by Amy Cross
Suddenly I hear another step, and I look over at the doorway just in time to see the silhouette of an arm and shoulder coming into view. Becky's out there, but she seems to have stopped. Either that, or she's waiting a long time to take another step.
“Hey Becky,” I say after a moment, trying to ignore the growing sense of panic in my chest, “are you okay? What's going on?”
I wait, but she doesn't respond.
“Becky?”
Silence.
“Becky, talk to me. Why did you hit me?”
Finally she takes another step forward, and I see her full silhouette in the doorway. To my horror, I realize she's holding something in her right hand. Some kind of tool. A wrench, maybe.
“Can you help me?” I ask. “Becky, are you feeling okay? I don't know what's going on, but this isn't funny.”
I wait, and eventually she takes another step toward me.
“Did Freddie put you up to this?” I continue, still struggling to get my hands free. “I know he's got a sick sense of humor sometimes, but this is too much. Becky, I want out of here, okay? Whatever you and Freddie have agreed to do, it's not a joke. You could have killed me earlier! You have to untie me right now!”
She's swaying slightly as she stands, as if she's unsteady on her feet.
A moment later, she takes another step toward me.
“Freddie!” I shout, convinced that he's hiding somewhere nearby and that he probably thinks this is hilarious. “I'm not down with this! This isn't cool! She hit me!”
Please be a prank.
Please God, let this be a prank that's gotten out of hand.
“Did you plan this from the start?” I continue, just as Becky takes another step toward me.
I know I have to stay calm, but at the same time I'm finding it harder and harder to believe that this is just a joke. If it was a joke, she'd never have hit me so hard.
“Have I been set up?” I continue. “What's the plan, are you gonna scare me and film it and then send the video to everyone at school?”
I watch Becky as she stands in the middle of the room. I want to believe that this is a joke, and I guess it's just about possible that she never really meant to hit me quite so hard. Maybe that part was an accident, but they've decided to go with it anyway. At the same time I saw the damage to her leg earlier.
Could Freddie have faked that?
Becky takes another step toward me, and I can't help shuddering as I look down at the wrench in her hand.
“I don't like jokes like this,” I continue, and now I can't keep the fear from my voice. I bet Freddie's loving this. “How did he get you to play along, Becky? Come on, you must realize Freddie Barnes is a moron. He's like the least cool person on the planet. Why would you go along with one of his dumb schemes?”
No reply.
“I won't get you into any trouble,” I add. “You hit me hard, you knocked me out, but that was an accident. It was an accident, wasn't it?”
I wait, and a moment later she takes another step toward me. Now she's just a couple of feet away, but the basement is pitch black and I can't see her face at all. I can just about hear her breathing, however, although she sounds like she's struggling slightly. Her breaths are shallow and raspy.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask cautiously. “Do you still have the fever, Becky? If you untie me, I can help you. It looks like you can walk, so we'll walk together, back into town. I won't even tell anyone about what you're doing right now, I promise. I won't tell anyone you joined in with Freddie's joke. It can just be our secret. You just took it too far 'cause you're delirious, right?”
I wait.
Again, no reply.
She doesn't even take another step forward.
“I promise,” I continue, staring up into the darkness of her face as she stands in front of me. There are tears in my eyes, but I know I have to stay calm. “You can rely on me, Becky. I'm not -”
Before I can finish, I realize I can hear a faint, rasping groan coming from her mouth.
I try to lean forward, but I still can't make out the words.
“What are you saying?” I ask. “Becky, you're too quiet.”
She's still whispering something, and after a moment I start to pick out one or two of the words.
“The tape?” I say finally. “What tape? What are you talking about, Becky?”
I concentrate on her voice, and finally I realize she's saying the same thing over and over again.
“You shouldn't have watched the tape,” she growls. “I warned you not to watch the tape.”
“The tape? Do you mean the video on Freddie's phone? Becky, I didn't want to watch the video. That was Freddie's idea, he's the one who's watched it over and over again. I even closed my eyes during the worst part. Didn't you notice? I had my eyes squeezed tight shut!”
I wait, but she's still just repeating those words over and over. And then, finally, she falls silent.
“Becky, this is nuts,” I continue. “It was a bad joke to begin with, and you're taking it way too far.”
No reply.
“It's not even funny.”
Silence.
“Becky, I know you're not like Freddie. You're not an idiot. Please, just untie me and we'll walk back to town together.”
Nothing.
“Becky, please -”
Suddenly she raises her right hand and swings the wrench at me. I try to turn away, but the metal bar slams into the side of my face with enough force to send the chair tipping onto its side. I land hard, my head bouncing against the concrete floor, and I let out a cry of pain as I feel blood running down the side of my face and over my mouth.
And then she hits me again.
And again and again and again.
And with each strike, we both scream as she smashes the bones in my left shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Stop!” I scream, spitting out more blood as I struggle to pull my hands free from the ropes. “Becky, stop! Please!”
The chair is scraping frantically against the concrete as I try to wriggle free. Although I'm on my side, the ropes are no easier to dislodge, and the pain in my left shoulder is getting stronger and stronger. Every time I try to move, I feel the broken bones grinding together as they slice against the inside of my bruised and torn skin.
There's blood in my mouth, and I think one of the strikes dislodged several of my back teeth.
“Becky, please,” I say finally, stopping my work with the ropes for a moment so I can try to hear her, “why are you doing this?”
I wait, but I can't hear her at all.
Turning, I look up into the darkness, and I can just about see her silhouette standing over me.
“Becky, you're not like this!” I shout, my voice echoing in the cold darkness. “Whatever you're doing this for, you have to stop!”
As those words leave my mouth, however, I realize that there have always been stories about Becky. Just the other day, Johnny Hinnerman accused her of threatening him with a knife at school, and she's always been kind of weird. Still, I always liked her, and I even had a bit of a crush on her, and I never thought she was as bad as people said. I thought people just told mean stories about her because she was poor, and because she came from such a bad family. I thought she was a good person.
Until now.
“You've really hurt me,” I continue, and now my voice is trembling as I struggle to hold back tears. “You know that, right? I'll tell people it was an accident, Becky, but you have to let me go. This has gone too far.”
I wait.
Silence.
“Freddie!” I scream finally, looking toward the doorway. “Help! Run and get help! She's gone insane!”
I listen to the house, hoping against hope that I'll hear Freddie somewhere, but there's nothing. After a moment, however, I realize I can just about hear Becky whispering again.
“You shouldn't have watched the tape,” she groans. “I told you. I warned you. I warned
everyone.”
“Becky -”
“You shouldn't have watched what they did to me,” she continues, and now she sounds like she's sobbing. “I didn't want anyone to see.”
“Becky, what are you talking about?” I stammer, as I try to wiggle my right hand free of the ropes. I might be wrong, but I think maybe the rope was slightly loosened when the chair fell.
My shoulder is agony, but I guess pure adrenaline is keeping me going.
“I've been waiting so long for someone to come and find me,” she replies, sniffing back tears. “I kept my bones safe. Out of the way, with the others. I was so cold, I'm cold now, but I kept myself warm by thinking of the day when someone would come and take my bones. And then you came, three of you, and I thought I had a chance. But then you watched the video. You made me hear it all over again.”
I open my mouth to ask what she means, but I think she's talking as if she's Molly Holt. I know it's Becky standing over me, I can hear without a shadow of doubt that it's her voice, but everything she's saying makes it sound as if she thinks she's somehow remembering what happened to the girl who was murdered right here in this basement.
She's delirious.
She must have lost her mind.
“I didn't want anyone to ever see that video,” she sobs. “I didn't know it was out there. I thought when I killed them, I'd stopped it spreading. I never realized they had time to upload a copy before the...”
Her voice trails off, and now she seems to be really weeping.
“Becky,” I say after a moment, “I -”
“My name isn't Becky,” she whimpers.
“Becky, listen to me, you're not thinking straight.” I hesitate, terrified in case I say the wrong thing and cause her to hit me again. “You're struggling. I get that. And whatever happened here, you've got a fever and maybe that's making it worse, and you're freaking out and imagining things, but you have to listen to me. Your name is Becky and -”
“No,” she replies, interrupting me. “It's not.”
“Yes it is!” I hiss. “Your name is Becky Wallace and you live in Pine Falls Road! You're sixteen years old and -”
“My name is Molly Holt,” she groans, as if the words are somehow coming from much deeper in her throat.
“No, your name is Becky Wallace. Rebecca Wallace. You go to school with me, and with Freddie.”
“I lived on Cooper Street,” she replies.
“Your parents are Mike and Sheila Wallace.”
“My mother was Annie,” she whimpers, and now her voice is breaking more than ever, “and my father was George.”
“You're not Molly Holt!” I shout, as I finally manage to start pulling my hands free of the ropes. “Snap out of it! You're Becky Wallace!”
I wait for her to answer, hoping desperately that she'll break free of this madness and finally understand the truth, but she's simply towering over me. It's almost as if she's waiting for something.
“I get it,” I continue, raising a hand to protect my face in case she hits me again. “You're scared. You're confused. Something's gone wrong and you think you're Molly Holt, but none of that's true. Come on, Becky, try to focus. It's me. It's Tim. We were gonna ditch Freddie and go back to my place later. Do you remember that? Try to remember, Becky. Deep down, you have to know who you really are.”
She mumbles something, but I can't make out any of the words.
Hauling myself up until I'm leaning against the cold wall, I hesitate as I try to figure out what to do next. Becky seems to have fallen into some kind of trance, but I'm scared of how she might react if I try to get past her. The wrench is still in her hand, and the splitting pain in my shoulder is getting worse and worse.
Deep down, I'm still hoping that this is some kind of joke that's simply gotten out of control.
“They filmed every moment,” she says suddenly, her voice sounding strangely flat and emotionless. Detached, almost.
I wait, but now she's fallen silent again.
“What do you mean?” I ask finally. “Becky, what are you talking about?”
“I could see the camera, all the time. I was...”
Her voice trails off.
“Becky,” I say after a moment, “please -”
“One time they had to stop so he could change the tape,” she continues. “I was being beaten with a metal bar, and then one of them said the tape was about to run out. So the beating stopped while it was changed. That was the only time they left me alone during the whole time I was here. They ignored me completely while they fixed the tape. I was just panting and bleeding on the floor, begging for mercy, and they were having this discussion about tape formats. It was the most mundane thing I ever heard in my life. They were disagreeing about the technical details of different types of tape. For a few minutes, I began to hope that they'd forgotten about me.”
She pauses for a few seconds, and I don't dare interrupt.
“And then they got the new tape up and running,” she says suddenly, “and the beating started again. I was begging them to stop, but the guy just got straight back into it after the tape had been changed. And every time he hit me with that bar, I felt another bone cracking, and I felt my skin splitting, and I knew it wouldn't stop this time, not for anything. I tried to crawl away. I knew it was hopeless, but my body couldn't stop fighting back until the last moment. It was like, even when my mind had accepted what was going to happen, my flesh and bones were still panicking like a trapped animal. Finally there were so many broken bones, I couldn't move any more. All I could do was wait for the pain to end.”
She falls silent again.
“Becky...”
“The last thing I heard was the hum of the camera.”
“Becky, please...”
“I think I can still hear it now. It's part of me.”
“Becky -”
Suddenly she lets out an agonized scream, and then she lunges at me. I cover my face with both my arms, but she smashes the wrench against my shoulder.
Screaming, I slump down against the concrete as Becky hits me again and again, and with each strike I feel a shudder pass through my body. I try to cry out, to beg her to stop, but the impacts are too strong and all I can manage is a series of gurgled cries as I curl into a ball and try to make myself as small as possible. Even now, as Becky continues to smash my body with the wrench, I can feel my skin splitting open, and I can feel my bones cracking, and I can feel blood flooding through my body.
The intense jolts make it impossible for me to scream, but Becky's screaming. She's screaming louder each time she hits me. It's almost as if she's trying to smash my body apart and smear me across the concrete like a bug.
And then, suddenly, one of the impacts misses my shoulder and hits the side of my head, and I feel a sharp splitting sensation as everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I'm alive.
That's the first thing I notice as I open my eyes in the dark. I'm down in the basement still, and there's a rumbling pain running through my body, but I'm alive.
It hurts to breathe.
But I'm alive.
The pain is intense, but at the same time it's the only thing that lets me know I'm still here.
I let out a faint, guttural groan as I try to sit up. The chair has been badly damaged, enough for me to slip fully clear of the ropes. I can feel broken bones crunching against one another, but somehow I manage to prop myself against the wall. I wait and take several deep breaths, and then I try to move my right arm, only to find that my hand is stuck to the ground in a patch of dried blood. Peeling my fingers free, I push through the pain and raise my hand into the darkness.
I'm alive.
I'm broken, but I'm still alive.
“Becky?” I whisper.
No reply.
“Someone. Please...”
I blink a couple of times. I can't see anything through my left eye, but my right eye isn't as damaged and I'm just about able to see that I'm alone dow
n here now. I lost consciousness during the beating, and I don't know how long I was out, but Becky is definitely gone, at least for now. Maybe she got tired and went to rest, or maybe she just wants to prolong my agony.
Or maybe she thinks I'm dead already.
Maybe she's out there digging a grave for me.
I take a moment to prepare for the pain that's coming, and then I try to stand. The pain in my right leg is unbearable, yet somehow I push through and start inching myself up. I have to lean heavily against the wall, and my leg seems poised to buckle at any moment, but finally I manage to stand. I'm already short of breath again, and my shoulder is numb and there's a sharp pain in my chest, but I know I have to find a way out of the house. If I simply wait here, Becky will eventually come back, and I don't think I can get through to her.
I don't think I can fight back, either.
Still leaning heavily against the wall, I start limping around the edge of the room, heading toward the opening that leads into the concrete corridor. Every step is agony, but pure fear drives me on and finally I stumble out into the corridor and collapse against the opposite wall. My knees buckle, and it takes every ounce of strength for me to stay upright.
I let out a pained gasp, but somehow I manage to keep from collapsing. I swear, if I fall down again, I might never be able to get back up.
Turning, I look toward the corridor's far end, where a smudge of light is coming down from the hallway.
There's no sign of Becky.
She can't be far away, but at least she's not here right now.
Pushing through the pain, I start stumbling forward until I reach the bottom of the wooden staircase. I fall to my knees and lunge forward, grabbing the lowest steps and holding tight for a moment before starting to haul myself up. Crawling is less painful than walking, so I drag myself step by step until I reach the spot where Becky fell through earlier and impaled her leg. There's still some of her blood on the jagged pieces of broken wood, but I keep going until finally I'm able to haul myself through the door at the top and into the hallway.
