《Ravenville》 Prologue: One Hand In The Grave There wasn¡¯t a sound in the principal¡¯s office. Nobody was there, and the place was full of a subtle stillness, the gray of the sky outside casting only a dim light through the window. What little paraphernalia lay on the shelves along the walls was covered in the faintest lair of dust, the kind gained from simply not having been moved in a few months. Papers were neatly organized on the desk that faced the door, several pens arranged in a row in the bottom right corner next to a single polished surgical scalpel. A clock ticked behind the chair, the only thing on the blank beige wall besides a calendar for the year 1995, absent a diploma or pictures to mark some semblance of identity to the room¡¯s owner. Its hands moved, but if there was any ticking, it was swallowed by the silence. The air only moved when a screw fell from the overhead ceiling vent and onto the dark carpeting below with a quiet thump. ¡°I told you to be careful with those.¡± The other three screws fell seconds later with an equally quiet impact, but small fingers grasped the vent cover, holding it in place before gently pulling it up and inside the vent. A figure dropped down, the impact louder but cushioned by the roll they made upon landing. They grabbed one of the chairs from the side of the desk closest to the door and moved it to below the vent, just in time for another to drop down onto it. ¡°I was. Are we really going to put them back in before we go?¡± Michael Jay looked up at his friend from under a fringe of dark hair and let go of the chair. ¡°That¡¯s why we have that attachment on the screwdriver.¡± He looked around, surveying the room, and immediately moved towards the back wall. ¡°There should be more things here.¡± ¡°Okay, yeah, that¡¯s pretty clear.¡± James Donovick, his friend, ran a hand through his own curly hair as he got down. ¡°Aw, man, this shirt¡¯s all dirty.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll wash out.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, dude, that vent was nasty and this shirt¡¯s white. When do you think they cleaned them?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡± Michael looked down at his own sweater, dark enough that stains of any kind just blended in, and back up at the clock. ¡°It¡¯s not ticking.¡± ¡°Do you think it¡¯s fake?¡± ¡°Could just be electronic.¡± James nodded and moved, walking over to where Michael was and shifting the leather office chair over a few inches towards Michael before pulling open several drawers and rifling through them. Michael stood up on the chair, ignoring the creaking as his boots dug into the leather, and gently reached out towards the clock, hands brushing its sides. The second hand was moving, but near-silently, and in perfectly even ticks. A battery powered clock, then. The chair wobbled as Michael removed the clock from the wall, his balance unsure, but the noise was lost in the rustling of papers as James kept digging through the desk. Michael moved the clock behind him and poked James with it, waiting for him to take it out of his hands before returning to the thing on the wall. A stick-on hook to hold the clock in place sat above a tear in the wallpaper, exposing not the cinderblock of the middle school, but a metal door with a dial in here. Michael smiled. ¡°James, look at this.¡± The shuffling of papers paused, and a gasp came out from behind him. ¡°That has to be it.¡± Even without looking, Michael knew he was excited. ¡°That has to be something. Oh, dude, we¡¯re going to be the coolest if we found something big. You, uh, you crack that, and I¡¯ll keep looking.¡± The rustling resumed, and Michael leaned in, shifting his footing for stability. The wallpaper was haphazardly torn around the safe door, as if it had been placed and then crudely removed to give access to the safe, and if he looked he could see the cinderblocks underneath in tiny gaps between metal and wallpaper. Hinges poked out of the metal, and a small divot seemed to be what served as a handle. The door was slightly scratched, worn from minor aging, and the faintest tinge of rust marked the hinges. He reached out and slid his fingers into the divot, pulling out as a test, only to shift the chair a bit as the door opened without any resistance. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Michael felt himself tilt back, only for a set of hands to catch him on his sides. He patted James to let go once he was stable, and the hands moved to hold the chair in place as Michael reached in and removed the small stack of papers inside. He stepped down from the chair and turned, faced with the scattered mess of official school documents all over the desk and floor. He glanced at James, who shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s all about report card filings and people getting in trouble. We¡¯ve heard of everybody that¡¯s in here anyway.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t find anything?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s all pretty normal. Nothing people would get excited about. But let¡¯s see what¡¯s in there!¡± He made a motion like grabbing for the papers, but Michael pulled them away, setting the stack down on the side of the desk further from James before beginning to flip through them. His eyes raced down the papers, taking them in before flipping to the next, dashing through dozens of pages before his actions began to ever slightly slow down, smile beginning to slide from his face. ¡°Anything in there?¡± James asked. Michael shook his head, movements visibly slower now. ¡°No. It¡¯s all just stuff about the school¡¯s budget, and something about hiring new teachers. It¡¯s financial gibberish.¡± ¡°No way, man, there¡¯s got to be something.¡± A few more pages, and Michael stepped back. ¡°No. There¡¯s nothing in there.¡± Silence lingered for a moment, confusion filling the air, and James began digging back through the papers. ¡°No, no, there¡¯s got to be something. He kept this stuff in a hidden safe, and if there were finances there would be an accountant, right? Maybe it¡¯s code or something.¡± ¡°The school system in Ravenville isn¡¯t big enough for an accountant.¡± Michael blinked, a bit of awareness returning to his eyes as he glanced at the clock, his smile now gone. ¡°We should hurry. Lunch is almost over, and the monitors are going to realize something¡¯s off when they don¡¯t see us.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Mrs. Tatie on that today right? We can spare some time.¡± James dropped to his knees, digging through the lower drawers on the desk. ¡°Come on, dude, there has to be something in there. Mr. Peel has to know something.¡± The inexorable tick of the second hand held Michael¡¯s gaze fast for a second longer before he broke off and moved, bending down to pick the vent¡¯s screws back up off the carpet. ¡°No. We need to leave. There¡¯s nothing here.¡± The words were half-whispered, haunted by the shuddering echo of disappointment. James pulled one more drawer out from the desk, reaching in to see if there was anything left inside, and huffed in annoyance at the emptiness within. ¡°Okay, okay,¡± he grumbled, climbing up the chair and taking a breath before jumping up, his hands slamming into the vent with a metal clatter. ¡°We need to come back at some point.¡± ¡°Nothing to come back to,¡± Michael muttered. He slipped the screws into his pocket before standing on the chair and jumping up, grabbing James¡¯s outstretched hand and swinging himself into the vent with relatively less noise. James began moving the vent back into place as soon as Michael was steady within the vent, the thin metal being extended down through the hole and tilted to line back up with the holes on the lower panel of the vent itself. Michael reached down, thinly threading the screws through the grate and into their holes as James¡¯ other hand reached out with the screwdriver and began screwing them back in from behind. ¡°Do you think we should try to go for the high school principal next year?¡± James¡¯s attempts to patch up the silence were hollow in the metallic echoes of the vent. ¡°They might know more. Mr. Peel knows a lot, but if he doesn¡¯t know anything, then we might need to go looking.¡± ¡°If he didn¡¯t know anything, why would anybody else?¡± Michael whispered back. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything to know. If the school was hiding any secrets, we¡¯d have found them.¡± ¡°Well, we still snuck into Mr. Peel¡¯s office.¡± James¡¯s smile was dulled, but still there as he finished with the final screw. ¡°We¡¯re doing pretty well. Everybody¡¯s going to think that we¡¯re so cool after this, Mikey, it¡¯s so worth it.¡± ¡°Yeah, sure.¡± James awkwardly turned and began to crawl away, a quiet thumping coming from his every movement, concealed by the growing clamor of other kids in the halls outside. Michael sat there for a moment longer, staring at the mess of papers through the vents, still searching for something that could be there before turning around himself and moving to follow behind James, his body only going through the motions of stealth. His disappointment sat in the quiet huff of his breath with every movement, looking for any way to express itself. He had hoped for more. Chapter One: Watch Your Footing Two years later. For as often as he got blood on himself, Michael Jay was still very annoyed at how hard it was to get off his boots. He was scrubbing at the soles with a damp paper towel, sitting atop a toilet in the school bathroom and his backpack hung on the hook on the side of the stall. Blood droplets stained the gray tiles beneath him, splatter marks thrown off by the motion. Not enough to pool into a puddle, but still forming a scattershot constellation by the base of the toilet, dimly reflected in shiny porcelain. This, he acknowledged to himself, wasn¡¯t the worst timing. He certainly couldn¡¯t be tracking blood through school, and especially couldn¡¯t show up to lunch looking like this, but it was agreed that his spot for lunch was to be left alone. He could spare a few minutes to clean himself up, even if it meant that he wasn¡¯t going to get to use the bathroom now. He appreciated that they left his lunch seat alone. He didn¡¯t like sitting next to people while he ate. He especially didn¡¯t like these people. There were very few in this school that he would say that he tolerated, but they definitely were not his friends, any of them. Some of them respected him too much for that, and the rest cared too much about things he ultimately didn¡¯t for him to care about them. He paused in wiping the blood off for a second, coming back to himself. He must have been tired to let his thoughts wander so far. He should really be focusing on the blood on his shoe. It was a good thing that it was only on the sole of his boot, Michael knew. If it had gotten onto the tongue or in the laces then it would have stained and been far too obvious and he certainly wasn¡¯t going to scrub it out in the middle of the school day. Not everybody would have noticed, but enough people would have, and he would not have that attention when the blood was not his. If he was going to be noticed for the blood all over him, he would deserve that, but only if it was actually his own fault and not some other fool catching him in the splash. Other people¡¯s sloppy work could be their own undoing. Michael looked up, still scrubbing, and the other student leaning on the wall by the bathroom door, paper towels pressed to his arm to stifle the bleeding. He knew the sweater sleeve was torn beneath it, and that the fabric would be stained enough to require a lot of washing, but he didn¡¯t really care. It wasn¡¯t his problem, nor going to be his problem, and he was okay with that. It kept him alive. ¡°Has it clotted?¡± He asked. The other student lifted the paper towels a bit to glance at the wound and shook his head, pulling another one from the dispenser to layer in. Michael nodded and got back to work. He was almost done, the slow drying process of the blood having made it a little easier to scrape off as opposed to having to chase down droplets rolling away from the pressure of the paper. The towels were damp, and the blood came off all the easier for it. ¡°You¡¯ll need to just go with it if it doesn¡¯t clot soon. If you have a jacket or coat, you can pack the paper towels underneath it.¡± The student nodded. ¡°Okay, but¡­what do I do about him?¡± This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. He pointed with his free hand at the body on the floor, facedown and drooling on the tile with blood speckling the gray hoodie it wore and crusted clumps around the nose. Michael grimaced, keeping his reaction in check to make sure he was still breathing. ¡°Sort it out yourselves.¡± Michael gave his boot one more round of scrubbing and stood back up, eyes focused on the blood on the floor by the man¡¯s face as he took his backpack off the hook. ¡°Be careful that he doesn¡¯t choke.¡± ¡°But isn¡¯t that your thing?¡± Michael tossed the paper towels he was using into the trash and looked at the student. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± ¡°Working out payback, you know.¡± The student shrugged and gestured at the other man on the ground. ¡°Don¡¯t you figure that out between people?¡± The expression of boredom on Michael¡¯s face had not shifted since he had sat down, and it didn¡¯t shift then. ¡°You got into a fight in the bathroom. You can sort this out yourself. You¡¯re not going to bury his body behind the school.¡± He slung the backpack over one shoulder and stepped past the student, back into the hallway and already moving in the direction of the cafeteria. The lights were bright and neither warm nor cold, a yellowed tinge that didn¡¯t convey much when muted behind the plastic sheets over the fluorescent bulbs. Black diamond patterns studded the white linoleum floor, distant chatter the backdrop for every one of Michael¡¯s steps. People respected him too much, but they cared too much about what they respected for. Sometimes they seemed to assume that he was eager to pounce on every rumor that floated around, itching to track down perceived transgressions for a bounty that those same people knew he cared nothing for. It didn¡¯t matter to him. It bored him all the same as everything else in Ravenville. The cafeteria doors had a window above them in the cinderblock wall, a simple mural of a raven sitting atop a bush painted on the glass, the colors faded with age and time and the writing on the banner painted below the bush all but worn out. Michael pushed through them and ignored the teacher on monitor duty nearby, dodging through tables with evenly spaced out students chattering over lunch. A few heads glanced up at him, wondering if something had happened, but he ignored them to go for the table on the far right side of the room, where a pair of students sat on one end and left the other empty. It was a good place for eating in solitude. And there was somebody standing by his spot. It was a girl with brown hair, in a brown knit vest over a plain white shirt and jeans. She was dressed more colorfully than him, he knew, with his black t-shirt and dark gray sweatpants. She looked like she got less sun than he did, though, and he kept his look flat as he moved to sit down. ¡°Can I ask you some questions?¡± She said. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and slid his backpack off, unzipping it to reach inside for his lunch bag. ¡°My name¡¯s Sarah Victor,¡± she continued at the lack of response. ¡°I¡¯d like to ask you a few questions, and talk to you about something.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to do something for the newspaper, I¡¯m not interested.¡± He dropped the bag onto the table. ¡°I¡¯d like to eat my lunch, please.¡± ¡°We can talk while you eat, it¡¯s okay. Would you rather be called Michael or Mike?¡± She sat down opposite him, a metal water bottle in one hand and a lunchbox in the other. ¡°Michael,¡± he replied. ¡°Now please let me go.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be quick.¡± She waved the hand with the lunchbox. ¡°I just have a few questions about violence.¡± Chapter Two: Sanguine Subjects Michael stared at her for a second, and then looked back down at the paper bag that held his lunch. ¡°I¡¯m not interested.¡± ¡°I promise I¡¯m not trying to ask you anything for a paper or for anybody. I just want to ask you something.¡± Sarah looked undeterred, even though Michael was barely giving her any attention. ¡°It¡¯s closer to a few somethings, but I¡¯d like your opinion on it more than anyone.¡± ¡°Why do you care about my opinion?¡± He knew a few people were looking over now, either because of how late he was or something he was forgetting about Sarah. Whichever one was irrelevant. He just wanted to get to the sandwich in the bag. ¡°Because you know Ravenville better than most, and I want your opinion on it. How it is, how it isn¡¯t, what you like about it.¡± She tried for a knowing smile, and only ended up with an annoying smirk. ¡°Anything that might make you think it¡¯s not worth it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not worth it,¡± he grunted past a bite of the sandwich. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re asking me. I don¡¯t have any secrets that you can¡¯t hear from other people.¡± ¡°But they¡¯re not you, and I want to know what you, Michael Jay, think.¡± Michael paused, for a second, chewing, and then shrugged. ¡°No.¡± Sarah¡¯s smile was starting to falter a bit. ¡°Oh, come on, there¡¯s got to be something that grinds your gears?¡± ¡°Why would I?¡± The sandwich was done, and he got started on the granola bar inside the bag. ¡°I don¡¯t care enough for it to annoy me.¡± Her smile disappeared, replaced with a much more skeptical expression. ¡°You have more kills than most of the upperclassmen combined, nobody¡¯s ever found any of your bodies, and you¡¯re the go-to person for sorting out the payback rule. How do you not care about any of this?¡± The granola bar crunched very loudly in his mouth, giving a bit of a pause before he answered. ¡°The payback rule was not something I was actually trying for. It just happened, and I ended up in this position. I¡¯m just here because I¡¯m here. That¡¯s really it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s anticlimactic.¡± He shrugged again, limp and without energy. Her reaction to his answers was written all over his face, but the confusion and disappointment didn¡¯t both him much. ¡°Do you not¡­care about Ravenville?¡± She asked. ¡°If you don¡¯t care then why are you still here? Don¡¯t you want to try to understand why this place is why it is?¡± Her voice had grown a little more hushed, a little less confident, and Michael snuck a look around. More people were watching now, trying to look like they weren¡¯t, and the handful that could pay attention all snapped their heads away to pretend like they weren¡¯t looking. It was far from a silent cafeteria all staring at one point, but he could tell people were expecting something for some reason. ¡°What¡¯s the point in that?¡± He replied, once he was looking at Sarah again. ¡°It isn¡¯t going to make anything in here more interesting.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not going to go looking for anything?¡± ¡°I doubt there¡¯s anything that could make this,¡± he gestured lazily around himself, ¡°any less boring.¡± Sarah looked at him with dismay, and he crushed up the bag, waiting to see if she was going to say anything else. She didn¡¯t, and he waited a moment for the bell to ring, a sharp metal rattling that echoed through the cafeteria even above the sounds of everybody standing up and moving out the doors. He threw the backpack back over his shoulder and followed the crowd, tossing the crumpled bag into the trash can by the door as he went along. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. She certainly had some sort of plan that she wanted his input on. Perhaps she was planning an especially dramatic kill, on somebody in administration. Clearly she didn¡¯t care for popularity, but it really didn¡¯t matter. Hopefully, she would leave him alone now that she¡¯d gotten answers that she didn¡¯t appreciate. He didn¡¯t want his lunch being interrupted again. He wouldn¡¯t kill her, obviously, but she would only be getting stonewalled until she just finally let him be. There was a decent amount of time that he had before the next class really started, even after the bell rang, and that was time he could afford for an actual bathroom break. The knocked-out man was already gone, but the blood still lingered as a dark stain on the tiles, already crusty and dried. A few flakes snapped off as he stepped towards the stall, and a few minutes later he was right back out of the bathroom, crushed powder gone and falling off onto the linoleum. It wasn¡¯t his problem. He didn¡¯t care about what she wanted. Honestly, today, he just wanted to be out. He was already done with this school for today. Nothing interesting had happened, just the same as usual. A fight shed blood for no real reason, he was assumed to be involved for an arbitrary cause, and he had to waste time cleaning himself up. Some parts were less common, but it was more of the same, more of what every day was like. He wasn¡¯t a fan of it at all. Hopefully something new, or at least less boring, would happen after school. Maybe he¡¯d find something while going shopping for snacks. He knew it wouldn¡¯t be in school, just going by the air from when he¡¯d walked in the classroom. Half of the kids in here were already beginning to fall asleep, and the rest had looks of concentration like they were planning out their events for tonight, using the map of the world pinned to the wall as a stand-in for whatever maps of Ravenville were drawn in the backs of notebooks or tucked into binders. They couldn¡¯t take them out to check now, just because of the teacher standing at the front of the room, reciting what was on her clipboard. ¡°I know not all of you want to go to college,¡± she said. ¡°And that¡¯s okay. There are many very good reasons that one might not want to go to college, whether that¡¯s to go into trade work or to return to a family business. If you don¡¯t want to do that, then remember, there¡¯s plenty of places in Ravenville that you can use to keep yourself career ready¡­¡± Michael quietly checked out, thinking about nothing in particular besides the shopping list he had written back at home. Everybody else was bored. He was bored. Clearly, Sarah hadn¡¯t been bored, but she¡¯d been too excited for something she must have known was never coming. He wasn¡¯t going to indulge random questions that assumed he was the lord of everything bloody in Ravenville. So there he sat, in a classroom with white walls dappled with little specks of black paint and gaps in the material, a handful of maps of the world and posters about history pinned or taped to the walls while the teacher spoke on under harsh lights about a college most people in here weren¡¯t giving any thought to, thinking about something completely disconnected. It was so, so boring in here. He hoped there would be something, anything to make things even a bit more interesting. Maybe there wouldn¡¯t be. He didn¡¯t quite know what would do it, but he knew things were reaching a terminal point of boredom. He looked over the side of the desk, double-checking that there wasn¡¯t any blood left on his boots. There was a small speck of dried blood stuck to the side of one, and he rubbed it off with the other, turning it all to a little pile of powder that fell to the carpeted floor. It took five seconds of trying to pick out tiny grails of red-brown powder from the carpet the color of twilight approaching midnight for Michael to realize it was a fruitless endeavor at entertainment, resigning himself to listening to the rest of this class talking about the distant future of college applications and perhaps judging the reactions of others. There wouldn¡¯t be much point to it, but he could practice picking out facial tics, or testing his ability to see where people kept their weapons. One girl¡¯s brass knuckles were nearly falling out of her purse, it was so painfully obvious. He didn¡¯t really need to know what people thought from their reactions. Nobody was giving the teacher much attention, nobody was giving college much attention. They weren¡¯t planning for it anyway. Just the same, every day. Chapter Three: Defiance In The Dark The sun went down early in Ravenville. It hovered behind the woods west of town, casting the threetops into black silhouette against the twilight blue sky. Shades of violet loomed above, slowly seeping across the horizon as the last of light fled into the forest, leaving windows and doorways as the bastions left behind. Streetlights dotted the stretch of road splitting the rows and rows of similar suburbs, beacons like unbuffed topaz in the fields and patches of trees, illuminating patches of the road in a way that fell just short of being warm. Michael kept his eyes on the road as he drove past streetlight after streetlight, pools of yellow light washing over his car before dropping it back into darkness for a few seconds, until he passed beneath the next one. It was dark, and dinner would soon be ready back at home, but he wanted to get some snacks sooner rather than later. The snack cabinet had run empty only a few days ago, but a few tests were coming up, and a small stash to fuel him through that couldn¡¯t hurt. The road was empty as he went along, barren of animals and debris. The first leaves were only beginning to fall, and even if it wasn¡¯t the time of year that the sun fully set in the mid-afternoon, it didn¡¯t matter that much when it would always fall away behind the woods with no mind paid to the season. So the only shadows on the road was the one cast by his car and the edges of the streetlight¡¯s glow, purely the illusion of contrast making the pavement seem just a little bit darker. There were shortcuts that he could use to get to the store sooner, back paths by the schools or side roads north of where he lived, but those were more meant for subtlety, and even if they were sooner, it wasn¡¯t worth looking for unmarked passages over a bag of Doritos and some Cheez-its. He wanted to get back home before dinner turned to leftovers, so consistency took place over uncertain expediency. The convenience store was one of the smaller stores, tucked between the handful of other shopping venues that Ravenville had and sticking out a few gas pumps into the chilly dusk air. Michael parked the car out front, in the glow of the backlit plastic sign mounted above the doorway, green and white plastic marred by scratches and grit and crowned on the top border with scratches in the shape of bird talons. He was one of the only ones in the lot then, with one other sedan all the way at the end of the row and a few more by the dumpster behind and to the side of the store. Likely whoever was working in the store, then. It was nearly empty inside the convenience store, no chatter between employees, and no customers to fill the air. Michael grabbed his snacks off the shelf in silence, the quiet electric thrum of the lights covering the background as the snacks shook around in his grip and he swiped them under the scanner. A bill tossed to the cashier, and he was out with his snacks. Back at home in ten minutes, probably less. He would have been, if he hadn¡¯t heard the sound of ripping paper off to the side upon exiting. Michael turned his head to see Sarah again, tearing away posters taped to the walls of the convenience store. They seemed to be job advertisements, a phone number visible on one scrap lying on the ground, but the rest of the text was obliterated by her attempts to tear the paper down. She was destroying all of them, either going for the corners to take them down in one piece or just tearing them off the wall in fragments, leaving them in pieces before tossing them to the ground. She pulled the last poster down and ripped it up in her hands, letting the shredded remains fall to the ground. Michael didn¡¯t say anything, merely watching her in place before she turned to face him with a startled look on her face. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°Do you have something to say now?¡± She asked, voice thin from catching her breath. If she was asking, then he would answer, to see what she thought. ¡°Your form was poor,¡± he replied. ¡°You put too much effort into it, and took far too long to execute a fairly small task. You would have done better if you had used both hands to tackle separate pieces of paper and thrown them all away at once, or if you had recruited a partner to keep an eye out while you took some extra time.¡± She stared at him, baffled, and he took that as a signal to continue. ¡°Your coverage of eyewitnesses was poor as well, as that partner could have kept an eye out for employees or anybody that might want to try to catch you off-guard, or the security cameras. One is right there,¡± he stuck his free thumb over his shoulder at said camera mounted on the other end of the front wall, ¡°and it almost certainly saw you. The manager may not know who you are, but he would certainly recognize your face, and could ask somebody that works here to identify you. This store¡¯s been targeted before, and to my memory the manager doesn¡¯t mess around, so you would be running a fairly high risk if you ever wanted to try this again, much less anything serious.¡± A thought struck him then, and he paused, mulling the concept over in his head. Her reaction had been entertaining to watch so far, and he was going to be devastatingly bored in the weeks to come if the first month and a half of the semester had been an accurate prediction. Perhaps he could keep himself busy somehow. ¡°If you¡¯re interested, I could teach you how to do things properly,¡± he offered. ¡°How to stay hidden, how to properly plan, some of the more neglected principles besides the application of immediate-term violence. I know that your primary questions were about what I think of Ravenville, so if you care so much about this place, then you could benefit from learning how to survive here.¡± Sarah stopped and shook her head, pressing her lips together in disagreement. ¡°I don¡¯t care about Ravenville. I don¡¯t want to be some bloodthirsty killer that just kills people for the sake of it and for party invites or whatever they pass around in there. I don¡¯t care about what they do in the night, and I don¡¯t want to care. Leave me out of it.¡± She huffed and waved her hands at the ground around her. ¡°I didn¡¯t even tear these things down because I wanted the credit for it. They just¡­they made me mad. It¡¯s like a trap for the people that don¡¯t want to go to college, telling them that they¡¯re fine, they can stay, but it¡¯s all anybody says. Like they want people to come here and get stuck instead of doing anything else with their lives.¡± A moment of silence hung in the parking lot before she looked back up at him with a gleam of conviction in her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s why I want to leave. As soon as I can.¡± Michael made a noise of acknowledgement. ¡°Is that what you were trying to ask me?¡± ¡°To see if you agreed with me, yeah.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Nobody really does.¡± He didn¡¯t care. Whether she wanted to leave or not wasn¡¯t something that weighed on his mind at all. It meant she had some motivation, though, to try and survive until whatever plan she did have turned out to work. Leaving was certainly a drastic goal, too. Nobody ever really left Ravenville. Even if they did for some reason, they¡¯d always come back eventually. It was just how it was. But if she wanted to, then she could certainly try. ¡°The offer still stands,¡± he said. ¡°If you want to survive until you can leave, it¡¯s still on the table. Must be some good motivation for you.¡± Sarah was silent again, staring at him with shaded and steeled eyes, just the two of them in the parking lot with crickets chirping in the distance and the muted rush of cars moving through the air as people went to and from the other stores. It was like she was judging him, trying to find out if he was leading her on or baiting her into an easy kill. If she¡¯d been really paying attention she would have known that he wouldn¡¯t have actually cared enough about that to put so much work into it. ¡°Let me know what you decide.¡± He turned and opened his car door, tossing the snacks into the passenger seat before climbing in himself and starting the engine. He was out of the parking lot and speeding back towards home in a handful of minutes, not a glance cast at whatever Sarah was doing. He didn¡¯t know what she was thinking, but if she did end up deciding, then it could be good. He hadn¡¯t taught anybody before, James had handled himself solidly well to the point where he hadn¡¯t needed to show him any tricks to keep him alive and safe. It was time to worry about snacks. He¡¯d see what Sarah wanted in the morning. Chapter Four: Morning Lessons It was starting to get cold before school started. Michael couldn¡¯t quite see his breath yet, standing outside the building with an egg sandwich in hand far before the day actually started, but it was on the way there. The first frost of the season couldn¡¯t be far off, and even if the sandwich was warm, he knew that soon he¡¯d need to be careful with how much time he spent outside when the sun was down. Everybody else clearly agreed, with how few people were lingering outside. That would probably help. If Sarah decided to show up, it would be easier to not look as suspicious. That was assuming she would show up. He hoped she would, if only to make this interesting somehow. He took another bite from the sandwich, taking in the chill. The sun was up and shining, but it was still cold, a thin layer of fog covering the ground in moisture and the parking lot in the smell of rain. Cars were slowly trickling in, either dropping students off or being parked by said students, and the one bus that ran through town was just arriving. A standard start of the day. Uneventful. Not one he¡¯d typically be paying much attention to, but he had something that might keep him interested. If it worked out to be like that. The last bite of the sandwich went down as he noticed Sarah walking over to him, bundled up in a coat and her head held high. He balled up the bag and stuck it in his pocket, waiting for her answer to yesterday¡¯s announcement. ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± she said as soon as she got in earshot. ¡°I want to know whatever you¡¯ve got to teach me. I want to actually survive until I leave, and there¡¯s a lot that I still need to do before I go.¡± ¡°That was a long answer to just say yes.¡± She scoffed. ¡°It matters when you need to be clear. I don¡¯t want to engage with this stupid scheme or stupid any more than I want to, and I don¡¯t want you to think that I¡¯m going to get myself involved in anything at all that doesn¡¯t get me out of here.¡± Michael shrugged and turned, walking off towards the small back lot behind the school. He didn¡¯t need to gesture for Sarah to follow him, but she did anyway, and he cut her off before she could say something again. ¡°I don¡¯t actually care why you¡¯re leaving, or even really that you are. I¡¯m not here for a deep discussion of all the reasons you hate Ravenville. I¡¯m here to keep myself busy, and right now, that¡¯s teaching you.¡± He stopped in the middle of the concrete lot, a dumpster behind him and trash bags lying by the backdoor to the school. ¡°And the first step is seeing how much you can fight.¡± She cocked her head at him. ¡°I thought this was about things like body disposal.¡± ¡°In order to be able to dispose of a body, you need to be able to kill one. Violence is the fundamental feature underpinning everything here. I assume you have a weapon on you now?¡± Sarah grimaced, reaching inside her coat and keeping it there. ¡°I always keep it on me. I haven¡¯t had to use it yet, but it¡¯s mine.¡± She clearly didn¡¯t like having it, but there was something in her voice that made her seem glad she hadn¡¯t ever used it. A rarity, he supposed. ¡°Good. You should keep spares, it¡¯ll make it more difficult for them to track you if you have disposables. But it¡¯s good that you have one.¡± He nodded. ¡°How are you with it?¡± ¡°I¡¯m solid,¡± she replied immediately. ¡°I¡¯ve practiced. I think I could hold my own for a bit in a fight, at least.¡± He believed her. There was enough confidence that she was probably as capable as she sounded, but the underselling showed an understanding of her limits. It could be the sort that happened when you wanted to look humble but really did think higher of yourself, he knew there were a lot of people that did that here, but Sarah seemed genuine. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°That¡¯s really all you need,¡± he said. ¡°As long as you can be sure you won¡¯t be killed by any random person you walk into. There will always be people that are threats to you, but the skill ceiling only goes so high in a fight.¡± ¡°Unless you¡¯re you?¡± She prodded. He didn¡¯t respond to that. ¡°There will always be a chance you die, but not dying is a low bar to cross. I believe you when you say that you¡¯re good, but it¡¯s important to assess your weaknesses.¡± None of the school¡¯s windows faced towards the back lot, and he knew that the staff wouldn¡¯t be emptying out any of the trash cans before lunch. It was a good place for a lot of things. Certainly not a murder or a substantial planning session, but for a short fight, the trash-dotted stretch of pavement, covered in a low haze burning away under the rising morning sun, it was ideal. Michael¡¯s knife glinted in the light as he pulled it out from the hidden holster at the small of his back, the sharpened edge stealing the light from the black metal of the blade and shimmering a silver gray like freezing clouds. He kept it sharp, in the edge case he¡¯d need to use it on the spot, like right now. Sarah flinched back immediately. ¡°Wh¨Cno! Why are we fighting?¡± ¡°Because I need to assess your weaknesses,¡± he answered. ¡°I want to be able to shore up any of your problems with fighting before we begin addressing the other things I want to teach you.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t I just tell you what my problems are? Do we need to have a knife fight in the dumpsters before class?¡± ¡°The best way to tell what your weaknesses are is to have somebody else tell you. They¡¯ll be unbiased and honest. I certainly would be. This wouldn¡¯t even be a serious fight, you¡¯d walk out almost entirely unharmed.¡± ¡°I¨CI¨Cabsolutely not.¡± ¡°Why not, then?¡± ¡°Because I don¡¯t want to!¡± Sarah¡¯s hands were back outside her coat and raised in shocked surrender. ¡°There¡¯s way easier ways to figure out what I need to work on or how I can improve myself, we don¡¯t need to fight over it.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t be violence-averse in Ravenville.¡± It was a pretty simple fact. ¡°I told you that I don¡¯t want to become some bloodthirsty fighter.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a test.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight.¡± Michael stared at her for a moment longer, judging her with a blank face, before sighing and sliding the knife back into the holster. If she didn¡¯t want to fight, fine. There were other things to worry about anyway. Disregarding active, intentional plans, being able to cover up reactions or spin things well would keep her alive anyway. ¡°Okay.¡± She was alert at his first words, and he took a moment to consider what to say before speaking. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to fight, then we¡¯ll move on to other subjects. Hiding evidence, searching places, how to avoid direct fights while still achieving results. If you don¡¯t want to engage in a direct clash, you should still know how to get what you want without needing to commence a frontal assault. Is that more palatable to you?¡± Sarah nodded. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s good.¡± ¡°Good. Meet me back here on Monday then.¡± He looked to check his watch, and gestured towards her with the other hand. ¡°We¡¯ve got about three minutes before class starts, so if you want to start hurrying, I would say now is the time.¡± She did, taking off at between a jog and a run towards the main door, and he followed behind at a leisurely stroll. The fog was totally gone now, withered away as the morning marched on, and he had something of a plan. It was only Thursday, which left him with plenty of time to come up with something resembling a lesson plan for whatever Sarah would need explained on Monday. It wasn¡¯t something he was familiar with, or any sort of hobby, but it might keep him entertained for a bit. He knew that was probably all he could ask for. Chapter Five: Goodnight Socialite Michael wasn¡¯t truly sure why he¡¯d chosen to spend his Saturday night here. The party was loud and cacophonous, two dozen people in one small house pressed up against the edge of the woods, and there were almost certainly more that he hadn¡¯t counted from where he was standing just outside the front door. It was a not insignificant portion of the class, and he at least knew the names of most people there. But the music was already loud, the scent of alcohol was already in the air, and he was certain he¡¯d find a broken window upon entering. ¡°Are you nervous, man?¡± Michael looked over, and frowned. ¡°No. I¡¯m just unsure of why I¡¯m here.¡± James smiled at him, looking tremendously out of place in pale jeans and a white T-shirt with a graphic of a cat on it, considering that everybody else was in much darker outfits with more pockets and an extra layer. ¡°It¡¯s perfect. We could stand to be a bit more popular, there¡¯s a lot of people here, all we need to do is impress them and we¡¯ll be getting invites in no time.¡± ¡°Then how did you get this invite?¡± ¡°Oh, uh, Larry gave one to everybody in third period. He didn¡¯t say anything about bringing friends, but I know a few others were going to come, and, you know, nobody was going to fight you anyway.¡± James looked hopeful, but Michael didn¡¯t share the feeling. Social politics were not things that he had any particular interest in, especially the sort that James was always so fixated on. He had somewhat hoped that James had wanted to simply go to a party to just hang out without any sort of deeper plan, but evidently not. A nudge on his elbow, and James was pulling him into the house, the music instantly doubling in volume. Shrill guitars clashed against his ears, mixing with the chatter of what Michael counted to be thirty-one teenagers beginning to toe the line from tipsy to drunk. The pungent scent of alcohol was in his face no matter how subtle everybody might be trying to be, hanging from the air and dribbling from people¡¯s breaths. James¡¯s pull on his arm was insistent, dragging him down the hall and past the living room packed full of partygoers. The handful of dark looks thrown at him escaped his notice, but they didn¡¯t escape Michael¡¯s, even if most people missed that he was there. The few that did see him wore expressions of confusion, silently inquiring why he would be at something that at this point most people knew he was unlikely to be at, but he just ignored them. Their questions were not his problem, nor did he care enough to answer them. James was clearly on a mission, ignoring the back porch filled with people fiddling with razors or switchblades and going for the stairs to the house¡¯s basement. A good call, Michael decided, going by the already immense number of empty cans and crumpled plastic cups littering the floor. The probability was split between the settling of a drunken bet or an imminent fight, and while he had no problem with either, James certainly would, or at least would have the inclination to do something foolish. He did that frequently. The door to the basement steps were open, and unfinished wood creaked under one pair of boots and one pair of sneakers. James led the way, releasing Michael¡¯s arm and proudly descending the steps as if he had nothing to fear. Michael took the room in, eyes returning to James¡¯s back after each sweep just to make sure he wouldn¡¯t be suddenly stuck by something sharp. The walls were bare, wooden beams exposed, and the concrete floor was dusty and cracked one spot like something hard had been slammed into it repeatedly. Larry did like to use baseball bats, he knew. At least he had cleaned up the stains. The host himself was on a beanbag in the center of the room, next to a couch and a few chairs full of people. Nowhere near as many as upstairs, only six or so, but all attention was fixed on the center of the couch, where a tall, handsome man with orange-brown hair in a leather jacket was telling some complicated story. And approaching the bloody punchline. James stopped at the edge of the group and put his hands in his pockets, waiting for the end, but Michael lingered a bit behind him. Not beyond the length of a quick dash forward, but hopefully far enough to not be roped into anything. ¡°So there I am, scrubbing off the cleaver with water from the garage hose, and I¡¯m trying to be quick because she¡¯s going to start stinking up the bathroom real soon. Brad¡¯s coming with the car, but he doesn¡¯t want any blood on the seats, so I need to get this thing cleaned fast. And then what happens? My goddamn dad walks in to see me trying to clean a meat cleaver with rolled-up sleeves and over a bucket of red-stained water. You know what he says? You know what he says next? ¡°¡®Has it rusted already?¡¯¡± The group on the couch erupted into laughter, and James did too, just long enough for the man to take a sip of his drink and keep going. ¡°He asks me if the cleaver¡¯s rusted when I¡¯m standing over a bucket of blood and there¡¯s a chopped up body cooling in my shower that I haven¡¯t even bagged yet! I just say yes and he hands me some steel wool before going back inside. Imagine that shit! God. I ended up just tossing the cleaver with the body when I buried it, I didn¡¯t want to see that in my kitchen again. Now that would be a horror story.¡± He finally finished, leaning back in the couch and giving James a smile. ¡°Shit, James, when did you get here?¡± ¡°Just now. How are you, Ken?¡± Ken Sootworth¡¯s smile turned to an outright grin as he raised his cup to James, saluting. ¡°Fan-fuckin-tastic. They still haven¡¯t even reported Alexa missing yet, if you can believe that. Not that I had anything to do with her going missing, at all, obviously. How about you?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been alright. I haven¡¯t been involved with anybody¡¯s disappearances lately either, but, you know,¡± he wiggled his hand, ¡°I actually haven¡¯t. I was wondering if you had anything to do with Alexa.¡± Stolen novel; please report. ¡°I mean, I won¡¯t say good hunch or bad hunch, but pretty good hunch. Not like anybody¡¯s going to claim payback for that, I¡¯ve only told the people in this room. Shame that you haven¡¯t had anything fun happen to you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got plans.¡± James glanced at the chairs to see if there was an open seat, and upon seeing that there weren¡¯t any, took a few steps forward and leaned in. ¡°I figured out where the Sydney¡¯s cash box is. It¡¯s a pretty easy break-in, if you just wait for them to close¨C¡± ¡°Cash box?¡± Ken cut him off. ¡°Dude, you¡¯ve got to go harder than a cash box. That¡¯s kind of light work, y¡¯know?¡± ¡°Alright, alright, fair.¡± James nodded like he was not actually listening. ¡°I mean, I know a couple other safes around town, some stashes, you know. If you really want to try and get something good, there¡¯s a delivery for the grocery store in a few days that you can grab some booze off of.¡± Ken looked around, like he was taking in the opinions of his friends, but Michael knew that he would have already made up his mind. It was going to be a no, and he had a solid hunch on why. ¡°James, I¡¯m gonna be honest. That¡¯s just the easy shit. Break-ins take work, yeah, but it¡¯s not¡­you know. It¡¯s not it. If you want to go hard, you¡¯ve got to go hard, and you can¡¯t just keep digging up simple wins.¡± A nod from James, his mouth curled like he had eaten something disgusting. ¡°Alright. Yeah, that¡¯s, that¡¯s fair. Don¡¯t suppose I could ask for a tag-along?¡± One of Ken¡¯s friends barked out a laugh, but Ken waved him down, taking a sip from his drink as he did. ¡°Honestly, nah, sorry. We¡¯ve got to make sure we¡¯ve got the good people in case it all explodes out in some terrible way, it pays to be careful.¡± He tilted his head back to look over James¡¯s shoulder, right at Michael. ¡°But the invitation to you still stands, you know.¡± Michael shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not interested.¡± ¡°Still? Really?¡± ¡°Still.¡± Ken sighed and threw an arm across the couch, lounging back into it. ¡°Let me know if you ever change your mind. I¡¯d love to watch you work sometime.¡± ¡°Noted.¡± James was still standing there, just on the edge of the group, barely peeking over his shoulder to look at Michael. Michael shook his head, and anything left in his posture deflated. He turned to face him, and Michael just headed back up the stairs. He heard Ken yell something at James behind him, inviting him to stick around and have fun, but he didn¡¯t actually want to know. Conversations with Ken were never entertaining, but more than that, it was annoying. The last five times they had spoken, it had ended with Ken asking him to come along on something and him always shutting Ken down. He was beginning to suspect that it was all he thought about, but the incessant nature was beginning to get on his nerves. Really, it already had, he decided as he turned at the top of the stairs and headed for the back porch. It was all Ken ever wanted, and it was infuriating. But Michael knew he wouldn¡¯t achieve anything from stewing around and wondering why Ken was so fixated on him, so he opened the backdoor to the porch and hopped the railing, heading for the woods. A walk could help him blow off some steam, and he had walked there anyway, so he could easily walk himself back. Any thoughts of rumination or contemplation were cut off when he noticed a break in the bushes at the treeline. Somebody seemed to have had the same idea. Morbid curiosity overtook him as he carefully stepped through the gap, following the obvious trail in the sticks and grass. This would have been a strange place to go and sneak off with somebody at, and an even stranger one for deadlier schemes. It was too crowded, and everybody here was here for the purposes of a party, not through some sort of murder plot. But that also made it the ideal opportunity to pull off a very bold stunt, which would probably appeal to a lot of the people here. Such as Ken. Or James. As Michael plowed on, he noticed the space between the footprints getting longer and longer, and the footprints themselves getting slightly lighter. An attempt to be stealthy, making less noise less often. A good trick if you had space to sneak up on a target, and without blinking, Michael began matching the tracks step for step. If whoever had made these had been sneaking up on somebody, it would do well for him to do the same. And they certainly had been sneaking up on somebody very recently. The wood inside the broken sticks was still bright, free of dirt and full of moisture. The footprints hadn¡¯t filled in or been covered over yet, not even by small breezes, but most damningly of all, he hadn¡¯t seen any animals yet. It would have made more sense if he were closer to the party, but this far away, out of earshot, sight, and scent of the party, something else had to have scared them off. Like somebody moving through not long ago. A sudden light cut through the trees, a blazing sun¡¯s glow severed into strips of white and black by the tall, thin trees of the forest. There was the sound of movement as the light bounced, a slamming of something heavy, and then a blur of shadow sprinting past the light before a scream of fear rang out. Michael moved, quicker but still quiet, approaching the scene and reaching for his knife. He was right, somebody was trying to pull something off. He must have been just behind them, closer than he thought. He could hear grunts of effort now, and had eyes on a clearing with a car in it, a larger sedan with the headlights on that had just pulled up. He stepped out from the trees right as he heard a wet shlick, loud and forceful, followed by a groan that tapered off into silence. He knew that noise. Two steps around the car, into the headlights, and he saw the result. Sarah Victor stood, panting, half bent over and her hand wrapped around a push dagger buried in a boy¡¯s chest. Blood drenched the sleeve of her dress shirt, all the way up to her elbows and dripping off of the hand clutching the weapon. Her other hand, equally covered in blood, released his jacket collar and let him slowly fall to the ground, meat slipping off the dagger with ease. More blood soaked her, splashed in her hair like dye vivid even in the dark, but none of it was hers. She looked up, seeing him in the headlights, half his body made more pale than he always was by the glow of the light and the other half cast in total shadow, a phantom in hiding clothes, and her eyes widened. She tried to stammer something in shock, but no words came out. Michael could tell what had happened here. The hatchet lying by the dead boy¡¯s hand made it clear. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± He asked. She shook her head, shaking and blinking rapidly. He nodded, and walked over, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a pair of dark leather gloves that he only used for one purpose. She looked at him like he had just pulled a gun on her, and he shook his head. ¡°We¡¯ll start earlier than expected,¡± he said. ¡°Lesson one: how to hide a body.¡± Chapter Six: Wash It Down ¡°Okay, keep washing. No, don¡¯t vomit no¨C¡± ¡°...sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Oh, god¨C¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay, just keep washing yourself off.¡± Sarah slowly nodded, shivering in the cold night air, and Michael handed the hose back to her. Water was actively spilling from it, and she aimed it at the grass to dilute down the vomit that was steaming between her sneakers. It faded, and she handed the hose back to Michael with shaking hands, who took it and held it above her as she began scrubbing away at the blood still staining her hands. The two of them were standing in Sarah¡¯s backyard, her hose plugged into the spigot to get her cleaned off and the dead boy¡¯s body buried just inside the woods, not too far away. The moon was high and the air was cold, though Sarah¡¯s shivering wasn¡¯t from the temperature. She¡¯d held it together through Michael loading the body into her trunk and driving her to a burial spot, but around when he had shoved the body into the hole face down, something had connected, and she had sobbed her way through the burial before going nearly catatonic on the drive back. She hadn¡¯t made a grab for her dagger or tried to attack him, but the swings between crying, staring out the window, and mumbling to herself on how she was innocent had been concerning. Michael hadn¡¯t taken care of anybody fresh off a first kill before. It was novel. But he understood. There was a difference between hearing everybody talk about what they had done, between knowing that some of your friends would never be seen again, and then being the cause of those very things. Of being at ground zero of an ultimately monumental event. He sympathized. He hadn¡¯t been there for a long while, but it had been a fearful time. Though he had avoided getting soaked in hose water in his backyard. It was mostly to avoid contamination, as one of the few questions he¡¯d been able to pry from Sarah had been a confirmation that she didn¡¯t have anything that would clean bloodstains out of a shower, nor clean her clothes. He had taken her up on that offer in order to get her to stop crying, because he had been navigating the backroads at the time, and he¡¯d have to clean off some of his own clothes anyway. She had struck him right in the heart, and there had been a lot of leakage. She was starting to get more water on her shirt than blood, frantically scrubbing her hands through her hair to try and get the dried blood out. It was clinging to stray strands, clumped between her fingers and all through what had been smoothly brushed hair before the panic had struck. He was doing his best to hold the hose out in front of her, so the water wouldn¡¯t just drench all of her clothes, but her shaking and constant shifting between keeping her hair out in front of her and just letting it fall down her back. There was mumbling under the burble of the water, something she was doing to desperately keep herself focused and grounded. Hopefully it would help with that. The relative quiet was broken by the sound of a car rolling into the driveway, the engine low and the movements gradual. No headlights shone around the side of the house, nor did anybody call out a name, and Michael turned to see Sarah freeze up, water pouring through her hands. ¡°Is that your parents?¡± He asked. She shook her head, eyes wide. Her lip began to tremble, and he gently set the hose down away from her, patting her on the shoulder with his free hand. ¡°I¡¯ll go check it out. You stay here and turn off the water. Okay?¡± She nodded, shaking as she reached for the spigot, and Michael turned to creep off towards the car. The lack of headlights was something in his favor, shrouding him in darkness as he crept along the side of the house as silently as he could. The grass was dry here, and he had avoided getting his shoes wet from the hose, leaving his steps quiet and the only other noise the quiet rumble of the car¡¯s engine. It cut off all of a sudden, and he heard the doors swing open before being slammed shut, multiple people¡¯s footsteps scuffing on the driveway up towards the door. There were hushed whispers, and he could pick up on them as he crept up to the front of the house, barely visible between the shadows. ¡°...see her car, but that doesn¡¯t mean anything. Maybe she¡¯s in the garage.¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s stupid. She wasn¡¯t there for a reason. She would have just said no if she hadn¡¯t wanted to come.¡± ¡°Or, like, she ditched you. Because she doesn¡¯t like you.¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t like anybody.¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be that weird, yeah.¡± ¡°No, no, she would have been there. Even if she didn¡¯t like me or not, she would have been there, you get it? She definitely would have been there. So clearly something¡¯s happened.¡± ¡°She could have driven somewhere else. All that we know is we didn¡¯t see the car at the party¨C¡± ¡°Yeah I fucking know we didn¡¯t see her car at the party, dumbass, that¡¯s why we¡¯re here, to see where the nerd is. Duh. Get the fuckin memo.¡± Silence for a moment, before the whispering resumed below more footsteps. They weren¡¯t audible anymore, but they were there, discussing something in quieted tones that Michael had a hunch about. He didn¡¯t know who was at Sarah¡¯s house so late, at what had to be nearing midnight, but some of the voices sounded familiar enough that he was getting an idea of who was here. The why was still unclear, but that wasn¡¯t something to worry about, realistically. They would have to go if he wanted to wrap this up with Sarah and get home at the last dregs of a reasonable hour. So he turned the corner, taking in the four people standing in the light of the lamp by Sarah¡¯s front door, arguing on who should knock first. He ended the argument for them. ¡°What are you all doing here?¡± All four of them jumped in terror, one letting out a startled noise before slapping a hand over his mouth. It was a boy with close-cut blond hair, one with curly brown hair, one with a muddy-brown and greasy ponytail, and one ginger girl, all in dark athletic clothes like they had come from the gym. Or a party. One of the boys, the blond and the biggest, he recognized immediately. ¡°Especially you, Brad. Shouldn¡¯t you be at that party?¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Brad Mansill, in his thick-necked, broad-shouldered body, made a strange sight when he shrugged. It was even stranger when he did such a bad job of looking like he was actually nonchalant. ¡°Nothing. Just, uh, came to check on Sarah.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Michael gave a nod hollow of any real assent or agreement. ¡°It¡¯s a very late time to be coming around to check in on people. Especially those who would realistically be asleep by now.¡± ¡°I, uhh, just wanted to be sure. She didn¡¯t show up to the party tonight.¡± ¡°Larry¡¯s party. Right. Was she invited?¡± ¡°It really¨C¡± One of Brad¡¯s friends tried to speak up, a smile just barely strained at the edges on her face, and he elbowed her in the stomach to shut her up. She doubled over, coughing, trying to recover her breath. Brad looked away from her and back into the dark, staring at the nothing surrounding Michael for a second before finding his silhouette again and focusing on him. ¡°Yeah. I invited her. She didn¡¯t say no at the time. I just wanted to make sure of what she¡¯d done.¡± Michael didn¡¯t buy that for a moment. ¡°Why not call her?¡± ¡°She wasn¡¯t picking up.¡± ¡°So you came to her house at whatever time this is to see if she was still going to drop by your party? It¡¯s late enough that the gas stations are closed. Nobody that isn¡¯t answering their phone isn¡¯t going to suddenly come by a party. And pardon my surprise, but I didn¡¯t see you there tonight.¡± ¡°You were there?¡± Brad made a face like somebody had just ripped the tires off of his car with their bare hands, correcting it after a few seconds. ¡°I, uh, you know, must have been out getting more snacks. They were beginning to run out of drinks, you know.¡± ¡°No they weren¡¯t.¡± Both of Brad¡¯s other friends snickered, cutting the noise off as soon as Brad twitched and darting away from him. Michael stared at the four of them for a moment longer, lazily, picking out the tension in their postures, the nature of their arrival, the little twitches in their faces that made it look like they were about to run, and came to a conclusion. There was something wrong here, but Brad¡¯s inability to form an excuse didn¡¯t interest him. It was somewhat entertaining, but not truly something troubling him or even presenting something like a problem at this point. It was late, they hadn¡¯t done anything, and from what he could tell they hadn¡¯t even come armed. He really didn¡¯t care. He raised a hand and pointed to the car, a specter guiding the not-yet-dead through the dark. ¡°Go,¡± he said, ¡°and get out of here. I don¡¯t know what you came here for, and I don¡¯t care, so leave. Now.¡± They obliged, running to the car and diving back inside as fast as they could. Brad was watching him from the driver¡¯s seat as he jammed the key back in, starting the car as fast as possible and reversing out of the driveway at an irresponsible speed before slamming it back into drive and peeling off down the road, the headlights clicking on he turned a corner out of sight. Michael watched for just a second longer, to see if he was going to try and come back another way, but the darkness of the streets remained unbroken save for the pools of glowing orange cast down and around by the streetlights. They wouldn¡¯t be coming back. He turned, trudging back around the house, and almost grabbed his knife when Sarah stumbled around the corner towards him. ¡°Are they gone? They¡¯re gone, right?¡± She was covered in even more water than last time, but he couldn¡¯t hear the hose running anymore, and she didn¡¯t look like there was any blood still left on her. It was hard to tell in the dark, though. ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± he answered. ¡°You can wrap this up now.¡± Sarah nodded, and nearly slipped as she headed back around the corner. Michael followed her, past the hose and through the backdoor, waiting as she tossed her sneakers into a closet and snuck up the stairs. He followed close behind, matching her steps to avoid creaky patches or unstable steps. She kept her lips pressed together until she¡¯d dug some clothes out of her room and darted into the hallway bathroom, with Michael posted outside and watching. ¡°You should investigate or whatever it is you do,¡± she whispered through the door, faintly audible over the shuffling of clothes. ¡°See what¨Cwhat they wanted. If they had something to do with him. With me. They had to have. They had to have known something.¡± She yanked the door open and shoved her bloody clothes into his arms, her tears dried but eyes still frantic. ¡°They knew something. They had to have. They didn¡¯t call me, Michael, they didn¡¯t tell me it was a party, that girl just told me that they were having a bonfire and I could meet them somewhere. It was there, it was that spot in the woods. She told me to go there.¡± He slowly nodded, gesturing to her bedroom door. ¡°She could have misunderstood. You¡¯re barely coherent, Sarah. You need to go to sleep.¡± She opened the door and immediately spun around, grabbing him by the front of his sweatshirt and pulling him in. Her teeth were chattering again, and her grip was already weakening. He could tell she was running out of steam. ¡°Michael Jay,¡± she began, one hand releasing him to wipe some more water from her face, ¡°I know those people had something to do with this. That this boy had something else going. There was something going on, there¡¯s always something going on here, this town is rotten to its core and there¡¯s veins under everything that need spilled blood to run, there is something to this town and he has to be wrapped up in something, there needs to be something. I¡¯m not subtle about how I want to leave, everybody knows, they need to do something with that knowledge.¡± She was panting again. Michael gently reached up and removed her other hand, but she kept starting at him. ¡°There is something going on with this town. There was something going on with this. Please.¡± Her eyelids fluttered, and Sarah took a handful of steps backwards before collapsing backwards onto her bed, roughly strewn across the comforter. Michael stepped towards her to just move her onto the side, to make sure she wouldn¡¯t choke before waking up if she threw up again, and leaned back and closed the door. He was out the back door a minute later, closing it and beginning his walk back to his house. He didn¡¯t believe any of Sarah¡¯s exhausted ramblings. He knew far better than to think there was some sort of mystical process that required death to run. She was incoherent and delirious, any exhaustion felt from being up late compounded by an adrenaline crash and severe stress. But he had to take in the evidence, if he really wanted to know what was going on. It was not good evidence. The boy from the party had known where Sarah would be. Sarah had been told to go there by somebody that hadn¡¯t been at the party, and Brad had denied that part. The girl must have been about to confess to doing exactly that. Strange story, but maybe just a miscommunication. Sarah could have taken a wrong turn. The boy could have been drunk and tried following a random car. Brad could have been surprised to see him there and his concern could have been entirely genuine. There were many factors left, and beyond having seen Sarah kill a man in self-defense and Brad stammer some poor excuses, he had no evidence. Sarah¡¯s own wording was too incoherent to really trust her. But he couldn¡¯t rule anything out, either. And there was a question that had been bugging him. Why had none of Brad¡¯s friends been surprised to see him? Chapter Seven: Run Your Mouth The wheels were already turning by Monday. Somebody had gone to the party and never left. Nobody remembered seeing him last. The people that had gone with him hadn¡¯t seen where he could have gone off to, and the people that hadn¡¯t gone ended up not having any luck. No phone calls were answered, no checks to home revealed anything, and a sweep of the site of the party came up empty. He had just vanished off the face of the earth. With a day to stew on it, the moment school opened, the rumor mill began flying. The first rumors were, obviously, that he was dead. A natural death was unlikely, due to the lack of body near the party or reported car crash. So the implication that he was dead necessitated the conclusion that he had been murdered. Anywhere else, such a thing would have been absurd. But in Ravenville, in a way, it was the only option. With the rumors of his murder proliferating rapidly, the next set were hushed, hurried questions about who was responsible. Nobody had come forward to claim the credit by monday morning, for if he had been murdered, it would have been too soon to incriminate oneself. No evidence had been found, either, so all that anybody had for the identity of the culprit was the circumstances of the party. Whispered accusations of the party¡¯s host luring them there only to kill him were contested with the alibi of him being in the basement with friends the entire time, an alibi that itself was called into question as the mere possibility that it was a group kill began to take root. But some of those at the party claimed that it hadn¡¯t been any of them, that everybody had been accounted for, so the dead boy must have been lured away by somebody else. Michael knew that all of these were wrong. But he wasn¡¯t the one being asked. Anybody that had seen him at the party had not asked him any questions over the weekend, nor was anybody waiting for him with questions when school began on Monday. He certainly heard all kinds of suggestions, with half a dozen different people suspected of being responsible for the deed, and even more associated with the victim within the last hour of his life. They were universally wrong, but without any credit or evidence to make anything lean one specific way, nobody would ever get anywhere. By the time second period began, the suspect pool seemed to have narrowed, if only by a small margin. Everybody at the party had snitched on who else was there, but most people had validated their own alibis in the act of incrimination. The ones that had passed out drunk in the back porch were the easiest to catch, and the roster had been slowly whittled down over the hour until the only unknowns were the ones that had not been seen at the party. Those being the ones in the basement, Larry, Ken, and his friends. That had, unfortunately, also revealed that Michael had been at the party. By third period, the entire class was sneaking glances at him when they thought he was too busy taking notes to notice. Nobody had explicitly asked him, and looking back over the chain of events, he didn¡¯t consider it likely that people would begin accusing him. The timing of when he left didn¡¯t add up, nobody had known when he would leave, and he hadn¡¯t even seen the man before moving his body into Sarah¡¯s car. That was an alibi that was self-evident. Ken wasn¡¯t foolish enough to try and blame him, especially when he didn¡¯t know who had killed the man either. The first rule of doing a frame job was to actually know who the involved parties were. It was an unreliable trick to pull, and nailing down every single certainty in the process was the only way to do it right. The rest of the grade, though, didn¡¯t know that. All they knew was that he had been at the party, that he hadn¡¯t been seen much, and that there was a whole lot more up in the air. Nobody had accused him on the way to lunch, so he assumed that Sarah hadn¡¯t cracked under any sort of panic and tried to blame him. Good. This would blow over soon, then. He was a few bites into his sandwich when a hand grabbed him on the shoulder. ¡°Mikey, what did you do?¡± He slapped the hand away and gripped the wrist, twisting the arm towards him and away from the other person before releasing it and sending them staggering. ¡°Don¡¯t grab me like that, James.¡± ¡°Yeah, okay, whatever, sure.¡± James caught his balance and straightened back up behind Michael. ¡°But, dude, what did you do?¡± ¡°Are you asking if I killed somebody at the party?¡± ¡°What else would I be asking that about?¡± ¡°No, Michael, of course I didn¡¯t.¡± There wasn¡¯t much to be said beyond a flat denial. ¡°Are you sure? Because somebody died last night, and you¡¯re one of, like, five people without an alibi.¡± ¡°My alibi is that I don¡¯t even know who¡¯s dead. I didn¡¯t know who would be at the party. You invited me, I had no plans on being there, and primarily, I am not the kind of person that would kill unprovoked. I think that is a sufficient alibi for the situation.¡± ¡°Yeah, but¡­ugh, fine.¡± The stress seemed to seep out of James in a sigh, as he brought both hands up to his face. ¡°Look dude, I¡¯m just worried, because if I bring somebody along to a party and then somebody else dies there right afterwards, it looks bad for everybody, and I¡¯m seriously worried about this.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t think anybody would suspect you?¡± James pressed his face further into his hands, muffling his next words. ¡°Everybody knows that I would have taken credit for that by now.¡± Michael couldn¡¯t disagree with that. He just tilted his head in acknowledgement and took a bite out of his sandwich. Even if it hadn¡¯t been a declaration to the entire school, James would have told somebody about a first kill and then there would have at least been knowledge that it was somebody, instead of being total conjecture. Evidently still unsatisfied, James sat in the silence for a moment longer before pulling his hands away. ¡°Michael, be honest with me,¡± he asked. ¡°Do you know who killed Matthew?¡± Michael paused, weighing his options. Exposing Sarah would reduce how many people suspected his involvement, but it would obviously expose her, prevent him from teaching her anything, and thus make things more boring. There was potential in entertainment watching her try to survive the focus that being exposed would bring, but past that, he knew there was something odd going on. Also, he had helped her bury the body. He was way too involved in this to get away cleanly. ¡°Yes,¡± he replied after a moment, ¡°I think I do. But I¡¯m not entirely sure, and I certainly did not actually do it myself.¡± James looked at him for a moment longer, like he was trying to draw something out of his expression, before sighing. He didn¡¯t say anything, but he didn¡¯t need to. Michael nodded as James stood up and left, finishing his lunch in silence while waiting for the bell to ring. He felt a little bad about somewhat lying to James, but there was a chance he would have just immediately told people in an attempt to spin the story in his favor, and Michael didn¡¯t want that. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Something that had been nagging him ever so slightly, but been lost in the bustling work of not being caught for killing somebody, had been the nature of the instigation. Sarah had not started the fight. Matthew, who he was beginning to maybe remember the name of, had left the party, deliberately moving to the spot where Sarah had been told to go to, and assaulted her before she even knew he was there. He had moved, not impulsively, but like he had known she was coming. Movement with a plan was always something to be wary of. There was a vast gulf between a plan formed in ten seconds and a plan formed even a day before. And Matthew had moved like the latter. The bell rang to mark the end of lunch, and Michael had balled up his trash and thrown it away before the noise had even ceased. There was a poster up on the wall across from the cafeteria doors, the lettering official and the paper crisp white. It had to have been new, posted earlier that day, and Michael stopped to take a look at it. A police poster, requesting information. A picture of the dead boy¡¯s face stood in the center, surrounded by small text about when he was last seen at the party and asking for information. His phone number, known haunts, the location where he could have otherwise been. And the location of his car. Michael wondered. And had an idea. Four hours later, Michael was walking through the outer edges of the woods, and he could tell Sarah was barely holding back a complaint behind him. He didn¡¯t blame her. Her eyes were still red, surrounded by purple bruises, and her hair was visibly oily. But she trudged along behind him, waiting for him to explain why they were there. He appreciated that. ¡°Lesson two,¡± he began. ¡°Information is key. If you want to go after somebody you need to know their schedules, their room, and above all, what they can do. But before you can use that information, you need to find it. So the most crucial information to withhold is often not the details of one¡¯s schedule, but how to find their schedule. Not where they are, but what their car looks like.¡± ¡°Hiding the stuff that you can¡¯t find out for yourself.¡± Sarah hmmed in acknowledgement. ¡°I get it. But why are we walking down some backroad?¡± ¡°Because this lesson is about how to find that information.¡± Michael didn¡¯t break his stride as he turned and went down a path that was barely visible through the trees, denoted only by the twin wheel marks crushing the leaves to the ground beneath his feet. ¡°Asking others is simple. It is easy, if you have friends that know your victim¡¯s details. But it is obvious. I have, before, been presented with payback cases where people have shown records of the culprit asking around about the victim as evidence, and it has been convincing. If you ask around, and fail, then you expose yourself.¡± ¡°But even if you fail, wouldn¡¯t the victim be afraid to speak up?¡± Michael stopped and half-turned to Sarah, looking over his shoulder at her tired form. ¡°If you failed at murder, then your target is still alive. They have seen you, your weapon, and your attempted manner of execution. They are still capable of communication. And they will communicate that desire for payback.¡± He resumed his walk. ¡°Asking out is a poor method of gathering information if you wish to remain subtle. This leaves observation, but as mentioned, observation is easily foiled by not knowing what you are looking for. So you need to find out what you are looking for.¡± Sarah almost tripped on something behind him, and he stopped, the near-unseen path opening up to a small clearing in the trees. The ground was covered in grass trailing the end of summer, the green only brighter because the yellow was beginning to show through, the lush tufts beginning to crack as the air got dryer and colder, and the shadows of falling leaves stole the sun. The wheel-marks from earlier continued, a flattened path in the grass that hadn¡¯t quite resolved itself in a few days, leading around a small tree and towards a new-looking hatchback, a few dead leaves sitting on the roof. ¡°Wait, we¡­doesn¡¯t that path lead to Larry¡¯s?¡± Michael nodded. ¡°There¡¯s so many paths in these woods that you could get lost in here without much effort. This was the closest lot for somebody that might want to park out of the way for Larry¡¯s house.¡± ¡°So¡­¡± She walked up besides him, pointing at the car. ¡°That¡¯s his car?¡± ¡°The boy who tried to kill you, yes.¡± A moment of silence, and he strode off towards it. ¡°His name was Matthew Straw, and though I do not recognize his car or know who his friends were, this is the third method of gathering information.¡± His hands dug around in one of the pockets on his cargo pants, emerging with a thin strip of metal with a hook on the end and some small and delicate tools. ¡°Searching,¡± he said as he inserted the metal strip between the door and the window. ¡°You simply break in to somewhere and find the information. You could look through call logs on a phone, dig through backpacks for information on extracurriculars, attempt to find work schedules, or any number of things. That is what most people will do. Ascertaining the intent of a break-in is difficult, even when¨C¡± He pulled on it, and with a jerk, the car door opened to him. ¡°Even when nothing seems to have been taken. So this lesson is twofold,¡± Michael finished. ¡°Illustrating a method of information gathering, and showing how to tell when somebody has tried to search something or somewhere.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Sarah rubbed her hands together and leaned in to look at the inside of the car. ¡°So what are we looking for?¡± ¡°I would like to see what you can tell first.¡± She blinked and surprised, but immediately started looking around. ¡°Oh, um¡­the sun visors are down, which is weird, because he came here at night. The seat looks a little weird, but I don¡¯t remember what he looked like, which¡­¡± A pause, before Sarah looked up at him. ¡°Should I remember what he looked like?¡± Michael shrugged. ¡°It was dark, and you were stressed. You did what you had to do. He didn¡¯t want to remember you, and if you do remember him, think of it as a lesson, that his friends would likely do the same to you.¡± She nodded, blinking, gaze turned through the car for a few moments before she returned to the present. ¡°Okay. Okay. The little lid beneath the center console is open, but there¡¯s nothing in the cigarette lighter, so that¡¯s odd. Especially because there¡¯s nothing in there. And, um¡­I don¡¯t see anything in the carpeting? Maybe there¡¯s some hidden compartment in the door?¡± ¡°There¡¯s not.¡± Michael shook his head, moving to sit down in the driver¡¯s seat. ¡°But you have the right idea. If something has been searched, people will leave it open. So you watch for adjustments you didn¡¯t make, drawers and bags open that it doesn¡¯t make sense to leave open. If there¡¯s nothing left inside something that was left open, you can assume it was searched and emptied. And most importantly, you look for things that were put back, but wrong. A zipper on the wrong side, a drawer hanging just far enough out.¡± He reached out and tugged at the glove box, and the entire lid came out in his hand with a clank, metal pieces falling to the floor. Sarah yelped and started pawing at herself, trying to remember what pocket she had left her dagger in, and he reached out with his other hand to calm her. She was going to need a few days of quiet before she was back in fighting shape, he knew, but sometimes he forgot how badly people could react when they were new at this. Mostly because he never saw people be new at this. ¡°Or, as a final example, something being unlocked that you know had been left behind.¡± Michael dropped the lid on the floor, looking around at the wreckage. ¡°Notice anything odd?¡± Sarah leaned in again, stretching over and in front of him with panting breaths. ¡°No, nope. Nothing here at all.¡± ¡°Exactly. There¡¯s nothing in the glove box. The only thing on the floor is the parts of it.¡± She furrowed her brow. ¡°Maybe he just didn¡¯t keep much in here.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°Or maybe somebody else was looking for something here first.¡± Chapter Eight: Wireless Witness Sarah had been suspicious, once. There had been such a strange feeling, far back in the past, when she first began to realize how wrong Ravenville once. She¡¯d looked at every passing car like it hid a body, every passerby on the street like they were fresh from a crime scene. She had once thought that everything in Ravenville was soaked in blood and barely scrubbed off, that if she pressed her finger too hard on any wall or car floor, it would cave in and a rotting corpse would come tumbling out, oozing pus and clotted blood like a revenant clamoring for a witness. Not anymore. She had been suspicious, once, but only when she thought she would be here forever. Watching for landmines in the house you¡¯d be growing up in. Now that she knew she would be leaving, she worried less about what individual people did. It didn¡¯t matter when everybody in this town had blood on their hands, or fingerprints on some crime lying around. There was no point in stressing about who was guilty or not, especially when most people were. So she faced Ravenville head-on, biding her time until she could leave and not look back, waiting for the window for the truth. She would leave, that she knew. And she would do it knowing the truth. She wasn¡¯t suspicious of Michael Jay. She had fair reason to be, given his body count and the fact that he¡¯d never been caught. But she didn¡¯t fear him, and she knew now that he didn¡¯t care, for all the reputation he seemed to have. So she¡¯d approached him in the cafeteria, to see what he knew, because if anybody knew anything it had to be him. And he hadn¡¯t said anything, but she had ultimately gotten something out of it. The Ravenville survival guide, abridged edition. She didn¡¯t quite have anything tangible to be grateful for yet, from the lessons, but he had come through for her on Saturday and that was something she owed him for. It had been a lesson. Not the kind that he gave her, but the kind she knew she would have to take to heart. She thought she could hear the sound of Matthew¡¯s heart being pierced whenever it was quiet around her, but she took it as a warning. That she needed to listen to his lessons, if she wanted to get to the truth. She had to understand the defense mechanisms. She didn¡¯t like it. She didn¡¯t want to. But she wanted to leave, and she was going to, and she would do what she needed to survive until her ticket out. Otherwise it would be her own breath leaving through a hole in her chest. So she listened to what he had to say, later on Monday night, in the dark of the woods, over the sound of chirping crickets and shifting dirt. ¡°Lesson three,¡± he began between sighs of effort. ¡°It is close to lesson two, earlier today, but distinct enough that it¡¯s applicable to other contexts beyond those of break-ins and searches. So it is its own lesson.¡± ¡°Are you just giving me lessons based on whatever¡¯s happening at the time?¡± Sarah asked in a whisper. ¡°Or do you actually have a lesson plan?¡± She wasn¡¯t complaining, but she was beginning to notice that pattern. ¡°I was going to have a plan by today, but circumstances made it so otherwise.¡± Michael wiped some sweat off his forehead with a gloved hand. ¡°Once this settles down, we will go to an actual schedule. But practical experience is useful.¡± ¡°True,¡± she agreed. ¡°So what¡¯s this lesson on?¡± He stopped to catch his breath for a moment before answering. ¡°Caution. In the same way that you need to be able to tell when somewhere was searched, being able to search effectively is also important. Information can be found anywhere, and I mean anywhere. If you are going to search somewhere, then you must search everywhere. People will notice they have been searched regardless of how well you hide it. So the most important part of a search is to maximize your efficiency.¡± Sarah nodded. ¡°Stealth doesn¡¯t matter, just be fast?¡± ¡°Not fast, thorough. Especially in your situation, doing things defensively. You cannot afford to leave any information behind at all.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± She stopped and smoothed her hair out. ¡°Is this related to why we¡¯re digging up Matthew?¡± ¡°Immensely,¡± Michael replied as he shoveled another load of dirt out of the hole. ¡°Because we made a crucial mistake in the rush of attempting to dispose of his body.¡± ¡°Look, it was my first time killing somebody, I¡¯m not going to be over it anytime soon.¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯ll have to be. I wasn¡¯t referring to your reaction, but you will need to get used to the aftermath of violence at close hand. It¡¯s just a fact.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah. I don¡¯t like it. Now what¡¯s the mistake I made?¡± Michael¡¯s shovel met with sudden resistance, making a noise like it was just poking mud, and he tossed it aside before jumping down into the hole and beginning to brush the dirt away. Sarah tried to look away, knowing what he would unearth, but she couldn¡¯t. She wanted to. But she couldn¡¯t. She knew what Ravenville made of people, but as dirty clothes and skin turned into a pallor unseen on any living being were revealed beneath the dark dirt, the reminder was real. Fear and disgust slithered down her spine like filthy water over pitted cobbles as Michael brushed the dirt off of Matthew¡¯s face, expression still trapped in a forcefully empty silence. Eyes closed, mouth almost open, head limp like he had been made to fall asleep on the spot. The pallor of his skin betrayed that, as did the uncanny color of his lips. Michael nodded like he was satisfied that this was the right corpse and began pawing through the clothes on the corpse like he was looking for something. The dull thumps of flesh on flesh sifted through the air for a few moments before there was a thwack, like hitting plastic, and Michael pulled something from the dead body¡¯s pants. ¡°We forgot to check his phone.¡± He stretched out an arm, and Sarah reached down to pull him out, helping him out of the hole and up next to her. Matthew¡¯s phone didn¡¯t look particularly special, and it actually seemed to be the same model as hers, so Michael flipped it open and took a look. None of the buttons seemed different, but he was giving it a slightly more intense look than his usual expression, so she reached over and pressed the button to bring up call history. He looked at her, and she blinked at him. ¡°I have the same model. I just assumed that you didn¡¯t.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Michael might have let out a huff of air, but she wasn¡¯t sure if she could hear it over the sounds of the woods in the deepening night, and he began speaking anyway. ¡°One of the first sources of information you can get about somebody is their phone. If I wanted to search somebody¡¯s phone, I would be looking through their contact list, seeing who they know or what they might have in the notes.¡± ¡°But in this way, we just want to know if he called anybody before trying to kill me?¡± She finished with a question in her voice. Michael nodded, turned his head to actually look at the call history, and immediately made a face of disgust before handing the phone to her. She took it, and her heart sank. She had known there was something suspicious about the whole invite she got. But seeing that there was a call to Brad Mansill placed only minutes before she had pulled into that clearing felt like the bottom had fallen out of her ribcage, and her fears were falling through it. The fact he had placed a follow-up call, several in fact, made it even worse. Sarah pressed the volume button, checking the level, and understood. ¡°It¡¯s on silent,¡± she said. ¡°He probably did that to avoid being noticed. Damn.¡± ¡°Agreed. And it is odd.¡± Michael plucked the phone from her hand and slid it into one of his pockets, striding over to the other side of the hole and picking up his shovel. ¡°It¡¯s still not enough to prove anything, but there is something unusual here. If it weren¡¯t so late, then it could be an acceptable time to begin wondering about this.¡± ¡°But it is, and you want to rebury him and go home, because the lesson¡¯s over.¡± Michael didn¡¯t respond verbally, instead lifting off the top of the dirt pile besides the hole and dumping it back over the corpse. Sarah stared at the half-hidden face, trying to capture all the details she could to her memory. The color, the uncanniness, the features that denoted a body devoid of life instead of one with a mind driving it. She had to. This boy didn¡¯t die for no reason. He couldn¡¯t have. A shovelful of dirt broke her line of sight and reverie, hiding his face once more and for the last time. Sarah adjusted her grip on her own shovel and began the work, refilling the whole bit by bit. It was hard to tell the color of the dirt apart from the shovelhead, to tease the outlines of the handle against the ground or the trees against the sky, and she tried to remember anything she could from the first time burying him. She didn¡¯t rush, being sure to be slow and intentional with each movement of the shovel, but she did begin to wonder. The silence had settled after a few minutes of work, just the shing of the dirt against the metal of the shovel. But she broke it with a question. ¡°Where did you learn all this?¡± Michael looked up from his own efforts at her, not breaking the flow of movement, and she elaborated. ¡°If getting caught by the police is where it all ends, whatever that actually, you know, means, then how did you learn all this? You couldn¡¯t have trial and errored your way through this, did you?¡± He paused, shovel held above the hole, and shook his head. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t,¡± he answered. ¡°On my first kill, I tried to bury the body. I tried to do it quickly, because I thought disposal was the easy part. So I was sitting outside a house, covered in dirt, watching several police cars go racing past me towards the woods. I knew why they were going there. One of them slowed down and stopped, but he left quickly. In any other situation, we would have been caught. That was my lesson. A lucky break. I inferred what I did wrong from there, both in placement and in depth, and made sure to never replicate that mistake again.¡± ¡°So you just figured it out after one time?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Nobody taught you?¡± ¡°No.¡± He made sure to lift even the last few piles of dirt onto the hole, keeping the disturbances down. Sarah remembered that part. ¡°Very little teaching goes on in Ravenville.¡± She nodded, though mostly to herself, as Michael was already retrieving the pile of sticks, leaves, and forest floor debris that had covered the grave originally while she evened out the dirt. Another question entered her mind, though, as she was helping him arrange the cover in more silence. She held her tongue while he made minute adjustments, making sure the division wasn¡¯t too strong, tilting leaves and moving stricks around to break up the smooth outline of a pile and give the illusion of natural cover over both the grave and the area around it, like this was a normal accumulation of things that fell off of trees, but as they both stood up and began walking back to the cars she sprung. ¡°You said we.¡± Michael stopped in his tracks. ¡°Did I?¡± ¡°Yeah, in your story. You said we. Did you¡­do your first kill with somebody else?¡± He didn¡¯t respond, or move, until he resumed walking. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Okay. Alright. Was it a friend? Is...that why you had two shovels in your car?¡± ¡°I have two shovels in my car because it is always wise to have a spare,¡± he grunted. ¡°I told you the story of how I almost got caught to illustrate a point. You cannot bet on being lucky.¡± His free hand yanked the trunk of his car open before reaching for Sarah¡¯s shovel, prying it from her grip. ¡°I do not need to tell you the details of my first kill, and honestly, I don¡¯t think you would like to hear it. You don¡¯t like violence. Why would I regale you with the details?¡± ¡°I, well, that¡¯s fair I guess.¡± She was stammering and she knew it. Seeing the corpse had sent her a little tumbling. ¡°But it¡¯s a pretty good question, because you do all the payback stuff alone, and¨C¡± ¡°And that is not your problem.¡± He slammed the trunk shut and turned to face her. ¡°That is not your business. In fact, the only thing that is your business is listening. I am not your friend, nor am I doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I am doing this because it is entertaining. I thought I made that clear.¡± His car was already unlocked, and he opened the door and slid into the seat. It started smoothly, and he lowered the window to look at her. ¡°The next lesson will be next Monday. You can take some time to get over what happened, if you need it. I will have a plan, and you¡¯ll listen.¡± He drove off without any further words, and Sarah stood there in the woods, letting his partings root in her head. She knew he was not his friend, but the resistance was strange. Maybe it made sense in Ravenville, just for people like him, who had to cut everybody else off in order to be able to cut people apart, but she still didn¡¯t believe him. The notion that somebody could just figure out how to become such an efficient killer, without training or preparation, she didn¡¯t believe that at all. There was much about Ravenville she didn¡¯t believe. Sarah pulled her coat tighter around herself, sighed, and walked over to her car. Whether or not she believed it, she would take the knowledge he had. Maybe she would use it to find out where he had gotten it from, one day, and maybe even soon. But in the meantime, she would take the advantage. It would get her out, or it would get her truth. Chapter Nine: Backswing The payback rule in Ravenville was simple. If somebody tried to kill you, and failed, then their life was on the line. Their friends could not protect them, and they could not feign ignorance about it. They could try to fight back, but the payback rule did not go both ways, so if the issue failed to be settled at the first payback attempt then the victim could continue trying to even it out until one of them was dead. But nobody could simply claim another person had attacked them and get a free kill simply by citing the payback rule. There had to be tangible evidence of the culprit, something to prove it was a specific person beyond a reasonable doubt, and it had to be presented to a third party unaffiliated with either attempted killer or attempted victim before payback could be really, properly pursued. Simply put, if you had evidence of who had tried to kill you, and you showed it to somebody else you didn¡¯t know in order to sign off on it, then you had a freebie to kill them, and do what they had failed to. Michael understood all this very well. He understood that for very many people, he was that unaffiliated third party. The reviewer of evidence, the one that passed judgment. He also knew that he was, in just as many cases, the one that carried out that sentence and maintained the payback rule. That was just how it was. He was given a case of somebody asking for payback, they presented evidence, he decided if it sounded good enough, and moved out from there. Sometimes he had to do the investigation himself, gathering the evidence for those that had survived but badly injured, but ultimately they still had to prove it and assemble the evidence together. That was how it was. He understood all that very, very well. But it did not explain why, between fourth and fifth period on a Wednesday, Sarah was trailing behind a mousy girl with dark hair, thick glasses, and bandages wrapping around her neck that stopped before a trail of butterfly strips going up the side of her face. She was whispering to the girl, gesturing like she was trying to get her attention, but she wasn¡¯t stopping even as the transfer between classes continued and people kept drifting through the halls. Michael stopped in his tracks and leaned against the wall, taking her in as she approached. The bandages were fresh and the blood still red underneath the butterfly strips, with no sign of scabbing visible. She was looking at him with certainty, like she knew exactly who he was and knew why he needed him. The flinches in her face were poorly hidden, corner of her mouth twitching like it kept freshly hurting and she wasn¡¯t used to it. He had a feeling of what this would require. She stopped in front of him, taking a pained breath before beginning. ¡°Somebody tried to kill me last night.¡± ¡°I inferred.¡± ¡°Yeah, I was sure that you did.¡± She cleared her throat. ¡°Michael Jay, my name is Jane Polera, and I would like to claim payback.¡± ¡°Noted.¡± Michael stood up off the wall. ¡°Do you know who tried it?¡± ¡°No,¡± She replied immediately. ¡°I don¡¯t have enough evidence, and I don¡¯t know where to begin. I know that you do your own investigation sometimes if people agree to help out, and I¡¯m willing to go along with that. But I want payback on that.¡± He nodded, but held his tongue on a response as Sarah pushed past the crowd and threw a hand on Jane¡¯s shoulder, trying to pull her away. ¡°Jane, no, don¡¯t do this¨C¡± ¡°Sarah, there¡¯s no other option,¡± She snapped back. ¡°I¡¯m getting payback, and I¡¯m going to know that I¡¯m safe.¡± ¡°Well, I¨Cokay, fine, sure. But you can¡¯t use him.¡± Sarah gestured at him. ¡°There¡¯s the rule about impartiality and the whole disconnection thing¨C¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know her.¡± Michael shrugged. ¡°Seriously. If she¡¯s your friend, then I wouldn¡¯t know, and it still counts.¡± Sarah blinked in confusion, and Jane poked at the hand on her shoulder. She removed it, stepping away from the two of them, and Jane turned back to Michael, waiting for his verdict. He would do it. It was his role, and this was how it was. If she wanted him to execute her payback before bringing the police in for some reason, then that was fine with him. Considering that she was asking him, her parents likely hadn¡¯t noticed or had bought whatever excuse for the injuries she had come up with. It was a simple invocation of the payback rule. But he didn¡¯t want to do another simple invocation, like he had done so many times before. That was boring. And he had the chance to do something interesting, now. To tie two things together. ¡°I will take you up on that,¡± he answered. ¡°I will investigate and find evidence as to who did it. However, I would like to add an exception this time.¡± Jane nodded, and he pointed to Sarah. ¡°I would like to bring her into this. As an assistant and stand-in for an evidentiary guiding sight.¡± ¡°Is this because of you teaching her?¡± Jane seemed to actually smile. ¡°I guess she really needs some firsthand experience. She told me about the puking.¡± ¡°Jane, what the hell?¡± ¡°Sarah, it¡¯s pretty funny.¡± ¡°I had just¨Cyou know, why wouldn¡¯t I be vomiting? You would be stressed in that situation too!¡± ¡°Oh, absolutely,¡± Jane said to her. She flinched from the pain, reaching up to the butterfly strips, but she still grinned at Sarah. ¡°But I¡¯m so going to make fun of you for it. You ruined that shirt with all that hose water.¡± ¡°Shut. Shut up. Shut your mouth.¡± ¡°Okay, fine.¡± Jane shrugged, turning back to Michael. ¡°But, yes, I¡¯m okay with Sarah filling my role here. As long as I get the payback, that¡¯s what I care about. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Understood.¡± Michael scanned the hall, judging how much time there was left, and he gestured for the two of them to follow him as he began moving. ¡°We should relocate to somewhere quieter, then, as this is not a conversation to be overheard.¡± He didn¡¯t look back to see the others behind him, but he could tell that they were following as he took the next turn off the main hall and ducked into a classroom he knew was always empty around now. The lights were off, but the blinds were open, leaving the room lit in a way that the main color was the white of the walls and the black of the floor carpeting blending together into a faintly gray hue covering every surface, a shadow covering the very air and bringing the entire color of the room a step away from what it was and closer to nondescript vagueness, the pigment value of absence. The desks were dust free, and the posters with quotes from books that Michael only remembered because he had been forced to read them were still hanging on the wall. It wasn¡¯t an abandoned classroom, just empty for a few hours, still used to people moving in and out and occupied by people leaving impressions behind. A good place for a conversation that he didn¡¯t want to be overheard. Michael stopped in the middle of the room, surrounded by desks, and Jane slowly sat on top of another one. She began to move like she was going to cross her legs on top of it, but flinched halfway through and just let them hang off, feet half on the ground. Sarah took a seat next to Jane, taking her backpack off and putting it on the ground next to her. She looked confused and suspicious, and Michael understood. It was something of a short notice to be thrown into a much more serious position, but he wasn¡¯t going to backstab her. This was more to continue seeing if teaching her would be worth the effort. He had begun the plan for entertainment, and now was being met with a sinking feeling. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He didn¡¯t appreciate it. ¡°What do you¨Cow¨Cwant to know?¡± Jane asked, smile gone and tone evening out. ¡°Several things. But first, a timeline, location, and description of the attack.¡± He slid a small notepad and a pencil out of the corner of his backpack, provoking a more curious look from Sarah that he ignored. He just motioned for Jane to begin, and she did. ¡°It was last night, in my basement. I was nostalgic and looking through some old sport equipment from when I was in elementary school, so I was in my basement in the piles of old stuff that we keep down there when I heard somebody forcing one of the windows open. I tried to grab something to use as a weapon, but they got inside, and I grabbed a lacrosse stick to fight them off. They cut my face, but I managed to hit them somewhere on the hand before they tried to cut my throat and run.¡± ¡°They landed a cut on your throat and then left?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t really get it either, but I think I hit them hard enough that they were too injured to finish the job or something. I don¡¯t know.¡± She reached up to rub at the bandages, only to jerk her hand away with a hiss of pain. ¡°They didn¡¯t hit any arteries, it was just a bunch of small cuts. I don¡¯t get it.¡± ¡°It could mean a lot of things.¡± Michael didn¡¯t look up from his notepad. ¡°Did you see any facial features?¡± ¡°No, I didn¡¯t really see any of him. I think it was a him, from how he sounded, but I couldn¡¯t see anything about his face. He was white, but that was about it.¡± ¡°Gloves?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± ¡°Any idea of the weapon?¡± ¡°Sharp, but I couldn¡¯t see anything. I don¡¯t think it was shiny.¡± ¡°Noted. Was there anything distinguishing that you saw at all? Clothes, shoes, perhaps a car?¡± ¡°Nope. They took longer to climb back out the window than I thought they would, but I wasn¡¯t too focused on them because I was worried about my throat, you know. I think I hit them pretty hard, but I don¡¯t know anything for sure.¡± ¡°Is that all?¡± ¡°It was late last night, so it was kind of dark in my basement, but yes. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Michael slid his backpack off one shoulder and placed the notepad and pencil back into the side pocket, making sure the notepad was facing inwards. Not a lot of evidence, but sufficient, and with an examination of the crime scene he was certain he could find more details and leads. Sarah tapped Jane on the shoulder to get her attention. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this.¡± ¡°Somebody tried to kill me. I kind of do.¡± ¡°But¨Cthere has to be another way. You can scare them off, or¨Cmaybe they won¡¯t come back!¡± ¡°Sarah.¡± Jane wasn¡¯t smiling this time. ¡°These are the rules. I, I was the victim, they failed, and I need to get payback. That¡¯s the only way that this will stop. That¡¯s just how it works.¡± The bell rang, shrill and sharp, signaling that they would officially be late to the next class, and though it was muffled from inside a classroom without one mounted inside, it was still loud enough to almost drown Sarah¡¯s next words in a cacophony signaling that the day was not yet over. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just how it is, Sarah. You know that.¡± She gestured to Michael. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re learning from him, isn¡¯t it? To understand the rules?¡± Sarah pursed her lips, and Jane¡¯s shoulders fell. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me this is about that again.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not! Okay, maybe a little bit. You know how much I care about this.¡± ¡°Sarah. This is just how it is. That¡¯s that. You can¡¯t go looking for something more if there¡¯s nothing else there.¡± ¡°There has to be something.¡± Jane sighed. ¡°Leave it, Sarah. Just¨Cleave it.¡± ¡°I am still here,¡± Michael interjected. ¡°If this is settled. Jane, I would like to come over to the scene after school today, assuming that you haven¡¯t dramatically altered the basement.¡± ¡°No. My parents were going to replace the lock on the window, but that isn¡¯t until later tonight. I told them I got attacked by a raccoon I let in because I heard things outside and that I just broke the lock.¡± ¡°Good. I¡¯ll be there after school then. You too, Sarah.¡± ¡°Yeah, I¨C¡± Sarah took a deep breath, smoothing out her hair before speaking again. ¡°I¡¯ll be there. Jane, are you sure you want me here for this?¡± ¡°You might as well use your burning desire to investigate things for a purpose. And I trust you, yeah.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Something seemed to harden within her eyes. ¡°Then I¡¯ll find out who got you. I don¡¯t think you should kill them, but I¡¯ll find out who stopped you.¡± Michael glanced between the two of them, Sarah wearing an expression like she had swallowed a bitter pill and Jane looking at her with trust and worry, and gave a single nod. ¡°In that case, I shall see you later today.¡± He left the room and moved through the now-empty hallways with haste, one final move left on his mind. The suspect list was admittedly thin, without evidence, but he would take any lead that he could get. He should, by his own rules, have waited for Sarah to suggest such a thing, as she was in the position of needing to direct the investigation. But Jane had said something that, almost certainly devoid of intention, had brought back the odd feeling he had previously felt when Brad showed up at Sarah¡¯s doorstep that night. Ducking into the bathroom, Michael slipped into a stall, locked it, and began looking around in his backpack. He didn¡¯t like carrying around what amounted to incriminating evidence on his person, but it was in many ways the safest option, especially if his parents saw it and worried that he had left his own phone at home. There wasn¡¯t much battery left in Matthew¡¯s phone at all, and Michael expected that it would only last for another few calls at most. He didn¡¯t have a charger for it. But he had a hunch. Jane was right. Somebody had just tried to kill Sarah. And while there was no evidence that the attempt on Jane was connected, they were so close together in terms of timing that he had suspicions. Nothing on this phone would prove anything, but it could give him an idea. The phone¡¯s menu was still on the call history when he flipped it open, and the last two calls were still one to Brad and one from Brad that had been missed. Past that, though, things began to make sense. Several calls to not only Brad the day before the party, but to his friends, names that Michael did somewhat recognize. Joe Walnut, Aaron Fitzrun, there was a Kelly listed that he didn¡¯t recognized but assumed to have been the girl that Brad had shown up with last time. Further back before the party, the calls were less frequent, but Brad had been the primary contact for the last month, and it was virtually only calls between these people. A few calls to his parents, one to a number that Michael recognized as the main pizza parlor down on the main street, but otherwise it was primarily to Brad and his friend group. Nothing too new or special. Nothing that directly gave evidence, and nothing that validated the hunch, but it was strange. Something in Michael wanted to really push his luck, to try calling one of the people in here and seeing what they knew. Not Brad, but maybe one of his friends. Even if he said nothing, merely let it play, he could gauge their reactions, or maybe he could interrogate them and ensure their silence by invoking the threat of the payback process. But no. That would be a poor idea. If they found out he was responsible, he could expose himself. And they wouldn¡¯t need payback to come after him. They could just try to kill him, at any point. There was no rule limiting when that could happen. They could just do it. No, he wouldn¡¯t do that. Even having the phone was a risk. He had gained all the information that he could from it, and now every moment that he had it would be a moment that he could incriminate himself. This had produced all the evidence that it could. Michael dropped the phone into the toilet and flushed, zipping his backpack up as he watched the phone spin and vanish down the drain. His stomach felt like it should have gone with it, sinking through the floor, but there was nothing to back that up. This investigation would proceed independently, Sarah and Jane would present their case, Jane would say if she wanted the full execution of payback or just a warning, and then things would continue as normal. That was how it was. It may have been empty, but perhaps this time it could be interesting. Chapter Ten: No Bodies In The Basement Sarah had been in Jane¡¯s basement many times before. But it had never seemed like this. The brightness unnerved her the most, even if she had always gone down there with lights on and sun through the window. But now that the lightbulbs were bright above her and the afternoon sun was coming in through the windows, every corner of the basement full of light and the scene of Jane¡¯s near execution in full illumination, it felt different, like she should have been seeing this drowned in darkness, through the lens of a flashlight in her hand. But the light was everywhere, and the details were so fine, so mundane, it felt worse. Boxes of old toys were scattered over the rough wooden floor, plastic cars and dusty books pushed aside in the paths where Jane and whoever had attacked her had moved through. Several faded and worn stuffed animals, fur missing from their cloth bodies and limbs detached, were spilling out from a crushed cardboard box underneath a window, something vaguely like a footprint in the center of the indentation. It just looked like somebody had slipped when reaching for the top of a stack of boxes. A sharp juxtaposition with the bloodstains soaking into the floor several feet away from the window. It was a rough scattering of smaller stains leading towards one large puddle, the handful of droplets connecting an upturned box of old sporting equipment. The lacrosse stick that Jane had used was sitting next to the largest stain, replaced to where she remembered it being dropped when her attacker had fled. She was upstairs then, waiting for Michael to arrive. He¡¯d needed to stop at his house first, but Jane was so close to the school that he would have to double back, so Sarah had gone ahead. It was just her at the crime scene now. She didn¡¯t want to be there, looking at blood that had been spilling from her friend¡¯s throat only hours ago. The magic circle had already been broken, she was familiar with how real death could be in Ravenville, but to see it so close to her friend felt wrong. When she was just investigating an attempt on her own life, it was self-contained, something defensive, but when her friend was involved and she saw the wheels turning, saw the violence not as a blur in the dark but for what it was, tied to everything here, it was foul. She didn¡¯t like that. She didn¡¯t want to be near that. But Jane was trusting her. Jane, who knew how much she hated this town. Jane, her friend. She was trusting her to find out who had tried to kill her and to somehow keep her safe. Sarah knelt down, eyes fixed on the biggest stain of all. It was faded and smelled faintly of vinegar, from where it had been partially scrubbed away, and she knew that it would be gone by tomorrow. It wasn¡¯t a lethal amount, and it was something she could recover from. Yet it was still blood ripped from her friend¡¯s throat, inches away from being lethal, and luck and good timing had saved her life. Jane had almost died here. And after surviving, she was trusting Sarah to find out who did it. Sarah didn¡¯t want to be here. She didn¡¯t want to be roped into a hunt for payback. But she wanted to stand besides her friend. And Jane was right. Investigating this was a good use of time. Maybe it would even give her a lead. If she was going to find out the truth about what was wrong with this town, then she¡¯d need practice, and if she had to go even deeper into that very subject than she already was, then so be it, she supposed. Blood was evidence no matter where you found it. Right now, though, she had to focus on Jane¡¯s attack. Find some bit of evidence in this basement. The large stain she was staring at seemed to be as far as the fight had gone from the window. No other boxes were knocked over beyond there, and there wasn¡¯t much blood past it. Jane had said that her attacker had ran off after slicing her throat, which made the question, why. Two possibilities were obvious: either her parents had come down, or they somehow weren¡¯t able to finish the job. The first only would have worked if her parents had been aware of the attack, and she had been clear that they hadn¡¯t been. They had helped bandage her up and get her to the doctor, but they still believed the raccoon story. That was a possibility that could be ruled out. The remaining option was something with a lot of flexibility. Any number of things could have prevented whoever it was from killing her, but pinning one down would take clear evidence. Jane landing that hit might have had something to do with it, hurting him in a way that stopped him from finishing the job, but there wasn¡¯t enough blood for that. Sarah stood up, looking around the room. There was a small line of bloodstains that began a short distance away from Jane¡¯s wound and trailed towards the window, far enough away from her blood to be distinct. If she had to guess, this was from the attacker, but that didn¡¯t make sense. The lacrosse stick had been blunt, it wouldn¡¯t have broken the skin. But maybe something else would have. Sarah dropped back down onto one knee, looking around for other small changes. Maybe Jane hadn¡¯t broken the skin, but broken a bone. That could have made somebody stop finishing the job. And based on the bloodstains, they might have hurt themselves on their own weapon. If there was some kind of other disturbance, she¡¯d find the evidence of it. It took several minutes of focus, looking through the boxes and for anything that was out of place, but there was a gap in a stack of plastic tubs by the stairs that didn¡¯t seem normal. Sarah crept over to it, carefully peering through the gap to the unfinished area under the stairs, her eyes going wide at the discovery. A minute of slowly moving plastic tubs out of the way later, and she reached into the small gap under the stairs, returning with her prize. A handful of long wooden slivers, free of dust, and clearly not from the stairs or the floor lay in her hand. Some were longer than the others, the smallest may as well having been splinters stuck in one¡¯s hand, but it was definitely something strange. Like some wood had cracked from landing hard on the floor. The area under the stairs was unfinished concrete, after all. Maybe that was enough. The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Sarah looked up to see Michael descending the steps, notepad and pencil already in his hand. His gaze was focused, swinging over the room and the pencil already twitching, and a strange question entered her brain. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Are you doing a sketch?¡± She asked, incredulous. Michael blinked and focused on her, shocked out of his concentration. ¡°No,¡± he replied, ¡°I was just taking in the scope of the room. Why would you assume I was drawing something?¡± ¡°I thought you were already doing something with the pencil, and I know that police do crime scene sketches. I thought you did that.¡± ¡°Police don¡¯t take crime scene sketches. They just take photos.¡± ¡°Maybe it¡¯s suspect sketches, I don¡¯t remember. I just assumed you would do that.¡± He blinked at her again, slower, like he was having trouble understanding what she was saying. ¡°Do you honestly think that I would be drawing pictures whenever I need to find evidence? What good would that do?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! That¡¯s why you¡¯re the expert!¡± Sarah threw her arms up. ¡°It was an honest question, it just seemed weird that you¡¯d draw something.¡± ¡°If it was weird then why did you assume that was what it was?¡± ¡°Because I just said you¡¯re the expert and I assumed you knew what you were doing.¡± Michael was just looking at her in total confusion, mouth hanging open and gears visibly turning in his head before seeming to decide that engaging with her on this wouldn¡¯t be worth it for whatever reason. ¡°I¨Cwhatever. I¡¯m not going to do a sketch of this place. Have you disturbed anything in here?¡± ¡°Um, only this stack of boxes. I absolutely found something here though!¡± She held out the handful of splinters to him. ¡°I think this is from the handle.¡± The look of confusion on Michael¡¯s face deepened. ¡°The handle?¡± ¡°Of the weapon, you know? Okay, my theory is that the hit that Jane landed, with the lacrosse stick? That broke their arm, and they dropped their weapon.¡± ¡°And it broke on wood?¡± ¡°No, on the concrete back here.¡± She gestured towards the area under the stairs. ¡°The boxes looked like somebody had thrown something at them, there was this weird gap between them, and I think when they were attacked they accidentally threw the weapon through there.¡± He didn¡¯t say anything, and she was beginning to get a little worried, until he reached up to scratch his hair with the pencil eraser and actually spoke. ¡°So you think that the weapon breaking was the reason for them not finishing the job, along with the arm.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± She nodded. ¡°That¡¯s it, yeah.¡± Michael scribbled something down on his notepad, and snapped his mouth shut with a flourish of the pencil. ¡°Okay. Then where do we go now?¡± Sarah didn¡¯t have an answer for that. Michael was looking at her in a way that felt like it went beyond inquisitive, a scalpel aimed at her next words, but she didn¡¯t have an answer. She wasn¡¯t even sure of her own theory, it felt more like a guess. She swallowed, and decided to just press on regardless, going for the core right off the start and holding out the splinters to him. ¡°Try to identify these?¡± Surprisingly, he nodded. ¡°A good idea. You¡¯re not going to succeed, but it¡¯s a solid start. If you are assuming that Jane was attacked with a knife or something similar to that, then it would be unreasonable. Those kinds of knives have specific treatments applied to the handle, you wouldn¡¯t see chipping like this. These are from something that doesn¡¯t have a finish on it, something that is just plain wood.¡± ¡°Like a hardware tool.¡± Something clicked for Sarah, and she finished his sentence. ¡°So whoever attacked her used something like a hardware tool, a chisel or something. And when they broke their arm and the tool went flying, the handle broke, so they just tried to use half the weapon and ran away.¡± She looked at the bloodstain, and then back to Michael. ¡°Actually, what weapon do you think?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not in this.¡± ¡°You just gave me some advice, you¡¯re clearly enjoying this. What do you think?¡± Michael paused a section in confusion, and stepped off the stairs, slowly pacing the trail of bloodstains as he spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it would be a chisel, as you suggest, because they are fairly heavy and difficult to wield in the manner that you¡¯re suggesting. The balance makes them bad cutting weapons, like one would use a knife. But whoever did this was trying to be incredibly subtle about the murder weapon, so we need to think unconventionally. Not a chisel, but perhaps an awl.¡± ¡°An awl?¡± ¡°An awl, it¡¯s a leatherworking tool. A short piece of metal sharpened to a point attached to a small handle, usually round and wooden. It¡¯s an unconventional weapon that could be used to create the wounds that Jane has, and the fact it¡¯s a workshop tool would make the handle splintering like that make sense.¡± ¡°Any other strange tools?¡± Sarah asked. ¡°None that are coming to mind. Most screwdrivers are plastic, and a handsaw would have caused massively more damage to Jane. I don¡¯t think she would have survived in that case.¡± He stopped pacing. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s probably an awl. I could be wrong, but that seems like a very solid lead.¡± ¡°That¡¯s really good.¡± Sarah checked her pockets with her free hand, searching for something to put the splinters in, before letting out a sigh of disappointment. ¡°Do you have anything I could put these splinters in?¡± ¡°No, but you can drop them. We won¡¯t really be needing them anymore.¡± Michael froze in place and took one more look around the room, gaze focusing in on the window. ¡°Did you see anything strange about the window?¡± ¡°No, should I have?¡± He shook his head, jotting something down on the notepad before sliding the pencil into one pocket on his pants and the notepad into another. ¡°No. I only wanted to take in all the possible evidence. I think that¡¯s everything that we¡¯ll find here, unless you found something else.¡± ¡°No, just the wood.¡± ¡°Then that¡¯s that.¡± Michael stretched his shoulders, pivoting on one foot and heading back up the stairs. ¡°I know a few spots that are good for dumping evidence between here and the woods,¡± he called back down. ¡°I¡¯ll go check them for anything and let you know of any discoveries. You already gave me your number, I¡¯ll call you.¡± And with that, he was gone. Sarah stood alone in the basement, splinters in her hands and thinking about Michael¡¯s parting words. She would just be waiting for him to find anything, and trying to craft new leads out of what he would find. He hadn¡¯t disagreed with her theory, and he had seemingly encouraged her to keep looking for leads and answers. It was easier than she had thought it would be, looking for answers. That didn¡¯t mean it would stay this easy. This was an investigation for one person¡¯s identity, not a pursuit of the truth of Ravenville. But it was so easy to fall right into the look for evidence, like looking for a pen to sign a death warrant in a cluttered desk. She didn¡¯t know if she liked how easy it was. But she was glad with results. Chapter Eleven: I Know You The knock on Michael¡¯s door was as concerning as it was unexpected. He looked up from the homework on the kitchen table, at the hallway that led to the front door. He certainly hadn¡¯t given Sarah his address, and she wasn¡¯t going to come over today anyway. She already knew that yesterday¡¯s evidence sweep hadn¡¯t panned out, but she had also already given him a direction to pursue, and he wasn¡¯t going to spontaneously pivot unless she genuinely thought it was worth drastically shifting the focus after only a day of investigation. All that aside, he also wanted to head off all his homework before the weekend struck and he had to deal with even more assignments. He jotted down one more answer on the worksheet and stood, making his way to the door. The block of kitchen knives were near the edge of the counter, there was a letter opener in the chest of drawers by the bottom of the stairs, and the vase of flowers atop said chest was ergonomic enough to throw or to bash with. Whoever was there, he would be okay. Upon looking through the peephole in the front door, though, all of his questions were gone, if only to be replaced with more questions. Michael opened the door. ¡°James, what are you doing here?¡± James smiled at him and adjusted his backpack straps. ¡°It¡¯s a homework check.¡± ¡°You waited an hour and a half after school ended to come and find me, just to do a homework check?¡± ¡°I just wanted to check in on your homework, you know? History has been really rough this week, and I want to make sure that I got the right answers.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not actually that bad. I¡¯m sure you got the right answers.¡± Michael looked around for somebody else outside, lingering just beyond the line of sight from his door, only to come away unsatisfied. ¡°Why are you really here?¡± ¡°Mikey, dude, I told you. I just want to do a homework check.¡± James slung his backpack off and held it up for Michael to see. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to do it alone, you know? Thursdays are such boring days.¡± Michael just gave him a flat look. ¡°James. Is this a front for something else?¡± ¡°Mikey, it¡¯s just homework. Come on, man.¡± He took one more look around the street, taking in James¡¯s car next to his on the driveway and how absolutely lonely he looked on the front walk, the only figure outside on the entire street. The sky was blue, the trees slipping from green to gray, and the sun already a few steps into its dancing descent behind the woods. The shadows were stretching, but this time, there was nobody hiding in them. ¡°Alright.¡± Michael stepped aside. ¡°Come on in.¡± James beamed with happiness and nearly hopped the few steps it took him to get inside, kicking his shoes off to the side of the front door and going straight for the kitchen table. ¡°Is this the trig stuff? I hate that class so much. Are you really just eyeballing all of this?¡± Michael locked the door and moved back to the kitchen, reassuming his seat. ¡°Mr. Sprigg said that we wouldn¡¯t need protractors on this homework, and he was right. I¡¯ve just been checking the sine charts the whole time.¡± ¡°Wow, that blows.¡± James¡¯s homework was already spilling out of his backpack over the table, a morass of worksheets and printouts from school. He was staring at them with a pencil in one hand and a highlighter in the other, hunting for any connection between papers. Michael wrote a few more answers on his own paper from the chart, before getting up to turn on more of the lights in the kitchen. He could work okay in the dark, but James was worse at it than him, and it did not hurt him to bring a little light in. He returned to the table, and the two of them continued working in semi-silence for several minutes, the shadows cast through the pickets of the backyard fence growing ever longer. James occasionally muttered out a confused question, and Michael answered, shifting from trigonometry to copying answers onto a separate worksheet out of his biology notebook. It was basic work, but the weekend assignments would be much worse once they were assigned, leaving this as the only thing left to be knocked out quickly. There was a final sigh from James as he shoved his homework off to the side, and spoke. ¡°There was something I wanted to ask you.¡± ¡°I knew it.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°There¡¯s a party next weekend, and I know that sounds bad,¡± he continued as he raised his hands to ward off whatever Michael was about to say, ¡°but I promise there¡¯s no murder this time. Ken won¡¯t even be there, it¡¯s a smaller one, we¡¯re just going to be hanging out and drinking a bit. Or you can not drink! You don¡¯t have to drink. It¡¯ll just be neat little party to go to.¡± ¡°No thank you.¡± ¡°Oh, come on, man, please,¡± James pleaded. ¡°Nobody you hate¡¯s going to be there! It¡¯s just hanging out with some people and drinking a little if you want. Smaller party, nothing serious, it¨Creally, it¡¯s not that bad.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not interested, James.¡± Michael pushed his notebook away from him. ¡°I have no interest in going to a party full of people that I barely know for no reason besides attempting to network with them on a surface level. They do not want to get to know me, and I have no reason to want to get to know them.¡± The silence returned for a second, before James spoke again, hushed and concerned. ¡°But it would help. We need friends, don¡¯t we? There¡¯s still more years of high school ahead of us, and we¡¯re not going to get through that on our own. We¡¯ll just¡­need a lot, you know?¡± His reply was a shrug. ¡°Social climbing doesn¡¯t matter. You know it as well as I do.¡± ¡°But Mikey, friends do. Come on.¡± Michael looked at him, a skeptical gaze under lidded eyes. James had an ulterior motive, this lingering desire to ingratiate himself with all the people at the top of this school. He wanted to be a part of the in crowd, as if being with a different group of people would change anything about the rituals they went through and the drag of being in the same place, the same state, every day. Just changing who you were around wouldn¡¯t make this any more entertaining. James looked away first, letting out a sigh of disappointment. ¡°Alright, okay, fine. I¡¯m not gonna fight you on this. After that last party got somebody killed I can barely blame you, even if I do think you should have more friends. But I¡¯ll leave you alone.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Michael looked back down at his homework and resumed work on it. James didn¡¯t say anything, and so he was expecting him to pack up his things and leave, only for a ball of paper to smack him in the head. He jerked up, panicked, but James was just tearing pages out of his notebook. ¡°What?¡± He asked. ¡°You looked grumpy.¡± ¡°So you threw a ball of paper at me?¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± James smiled and threw another one at him. Michael tried to swat it away, but missed, and it hit him right on the nose. ¡°Stop it.¡± ¡°Nah. Fight back.¡± ¡°Fight back?¡± Another ball to the head. ¡°Yeah. Fight back.¡± ¡°James, I¡¯m not¨C¡± Thwack. ¡°Fight back.¡± ¡°I will not¨C¡± Thwack. ¡°James. I am not going to begin fighting you because you think I need cheering up due to expressing my disagreement with your weekend plans. Every part of that plan is foolish. I just want to do my homework.¡± James smiled like he¡¯d lost his sense of hearing and raised an arm. Thwack. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s it.¡± Michael ripped a sheet out of his own notebook, balled it, and threw it at James in a second. It hit James right between the eyes, and he squawked, wildly pitching the ball in his hand at Michael. It missed, and Michael grabbed his notebook and dropped into a crouch under the table. James started throwing wildly over it, and Michael threw at his legs, only for James to start underhanding paper balls that were far less well constructed at him. Michael tried to retreat, and he had no idea what was going on. James was throwing paper balls at him from all over the kitchen, he was throwing them back and trying to retreat to the living room, at some point he had grabbed a spare pack of looseleaf paper from the closet and begun using them instead of his notebook. James tried to take a stand above the stairs, but Michael sniped him from between the poles of the banister, at some point he began attempting to steal James¡¯ backpack, he was losing track of it. If knives were being thrown and true violence being applied, he would have been deeply focused, but on this, he wasn¡¯t. He was trying to not destroy all of the paper in his notebooks and that was it. James threw his entire history notebook at him, and it caught him right in the jaw. Michael fell onto the couch and laughed, tossing a handful of looseleaf at James¡¯s vague direction. James laughed too, collapsing onto the other side of the couch and letting his now noticeably lighter notebook fall to the floor. They both kept smiling as the adrenaline wore off, just quietly chuckling at each other as they tried to catch their breath. ¡°You still mad?¡± James asked. ¡°I wasn¡¯t,¡± Michael answered. Chapter Twelve: Dead Empty, Dead Night Michael was annoyed by the box. It wasn¡¯t in an incorrect place. It was in the exact location it was meant to be in, hidden inside an unused trash can behind Ravenville¡¯s pharmacy, inside a plastic bag and shut tight. The black plastic of the pencil case was untouched, the thin rod of pencil lead between the hinges still intact. It had not been opened, and likely not even disturbed by somebody searching through. It was untouched, undisturbed, and still fit for the purpose of serving as backup equipment whenever Michael might need medical supplies or a spare weapon. That was good. And yet it annoyed him. This cache held an awl inside it. Michael had not placed this weapon here for any specific reason, merely for the fact that it was an unconventional weapon that would throw people off. It was a perfectly viable backup weapon. But there were no leatherworking stores in Ravenville, and he had stolen this from his father¡¯s toolbox. There were not many options if one wanted to get their hands on an awl, or any weapon with a similar cutting profile and breakable wooden handle. Either one could steal from their own parents, or from somebody else. The easiest way would be to pilfer a weapon from a backup stash hidden somewhere in Ravenville. Michael had several, and he certainly was not the only one. But all of them had been untouched, including this one. He must have checked half a dozen caches belonging to other people, and another half dozen that were his own. Yet none were even touched. He scowled, replacing the lid on the trash can and walking back towards his car. The suspect¡¯s weapon did not have to be an awl, strictly speaking. Just something with a sharp tip and a wooden handle. But that still required a weapon, and if none of the caches had been touched, he could not dig up any sort of lead. There had been a persistent lack of new evidence in the several days since Jane¡¯s attack, and the longer it took, the more difficult it would be to find any evidence that was there. The sign above the pharmacy¡¯s door cast a sick red glow on the parking lot, and Michael stopped at the edge of the pavement, the light upon his back. It was a quiet Sunday night, the pharmacy was under an hour away from closing, and everybody who was going to go somewhere had already gone somewhere. There was a chance that knives were glinting in the dark of night, that somebody was breathing the air of their last few hours. There was always a chance that tomorrow, he would walk into school and hear that somebody else was dead. Violent things happened in the dark of Ravenville, and the exercise of violence inherently demanded an opposite end, a recipient of the effort. There would always be more bodies to receive it. Michael looked around at the empty lot and extracted a folded up note from his back pocket, looking over the list. He was nearing the bottom and still unsuccessful, everything untouched and ready to use. If he didn¡¯t find any evidence in these next few caches, then he would need to start fresh again in a wholly separate lead. An evening of work, wasted. But it was nearly all that he had. There had been no fingerprints, no identifying features, and the hardware store didn¡¯t sell any tools with wooden handles. There was a woodworking store nearer to the woods that he knew existed, even if it did not get much business, which could have provided the weapon. Michael doubted that, though. Jane¡¯s attacker had been aware enough to leave after their weapon had broken, knowing their main advantage was gone, which implied a level of awareness of the intricacies of attempted murder. He doubted somebody intelligent enough to run away when they knew they were at a disadvantage would have attempted a kill with a weapon they had recently purchased, especially when a place with slow business would know exactly who bought what, and when they bought it. There was evidence, but the window to make use of it was dwindling. There was still one more cache on his list to reach, and he walked across the empty lot to his car to make the short drive to get there. The lights in the store windows that populated Ravenville¡¯s east main street were winking out as those places closed for the night, a slow and inconsistent stream of headlights flowing out of the area marking people going home. He would be leaving the main street half of town alongside them, but not following them to the suburbs quite yet. His car started without trouble and he drove out of the pharmacy¡¯s parking lot, streetlights washing over and past him as he drove into the emptiness marking the liminal roadways of Ravenville. Driving back from the stores always had an emptiness to it, the shadow of the forest looming in the distance like vantablack specters darker than the sunless sky, the sun having long sunk below the bottom of the horizon. Perhaps it was the lack of shortcuts, the fact that everything had to run through the intersection marking the center of town making him feel vulnerable, unless one wanted to sprint through a waste of nothing but knee high grass while rows of houses loomed in the distance, the tallest thing for two miles and still so small in the expanse. It was a paradox of open space, so much left unclaimed and yet nothing had moved in, not even the park down at the south end by the high school. People hid evidence and bodies in the woods because it was crowded. There were trees, creatures, layers upon layers of debris and detritus on the ground that could hide a corpse in the chaos. In the fields, if the vultures came down, they could be seen from all over town, and that posed a question that answered itself. An example of emptiness could be its own highlight. So instead of turning south at the intersection, to look for something in the fields, Michael turned north, to where the final cache on his list was. There was far less in the north of Ravenville than in the south and east, and he knew this was a much worse place to hide something. He hadn¡¯t hidden this one, anyway, but whoever had seemed to have thought that the mailbox of a property that no longer had anything on it was a great place to hide something, when it was a three minute drive from the police station. The lot was as empty as every other lot along the northern street, the high standing lights of the apartment block staring at him like the patterns on a bad bingo board, slowly fading away. Michael stopped the car in the overgrown patch of loose gravel that might have once been a driveway, when there might have once been a house here instead of grass, empty dirt, and slowly encroaching bushes, and got out to look inside the mailbox, the headlights still on and the car still running. Untouched. The plastic bag containing the weaponry was in the same position he remembered it being in ages ago and contained the same things, sitting to hold an almost gone puddle of water in the creases even though it hadn¡¯t rained in a long time. Certainly before Jane had been attacked. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Michael sighed and took out his phone, scrolling to the number he needed and dialing. A click on the other end answered him, and Sarah¡¯s voice followed a second later. ¡°Michael? What did you find?¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± he replied flatly. ¡°I¡¯ve checked every cache that I know exists tonight, and they have all been uncompromised. The weapon lead, at this moment, appears to have gone nowhere.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t find anything?¡± She asked. ¡°Nothing at all?¡± ¡°I have not found anywhere that leads me to believe Jane¡¯s attacker sourced their weapon from somebody else, or left any sort of trail in its acquisition. This lead has gone nowhere.¡± ¡°Really? Where are you right now?¡± ¡°I am outside one of the empty lots on the road north. I have checked every weapon and supply cache that I know exists in Ravenville. Some of these have been here since I was in middle school. None of them have been compromised, much less in a way that would line up with somebody stealing a weapon to kill Jane with.¡± ¡°Damn.¡± Silence took over Sarah¡¯s half of the call with that, and Michael turned around and got back in his car, tucking the phone between his chin and shoulder as he buckled back in and reversed the car back onto the road, beginning the drive back home. She sounded like she was thinking, the faint static white noise of the signal occasionally interrupted by something moving, but she wasn¡¯t saying anything. He broke the silence first as he took the long way around the intersection to get to the suburbs. ¡°What lead do you want to pursue next?¡± ¡°What do you mean, what lead do I want to follow? I thought you were doing the investigation?¡± ¡°I find evidence, but since you¡¯re standing in for Jane, you need to direct me to it. You are the one that needs to be guiding me to our evidence.¡± ¡°Oh, I¨Cagh.¡± She sighed. ¡°Okay. I¡­what¡¯s our next closest lead?¡± He chose to overlook how forlorn and upset she sounded and just give her the answer. ¡°The question of where the weapon is from is still open. Assuming that wood is from it, the only place one could get that would be from the woodworking shop near the woods.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a woodworking shop near there?¡± Sarah¡¯s question was half asked to herself, but she threw off the confusion fast. ¡°Okay. I¡¯ll think of something, I guess. Do you know anything about the woodworking store?¡± ¡°No.¡± Michael didn¡¯t hesitate in his answer. ¡°Okay then, I¡¯ll figure something out. I¡¯ll, just, give it some thought.¡± ¡°Understood. Give me some direction as soon as you can.¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± She didn¡¯t hang up, and Michael waited for a moment longer before she spoke again. ¡°Do we have to kill whoever it is?¡± ¡°That¡¯s how payback works, yes.¡± He reached one hand up to hold onto the phone as he turned onto his street. ¡°If I¡¯m convinced of their guilt, as the third party, then they¡¯re open to freebies.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t try and negotiate anything out of them?¡± ¡°You could, but they could also try again very easily. They could also simply kill you, or kill Jane. You would never actually be safe as long as they could try again.¡± ¡°There¡¯s got to be some way to talk them out of it.¡± ¡°Maybe there is. But I¡¯ve never seen one. You will have to convince Jane of that, too.¡± ¡°Oh, damn. You¡¯re right.¡± She moved some piece of paper around in the background. ¡°Can I ask you one more question?¡± ¡°Is it about the investigation?¡± ¡°Kind of, but not really.¡± He turned into his driveway, shifted the car into park, and let go of the wheel. ¡°Ask, and I¡¯ll decide if I can answer.¡± ¡°Do you think that whoever attacked Jane is connected to the guy that attacked me?¡± Michael paused, considering the question. It was hard to say, without any evidence, but the events being so close together did feel very unusual. Something had felt very very wrong that night, after the party, and while Michael could admit that there likely was something actually wrong that he had failed to consciously notice, without that lucid recognition of the problem, he couldn¡¯t do anything. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he answered, ¡°but I am not willing to rule it out.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Her voice picked up, interest piquing. ¡°They¡¯re close together, and both are fairly unusual in that they both failed. But besides that, something just feels strange about your attack, and I think there is a reason for that.¡± ¡°Your whole reason is a bad feeling?¡± ¡°Intuition can be a useful tool.¡± ¡°I¡­don¡¯t see, but okay. I¡¯ll let you know if I come up with anything.¡± She hung up, and Michael pocketed his phone, his other hand sliding the keys into another pocket as he got out of the car. He was curious to see where that bad feeling went. It was novel. Violence was always the same, but something about this was different. Not just attempting to teach somebody what they wanted to know, but going through a deeper investigation? Entirely novel to him, and it might not be boring. Sarah hadn¡¯t bored him yet. He didn¡¯t know if that would change. Michael looked down his street, at the streetlights and front porches standing alone in the drifting darkness, and sighed to himself. Ravenville was dark so very often. It was crucial to the application of violence, giving the ability to go unnoticed. But that darkness was always the same, even if what happened in it changed. It was always boring when it was always the same. Chapter Thirteen: Scapulimancy The splinters were a paradox. Sarah had been staring at them last night, as she had been for the last several days, set aside in a small corner of her bedroom desk where she could glance over at them while doing homework. They barely cast a shadow from the light of her desk lamp, and at the right angle, they almost blended in with the wood her papers rested on. They were the only lead she had, the only clue in the investigation, but they were also the most damning part of their efforts so far. Whatever story was concocted, whoever the culprit seemed the be, the story had to include the splinters. There were other pieces of evidence that had to be factored in, but the splinters were the odd one out, a fragment of a bullet without casing and only a hint of the impact. They had vexed her, the only true clue that kept running the investigation into walls. The guiding light that led to a pit. Any possible consideration of the weapon had to include the ability to be wooden, or to be broken somehow. If the weapon wasn¡¯t wooden, then something else was, raising the bizarre question of wooden armor or some sort of structural damage to the basement that nobody had noticed. Sarah was hoping that Occam¡¯s Razor applied there. Rather, she had been. She felt the splinters in her pocket as she rushed out of the school, eyes set on the sidewalk winding a long way towards the park. The school library was far from anything that one could call impressive, but it had a handful of viable reference books that, while dusty and certainly only having been used by those looking to learn better ways to hide a shallow grave in the woods, had just the information she needed. It had taken the better part of an hour, but factoring in the sleepless night beforehand, it was likely far longer. It had been a cold night, Michael¡¯s news of a total dead end forcing her to consider other options. She disliked being in charge of this investigation like this. It felt too much like a weapon in her hands. Even if Jane would ultimately be the one to decide if somebody lived or died, Sarah was putting their fate in her hands, and she knew what Jane would choose. She was her friend, but she was too scared of the rules, and too fearful of everything about Ravenville to go against it. If Sarah offered somebody up, it would be for execution, not sentencing. But there might be a connection. She might be able to find answers. And that consequence just might be worth it if she got those answers. The park at the end of the street was small, a grove of trees surrounding a circular path with a large clearing, some picnic tables, and a playground. There wasn¡¯t much to it, and most of the time, the largest population it saw at once was a small friend group needing somewhere to hang out. Right then, there were three people in the park, two sitting in the shade of a tree and one at a picnic table, but she didn¡¯t care about the people in the shade. She just ran for the picnic table, reaching into her pocket to grab the splinters and slamming her fist down on the wood as Michael crunched down a cracker he had just shoved into his mouth. He looked up at her as he chewed, taking in eyes that she knew looked bruised and hair that she hadn¡¯t bothered to properly brush today, and she could tell that he thought she had been attacked again, or was depressed. ¡°I¡¯ve had a revelation,¡± she said, opening her hand to show the splinters. He swallowed. ¡°Expand on that.¡± ¡°I was doing a bunch of research last night, and I¡¯ve found a key to these goddamn things. I tried to find some reading about the woodworking shop, but all I did was find some old survival textbooks and a little thing on whittling. But that helped a lot.¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°What if we were wrong about the handle. If that was the wrong thing to focus on. What if the reason they stopped attacking was because the entire weapon was wooden?¡± Michael immediately jumped on the opposition point. ¡°By that logic, the entire weapon would have shattered on the lacrosse stick. There wouldn¡¯t have been an extra attack at the last moment.¡± Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Okay, sure, but it could totally have just only partially broken. It could have broken in half but there could have absolutely still been enough to cut her with. You know, just a little bit of a sharp point.¡± ¡°Counterpoint. The amount of damage that would be required to shatter an entirely wooden knife would deal enough damage that whoever was holding it would be visibly injured, and we haven¡¯t seen anybody with the injuries that would be needed for damage of that level.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± She let a smile overtake her face, the euphoria of revelation setting in for the first time since she¡¯d begun putting this theory together. ¡°It would require some sort of hand injury. That¡¯s why they ran. Their weapon was still in fighting shape, but they weren¡¯t.¡± ¡°A conclusion based on no evidence, and a loose string of conjecture.¡± ¡°Until you think about how it just might give us something to focus our efforts on.¡± He tilted his head in confusion. ¡°Explain.¡± ¡°We were thinking about the damage to the weapon. But if the weapon was damaged, then that would have absolutely hurt the person holding it. So we should be looking for suspects, and only then see if the weapon suspicion pans out.¡± Michael¡¯s hand froze halfway to his mouth, cracker still held, and he made a face of concentration like he was counting names in his head before nodding and taking a bite of the cracker. ¡°Solid proposal. Working backwards from suspects will generally give more information than attempting to pin down something related to individual pieces of evidence. You¡¯re not convincing a court, just somebody else in the school.¡± ¡°Yeah, exactly.¡± She paused. ¡°Wait, then why didn¡¯t you correct me?¡± ¡°Lessons are paused while we¡¯re in an investigation. Given enough time, you would have figured out the way around this.¡± Her eyes narrowed, but Michael¡¯s flat expression didn¡¯t change. She let out a huff of air and sat down on the bench, the wood feeling cold even through her nice khakis. The outfit was the only thing she had managed to get in order about herself that morning, keeping herself somewhat presentable for school. A good outfit and an unkept face indicated a bad day, but a good face and unkept outfit indicated misplaced vanity. She cared about her appearance, in a way that didn¡¯t seem to be reflected by other people here. She had always been the only person that listened to the lessons about dressing for what you wanted to be in the entire class. The splinters still sat in her hand, open to the wind, and she pulled them back into her pocket. ¡°So, for the actual course of the investigation. I think we should look for the people that are injured, or are staying away from school for some reason. After that, we see if they¡¯ve bought something from the woodworking place, or if they work there. Just try to put together the evidence somehow to see if they fit.¡± ¡°Good¨C¡± Michael coughed, a few crumbs of cracker coming out from his last bite, and he thumped his chest once before continuing. ¡°Good idea. Are there any specific suspects you had in mind?¡± ¡°Nope.¡± ¡°Unfortunate.¡± He paused. ¡°Then I assume you want me to find some suspects as well.¡± ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s kind of what I was hoping for.¡± ¡°And our criteria are what, exactly?¡± Sarah tried to smooth down her hair as she spoke. ¡°Somebody missing from school or activities, with an injury to their wrist or hand. They¡¯re missing an alibi for that night, and have some way to get their hands on a wooden weapon. They bought it, worked at the shop, just know how to whittle, but the important part is the injury.¡± ¡°Injured, woodworking connection, lack of alibi.¡± Michael hmmed. ¡°I do not know anybody that fits those criteria perfectly, or anybody that even is unconfirmed¡­¡± The stop of his sentence was uneven, the world trailing off into a gust of wind that sent dead leaves crackling through the air. Sarah knew where that uncertainty was coming from, and waited for him to finish, sitting still at the table as the grass and air whipped around them. ¡°But,¡± Michael said after a moment, ¡°I think I may know some possibilities.¡± Chapter Fourteen: Eyes On You Ravenville High School¡¯s parking lot was entirely unremarkable. The population of the school itself was small, and the parking lot matched that, only having a hundred or so spots in total. It was enough for the students that went there to have spots of their own, factoring in parking for teachers, and there would always be spare spots once things began developing as they always did in Ravenville. It was spacious, and so it was an empty space of concrete outside the school, devoid of all but the occasional lamppost and spray-painted lines that had begun fading long ago, the only thing bringing life and difference to any part of it being students leaning against their cars, talking to each other, discussing plans and quietly lamenting all manner of large and small problems. Michael Jay did not lean against his car as he waited in the parking lot. He chose not to for several reasons, such as the cold of the metal, the dirt on the windows, and the fact that it was not his car that he was standing next to at that moment, it was Sarah¡¯s. It was only polite to not lean on her car. It was, obviously, hers, not his. Sarah herself was glancing around the parking lot with paranoia written all over her face next to him, bringing her car keys out of her pocket every minute to make sure it was still locked. Her other hand kept drifting to the driver¡¯s side door handle, like she was ready to bolt at any given moment. She was being far from subtle, and if Michael had lacked context, he would have assumed that she was getting ready to run for her life from somebody, rather than trying to find somebody. Maybe the fear was setting back in. Unfortunate. This phase could require confrontation. Her criteria for a suspect had been clear, far clearer than anything he would have obtained working backwards from the weapon, and so he had been able to find a suitable candidate in a few days. All that was required now was more evidence to confirm a connection, whatever form that might take. ¡°Calm down,¡± he muttered. ¡°You look like a paranoid maniac.¡± ¡°What if he notices?¡± She asked, voice breathy and nervous. ¡°He might try and sic his friends on us.¡± ¡°He wouldn¡¯t notice. But that fear is precisely why he needs to die.¡± Sarah¡¯s head whipped around. ¡°We¡¯re not going to just kill him out of the blue!¡± ¡°No, but if you convince me that he is the culprit, then he must die by the payback rule. By that very logic you have just presented me with.¡± ¡°Wait, he¨CMichael, that¡¯s just assuming that we can¡¯t talk him out of it.¡± ¡°Assuming that we can¡¯t,¡± he replied, ¡°he is going to have to die.¡± Sarah¡¯s jaw tensed, muscles flexing against each other as she turned the thought over behind her eyes. He ultimately didn¡¯t care much for what she tried, if Jane wanted whoever it was dead, then whoever it was would die. Sarah could do her investigation, interrogate somebody however she could, and if she was in any danger he would pull her out of the way and slit a throat. Her death benefitted nobody, and there were still unanswered questions. But pausing the rules for an investigation that was outside the bounds of payback and was almost certain to not go anywhere was not his prerogative. Movement past Sarah caught his eye, and he looked around her to see James casually strolling through the parking lot, hoodie unzipped and the graphic of some cartoon character displayed to the autumn afternoon. He was looking around with a placid expression on his face, not paying much attention to anybody else in the lot, but his face lit up when he saw Michael standing at the car, his pace speeding up a small bit as he attempted to make it to the car in time. He saw him speed up at the same time that he heard Sarah mutter ¡°Oh, damn,¡± looking behind him. He turned to see their suspect climbing into a pickup truck, bandage bright white against the dulling blue metal, and immediately glanced back down to the license plate to make sure it was the correct one. It was. ¡°Time to go,¡± Sarah said, unlocking the car and opening the door. She entered as fast as she could, starting the car before she had buckled herself in, and Michael glanced in James¡¯s direction one more time before opening the passenger door, stepping into the car, and closing the door in one motion. He buckled himself as the pickup turned out of the lot, and reached into his pocket to remove the notepad that he had written his notes on as Sarah began moving to follow him. ¡°Damn, you just left your friend behind.¡± She glanced over at him with something wounded. ¡°That was really mean.¡± ¡°He will survive.¡± Michael shrugged. ¡°I was not running away from him. It was simply bad timing.¡± ¡°That¡¯s cruel, man.¡± She sighed. ¡°That was cruel.¡± Michael did not have any words for that, or any deeper opinion on it. Not much beyond a shrug. James was nice, but their interests were drifting. He would have treated this as a social engagement, when it frankly was not. He did not have much of an opinion about it beyond merely another shrug. Regardless. He looked down to his notepad and began going back over the identity of the suspect as Sarah followed behind him, license plate always in sight. ¡°Our suspects¡¯s name is Joseph, or Joe, Walnut.¡± A bump in the road cut him off, and he shot Sarah a look before continuing. ¡°To reiterate, he is a year older than us, and works part-time at the woodworking shop on the west side of town as a cashier in training to work there full time as a carver. According to his fellow cashier, he has not attended work for his last several shifts, citing an injury that he acquired during gym class.¡± ¡°I remember that part, yeah,¡± she muttered in concentration. ¡°He has also been staying out of his gym class and getting extensions on homework, claiming that he was badly injured during a mishap at his work. He has nobody to corroborate his claims of where he was the night that Jane was attacked, no note from work to validate the source of his injury, and no proper explanation of where he was without any friends to back him up. In summary, he has an injury that fits our suspicions, no alibi, and the means of acquiring a weapon fitting the criteria.¡± Sarah responded with a nod, eyes focused on the pickup truck as she followed him down the road, away from the school and through the central intersection. He was turning to go towards the shops, not where he worked, the pickup truck rocking a bit on unstable axles as it rounded the long bend to the beginning of main street. Sarah¡¯s car had no similar struggles, though she slowed down through the turn, fading behind another student going the same way to keep cover and not expose herself. Michael¡¯s eyes were fixed on the rear window, searching for any knowledge he could glean from this mission. Joe wasn¡¯t making any calls, but he was looking around, the silhouette of his head turning back and forth as he wove the truck through the lattice of streets in Ravenville¡¯s shopping district. Sarah held back, waiting in the turn lane just a moment longer before following him down the next street. Electronics and repair stores stretched down the block, all of them covered in the layer of peeling paint and cracked siding marking buildings years past their original construction. Joe was slowly rolling along the storefronts, his neck craned to look through every window that he could see from the truck. He was searching for something, though giving away no clues as to what he was looking for. Michael followed his gaze, removing a pencil from his pocket and resting the tip against the notepad to record wherever Joe found what he was looking for. The truck turned down another small side road and out of sight. Sarah reached for her turn signal, but Michael raised a hand, halting her. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Wait,¡± he said. ¡°That street¡¯s a dead end. Don¡¯t follow him yet.¡± ¡°But we¡¯re going to lose him.¡± ¡°Park somewhere. Wait to see if he comes out. If we follow him immediately, we give ourselves away.¡± She obliged, pulling the car to the side of the road and in the space of a parking meter with some time left on it. There were still fewer people on the road than the average, student patronage on a pause as people met back up with friends and returned home to drop off bags and homework before going back out. It was a calm before the surge that would not last much longer, and so Joe¡¯s dissent from that trend was something anomalous. ¡°What if it¡¯s something innocent?¡± Sarah¡¯s hands were tense on the wheel. ¡°Then we look for more evidence, and move on to the next suspect if it is not enough.¡± He glanced back down to his notes. A quick questioning at another student that also worked at the woodworking shop had revealed nothing unusual about the venue. No broken machines, no unusual orders. There could have been something missed, a delivery charged to the one that seemed unable to work with the business¡¯s core activity, but that possibility had only grown less and less likely the more Joe had been looking around this area. The truck came back around the corner, front wheels wobbling as the ancient suspension showed its age, and continuing back the way he had come through the streets. Sarah waited for him to turn off of the street and hooked around, tracing his path with greater distance and more caution but still on his heels. Joe backtracked, all the way to the intersection, turning south and then east, towards the suburbs. The road to the suburbs was far more active, but Joe turned away from it, down a small road that led, winding, into the woods. He came to a stop next to another car, one whose occupant Michael recognized, and got out. Sarah didn¡¯t stop, driving out past them and only coming to a stop once she was a minute beyond the line of sight. Only then did she stop the car, looking around to ensure the area was clear before getting out. Michael followed, tapping her on the shoulder and signaling for her to follow him through the woods. The trek back was slow and cautious, both of their profiles low to the ground and visibility minimal. Sarah kept slipping on branches, but Michael didn¡¯t begrudge her for those mistakes. It was difficult to avoid such things, especially early in the season, when the leaves were freshly fallen and undecayed, hiding details on the ground that had been visible and taken for granted only days before. It was easy to see the two in the conversation when they came into view, distant enough to hide finer details but visible enough to distinguish the tells that mattered. Joe was there, the bandage around his right hand stark amidst the dying trees, his brick-dust hair a bright sign that they had found the right person. His conversation partner, blocky, light-haired, and confused, kept looking around in a fit of fear of discovery. He never saw Michael or Sarah. As expected of Brad Mansill. Sarah¡¯s jaw had dropped in shock, but Michael retained his focus, watching the moves of both parties with a gaze to the smallest things. They were too far away to read lips, but Brad¡¯s posture was upset, his shoulders tense and arms jumping as he spoke. Joe seemed upset yet eager, as if appealing to a manager for a second chance at a difficult task. A clearly intense conversation, the sensitivity of whatever topic they were discussing confirmed by the secretive location. Only a few people lived up this road, and almost all of them were friends of Ken, and therefore friends of Brad. They had been expecting to not be discovered. Brad spoke some more, mannerisms boisterous, before holding out his hand for Joe to place something in. Joe looked around and opened his car door, reaching inside to retrieve an object before handing it to Brad. A wooden object of some kind, thin and small, tapering to a point that Brad was hesitant to touch. ¡°That looks like our weapon,¡± Sarah whispered. ¡°Reproduced for a second attempt,¡± Michael replied. ¡°Does that answer your questions about a connection?¡± ¡°Maybe. I¡¯ll see if I can go ask a few more questions.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s likely.¡± His eyes followed Joe and Brad as the both of them got back in their cars. ¡°They seem to be preparing for a second attempt. Jane needs to know. I doubt that she will be letting him live for much longer.¡± ¡°Is this all the proof you need? Really?¡± He looked to Sarah. ¡°No. It still needs to be presented. It is very strong evidence, but it still needs to convince me. There are complications that may yet emerge.¡± Her face lit up, an idea visibly striking her. ¡°Brad¡¯s gone now, isn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± His car was long gone, Joe¡¯s a distant signal down towards the suburbs proper. They both hadn¡¯t noticed them. ¡°Then call him. See if he knows what the knife was used for. If he knows something about what Joe has done, it will be obvious. And more than that, it means that there is something to know in the first place.¡± An acceptable idea. Michael nodded and took his phone out, flipping it open. Brad¡¯s number was in there, in a section of his contacts that he had added long ago and had never called. But he did, pressing his number and setting it to speaker so that Sarah could hear. It only took two rings for an answer to come. ¡°Hello? Who is this?¡± ¡°Hello, Brad. It¡¯s Michael.¡± There was a noise of sucking in air. ¡°Hey, there, Michael. What the f¨Cwhat makes you call me?¡± ¡°Nothing in particular.¡± His voice was flat. ¡°I just wanted to check in with you about something.¡± ¡°And what could that be?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know if you heard,¡± Michael drawled, anticipating a response confirming his suspicions, ¡°but somebody got attacked last week. They want payback for it.¡± ¡°Oh, no.¡± Brad sounded stiff. ¡°That¡¯s awful. Are they okay?¡± ¡°They¡¯re fine, and alive.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­that¡¯s good. I hope you know I didn¡¯t have anything to do with that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m aware of that. I already know about your alibi.¡± Silence for a moment, Michael patient, and Sarah twitching with eagerness at whatever Brad would say. She was engaged, looking for any connection. ¡°Then¡­uh, why did you call me?¡± Brad asked. ¡°Your friend, Joe. He doesn¡¯t have an alibi, not that I¡¯ve found. I don¡¯t want to kill the wrong person.¡± ¡°Are you saying that Joe did it?¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t have an alibi.¡± ¡°Okay, Michael, listen here man. I know you¡¯re the payback guy, but fuckin, leave Joe alone. I can¡¯t believe that you¡¯d even fuckin think that he would have something to do with her. Didn¡¯t you hear he got all hurt at, uh, work? He almost broke his arm, give him some fuckin slack already.¡± ¡°Strange.¡± Michael met Sarah¡¯s vindicated gaze. ¡°I was under the impression he was hurt in gym.¡± Brad spluttered. ¡°He, uh, it got worse at gym, he got hit with a dodgeball and that, uh, set back the healing process, y¡¯know? You gotta be nice to your wounds, yeah, or it gets way worse. Yeah. He got hurt worse in gym.¡± ¡°Hmm. I see. Thank you for explaining that, Brad.¡± Michael hung up on him, flipping his phone shut. Sarah was smiling, her eyes wide and full of energy. She didn¡¯t say anything as Michael put the phone away and jotted down the evidence. ¡°He said ¡®her,¡¯¡± she said after a minute. ¡°Yes he did,¡± Michael replied. ¡°What do we do now?¡± He put the notepad away. ¡°Tell Jane.¡± Chapter Fifteen: Reptilia ¡°I want payback payback.¡± Jane¡¯s response had been unambiguous. ¡°If he wants to try again, I don¡¯t want to let him. I agree with Sarah about what the evidence presents, I think that Joe did it, and you already see the facts. I want payback.¡± She was correct. Michael did see the facts as laid out before him. Sarah had put together a short list of what they already knew, reframing it in a way that placed Joe in the basement with a wooden knife at just the right time. If the weapon had been less distinctive, perhaps, or if Jane had fought him off in a way that did not involve an obvious physical injury, then he would have required more evidence and further explanation. But this was not a what-if. And Jane¡¯s choice had been as clear as the scabs on her throat. Sarah had asked for a chance for interrogation. Jane had shut her down. She had been disappointed, clearly, but he could still see the ambition in her eyes. He was expecting her to ask him to investigate Brad as soon as he had buried the next body, to get his experienced hands turning over every stone in reach. Assuming there was substantial evidence, or the potential for entertainment, he would agree. And there did seem to be the potential for entertainment when it came to Sarah. This was not entertainment. The paring knife, sharpened far past anything required for culinary purposes, was not entertainment. The empty body bag slung over his back and clutched by gloved hands was not entertainment. The car keys buried in a small hole several feet from his car, parked on the side of the road, behind fenced-in backyards with a thin passage between the property lines, was not entertainment. It was work. The way things worked. He had work to do. The grass was quiet underneath his steps, plant matter compressing into the shape of his bootprints with a quiet whoosh and the gentle sound of moving dirt. His hand brushed the knife in a duct tape sheath attached to his belt loop, fingertips moving past it to graze the lockpick set tucked into his waistband. He had no knowledge of the schedule of Joe¡¯s parents, apart from the fact he was an only child, but he expected to be able to catch Joe himself alone easily enough. If he was forced to cut and run, he could easily grab the body and run back to his car as fast as he could, depending on how far away his exit point was. But it would likely be quiet, expedient, and without being witnessed. Michael rounded the corner of the fence, Joe¡¯s front yard coming into view, only to be greeted by a sidewalk lined by cars in either direction and music blaring from somewhere inside. He froze in his tracks, mentally checking the date. It was Saturday. James had never given him the address of the party he had been invited to. ¡°Oh, no,¡± Michael muttered. This would be somewhat more difficult. He took a few steps forward into the yard, looking up at the house. Two stories, windows in what appeared to be every room, likely a basement as well, and a large amount of people inside. A brief count of the cars pointed to ten people inside, possibly higher, based on how people liked to share cars. He decided on fifteen as a higher estimate, took another step forward, and looked through one of the ground floor windows. The music was loud, but muffled by more than the glass. He assumed it was coming from the kitchen or somewhere else central in the house, and would be an acceptable cover for noise inside, if he kept the level low. Joe would likely be near the source of the music, given that the party was at his house and he seemed to be hosting, which left the location of assassination limited. The pantry, perhaps, or catching him off guard in a bathroom he left unlocked. If it was locked, he would have seconds to pick the lock, which would require luck. A poor thing to rely on. He snuck over to a different window, taking in the view of the stairs to the second floor and the living room. Somebody was lying on the couch in all black, face turned towards the cushions and unidentifiable. A shadow lingered near the outside of the room, the individual at the source unclear but certainly holding a drink. Two boys, one with a ponytail and one in a bright white baseball cap, stumbled down the stairs as he watched, all laughing with each other. The person on the couch lifted their head up at that, and Michael recognized her as Kelly, Brad¡¯s ginger friend and likely co-conspirator. The boys laughed at her, and somebody shouted at them from upstairs before they ran off towards the kitchen. Brad came thundering down the stairs, furious, and said something to a confused Kelly before jerking his thumb towards the stairs and running off after the boys. The shadow tried to stop him, only to get shoved aside, the person casting it stumbling into view of the window. It was James, his hoodie covered in a band decal and his hand holding a red plastic cup full of something dark and alcoholic. He threw an annoyed look in the direction of Brad before taking a sip from his drink and leaning over the back of the couch, attempting to engage Kelly in a conversation. She waved a limp hand towards him and turned back into the cushions. Too much, too fast, then, or perhaps just a headache. Whichever was the case, she likely wouldn¡¯t notice his entry or exit, or care too much if she did. He backed away from the window, looking for the lock, but the movement caught in James¡¯s gaze unexpectedly. His head jerked up in surprise, eyes wide, and a smile appeared as he gestured for Michael to come inside. Michael froze mid-step, slowly shaking his head. Terrible move. He should have been more careful. He had underestimated James, and that had been a mistake, clearly. A terrible start. James kept smiling, and Michael raised a finger to his lips, attempting to shush him. James did the opposite, walking over the window and fumbling around for the latch before flipping it and pulling the window open, his giddy expression growing brighter with every second that Michael spent standing there. ¡°Whatcha doing here, Mikey?¡± ¡°Nothing, James.¡± ¡°Dude, are you nervous to come inside? It¡¯s just a party, Ken¡¯s not even here. I mean, I know Brad is, but¨C¡± ¡°I am not here for a party.¡± Michael uttered the words with all the meaning he could put into them, willing James to understand the message hidden between the syllables. James stared at him in confusion, sticking his head out of the window to look around the empty front yard as if searching for additional answers. ¡°Well, that doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± he said. ¡°You don¡¯t seem like the type to go for a booze run, do you even have a fake ID? I know you have a lot of¨Coh. His eyes looked over Michael¡¯s shoulder and past his head, at the point that he knew the body bag broke the silhouette of his shoulders with a jagged vinyl disruption. James knew what body bags looked like. He had seen Michael sort them in his closet enough times to be familiar with them, even if he had never handled any himself. Realization washed over his face like a cloud over the moon, swift and shadowy, draining the light from him in a way that was both gradual and instantaneous. Michael saw it happen in a few moments, arms tensing in preparation. James would never beat him in a fight, but he could easily shout that he was there and ruin the plan. ¡°Can I join in?¡± The question came from behind disturbed expression that was slowly becoming interested, surprising Michael. He tilted his head in confusion, and James took a sip from his drink again before continuing. ¡°I mean, if you¡¯re here to kill somebody, can I join in? I could totally spin that as a good thing, honestly! James Donovick, best friend of Michael Jay and just as deadly. I can help you bury it, I¡¯ve brought my car, it¡¯s all good. I don¡¯t get why it took until now, heh, but hey, I¡¯m down.¡± Oh. This was a misunderstanding. James thought that he was doing this for social reputation, a selfish motivation to propel himself up the ladder. He would have been correct, if breaking and entering and murder held any more entertainment for him. But they didn¡¯t. They especially didn¡¯t when he was doing this because of rules. Because he had to. ¡°No, James.¡± Michael shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not here to kill somebody for fun. I am here to execute a wish for payback.¡± ¡°What?¡± He looked behind James, past the face full of confusion and disbelief, watching inside to see if anybody else had stepped into the room. Kelly was still on the couch, her sleeping status an uncertainty, but her breathing was steady and what he could see of her posture was relaxed. If she didn¡¯t react to his next sentence, then he could continue along stealthily. If she reacted, then he would need to be fast. He did not expect her to idly stand aside on this issue. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Joe Walnut,¡± Michael said, ¡°made an attempt on Jane Polera¡¯s life approximately a week and a half ago, on last Tuesday. She appealed to me for assistance in investigating the culprit and doling out payback. The evidence pointed towards Joe, I was convinced of his guilt, and am here to deliver the payback on Jane¡¯s behalf, in accordance with the rules.¡± There was silence between them for a long moment, stretching out as one of the songs from the kitchen wound into its ending, and another one started up, louder and harsher than the last one. A handful of cheers echoed through the house, joyous for something Michael didn¡¯t see, but James was as still as the girl unconscious on the couch behind him. Michael took a step forward and planted his hands on the windowsill, pulling himself inside past James¡¯s shocked form. He paused before putting his feet down, inspecting the soles of his boots for any dirt that could have stuck to the rubber. He found none, and gently set his feet down on the hardwood, weight still resting on the windowsill. ¡°Mikey, dude, not now, man!¡± James¡¯s whisper was hushed and urgent, his head whipping around in paranoia. ¡°Brad¡¯s here! You can¡¯t just kill one of his friends when he¡¯s right here! Do you know how mad that¡¯s going to make him?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care for his anger.¡± Michael slowly stood, ears open for any approaching figures. None came. Kelly still didn¡¯t move from her place on the couch, breathing quiet and smooth. Asleep, then. Convenient. ¡°But he does! He¡¯s absolutely going to try and kill you for this, man, and¨Cand what about Ken? How¡¯s he going to react when you kill somebody he hangs with? I don¡¯t think it¡¯s gonna be great, man, and then he¡¯s going to be really mad at us!¡± ¡°Neither Ken nor Brad will do anything,¡± he said over his shoulder. ¡°They both acknowledge the rules, and are bound by them as much as all of us. Just because they put more stock into what those rules than I do, doesn¡¯t mean that they are any more willing to fight back against me doing something that I have to.¡± ¡°Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, please man. Please. Brad¡¯s going to be furious, Ken¡¯s probably gonna be mad, there¡¯s so many people that you¡¯d be making mad. You can always back out, just pretend that nothing happened. Just back away.¡± James put his hand on Michael¡¯s shoulder, trying to hold him back from proceeding into the house, and Michael turned around to look at him. ¡°Mikey,¡± he pleaded, ¡°Just back out.¡± ¡°Do you care about the rules?¡± James froze for a second, looking at Michael as if the answer was obvious. It was. He cared more about the rules than Michael did, in ways. He put so much more stock into them, in how intractable they were for forming social networks and connections. He thought that two hands gripping the same knife connected them, wove them together, and wrapped the getaway driver and alibi provider in as well. James thought the rules of Ravenville as certain and unchanging as the flow of blood, ordained by gravity. He nodded, slowly and sadly. Michael pulled away from his grip and looked towards the stairs. ¡°Where is Joe?¡± James sighed. ¡°Upstairs. Aaron and Louis dumped a whole bottle of beer on him earlier, and they keep sneaking up on him to ruin whatever shirt he¡¯s changed to. He¡¯s been complaining about the laundry load all night.¡± A nod, and James sunk to a seat on the windowsill, still looking at Michael with a plea in his eyes. Michael didn¡¯t flinch, merely glancing to Kelly to ensure she was still asleep, and began walking towards the stairs. The music was still loud, sounds of laughter and partying muffled through the walls, and he proceeded up the steps one at a time, each motion smooth and intended to create as little noise as possible. The lights were off in the hallway the stairs ended at, the only illumination drifting up from the lights on downstairs and through the open doorway at the far end and to the left. Several towels sat on the floor, the imprint of absorbed liquid clear on them. Michael pressed himself up against the wall and crept down the hall, placing his feet evenly and without hurry. The echoing sounds of the party were closer, but muffled at the same time. His steps were muffled under the noise, faintly creaking wood inaudible in it all. His right hand slowly moved towards the sheathed knife, refraining from grabbing the handle yet remaining prepared to swiftly draw it. The air smelled of bleach as he crouched down and peered around the edge of the door frame, blinking at the sudden brightness. It was sharp and sterile, digging into his nostrils. The source was a bottle, he observed, open on a table in the center of the room. A wet rag sat next to it, alongside a messily assembled pile of shirts. Beneath the bleach, Michael could make out the faint smells of alcohol and soap, and the sound of scrubbing. He looked further into the room, left hand bracing against the doorframe in his lean, and saw him. Joe stood at the other end of the room from the door, furiously scrubbing at the front of his shirt with a washcloth in his uninjured hand. The sink was running in front of him, and the closet besides him was empty, only a single towel remaining on the recessed shelves. He muttered as he moved, grumblings about a subject Michael couldn¡¯t make out. No steps betrayed incoming presence. There was only a single way out of the room, and a direct route to an exit from the house. The windows of the laundry room were shuttered, but real. It was time. Michael stood, fully stepping into the room and drawing the knife. Joe noticed something, and turned around, wet rag still in his hand. He stilled, his eyes wide, expression fearful and yet unsurprised. ¡°Michael,¡± he rasped out. There was no moment of silence. Michael simply moved. He lunged for Joe, grabbing his shirt and shoving him into the closet. Joe stumbled into the shelves, unbalanced, rag dropped to the floor. Michael darted into the closet with him, his left hand pulling the door shut behind him. His right hand snapped up to the opposite shoulder and swung out, a single movement through the air and Joe¡¯s neck. Blood burst from two severed carotids, a shattered windpipe wheezing as Joe slumped, gasping for breath that would never come. Michael reached down and tilted his head back, guiding the blood back into his open throat. His other hand took the single towel and pressed it to the base of Joe¡¯s neck, wrapping it around the base of his twitching muscles to catch any blood that did not simply flow into his trachea. He was gurgling now, final grasps for any breath he could manage. Michael just kept the towel in place, letting it soak up stray blood. The gurgling stopped. Joe fell still. Michael waited a moment, releasing the towel and reaching a hand towards Joe¡¯s chest. There was no heartbeat. The work had been done. But he was not done yet. He released Joe¡¯s head, letting it lull forward, and bunched the towel up around the wound to prevent more blood from escaping and leaving more evidence. An inspection of the closet revealed that no blood had struck the walls or the door, the splatter contained to his black hoodie. One shoulder dipped, and he let the body bag fall off of him, wiping the knife on the towel before sheathing it and unfolding the bag to its full length with both hands. Joe¡¯s body was only just dead, and not stiff yet. Michael folded the knees up and pressed the head into them, inducing something like a fetal position and keeping the towel in place. Gently and carefully, he lifted the body up and set it back down within the bag, checking for any blood that had hit the wall behind Joe. None had, and he zipped up the bag with deliberate haste. Joe was heavy, Michael noted as he carefully picked the bag back up, winding the strap over his shoulder and pulling it tight. Keeping it tight across his back would leave his movement mostly unimpeded, but he would need to reach his car quickly. An ear to the closet door gave away no cues of peril, and he pushed it back open to an empty laundry room and a sink nearing full. He switched it off as he left, his much heavier steps muffled by the still-blaring music from the kitchen. Stealth was no longer his greatest priority, now that the work itself was done. He merely needed to escape to his car and drive to the burial site, and then he would go home, take a shower, ensure his gear was clean, and sleep. Nobody waited on the stairs, the chatter from the kitchen much quieter and more distant. Kelly was gone from the couch, and Michael did not dare to look further into the house to see where she had gone. It was of no consequence now, the wheels of the rules having moved to their final conclusion. His exit out the window was simple and brutal, swinging both legs over the sill and sliding off, landing with a jarring impact that pushed the air from his lungs in a whump. The front yard was no longer empty. A handful of students were milling around, some holding drinks and some fidgeting with their phones, but all froze when they caught sight of him. None moved to attack or take any other action, just staring, and he began walking towards the backyard when he was interrupted. ¡°Michael!¡± A voice boomed out. ¡°What the fuck is this?¡± He turned around and saw Brad pushing the others aside, face red with insobriety and indignation. ¡°Are you fuckin serious? You¡¯re showing up where you didn¡¯t even get invited and killing the fuckin host?¡± ¡°Joe failed to kill somebody,¡± he stated. ¡°He left himself open to payback, and I¡¯ve carried that out.¡± ¡°Oh¨Cfine, yeah, sure. Whatever.¡± Brad flailed his arm around in a gesture Michael couldn¡¯t understand. ¡°Look dude, this was overkill. It was a tiny thing. There¡¯s probably some way you can walk this back¨C¡± ¡°There isn¡¯t, and I have no plan to.¡± Michael shut him down. ¡°There is no way to change what¡¯s happened, and there is no reason to. Joe failed to secure a kill. He messed up. This is what happens when you mess up.¡± Brad was sputtering again, an incoherent barrage of spit and sound coming from his lips, but he wasn¡¯t moving. Michael turned back to the dark and walked off, between the fences, following the path back to his car. Nobody followed him. Jane had wanted payback, and he had delivered. The same as it always was. Chapter Sixteen: They Call It Sophomore Slump The news had set in before the rigor mortis. The story of the assault, the weapon, the specific chain of evidence about the shattered knife, and the payback had all become public knowledge by midnight on Saturday. Michael¡¯s involvement was an integral part of the entire thing, the feature that had spread more than any other part of the story. Joe¡¯s target, his means of attack, even the date may have been in question, but his fate was not. Everybody may have known that Michael had killed him, but they would not do anything about it. It had been payback. They could not do anything about it. Michael had known that Brad would be fuming, given his reaction. Walking into school on Monday morning, he was unsurprised to see him in the center of a crowd of his friends, his voice raised and expression visibly upset. He fell silent in his ranting as Michael walked past on his way to his first class, only resuming at an even louder volume once he believed himself to be out of earshot. He wasn¡¯t, but Michael wasn¡¯t listening to him. There was nothing that Brad could actually do to get back at Michael in any way at all. Not while still holding true to the rules that he valued so much. Payback was the part that could never be violated, as it was what kept everything in check. The threat of constant violence at every chance was held back by an agreement of vulnerability, that you left yourself open to just as much damage as you could have inflicted. A system that kept the peace with promises of reciprocated destruction. Revenge killings were not exactly uncommon, granted, but with them always came the stopping power of skill disparities, of those who had less proficiency with violence being fearful to challenge those more experienced. If you failed and ran, then the payback rule would count. It was a thin line, but a sharp one. It did nothing for reputation, though. Everybody in his class looked at him as he walked in and sat down, either glances from the corners of their eyes or full on stares they believed to be far more subtle than they were in reality. His own responsibility to the payback rule left him as the one everybody blamed for an execution of the rule, though in this case, it was correct. He had killed Joe Walnut and buried his body in the woods on Saturday night, in a spot that only he had known. The body would have gone stiff and relaxed already, but the news had spread so fast from those who had been at the party that it would not have made any difference if he had done it then or today. People would have figured everything out soon anyway. Sarah had called him almost immediately after he had called Jane to inform her of a done deed, and he had simply told her to let Monday sit, that they could resume lessons on Tuesday. She seemed eager for it, which was something he could understand and appreciate. The lessons provided entertainment for him, something novel and new that he enjoyed on those grounds, if nothing else. Though he was enjoying something of how little she cared for Ravenville. It was refreshing, to find somebody that gave the rules as little meaning as he did. Somebody walked up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder, and he politely turned around to see who it was. ¡°Yes, James?¡± ¡°Hey Mikey.¡± James looked tired. ¡°Can we talk?¡± The entire class was visibly gawking at the both of them now, any hint of subtlety gone from their actions, and Michael shrugged. ¡°Sure.¡± He stood up and walked out into the hallway, James close behind, only stopping when they were at a bank of lockers on the other side of the hallway and several feet down from the door. ¡°What is it?¡± He asked. ¡°Are you ever going to chill out?¡± James hissed. ¡°Is this about Saturday¨C¡± ¡°Yes, this is about Joe!¡± He pulled the sleeves of his graffiti-patterned hoodie tighter around his wrists. ¡°Do you know how many bridges that burned? Brad¡¯s looking at me like he wants to see me as a corpse in a bathtub. Ken, I haven¡¯t even been able to find Ken, but Aaron¡¯s mad at me, Louis is mad at me, Emily¡¯s mad at me, all the people that I was trying to become friends with are upset because they know that I know you, and I didn¡¯t stop you. I can win them back, probably, but I¡¯m not the guy that killed one of their friends!¡± ¡°Why do they care?¡± Michael inquired. ¡°It was payback. They know that rule cannot be violated.¡± Not that he really cared, but a rule was a rule, even if it was boring and almost meaningless. ¡°Because we¡¯ve got two more years here, man! You can¡¯t just keep going through the whole time without anybody on your side. If you want to make any friends, you need to give people slack, let them get away with things.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the point. I don¡¯t want to be friends with any of them. Social climbing is boring, and frankly, pointless.¡± ¡°Mikey, you didn¡¯t end up as the guy that everybody goes to for payback because going to parties was pointless. You¡¯re the most lethal guy in this whole town, and you don¡¯t care about any of it!¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°I ended up with this responsibility because of people coming to me specifically, and because there was nothing of true importance here. I¡¯m here because I ended up here.¡± ¡°That¡¯s really reductive of this whole damn thing.¡± ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± Michael did not shrug, but he did meet James¡¯s gaze. ¡°I¡¯m here regardless of if it matters or not. It does not.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re still there.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± James sighed, reaching up to pinch his nose. ¡°Mikey, dude, why the hell are you like this. It¡¯s not¨Cit¡¯s not all pointless and shit. We¡¯ve got two more years, we¡¯ve got people to meet, connections to make. We¡¯ve got so much stuff to do, and we need friends. Why are you acting like doing anything like¡­¡± He mimed a slice across the throat. ¡°That, is boring?¡± ¡°Because it is, James. Because there is no point.¡± ¡°Oh my fucking god I¨C¡± James threw his hands up in the air. ¡°Bleeding hell, man. We used to be good. You used to be racking up bodies left right and center. You¡¯re the reason the senior class is so small! Why did all that stop?¡± ¡°I figured out that there wasn¡¯t a point to it, James.¡± Michael¡¯s voice was even and bored. ¡°I figured out that the whole thing was boring. And I didn¡¯t want to keep doing the same thing over and over again when I knew that there wasn¡¯t a point.¡± ¡°Is that where your new friend is from?¡± James spat. ¡°Is it because there¡¯s no point to me?¡± ¡°She is not my friend, James,¡± he said. ¡°She asked me to teach her what I knew. I accepted because it was a novel idea, and her rhetoric of not caring at all for the rules is interesting. She¡¯s also so unskilled and unfamiliar with violence that it¡¯s entertaining to teach her. I don¡¯t care about her personal crusade or whatever she wants to pull off, she is merely a source of entertainment.¡± ¡°What, you don¡¯t care about people anymore?¡± ¡°I do,¡± Michael protested, ¡°but I want entertainment in all this boredom.¡± James glared at him, his mouth clamped shut, and stalked off down to the hall. Michael waited a few seconds for him to stop and turn around before going back into his classroom. Everybody stared at him once again as he returned to his seat, the bell ringing as he began taking his notebook out from his backpack. They were all eager to learn more, learn why, discover the details of how exactly he had killed Joe, but he had no intention of giving it to them. They wouldn¡¯t do anything new with the knowledge, just gawk and marvel, spectating a distantly relayed report of a grim undertaking. There was nothing he would gain by telling them how he did it. No social leverage, no invites to parties or further cementing of his reputation beyond what was already existing and out there. Even if there had been something, it would have been hollow. Pointless. Something emptily connected to the violence for no reason beyond that it was there. He didn¡¯t want the emptiness, the repetition of stale patterns. The stares from the hallway as he walked between classes were not notable, they were not something that he hated or enjoyed. They were simply markers of an event that had been repeated many times before, and would be repeated many times again, for reasons that might be different in the future, or could just as easily be the same. The result would never change. The payback rule required violence, in all aspects, and violence necessarily required the same end result of spilled blood and the termination of a process. Movements of weapons always concluded with lives. For all the expertise, for all the skill and ways he could have tried something new, he didn¡¯t want to. Michael was bored, seeking anything new or unique. The sameness of class, the rules that everybody followed, the way that people pretended to know nothing of a dead man even though any pretense of innocence was long vanished from the faces he saw at lockers and sitting around his desk. They would be the same no matter who died, no matter if it was from a first strike or the repercussions of payback or from finally being caught. People would play along as they waded through blood. Maybe something would change. He imagined it, the math class cutting off as somebody else began to speak of something new. A clash in the cafeteria turning into something previously untouched and unknown, an unfolding of something truly new emerging in the center of a stasis-filled morass. The superintendent walking in with an announcement, of truth, of hidden depths, of a deeper meaning and revelation to everything that flowed within the cement-walled, dust-choked labyrinth of faintly rusted metal, old wooden doors, creaking faucets and musty textbooks. Of inexorable truths charging faster than death. A new angle to direct the execution of violence toward, a shift in the direction of the blood-filled gutters. Somewhere for the bodies different than a shallow hole in the woods. But that wouldn¡¯t happen. He went through classes, ate lunch, went back through classes. He listened to the gossip, endured the awestruck gazes and the eyes upon him narrowed while clutching polished handles and gnarled metal knuckles. It was the same as it ever was. The whispers, the realizations, the further solidification as the payback dealer, the one responsible for so many deaths. All for something inscrutable at best, the optimal outcome outside of his understanding, and at worst, all for nothing at all. He didn¡¯t know which would be the preferable option. Michael didn¡¯t know what he wanted. Entertainment, novelty, uniqueness. If he would remain in his place, simply because that was where he was. If there even was something after high school, with how fast everything began being whittled down before graduation. If there was something truly new in Ravenville that wasn¡¯t everything he knew wasn¡¯t there at all. Perhaps it was because those felt like the only things meaning anything in Ravenville. Chapter Seventeen: Check The Lock The hardware store was bright, full, smelling of old wood and rot-like mulch. Sarah disliked it. Not for an existential reason, or even a specific reason for why she was there. She just disliked the smell of mildew, sawdust, and dirt that filled the building. It was cloying in an obnoxious way, toeing the line of what she expected burning bodies to smell like, mixed with the smell of three-day-old corpse dirt. She unfortunately knew what the latter did smell like. Even in the hardware section, away from the carpentry and landscaping areas and surrounded by walls upon walls of heavy forged metal, the smell still reached her. It was distracting, and poorly timed, especially at a moment where she had to be listening intently to Michael discussing the makeup of various door locks. To say he had invited her there would have been inaccurate, since the lessons weren¡¯t typically social affairs. It was a lesson, obviously, and now that they were no longer investigating Jane or attempting to find out who had attacked her they could resume their usual schedule. Somehow, she found herself even more eager to take in whatever he knew now that some kind of connection had been established. It was ambition, she knew, the knowledge that there really was something there. She had discovered a handhold, and she would leverage it for all she could, driving her fingers into the crack and praying it open. If it required her to learn more about things she might have been skeptical of before, to get herself deeper into the weeds of Ravenville, that made sense. That was where the truth would be, after all. Michael paused mid-sentence and turned away from the shelf to look at her. ¡°Are you listening?¡± ¡°Yeah. I just didn¡¯t bring a notebook.¡± ¡°Lock construction is generally simple. If you would need a notebook, then you haven¡¯t been paying attention.¡± ¡°No, I have, I¡¯m listening.¡± She nodded her assent as she spoke. ¡°You stick the lockpick in, push the pins up, and you keep it in place with the turning tool.¡± ¡°Correct,¡± he answered. ¡°There is also the question of the number of pins in the lock, as well as possible security measures. Some pins may be cut in unique ways so that when you attempt to move them into place, you receive a false positive, resulting in a far longer time to pick the lock.¡± ¡°Which is bad.¡± ¡°It is very bad.¡± He gestured to a padlock sitting on the shelf. ¡°Ideally, you want to get through a lock as quickly as possible. Lockpicking cannot just be slow, but it is incredibly obvious to any witnesses what you are doing. As such, it works out that the faster you can pick a lock, the better a given situation will resolve for you.¡± ¡°I did have the impression that speed was good no matter what it was in,¡± she said with a shrug. ¡°That impression is correct. Lockpicking especially benefits from this. There are situations where it is more desirable to be slow in your lockpicking, such as when you are attempting to minimize noise or are prioritizing stealth above everything, but those environments are few and far between.¡± Sarah hmmed, nodding. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve got a bit of a question.¡± He gestured an open hand towards her. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°You said earlier than any lock could be picked. So then what¡¯s the point of having more secure locks than others?¡± Michael took a small breath and stretched his back out, letting out a small groan of satisfaction before straightening up. ¡°Locks are deterrents. There is a saying that locks only work to keep out the honest and the opportunists, and it is correct. We went over our earlier lessons of the importance of information, and locks serve to keep information hidden in a physical way. Additionally, regardless of how long a lock takes to pick, it still takes time. Some locks are so complex that they would require specialized tools, which itself will always give away evidence, and even those that are simple will have some sort of delaying factor. No lock is foolproof, but they are not designed to be foolproof. They are designed to be temporary obstacles to the unprepared or the overeager.¡± ¡°But what if the lock is just that good and I can¡¯t get out? Like, what if I need to get out of a room locked from the outside?¡± Michael¡¯s gaze had a hint of humor in it. ¡°Do you have to unlock the door to open it?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Wrong.¡± He pointed to the stacked siding further down the aisle. ¡°The architect¡¯s fallacy, that there are only the entrances and exits to a room where doors are placed. There are not. Any window is only glass, and a lock is only in a small part of the door.¡± Well, that was a point she hadn¡¯t quite considered before. She could even see the utility. If you needed to be fast in a timeframe that couldn¡¯t even leave space to pick a lock, you could just break a window. Whether or not she was able to kick a door open was an entirely different question, and one that she wasn¡¯t sure she was willing to test soon. But if she had to, she would. Whatever the investigation required. A sudden turn from Michael made her jolt in surprise, and she only just raised her hands in time to catch the padlock he tossed at her. It was light, she noticed, the metal looking unpolished and thin beneath the plastic case. The band of paint around the top of the lock¡¯s main body was worn away, leaving only a few specks of blue behind. A key joined it inside the packaging, sharing the low quality appearance and roughshod quality of the brand engraving. Michael lifted an identical lock for her to see. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She followed him down the aisle and towards the checkout, handing the lock back over to him. ¡°What are these for?¡± ¡°Practice dummies, for you. Lockpicking is a less essential skill, if you wish to remain primarily defensive, but it is still something you are learning and would benefit you. Something to practice one would be very good for you. Not in the sense of learning to pick these specific locks, but in picking them, and then determining why you were successful, so that you can improve at lockpicking in general.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve put a lot of thought into this,¡± Sarah commented as he handed the locks to a bored cashier she recognized from her English class. ¡°For some reason I kind of thought you would be a bad teacher.¡± ¡°A reasonable assumption,¡± he conceded. ¡°I am simply relaying how I taught myself. Lockpicking was easier than some other subjects, as it has a definite technique. Other, less clear-cut subjects are likely to be far more difficult to explain.¡± The cashier held out his hand, and Michael withdrew a handful of bills from his wallet to give him. He took them, sliding them into the register¡¯s open drawer, and handed him back the locks with a receipt to go with them. Michael gave a polite nod and ¡°thank you¡± and walked off, Sarah close behind him. ¡°I am not going to assign homework for this lesson, that would be stupid, but I do suggest you practice on these locks.¡± He continued through the sparsely populated parking lot towards where he and Sarah had parked next to each other. ¡°You heard me earlier. It can be a simple exercise for your free time.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± She shrugged. ¡°I thought you would like a demonstration.¡± Michael paused mid-step before continuing on as if nothing had happened. ¡°That is a good idea,¡± he said in the tone of a teacher that had been reminded of an essay he had to collect. ¡°I brought along a set of lockpicks for practice. Acquiring an idea of your skill level would be a good place to begin.¡± Sarah nodded, confusion slowly taking over her expression. ¡°You know,¡± she began, ¡°you¡¯re being a lot more talkative and nicer to me than you usually are.¡± ¡°You have proven yourself to be more capable than initially seemed,¡± he replied simply. ¡°You did good work in the Jane investigation, and I am giving you more benefit of the doubt as a result.¡± ¡°Was this some weird thing about proving myself?¡± ¡°No, that¡¯s stupid. I¡¯m not going to set up some arbitrary standard for respect. Also, you don¡¯t annoy me as much as most other people.¡± ¡°I feel so flattered,¡± Sarah said with a light smile. Michael tossed a shrug over his shoulder and unlocked his car, opening the door and reaching inside for the glove compartment. She hadn¡¯t really expected him to go for the idea of some sort of competition, really, it had mostly been a joke. It had just sort of seemed like the kind of thing that Michael would go for in this situation. He emerged from his car with the set of lockpicks, several small and thin pieces of dark metal wrapped in a fabric bundle. Two of the pieces were protruding further than the others, and he held them out towards her. She took them and examined them, trying to understand the purpose. One was a turning tool, and the other a single-pronged pick. Michael removed the lock from the packaging and placed it on his car roof, tossing the plastic away into his backseat. ¡°You can leave it on the roof or hold it in your hand, but don¡¯t worry about time. I¡¯ll point out issues for you to begin working on.¡± He stepped aside, and Sarah picked up the lock, inserting the turning tool and holding it down at an angle where the same hand could hold the lock while applying tension to the turning tool. Michael hummed approvingly, and Sarah began to poke the pick into the lock, attempting to move any of the pins around. ¡°I¡¯m going to be honest, I¡¯m not particularly good at this,¡± she muttered as she attempted to push the first pin down again. ¡°This is really really tricky.¡± ¡°You¡¯re too aggressive about it. If you go slower, you¡¯ll be able to respond to the feedback better.¡± ¡°Yeah but I¨Cdammit¨CI don¡¯t know what feedback I¡¯m getting.¡± ¡°Primarily clicking noises, or the pick moving quite a distance and then reaching resistance. There is a tangible weight difference between moving the pick freely and pushing a tumbler.¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Really tiny weight difference then, because I don¡¯t feel shit.¡± He sighed. ¡°Give me the pick. I¡¯ll demonstrate.¡± ¡°No, wait, I think I have it.¡± The lock let out a quiet click, and Sarah let out an excited hiss. ¡°Got it. How many are in here again? Five?¡± ¡°For this model, yes, five.¡± She dropped it onto the car. ¡°This sucks.¡± Michael let out an exhale that seemed to sit somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. ¡°Why are you being so reticent now?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not being reticent, this is just annoying.¡± An idea struck her, and she whipped around to fully face him with a smile. ¡°Actually, I¡¯ve got an idea. Why don¡¯t we do a race?¡± Michael raised an eyebrow. Sarah continued hastily. ¡°Just to see how difficult this lock is. It feels pretty bad.¡± He reached back into his car for the other lock and tore it out of the packaging, removing a slightly larger turning tool and pick from the bundle and setting it all up in his own hand. ¡°Would you like to retain the head start, or reset?¡± ¡°No, no, leave me the head start.¡± She wasn¡¯t stupid, and would need any advantage. ¡°We¡¯ll actually go and start on my mark, okay? Three, two, one, mark.¡± Sarah shut her mouth in focus as she resumed moving the lockpick around, searching for the tumblers inside the lock. The second one was closer to the first, clicking on the first try, but the others began to elude her. Pins she thought were all the way up would fall back down as she missed, her grip on the turning tool would slacken and she would have to re-check the initial pins, and whether or not she was even pushing the pins was hard to tell, her own lack of skill showing itself as she failed to pick out the feedback from heavier loads. The difference between smacking into the top of the lock and moving any of the pins was lost on her. She risked a glance over to Michael, who was moving through the lock with practiced ease, cycling the pick through positions in algorithmic precision. He was moving slowly, but without as much caution as Sarah suspected he would usually have, and paused for a moment at one spot before the lockpick in his hand seemed to go further up than before and he moved it down to the next pin. Shit. He had at least one down, and she didn¡¯t know how many more he had, apart from not winning. She tried to get back to it, but the pins still didn¡¯t feel like they were moving, she could barely tell where they were, and while she managed to get another click out of the lock she was sure that Michael had more than three already. She snuck another glance over, and he was alternating between two positions in the lock rapidly, poking the lockpick around as if he was on the final barrier. He was about to win, and even if it was pointless, she had started the race. It was never cool to lose a game that you started. There had to be some way of cheating the lock. If she could find the pins easily, then that could work, but she didn¡¯t have immediate options or the time to explore more options. She just really wanted to win this game. Michael had mentioned that you could always just go around a lock. And this particular lock felt cheap, light and thinly walled. It took Sarah all of a second to pull the pick and turner out of the lock and throw it at the asphalt. Michael whipped his head around at the motion in time to see her lock pop open from the impact, bouncing off the ground once before rattling to a stop. He looked over to her, and she smiled, snapping and pointing at the lock. ¡°Guess I won that one.¡± He stared at her for a moment, expression blank, before the corners of his eyes relaxed and he finished off opening his lock without looking. ¡°We never said you couldn¡¯t do that,¡± he commented as his own lock swung open. ¡°Hey, you said no lock is unpickable. Maybe I¡¯ll just hit them really hard when I find them.¡± ¡°That¡¯s very noisy and probably less practical than actually picking them, but in a pinch, it will work.¡± He re-latched his lock and handed it to her as she picked up her own, letting her slip the both of them into one of the pockets on her coat. ¡°It¡¯s getting late, and I feel like I should leave soon. I think this was enough of a lesson for today.¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll definitely start practicing on these.¡± She looked around. ¡°Do you want to get some dinner, though?¡± He had shrugged, ambivalent, and a few minutes later the two of them were several minutes away, in Jimmy Win¡¯s Fast Food parking lot, with Sarah eating her burger perched on the trunk of her car while Michael slowly picked through a box of chicken nuggets, standing upright in front of his own car. ¡°I¡¯m really glad that this place is good,¡± she mumbled through a full mouth. ¡°We have two fast food options and Pinfeather Wings just sucks. Do they drug their chicken or something to make it taste worse?¡± ¡°Yes. It¡¯s actually pigeons from Cleveland.¡± ¡°WHAT¨C¡± Her roar of indignation was cut off as she began choking on a piece of tomato. Michael reached over and smacked her on the back once, dislodging it. She winced at the taste of partially-pulverized-and-retched-back-up tomato on her tongue, spitting it out onto the ground before looking at him in horror. ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°No. It¡¯s chicken. They just have a subpar frying batter.¡± She let out a cry of disappointment. ¡°How do you even know about what frying batter they use? That¡¯s such a specific thing to figure out.¡± ¡°Somebody attempted to kill somebody while they were working a shift there once. I unfortunately witnessed it. It left me with far more understanding of their frying process than I, frankly, want.¡± Sarah gave a fake shudder, playing up her reaction for fun, but the mention of another killing attempt had her thinking. Michael had seen a lot over the years, she was sure. Not just from the kills he¡¯d done, but from investigations for payback and things he was wrapped up in. He¡¯d know some things about this. And he was being a bit more open now. Not that she suspected him to have lied to her originally, but there was curiosity in her that she needed to satisfy. ¡°Speaking of attempted murder,¡± she began, attempting to sway the conversation, ¡°Do you really think there¡¯s some sort of connection between what happened to Jane and what happened to me?¡± ¡°What brought this on?¡± He asked between nuggets. ¡°I¡¯m still curious. I definitely feel like there¡¯s a connection of some kind.¡± Her burger was finished, down to only a scrap of bun and cheese, and she tossed it back into the bag. ¡°It could be nothing, it¡¯s not like I was targeted twice, but they are all friends and Brad had to have known something about both attacks. It really feels like there¡¯s something here.¡± Michael dropped his empty food container back into the bag. ¡°I can agree with you. There is evidently some sort of connection between events, but to what extent, I cannot say. The full breadth of evidence isn¡¯t there yet.¡± ¡°But you think there¡¯s something wrong here?¡± He nodded. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I knew it.¡± She fist-pumped. ¡°I knew it! I knew there was something wrong there! It¡¯s so¡ªthere¡¯s so much proof! I knew that there was some way to find it out. This, this was exactly why I even went in for that investigation. There¡¯s always some kernel of truth lying around in there, that¡¯s the whole thing about investigations, they always go somewhere. I knew it.¡± That hope from all the way back in Jane¡¯s basement had been right. This hadn¡¯t just been an investigation she could practice on, it was something she could use to find out more. There really was something deeper here. And if it went deep enough to organize multiple murder attempts and a deeper plot that had some sort of intention, then it might go even deeper. Down to the source of it all. There was silence in the parking lot as she thought, her concentration snapping as Michael asked a question in a voice that sounded closer to his usual closed-off tone. ¡°Then where do you think this one goes?¡± ¡°Oh, all the way to the bottom.¡± She smiled broadly and eagerly. ¡°There¡¯s more than three people involved in this, I can tell. Brad¡¯s friends were there when I was attacked, you said that a bunch of them were waiting for you when you killed Joe, and of course Brad had that whole thing with the wooden knife handoff. They¡¯re all connected somehow. We still don¡¯t know the full scope or the reason behind that, we¡¯re going to have to wait for them to make another move, but I can live with that because any step they take will create evidence, and that¡¯s evidence we can follow.¡± Her words were flowing out now, the elation of knowing that they were on the right track fueling her. ¡°But they have a motive. They always have a motive. They wouldn¡¯t need to put all that effort into just another murder, would they? There wouldn¡¯t be so much coordination and secrecy and work if they were just killing for normal clout. There¡¯s a deeper reason, I¡¯m sure of it.¡± She turned to him. ¡°You don¡¯t have any ideas on what their motivation is, do you?¡± Michael didn¡¯t say anything. He just looked at her, standing straight, focused on a spot inside her head but behind her eyes. His shoulders moved in the barest of shrugs, and the corner of his mouth twitched downwards before turning to a flat expression. Sarah didn¡¯t really know what that meant. Maybe he just didn¡¯t want to admit he didn¡¯t have any ideas. ¡°Eh, whatever,¡± she joked. ¡°I¡¯ll figure it out myself. Even if I¡¯ve got to get down and dirty about it.¡± ¡°I thought you wanted to leave without getting involved.¡± ¡°I want to leave, and I don¡¯t want to start killing people for clout, that¡¯s stupid.¡± The air was cold, and she stretched in the night. ¡°But I¡¯m not leaving before I find out the truth.¡± ¡°The truth?¡± ¡°About Ravenville.¡± Michael¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but she smiled at him anyway. ¡°You might not think something¡¯s wrong, but there is. I¡¯m going to chase this lead as far as I can, and then even further. I¡¯m going to find out what¡¯s wrong with Ravenville, and what all this death is for.¡± The memory of a body in the woods flashed before her eyes, and her burger almost came back up her throat before she swallowed it back down. That was why she was doing this. She was going to avoid that, to make sure that people at least knew why there was violence. The deaths would all have to mean something. Even if this lead didn¡¯t turn into anything, there was something to here, and she would find it. She would find out what was wrong with Ravenville before she left, no matter what. Michael didn¡¯t say a word. She¡¯d find it all out. Chapter Eighteen: Back Of Your Head The backyard of Jane¡¯s house was barren. It was an empty plot of grass and nothing else. There were no trees or bushes, only an empty space above the ground. A white-painted and half-rotting fence wrapped around the yard, riddled with holes and cracks in planks that had not been replaced since it was initially built. Mice could sneak through the gaps in the fence, deer could sniff at the holes. It was empty and rotting, but it still existed. Jane watched the yard with skepticism and concern, her grip tight around the home landline. One of the fence boards was loose, it could be pushed aside for somebody to sneak in. She had tested it herself, measured how much it could move. She had assumed that was the method Joe had used to get into her backyard to attack her, moving the board to sneak in the basement window. It explained why there was no blood from climbing over any part of the fence. She knew it was still loose. She knew that somebody could get in through it. The night stayed dark, the yard unmoving. A distant bird cawed off in the trees, the marker of how close her house was to the woods. Cars whirred by in the distance, and a conversation drifted in from the street outside, boisterous chatter that went right by her house without acknowledging it. Jane still watched the back fence. Nothing moved behind it, or through it. Nothing gave away that there was something there over the several minutes that she spent watching it. But she knew that something was wrong. She walked over to the back door and opened it, thumb posed over the phone¡¯s keypad as she shouted. ¡°I know somebody¡¯s out there!¡± Not even crickets replied to her. ¡°Come out, now! Or I¡¯ll call the police!¡± The grass stood still for a moment, and then the plank moved aside as a shape in dark clothing slowly moved through the gap, gliding through the darkness in a display almost effortless and certainly silent. A pale face reflected the light coming off of her house, and the shape stood to full height as she recognized the features watching her. ¡°How long have you known?¡± Michael Jay asked. ¡°I only thought that there was something wrong I couldn¡¯t figure out,¡± she answered. Her hand was loosening around the phone. ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure who was out there.¡± ¡°It¡¯s only me.¡± Michael shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not here to kill you.¡± She believed him, relaxing even as she asked him another question. ¡°Then why are you here?¡± He looked around, skeptical, before settling on her and slipping his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. ¡°There¡¯s a connection of some kind. The crux of it is Sarah. I don¡¯t know how, but it is her. You were a secondary target they wanted to use against her, without throwing somebody else directly at her only days after the first attempt.¡± ¡°Have you been watching me because you¡¯re trying to stake me out?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Jane looked at him with shock and a small amount of fear. ¡°How long?¡± ¡°Only the last two weeks,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°It¡¯s been on and off. I¡¯ve been primarily looking for signs of other people watching you that might be trying something again.¡± She nodded, the point becoming clearer and less bluntly intimidating. ¡°You¡¯re trying to use me to find any other leads.¡± ¡°Correct. Nothing has come of that, for better or worse, but you do seem to be in the clear. This was going to be the last night I was keeping tabs on you.¡± The phone was loose in her hands, and she leaned back inside to replace it on the wall mount before continuing the conversation. ¡°But I wasn¡¯t the only person involved. Joe didn¡¯t work alone, and you found that out yourself. Why me?¡± ¡°Process of elimination puts you as the most vulnerable target.¡± Something scuttled through the grass on the other side of the fence, and Michael didn¡¯t move save for one hand drifting slightly behind his back. ¡°It¡¯s just a mouse. But you are a more vulnerable target than Sarah. Joe survived his initial attack on you. Nobody saw Matthew after he went for Sarah. That discourages repeat attempts.¡± She had always wondered what, exactly, had happened to Matthew. She hadn¡¯t heard more beyond the rumors of him being at the party, and Sarah¡¯s sudden mood shift the day after had been really weird. It made sense that even a self-defense kill would be strange. But to hear the total disinterest in Michael¡¯s voice, not just talking about deaths as a social event of little consequence but as something that he genuinely did not care about at all, not even enough to put a euphemism on it¨Cit was sobering. Sometimes the coldness in Ravenville was unavoidable. He looked around one more time, and reached behind him to tilt the board back up. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you now. If you get attacked again, call the police and say that you think you recognized who it was. Send them on the trail early.¡± Jane nodded at him, and watched him slink back through the gap in the fence, knocking the board back into place. She didn¡¯t see him leave after that., A cold breeze rushed past her face. Sarah said many things that Jane didn¡¯t agree with, but the more that happened with this strange conspiracy, the more she had to acknowledge that her friends might be on to something. Twelve hours later, Michael was sitting in a school hallway, watching one of the men¡¯s bathrooms during lunch and pretending to do homework instead of eating. He had already been there for several minutes, and was fully prepared to wait several more, just to ease off a hunch that he had. He trusted Jane to be able to at least cover herself if attacked again, and if no move had been made in the two and a half weeks since Joe¡¯s death, they likely wouldn¡¯t be going for her again. But he also doubted that Brad would give up so easily, regardless of what he and his friends were planning. So if the stakeout of the possible victim turns out to be fruitless, follow the likely perpetrator. Brad had remained subtle over the course of his surveillance, sticking to his job, hanging out in fairly obvious places, not being careful. He was on his phone almost every night, and repeatedly Michael had seen him sneak off with one friend or another faster than he could track, but they had not attempted any actual movement of whatever their plan was, in preparation or in action. He had pulled back, been cautious. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Michael didn¡¯t expect it to last. But he had to remain vigilant. There was a mystery of a scale that he had not seen before, even if it was only the disconnected ambition of a few fools. He was curious to see where it led, how long it would take to strike a dead end. Because it could only strike a dead end, only find empty uselessness that never led anywhere. Whatever the plan was, it would never work. But he was closer to it than he had expected he would ever be with a plan like this, so he might as well see where it went. The bathroom door swung open, and Brad stepped through, moving with purpose down the hall. He didn¡¯t seem to notice Michael, or acknowledge him, just moving down towards the secretary¡¯s office with purpose. Michael stood as a coincidence of the date clicked in his memory. Today was a visiting day. He packed his homework back into his backpack and began walking after Brad, keeping a far enough distance behind that he didn¡¯t look suspicious while still keeping him in line of sight. Brad looked out through the school¡¯s front window and ducked into the secretary¡¯s office, the offset room walled by glass and metal lattice full of a handful more people than usual. Michael followed him right up to the door, stopping to lean against the glass with an ear aimed inward, just tilted at an angle so that nobody could actually see his face from the inside. ¡°...wanted to ask about extra credit.¡± ¡°Well, I suppose that I could answer some of your questions. We do share an extra credit policy across all schools in Ravenville, or at least between the middle and high schools.¡± The voice that Brad was speaking to was smooth, with a faintly rhythmic lilt and an undertone of an emotion that Michael could never place, always seeming somewhere between satisfaction and resignation. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s just about how, like, sometimes people do stuff outside of school that they can count for extra credit, like it¡¯ll go on your record and look better or it makes up for when the report card isn¡¯t as good. Do you get what I mean?¡± ¡°Oh, yes, of course. Extracurriculars are a very valuable part of a well-rounded student. I¡¯m sure some clubs could be put on your transcript for your record.¡± ¡°What about, um, outside of school? Stuff I¡¯m doing outside of classes, do those count?¡± Brad sounded more desperate than curious then, and Michael saw their visitor pause in confusion at the question. ¡°Well, no. Those are obviously not connected to the school at all, we cannot offer extra credit for things that happen entirely outside of the system. Sanctioned extracurriculars count, but things such as jobs would go on your resume, and not your school transcript.¡± ¡°Okay, I got you, I got it. But where do those two things intersect?¡± ¡°Typically, they do not. Unless you win some kind of award, or do a particularly noteworthy achievement such as a state sport championship win, resumes and transcripts stay separate.¡± Brad nodded, slowly and a little disappointedly. ¡°So there¡¯s no way to get, like, something else I do independently on my transcript for some extra credit? Or does that go on my resume?¡± The visitor hummed. ¡°It would usually go on your resume, not your transcript. Something needs to be associated with the school to go on your transcript.¡± ¡°I get it, I get it.¡± Brad waved. ¡°Thanks for the help, mister superintendent. I¡¯ll see you.¡± He walked out of the office, entirely missing Michael as he did, and Michael didn¡¯t move until somebody else came out of the door a few moments after Brad was gone. ¡°Oh, my, hello there, Michael.¡± Michael looked over, taking in the royal purple suit and muted crimson tie, the high cheekbones and tightly combed hair, the eyes like a half-dulled razor. ¡°Hello there, Mr. Peel.¡± Superintendent Peel, formerly Principal Peel, gave him a gentle smile and crossed his hands behind his back. ¡°May I ask what you¡¯re doing here?¡± ¡°Got bored in lunch. I wanted to go for a walk, get a bit of sun outside of the cafeteria.¡± ¡°Oh, you should get what sun you can. We¡¯re already into fall, and the days are only getting shorter.¡± Peel rocked back and forth on his heels, just rhythmically enough that Michael began to catch it before he stopped. ¡°You¡¯re a sophomore now, correct?¡± Michael nodded. ¡°Ah, good, good. I hope high school is treating you well. I haven¡¯t seen your grades, but I also haven¡¯t heard of you getting into any trouble.¡± ¡°It¡¯s going well.¡± ¡°That¡¯s always good to hear. I do care about all the students in Ravenville, you know. There¡¯s not very many, admittedly, but it allows me to be able to truly focus on ensuring that all of you are able to grow to your full potential.¡± Michael didn¡¯t respond beyond a slow nod, and Peel stretched his arms around behind him. ¡°So, do you have an idea of what you want to do with your future?¡± The question struck him with a cold pipe to the spine, and Michael felt himself freeze on the spot. It was certainly a loaded question that he had given very little thought to. In theory, he had anything open to him. He could go to college somewhere, get a degree, and see what job he could get with that. But that possibility only remained a theoretical. He would most likely end up somewhere in Ravenville, taking up a position left vacant by a recent death, living in one of the northern apartments or in his parent''s house in the event of their untimely death. It was a question with a simple answer that he barely had a choice in. It was hard to remember that there really was a future in Ravenville. Knowing that his choices were to keep up some mask that barely existed or to end up in a puddle of cooling blood. ¡°I¡¯m not particularly excited for any of my current job prospects,¡± he said, flatly. ¡°Oh, many people aren¡¯t in their sophomore year. It¡¯s entirely okay to not know what you want to do with your future so early on. I only asked out of curiosity.¡± Peel¡¯s voice trailed up at the end of the sentence, as if he was waiting for Michael to finish the statement for him, a bait he didn¡¯t fall for. He just stayed where he was, leaning against the door. It almost felt like a trick question. Peel had to know what Michael thought about Ravenville, what it all really meant to him. It was like he was asking him if he¡¯d like a part in a play for no audience, following a script with a punchline that nobody would get. He had to know. ¡°No idea.¡± Michael shrugged. ¡°And that¡¯s okay. We all take time to make decisions, Michael. I¡¯m sure that whatever you decide, you¡¯ll enjoy it.¡± Peel smoothed out his suit and straightened his tie. ¡°Please excuse me, now, but I need to finish up the purpose of my visit here. There are a few teachers that I would like to check in on, and see how they are doing. Have a good day, Michael.¡± Peel gave him a jaunty salute and strolled off, his stride perfectly paced as he turned the corner. Michael stared after him for a moment longer and then turned the other way, going towards his next class after lunch. The question had stuck with him. His answer might have even more. He didn¡¯t know what he wanted to do in Ravenville. He didn¡¯t know where to find something truly novel, or how to make anything feel like it really meant something. He didn¡¯t know where to look. He had no idea at all. Chapter Nineteen: The More You Know The idea would not leave Sarah. Whether it was held in place by fear, hope, ambition, or curiosity, the idea of a genuine lead would not leave her alone. The last three weeks had been an endless stream of teases and almost-hints, signs that she wasn¡¯t sure were even actually signs. It was something between a clear giveaway and a red herring, and she had no solution on how to sort it out. Michael¡¯s lessons had continued apace. Every Monday she checked in with him before school, and every Monday she met up with him after school to see what could take extra effort. A short demonstration of the typical blind spots in security systems, with a lens to making sure that she wouldn¡¯t be fooled by somebody sneaking up on her personally. Another small jaunt to the woods to an abandoned car that had once belonged to somebody to teach how to hotwire cars, complete with the discovery that her push daggers weren¡¯t very usable for accessing the ignition and the suspicion that she wasn¡¯t very good with anything that involved wires. A walking tour of the suburbs where Michael pointed out every handhold that could be used to climb the side of a house like Sarah¡¯s, whether it was up through the windows, over the back, or even across a tree that even leaned vaguely towards the window. The last option was one he had specified was reserved for the most acrobatic people due to the level of skill some of those tricks would require, but he still pointed out the possibility. It was information she could use to defend herself, to make sure that nobody would come for her before she could leave. He was giving her tools to keep herself safe. On two of those occasions, he had agreed to go out for food again after, once from the fast food place again and once getting takeout from the pizza parlor that everybody agreed was far from superb quality but also wasn¡¯t bad enough to make people actually stop going there. It had been fun. But he had never taken back the suggestion he¡¯d made. Michael still thought that there was something wrong, and that Brad¡¯s plan was connected. He had never actually said that, but the evidence supported the idea. ¡°He was watching you?¡± ¡°He was, yeah.¡± Jane¡¯s end of the phone call crackled with static interference from her sink running. ¡°He said he wasn¡¯t going full stalker, he was just using me to find other leads on this whole conspiracy thing.¡± Sarah dropped her pencil onto her desk, homework vanishing from her focus. ¡°Well? Did he find anything?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about? Really? Michael Jay was watching me for two weeks and your biggest worry is what he found?¡± The static hid most of her tone, but Sarah could tell that Jane was smiling on the other end. ¡°Weren¡¯t you just hanging out with him earlier this week? You should have hit him for me.¡± ¡°Honestly, he¡¯d probably let me get away with it.¡± She leaned back in her desk chair. ¡°If you said he stopped then he probably doesn¡¯t care anymore. I don¡¯t really know, though.¡± ¡°You should anyway.¡± There was a clattering noise as Jane put the phone down, and Sarah waited for the sound of shuffling fabric to finish before she heard anything again. ¡°Even if it was a stakeout, I almost called the cops on him. He could have at least told me what was going on.¡± ¡°...so is that a yes or a no¨C¡± ¡°Yes, Sarah, punch him. He deserves it.¡± ¡°Alright, alright.¡± She put one hand up in surrender. ¡°I¡¯ll try and not die in the process.¡± Jane scoffed, absently moving something in the background. Her wounds had been healing decently well, the scabbing having faded to irritated scars by now, but she was still being sure to keep what scabs were left clean while they healed. The scars were worse on her neck than on her face, a clear and waxy line compared to a few faint marks up by her ear. It could have been far worse. Sarah pursed her lips, a sudden weight in the back of her mind. ¡°Jane?¡± She muttered into the phone. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it messed up that we¡¯re just sort of on board with being staked out?¡± There was a burst of confusing noise, and it took Sarah a moment to realize that it was Jane snorting. ¡°Yeah. There¡¯s a conspiracy that wants you dead and thinks I¡¯m a fair target. That¡¯s the screwy part. Being hunted like that sucks.¡± ¡°No, no, I mean¨C¡± She sighed. ¡°Why is that normal? Why are assassination conspiracies and stakeouts of people you expect to be dead in a week normal? It¡¯s insane, that this¨Cthis is just the daily schedule here. You almost died! Somebody tried to cut your throat open! This entire thing is just absurd!¡± Jane let out a long-suffering exhale, the sound that Sarah knew she made whenever the questions of Ravenville¡¯s rules and their consequences were raised. ¡°Look, Sarah, that¡¯s just sort of how it is. Just roll with it, okay? Honestly, they might have even given up by now. It¡¯s been so long since they tried something.¡± ¡°But it still happened, even if they¡¯re done. And I don¡¯t think they¡¯re done, because Michael still thinks they¡¯re active.¡± ¡°Did he say that?¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t say they weren¡¯t.¡± ¡°Look, Sarah, whatever Joe and Brad and Matthew and whoever else were cooking, they did it on their own. They didn¡¯t do it because the demon sitting under the superintendent¡¯s house told them to. They¡¯re not going to magically give you all the answers you ever wanted.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re saying there are answers.¡± The sudden silence was conspicuous, the total lack of noise one makes when they are uncertain they can speak even to the open air. Sarah waited, letting it stretch on for a full minute before Jane dared to whisper something again. ¡°The rules are the rules. The payback rule, the cops, they¡¯re here for a reason. Whatever it is, we don¡¯t need to know, we¡¯re just leaving it there and doing what we can.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to sit here and let myself die, Jane!¡± Sarah shouted. ¡°Or you! I¡¯m going to find out what¡¯s wrong with Ravenville before I leave. Whatever it is. I¡¯m not going to stand for sitting through this bullshit of people dying every other week just because that¡¯s how it¡¯s supposed to be. I¡¯m not¨Cit¡¯s all wrong, Jane! It¡¯s all screwed up and wrong, and I don¡¯t want to see this happen again.¡± A different type of silence silence, shocked this time, and Jane didn¡¯t whisper when she broke it. ¡°God, Sarah, I know you hate it here. Just calm down. Please,¡± she added. ¡°Just calm down.¡± ¡°Okay, fine, I¡¯ll calm down.¡± Sarah stood up and threw herself onto her bed. ¡°But I¡¯m not going to let this sit, Jane, I¡¯m so close. I¡¯m almost there.¡± ¡°Just let it sit,¡± Jane pleaded, ¡°Sarah, just let it go. You can absolutely forget about this. Just ask Michael for a lead on the gang¨C¡± ¡°But that¡¯s not it. I want the truth that they point to, not just the names and the ability to choose where they¡¯re buried.¡± ¡°Not exactly many other options,¡± Jane muttered. ¡°There always are.¡± Sarah pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at the ceiling. She was so, so, so close to something. Even the slightest clue would give her what she needed, a way to dig deeper, dig into the meat and soot and find out what was hidden at the core. But she needed that start, she needed the way in. She would find out, however she needed to. Jane was still talking into the phone, her voice distant. ¡°...but you just need to wait it out. If it dies down, it dies down. Just punch Michael Jay for being weird and keep going. You¡¯re going to get out of this okay.¡± She squeezed the phone in her grasp. ¡°I can¡¯t wait.¡± Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t wait, Jane.¡± Not anymore. ¡°I¡¯m so close, I can¡¯t. I want to know what it is and I¡¯m going to find out, damn the torpedoes. It¡¯s coming too close to me to ignore it anymore.¡± ¡°So what are you going to do?¡± Jane sounded morose, and Sarah understood why. She already knew her plan. It was an obvious one. ¡°I¡¯m going to head them off at the source.¡± She stood up off the bed, holding the phone with one hand as the other began rifling through her closet for dark clothes. ¡°If I can find out what they¡¯re planning before they strike, then I can stop them, and get the evidence I need. In, out, and get my clues.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± Jane sighed. ¡°Please be careful, Sarah.¡± ¡°Relax,¡± she replied as she pulled out a black sweater, ¡°I¡¯m going to be perfectly safe about it. Quick, quiet, in, and out. I¡¯m not going to be trying to fight anybody.¡± The reply she got was an indistinct sound of understanding, and an hour later Sarah was hopping the fence of the house next to Brad¡¯s, wearing a black sweater, dark jeans, black boots, and her darkest raincoat. She had a set of lockpicks in one coat pocket and her gloves in the other, the push dagger tucked into the inside pocket. No wallet, no keys, no phone, all to keep her profile as low as possible. Sarah pulled the gloves on and took a careful look into Brad¡¯s backyard, trying to gauge any possible hiding spots. There were two bushes on either side of the backdoor, and no actual lights on the outside of the house, but every window facing the backyard had a light behind it. She didn¡¯t see any shadows in them, though, so she waited another moment before pulling herself over the fence, landing with a slight thump, and scampering her way towards the bushes while trying to regain her balance. She nearly pitched face-first into the branches once she made it there, one hand bracing against the siding as she managed to get both feet solid and drop down into a stable crouch. The walls of the houses were too thick to hear anything through, and she leaned forward to see if there was anybody inside. The sliding backdoor was clear, the lights inside the sunroom and kitchen glowing a steady yellow, no shadows interrupting them until they got to the door. Sarah slowly leaned towards the lock on the door and tugged the handle to see if it was unlocked, coming away unsurprised at how little give there was. She fished the lockpicks out of her pocket and picked out a set that seemed to be the appropriate size, sliding the turning tool into the keyhole and slipping the pick in before getting to work. It took a long while, not that she knew exactly how long, for her to get the door open. There was a definite delay in how long that actually took her versus how long she had expected it to take, but she got in eventually, and didn¡¯t snap the pick in the process. It did take her an extra minute to get the pick back out from the lock, but once she did, the door was open, and she took a cautious step inside. The alarm didn¡¯t go off, and she took another two steps inside until the sound of a raised yet muffled voice met her ears. She couldn¡¯t tell what it was saying, and she held still for several moments until the front door slammed and somebody walked out. Another person inside the house sighed, stomping back up the stairs and going somewhere on the upper floor. She couldn¡¯t tell what was happening, crouched down just outside the kitchen and pressed herself up against a wall, but then the phone rang on her level for a moment before cutting off, and she got an idea. She didn¡¯t hear any steps from downstairs as she crept towards what she assumed to be an office, the single down shut next to the open laundry room. It was dull inside, a few family pictures on the wall and some small collectibles on a table full of papers and a large computer. The landline sat next to the monitor, a single indicator flashing the sign that the line was active. She slowly reached over and picked the phone up, putting the other hand on the receiver to not interrupt the call. ¡°So are you going to do something?¡± That was Aaron Fitzrun, she knew, one of Brad¡¯s friends. ¡°Obviously, dumbass, that¡¯s the whole point.¡± And that was Brad, on the house¡¯s landline. ¡°We¡¯re going to do something. We¡¯ve just been waiting for the chance.¡± ¡°Is that why Louis tried to call me earlier? He sounded all grumpy. You know that he¡¯s not wrong.¡± ¡°Dude, I know it¡¯s been a while, I¡¯ve just been waiting.¡± Aaron grumbled. ¡°Three weeks is a really long time.¡± ¡°Yeah, well, Mike Jay¡¯s been on my ass the whole time. I know he¡¯s watching me, waiting for some shit to drop. I called you to explain why Louis is being a dipshit, man.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, he sounds right to me.¡± Sarah took another look around and quietly sat down in the desk chair, trying to keep it from creaking as much as possible. This was important. He really was talking about something now, and she had to listen. ¡°Look. We give it another week, okay?¡± Brad¡¯s voice sounded strained. ¡°I don¡¯t want to sit on my ass either, dude. But when Mike Jay¡¯s standing around watching me like a friggin hawk, I¡¯m not going to push my luck. By this time next week, he¡¯s going to have stopped looking. And then we can do it all again.¡± Aaron made several grunts of assent as Sarah kept her eye on the hallway, ready for any sign of somebody coming in to signal her time to go. ¡°Do you still want to go for Polera first? You know that she¡¯s not the target.¡± ¡°I¡¯m like a fifty-fifty on that shit, man. She went for payback, and you gotta really be invested to go for payback. You know why we¡¯re after her, and if she¡¯s playing along, then it doesn¡¯t work anymore.¡± ¡°We just look like a bunch of cats carrying a dead rat around, yeah.¡± Sarah moved the phone away from her ear for a second in time to hear a handful of steps upstairs, the sound of somebody pacing. Brad was saying something, but she kept herself on the edge of the chair, ready to book it out of there when she needed to. Not yet, but as soon as she was in danger. The pacing continued, but stayed in the same place, and she brought the phone back up to her ear. ¡°...chloroform.¡± That was the first thing she heard Brad say. ¡°I don¡¯t know where to buy it, but we can totally get our hands on it. There¡¯s probably some way to cook it up. Then we just carry her out to somewhere and bam, done. Use Ken¡¯s body stashing site for it, probably.¡± ¡°Mhm. And this is about Sarah, right?¡± ¡°Pfft, yeah. Who the hell else would it be?¡± Acid spilled up all through Sarah¡¯s throat as she listened, and Aaron kept talking. ¡°We can¡¯t bury her right away, remember? That¡¯s the entire other half of the plan.¡± ¡°Shiiiiit, you¡¯re right.¡± The footsteps paused, and she got the feeling that Brad was shrugging. ¡°Ah well. We¡¯ll figure it out. Hacksaw from the grocery store, and there¡¯s a cooler in my garage we won¡¯t need. Toss the chunks of her we need in there.¡± All the blood in Sarah¡¯s body felt like it rushed to her head as she stood up. They were talking about dismembering her and throwing her into the cooler like she was an over-large piece of steak. Disgust mixed with terror with rage as she faintly groped around her coat for the inside pocket, searching for the knife to end this there and then, before the sound of something falling snapped her back to reality. She turned around in time to see the desk chair hit the ground hard, a single loud crack echoing through the house, chased by the rattle of bolts and plastic parts knocked from their alignment. The entire house seemed to hush, Brad¡¯s pacing freezing as both people in the call went silent. ¡°Was that your end?¡± Aaron asked. ¡°Yeah, that was my¨C¡± Brad stopped. The floor creaked, slowly, small steps being taken. They moved towards where they¡¯d began, a spot near the front stairs but still set back, somewhere she thought was Brad¡¯s room. There was a pause, save for the heavy breathing coming through one end of the call. And then a yell loud enough to make the floor feel like it was shaking. ¡°Somebody¡¯s on my FUCKING line!¡± Sarah didn¡¯t wait to see what else he was saying, tossing the phone away and running out of the office and back down the hall as fast as she could. She stumbled as she turned into the kitchen, heart clawing its way up her throat and feet moving as fast as she could. Something hit the floor behind her, vague noises of movement transforming into the distinct sounds of footsteps as she wildly flailed out towards the chair arranged around the kitchen table to knock some over behind her. The person behind her stumbled, and she all but threw herself through the sliding door and pulled it shut. It slammed into place as she slipped, back hitting the cold grass, and looked up through the glass. Brad¡¯s face was red and furious, panting from light exertion, and Sarah saw death in his eyes. He reached for the door handle, and she just ran, vaulting the fence as fast as she could and dropping onto the road behind his house. She couldn¡¯t go back to her own house. That would be suicide at this point. They didn¡¯t just want her dead, they wanted her chopped up, and there was no way Brad was going to wait another week to try it now. But she had the plan and she had to stay alive somehow. Her house was north, so she ran south, straight across the street and past the next row of houses, into another backyard where she began pounding on the backdoor in a panic. There was no window, but nobody responded, so she kept slamming on the door until it was yanked open and she stumbled forward a step. James blinked at her in confusion. ¡°Sarah? Wh¨Cwhat are you doing here?¡± She took a deep, shaky breath. ¡°I need to call Michael.¡± Chapter Twenty: The Devil You Dont The first thing Michael told her to do was slow down. ¡°Start again, from the beginning,¡± he said while zipping up his boots. ¡°I snuck into Brad¡¯s house so I could try and get some leads on his conspiracy and see what I could do with that and he¨Che was calling his friends and they want to chloroform me and take me somewhere and shove my body in a cooler and¨C¡± ¡°But how did you get to James¡¯s phone?¡± ¡°She¡¯s at my house,¡± the boy in question said from a distance. Michael grunted assent and reached for the hoodie he usually used for payback. It was easy to have one piece of clothing specifically for getting dirty and bloody. ¡°Stay there,¡± he commanded. ¡°I¡¯m coming to meet you. Are they going to come for you?¡± ¡°I¨CI¨CI think so Brad looked at me like he was going to do it right then and I¡¯m scared, I only have my dagger, and I don¡¯t have my phone and I can¡¯t contact you.¡± James muttered something out of earshot, and Michael yanked open a desk drawer to slide a lockpick set and pocket flashlight into his pants. He didn¡¯t know what was being said, but if it was important, James would have told him directly. Probably just something to calm Sarah down. He slammed the drawers shut and reached underneath the desk, muscle memory guiding his arm to the exact spot he was looking for. The hunting knife was covered in a thin layer of dust, having seen several months pass since it had been used, but a tap on the edge of the desk shook it all off and the blade was as sharp as ever. The holster was taped underneath the desk where it had been, and he looped it around his waist, cinching the buckle tight and sliding the sheath to above his thigh. He would need to draw quickly on this one. The duct tape sheath was in another drawer, and he stuck that onto the holster belt over the other thigh. It was empty for now, and he ducked into his closet one more time to get the thin piece of metal he had shaped into a lockpick for a car door. ¡°Am I going to need to bring body bags?¡± He asked as he slid the pick into one of his pants pockets. Sarah gasped, but managed to respond. ¡°No, no, you don¡¯t¨Cno, we don¡¯t need them.¡± ¡°Noted.¡± He grabbed one anyway and left his room, hurrying down the stairs and towards the kitchen. One steak knife in the drawer had been sharpened past the others, with additional effort placed into maintaining the serration. It was meant to mar and cripple, a use that Michael frequently found useless for being stealthy and quick. But in this situation, he felt that would be more than necessary. ¡°Michael, what¨Cwhat are you planning?¡± ¡°We¡¯re going to deal with the problem.¡± The steak knife went into the sheath as Michael went for the garage. ¡°I¡¯m coming to you, and we¡¯ll go meet Brad, and sort this out.¡± James yelped something in the background as Sarah sputtered. ¡°Michael, wh¨Care you going to kill him?¡± ¡°It depends on his response. If he backs off, then no. If he doesn¡¯t, then yes.¡± ¡°Can we try not to kill him?¡± ¡°Probably not.¡± He hit the button to open the garage door as he stepped out, grabbing his keys off of the hook. ¡°I¡¯m getting in my car now. I¡¯ll be there in a few minutes.¡± He clicked the call off and returned the phone to his pocket, pressing the button on the outside to close the garage as he passed and walked outside towards his car. His backseat was empty, and he threw the body bag into it before starting the car, immediately shifting into reverse and driving towards James¡¯s house. Nothing appeared wrong from the outside as he pulled up, a handful of minutes later. The windows were all intact, the door closed, and the house itself was as clean and put-together as it usually was. The lawn was still clipped short and the single sapling growing in the center of the yard was still small, none of the paint peeling yet. It appeared intact and safe. He parked the car on the road and got out, leaving the bag in the trunk and pulling his gloves on as he strode up to the front door, taking in the surrounding area. The sun had dipped below the top of the forest long ago, and the shadows of the trees themselves had all but blended in with the sky, a blue so dark it was almost entirely black that could only point out shadows by the tiniest dip in brightness. Everything was in the darkness, monotonous shadows only broken by the occasional light sources. It would have been very easy to switch a car¡¯s headlights off and surprise somebody. James opened the door after the first knock and gave him a look of disappointment. ¡°This is not what I meant by giving people slack.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll define what slack means later,¡± Michael replied as he brushed straight past him. Sarah was sitting on a couch in the living room, her head in her hands and slowly breathing. She perked up as he entered, James on his heels. ¡°Mikey, you can¡¯t just pick a side like this. I meant letting somebody get away without payback, not straight up getting between people in a fight.¡± ¡°Those two are the same things, James,¡± he said as he peeked out between closed blinds. ¡°Interceding on one side of payback is the same as picking a side in a cafeteria fight.¡± ¡°Not like this!¡± James leaned against the back of the couch. ¡°There¡¯s some people you don¡¯t pick fights against, man. Brad¡¯s not going to hesitate to kill you if he sees you now.¡± Michael turned to look out the back door. ¡°I would be surprised if he didn¡¯t.¡± It appeared clear, and he turned to Sarah. ¡°How long ago did Brad see you, from now?¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t ignore me!¡± James interjected, hopping over the back of the couch. ¡°You don¡¯t get to just show up like this is a personal war against you now when you¡¯ve been acting like everything¡¯s below you for the last two years. You don¡¯t get to just decide that all of a sudden you¡¯re interfering like some world police bullshit. Answer the question, Mikey.¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°You haven¡¯t asked me anything.¡± Michael kept his voice flat. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to answer.¡± ¡°God dammit fine but¨Cwhy now?¡± James crossed his arms. ¡°Why is now the moment you decide to hop on in? Not three weeks ago, not a month ago, not at any payback request this year or last year, not since you just stopped killing people. Why now?¡± There was a faint tremor in his voice, one that Michael only recognized because he had heard it before, when they were younger, when James had been a child and scared of a homework problem or of somebody sneaking through his backyard when they had been watching movies together. When they had been trying to make some model train kit that James¡¯s grandfather had bought, and neither of them had been able to keep a part glued in place for longer than ten seconds. When they had been young and trying to have fun and something went wrong but James was willing to show that he was upset, and Michael was willing to deal with it because they were friends. Michael blinked. That hadn¡¯t been that long ago. Not at all. The twist in James¡¯s lip, the tension in his eyes, corrected his question. Why not him? Michael didn¡¯t know. He did, on the one hand. He knew exactly why. James cared too much about Ravenville. He placed so much stock in the rules and all the small customs that made up the network of death, trusting that they were infallible and true, that every answer could be found in the blood left on a blade. He believed in the violence, not merely that it was the right thing, but that the meaning was both in the violence and in whatever the violence led to. That there was an end goal to be reached and that he could make it there, chasing it almost unthinkingly. It wasn¡¯t his fault. Michael had never made some sort of standing policy, plastering posters around town stating that he was now going to be the judge of all payback rules and otherwise staying out of it. It had been a slow detachment as the allure of expertise in violence continued to fall away once he had realized that there was nothing that anybody seemed to think was there. He hadn¡¯t chosen to stop. He had just drifted away from it. James had just been swept up along the way. Michael swallowed, meeting James¡¯s gaze. ¡°This is interesting,¡± he said, one of the truths coming to his lips easily. ¡°It¡¯s entertaining. I haven¡¯t seen a grand conspiracy like this before, it¡¯s novel. It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve seen something novel here.¡± ¡°Am I not novel enough for you then?¡± The words oozed something that he couldn¡¯t place. Michael didn¡¯t have an answer. James wasn¡¯t novel. He was James. People weren¡¯t novel. Sarah wasn¡¯t novel. What she wanted was interesting, what she offered was new. What she did meant something to her. She was wrong, but she was wrong in a new way. Part of him wanted to see how the train would crash. Morbid curiosity, like watching a car speed towards the spike strip he knew had been laid hours ago. He¡¯d come because he¡¯d wanted to make sure she survived. She had called him for help, and he had answered. ¡°People aren¡¯t novel.¡± He answered with a straight face. ¡°It¡¯s nothing you did or didn¡¯t do. She just called for urgent help.¡± James held his gaze with a cold stare that called up so much. That reminded him of so much, and asked him to remember yet more. He asked Michael, without words or pleas. He asked, why now? Why so long? He thought of a smile, dulled by the lack of excitement, but still keeping on anyway. No answer came to mind. He stood there, mouth just hanging open, and let the silence fill the air. James blinked, and sunk. ¡°Fine, fine. Whatever. Whatever. Just¨Cwhatever. I don¡¯t have a spare cellphone or anything, and you already have a bug out bag. Do you want me to let you out the back door and pretend that I don¡¯t know a thing if Brad asks?¡± Michael nodded, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath. ¡°Yes. Don¡¯t tell them a thing. Thank you for letting Sarah come inside and use your phone.¡± Sarah nodded furiously, face much less red than when he had last looked at her, but James limply waved it off. ¡°It¡¯s whatever. One call doesn¡¯t up the phone bill. Brad¡¯s house isn¡¯t that far behind me, but you know that. Just go handle your shit.¡± He nodded again and tapped Sarah on the shoulder, gesturing for her to leave. She stood up and followed behind him as he walked out of the house, closing the door behind her as Michael stopped on James¡¯s front step. Everything was dark. Everywhere that there wasn¡¯t light was somewhere that could hold somebody or something, every turn in the road somewhere that a car full of angry boys with knives and bats could round in surprise. The night was full of threats. It always was. This time they were simply against him. Sarah coughed. ¡°So, are you guys still friends, or¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯d say we are. We don¡¯t go to parties together, but we still hang out occasionally.¡± He stretched out his shoulders. ¡°Sure. It just uh, sounded like there was something that had gone wrong in the past?¡± He sideyed her. ¡°It¡¯s not your business.¡± She didn¡¯t get to know about the break-in yet. ¡°Alright, fair.¡± She raised her hands, backing off, only to suddenly tense up and start glancing around. ¡°Is it safe out here?¡± ¡°Unless Brad intends to kill us with a bow, which would be very difficult because he doesn¡¯t have one, yes.¡± Michael checked the knives on his belt and began walking to the car. James had been right, about this not being what he meant. He had wanted to ingratiate himself with the popular kids, to become one of the people that openly bragged about their violence because they thought themselves in an unreachable position. He¡¯d sought Michael¡¯s help to get there, time and time again, trying to continue his own journey even as Michael made it clear he would never engage with or being engaged by any of those people. It was hardly something he could be blamed for, watching Michael show up at the first sign of violence against people after he had spent months convincing him to go to parties. He was showing slack, in the wrong direction than where James had wanted. It was nothing against James. It was just in the opposite direction from what Michael wanted. If Brad backed down, then he would give him the slack of letting him walk away alive. If he didn¡¯t, then he wouldn¡¯t, and that would be the end of it. James had said it himself. Brad wasn¡¯t going to hesitate to kill him now. And there was only one response to somebody like that. Decide to kill him first. Chapter Twenty-One: Who Bleeds Who ¡°So where are we going?¡± Sarah asked. ¡°You tell me.¡± Michael pulled the car onto the main road through the suburbs and parked it right up against the edge. He glanced into the rear-view mirror, looking to see if he was being followed, and turned back to the road. ¡°We can¡¯t go straight for Brad,¡± he said. ¡°We don¡¯t know where he is. He could be driving to your house, looking for his friends, looking for your friends, or just waiting for the cops to show up. We need to deal with him, but we can¡¯t just drive across him and make him stop. We¡¯re forced into being reactive.¡± ¡°So we need to just wait?¡± Sarah¡¯s voice ran thin in the yell. ¡°I just need to wait for him to show up with a bunch of his friends in tow to talk him down?¡± ¡°No you don¡¯t. Don¡¯t panic.¡± Michael lifted a hand off the wheel and tried to gesture for her to calm down. ¡°We¡¯re only reactive when it comes to Brad. We need to wait for him to give us a location or time, but otherwise, we can be as active as we want. Which is why you need to tell me where we go next.¡± She looked at him with wide and confused eyes. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you deciding?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not the one being hunted. He doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m in this yet. You¡¯re his target.¡± Sarah took a deep breath, then several more, forcing herself to be slow as she looked around where they had parked. The houses lining the roads were mostly dark, with a few lights on where kitchens and dining rooms seemed to be, or a few bedrooms. It was quiet on a Ravenville weeknight, no plots brewing or moves being made. Not visibly, he thought. Nobody could see what wheels were turning now. Not him, while they sat there. She spoke, breaking the silence. ¡°I think¨Cwe should go check in on Jane. She was a target close to me, and even if Brad said he wasn¡¯t going to go for her, they might try to use her as a hostage or something. I don¡¯t know, she just seems like the best place to go, because I¡¯m not stupid enough to go back to my house and they know I¡¯m not stupid enough to go back there.¡± ¡°Alright. Jane¡¯s it is.¡± He shifted the car out of park and pushed down on the gas, starting the car southward. One hand held the wheel while flicking the headlights on, and the other stopped Sarah¡¯s hand before she could reach the radio. ¡°We¡¯re not putting music on.¡± ¡°It would help me focus?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have anything to focus on.¡± ¡°But I want a little bit of noise.¡± She pulled her hand back and rubbed at her nose, sniffling, trying to give him a pleading look. It wasn¡¯t going to work. He wasn¡¯t going to turn on the radio when they would probably need to kill somebody within a few hours. But he understood the need for some noise right then. ¡°No.¡± He reached for his phone in his pocket. ¡°If you want noise, then I can call Brad to attempt to call him off now.¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± She nodded furiously. ¡°Just try and talk him down, please.¡± Michael sighed and flipped his phone open, bringing up the call history. Brad was still very recent in the history, only set back by a few calls to his parents concerning what to do about dinner when they had to work late and James yelling to him about a history paper due soon in a panic. He pressed the call button over his name, and brought the phone to his ear. Brad answered instantly. ¡°Hey, Michael.¡± ¡°Brad.¡± ¡°What, uh, what are you calling about?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been informed that you¡¯re making a play tonight.¡± ¡°Did Sarah come running to you? Oh, come on, man.¡± He sounded disappointed. ¡°She¡¯s just standing around. She¡¯s never tried to do a thing here. Are you serious?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Michael said. ¡°I didn¡¯t actually know that you had been making a play, only that you had something planned. But I assumed you were.¡± ¡°Uh. Fine, whatever.¡± He paused and shouted to somebody else. ¡°No, Louis, not that one, dipshit. The other one, the aluminum one. Yeah, that¡¯s it.¡± Somebody cleared their throat incredibly loudly near the phone, and Michael moved it away from his ear, giving it a strange look out of the corner of his eye. Sarah was giving it a look too, and he shrugged. ¡°I think he just told Louis to get the metal bat.¡± Her eyes went wide, but he looked back to the road and returned the phone to his ear. ¡°Are you done in there?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± Brad grunted. ¡°Do you want a piece?¡± Michael blinked. ¡°Of Sarah?¡± ¡°Sarah Vic, yeah. I¡¯ve got her address. I¡¯m not fuckin, gonna run away or something. I haven¡¯t even attacked her yet and payback doesn¡¯t count, and you¡¯re not gonna call somebody to tell them to stop.¡± Sarah glared at him. Michael didn¡¯t respond and moved along. ¡°You haven¡¯t attacked her, no. I assume tonight is some sort of change of plans?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got that right. Stop the car. Aaron, stop the fuckin car!¡± Something slammed in the call. ¡°Check the windows. You know it¡¯s a change of plans, man. If she told you, you know what¡¯s up. You know I¡¯ve got something to gain.¡± ¡°From killing somebody with little presence, no record to her name, and dumping her body in the woods?¡± Michael snorted. ¡°I may be getting rusty, but that doesn¡¯t seem especially prestigious, especially if you need multiple people to do it.¡± You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Yeah, she doesn¡¯t go for a lot on her own, but like¨C¡± There was a muffled yell, and Brad slammed on something. ¡°Check again, Kelly. Yeah, get Alex¨Cwait, why are you here? Get out of the fuckin car, go!¡± Michael moved the phone away as he turned off the main street, down the path to where he knew Jane¡¯s house could be reached. Sarah was shifting in her seat uneasily, and pointed at the phone. He let out an annoyed sigh. ¡°I assume they¡¯re sweeping the area around your house. Unsuccessfully.¡± Brad began shouting through the phone. ¡°You there? Michael? You there?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he drawled, raising the phone again. ¡°You were explaining something.¡± ¡°I mean, you know why I get something out of this, y¡¯know?¡± Brad chuckled. ¡°If you want in, you¡¯ll be set for life. It¡¯ll solve all the problems you¡¯d ever have here?¡± ¡°With one kill?¡± ¡°No, man.¡± He scoffed. ¡°With the body.¡± Michael froze, and laughed. A cruel and sarcastic noise, a single ¡°Ha!¡± that made Sarah jump before pulling the car to the side of the road. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you think you¡¯re planning, Brad, but it¡¯s wrong. It¡¯s so, so wrong. And you apparently don¡¯t even know how off you are.¡± ¡°What the fuck¨C¡± ¡°I will not be joining you on this little hunt tonight.¡± He flipped the phone shut, ending the call, and turned the car off. ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± ¡°Is he going to back off?¡± Sarah asked. ¡°Absolutely not.¡± He removed the keys from the ignition and slid them into a pocket. ¡°But we can still check up on Jane and work from there.¡± She nodded and almost stumbled out of the car, leaving the door open and sprinting across the front lawn. Michael slowly extricated himself from the driver¡¯s seat and closed the door, pushing the passenger door shut as he followed in Sarah¡¯s footsteps. She was slamming on the front door now, and it opened as soon as Michael began up the front steps behind her. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Jane hissed. ¡°My parents are trying to sleep upstairs.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but Brad¡¯s doing shit, I didn¡¯t know, I had to check on you and¨C¡± He thumped her in the back. Sarah stopped talking and burst into a coughing fit, doubling over as dry heaves began mixing in with the coughs. Jane leaned down in concern, but Michael waved her off, patting Sarah on the shoulder as she stood back up. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ve been panicking a lot tonight.¡± She still sounded stressed and pushed to her edge, but not to the point of paralysis and terror. ¡°Brad¡¯s plan is really bad. He wants to chop my body up and use it for something. I couldn¡¯t go back home, so I wanted to check in on you before something happened.¡± Jane looked around and stepped aside in the doorway. ¡°Bleeding hell, get inside, Sarah. And I guess you too, Michael. Are those knives?¡± ¡°I came prepared,¡± he said, wiping his boots on the doormat as Sarah looked around inside. ¡°I assume you haven¡¯t been attacked tonight then?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯ve just been doing homework and laundry since I called you.¡± She pointed at Sarah. ¡°You said that you¡¯d be fine.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t stealthy enough.¡± Sarah¡¯s shoulders fell as she leaned against a foyer wall. ¡°I got freaked out by what he was talking about, and I got exposed. He¡¯s chasing me down now. He would have done something soon anyway!¡± She corrected, cutting off whatever Jane¡¯s stern look foreshadowed, ¡°But he¡¯s going now because I got caught.¡± The lights in the foyer flickered, casting shadows on everything around. Jane turned to look at the kitchen, staring at something in the darkness, jagged stripes of shadow crawling across her face. It was another moment before the lights returned to full strength, and Jane stepped into the kitchen, turning the single light above the sink on as she did. ¡°I don¡¯t want to wake my parents up,¡± she said, the faint illumination bouncing off the finished wooden cupboards and catching faint chips in the countertops. ¡°Turn the lights off in there. It goes all the way up the stairs.¡± Michael hit the switch as Sarah sat down on a dining room chair, leaving the only light a dim bulb above the sink. He took in the room, the old floorboards and the thin single entrance to the living room and backdoor, the cabinet under the sink, and the ancient-seeming cabinet full of porcelain and decorative teacups. He pointed a thumb at it, and Sarah waved a hand. ¡°Her parents are weird. I¡¯ve asked her to let me look at them before, they¡¯re apparently super old, but she never lets me.¡± ¡°I know you¡¯re not thinking about investigations now, when Brad might be coming for you.¡± Jane shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t have a lot for you guys, it¡¯s not like there¡¯s anything I can actually give you to help this fight or whatever. I think my parents restocked our first aid kit, if you need that?¡± ¡°No, no, it¡¯s fine.¡± Sarah threw an arm over the back of the chair and rested her chin on it. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt. I just wanted to check in on you. It¡¯s been a scary night, and I really just had to pick somewhere to start.¡± ¡°Alright. Well, if you need to use it¨C¡± A phone rang, and Sarah jumped, reaching for her pocket before freezing and looking at Michael. He tilted his head towards the landline, the indicator light blinking on the counter. Jane picked it up and answered it. ¡°Hello?¡± There was a response, and she covered the receiver with her hand and leaned away. ¡°It¡¯s Brad,¡± she whispered. Sarah leapt off the chair and lunged for the phone, grabbing it from Jane¡¯s hands. She tried to grab it back, but Sarah pushed her back and pulled the phone to her face. ¡°Bradley Mansill, go fuck yourself, you murderous, stupid, piece of shit!¡± She ended the call with a forceful jab and tossed the phone into the sink, furious, only to stop and slowly turn to the other two. ¡°I think I might be a little stressed?¡± She suggested. ¡°He did say he¡¯d never stop,¡± Michael replied without missing a beat. ¡°I suppose I understand. There¡¯s only thing to do now, if you don¡¯t want to try again.¡± Jane sighed. ¡°What is it?¡± He tested the knife in the sheath, and pulled it free without a hitch. ¡°Brace for violence.¡± Chapter Twenty-Two: Severance Jane¡¯s front door was locked when the car pulled up outside. Its headlights were off, shrouding it in darkness, but the silhouette of an old sports car was still obvious where it blocked out the light from across the street. Stripe decals on the hood dully reflected the moon high above, and the dark gray panels covering the body made the rest of the car seem darker in comparison. An SUV came to a stop alongside the curb behind it, the running lights turned to their lowest setting and movement visible through the darkened windows. The engine turned off as all four doors swung open, and people began clambering out, idle chatter mixing with the sounds of metal on metal. Heavy wrenches and hammers hung low, brutal and blatant. A meat cleaver caught the flash of the interior lights before they shut off, shining a spot onto the front of a house that seemed to be either empty or full of sleeping people. The sports car stopped idling, and two people emerged from each of the front doors a moment later, not obviously carrying any weapons but as prepared as the others. All of them wore gloves and dark clothes, with raincoats and sweaters to hide or repel stains. Any conversation stopped when the driver of the sports car walked towards the curb, looking around and shoving his hands into his leather jacket pockets. The passenger opened one of the rear doors and removed an aluminum baseball bat, a flowing pattern scratched into the taper. ¡°Are you sure she¡¯s still here?¡± He asked. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure, Louis,¡± Brad replied. ¡°She yelled right into the phone.¡± ¡°But there¡¯s no cars here,¡± Louis said as he ran one hand over his ponytail. ¡°If Michael¡¯s with her, he¡¯d be driving around.¡± ¡°He probably hid it or something, I don¡¯t know. We don¡¯t really need to go looking for it, he¡¯s dying here or dying soon anyway. If we do find it, just, like, slash his tires. Shit won¡¯t be hard.¡± Kelly pulled her hood up to hide her hair and hefted the pipe wrench in her hand. ¡°So you want to kidnap Sarah but just kill Michael?¡± ¡°No, kill them both, guys.¡± Brad¡¯s hands moved around inside his pockets. ¡°We need to kill Sarah for the plan, but we need to kill Mike Jay so he doesn¡¯t kill us first.¡± ¡°But doesn¡¯t killing Michael make us look better?¡± She asked. ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t work with the plan, you know why. We need Sarah for this.¡± Alex and Taylor grunted in acknowledgement, a claw hammer and cleaver at the ready, respectively. Aaron pulled a bandana up over his face, pulled his black baseball cap down even lower, and fiddled with the handle of his baton, the retractable shaft extended to its full length. All six of the people there were ready to go. Taylor had her hair tucked down inside her sweater, Alex had slipped on a set of kneepads and elbowpads and wrapped a bandana over his head, faint curls poking out from underneath, and Louis was doing preparatory swings with his bat. Kelly gave Aaron a look of concern, and he shrugged at her before slapping his hand with the wrench. Brad walked up towards the door and pressed an ear to it, listening. There was no sound inside, no clear indication of anybody being awake at all. He shook his head, and pulled a straight razor out of his pocket, gesturing towards the door. ¡°You first, Louis.¡± He smiled. Louis stepped up to the door, tested the lock, and waved Kelly up alongside him. She took hold of the doorknob and waited for his cue to open it, watching through the front windows. Louis nodded, and she turned the knob and pushed the door open. The door swung wide and slammed against the foyer wall, letting out a loud crash on the impact. There was silence for a second, and then the blaring of an alarm, shrill and harsh from somewhere in the kitchen. ¡°Fuck it!¡± Brad yelled. ¡°Go fast!¡± Louis jumped through the doorway with his bat raised, looking around at the foyer and the set of stairs to the next floor up off to the side. He took a step to the side and rushed up the stairs while Alex, Taylor, and Aaron rushed through the foyer and into the kitchen. There was the sound of shattering porcelain as Jane jumped up from her seat on the couch, the bowl in her lap breaking when it hit the floor. All three of the people in the room approached her, backing her up against the far wall. She raised her hands in fear, her lip trembling, as Brad entered the room with Kelly close behind him. ¡°I¨CI don¡¯t know where they are!¡± She cried. ¡°She just ran away after yelling at you!¡± ¡°Yeah, bullshit,¡± Brad replied. He jerked his head at Taylor, who grabbed one of Jane¡¯s hands and pressed her cleaver to her throat. ¡°She was here, and you let her get away. I was gonna give you an offer to turn on her, y¡¯know. Whatever.¡± ¡°Brad, I swear, I don¡¯t know where they are!¡± Her voice was high-pitched and nearly hysterical, the sound of fearful frenzy egged on by the blaring alarm. ¡°Please, I don¡¯t, can you just let me go, please I don¡¯t know anything-ing¨C¡± Her breath hitched, catching into a shrieking sob, and Taylor pushed that cleaver closer to breaking her skin. Brad crossed his arms and let the razor dangle, disappointed. ¡°Come the fuck on, Jane. I know you know. Just tell us already.¡± She shook her head and flinched away from the knife, the thinnest of cuts being traced on her throat. Taylor slammed her hand against the wall and jerked her closer, raising the cleaver to the bottom of her jaw while Louis entered the room, his bat held in his hands. ¡°Nobody¡¯s upstairs,¡± he said. ¡°I checked the hallway, the closet, paced the place out. Her parents are still in their room and there¡¯s nobody else hiding.¡± ¡°Gotcha,¡± Brad said over his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯ll head out once Jane gives us an answer. We¡¯re so far south that the cops can¡¯t get here that fast.¡± She shook her head, her face crunched up and terrified, and Brad was about to command Taylor to make a cut when he just barely heard something wet behind him over the alarm. Everybody standing in the living room spun around to see Louis stagger forward, a small tear in his sweater and drops of something dark flowing from underneath the fabric. He pitched towards the ground, his bat propping him up and preventing him from fully face-planting, and pressed his free hand to his chest before losing his grip on the bat and falling to the ground, still. Michael wiped his hunting knife on his sleeve and looked around the room from the doorway. Everybody moved. He moved faster. He ducked underneath the swing of Kelly¡¯s pipe wrench and let it crack against the wooden framing. His other hand swung up with the steak knife, tearing through her raincoat and into her stomach before cutting into her waist and thigh, a trail of blood spraying out from the new rip as he dragged the knife down. She staggered forward, stumbling into the wall, and he stood back up and stabbed the hunting knife forward into Aaron¡¯s stomach, wrenching it upwards to his ribs until the knife stopped against the bottom of his sternum. He dropped his baton, wood cracking as it hit the floor. Michael pushed him off the knife and turned to face the others. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Taylor dropped Jane¡¯s hand and lowered the cleaver, twirling it around in her hand. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to fight you,¡± she slurred, stepping past Brad and letting Jane throw the back door open, sneak out of it, and slam it back shut. ¡°I wanted to see if you were all you were cracked up to be¨C¡± He lunged for her, thrusting the point of the hunting knife towards her throat. She wrapped her free hand around his wrist and pushed him to the side, exposing his back as she raised the cleaver. His wrist twisted in her grip as he pulled to the other direction, almost spinning her around, but she let go of his wrist and let the momentum carry her a few steps away before raising the cleaver above her head, gripping it with both hands, and swinging down at him as he dashed towards her. He caught the blow on the flat of the hunting knife and grunted at the sound of grinding metal before letting his legs fall out from underneath him and hitting the ground. Alex¡¯s hammer swept through the space above him, a wild swing that left him unbalanced and that barely missed Taylor¡¯s arm as she stumbled forward. They crashed into each other, a tangle of limbs flailing around without balance, and Michael kicked his legs out in a flip-up to standing. He looked at Taylor and Alex trying to pick themselves up off the ground, vulnerable and confused, and then to Brad, kicking at the now locked backdoor. Neither was paying attention to him, and he quickly inspected the hunting knife for any lasting damage before advancing on Brad. Something in the door¡¯s reflection caught Brad¡¯s attention, and he spun around before wildly slashing with the razor. None of the attacks came close to Michael, and he caught Brad¡¯s wrist, pressing it against the cold wood of the steak knife¡¯s handle as he held the knife and his arm in the same hand. ¡°This is your last chance, Brad.¡± His tone was cold and voice unhappy. ¡°Back off now, and we can act like this never happened. We get out of here before the police arrive and go back to normal, without whatever plan you have.¡± Brad pulled at his grip, almost breaking out, but not managing it. He glared at Michael. ¡°If you don¡¯t want in on this, then fine. But don¡¯t get in my fucking way,¡± he growled. Michael sighed. Disappointing. Jane had asked him not to kill anybody in her house unless he absolutely had to, and he had already pushed the limit of that request. But that was what the other steps were for. He pulled a leg back and kicked Brad in the knee, the sound of the impact underscored by the subaudible groan of bone bruising and deforming under an impact. It wasn¡¯t broken or twisted, and Brad retaliated by grabbing the side of his face and trying to jab a thumb into his eye. Michael let go of his wrist, swinging the hunting knife up to ward off the attempt to put his eye out, and stepped back as Brad slashed out with the razor. He dodged the next several swings as he kept walking backwards, picking his way around the furniture and bodies on the floor, only stopping when he saw Alex and Taylor stand up behind Brad. Brad followed his gaze, over his shoulder, and shouted at them. ¡°Why the fuck are you two standing there? Help me for fu¨C¡± Michael grabbed his collar and yanked him forward, pulling him just past the doorway. He let go and reached for the top of the great porcelain cabinet, pulling it down and letting it fall directly in Brad¡¯s path. He looked up, fear creeping into the bluster in his eyes, and dropped the razor to catch the cabinet before it could crush him. Cups and plates rattled inside, but nothing seemed to break, and Michael saw him clench his teeth before turning and running for the front door, making sure to dodge around the supplies scattered on the floor from the newly open cabinet under the sink. He raced over the front steps and across the lawn, his boots ripping grass from the dirt as he ran. The sports car was still unlocked, prepared for a quick getaway, and he pulled the passenger door open and slid into the seat. Sarah was hunched in the driver¡¯s seat, desperately fumbling with her dagger and the ignition cylinder. She was biting her lip in concentration even as her fingers failed to connect the dagger to the wires, attempting to mimic the connection the key should have been making. ¡°Hurry up,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m trying,¡± she shot back. ¡°I¡¯m not good at this.¡± ¡°I know, but you were the only option.¡± Michael kept his eyes on the front door. ¡°Louis is dead for certain. Alex and Kelly will likely bleed out.¡± ¡°Oh, sure, you had to kill him. When Jane asked you not to.¡± ¡°He had the more dangerous weapon of anybody and was actively standing guard. He would have caught you before you had exited the cabinet.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± She flinched back from the wires as one shocked her. ¡°Shit. Okay, okay. I think I¡¯m getting there, I¡¯m just going to tie a few more wires together.¡± ¡°Hurry up. Brad won¡¯t take forever to get that cabinet off of him.¡± She nodded, but Michael barely had time to process it before Brad was running across the lawn and straight for the car. He pushed the door back open and rolled off the seat, running to meet Brad, only for him to brush straight past him and vault over the hood of the car. He smashed the driver¡¯s side window open and pulled Sarah through without breaking a sweat, slamming a fist into the side of her head before slashing the razor along her cheek and pressing the blade to the side of her neck, letting all the nicks and cuts from broken glass on her face keep bleeding. ¡°Don¡¯t. Fucking. Move.¡± He snarled. Sarah flinched away, and he pressed the razor in, drawing blood immediately. Michael raised an eyebrow at the move. ¡°That wasn¡¯t lethal, but the next one will be.¡± Brad looked him in the eyes. ¡°Now get over here and get in the driver¡¯s seat. Put the knives away, too.¡± ¡°Should I drop them?¡± ¡°Fuckin¡¯ sheath them, I don¡¯t care. Just get in the seat.¡± Michael did as he said, returning his knives to their sheaths as Brad slowly moved around the car towards the passengers side. He walked around the front and stepped down into the open car door, settling in the driver¡¯s seat and looking out the passenger window. Brad opened one of the backseat doors and threw Sarah inside, letting the razor dig cuts into her arms and legs as she fell forward. She hissed in pain on landing, before looking to Michael with fear in her gaze. He raised a finger to his lips. She needed to stay calm and stay quiet. Death was not a certainty, as long as one was still alive. It was only imminently likely in certain situations. This did not qualify, yet. Brad yelled behind him. ¡°Dipshits! Get Louis¡¯s body in the car, meet me at the spot!¡± He got into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut, tossing the keys at Michael and holding the razor close to his face. ¡°We¡¯re driving somewhere now, and fast. The cops are going to be here soon. Start the car, and take a right onto Homewood street. You go forward¨C¡± ¡°I know where to go.¡± Michael cut him off as he started the car. ¡°You want us to go to the woods.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Brad hissed. ¡°The fifth left, and keep going. There¡¯s a dirt road. You go there, before the cops show, and you listen to what I tell you to do, or I kill you and your bitch friend in the backseat. You too, little fucker, don¡¯t try anything. You got that?¡± Sarah slowly nodded, and Michael just started driving, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Alex attempting to shove a body into the backseat of the SUV. He suppressed his reaction and kept driving, the route to where Brad wanted to go already in his mind. There was only one place he would have ever wanted to take them. To the depths of the woods. To a place with soft ground. A place were bodies were buried. Chapter 23: Down To Pieces ¡°Not so clever now, are you?¡± Michael ignored Brad¡¯s taunts, delivered with a sneer as they were, and kept his eyes on the road. He knew where to go, even as they went off the paved roads into the dirt tracks into the woods, and off the tracks into a route that only existed in the form of faintly crushed branches and pushed-aside leaves. Sarah was silent in the backseat, watching Brad swing the razor around with bated breath. She hadn¡¯t said a word the entire time, barely even moving in her seat. She could tell that Brad was paying attention to her but she couldn¡¯t tell how much he was actually glancing back to ensure that she wouldn¡¯t try anything. Not that she could do anything. Not with him holding them both hostage against the other. ¡°Was your whole plan to get me to chase you guys?¡± Brad scoffed. ¡°Seriously? I could fight my way past the cops if I wanted to. They¡¯re not shit. You¡¯re not shit. You¡¯re actually fucking stupid for that.¡± The police had almost stopped them earlier, two suspicious looking cars driving away from where an alarm had been triggered. Their cars had slowed as they had approached and then driven on by, sirens still blaring. They hadn¡¯t even noticed. It could have been anything to give them away or bring in some attention, but the police hadn¡¯t noticed. They certainly wouldn¡¯t notice now, not unless Jane spoiled the car that they¡¯d come in. Mentions of somebody having died would help, too. It would get the police hunting for them. They would just need to survive to do it. ¡°Pull over here,¡± Brad said, pointing to a small clearing bounded by the trees. Michael obliged and shifted the car into park, switching it off and slowly handing the keys back over to Brad. He snatched it out of his hands and poked the blunt tip of the razor into Michael¡¯s cheek, pushing him out of the car. He watched him as he exited the car, glancing over the entire time to see Sarah slowly pulling herself out of the backseat, wincing at every small movement pulling at the cuts on her arms and along her neck. The SUV came to a stop several feet away from them, and Brad slowly walked toward it without looking away from them, waiting for somebody to exit the car. Taylor exited from the driver¡¯s side and walked to the trunk, while Alex exited and immediately began trying to drag Louis¡¯s body back out of the backseat. No Aaron or Kelly, he noticed. They must not have been high enough in social status to have their bodies recovered. That was unfortunate. But their bodies would certainly speed up the police, and if they got there faster, then the odds would be much better for their survival. All it would take from there is to somehow get away. Sarah was trying to keep her breaths calm. Michael gave her an almost unnoticeable nod, a signal to stay calm. She screwed her eyes shut and then opened them again, blinking away the spots. She seemed to get the message. Brad tossed a shovel at Michael¡¯s feet, and Taylor dropped a body bag on the ground behind him. ¡°Start digging.¡± He pointed at a spot near the SUV. ¡°And be fuckin fast about it. If the cops show then you should at least have a hole you¡¯re not sticking out of.¡± Michael looked at him, flat and glaring, before bending down to pick up the shovel and beginning to dig. The ground was soft and cleared of debris, with barely any resistance from the roots of the grass. The dirt gave way beneath the shovel like all the dirt in the woods did, metal softly ringing as he dug the hole out. It was the only sound in the woods then. No chatter from his watchers or skittering through the branches and leaves on the forest floor. Sarah¡¯s breaths were tight in her chest, and even as Alex and Taylor moved Louis¡¯s body onto the ground besides the bag, they didn¡¯t say a word. No birds cawed, no bugs chirped. The woods were still and the air was dead. The only sound was gravedigging, cutting through the black of night. Brad coughed. ¡°How¡¯d you know to go here?¡± He asked. ¡°You bury your bodies near Ken¡¯s,¡± Michael replied. ¡°You don¡¯t use the exact same spot, but it¡¯s very similar. The only difference is that Ken¡¯s is further back and you have to walk there. The trees are too tight to drive.¡± ¡°You fuckin¡¯ know your shit, huh, man?¡± Brad snorted. ¡°God, this is, uh, this is why I didn¡¯t wanna kill you. You know your shit, and you know where your shit goes, y¡¯know? You know where the bodies go and what you gotta do. Uh, makes me sad.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°And yet you want to kill Sarah for whatever your plan is instead of me,¡± Michael drawled. ¡°That seems more sad than the alternative.¡± ¡°Come on, dude, I know you¡¯re not this stupid. You know what¡¯s up here, uh, you, you know how this works.¡± ¡°There¡¯s nothing ¡®up in here,¡¯¡± he said, ¡°Not like you seem to think there is. You¡¯re chasing ghosts, Brad. There¡¯s nothing there.¡± Brad opened his mouth to say something, but Sarah cut him off with a shout. ¡°What¡¯s so special about me, Brad? Why are you so focused? If you like the rules so much, why don¡¯t you actually stick to them.¡± He lunged for her, grabbing the top of her head and pressing the razor to her throat. ¡°Shut the fuck up you stupid bitch. You don¡¯t know a fucking thing about anything. That level of fucking stupid bullshit is exactly why we¡¯re killing you.¡± The sound of digging stopped, and he spun to see Michael standing still with the shovel. ¡°Get back to it,¡± he barked. ¡°We¡¯ve still got you both hostage, so keep digging.¡± ¡°You said that you¡¯re not going to kill him yet, and you can¡¯t kill me without letting him kill all of you.¡± Sarah hissed the words out, trying to avoid cutting herself on the razor. ¡°You¡¯ve got nothing to lose.¡± Her voice pitched up, terror sinking in that sounded genuine. ¡°And if I¡¯m going to die, I¡¯d¨CI¡¯d like to know why-y-y.¡± Brad glared at her. ¡°It¡¯s because you¡¯re fucking stupid,¡± he spat. ¡°Your stupid ass wants to, oooh, leave and shit and be all fancy. It¡¯s cause you think you¡¯re hot shit for wanting to leave, and, newsflash, that ain¡¯t the rules.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that make me less valuable?¡± She muttered to herself. Taylor groaned somewhere behind Brad, but he let go of Sarah to shush her. ¡°Shut it. And, uh, nah it doesn¡¯t. Cause if you¡¯re against the rules, that¡¯s bad. So we¡¯re gonna kill you, tell Peel that we killed somebody going against the rules, and then he¡¯s gonna reward us for keeping it all intact.¡± Sarah blinked at him, confused, and there was a moment of silence before Michael sighed. ¡°That¡¯s not going to happen, Brad.¡± Brad released the razor from her neck and stomped up to Michael. ¡°What? You gonna try and fuckin protect her? Really, is that your plan? Either the cops bust you, or I kill ya. Shit ends here, Mikey Jay. Your shit ends here, and now we all get double credit.¡± ¡°Not in that sense, Brad.¡± Michael¡¯s voice was dripping with sarcasm and annoyance, as if he were constantly missing the point. ¡°I can¡¯t predict the future. But I do know how Ravenville works. And I can tell you that Peel is never going to give you what you want.¡± ¡°Uh, why¡¯s that?¡± Michael¡¯s shoulders fell. ¡°He can¡¯t.¡± The absolute certainty in his tone silenced the clearing, until Brad let out a shaky laugh. ¡°Hah, yeah, sure Mikey. Sure he can¡¯t. Maybe he¡¯s gotta call the school board first yeah. God, how¡¯d, uh, how¡¯d you get so big by being so wrong? Of course Peel can give us shit. He¡¯s the fuckin superintended. He can endorse my transcripts, get us all straight to manager spots somewhere in town. What does a security manager even do, anyway? In this town? Nobody¡¯s gonna fire me. If I drop a bag with her body in it on Peel¡¯s doorstep and add a note about who did it? I¡¯m gonna be his favorite person in the fuckin¡¯ world.¡± Sarah¡¯s eyes were fixed on Brad, absorbing the scope of his plans. The shovel was still in Michael¡¯s hands, sitting slack in his arms. Taylor and Alex were shifting around by the car, Alex poking at Louis¡¯s body with his foot while Taylor craned her neck towards the edge of the woods. The police had to be coming soon, and she was clearly nervous about it. Brad was standing there with his arms spread wide, the razor tilted in its loose grasp, as if he had forgotten that maintaining a hostage situation required effort. ¡°It can¡¯t happen,¡± Michael half-whispered. ¡°It just can¡¯t, Brad. Killing her won¡¯t do anything but kill her. Peel can¡¯t grease the wheels for you. Not with blood. Not with anything. He¡¯s just a normal man. He can¡¯t give anything to you.¡± ¡°Pfft, you sure about that?¡± Taylor whipped around at some noise that nobody else heard, except for Michael. He didn¡¯t know if it was wind whipping in branches or sirens whooping in the distance. It didn¡¯t really matter. Brad glanced at her for a second before looking back to Michael, and he sighed again. ¡°Yes, Brad. I¡¯m very sure.¡± He swung the shovel before anybody could process, the flat head slamming directly into Brad¡¯s knee. Bone crunched and Brad yelled, falling to the ground, as Michael looked to Sarah. ¡°Go!¡± He yelled before swinging the shovel again, and Sarah turned and didn¡¯t look back as she ran into the woods, away from the edge, Alex and Taylor confused behind her as they waited for a command from Brad or a clue as to what to do. She just ran into the dark. Chapter 24: All Bark, No Bite Sarah was running for her life. She¡¯d never thought she would genuinely be in this position, but as she raced through the woods, the severity couldn¡¯t be more apparent to her. She had no idea where she was and no way to see where she was going, the moon barely providing enough light for her to see where the trees were in time to avoid running straight into them. Alex and Taylor were somewhere behind her, far enough to not quite see her but close enough that she could hear their footsteps clearly, the sounds of dead wood and plant matter breaking with the regularity of a running pace. She was fearing for her life. She knew that if they caught her, that was it. They¡¯d kill her and drag her body back to Brad, to show her off to get a better job or fix a failing grade. To turn back or slow down meant death, dismemberment, whatever they deemed necessary. So she ran further into the woods, where the trees began to grow thicker, the moonlight consumed by the deepening leaves. There had to be an escape. No part of town stretched past the forest, not in the direction she was running. It was a dead end that stretched on forever, full of animal dens and shallow graves. If she kept running, she¡¯d be caught once the trees got too thick to run past, or get lost and never be found. She had to stop, but she couldn¡¯t be caught, and her window to stop was shrinking. Sarah wasn¡¯t thinking. The branches whipping against her raincoat, the burning in her throat as she gasped for breath, they barely registered as she kept running. She knew that she had to stop and escape or hide the same way she knew she was being chased; a pounding at the back of her skull, blaring at her mind without words or conscious processing. Her heart pounding in her chest, up her throat, and behind her eyes as she ran, frantically looking around for a solution without truly seeing anything. She dared to glance back over her shoulder, and saw the scratched, stark outline of a cleaver catching one of the moonbeans breaking through the treetops, one of an increasingly smaller number. A gasp escaped her, stealing more breath than she had to spare, and she began running even harder as she looked back to the yet darker woods ahead. They were in too deep. She had mostly gone in a straight line this far, trying to use the fact the woods didn¡¯t have any landmarks somewhere in the adrenaline, but it was getting too far. She couldn¡¯t see the roots in her path anymore, and every few trees that she passed would be too close for her to go between and she would have to dart around, stumbling over rocks and the ground¡¯s uneven surface. She had to go back, before it all went black while she was still alive. Her foot landed on a fallen branch and it didn¡¯t snap, rolling away underneath her step. Sarah fell forward into the ground, catching herself with sore hands and scrambling to press herself into a nook where the trunks of two trees met. The raincoat rustled against the bark and she clamped her mouth shut, desperately trying to catch her breath without giving herself away. Alex and Taylor¡¯s footsteps got closer and closer, slowing from a sprint to jog as they got closer. One of them was panting hard, but the other was constantly shuffling around, making far more noise in the debris filled dirt. ¡°She¨Ccan¡¯t be further,¡± Taylor gasped out. ¡°It¡¯s getting too thick. We¡¯ve just lost sight of her.¡± Alex grumbled something she couldn¡¯t make out, drowned by the rapid movements and his own exhaustion. ¡°Yeah,¡± Taylor replied. ¡°She can¡¯t go that far. We¡¯ll just run her down and bring her back. Even if she gets lost, we¡¯ll¡­whatever. Who gives a fuck. We¡¯ll find her.¡± They never stopped moving, the jog breaking back into a run as they continued on past her towards the deepening woods. Sarah waited, hearing them fade and stiffening as their shadows passed by her from meters away, shifting deep gray visible against the deep black accented by pale skin and gleams of metal. They grew distant, dwarfed by the sinking shadows, and Sarah slowly peeled herself off the tree and began running back in the opposite direction. It felt more lucid this time around, without them following behind her. She had to get back, to find out what could possibly be going on to make Brad think this plan would happen. She had to find out, now that she had come this far. She hadn¡¯t gone more than a handful of steps before she heard one of them shout something from behind her, and knew exactly what they were saying. Her legs burned, every movement needing more effort than the last, but she kept running towards the light, weaving around trees to try and break the line of sight. She could feel herself faltering with each step, but forced herself to maintain speed as she ran for what she thought was safety. She was still between a rock and a hard place. She had faith in Michael, but she didn¡¯t know if the cops had caught him or if Brad would still be waiting for her, and Taylor and Alex were still close behind her. They would keep chasing her, even if Brad had stopped. She needed an escape that would actually keep them away from her. A tree sat in her path, wide and full of branches to the point where she had given in a very far berth on her first time through. She darted around it and threw herself onto the branches, scrambling her way up the tree as fast as she could. The smaller twigs poking off it broke off as she climbed, trying to give away as few glimpses of herself as possible, and she reached down to snap a few off in her hands and threw them as hard as she could, creating some distraction of motion in the distance. She climbed, wrapping herself around a thicker branch and taking slow breaths, holding as still as she could. Taylor and Alex ran past her and slowed, Alex bent over and pressing his free hand to a tree. He was groaning, his chest heaving with every breath, but Taylor was constantly spinning around with a manic energy, as if hunting for something. She was muttering something under her breath, the cleaver clutched so tightly in her hand that it was shaking. They had missed her. They weren¡¯t looking up at her, and weren¡¯t likely to. That was the one thing she had known before Michael had begun teaching her, that nobody ever looked up, and she was holding to the hope that they wouldn¡¯t be looking up. They didn¡¯t see her. She had them. This was her chance. They were unaware, not paying attention. Even if they kept on going past her and looking for her, she could sneak up on them. If she wanted the answers, then she could make her move. Sarah slowly, as slowly as she could, reached into her coat and wrapped her fingers around the handle of the push dagger. Brad hadn¡¯t noticed her tucking it back into her coat, as trapped and pinned as she had been, and she felt the metal on her fingers freezing in the sunless cold. She wanted answers. She wanted to know what¡¯s Brad¡¯s plan was. And now she did, but the questions were still burning a hole in her head. She had to know more. She had to know what Michael meant, what Brad planned, what it all meant. The truth of Ravenville was so close. It was just on the other side of the two kids beneath her.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Sarah took a deep breath, keeping her gaze fixed on Alex and Taylor. It wouldn¡¯t¡­be hard. They were right there. Oblivious and tired. She¡¯d had more time to catch her breath than they had, had the opportunities to figure out where she was and establish the setting. She had the advantage. She was watching their backs. She wanted the answers. She would get them. Her hand trembled. This had to be the way out. This had to be the shot. The answers she had wanted for so, so long, they were right there and so close to her grasp. She could reach it. It would take something cruel, something violent, but she could reach it. Her hand trembled. They were arguing now, below her, about where she could have gone and where to pursue her. They weren¡¯t paying attention. If she wanted to find out why Brad planned out what he did, she had to get them. They wouldn¡¯t know. They were only minions. They probably didn¡¯t even care about the plan once they heard that there was the chance to kill people, especially Michael. They had to die if she wanted to know more. She wanted to know more. The metal was heavy in her hand. That was how she had gotten into this. She was hiding in a tree and had spent the entire night running, hiding, or scared because she had wanted to know more. She had gone looking for truth and it had put her right in death¡¯s way. She had bit her tongue and played by Ravenville¡¯s rules, and she had ended up where those rules were meant to go. Her truths were so close. If she wanted to reach out to it, she could. Through a wall of flesh and bone and blood. The forest was dark, but the moonlight shone down on her through the barest gap in the treetops, and she saw the cuts in her sweater, the nicks through her gloves. She could see the dark spots on her sleeves where her own blood had splashed down at some point. She hadn¡¯t even felt it. She could see them so clearly. Slowly creeping forwards, so certain she was hiding on the ground around them. They were hunting for her, and going in the complete wrong direction. Oblivious. Unseeing. They would never see her coming. But they could. Brad hadn¡¯t seen her coming, but he¡¯d still seen her. They didn¡¯t need to not be surprised to be able to fight back. Just because she might have the upper hand didn¡¯t mean she would be set for the entire time. Matthew had seen her coming. He had wanted to get his answers. And that had killed him. She wanted to find the truth. She wanted to live to leave Ravenville. Wanting to find the truth had gotten her there, in the tree, holding her breath and her dagger. Taylor swatted at Alex¡¯s arm, pointing at something in the distance. He shrugged, mumbled something about foxes that earned him another swat. Any movement out in the woods was hard to see so late at night. They were looking for her. They wanted to kill her. She let go of the dagger, letting it fall into her pocket. The truth was important. She¡¯d promised herself that she¡¯d find it before leaving Ravenville. But she needed to be alive to leave. Sarah wasn¡¯t going to fall for this. She wasn¡¯t going to give the violence anything more than it had already taken from her. If that was what it took for her to find her answer, then she¡¯d leave without it. She wanted to get out of Ravenville. She wanted to live. Taylor began running ahead, and Alex slowly trudged after her. Sarah felt the window slipping away from her, and let it, returning her hand to where it was holding her to the branch. She would wait. She¡¯d wait them out, and the cops, and go back to the site, or just stumble her way back home. If Michael hadn¡¯t survived, she would just call the cops. She hadn¡¯t done anything wrong. The carjacking was minor, and they¡¯d probably understand. She would survive the night, and come out okay. Glimmers of light broke through the darkness in the distance, casting silhouettes of craggy trunks and the dead things that dropped from them. A siren flashed past them, alternating red and blue. It was the first color that Sarah had seen in hours, unaltered by the low light. Taylor yelled something and began running back, deeper into the woods, and Sarah turned to press her face into the bark as a cloud covered the moon and the forest was shrouded in darkness. She heard the two of them run past her, and the pounding footsteps of multiple police officers not long after. A single eye peered over her shoulder, tracking the lights, but none went high enough up to see her. A chorus of unintelligible shouts echoed off of the wood, andSarah watched as the flashlights turned back towards the safer parts, the police marching into view and escorting a cuffed Alex and Taylor. ¡°You¡¯ll find them!¡± Taylor shouted. ¡°Just¨Cjust that way! It¡¯s Michael Jay and his little friend, they¡¯re going to be surrounded by bodies! If you dig them up, you¡¯ll find so many people, he did all of it!¡± ¡°She¡¯s right, you know,¡± Alex muttered in a sing-song voice. ¡°We can give you soooooooooo much.¡± None of the officer responded, one of them just shoving Alex in the shoulder and urging them forward. Taylor kept yelling as the lights grew distant again. ¡°There¡¯s names you probably didn¡¯t even know went missing! You could solve dozens of cases! Dozens! There¡¯s so many little clues and¨Cand hints! They¡¯re everywhere! We can give you so many clues!¡± Her entreaties faded into confusing shouts and then into mere noise, outside of Sarah¡¯s earshot from up in the tree. She didn¡¯t hear anything, and while the sirens remained in place, no more officers entered the woods. It was empty, apart from her. She shuffled over to sit on the branch, looking out over what little bit of the woods that was empty. In all likelihood, she had just lost her chance at finding out what any of what Brad and Michael were talking about had meant. But she was okay with that. She was alive. It had been closer, so close, to her becoming the reason that she wanted to leave Ravenville so badly. So close to her falling in and then realizing that she couldn¡¯t leave, that she had bought in too much and couldn¡¯t stake herself on anything else. She didn¡¯t want that. She wanted to leave Ravenville, and even if she left with questions, as long as she left, she was happy. That didn¡¯t mean she didn¡¯t want answers. She just wouldn¡¯t sell herself out to do it. In the future, maybe she could leave the payback jobs to Michael. This had opened up a rabbit hole that, ultimately, seemed to have some pretty bad results. A flicker of movement caught her attention, and she jerked her head around to see somebody emerging from the darkness. She hadn¡¯t even seen them approach, veiled by a level of skill she certainly hadn¡¯t factored in. It couldn¡¯t have been a fast pursuit. Maybe Brad had tried to sneak up on her. ¡°Sarah,¡± they whispered. She sighed. ¡°Michael. Are you okay?¡± He stepped into the light, and she saw the large tear in his hoodie, slowly shifting with dripping blood down from his shoulder to his sternum. ¡°He hit me. But I¡¯m okay. I hurt him worse.¡± ¡°Is he alive?¡± Michael nodded. ¡°He took the SUV. I didn¡¯t see where he went, but I stopped him from getting into his car. He took the keys.¡± She paused. ¡°He took the SUV?¡± ¡°Just in time to avoid the police.¡± Sarah took a slow breath, calm for the first time in a long time that night. ¡°Do you know how to get back to town from here?¡± He nodded again. ¡°I know shortcuts. You want to go home?¡± She shook her head. Survival was prime. But truth wasn¡¯t gone. ¡°I want to know where he¡¯s going.¡± Chapter 25: The Rush Of Your Blood The car wasn¡¯t far from the woods. Tire marks were scorched into the pavement, the rubber fused to the asphalt by heat and friction. They trailed into three front yards in a row, into furrows in the shape of tire treads cutting through the grass and casting dirt all over the road. Grass was upturned in a winding pattern, a scar that was continuous in its own nature but a horrid disfigurement on each of the lawns it tore through. A mailbox was bent at the end of the tear, the metal post twisted away from the road as the tire tracks returned to their proper place. The SUV¡¯s tail lights were bright red at where it had stopped, the hazard lights flashing just below them. It was at an anomalously dark spot in the street, the streetlight above it off and bending down towards the street. The metal creased and twisted where the SUV had struck it, sparking at irregular intervals and cascading over the crumpled hood and grille. The very top of the light swayed in the air, its stability compromised, but the car itself was entirely still, no part betraying any sign of life apart from the driver¡¯s side door, hanging open and conspicuously missing the driver. Brad wasn¡¯t dead. He wasn¡¯t dying. He was crawling on the ground, one leg trailing behind him emptily, crooked and the knee bent inwards as he pulled himself along the road with all the strength his arms had left. Blood flowed freely from a hole in his hip, the clothing around it already soaked through with blood and sweat. A fresh scattering of cuts criss-crossed his face from the detonation of the airbag, weeping more blood that fell to the asphalt and mingled with the handprints he was leaving behind from the wounds on his hands. He crossed into the next streetlight over, blinking in the light, as footsteps echoed behind him. Michael stopped and watched him, eyes tracking from the open door to the blood trail he had left behind. He reached up and pulled a glove off to massage the bridge of his nose, before slipping it back on and keeping his grip on the shovel that he had yet to dispose of properly. Sarah let out a slow exhale behind him. ¡°Is he even still alive?¡± She asked the night air. Michael didn¡¯t reply. He took a cautious step forward, observing and waiting for any reaction. Brad kept crawling, and Michael realized that he was saying something, mumbled under his breath while he dragged himself down the street. ¡°...gotta get back there, gotta, gotta get back¡­¡± Sarah lunged forward, looking down the direction he was going. ¡°Do you think it¡¯s a stash of something? Maybe he has some medical supplies, or there¡¯s some trick he knows to heal himself. Is there some sort of healing trick?¡± ¡°Nope.¡± Michael shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s definitely none of those.¡± ¡°Then maybe it¡¯s a bunker or something. He¡¯s got a spot to hide from the cops. Should we call them in on him so they catch him, or do you think they¡¯re going to get him?¡± ¡°He¡¯s not getting away from the police. Not like this.¡± ¡°But if there¡¯s some sort of secret, if he has a hiding place¨C¡± ¡°Sarah.¡± Michael walked over to her, standing in her way and pointing down the street. ¡°He¡¯s not going anywhere special.¡± She looked down the length of his arm, taking in where he was pointing. The street was normal, and familiar. Very familiar. She rarely ever went down this way, but she had been down here several times before. Only a few houses away, at the terminus of a cold gaze and a bloody path, Brad¡¯s house stood. From the front, there was no indication that anything was different at all. It betrayed no signs of being the site where a night of chaos began, or the harbor of a terrible notion. It was just Brad¡¯s house. And he was crawling towards it purely because it was his home. Sarah blinked and took another deep, shaky breath, trying to hold her composure together. Part of her hadn¡¯t expected to be faced with all of this tonight. Imminent death, being treated as some blasphemous tool merely for wanting to not fear for her life constantly, how close she came to becoming like them, and now the fact that those very people were just as human as her. Brad knew he had lost and he just wanted to go somewhere safe. She sympathized, but it was so much; the depths that this town dragged people to rearing itself up. Even more reason for her to wish to leave. Michael¡¯s hand fell to his side, resting on the knife sheath. ¡°Do you still want to kill him?¡± She flinched in shock. ¡°Wh¨Cwhat? Right here? Now?¡± ¡°We tried to talk him down. It didn¡¯t work. This is the opportunity to finish him off.¡± This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°But he¡¯s unarmed.¡± He shrugged. ¡°He still tried to kill you. You have the right to, and nobody would bat an eye.¡± Brad had stopped crawling now, trying to twist his neck around to see them behind him. Every one of his breaths came out shallow and pained. Sarah looked at him, and only saw a hurt boy barely older than her. ¡°Do you want to?¡± She asked. ¡°I don¡¯t care either way,¡± Michael said. ¡°None of his friends are going to try and get either of us back. They¡¯re all either dead or arrested. He¡¯s not going to squeal on us to the cops, since we¡¯re not on the same side. Jane will have covered your tracks, and I keep mine clean. I really don¡¯t care either way.¡± ¡°I guess that¡¯s better,¡± she sighed. ¡°I was going to say no either way. We don¡¯t need to. There¡¯s no point to killing him.¡± Michael let out a noise that almost sounded like he was laughing to himself. Sarah looked at him, but he gave no indication that he had done anything at all, just looking at her with a calm expression.¡°So what do we do instead?¡± ¡°Give me your phone.¡± She held out her hand. ¡°I¡¯m going to call the cops about a car crash. Sit him up somewhere so he stops crawling.¡± He obliged, reaching into his pocket and placing his phone in her hand before walking over to where Brad was lying. Brad blinked at him as he reached down and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him along the pavement towards the closest still-standing light. He hissed in pain as his twisted leg scraped on the ground, every bump and movement sending a fresh bolt of pain lancing through his expression. Michael ignored him, one hand fisted in his shirt and the other holding the shovel with a firm grip. He¡¯d had hopes of this being something unique, but instead it was just another plot to try and gain reputation. Sarah¡¯s initial retelling had brought up fascinatingly disturbing images that had led him down the wrong path, but most of all, he was annoyed that Brad was just more of the same, like some smaller, less confident version of Ken. And he disliked Ken for good reason. He dropped Brad at the base of the streetlight and stepped back, folding his hands over the handle of the shovel and resting it in front of him. Sarah was still behind him, and he looked down at Brad with an unfocused, disinterested gaze. The cut on his chest was dully throbbing, the blood not yet clotting but only slowly oozing blood, and he spared a glance down at the twisted leg with some satisfaction. He was unused to using shovels as a weapon, given that he mostly employed knives. The success with a novel approach was vindicating. He didn¡¯t really care that he had beaten him so soundly, mostly just that he had been effective. Sarah walked up alongside him, holding out his phone. He took it and replaced it back into his pocket as she squatted down in front of Brad, something eager back in her expression. ¡°Okay, Brad, I¡¯m not going to hurt you. I just want some answers to these questions. Why did you do it? What made you want to try this?¡± She leaned in, trying to capture Brad¡¯s slowly wandering gaze. ¡°I just want to know. You had to get this idea from somewhere, right? What gave you the idea?¡± Brad rolled his eyes and winced in pain, but didn¡¯t answer. Just groaned and reached up to try and wipe some blood off of his face. ¡°Brad, please.¡± She pleaded. ¡°I just want to know why. You don¡¯t¨Cyou don¡¯t get these ideas for no reason, do you? Something made you want to do this? Did you get some message, or did you just decipher some hint from a teacher?¡± He just groaned in pain again. ¡°Okay, so, no answer there. Was it one of your friends, then? Did they find something out, or¨C¡± Michael rested a hand on her shoulder. She sprung up to look at him, but he slowly shook his head and moved her out of the way before dropping the shovel into Brad¡¯s lap. He let out a sharp yelp, the handle landing right on his twisted knee, and Michael turned around, trying to lead Sarah away. ¡°You¡¯re not going to get anything out of him,¡± he said wistfully. ¡°There are no answers. He probably just came up with the idea himself, or one of his groupies did. Maybe Ken suggested it, but he didn¡¯t get it from anywhere. They¡¯re all making it up, Sarah. I know for a fact they did.¡± ¡°But you don¡¯t just¨Cget these ideas from nowhere! They had to have an origin point, some sort of inspiration. This is so far outside of what you¡¯re supposed to do, by their rules, so it had to come from somewhere.¡± ¡°The rules are just a faint regimen for payback and an understanding to not rat each other out. They are covers for violence. They place no limit on the execution of violence.¡± He looked down the street, watching the sirens illuminate houses from around the corner. ¡°There¡¯s no answers.¡± He began to lift his arm from her shoulder, but she grabbed it and held on, her legs wobbling from exhaustion. She looked to him, a silent plea to help her make it back, and he gave her a single nod before looping her other arm around his shoulder and propping her up as they went across the street, into the spaces between houses and away from the crash. The police pulled up as they vanished into the darkness, red and blue flashing around the street and painting the houses a myriad of color-tinged shadows. An ambulance followed moments later as officers exited their cars and examined the scene, taking in the injured Brad. He was barely lucid, the pain making his head swim, and he didn¡¯t see the disappearing shapes across the street. Nobody noticed when they left, two fading shadows subsumed into the night. They didn¡¯t claim credit, didn¡¯t intimidate or even stand to watch. They simply left, limping towards the safest refuge, leaving the carnage of the night behind and long out of their reach. There was nothing to claim credit for. There was nothing to gain. They just survived, and left. No vindication of violence or sudden cathartic comedown. Just the quiet aftermath of hours of chaos. Nobody noticed them at all.