Most Likely to Die

by Lisa Jackson

  She closed her eyes, sent up a prayer, and sighed.

  Over the drip of the rain she heard a foreign sound, a rustle of leaves in the wind.

  She turned and shined her flashlight onto the hedge behind her. Wet, shiny leaves quivered.

  She froze. Felt a frisson of fear. Who else was out here? Had someone followed her? Watched her?

  Her heart pounded.

  It was probably just a raccoon or possum or skunk…

  The branches stilled.

  No tiny bright eyes were caught in the flashlight’s beam.

  Her pulse pounding in her ears, Kristen moved her small swath of illumination across the wide expanse of greenery, a weak beam of light that seemed to be dimming in the rain. She saw nothing. No movement. Heard no sound other than her own rapid heartbeat and the steady drip of the rain.

  No one was here. She was alone. Scared, feeling like she was trespassing, standing in the heavy drizzle in the middle of the night.

  Like an idiot.

  Quickly, she scanned the area one last time, then turned and made her way out of the labyrinth. She made only one wrong turn, righted herself, and sprinted across the parking lot and over the blemished tarmac of the alley until she found her car parked where she’d left it.

  She’d never been so glad to see her little Honda in her life. She unlocked the car with her remote and the Honda’s lights flashed. After tossing the flashlight and her purse into the backseat, she slid behind the wheel and flipped off her coat hood.

  Rain slid down her neck. She switched on the ignition and the radio came on…but she hadn’t been listening to it on the way over to the school…what the devil? She glanced down at the illuminated dash and realized it wasn’t the radio at all, but a cassette, stuffed into its slot in the dash. She heard garbled sounds and laughter and music…familiar sounds…oh…my…God…The hairs on the back of Kristen’s neck raised as she listened. The song was a Springsteen classic. “Dancing in the Dark.”

  A shudder slid down her spine, and she glanced through the fogging windshield where the wipers were already moving, scraping a pink piece of paper back and forth.

  Glancing around, she opened the window and snagged the soggy piece of paper from the glass. The letters on the pink page were faded, the paper nearly torn to shreds, but she recognized it for what it was: the photograph of her and Jake taken at the Valentine’s dance two decades earlier. A picture she’d hidden far away in a school scrapbook that she hadn’t looked at in years. Her stomach knotted as she stared at their faces, smiling, carefree, innocently unaware of what the horrid night would bring. Worse yet, scrawled across their smiles was a jagged red slash, the color of blood.

  Kristen nearly screamed.

  But she didn’t have to.

  Because as Bruce Springsteen’s voice faded and the sounds of the dance so long ago disappeared into the night, there was a second of silence, a click, and then the tape issued a scream of pure, unadulterated terror.

  Kristen ejected the cassette, stepped on the accelerator, and tore out of the parking lot.

  Her entire body shaking, her heart jackhammering in fear, she glanced in the rearview mirror and thought she saw an image, a quicksilver glimpse of a dark figure, running past the darkened windows of the chapel.

  She blinked.

  The figure was gone.

  Just a figment of your imagination.

  No way! Someone knew she’d be at the school that night. Someone had either followed her or been waiting.

  She glanced at the passenger seat where the wet, garish picture lay beside the damning cassette.

  She’d thought the nightmare was over.

  Now she realized it was just beginning.

  Chapter 5

  Run, Kristen. Run as far and as fast as you can. But it won’t help. I’ll find you. I’ve waited this long and I’m not going to let you get away now.

  Jake Marcott’s killer stood in the shadows of the overhang of the school, watching the Honda’s retreating taillights as the rain dripped from the overflowing gutters of the portico that was the entrance to good ol’ St. Lizzy’s.

  How many times had she stood right in this spot, eyeing the others, wishing she fit in, listening to all of them talking about Jake Marcott as if he were a god, as if they all owned a piece of him?

  Little did they know that Jake had never loved any of them.

  Never had…never would.

  Jesus, they were all such idiots. Kristen, the valedictorian, for God’s sake, was the worst. She was supposed to be smart, but in truth, she was as dumb as a stone. And predictable. So damned predictable. Even if she hadn’t followed her, she would have guessed that Kristen would return to St. Lizzy’s.

  All the planning of the reunion would bring back memories of the night of the Valentine’s dance and would drive Kristen here, to literally the scene of the crime. She had known it intuitively.

  Which all fit into her plans perfectly. She wondered, watching the taillights disappear in the rain, what Kristen had thought when she’d seen the picture the killer had left on the car. Had she understood the message? Did she know what was coming? Did she feel a scratch of fear along her spine as she’d heard the tape of the dance and Lindsay’s howling, bone-chilling scream?

  Oh, just you wait, Kristen.

  It’s only going to get worse.

  Remember the night Jake was killed? How you found Lindsay? And Jake?

  That night had been perfect. From her hiding spot at the end of one hedgerow in the maze, hearing the music and whisper of voices, the killer, still holding the heavy crossbow, had heard frantic footsteps and pulled farther into the shadows. Then, clicking her pocket recorder on again, she’d witnessed Lindsay, her shimmering blue dress catching the moonlight, running into the heart of the maze. The killer had followed a few steps so that she could watch and tape the tall girl’s reaction.

  And it had been worth it.

  Lindsay, murmuring, “Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no!” had run to the tree where Jake was slumped. She’d tried to revive him, to hold him, to force some life into his already-dead body. “Jake, oh, God, no…Jake! Jake!” His blood had run down the bodice of the icy-blue gown, staining and smearing the expensive garment as she’d tried to revive him. “Oh, no, oh, no…oh…” Then, as if she’d finally understood that this was real, not some dream, Lindsay had let out a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream that had keened mournfully off the West Hills.

  The killer had ducked back and started running, not along the maze’s intricate paths but through three slits she’d made earlier, tiny spots where she’d folded the branches back and slipped through, cutting across the north side of the maze and down a hillock and around the edge of the property until she could slip into her hiding space in the basement of the school, change quickly into her dress again, then return to the group of kids who, smoking dope and drinking, had never really noticed how long she’d been in “the ladies’ room.”

  It had all worked so smoothly.

  She’d even been clustered with the others when she’d seen Lindsay, her face white, her dark hair falling in disarray, her silk dress stained with the purple-red of Jake Marcott’s blood, stumbling out of the maze. Lindsay had been zombie-like and sobbing out of control. Kristen Daniels had been ashen faced and starting to shake. Rachel Alsace had been horrified and stunned, but already moving into action. She’d immediately demanded that a stricken-faced Sister Clarice call the police and her father immediately.

  The other students, faculty, and chaperones had been in varying degrees of terror and shock. Paranoia had begun slowly and had reigned for the rest of the night.

  Oh, it had been so good. So damned good.

  And it would be again.

  The killer smiled coldly in the damp darkness.

  Kristen had ejected the tape, but that horrible scream ricocheted through her brain. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute, her fingers clenching the steering wheel so tightly they showed white as she pushed the speed limit
to her house. Who would do this to me? Who?

  Someone from the reunion committee?

  Someone who didn’t show but knew about it?

  Someone else?

  The damned killer?

  Everyone at the meeting ran through her head: Mandy, April, Aurora, Bella, DeLynn, Martina, Haylie…Were there others invited who hadn’t shown? But Haylie was certainly psycho enough, and weird enough, to pull this off. And she’d left early.

  Kristen tailgated a car in front of her and checked her rearview mirror continuously. She didn’t know what to expect; whoever planted the sick picture and cassette tape could be following her…to what? Do her physical harm? But if that were the case, wouldn’t he/she/it have waited for her in her car? Or abducted, or hurt, or killed her there at the campus while she was alone?

  “Idiot,” she berated herself. She knew better. She read the paper every day, watched the news religiously, kept up on world, national, and local events. She knew there were wackos out in the world and she was usually careful. But not tonight.

  Her purse lay on the floor in front of the passenger seat, and now she reached for it and while driving with one hand, searched the side pocket for her cell phone with the other.

  Her car drifted a little and she eased it back to the middle of the lane, retrieving her phone at that moment. Flipping it open, she wondered whom to call.

  Ross! For God’s sake, get Ross!

  She gritted her teeth. Speed dial #2 would instantly connect her to him, but she hesitated. They were separated. On their almost-amicable way to divorce. She couldn’t lean on him.

  So call the cops!

  And tell them what? That someone left a prank tape and photograph on the car while she was trespassing at St. Elizabeth’s? The police had bigger crimes to investigate. She saw the police blotter every day at the offices of the Clarion.

  Dropping the phone, she let out her breath, easing her car onto the secondary road that led up the hill to her house. She checked the rearview. No one was following her.

  But someone intended to scare the hell out of her.

  “Mission accomplished,” she thought aloud, pushing the button on her remote garage-door opener. She pulled into the garage and didn’t get out of her car until the door had ground back down again.

  Still shaken, she grabbed her purse, laptop case, the cassette and marred picture, then tried to pull herself together.

  “Get a grip,” she ordered, but it was no use. Whoever had wanted to freak her out had done a damned good job. Who would do this and why? Again, she had no answer. It all came back to someone wanting to scare the bejeezus out of her, someone who didn’t want her either working on the reunion committee or like her poking around St. Elizabeth’s…no, that wasn’t right. She’d had no plans to visit the old school when she’d gone to the committee meeting tonight. Someone had to have followed her.

  She just didn’t know who.

  “Psycho bitch,” she muttered under her breath, though she couldn’t be certain a man wasn’t behind this.

  Walking into the house, she nearly tripped over Marmalade. “Oops, sorry.” She dropped her things on the kitchen table, then scooped up the cat, who wrapped her long, striped tail around Kristen’s side and began purring contentedly and pressing a pink nose into the underside of Kristen’s chin. “Somebody’s lonely.” Kristen forced herself to relax a little as she walked through the house, still carrying the cat, and checked every door and window to make sure they were locked, the house secure. She had no alarm system; she’d always felt safe with Ross around. Even in the later years, when he was home less and less, she’d never worried or been frightened. Now, however, she double-checked every possible entrance.

  “Safe and sound,” she said at last as Marmalade, bored with the attention, squirmed in her arms. Kristen let her hop to the floor, where she took up a favorite position on the back of the couch and began grooming herself. The message light was blinking on the answering machine and Kristen hit the Play button.

  “You have two messages,” a mechanical voice advised her.

  “Hi, Kris, it’s Aurora. I called on your cell and left a message there, but I’ll tell you again. I think the meeting went well. Wasn’t it a hoot to see some of the old gang again? And Haylie…puh–leez, what’s with her? Anyway, I forgot to mention that I think you should use some of your pull at the paper to advertise, well, for free, of course, the reunion. Maybe we’ll reach some classmates who we’ve lost track of. I’m thinking even if they’re still not in town, their parents or grandparents or cousins or somebody might be. And since St. Lizzy’s is giving up the ghost, oh, er holy spirit”—she chuckled at her own joke—“it could make some great human interest stories. Maybe you can interview some of the old nuns who were there when we were. Sister Clarice still lives in the convent, can you believe that? And remember Sister Mary Michael? She’s there, too. Wouldn’t it be great to interview them? Just a thought. Call me later!” She hung up with a click and Kristen deleted the message. The mechanical voice took over again, reminding her of yet another message. The damned thing aggravated her. She’d been threatening to buy a new one but hadn’t gotten around to it. “Next message,” the automated voice said.

  “Mom, please, please, please come get me.” Lissa’s voice was a desperate whisper and for a millisecond Kristen’s muscles tightened in fear for her daughter. “I can’t stay here with Dad,” Lissa went on. “It’s just too weird.” She hung up abruptly, probably because her father had walked in on her.

  Kristen leaned back against the cupboards, her pulse slowly returning to normal. She was totally spent but she managed a smile. Let the two of them work things out. She wasn’t buying into Lissa’s heroine-in-peril ploy. She was with her dad, for God’s sake. It was time the two of them got reacquainted.

  Nerves still a bit jangled, Kristen poured herself a glass of wine, turned on the tap in the tub, added bubble bath, then wound her hair onto her head. After finding her favorite Eagles CD and pushing it into the player, she stripped off her clothes and sank neck deep into warm, frothy water.

  She closed her eyes.

  Listened to the music.

  And, for the moment, pushed all thoughts of Jake Marcott, the marred photograph, the recording of the dance, and anything else that had to do with St. Lizzy’s out of her mind.

  Tomorrow she’d deal with everything.

  Tonight, after all, was supposed to be her night off.

  Her heart was pounding out of control, her body drenched in sweat. Where was Jake? Where? The night was black, the moon hidden by clouds, a thin, rising fog dimmed her vision. Branches slapped her in the face, brambles pulled at her dress. Her feet were bare and the grass was cold and frosty. She stepped around the final turn of the maze and she saw him though the mist. He was slumped, drooping from the tree, an arrow glinting as it impaled him and fastened him to the oak’s thick trunk. His dark hair spilled over his face; his skin was as white as the marble of the statue of the Madonna placed beneath the spreading, brittle branches of the oak. The statue appeared to be crying, a reddish liquid oozing from her eyes.

  “Jake!” Kristen cried, running toward him, nearly tripping on an unseen root.

  Blood poured from his wound, stained his clothes, trickled down to pool at his feet.

  “Jake, oh, God, Jake, what happened? Answer me, oh, please, please!”

  Horrified, she reached his sagging body and yanked on the arrow, her hands slipping with the slick warmth of his blood. “No, no, no,” she whispered, pulling harder, her muscles straining.

  She heard footsteps. Turned, her hands still clenched over the arrow’s unbending shaft. “Help!” she cried. “We need help! Oh, God, somebody help!”

  Looking wraithlike, Lindsay Farrell stepped from the fog. Her eyes were round as saucers, her pupils wide and dark as the night. “You killed him, Kristen,” she accused. “You.”

  “No, Lindsay…Please, he needs help. An ambulance. Call 911.”

  “This
is your fault, Kris, leave him be. I love him. Me.” She cradled Jake’s head in her hands and tenderly kissed his lips. Tears rained from her eyes, mingling with his blood, and he seemed to twitch a little, as if there were still life in him.

  Was it possible? Kristen saw his fingers move and she gasped. Could it be? Could Jake still be alive? She reached for her cell phone, but her purse wasn’t with her…She’d left it in the car, the car with the awful note on the windshield.

  Backing up, scarcely believing her eyes, she stared at Jake. Lindsay ceased kissing him and both of them turned to stare at her. Their blue eyes were black, and blood smeared Lindsay’s dress. Jake smiled, that incredible, devilish smile that she’d known since she was a child.

  “Why, Kristen?” he asked, as if he weren’t in pain, as if nothing were wrong. “Why did you do this to me? I thought we were friends.”

  “We were…are…We’re all friends.” As the words passed her lips, everyone who had been at the dance that night and others who hadn’t appeared in the mist. They walked toward her like zombies. Rachel, pale as death, was there along with April. Mandy joined them, her tattered dress falling off her shoulder where a hand, Boyd’s hand, was connected. They were mumbling, whispering, louder and louder until it became a deafening roar, “Why, Kristen, why?” Chad, Nick, Bella, DeLynn, Martina—all advancing upon her as if in slow motion, blood on their hands, no life in their fixed stares. From behind the tree and out of the maze came more people she knew, all dressed in tuxedos and gowns, their faces ashen, blood smeared upon cummerbunds and white shirts and staining red across lace, silk, and satin.

  “I didn’t…Jake, I wouldn’t…I love you…” Kristen said, backing up as more kids showed up…Aurora and Dean…then Haylie, holding hands with a smiling, very pale Ian.

  Oh, God, oh, God…no, I had nothing to do with this, Kristen tried to say and then she saw Ross…oh, thank God, he was here! She tried to run to him but her feet were stuck and she couldn’t move…Only then did she realize she was sinking in a bog, a mire deep in the maze, and the bog itself was running red with the blood of all the people closing in on her.