I agreed with her and wondered what she meant about what I had said explaining anything. Oh well, I didn’t want to push it. We relaxed for what must have been hours in the water until a few hippies came down. We had fun talking with them—it’s not every day you can talk about government conspiracies, UFOs, and other off the wall topics with some naked hippies high in the mountains. It was really nice way to spend a day.
On the way home Nicole asked if I would like her to spend the night at my house to which I enthusiastically said yes. Our conversation on the way home did not touch on anything involving the previous day and that was okay. The only small fear I had was that we would arrive at my house and a police car would be waiting but, of course, that did not happen.
At home my mother had apparently gotten into the Halloween spirit and put up some decorations. Nicole checked out the calendar and reminded me not to forget about the speech tournament on Friday and Saturday in Salem. She asked me to write down that we were leaving early Friday morning. What was special about this tournament was that Mark had only signed our little group up for it. It was not mandatory and there was a big school dance that Friday at our school that all the other members of the debate team were planning on attending instead. We had an enjoyable Sunday evening and left to school together Monday morning—she had a change of clothing in her car—it seemed like she was always prepared for anything.
I could have used a holiday that week but it was okay. Daniel and Nicole gave me a lot of attention and never once did anything about the weekend come up—it was as if nothing had happened. Every emotion, every anxiety, everything just put in a nice, secure box and put away as if buried for a future date. I actually found myself talking up more in class. And I felt really strange in Miss. Green’s class—after all, having a paper due with the subject of studying a famous criminal was rather ironic.
On Wednesday I sat and talked with Miss. Green for a while. She was nice, kind of like the archetypical picture of what a school teacher should be like—caring, pretty bright and fun to be around. She finally went beyond just class stuff and asked, “So Melanie, how have things been the last couple of months here? You and Daniel and Nicole seem to be good friends—that’s really great to see, they are such nice students—and very creative.” Oh, she certainly touched on something there. She then just talked the typical school stuff and then, “If you ever need to talk to anyone about anything just come in and see me anytime. The first year I taught I took a job in Norway and there they give you a group of students to mentor. I really miss that and wish they had it here. You get to know the students and help them—kinda like a counselor and a big sister all in one...as well as teacher of course.” I listened and let her know I agreed that we could learn from that, but I wondered what would happen if one were assigned someone like Lamb as their mentor.
She continued talking and then said, “I think you three and Mr. Lindberg have a similar type of relationship going on.” She really got that right, more than she could ever imagine. “What is he like outside the classroom? I mean, I talk with him a lot since I am teaching speech and I am his assistant speech coach, well, up until this year I was, but I never really seemed to get a good picture of him.” I was taken back a bit by her questioning. First, I didn’t like the idea that it was so apparent that we were all so connected, but what really bugged me was that she appeared to be fishing for personal information on Mark. She rephrased her line of questioning but it was easy to see through it. What was she after, I asked myself.
Then it struck me like a baseball to the face, the ultimate irony, she appeared to like Mark—and not the work colleague thing…beyond that. Now this was interesting, wasn’t it? I mean, she was a nice person, and not bad looking in the least, but certainly not in his league. I mean, he was more the ideal researcher, or who you might think should be at a university, while she seemed to be the type of woman taking little kids on a field trip to a miniature golf park. She didn’t even have that interesting darker “shadow” feature, to her personality that could make a relationship more interesting for someone like Mark.
I had mixed emotions of her interest in Mark—it was pathetic, yes, but also humorous, even interesting…but then again…threatening. I could not show it, how inappropriate would that be? I just kept giving her friendly answers any other student would have.
After the conversation I sat there motionless, not even rolling my eyes…but then I got up to go study. I also realized I had to sit through another dull lesson later from Lamb.
I met up with Nicole and Daniel for lunch. I wanted to share my conversation with Miss. Green with them but that might seem like I was the pathetic one—the one suffering from jealousy. All they talked about was the upcoming debate trip. I wanted to say something about the previous weekend, but all they seemed to want to do was hide any references to the event in encrypted discussion—sort of in code. That was understandable—one had to be very cautious.
Later, during resource time, I went to talk with Mark. He seemed to enjoy my visit. We talked about psychology of all things as well as some current events—the usual stuff. One time I must have made a comment that sounded as if I was talking about the weekend but he gave me a look that told me that this was not to be discussed. I did not mind, it was just nice talking, even if a certain activity was off limits.
The next few days went fine, just the same mundane school game, yet mixed with the joy of times spent with Mark, Nicole and Daniel. Of course, the tournament gave me a bright target to aim for. I tried to squeeze in study every moment at school I had since Nicole, and even Mark a few times, would engage me in chatting on the computer after school. Nicole asked if she could come over and spend the night at my place on Thursday, since it would be an early start with all of us going in Mark’s car, and of course I was happy for her to do so. We could hang out the night before and then all of us spend the weekend together—what fun I thought! Little did I realize just how much fun and excitement was facing me.
Chapter 14
When we met up Thursday after school we talked a bit about the tournament, but that was probably the last thing on our minds—at least mine. Of course, when we were alone that finally gave us a chance to really talk.
“Nicole…” I began in a sheepish way, “...are there any plans on meeting about, well….the next time?” Nicole asked what I meant, as if she did not know. Then she got that vampire look that she seemed to get just before laying her fangs in your neck, “Don’t worry, if you mean the next opportunity….we’ll discuss that when we are all together tomorrow.” She sighed a bit and held my hand, “So, ready to give it another shot? Let’s not get too anxious because that’s when mistakes can be made.” I said I could try to have patience.
I thought that the upcoming discussion would be really interesting. Then I realized, and it was strange that the insight had not hit me before, that less than a week earlier I was not even sure this was all for real, and yet now I knew it was, and I was also part of the “story.” Not only that, but I had taken part in society’s ultimate taboo—and somewhere in the vast wooded areas of Oregon there was a body that a week earlier was alive—perhaps having made plans for this very weekend that certainly did not include decomposing in a hidden grave deep in the woods. And here I was, in a way anxious to do it again to some other person—who, at that very moment, somewhere, who knew where, was just going about life, totally unaware of their impending fate.
Hoping to change the subject somewhat, I asked Nicole, “What do you know of Miss. Green’s connections to Mark?” Nicole looked at me inquisitively and then laughed, “Aside from their work together in speech and debate last year I don’t think they have much of a connection—well, other than what might be considered a couple of work-related dates.” Then she got closer to me and asked in a sort of mocking way, “Are you jealous? Oh my God, you are aren’t you?” I protested, “No, I’m just curious since she was asking me some probing questions the other day and…” Nicole couldn’t res
ist, “Melanie, I wouldn’t be all that worried…but what kind of questions was she asking?” I settled down and thought a moment, “Well you know, the kind about what kind of guy he was and all—she seemed a bit too interested.” Nicole looked puzzled, “What’s ‘too interested?’ It seems as though you may be trying to protect your territory. You know, one way you can get a rise out of her would be to just say he’s great, and knows how to plan out a murder really well!”
Okay, at this point we both laughed—that would be a big shocker for her. We continued our idle chatting, “Hey, maybe we could invite her to come along and help us hold someone down so you can strangle them!” Nicole shot back, “Yeah, and afterward we can have a poetry reading.”
Wow, I had incorporated the idea of killing to the point that now I could joke about it. Had I reached another stage of desensitization where one hears about a murderer saying the first one was the hardest and then it became easy? Had I crossed a spiritual line? Or maybe I had always been there. I could not tell but it was interesting to contemplate.
We continued with some girlish, role play and mocked the whole idea of Miss. Green and Mark being together—dinner, a movie, a long walk on the beach and then killing someone who gets obnoxious with you. Maybe that helped me consider the absurdity of my worries— whatever the case, I felt less threatened by Miss. Green’s little crush on Mark.
The next morning we all met up at the school parking lot and got into Mark’s car. Mark did not even mention the tournament at first—he instead started talking about the topic of bullying. He mentioned that one of the main causes for young people committing suicide was due to being picked on at school, to which Daniel commented that the whole school shooting phenomena was usually associated with someone snapping after years of harassment.
Mark went on, “I heard about a student in another district who hanged himself after years of torment. I guess he was thin, had no social skills and was your stereotypical nerd. He seemed to endure it and compensate through horseback riding but then…” Mark stopped a moment and Nicole prodded him about what happened. He continued, “He could escape the torture at school through his hobby and he had become quite good at it. The day before an exhibition show was to occur…” I could sense anger develop in Mark, something that I had not seen before really, “…someone had broken into the stables and shot his horse with several arrows. The poor thing was too badly injured to survive and had to be put down.”
Mark passed around some newspaper clippings about the case. It seemed that after the killing, one guy in particular, who had led the cruel attacks since middle school, started making jokes about horses and archery over and over to the kid. He even put horse jerky into his locker. Nobody could prove he was the one who killed the kid’s horse but everyone kinda knew according to Mark since three had been no public announcement about the killing, so how could this guy have known?
Mark noted, “A couple of days later the kid’s parents reported him missing. A search found his body hanging in an abandoned barn.” Nicole asked if it was certain it was suicide and Mark pointed out that with the note he left in his handwriting, and some cryptic posts on an internet forum, so it was pretty evident it was self-inflicted.
Mark then asked, “So is the bully in question responsible for this kid’s death?” I did not have to think about it at all, “He most certainly is! Did he get into any trouble for it?” Mark sighed, “No, the school officials knew of the bullying, but didn’t take steps to prevent it. After the suicide they seemed to just want to forget about it all—no memorial service even took place for him. Nobody could prove his tormentor was to blame for killing the horse, any more than they could legally connect his actions to the death of the kid, but, well, you get the picture.”
Nicole then asked, “I assume then you are wondering if we should give this guy what he deserves?” We all looked at each other and it was clear that there were no objections. I then knew how someone was selected for the “honor” of our group’s assassination. I had to admit it was kinda cool.
“This all happened two years ago” Mark explained, “I found out about all the details listening to teachers who had worked in the district, plus what little was in the news. So...how do we accomplish the task?” The discussion then went into gear about the best strategy. Apparently, the way my friends worked was to use standard FBI criminal profiling, but take it backwards step by step. Investigators have stages of collecting data at crime scenes. They arrange the information, reconstruct events, determine motive and then analyze the “big picture”, including the role of the ‘victim’ and the perpetrator, to see what kind of person was motivated to do the crime. So then, logically, the best way to avoid any possible detection by the authorities meant you had to go backwards and make sure your “tracks” would not only be covered, but manipulated to confuse them.
Most importantly, no links should exist between anyone in the circle and this guy—and there were none—nobody could profile any of us once this guy “disappeared.” Then we had to access what kind a person he was and who would actually want to do him harm. First, you did not want the true victim’s family to be suspect and Mark pointed out that they had moved away shortly after the suicide.
Then we needed to analyze the best way to take him out—he was probably larger than any of us so this part would take planning. Finally, the events leading to the final act must not implicate any of us—at this point, avoidance of any public surveillance cameras, even nearby ATMs or convenience stores was a must. This guy had to be captured, taken away, and done away with without any evidence at all left behind.
We spent the rest of the travel time trying to figure out the details to these steps. The logical means to subdue him would have to involve knocking him out if, of course, we wanted to capture him. It appeared that with several previous targets a taser and a home-made dart gun Daniel had created (similar to the ones used at zoos) had done the trick. Daniel explained to me that the taser would render a person helpless, but you had to tranquilize them quickly—usually you had exposed skin to shoot the dart in when the person was having convulsions on the floor. You had to work fast so they would make little noise before passing out. If for some strange circumstance the target could not be subdued the last resort was that both Mark and Nicole carried 9mm guns with home-made silencers.
Another idea that Mark presented about this guy would be for one of us to pretend to be interested in him and then slip him a date-rape drug. Nicole immediately turned to me and said, “Melanie, you look really innocent and harmless—maybe you could pull that off!” The strange thing was that I wasn’t scared of the idea and responded that I was up for it. I saw it as the ultimate challenge and looked forward to the chance to carry it out.
It was strange that once we arrived at the tournament we left our world, our conspiracy, and returned to the reality of regular school life. It was almost too easy to immerse myself into the goal of using my speech skills for fun and winning. My first event was oratory—I gave a speech I had barely prepared for yet won, on the advantages of home-schooling of all things. Ironically, after the speech the coach judging the round said that despite being a public school teacher for the past twenty years she found herself wondering if she should take her kids out of school due to my presentation. She said my style was extremely unique and powerful, and that I had a rare form of charisma. I figured after that praise I must have scored a victory.
However, she left me thinking. Again, my obsession with self-analysis came back to haunt my mind again. Maybe I was a charismatic secondary psychopath—I enjoyed risk taking as long as I countered the risks. I did not like thinking within the norms of society and again, I had a hard time with empathy unless the person was very close to me. If I said something that bothered someone I did not mind and in fact I got off making them feel uncomfortable. At the same time I never thought about thrill seeking—I looked at activities from the cost v. benefit point of view. Yet, now that I got more into the group I was filled w
ith excitement—the danger unleashed impulses in me I had never fully recognized or even examined in any sense. Strange, in all my self reflection on who, or what, I was, while standing there as everyone left the room, I did not immediately think about the whole “has engaged in illegal activity” criteria usually on diagnostic tests. When that hit me I started laughing, which was a bit awkward since it caught the attention of the students still in the classroom packing up their materials. I took deep breath and slowly walked out the door.
If the reason I had such an effortless time winning debates and speeches was due to charisma, and some sort of natural style, then maybe this perceptive teacher had hit the nail on the head. Nevertheless, I had won the competition as well as being able to do some self-exploration—not a bad use of time in my opinion.
The day was fun except that Nicole appeared unhappy. She had not done as well as she had hoped, and would have to do exceptional well the next day or not make finals. She was visibly upset and I asked what had happened. She stared at the pencil in her hand but said nothing—she was just breathing so deep I could hear her over the noise in the auditorium. Then she snapped the pencil in half, looked at me and stated, “The stupid judge said I was too emotional in my speech! How can one be unemotional if the topic is what to do with rapists?” I took her hand and just looked at her in sympathy. She smiled, “Sorry for loosing it Melanie—I’ll just have to do really well tomorrow.”
Melanie's Journey Page 15
