“You, Mr. Boyfriend! Get back up here. You’re part of the game, you high and mighty bastard.”
He grabbed Camille, pushing her into the chair behind the desk. I tried to catch her eyes to comfort her in some way, but he blocked her.
Jonesy’s cruel eyes glittered. He dragged a stool toward the front of the room.
I met him halfway and he raised the rifle to my face.
“Sit!” he commanded.
I rested one hip on the stool, just a few feet from Camille.
She stared at Jonesy, her eyes reflecting horror.
He grabbed the back of her chair, wheeled it out from the desk, and rolled her to the front of the room. He stopped for a moment, lifted her dark curls and held them up to his face, inhaling and rubbing the hair across his cheek. “Smells nice, Camille. What kind of shampoo do you use? Oh, wait a minute! I know, because I’ve been in your bathroom. Wasn’t it strawberry?”
Camille’s hand flew to her mouth. He turned back to his captive “audience” and began to speak.
“Well, now. Things are going smoothly, aren’t they? Too bad all of your police friends are going to be busy for a long time, tonight, eh? Don’t expect any help from them soon. Delicious, isn’t it?” Jonesy cackled, reveling in the idea.
“Where’s Frank?” I asked.
“I ask the questions, Professor,” he snapped. “He’s outta commission for a while, the nosy bastard. Almost as nosy as that freakazoid, Cindi.”
Camille mouthed Cindi’s name in my direction. I tried to keep him talking to draw his attention away from Camille and the kids.
“Jonesy, let us help you,” I said, trying to calm him. “What do you want? I’m sure we can get it for you.”
He walked toward me, smiling maliciously. “Is that so, LeGarde? Is that so? Well, excellent. Because you already have what I want.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
J onesy turned with a flourish back to Camille. “Let’s start with the rules, shall we? The game is about to begin. I ask the questions of you,” he leered inches from Camille’s face, and then pointed to me. “He gets the punishment or reward.” He waved a finger in the air. “Depending on your answers, of course.”
My heartbeat quickened. Jonesy’s mustache twitched in delight when he said punishment .
“Question number one,” he screamed suddenly. “What happened to you, Camille, during your college years at Simmons?”
Camille’s face went blank. She answered in a near-whisper. “I earned my master’s degree in Psychology?”
Jonesy bleated like a buzzer on a game show. “Aaaannnntttt ! Wrong answer.” He strode toward me and slammed the rifle stock into my shoulder. Sharp pain radiated down to my fingertips.
The students cried out with renewed terror, their voices shrill with fear.
Jonesy snarled at them, and they whimpered more quietly. He turned to the teens. “Sorry, my fault. I forgot to tell you. There’s a penalty for audience assistance. Three penalties and someone gets shot.” His eyes raked the group of quaking youngsters. “You! Nancy-pants. Get over here.”
The crowd parted, and Nelson walked to the front of the group. He closed his eyes, speaking in a surprisingly calm voice. “Go ahead, shoot me. Just get it over with.”
Jonesy pointed the rifle at him. “Bam!” he cackled. “You’re dead. Ha, Ha, Ha. Nope, not yet. Get your skinny butt over here, boy. I need an assistant.”
Nelson’s eyes widened and he scurried to the blackboard where Jonesy held out a piece of yellow chalk. Nelson tried to take it, but his taped wrists made it impossible. Jonesy reached down to his right boot and drew out an evil-looking, serrated knife. I realized now that if our school had followed the trend of the city schools, items like the rifle and knife would have been caught at the metal detectors. But who could ever have imagined such weapons showing up in Livingston County, where we hardly ever locked our doors and slept peacefully through each night?
Nelson closed his eyes while Jonesy sliced through the duct tape and freed his hands.
“Okay. You mark the penalties. Hurry up, or I’ll give you another penalty, Vanna.”
Nelson quickly scribbled “Penalties” on the board, underlined it, and placed one hash mark beneath it. His hand shook as he wrote. When he was done, he leaned against the wall for support.
“Good.” Jonesy turned to Camille. “Okay. Since you didn’t get the first answer, I’ll give you clue number one.” He moved closer and leaned into her face, fingering her hair and stroking her cheek with his free hand. He ran his fingers down her chest, purposefully lingering over her breasts.
I twitched on the stool, aching to smash him against the wall, but he now pressed the knife tip against her cheek and I couldn’t risk him cutting her.
“What happened to you during your college years that terrified you?” He moved away from her and smiled with pleasure at his audience.
Camille’s eyes registered understanding, and her jaw dropped. Her complexion turned ashen. “The break-in?” She quickly folded her arms to protect herself from his roaming fingers.
Jonesy nodded and grinned. An evil glimmer danced in his half-closed eyes. “Tell the audience what happened.”
Camille shuddered. “A man broke into my dorm room.” She took a deep breath and lowered her eyes. “He cut off my hair while I was sleeping. ”
Jonesy grabbed her hair in one hand, twisting hard. The knife had gone back into his boot, but one finger remained on the rifle trigger.
I held the stool seat harder, forcing myself to wait for the right moment.
“What else? Don’t you remember any of the good details, my pet?”
She winced and nodded. “Y-yes.”
He let her go and stepped back, prodding her with the tip of the rifle. “Go ahead. Tell us about it.”
“I…I woke up to find him standing over me with a knife.” She looked down toward the knife in Jonesy’s boot. A single tear ran down her face. “I thought he was going to kill me, but he leaned down, kissed me, laughed, and disappeared out the window.”
The kids gasped, whispers of horror passing through the group.
I stared at her with my heart pounding, wondering why she’d never told me.
“Good job, you remembered, didn’t you? Did you ever wonder what happened to your lovely ponytail?” Jonesy laughed heartily, enjoying the moment.
Camille whispered, “Yes.”
He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a large plastic bag. Inside was a curly dark ponytail, wrapped with a pink ribbon.
“That was you?” Camille recoiled, looking at him with renewed horror. “But why me? I didn’t even know you.”
He froze, leaning into her face. “You knew me, all right, you uppity princess.” Turning to the audience, he shouted, “Next question!” He switched to a singsong game-show-host-voice and grinned. “Now, here’s an easy one. What high school did you attend?”
Camille answered automatically. “Willow Central.”
“Good job, you got that one right.” His face twisted in mock concern; he turned toward the teens. “Hey, where’s the applause?” He walked to the group of girls who huddled on the floor. “Hello, girls, you have a new job. The boy’s hands are kinda tied right now—Ha, ha, ha!” He paused, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Every right answer, you clap. Understood?”
The girls didn’t move.
His face darkened. “Now!”
They put their hands together and clapped softly, still crying.
“Good.” He sauntered back to Camille. “Now. Next question. What was the name of my high school?” His voice took on an unpleasant edge when he asked the question.
Camille looked at me. Fear crept into her eyes. “How could I know that?” she whispered in a shaking voice.
“Time’s running out. Five, four, three, two, one. Aaaannnntttt .”
Jonesy was about to thrust the butt of the rifle into my ribs. I reached out and tried to grab it, but he maneuvered
away from me, swiveled into a crouch, and instantly delivered a painful kick to my stomach.
It knocked me off the stool. Air rushed from my lungs. I doubled over in pain, wondering where he’d learned such skills.
“Interference,” he screamed. “Penalty for interference!”
He turned to Nelson who reluctantly scribed another hash mark on the board.
“Next time you try that, you big, freakin’ hero, I’ll kill your lady-love over there. Got it?” He leaned close to me, his eyes burning into mine.
I nodded and got back on the stool. I had to be more careful. The guy had more skills than I’d given him credit for.
He reached inside his shirt pocket and brought out a bottle of pills. Flipping open the cap, he tossed several down his throat. Satisfied, he re-pocketed them and turned back to Camille .
The outer door shook as someone tried to enter. A loud knocking followed.
Lou Marshall’s voice echoed in the hall. “Hello! How are you folks doing in there?”
Chapter Seventy-Six
J onesy put a finger to his lips and looked wildly around the room. He dragged Camille from her seat and rammed the point of the rifle into her back.
“Say everything’s going fine and that you’ll open the doors when the cast finishes dressing. Tell him to go away. If you aren’t convincing, I’ll open the door and shoot him.” He followed her to the door and kept the rifle at her back.
She leaned against the door, speaking clearly. “Everything’s fine in here. Is that you, Mr. Marshall? The kids are still dressing and we’re reviewing some final scenes. Can you please keep everyone away for a while? We need quiet to get ready, okay?”
Marshall sounded disappointed. “Okay, Miss Coté. It’s too early for arrivals yet, anyway. I’ll just be in my office if you need anything.”
Camille slumped against the door, hanging onto the handle. “Thanks, Mr. Marshall.”
Jonesy grabbed her arm and dragged her back to the chair. “Nice work. I may give you a bonus round for that. You get one free wrong answer, how about that? Can be used at any time during the game.” Smiling, Jonesy walked toward me. “See, I’m not the monster you think I am.”
He assumed his game host voice again. “Okay. Same question. You get a clue with this one, since you missed it last time. What high school did I attend whose school colors were maroon and white?”
Camille looked up in sudden understanding. “Our school colors were maroon and white. Did you go to Willow, Jonesy?”
“Good job, the lady gets a prize. Applause! But the game’s not over yet.” He paraded in front of the room, trotting from side to side holding the rifle above his head.
Camille spoke up. “I didn’t know you then, Jonesy. Did you graduate before me?”
His face blackened. “You knew me, you snotty little princess. You knew me. Next question!” he screamed, becoming more agitated. “What happened during my senior prom?”
She looked vacantly at him. “I didn’t go to any proms in high school, Jonesy. How could I know what happened?”
“Aaaannnntttt !” Jonesy slammed the rifle into my back before I could brace myself. Pain radiated up my spine and flamed in my neck.
Maurice shouted in protest and ran toward me. He moved awkwardly, with his taped hands held in front of him.
“Do you want a penalty, fat-boy?” screamed Jonesy. “Three strikes and you’re out!”
Maurice backed away, mouthing the words I’m sorry .
My back burned from the blow, but I caught my breath and tried to ignore it. Where the hell is Siegfried? He should be back by now. He’ll know something is wrong . He’ll get the police. What had Jonesy done to keep him away? I began to worry in earnest about my family and animals.
Jonesy strutted to the front of the room, sidling up to Camille. “Okay! This is going well, now, isn’t it? Bet you never thought a janitor could upstage your fancy little show, did you? Ha!” He barked a lecherous laugh, running his hand down Camille’s arm. “Still so pretty,” he whispered. He moved her hair back and ran the tip of his tongue along the rim of her ear. He’d drawn his knife out again, and held it to her throat.
I shuddered, boiling with rage. It was all I could do to stay put, knowing what he was doing to her. Humiliated, I fumed on my seat.
“You don’t remember me yet, do you, princess?”
She looked up at him, trying to reason with him. “I don’t remember anyone who was named Jones in my school. Are you sure you don’t have me confused with someone else? ”
He snarled at her and walked back to the music cabinet, picking up a small wooden box. He lifted the lid, withdrew a yellowed greeting card, and then thrust it into her hands.
“What kind of card is that, princess?”
She answered quickly. “It’s a Valentine.”
“Excellent! Now open it.”
She flipped open the card.
“Read it. Let’s read it to the whole class, shall we? Why shouldn’t you all suffer with me?”
Camille began to read in a tremulous voice.
My dear Camille,
I adore you, sweet princess.
Please come to the Senior Prom with me?
Without you, I am nothing.
Monty
She stared at Jonesy. “Monty?” Recognition dawned in her eyes.
“Cecil Jones Montague, at your service, madam.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
J onesy made a mock bow in her direction. “What’s wrong? Are you looking for a head of curly blond hair? I lost it all by the time I was thirty. Glasses too thick? What if I take them off, recognize me now, princess?” He leered at her.
“Yes,” she said quickly, “I recognize you, Monty.”
“Next question!” he bellowed. “What did you do with the Valentine, princess?”
She lowered her eyes and her voice softened. “I gave it back to you.”
“Correct! And how did you answer my question?”
“I said no, that I didn’t want to go to the prom with you.”
“Correct! But how did you deliver this juicy piece of news, princess?”
“I don’t remember,” she said timidly.
“Aaaannnntttt !” he shrieked, elbowing me in the jaw.
I tasted salty blood where he smashed my cheek against my teeth.
“I’ll remind you, Miss Prissy Princess. You told me in front of three of your giggling girlfriends that you would never go out with the likes of me. That you had no interest in me, and that I needed to leave you alone!” His voice cracked as he continued in a lamenting wail. “I loved you. I poured my heart out to you. You were my life. I lived to see you everyday. I worshipped you.”
Camille’s cheeks reddened and she raised her voice. “But Monty, I was only fourteen years old. I was a freshman. You scared me. You followed me home every day, never speaking, just watching me. I was just a child. And you were a senior, for God’s sake.”
Jonesy strode to Camille and backhanded her. Her head shot back from the blow .
I leapt from the stool and launched myself at him, knocking him down and getting in several good punches on his jaw and nose. Blood gushed from his nose, but his moves were quick and efficient. My schoolyard fighting tactics didn’t seem to be enough, but I struggled against him with all I had. I remembered that unlike me, he’d seen combat. As hard as I fought, he had me pinned in minutes.
He slammed my head against the cement floor shrieking, “Penalty for interference!”
Breathing raggedly, he looked up from the ground and nodded to Nelson to draw another mark on the board. The pain in the back of my head surged and a goose egg began to swell.
“Oh my, Professor. Three penalties. You lose!” He stood up, smiling wickedly. Pressing the tip of the rifle against my left calf, he fired.
Hot pain seared my flesh. I barely heard the screams of Camille and the students, staring in disbelief at the hole in my pant leg. Blood gushed out, quickly soaking the fabric. Jones
y grabbed a sweatshirt from the desk and threw it at me.
“Here,” he said without emotion. “Wrap this around it. I still need you for leverage. If you pass out, it won’t be as much fun.”
I pulled the sweatshirt tight around my leg and tied it in a knot. I felt dizzy, but dragged myself back to the stool when he repeatedly jabbed me with the rifle.
A red welt formed on Camille's cheek. Her face worked in horror. She stared at my leg, and I thought she might lose it.
I mouthed the words, “I'm okay,” although I wasn’t sure it was true.
“Do you want to know what happened to me that night, Princess? After you and your bitchy friends laughed at me?” He grunted when she didn’t answer. “Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.” Jonesy pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Then he lowered his head and screamed in her face. “It was the worst day of my life! You taunted me mercilessly in front of the whole school.”
Camille looked at him in surprise. “What? I— ”
“I skipped out and took off in my car. I was so humiliated; I pushed the pedal to the metal until I wrapped myself around a tree. The car was totaled and I was in the hospital for three months. Three whole months! I never graduated; I didn’t go back to school. I didn’t get to college. Eventually, the military took me, but just barely.” His voice cracked. “And all I could do when I lay in bed in that hospital was think of you—think of you and how you had rejected me.” He hiccupped a ragged sob and covered his eyes with his hands.
Camille’s expression changed. She sat up, and spoke with a soothing, sweet quality. “I remember hearing about your accident, Monty. I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were that upset. You just turned and walked away from me and that was the last time I ever saw you.”
She reached out a hand to place on his shaking shoulder.
He shook it off violently, the words exploding from his lips. “It’s too late for apologies!”
“But Monty, I was fourteen. Girls can be cruel at that age. I know. I remember how mean they were to me, too. But I was really afraid of you, Monty. Maybe you should’ve talked to me instead of following me around and scaring me.”
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