Lane, I think Mrs. Sands is sick.”

  “What?”

  “I think Mrs. Sands is sick. She’s been in the student bathrooms for a long time.”

  Kevin turned away from Kelly’s cabin door and approached the girl. “What are you talking about?”

  “Mrs. Sands is in one of the stalls in the student bathrooms. Jenny Archer saw her first. She was taking a pee and recognized Mrs. Sands’ fancy shoes in the stall next to her. She thought it was weird that she was using our bathroom.”

  “It is weird.”

  “Jenny told me when she came out. I didn’t believe her. We went back in and I saw them for myself. We told Lucy Stern, but she said she didn’t believe us and that she wanted to see. We said she was probably gone by now. Lucy went in anyway, and Mrs. Sands’ shoes were still there. We waited outside the bathrooms after that. She still hasn’t come out.”

  Kevin said: “Show me.”

  ***

  A crowd gathered outside the main student bathroom in Stratton Grove. Word about Mrs. Sands being inside, possibly ill, had spread like a brush fire.

  Mrs. Tracy Mallin, a physics teacher, suggested she enter instead of Kevin Lane. Kevin understood her reasoning—lady’s room and all—but it did not stop him from insisting she call for him at even the slightest hint of trouble.

  Mrs. Mallin did not call Kevin specifically after she entered to investigate, but she did scream, and it prompted Kevin to burst through the bathroom door and spot Mrs. Mallin, one hand over her mouth, the other pointing a wavering finger into an open stall.

  Kevin crept forward, reached the stall, peered inside. Stephanie Sands was there—propped upright on the toilet seat, eyes open, skin gray, very dead.

  Kevin inched forward and checked her pulse. Behind him, he heard “Is she?” but did not respond. He was too busy noticing something. Not only was Stephanie Sands’ skirt still at calf height and not pulled up to use the toilet, but she was seated on the lid of the toilet seat, not the seat itself.

  Kevin could only stare at the body. He could hear murmuring from the students in the hallway, heightened now after Mrs. Mallin’s scream. He turned over his shoulder, saw that Mrs. Mallin was still there.

  “Go out there and get rid of them. Tell them to return to their cabins. Then call 911.”

  Mrs. Mallin nodded quickly and left. Kevin heard her ushering the students away, heard more excited chatter until it all eventually faded and he was alone with Stephanie Sands’ corpse. He wanted to check the body for anything incriminating, yet feared contaminating a potential crime scene. From where he stood, he couldn’t see anything outstanding. No blood, no wounds.

  Had Kelly Blaine done this? Every ounce of contempt for the girl made him want to declare yes. Yet every rational instinct countered with how?

  His mind raced. He took a step back from the body. Took in the scene. Two possibilities: at some point last night (though he supposed it could have been this morning, but would her skin be so gray if she’d recently died?) Stephanie Sands had felt ill, wandered into the student bathrooms instead of faculty’s (for whatever reason, he didn’t know), perhaps felt faint, quickly sat (would explain the lid being down), and by some unknown cause, died. Perhaps of a heart attack.

  Then there was the second reason.

  Kelly Blaine had killed her. Staged the body to make it look like…like what? An accident? Like all the others? This looked nothing like an accident. Stephanie Sands looked…posed. Displayed. Kelly Blaine, if the culprit, would never be so blatant. It didn’t make sense.

  But then something did make sense. Bathroom duty. Belinda had said Mrs. Sands had threatened Kelly with bathroom duty for the remainder of the year, a punishment of severity Kevin had yet to see with any student during his tenure at Stratton Grove.

  The M.O. was there. All of the “accidents” involving Kelly Blaine had always carried an M.O. relevant to the incident that preceded it. It would make sense for Kelly Blaine to exact revenge on Stephanie Sands in the very place she was threatened to labor for the remainder of the year.

  Except this didn’t look like an accident. Kevin wasn’t quite sure what it looked like, but he did know one thing: as soon as help arrived, he was going back to Kelly Blaine’s cabin and using his goddamn key. He’d take his chances.

  Chapter 19

  Kelly Blaine sat on the floor of the cellar, back against the wall. She glared at Monica as she rubbed her tender wrists, no longer cuffed.

  Monica sat in a chair, facing Kelly. She wore an even face, nothing else. She was about to get down to business. Attempt to establish some form of trust—a laughable attempt on the surface considering recent events, and the fact that Kelly Blaine was a sociopath who would never know trust. Monica was prepared for that. All she needed was a big enough carrot to dangle in front of the girl to keep her interested. A carrot she had begun dangling back at Stratton Grove with some success.

  After assaulting her, the carrot had no doubt wilted. It was up to Monica now to produce a fresh one, a succulent one. Kelly’s ripe age of sixteen was in Monica’s favor. Sociopath’s mimic emotion and behavior based on the world around them. At sixteen, Kelly Blaine didn’t have much exposure, especially considering that the last five of those years were spent on a ranch with other deviants out in the middle of nowhere. Kelly Blaine, whether she knew it or not, needed cultivating. The potential was there, but for now that’s all it was. Monica needed to convince the girl that she was the one to mold her. To show her the endless possibilities that were attainable with the right guide.

  “You’re angry,” Monica said.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Something tells me you’d have done the same thing in my shoes.”

  “Your shoes?”

  “Yes. I needed a failsafe in case you got ideas.”

  “I already told you I was interested. I already told you I was willing to help you.”

  Monica smiled. “Words. You don’t get to be someone like me relying on words.”

  “Someone like you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not so sure I’m interested in someone like you anymore.”

  “Oh but you should, Kelly. You said it yourself—if you were to run away, where would you go? You’d be lost at sea, you said. I’m here now to guide you.”

  “By beating me up and locking me in a cooler?”

  “Again, a necessary bit of insurance.”

  “Whatever. I don’t
get you.”

  “But I get you. I see you.”

  Kelly snorted. “Oh yeah? What do you see?”

  “Potential.”

  “You sound like all the stupid teachers at Stratton Grove.”

  “Except I’m talking about sharpening your true potential. Those impulses that course throughout your body, the ones society fears, labels wrong. I know them. I have them. Those impulses need a leash. If you neglect the leash it won’t be long before you’re caught and euthanized. Nothing more pathetic in this world than one succumbing to their own impulses.”

  Kelly’s frown faded. Monica had found an unlocked window and was creeping back in. Time to placate.

  “You’ve managed exceptionally thus far. Your craftiness impresses me. I’d still love to know how you got that girl to fall into your trap out in the woods. That was ridiculously impressive.”

  “A stick man,” Kelly said softly.

  “What?”

  “I made a big stick man and positioned him over the trap. I knew the path she always took when she ran. I knew she’d stop and investigate a weird-looking stick man in the middle of the woods. I knew when she’d fall the stick man would crumble and be no different than the rest of the sticks that stabbed her.”

  Monica was impressed. No placating on this one. She could only smile and shake her head admirably. “And you dug the hole yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did it take?”

  “Time.”

  Patience. Again, Monica was impressed.

  “And I got away with it,” Kelly added. “I’ve gotten away with everything I’ve done.”

  “Yes you did. You convinced ‘all those stupid teachers at Stratton Grove’ that you didn’t do it. What’s your plan here?” Monica waved an arm around the cellar. “In the real world?”

  “As long as nobody upsets me, I won’t need to get away with anything.”

  “I don’t think that’s true. You liked doing those things at Stratton Grove. You liked burning your brother alive. How long before that impulse takes hold again? One that needs no provocation? One you can’t control?”

  Kelly looked away, eyes becoming fixed on nothing, mind elsewhere. Monica was officially in, the unlocked window behind her ajar as she crept about Kelly’s psyche, looking for structural weaknesses that could be broken through.

  “I can teach you to indulge those impulses whenever you feel like it. To bathe in that exquisite feeling without fear of repercussion. You’re good—very good—but you don’t know the real world yet. Not like I do. I can share all I know with you. I can help you be the chameleon.”

  Kelly broke her daze and looked back at Monica on “chameleon.” Monica smiled.

  “Are you crazy?” Kelly asked.

  “Yes,” Monica said. “But I’m also very smart.”

  Monica’s cell phone rang. She looked at the incoming number. “About time.”

  ***

  Monica hung up, then snapped the phone in half, killing the last trace of Belinda Cole.

  “That was Mr. Lane,” she said. “Apparently, the article I was working on has to be placed on hold—indefinitely.” Monica took out her cigarettes. “Oh and the police were at Stratton Grove. They found Mrs. Sands. Forensics found your DNA under her fingernails. You’re officially wanted for murder. Smoke?”

  Chapter 20

  Monica and Kelly headed north in Monica’s Lexus.

  “We’re gonna need to get you a makeover,” Monica said. “What do you think of blonde?”

  “I wouldn’t need a makeover if you didn’t do what you did.”

  “A: yes you would; this whole grunge look you’ve got going on is an insult to your beauty. I need you looking hot.”

  “Hot? What are you—?”

  “B: I thought I made myself quite clear on why I did what I did.”

  “Because you don’t trust me.”

  “Correct.”

  “Then how is this going to work if we don’t trust each other?”

  “What we have is a mutual understanding, a mutual respect for one another. This breeds loyalty. Don’t confuse loyalty for trust.”

  “But the only way you got my loyalty was by framing me for murder. I’m reliant on you now if I don’t want to get caught.”

  “Loyalty can be had by fear. Trust cannot.”

  Kelly said nothing.

  “The hard part is over, Kelly. If you adopt the right attitude, it’s going to be nothing but fun from here on out.”

  “Why do I need to look hot?”

  “To get the boy.”

  “What boy?”

  Monica only smiled.

  “Does this have anything to do with what you’ve got planned in New Jersey?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me what it is?”

  “All will be explained in time.”

  “You know for someone who’s supposed to be ‘teaching me’, you’re being pretty vague.”

  Monica gave Kelly a short glance. She didn’t care if the girl learned thing one from her, but she knew she needed to feed those impulses to keep her willing. Loyalty could be attained by fear, but for what Monica needed from the girl, it would have to be sustained with a simple reward system. She was still a kid after all. Kids liked to have fun. Fortunately, Monica and Kelly had the same idea of fun.

  “You’re right,” Monica said to her, “you deserve a little something. If you could have anything right now—and I think you know what I mean—what would it be?”

  Kelly did not hesitate. “I’d like to see my parents burn.”

  Monica chuckled. “You and fire.”

  Kelly said nothing.

  “Is it because you never got to see your brother burn?” Monica glanced over at her again; saw the faintest of smirks crease the corner of the girl’s mouth. “Or did you?”

  Kelly met Monica’s glance. Monica nodded and smirked herself.

  “Okay,” Monica said. “So this is about wrapping everything up then, is it? Finishing what you started?”

  Kelly didn’t answer. Instead she said, “I want to tie them up. I want to be the one to light the match. I want to watch them burn to death in their own home.”

  “Whoa—slow down, kiddo. Going to their home would be a mistake.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because you’re wanted for murder. The first place any cop with half a brain would look is your parent’s place.”

  “But I hated my parents. They hated me. Why would I go there?”

  “You and I might know that. Everyone back at Stratton Grove might know that. But you’re a sixteen-year-old kid on the run. You’ve been living on a ranch out in the boonies for five years. Smart odds would point towards you heading to the place that is most familiar to you.”

  “I don’t even know if they live there anymore.”

  “They never contacted you while you were at Stratton Grove?”

  “I got a card on my birthday.”

  “What did the card say?”

  “Happy Birthday.”

  Monica smiled. “No ‘Love Mom and Dad’ stuff?”

  “No. They never signed it.”

  “So how did you know it was from them?”

  “I just assumed.”

  “Return address?”

  “They never used one.”

  Monica took it all in. The more she heard, the more she was thinking she’d like to kill these people too. But not in their home; that would be foolish.

  “Well we might be able to manage something, but it wouldn’t be exactly what you want. Guaranteed at least one cop has been camping out in front of your parent’s place as soon as they got the news.”

  Kelly shrugged. “You asked me what I wanted and I told you. If you can’t do it, fine.”

  Reverse psychology—the lowest type of insult to one’s intelligence there is. Unless the giver was aware of this truth, and dished it out anyway. This upped the ante on the game, made you double-check your ca
rds. Monica knew Kelly Blaine was too clever to assume Monica could be swayed by such bullshit. So what was she doing? She was calling—asking Monica to lay down her cards, see just how good a hand she professed to hold. You might have pulled off some decent stuff with Mrs. Sands back there at Stratton Grove, but how about this one, professor? Too rich? Want to fold?

  Monica glanced at Kelly a final time, smirked as if to say, I accept your challenge, kid, despite the second-rate delivery. “Okay, Miss Blaine,” she said. “Please take you’re your seat…class is about to begin.”

  Chapter 21

  Domino sat across from his long-time attorney, Russell Carr. The severity of the situation had fallen hard on Domino’s back the moment he sobered up, and he hoped Russell, a wizard in his field, would have a trick or two up his wizard sleeve. Unfortunately, he did not.

  “Multiple witnesses, Dom,” Russell said. “All willing to testify that you attacked first.”

  “And what about the kid whose ass I saved? He carry any weight?”

  Russell closed his eyes and shook his head. “He confirms your story, but come on, Dom, what are we gonna say if it goes to court? What’s the kid gonna say? I think they were gonna beat me up, your honor?”

  “Well it establishes character, doesn’t it? For the three guys? What kind of assholes they were?”

  “The world is full of assholes, Dom. It’s not against the law.”

  Domino dropped his head and shook it.

  “Your professional training doesn’t help matters,” Russell added. “I’ve already spotted two gems online, labeling you a lethal solider who attacked three innocents while intoxicated. Even had a picture of the one kid’s faces you obliterated.”

  “Russ, you know me—would I do some shit like this if it wasn’t necessary? I promise you, if I didn’t do anything, we’d be reading ‘gems’ about how those three assholes stomped some poor kid in a parking lot.”