Vengeance Bound

by Justina Ireland

  I stared at the clipping while waiting for everyone to show up for lunch on Monday. The headline was missing, but I gleaned everything I needed to know from the remainder of the article.

  It was from a Montana newspaper. A man by the name of Jefferson Halsey was arrested after he was accused of touching a couple of little girls at a birthday party. Mr. Halsey spent his weekends working as a birthday clown by the name of Tickles, and he used that opportunity to find his victims.

  The article went on to detail how, since the story first broke, four other parents had come forward, all accusing Halsey of the same atrocities. The case against Halsey was airtight, until the district attorney falsified evidence in an attempt to build a landmark case just in time for his reelection. As of the date of the article, a judge had declared a mistrial and local parents were calling for the DA’s head on a platter.

  The article gave me a weird sort of relief. I hate criminals who prey on children, more than anyone else. That’s why They brought me the article. The sooner I can get back on the metaphorical horse, the better. Justice will be a great distraction from Niko and his memory-searing kisses.

  Each night since getting the snippet of paper, I’ve spent several hours looking for Halsey, before finally giving up and going to bed. I’ve followed so many dead ends that I’m frustrated. I’ve made myself scarce around my new group of friends, for fear that I’ll take my bad temper out on them. I’m not good with failure.

  Of course, none of this has anything to do with Niko. I am not throwing myself into finding a criminal just to avoid the fact that I am preoccupied by his rain and ocean scent.

  I’m not the only one in my neighborhood having a rough week. A screaming argument next door woke me around midnight, and I stared at the ceiling for the next couple of hours. When I finally did nod off, dreams filled with snow and blood and Niko woke me. At about three thirty I finally gave up trying to sleep and decided to run until I had to get ready for school. My head was a mess when I set out into the darkness.

  My mind returns to those moments with Niko. At the drugstore, sledding, in the vacant lot. I turn over his words in my mind, wearing them down into something completely different, like an ocean-tossed piece of glass. I want to find some hint of his feelings about me. I can’t believe kisses mean all that much. I’ve handed down justice to quite a few men who kissed their victims.

  For the first time in my life I am obsessed with a boy. The trouble I’m having finding my target is not helping my turmoil.

  I turn the corner and complete my loop, heading back to my apartment. My foot slides on a patch of ice, and my arms windmill until I can steady myself. The cold scours my face, and I pick up my pace.

  The only good thing about my travels through the Internet last night was finally breaking into the intranet for West County High. I’ve been trying to break through since I moved here, but their firewall was surprisingly good. I was still able to crack it, but it has taken me a little longer than usual.

  It was totally worth the effort.

  One of the announcements gave me an idea, and I’m excited to put it into motion this morning. I’m going to take my revenge on Amber.

  Over the past week she has gone out of her way to try to destroy me. It may sound lame, but I’ve never had anyone hate me the way she does. At my other schools it’s been nothing more than a little trash-talking behind my back, not too harsh. Amber is taking rivalry to a whole new level.

  Someone scrawled S-L-U-T in red lipstick on my locker in gym, let out all of the air in my car tires, and sent me dozens of nasty text messages from a private number, several of which were indecent pictures of women, or as the message read: sluts like u. When I see Amber at lunch, she wears a permanent smirk, like she knows a secret that I don’t. Each injustice sends my heart racing with rage, which whips Them into a frenzy in the back of my mind. I’ve probably eaten more chocolate in the past week than in the last five years.

  I am so over high school. I don’t even know why I’m still here. I should just take my GED and leave town. There’s only a month and a half until my birthday and the freedom of being eighteen. Once I’m an adult, I won’t have to worry that the state will send me back to the mental hospital. There’s really no concrete reason to stay in West County.

  Who am I kidding? I know why I’m here. Niko.

  I pick up the pace and do a hurdler’s jump over a pile of dirty snow. My lungs start to burn, and I push myself even harder, relishing the pain.

  Amber’s lucky I haven’t broken every bone in her ugly face. Without the release of handing down justice to Jefferson Halsey, I’m a time bomb waiting to go off. She can be certain that if I let Them have their way, it won’t be anonymous texts and whispered rumors. Female or not, Amber will be dead. Unfortunately, I can’t let that happen.

  But I’m not putting up with her shit anymore.

  I smile as I round the corner back to my apartment, the first rays of dawn beginning to lighten the icy night sky.

  I’m going to teach Amber a very valuable lesson: Hell hath no Fury like me.

  CONTROL, LAPSE OF

  At West County High there are two bells. The first is a warning bell that sends all of the students into the building like a herd of cattle. The second is the late bell. The goal of most well-behaved students is to socialize until the first bell, grab the necessary books from one’s locker, and make it to class before the late bell. Normally that is also my goal. Not today.

  I discovered a lot while poking through the school’s intranet. The school stores student files on a central server, which meant that I could view grades as well as progress reports and small things like personal histories. I should have done it earlier. I really could have saved myself some effort by picking my friends beforehand.

  Through those folders I learned quite a few interesting facts. Adam has several disciplinary actions for alcohol and drugs. Mindi is failing her math class and “cries at inappropriate times.” Jocelyn has gotten into several fights over her gossiping, and Tom has regular appointments with the school shrink because his mother finds him “alternating between manic and depressed states since his father left last year.” Amber was caught performing oral sex (not a surprise) in a janitor’s closet on an unidentified male, and Niko’s folder has so many progress reports and warning letters that I’m impressed. The student files read like tabloid articles. According to what I found in the student folders, the only person without major issues is me.

  This made me laugh. But at least I now know why Niko keeps calling me a good girl.

  The student folders also have the locker assignments, which is how I know that Amber’s locker is number 253, right near the side door. My plan is simple: Wait until the late bell rings, go get my books from my locker, and do what I need to do before I head to class. I won’t have to tell Amber it was my handiwork. She’ll know.

  The first bell rings, and I watch the kids file in. Even as much as I hate high school, I still want to be one of them.

  Niko saunters into the school, one of the last to go inside. My stomach drops as I watch him enter. There have been no repeats of that night in the vacant lot, and no phone calls or texts, either. I’m not sure if I’m avoiding him or he’s avoiding me, but either way it hurts. I want him to feel the same yearning for me that I feel for him.

  I don’t understand why I’m drawn to him like a bug to an electric zapper. I’ve convinced myself that there is something seriously wrong with him. It’s the only explanation for the way his face pops into my mind every few minutes.

  And really, any sort of entanglement with Niko is the last thing I need. He’s probably unstable, and crazy, and maybe a little psychotic.

  He’s also an incredible kisser.

  I can’t even pretend to care that he might be a sociopath. After all, we’d be a perfect match.

  Thinking about him is not helping.

  Seconds after Niko walks through the double doors, the late bell rings. I heft my backpack out of my
passenger seat. I lied to him that night in the vacant lot, about not having a pretense to fit in. He was right, my lip gloss and designer jeans are props. The problem is that everything I own and do is a tool to further the illusion that I’m normal. My car, my face, even my good-girl act. Everything is carefully constructed to pander to the expectations others will have of me.

  I grab my backpack, climb out of the car, and walk across the snow-covered lawn to the front doors. The snow is frozen solid, and I carefully slide along the icy top layer. I’m almost to my goal when someone shouts.

  “Hey. Hey! Wait right there, young lady.”

  I stop and turn. The obese school guard jogs toward me. He wears a thick coat and carries a walkie-talkie in one hand. I am thankfully spared the sight of watching his body bounce up and down as he runs. It’s less than a hundred feet between me and him, but by the time he reaches me, he’s huffing and puffing. He gasps for breath, and I wait patiently until he can speak.

  “Where . . . do . . . you . . . think . . . you’re . . . going?” he pants.

  My brain has trouble processing the fact that a man so grossly out of shape is responsible for the safety of the entire student population. I smile and point at the double doors. “I’m going inside to my locker. I’m late.”

  “I have to escort you to the main office. Once you miss the late bell, you can’t get into class without a tardy slip.”

  My smile freezes in place. With lard-ass walking me to the office, I’ll never get the chance to exact my revenge. And I’m not exactly in love with the way he’s staring at my chest.

  I shrug, pushing my frustration aside. “Okay.” He leads the way, and I follow closely behind.

  “You know,” he huffs over his shoulder, “you kids should make an effort to get here on time. You’ll never make it in the world if you don’t learn the value of punctuality.”

  I stop. How dare he lecture me? What does he know about success? Rage rises up from deep in my belly, blurring my vision. My heart pounds and I’m overly warm, my breathing rapid. I’ve just realized what’s about to happen when I snap.

  My vision splits in three as I step forward and grab him in a headlock, my arm ratcheting down around his throat. He gurgles and flails, but he wasn’t prepared for the attack. It’s been too long since I’ve handed down a judgment, and my control over Them is frayed. They rise up quickly, melting the snow around us in Their haste to find release.

  I’m not sure who has control of my body.

  I release his neck, Tisiphone kicking him in the small of his back when he stumbles forward. He drops his walkie-talkie and falls to his knees with a groan. Megaera gives him a quick kidney punch before I lift my leg up and bring it around, catching him in the side of the head. Blood trickles from his temple, and I come back to myself with a jerk. He collapses into the snow, facedown, and doesn’t move.

  I moan and mentally push Them back into my subconscious as I regain control of myself. They howl for blood, demanding justice for a dozen imagined crimes. I hold my head as They claw through my mind on the way back to Their prison. My brain is being ripped into pieces. I fall to my knees, biting my tongue until I taste blood, to keep from crying out.

  Eventually the pain fades. I shakily get to my feet, brushing off the snow. Whether the school guard has done something wrong or not, I don’t know. But I will only punish those They can prove are evil.

  Besides, I can’t exactly carry out justice on the school’s front lawn in broad daylight, can I?

  My chest is full of the sting of failure. The guard is splayed facedown in the snow, which has melted to little more than a few inches of slush from Their appearance. I barely even felt Them breaking loose. How did I not sense how close They were to manifesting before Their appearance?

  My hands go to my head as I pace. I have just attacked a school employee. Did anyone see? Oh, God, how am I going to explain this?

  I shove away the panic and take a deep breath. First things first. I carefully turn his head to the side and check the guard for injuries. He doesn’t look like I hurt him too badly. He’s lucky he’s wearing the thick jacket, otherwise I probably would have broken a couple of his ribs. I scan the snowy ground, but there’s no sign of my presence, only the guard’s. Of course, the snow is pretty melted here. Maybe no one will notice.

  I stomp down the snow around where he lies to make it look trampled. Then I run inside to the office.

  There’s no time to get my revenge on Amber. I need to save my ass first.

  I run to the main office. The secretary looks up in irritation. I’m interrupting her perusal of a tabloid article posing the age-old question, “Will They Get Back Together?” A couple of movie stars I don’t know stare at the reader from opposite sides of a broken heart. I can see why the secretary is annoyed at the interruption. This is clearly very important reading.

  I breathe heavily, even though I’m not really winded from the run. I need to look as panicked as I feel. “Oh, God. Oh, God. They’re killing him! You need to send someone outside to help.” I make sure to pour on the Southern twang.

  The secretary gives me a slight frown, her gray brows knitting together. “What are you talking about? What’s going on? Where’s Mr. Carson?”

  I assume Mr. Carson is the unconscious school guard. I bury my face in my hands and talk through my fingers. “There were some creepy-looking guys outside. He was walking me in because I was late, when these guys just ran up and jumped him.” A sob tears out of me, surprising me and the secretary. It’s not fake. The guilt from nearly killing a harmless man sweeps through me, leaving me aching.

  I have the secretary’s attention now. She’s out of the chair and calling for Mr. Hanes, when a burst of static erupts from the radio sitting in a charger on the secretary’s desk. Mr. Carson’s voice comes across in a groan. “I need someone to get out here to the front lawn. I’ve been attacked.”

  The secretary snatches up the walkie-talkie as a whimper echoes through the static. “Bob? Can you hear me? Are you okay?” Another low moan is her answer, and she tries again. “Can you walk?” She gives me a long, appraising look. “Did you see who attacked you?”

  There is silence from the other end, and my heart thumps painfully in my chest. If he knows it was me, my time in West County is finished.

  And so is any chance I may have had with Niko.

  The thought fills me with a wave of self-loathing. I’ve just injured a man, and all I can think of is a boy I can’t have because my closest friend here is unstable and half in love with him. I’m so pathetic.

  The secretary eyes me and speaks into the walkie-talkie again. “How many of them were there, Bob? Were they students?”

  Bob groans again through a burst of static. “I didn’t get a good look at them before they were on me. From the way they came at me, there had to be a couple of them. Maybe three or four. There was a girl . . .”

  “She’s here. She ran to the office for help.” A massive weight lifts off my chest as I’m flooded with relief. He didn’t see me. I’m safe from discovery.

  The Furies are another matter entirely. I have to hunt. At this rate it’s going to be a fight to make it through the day.

  The secretary calls for Mr. Hanes again. She looks up at me with a harried look. “Here,” she says, slapping the late slip on the counter and scrawling a messy signature on the bottom line. “Fill it out and leave the white copy. You give your teacher the pink copy.”

  I nod, wide-eyed. “Is Mr. Carson okay?” I ask in a quavering voice. I wish the tremor were an act, but I’m actually worried about him. There are a hundred different ways to kill a man, and They know all of them. Carson is lucky to be alive.

  The secretary’s expression softens, and she pats my hand. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine. You need to get to class.”

  I nod and fill out the slip while the secretary picks up the phone to dial the police. I tear off the white copy of the slip and place it on the counter. Mr. Hanes rushes in fr
om the back. The vice principal is visibly shaken as the secretary talks to him in a low voice. On my way out, he glances up at me, our eyes meeting for the briefest second before his gaze slides away. I slip out of the room before either Mr. Hanes or the secretary can think to ask me what the guys who attacked Carson look like.

  I head to class, feeling heavy even though I’ve once again avoided discovery. I have a feeling that something is happening with Them. I’m afraid that if I don’t figure out how to fix it, Alekto’s warnings will actually come true.

  R.I.P., HOPES AND DREAMS

  At lunch, conversation revolves around two major topics: Mr. Carson getting beat up and the visit of the drug-sniffing dogs.

  Like many other schools, West County High has a bit of a drug problem. It’s not an obvious problem like in the bigger schools. No cheerleaders are getting coked up in the girls’ bathroom, and no one has died from an overdose, like the headlines you see closer to Philadelphia, but there are enough kids getting high at parties to alarm the well-intentioned parents of the West County school district.

  So two years ago the school board decided to hold unannounced inspections at both the high school and middle school. During classes men in dark blue fatigues walk the dogs through, alerting school administration to any lockers that the dogs find especially interesting. The lockers are searched, and the locker owners are suspended if any contraband is found.

  The inspections are random, and this morning’s visit is a surprise to everyone in the school. Everyone but me. There are few surprises when you have access to Mr. Hanes’s personal calendar.