The School of Revenge

by Michael Richan

  “Oh,” Mrs. Morrison replied. “Well, I’ve got some travel next week, so that’s the only day that works for me. Perhaps we’d better skip a week. That should give you plenty of time to perfect the Mendelssohn.”

  Aaron stacked up his lesson books and they made their way to the door of Mrs. Morrison’s home. She opened it for him. “Well done this week,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Aaron replied, and walked out.

  “Oh, Aaron?” she said, calling after him.

  He turned. She was still standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “If you’re in any kind of trouble, I might be able to help.”

  His mind raced. Trouble? What did she mean?

  “No, everything’s fine,” he found himself replying, almost like a robot programmed to lie.

  “Alright,” she said, smiling. “See you next week.”

  He waved and turned back, heading to the street.

  Trouble? he thought again. Why would she think that?

  —

  Aaron locked his bike into the rack and began walking through the parking lot toward school. Juniors and seniors with driver’s licenses were pulling into the lot; some, already parked, were hanging out by their vehicles, talking. Unless it was raining, it was the same scene every morning.

  Today, however, Aaron was intrigued by who he saw in the distance: Karissa. She was with a group of friends, standing behind a white SUV. He recognized the other girls as cheerleaders. They had their heads together, talking between them, laughing.

  School hasn’t even started, Aaron thought, and they’re already at it, making fun of people.

  He was considering turning to leave the lot early and alter his path to the school doors. He didn’t want to walk right past them and become a target for their comments, even though he was intrigued to see if the pimples Phillip mentioned were noticeable, up close.

  He was just steps from his planned turn when the white SUV they were standing behind suddenly lurched backward a foot. A couple of the girls screamed.

  Aaron froze and watched.

  The group scattered as the SUV rapidly launched out, causing more screams. He thought it might hit the car parked behind them in the next row, but it skidded on the pavement after ten feet, coming to a stop within inches of the bumper of a purple Scion.

  From where he stood, he could see that something — someone — was under the SUV.

  He’d never witnessed an accident before, and he felt his body tingling with adrenaline and shock. He walked slowly toward the scene. The other girls were now returning, pointing under the vehicle. He saw a girl get out of the driver’s side and join the others looking down. Hands rose to mouths. A couple of kids had cell phones to their ears, presumably calling for help. One kid had his phone aimed at the SUV, taking a video.

  He approached the accident. More people were gathering around it. Phillip came up behind him.

  “What happened?”

  “That SUV backed out suddenly,” Aaron said, feeling as though his words were a little disconnected from his voice. “I think it hit someone.”

  They rounded the corner of the vehicle and joined the others looking down. Under the car was Karissa.

  A girl named Jenna was pleading with a group of onlookers, saying she didn’t see her, and didn’t mean to hit her. Some people were crying.

  “I called 911,” someone shouted. “They’re coming!”

  Two boys had knelt next to Karissa. One of them reached out to grab her, but the other stopped him, insisting that they wait for the EMTs before moving her.

  Aaron couldn’t see any surface damage to Karissa — there was no blood, no bones sticking out — but from the crumpled way she was laying on the ground, it seemed obvious that she was seriously injured. Her face was upturned, and he could see the pimples around her mouth that Phillip had mentioned. They looked vaguely like remnants from the stitching performed by Madame Pritchard.

  As more and more people began to gather around the SUV, Aaron decided to work his way away from the crowd and head toward the school doors. Phillip was right behind him.

  “Jenna backed over her?” Phillip asked. “Just ran right over her?”

  “There were a bunch of girls standing behind Jenna’s SUV,” Aaron said. “The rest of them got out of the way.”

  “But not Karissa?”

  “Apparently.”

  Aaron was moving quickly now, headed to his first hour. Phillip kept up with him.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Phillip said.

  Aaron stopped, turning to Phillip. “What? What am I thinking?”

  “It’s a coincidence,” Phillip said.

  “Yeah, right,” Aaron said, turning and continuing down the hall.

  “It is, it’s a coincidence,” Phillip repeated. “That’s the only explanation.”

  “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself,” Aaron replied, over his shoulder.

  “I think it’s a pretty good theory,” Phillip replied, then lowered his voice. “We didn’t cause this. It’s not like we did anything to her.”

  Aaron stopped walking, struck by Phillip’s comment. They he started walking again.

  “You’re still coming tonight, right?” Phillip asked.

  “I gotta go,” Aaron said. “We’ll talk at lunch.”

  They parted, Aaron turning to go down a hall to the left. Phillip’s first hour was down the opposite hall.

  “Alright, lunch!” Phillip called.

  Aaron maneuvered around the students in the hall, robotically walking to first hour. He felt shaken by what he’d seen, but even more disturbed by Phillip’s comment.

  I didn’t do anything to her, myself, he thought. But I cheered right along with the rest of them while Madame Pritchard smashed her legs, on stage.

  He felt something twist in his stomach, and decided to stop by a bathroom before class.

  —

  Aaron parked his bike behind the library. It was beginning to get dark, but the light on the back of the building hadn’t come on yet, so it wasn’t easy to see if Phillip’s bike was already chained up or not.

  It hadn’t really been a fight during lunch; more like a heated conversation. Phillip had continued to insist that what had happened to Karissa was a coincidence, and couldn’t have been caused by the School. Aaron wasn’t so sure, and argued the point. It hadn’t helped that the news around school that day was that Ryan’s condition had worsened. The whole place seemed depressed; everyone was shocked by what had happened, and the impact of the communal concern wasn’t lost on Aaron. He felt a sense of anxiety building about the School and his growing suspicions, and exploring what he was feeling with Phillip over lunch hadn’t yielded any benefits or insight. Aaron couldn’t tell how much Phillip really believed what he was arguing, or how much was just a desire to continue with the School in order to see Curtis and Dirk exacted. He suspected it was mostly the latter.

  They’d been friends for a long time, ever since Phillip’s mother died almost six years earlier, and most of the time he had a good idea of what his friend was thinking and where he was coming from. It didn’t surprise him at all that Phillip would want to see Curtis and Dirk exacted, even though he hadn’t been the direct recipient of their abuse. He knew Phillip wanted it because of their friendship and loyalty.

  So the fact that they didn’t see eye to eye on the concerns Aaron was raising didn’t surprise him, but it did bother him. He thought back to how lunch had ended: they had both agreed to disagree. Phillip seemed pissed when they parted.

  On the ride from his home, he came to the conclusion that he’d rather avoid the guilt he’d feel if something truly life-threatening happened to Curtis the way it seemed to have happened to Ryan and Karissa. He knew, like Phillip, he’d enjoy seeing Curtis pay for the things he had done, but the more he considered how he felt about what was happening to Ryan and Karissa — and the way he knew the entire school felt about them — he couldn’t live with himself if he was the
cause of that kind of thing happening to someone, regardless of how nasty they might have been to him personally.

  Pay for what they’ve done, yes; but really damaged? Maybe killed? No, that’s not me.

  He decided he’d try to remove Curtis’ name from the list.

  They said they had a long list, he thought. They can just move on and pick the next name, skip Curtis. I don’t want to feel guilty the rest of my life. They probably won’t like me having second thoughts, just like Phillip didn’t, but this isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death.

  Even though I wished a hundred times that he would die.

  The light on the back of the library popped on. There’s Phillip’s bike, he thought, catching a glimpse of it. He’s inside already.

  Aaron made his way to the door and walked in; Jeremy was there with his clipboard as usual.

  “I want to talk to someone,” Aaron said.

  “Someone?” Jeremy replied. “How about me?”

  “No, someone like Herrod or Madame Pritchard.”

  Jeremy rolled his eyes. “You like to make demands, don’t you?”

  “I need to speak to one of them. I have something important I need to ask.”

  “And I’m never good enough for you, is that it? You know, I do work here.”

  Aaron pulled up his shirt sleeve, exposing the last remains of the scar. “It’s not like you helped me get this, is it? I had to do that on my own.”

  Benjamin appeared from around a corner. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “He wants to talk to Herrod again,” Jeremy said.

  “Or Madame Pritchard,” Aaron added.

  Benjamin scoffed. “Herrod isn’t here tonight, and there’s zero chance you can talk to Madame Pritchard. She’s busy getting prepared to exact on your buddy, Curtis.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to someone about,” Aaron replied. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want Curtis on the list.”

  Benjamin turned to Jeremy, and the two exchanged an amused look. “You must be joking.”

  “No, I’m not,” Aaron replied. “Look, you said you’ve got lots of people on the list. Just go with someone else.”

  “He’s already been acquired!” Benjamin said. “You were in here, what, less than a week ago, begging for him to be moved up the list, and you weaseled your way into Adherancy. You got what you wanted. What’s the problem?”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “It’s too late to change your mind,” Benjamin said. “In ten minutes Curtis and Dirk will be in front of Madame Pritchard. You can’t stop that, it’s already underway.” Benjamin paused. “Why would you want to stop it?” Benjamin was eyeing him suspiciously, and it made him feel nervous.

  “I…I…” he replied, not sure what to say.

  “You’re not going back on us, are you?” Benjamin asked.

  “No, I…” Aaron started, but he didn’t know how to respond. I came in here thinking I’d just ask them to change things, he thought, to remove Curtis from the list. I wasn’t expecting this kind of push back.

  “I think you’d better step up and prove that,” Benjamin said. “I want you and your friend to come by tomorrow night for recruitment duty. Now, you need to go inside and get ready for the show. You’re an Adherent now; you need to act like one.”

  Aaron swallowed hard and turned away from them, heading for the hallway that led to the stairwell. He felt a little sick to his stomach. He’d failed to reach anyone who could stop tonight’s proceedings, and he’d embarrassed himself in the process. Maybe I should just let it go, he thought. Things seem on rails here. Maybe I can’t do anything about it now.

  Although just a few days before he had been excited at the thought of witnessing the exactation of Curtis, now as he walked up the stairs he had a sinking feeling that he was about to cross a personal line — a boundary in his mind. This isn’t just a fantasy anymore, he thought. It’s not just a show; this is somehow really harming these people. You’re about to participate in something wrong. Very wrong.

  The theatre was almost full. He looked around for Phillip; next to his friend was an open seat, one of the few. He took it.

  “Hi,” Aaron said.

  “Hi,” Phillip replied. “I didn’t know if you were coming.”

  “I said I would,” Aaron replied.

  “Tell me you didn’t do anything stupid on your way in.”

  “I might have,” Aaron said. He hung his head a little sheepishly.

  “Damn it, Aaron!” Phillip said. “What did you do?”

  “I asked them to take Curtis off the list,” Aaron replied. “They said they couldn’t, it’s too late.”

  “So he is the show for tonight?” Phillip asked.

  “Apparently,” Aaron replied.

  Phillip smiled. “Good. Dirk too, I hope.”

  “It doesn’t bother you in the least that this might kill them?”

  “No,” Phillip said, turning to look at the stage, “because I don’t think it will.”

  “I got us assigned recruitment duty tomorrow,” Aaron said. “Sorry.”

  Phillip rolled his eyes just as the lights went down and the crowd began to yell. Two tables were wheeled onto stage. Aaron felt his pulse begin to accelerate, waiting for them to raise the tables so the crowd could see who was there.

  The tables tipped forward, and the sheets fell from both bodies. He heard Phillip next to him say, “Yes!” as the crowd applauded.

  It was Curtis and Dirk. They were strapped to the tables just the way that Ryan and Karissa had been. In a deep, reptilian corner of Aaron’s brain he was thrilled to see the two bullies on stage, naked and humiliated, immobile, subject to whatever was coming next, unable to respond.

  They’re drugged up like Ryan and Karissa, he thought. I wonder if they even know what’s going on around them.

  The crowd erupted with roars as Madame Pritchard appeared on stage. Her tall figure walked around the tables, running her hands down the bodies of Curtis and Dirk, playfully flipping her finger at their noses. The crowd loved it.

  “Buy one, get one!” Madame Pritchard yelled. The crowd yelled back its approval. “It’s not often that we have two bullies to work over, but thanks to one of our Adherents, tonight we do!”

  “Yeah!” Phillip yelled, joining the others in the audience, cheering on the spectacle.

  Madame Pritchard’s hand slipped inside her clothing and removed a piece of paper, which she held at arm’s length as she continued to walk around the two bodies.

  “Curtis Moyer and Dirk Johnson,” she read. “You are accused of intimidating, embarrassing, humiliating, and bullying the good members of our School. How do you plead?”

  She leaned in, raising a hand to her ear.

  Curtis’ eyes were open, but his mouth didn’t move. Of course he’s drugged up, Aaron thought. If he wasn’t, he’d be yelling.

  “No plea?” Madame Pritchard shouted, playing to the audience. “How about I plea for you, then? Based on what I’ve heard, you’re…”

  The crowd silenced a little, waiting for Madame Pritchard to finish her sentence.

  “…guilty! Guilty of it all!”

  The audience roared back to life, cheering.

  “So, since you’re guilty, we sentence you to exactation!” She balled up a fist and landed it squarely in Curtis’ gut. Aaron watched Curtis’ face for a reaction; it barely registered. The crowd screamed in approval. In his peripheral vision, Aaron could see Phillip jumping up and down.

  She moved to Dirk. Her hand balled up again, and landed a punch in his midsection. It didn’t seem to faze him either.

  “This bully is thick,” Madame Pritchard shouted to the crowd. “I’m not sure he’s gonna feel much this way. I think I need to step it up!”

  A man appeared from the right, holding a hand drill. The crowd began to freak out, yelling and screaming in response. Madame Pritchard took the drill and walked to Dirk. It had a large, inch-wi
de bit with a sharp tip and a deeply-cut spiral that ran down its side. She stuck the tip into Dirk’s abdomen and began to twist the drill around and around, driving it into his flesh, all the while looking out to the crowd, watching as they rose to their feet, applauding and cheering.

  Blood began to pour from Dirk’s wound, running down his side and onto his leg. Madame Pritchard kept drilling until she’d pushed almost the entire drill bit inside him. Then, in a slow move, she pulled it back out. A section of Dirk’s intestine came with it.

  Aaron felt he might throw up. He didn’t understand why he hadn’t felt similarly sick when they’d tortured Ryan or Karissa; if anything, with his enemies now on stage, receiving their due, he should be more enthusiastic, not less.

  But he wasn’t. In his heart he’d come to believe that the exactation wasn’t just fantasy, and something about him, something in his moral character couldn’t handle the idea of him being the cause. If someone else had been responsible for Curtis and Dirk being up there, he thought, maybe I wouldn’t feel this way. But I did this. I’m the reason Dirk’s guts are hanging out of his body.

  This is going to haunt me. Forever.

  Madame Pritchard dropped the drill. It fell to the floor, pulling more of Dirk’s intestine with it. She turned to Curtis and raised her hand for the audience to see her outstretched fingers. At the end of each there appeared a sharp, metal point, as if she’d donned talons.

  She swiftly moved her hand to Curtis’ throat, wrapping the edges of her fingers into the sides of it, letting them sink in deeply. Then she pulled.

  Aaron felt the vomit rise in his mouth, and he turned just as Madame Pritchard ripped the larynx from Curtis’ neck and held it for the room to see.

  The crowd exploded in a shocked, ecstatic response, and Aaron slipped into the aisle, ascending the steps from the theatre seating, heading for the exit. He’d had enough. None of the onlookers noticed his departure; they were wrapped up in enjoying the bloody exactation.

  When he rounded the theatre entrance and found himself in the long open room, he walked to a corner and let the vomit out. The image of Curtis’ throat ripped from his body made him heave again.