Flawed Plan (A Crimson Falls Novella)

by Amabel Daniels

  “Damn.”

  No amount of grumbling or staring at Bill’s house would fix my dilemma, though. If I was absent at school, I’d really trigger the trio of terror’s attention. I had to go. And not let myself get cornered, by any means possible.

  Students were heading inside the front lobby door and into classrooms as I made my way to Miss Bleason’s homeroom class. The noise and bustle of people nearby and carrying on as usual helped to ease my anxiety of having to be near the guy who warned me into silence. Made it slightly easier to stifle the scream that I’d been holding in since I saw Jackson’s car disappear underwater.

  Warn me into silence? Ha. The letter in my backpack wasn’t too noisy as ink on folded loose-leaf paper, but I’d made sure to be as descriptive and concise with time and locations that the message was a screaming revelation.

  Friday must have been Bill’s day to give his flirting a break because as I sat in my preferred seat, I noticed Miss Bleason wasn’t dilly-dallying like she was waiting for him to pop in for a chat like he sometimes did. No, of course he wouldn’t show here today, a day when I needed to see him.

  Tim strode into the classroom with one minute to spare, and as soon as he crossed the threshold of the entry, he shot a knowing and honestly murderous glare my way. Okie dokie. No change in the game plan then. I swallowed and refused to lower my gaze. I could look evil in the eye, and I couldn’t wait to watch him lose that snobby confidence once Bill acted on my letter. He had to.

  Ashlyn followed Tim, listening to—or maybe ignoring, by the side-eyed look of her distracted inattention—Meg as she fumed about something. They walked so quickly I couldn’t even follow a single word of what the third of the bullies spoke about, but her nonverbal clues told me she wasn’t happy.

  Homeroom was a shorter period than the rest of the day’s, and as soon as Miss Bleason gave us a farewell before the dismissal bell rang, I inhaled deeply and primed myself to face a possible snafu with those three killers. If I lingered in Miss Bleason’s room, or even engaged in some small talk with her, my lagging behind could put some distance between me and the trio in the hallways. Even though I’d be around my peers and some faculty all day at school, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

  “Hey, Renee,” Meg said as soon as I slowly pretended to fuss with my backpack, to stall leaving this safe haven of a room. “Could I chat with you on the way to History? I have a question about our Spanish homework that I thought you could help me with.”

  Rigid, I peered up at her standing next to my desk. Her heated sneer flipped into a sugary smile as she faced forward. I turned to Miss Bleason at the head of the room, and yep, she’d caught Meg’s oh-so-innocent call for help. Our teacher stood there beaming at us, unbelievably buying this liar’s call for scholarly assistance.

  “Uh…”

  “Please,” Meg said. This close to her, I could see her teeth clenched behind her so-sweet polite tone. “You always know how to conjugate those tricky verbs.”

  Another peek at Miss Bleason showed me she still smiled. How blind could she be? Meg never spoke to me unless to rib or make fun of me. How could Miss Bleason be so stupid to think this was a sincere attempt for homework help?

  Damn it.

  I peered around Meg and was surprised and relieved she was alone. Meg seldom acted solo in the reign of torture against me, but, hey, I wasn’t about to complain that Tim and Ashlyn weren’t with her. Unless they waited in the hallway to ambush me.

  “Sure.” What other choice did I have? Tell her to get lost? Miss Bleason would probably scold me and implore me to be nice and help. I swallowed thickly and swung my backpack on my shoulders as I stood. Keeping a good two feet between us, I let Meg lead the way out to the hallway. There were exactly three minutes remaining before the starting bell would toll for History class. What could this brat do in that short of time? Regardless, I wasn’t letting her get closer.

  As soon as we exited the room, she elbowed me to shove me into the lockers. I stuck my foot out to trip her as she came after me, and a growl ripped out of her throat as she stumbled and fell. If a passerby could have been bothered to slow and watch our scuffle, she would have looked the victim. My hands had already balled into fists as I righted my stance. They’d never gotten too physical with me. Pushes and shoves, sure. But barreling me over? Not on my watch.

  “What the hell is your problem?” she said as she stood up.

  “What do you want?” I asked instead. It sure as heck wasn’t a Spanish tutor. I might be hearing impaired, but I’d never been lacking intelligence.

  “To know what the hell you’re doing this for?” She glanced to the side as Ashlyn and Tim came close.

  Perfect.

  Just. Freaking. Perfect. Still, I wasn’t alone in the hallway, though the student body was thinning out the closer we got to the bell ringing.

  “She’s not doing it,” Ashlyn said around gnawing on her nails. “I told you, it’s not her.”

  “Who else, then, Ash?” Meg spun to yell at her. She returned to face me, her eyes finishing a roll. “It’s gotta be her.”

  “It’s him.” Ashlyn lowered her hand but still nibbled, this time on her lips. “It’s Jackson.”

  Tim shoved forward in our huddle, a grouping I’d never want to be part of. He got right up into his sister’s face and grabbed her shoulders. “He’s dead, Ash. Dead. It’s not him.”

  With her eyes closed tight, she shook her head. “He’s back. He’s back to haunt us.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Meg said. Still, she focused on me. “Tim said you tagged after Jackson Wednesday night and saw it all.” Here, she stuck a finger out at my face. I swatted it away, wishing I could have broken it. “We know you know. So lay off the mind games.”

  Mind games? What, like Ashlyn thinking someone was stalking her last night, driving by and playing AC/DC?

  “No clue what you’re talking about.”

  She smirked. “Just because you’re deaf doesn’t mean you’re stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking—”

  “Bell’s about to ring, ladies, Tim. Don’t be late for class,” a teacher said as she passed us in the hallway.

  Meg hardly even paused. “I’m talking about egging my mom and dad’s car overnight. And my bedroom window this morning.”

  Well, there was this thing called karma…

  “And ours,” Tim added. “And our front door yesterday.”

  “And leaving cracked eggs all over the backseat of my car,” Meg added.

  “It can’t be her,” Ashlyn argued.

  I nodded with her rebuttal. I had no clue why she was so adamant about not blaming me, but I’d take her semi-support.

  “He’s back to haunt us.”

  Okay. Now that wasn’t something I’d agree with. Curses revolving around Founder’s Day were crap. Stupid stories to scare simple minds. Jackson coming back from the dead? Was she actually that naïve to believe that?

  “Ashlyn!” Meg said. “Will you just stop it already? There’s no such thing as zombies!”

  “Or ghosts,” Tim added, exasperated. “Hell, I’ll tell you what. If we ‘see’ him again, I’ll make sure to keep him down and dead this time around. Will that make you happy?”

  I began to slide my sneakers over, hoping they could forget about my presence as they battled to bring Ashlyn from thoughts of the supernatural.

  Tim shot his hand out and grabbed my sleeve. “It’s all her.”

  “I haven’t done anything.” Other than write a damning letter, which seemed to burn on my back. It was looking like an even better idea to cut class and bike around town to find Bill now. School hardly mattered in the face of darker dangers here.

  “You’re the only one who it could be,” he said. “So cut it out. You’re messing with her head”—he glanced at Ashlyn—“and it’s going to stop now.”

  Says who? He wasn’t the boss of me, threats and warnings aside. Mom was safe at work all day, and by the time I got my letter to
Bill, this punk would be the one in trouble.

  As though he’d read my mind or I’d spoken the challenge, he pulled the hem of his shirt up an inch or two. Gunmetal showed a stark contrast to the pale skin it was pressed against. A gun? A frigging gun?

  The bell shrilled, and the cutting ring had me flinching. I raised then slammed my arm down on his to break his hold on me, but I couldn’t remove my stare from his waistband.

  A gun.

  In school.

  On him.

  Tim actually brought a weapon to school with the intent to keep me quiet?

  Or was it a fake one, just to scare me?

  I wasn’t about to take my chances.

  “Harding? Get to class,” Principal Davis ordered as he exited his office. “Bell rang.”

  I couldn’t obey. I refused to face these damn bullies on my own. They’d crossed too many lines. A gun. He actually brought a gun to school. “He—”

  “No, no, no.” Davis’s face hardened into a militaristic mask of don’t mess with me, little peon. “I’m sick of hearing you accuse those fine students of picking on you. To class. Now.”

  Fine? Fine students? “He’s—”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” he yelled then.

  You. Asshole.

  “To class! Now!”

  I ran. Fear propelled me to get the hell out of there, and I was fairly sure Tim wouldn’t show the weapon or shoot me in the back in front of Davis. Even though he was positive the Vensels were fine students. More like fine, overripe demons from hell. I glanced back down at Tim’s waist where his shirt covered the weapon. His hands, I noted next, were nowhere near it. But…they could be.

  I almost missed them just being bullies.

  A gun? Who the hell brought a gun to school? Was he trying to make off with the fame from the Columbine shooting that happened last year? Was he that demented and insane?

  I ran into History, nodding at the teacher’s scolding for being late as I took my seat. Out of breath, I sat and watched as the three bullies entered a moment later. Meg beamed a sweet smile to the teacher, who merely pursed his lips.

  A gun.

  Here.

  In a place where weapons never belonged.

  I stared at the side of Tim’s waist from where he sat further ahead in the maze of desks and chairs. Droning words of no importance about the War of 1812 didn’t even make it to my brain, let alone to notes on the notebook I hadn’t even retrieved from my backpack yet.

  Stunned and so very afraid, I just couldn’t focus. All I was capable of was staring at where Tim held a tool to make good on his threat.

  “I’m not going down for this.”

  Was he that determined to get away with killing Jackson that he’d kill me, too?

  The hell he would.

  “Harding!”

  I whipped my head up to face the teacher.

  “Do you intend to pay attention today?”

  Honestly, no. The point of my concentration was to escape and find Bill.

  “Sorry.” I pulled my notebook out of my backpack to pretend like I’d take notes. As I reached for the spiral book, my fingers grazed my envelope.

  This was too much now. I had to get help. It wasn’t just a matter of seeking justice in Jackson’s name or settling the score for the three bullies. This wasn’t even simply a matter of removing Tim’s threat to silence me. A gun walking around at school put all them in danger—Miss Bleason, the janitor, the students, even jerk-off Davis. They weren’t even aware of the peril. Again, the responsibility fell on my shoulders.

  I was aware of coming danger, and I refused to not tell the world.

  I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I hadn’t tried hard enough to warn Jackson of the egging prank. And I’d do my damn best to warn everyone of Tim’s trigger-ready mood.

  I eyed the windows outside, knowing I’d be out there. As soon as this class was dismissed, I’d bolt. Sneak through the side exit? Nah. That’d put me too close to Davis’s end of the building, and the principal already had me in his sights for the day.

  Okay, I could go all the way down toward the gym wing and exit the door back there. I’d need to be quick and run around the building toward my bike, but it was the only other unsupervised door.

  Once I was out there on my bike, I’d hunt for Bill. First, I’d check the police station. Even if he wasn’t there, I could do the simplest thing of informing them of a gun at school. After Columbine, that report couldn’t be something they’d dismiss, even from a despised deaf kid like me. Then if no one was there, or—

  Jesus. I could just bike to the damn diner and ask to use the phone. Call freaking 911 and report it. Then I could stay there until they frisked everyone at school. Unless Tim could hide his gun that quickly. And then he’d really be eyeing to get me.

  I bit back a groan.

  Okay, so I’d try the police station. Or even just ask the secretary where Bill was and request I needed his help. Someone asking for a policeman’s help couldn’t be turned away. And maybe everyone would be safe at school without me there. Seemed I was Tim’s only target and reason for the gun being there. If I removed myself from the scene, he wouldn’t be likely to—

  “Excuse me, Edward,” Davis suddenly said.

  I pulled my gaze from the windows to see the principal. Again. He’d interrupted class and stood at the room’s door. An out-of-the-blue occurrence.

  “Miss Vensel? Could you please come with me?” He offered a delicate smile to her. “Mr. Vensel? Perhaps you and Miss Renard could come along with us as well.”

  The three bullies singled out? By the principal? I sat up straighter.

  Then Davis’s bespectacled gaze came to meet mine. And darkened to angry slits. “Harding. Get out here. Now.”

  Crap. Those three, plus me? I hadn’t done anything!

  I nodded anyway and hurried to meet them.

  “I don’t know what kind of nonsensical problem you’ve got with them, but I’m sure you’re involved with this somehow. I saw you bickering with these three in the hallway earlier. Don’t try to talk your way out of this,” Davis intoned as he led us down the hallway and rounded the corner.

  I hadn’t done anything!

  I was damned tired of it. Just because my dad was a cheater and pissed off townsfolk back in the day didn’t make me some kind of leper. Just because Mom worked a lot and couldn’t afford much didn’t make me some target for shaming. And just because I couldn’t hear as well as everyone and talked slightly different didn’t mean I couldn’t deserve the same general courtesy of respect everyone else got.

  The hell with this stupid town.

  Still, I let his words in one ear and out the other. As soon as I could, I’d break away and tell Bill that Tim had a gun, that these kids killed Jackson. Davis was making it too easy for me to loathe the whole town, but I refused to stoop to their level of meanness.

  “What’s going on?” Tim asked as Davis ushered us further from our classroom.

  A squawk was the first clue. As odd as it could be.

  Squawk? Like a—

  Chicken. Chickens, actually. Three of them strutted and ran on the waxed tiled floor as we rounded the corner of the hallway.

  Chickens?

  Right. These belonged here as much as Tim’s gun.

  “What…?” Meg started as she narrowed her eyes at the scene. The janitor chased after one to catch it, and in the excitement, another darted toward us.

  Ashlyn screamed and jumped toward Davis, as though to hide behind him.

  “This is ridiculous!” the principal bellowed.

  “Where did they come from?” I asked. And what the heck did this have to do with me?

  “My locker,” Tim answered, looking in the direction of his locker door hanging open, the only single door open along the entire wall of students’ spaces. Then he leveled his glare on me.

  “I don’t know what kind of game this is,” Davis said, patting Ashlyn’s shoulder as she tucked into herself, he
r eyes wide, “but it’s ending now!” He finished that last bit toward me.

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  He pointed a finger at my face. “I saw you guys fighting in the hallway earlier. Looked anything but friendly.”

  “They were—”

  “No!” Davis stomped his foot. “You always point the finger at them!”

  Because they were the ones making hell! Tim, Ashlyn, and Meg. I was the victim!

  “Here’s another— Watch out!”

  I turned at the janitor’s words as he busted the lock off another locker. Three hens squabbled out of it, dropping to the floor and running this way and that.

  “That was my locker,” Meg said.

  Tim clamped his lips shut and grunted, shaking his head as he eyed me.

  “Hey, these are from that fancy farm,” the janitor said as he caught one and eyed the tag on the bird’s foot. “Them organic ones.”

  Oh my God. Hens from Jackson’s farm.

  Goosebumps lined my skin.

  How, just how could they be here?

  Ashlyn keeled an eerie wail from under Davis’s pudgy arm around her shoulders.

  For a second, I almost wanted to join her.

  Even now, Tim had to realize I wasn’t at fault. I was with them! From Miss Bleason’s homeroom, to our “chat” in the hallway, and then to History. I’d been right there with them, with no chance for me to sneak away and stuff their lockers with live freaking poultry!

  “It’s him,” Ashlyn cried. “It’s him!” She burst into tears as Tim tried to argue with her.

  You know…if I could have bought any of that BS, I’d have nodded my head right along with her words. Meg was right, though. Zombies? And ghosts? They made for okay movies, but in real life? Come on!

  Jackson couldn’t have left those chickens in the three bullies’ lockers. Neither could I. For starters, I didn’t know how to pick locks. And the chickens? Yeah, like I could bag up hens and transport them on my bike…