Bad Games- The Complete Series

by Jeff Menapace

  “You know the two girls I interviewed before her? Charlotte and Jeanine?”

  Kevin nodded.

  “They both seemed so intent on letting me know how tough they were, how dangerous they were. Kelly was the opposite. She seemed intent on convincing me how good she was. How misunderstood.

  “When I showed photos of their victims to Charlotte and Jeanine, they looked away, almost like they couldn’t stomach what they’d done. When I showed Kelly the photo of the remains of the tree house where her brother burnt to death, she couldn’t keep her eyes off it. I even slid it across the table and her eyes followed.”

  Kevin nodded. “I spotted that.”

  Sure you did.

  “I’m sure you did. And when I asked Charlotte and Kelly about what kind of animal they’d be? Charlotte said the killer shark from Jaws. Kelly said a chameleon.” She almost stopped there, wanting to see if Mr. Know-It-All could figure out this little nugget without being spoon-fed.

  Kevin said nothing. He just kept nodding, his brow furrowed, eyes squinting, as if he’d reached the same revelation as she, yet courtesy was holding his tongue, insisting the honor to voice it was hers.

  He’s a decent bullshitter. Probably picked it up from the kids around him. Delicious irony at its best.

  She spared him. “The shark is a supreme predator. Something to be feared. Charlotte wants people to fear her. A chameleon is fragile. Hardly something to fear. Yet what allows it to thrive? What’s its strength?”

  Kevin had no problem blurting: “Camouflage.”

  “Exactly. Camouflage means never getting caught. Kelly isn’t concerned with people fearing her. Kelly doesn’t want to get caught.”

  “People already do fear her.”

  “I suspect she knows that.”

  “Why those animal questions? They seemed random.”

  Monica smiled. “I just ask the questions my boss gives me.” And then, to shut him up: “I imagine the nature of the question was an oblique way of getting them to open up by presenting an identifiable and harmless query, its arbitrary placing in the interview perhaps deliberate in emphasizing a chat as opposed to a grilling.”

  It had the desired effect. Kevin nodded and silently swallowed the giant helping of bullshit Monica had fed him. She wasn’t even completely sure she’d understood what she’d said herself. It had a nice bow on it though. Sometimes that’s all it took.

  “Something else I’d like to ask you,” Monica said.

  Kevin, who looked as if he was still digesting Monica’s ladle of shit, snapped out of his daze and said, “What’s that?”

  “What’s going on with Kelly and Mrs. Sands?”

  Kevin shrugged. “I would have thought that was obvious by now.”

  “No, no—I understand that Kelly is, how to say, not one of Ms. Sands’ favorite students, but the feeling seems to be very mutual. More so even. I sensed genuine hatred from Kelly.”

  Kevin stuck out his lower lip, uncertain. “Kelly doesn’t really hate anyone. And if she does, she never shows it. Can’t see any reason why she’d hate Mrs. Sands. The woman avoids her whenever possible. You saw her when you first interviewed Kelly. That ‘prior engagement’ of hers? Probably hiding out in her office until the coast was clear.”

  “Which makes Kelly’s comments all the more curious,” Monica said. “She claims Mrs. Sands frequents her cabin often, constantly threatening her with punishment. Claims that only this morning Mrs. Sands entered her cabin and told her about my visit, about the story. Threatened her with bathroom duty for the remainder of the year if she misbehaved. I’ll assume from your previous threat, and from Mrs. Sands’, that bathroom duty is not one of the more popular chores at Stratton Grove?”

  Kevin nodded slowly, managed to mumble, “Kids hate it…” but he was lost in thought, his eyes off Monica, his thumbnail in his mouth, being gnawed as he processed Monica’s relay.

  “Kevin?”

  He pulled his thumb from his mouth and looked at her. “Sorry. It’s just—she’s lying to you. Mrs. Sands is afraid of Kelly. I can’t see her routinely entering her cabin, threatening her with punishment. Maybe today…maybe. But even that seems unlikely. She didn’t even want to be on the other side of the glass when you were interviewing Kelly, yet she’s always going into her cabin? Alone?”

  “I’m only telling you what Kelly told me. I can’t see any reason for her to lie, can you? What’s to gain from such lies?”

  “Perhaps she’s angling for a means of leaving. Constant complaints of harassment? The perpetrator Mrs. Stephanie Sands herself? You and your story would be the perfect voice.”

  “So you believe Kelly Blaine was lying to me.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Mrs. Sands did not enter Kelly’s cabin this morning and threaten her with bathroom duty.”

  Kevin shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  “And Mrs. Sands has not been secretly harassing Kelly Blaine since her arrival here at Stratton Grove.”

  “I highly doubt it.”

  Monica withdrew her notebook. Opened it to a blank page, but shielded it from Kevin. She pretended to look dejected as she gestured to the blank page. “So all of this? A waste of time?”

  Kevin looked concerned. “Well, no…”

  Monica continued. “Should I even report it? Should we fear for Mrs. Sands’ safety?”

  “Even Kelly Blaine isn’t brazen enough to try and harm Mrs. Sands.”

  Monica dropped her head and sighed.

  “Hey,” Kevin said.

  Monica looked up. He was giving her a flirtatious smile. “It’s no big deal. None of this happened anyway, remember?” He winked.

  She smiled back, then tore the blank page from the notebook and crumpled it into a ball. “I guess not. Just thought I might have something juicy.” She licked her lips after “juicy.”

  “Any chance you’d let me ease your pain with a drink sometime?” he asked.

  Monica let the disappointment on her face creep into a smile. “That could be nice.”

  Kevin Lane looked almost giddy. “How does this weekend sound?”

  The pedestal I built for you is high and mighty now, isn’t it? Yet your view is far too lofty to see that the foundation is still sand. And the storm is coming…

  “Sounds great. Let me give you my number.”

  15

  Monica had rented a cottage for the few days she expected to be in Virginia. The cottage was not far from Stratton Grove, and, like the youth ranch, was tucked away in its rural cover.

  She had much to do tonight, chief of those things being to help Kelly Blaine escape from Stratton Grove. The other tasks that lay ahead were significant, perhaps some would even present themselves as trickier when the moment came, but leaving Virginia with Kelly Blaine superseded all. The rest just tied it all together with an iron knot. And it would be fun.

  During their real conversation, Kelly had told Monica that security at the ranch was a joke. Three “rent-a-cops” she’d said. Civilians in uniform, armed with nothing more than flashlights, mace, and a baton. They never deviated from their routines, their patrolling of the grounds ritual and only with the occasional cautious eye. They were more eager to finish their rounds, put their feet up and take smoke breaks that often stretched more than an hour.

  Monica was not surprised Kelly had memorized the guards’ routine. Had in fact, counted on it; it’s what she would have done if she had the misfortune to be stuck in such a place. If you can’t leave, better to have the run of the place, learn its secrets. Kelly had won Monica over with an almost identical sentiment when the subject of running away was broached. “And go where?” Kelly had said. “These other girls who run are idiots. What the hell do they think they’re going to do when they get there? Better to be big fish in a shit pond than lost at sea without a compass.”

  Lost at sea without a compass. That’s when Monica knew she’d get her. If the photos of Stephanie Sands’ corpse weren’t the deal-sealers, the
n Monica offering to be her compass sure as hell was.

  Apparently, the rest of staff would not be an issue either; Kelly had claimed the last of them—kitchen workers, janitors, maintenance—left around nine. Stephanie Sands’ Mercedes, however, was still an issue. The car was still in Stratton Grove’s lot, and would be unless Stephanie Sands came back to life, snuck out of the cellar of the rented cottage, and claimed it.

  Kevin Lane had said Stephanie Sands did not visit the campus often. Her gaudy appearance suggested the same. Still, would it be so odd if she stuck around for once? Would any of the staff really care if her Mercedes was still in the lot when they left for the day? The guards when doing their rounds? Nah—none of their business what the boss-lady was up to.

  Come morning? Yeah—it would probably arouse some suspicion. Prompt some digging. But by then everything would be complete. It wouldn’t matter.

  Monica flopped on the bed and lit a cigarette. The sun was still up, and would be for at least another couple of hours. She had time.

  She thought about Domino and what she had waiting for him in the Pine Barrens. She was a woman with trained patience, but fuck her it couldn’t come fast enough.

  16

  Monica’s Lexus rolled down the long driveway leading into Stratton Grove. She stopped halfway and killed the headlights.

  If she had done what she was told, Kelly Blaine should be waiting for her at the precise spot where Monica had killed Stephanie Sands.

  Monica exited the Lexus and lit a cigarette—this was to be the signal for Kelly to come forward from where she was hiding.

  A rustling in the dark some ten feet away. Monica drew hard on her cigarette, the small orange glow Kelly’s beacon.

  More rustling, and then a silhouette. Someone small, maybe five feet approaching.

  “I was hoping you’d show,” Monica said.

  Kelly Blaine crept into view. Night obscured precise details on attire, but it was evident the girl had chosen to pull her long hair back into a ponytail—efficiency on the move, and no need for a mask anymore. Monica knew she would never gain true trust from a sociopath like Kelly, but her dismissal of the mask was the next best thing. It showed Monica that Kelly was willing to comply—for now.

  “You’ve got me curious,” Kelly said.

  Monica drew on her cigarette, blew smoke into the night sky. “You’ve got me curious. Any problems leaving?”

  Monica heard Kelly snort. “I could have whistled the whole way.”

  Monica smiled. “Well okay then. Shall we?”

  17

  Monica pulled into the driveway of her rented cottage. She spotted Kelly in her periphery giving the pastoral environment an uncertain glance around.

  “Where are we?” Kelly asked.

  “Home for now,” Monica said before switching off the ignition and exiting. “You coming?”

  Kelly exited slowly, shut the passenger door, and looked in all directions again. Her face was wary.

  “You okay?” Monica asked.

  Kelly nodded, still looking around.

  Monica chuckled. “Well do you want to stay out here or come inside?”

  Kelly looked at her unevenly. “That ride was maybe ten minutes. Why so close? Shouldn’t we keep moving?”

  “Patience, kiddo.” Monica headed towards the cottage, stuck her key in the front door, but did not turn it. She glanced back at Kelly, who had started to inch forward. With a smirk, Monica asked: “You wanna see something cool?”

  • • •

  Monica led Kelly inside. Guided her towards the door leading into the cellar.

  “What’s down there?”

  Monica didn’t reply. She opened the door and hit a switch on the wall. Strong lights flickered then exploded with white fluorescence, lighting a wooden staircase that descended into the heart of the cellar.

  Monica gestured down the stairs. “After you.”

  “Uh, after you,” Kelly replied.

  Monica smiled then descended into the cellar. When she reached the bottom, she turned and motioned for Kelly to follow.

  Kelly remained.

  Monica smiled again. “Kelly, did I really go through the trouble of helping you leave Stratton Grove, only to bring you here to hurt you?”

  Kelly processed Monica’s words, started descending slowly. Monica moved away from the base of the stairs and waved a gracious hand over the empty spot.

  Kelly eventually arrived at the cellar floor.

  “Didn’t hurt, did it?” Monica asked.

  Kelly said nothing.

  Monica walked to the far end of the cellar. A white rectangular cooler the size of a large refrigerator hummed in the corner. She looked back at Kelly, smirked, and started thrumming her fingers along the top of the broad white surface.

  “What’s that?” Kelly asked.

  “What’s it look like?”

  “Looks like a fridge turned on its side.”

  Monica smiled. “Yup—that’s pretty much what it is.”

  Kelly inched cautiously forward. “What’s in it?”

  “Open and see.” Monica handed Kelly a key to the large padlock that hung from the cooler’s heavy lid.

  Kelly took the key, considered the task, then went to work on the lock.

  When the task was finished, Monica extended her hand. “Here—give it to me.”

  Kelly handed Monica the padlock.

  “Key too.”

  Kelly handed over the key.

  Monica tucked the key into her pocket but kept the padlock out, clenching her hand around it; appreciating the extra weight it gave her fist. “You gonna open it?” she asked.

  Kelly turned back to the cooler. She placed her hands on the lid, paused, and glanced back at Monica.

  “Go on.”

  Kelly used both hands to open the cooler. One arm bracing the lid open, she peered inside. “Holy shit. Is that—?”

  Monica slammed her weighted fist into Kelly’s jawline. The blow would have felled a big man. Kelly Blaine dropped to the floor as if shot by a sniper from above. Her arms and legs twitched as she slept.

  Monica set the padlock aside, casually removed a pair of leather gloves from her pocket and put them on. She squatted and used her legs to lift Stephanie Sands from the cooler, then laid her corpse beside Kelly.

  Taking hold of Stephanie Sands’ hand, Monica managed a firm grip on three of the women’s fingers and raked them along the flesh of Kelly Blaine’s arm, slicing through the skin, drawing blood. She repeated the same procedure with Stephanie Sands’ other hand, Kelly’s other arm. Kelly never once stirred throughout.

  Monica produced a pair of plastic string cuffs and began fastening Kelly’s wrists together. Finished, she squatted and used her legs again to scoop Kelly up into her arms (like lifting a ragdoll after the much heftier and far deader Mrs. Sands) then laid her in the open cooler. She removed a glove and checked for a pulse. It was shallow but steady. Good.

  Monica slammed the cooler’s lid and fastened the padlock. She bent and unplugged the cooler, went to the corner of the cellar, and returned with an automatic drill. She made two holes for Kelly.

  “Okay, Your Cuntness,” she said, turning her attention back to Stephanie’s corpse, “you ready to head back to Stratton Grove?”

  18

  Kevin Lane was not the first employee to pull into Stratton Grove Youth Ranch for Girls the following morning, but he was the first to take note that Stephanie Sands’ Mercedes was still in the lot.

  His first thought was that Belinda Cole might be here—not a bad thought to entertain—and that Mrs. Sands had returned to discuss some particulars with Belinda about the school’s story.

  Except when Kevin scanned the lot, he did not find Belinda’s Lexus. This left two possibilities: Stephanie Sands had stayed the night at Stratton Grove, or she had returned bright and early the following morning to attend to some administrative matter. Both seemed unlikely.

  Kevin immediately made his way to the faculty
lounge, found the handful of teachers who’d arrived before him, all of them spread about, appropriately lounging, coffee and baked sugar providing them fuel for their always trying day ahead.

  “Anyone see Mrs. Sands?” he asked the group.

  They said they didn’t.

  “Is she here today?”

  They said they didn’t know.

  “Her car is in the lot.”

  They only nodded at him.

  “Her car was in the lot when I left last night. Anyone else notice that?”

  Some said they did, some said nothing. They didn’t care.

  Kevin started fixing himself a cup of coffee. He recalled Belinda Cole’s concerns from yesterday, her concerns for Mrs. Sands’ safety. He recalled how Belinda said she’d sensed genuine hatred from Kelly Blaine when it came to Mrs. Sands.

  He’d dismissed it at the time. Why?

  Was it because he knew Stephanie Sands was afraid of Kelly?

  Because Kelly Blaine was a pathological liar?

  Because you were too busy angling for a way to ask Belinda out the whole freaking time? Saw your chance after how disappointed she’d looked when you’d said her day’s work was all for naught?

  Kevin stopped making his coffee and sighed. It was all true—especially the last part.

  Stephanie Sands was afraid of Kelly Blaine…

  Kelly Blaine was a pathological liar…

  …He did start suppressing any potential alarm when he saw an opportunity to court Belinda Cole.

  And there was one more truth. A truth that made Kevin Lane leave his coffee untouched and head for the door in pursuit of Mrs. Sands:

  Kelly Blaine was Kelly Blaine.

  • • •

  Stephanie Sands’ office, the first place Kevin looked, was empty. Looked as if it had been empty for some time. There were no tea or coffee cups lying around. Her PC was cold, shut down. Her chair was tucked away beneath a desk that contained no papers or open files. The entire office looked as if it hadn’t been occupied in days, never mind this morning.