"Hi, guys, I'm glad you could make it," he managed to wheeze out. "I look like shit, don't I?"
"Well, you certainly don't look good, Vlad," Julian said, his voice affectionate. "At least your alive."
I pulled a chair close to the bed. "Was it Ross?"
"Yes," Vlad whispered. "Him and half the football team. I feel good, though. They have so much dope running through my veins I can't feel a damn thing."
"Got any extras?" Julian asked. "Can you get me some Vicadin?"
"Don't make me laugh, Julian," Vlad said, grimacing. "I still feel some pain, especially in my stomach. Everything is funny to me now. You'd feel the same if you had this much shit in you."
I put my hand gently on his arm. "The principal had a prayer for you in school today. The school gave you a moment of silence."
"Sure," Vlad exhaled. "No one acknowledges my existence until I almost get my ass killed. I guess I deserved it, though. I went over the line with the gun. The whole paint thing didn't help any either."
"Fuck that, Vlad," I said coldly. "You didn't deserve this. They almost killed you."
"Harlan almost attacked my brother in the hallway today," Julian said proudly. "He promised that you would be avenged. In front of everybody!"
Vlad looked at me with his one red eye. "Seriously? He'll completely and utterly fucking annihilate you."
I smiled grimly. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. I have a much better idea anyway."
And then I told them my plan.
At first neither of them thought we'd be able to pull it off. After all, the police would probably catch us, and if they didn't, then there was the entire Rawley High football team to worry about.
So what did we plan to do, Dear Reader? Let's just say that we were going to make history at Friday night's home football game in a major way.
The pep rally would be quite memorable as well.
Of course, Dear Reader, you're going to have to wait. Suspense sucks, doesn't it?
Julian and I went to Alisa's wake. Samantha was there too, and I smiled at her weakly. She touched my arm affectionately as I walked by. That touch meant more to me than you can imagine. It gave me strength.
The coffin was closed just as I had predicted. Her parents, as well as her brother, stood off to the side. They had a stunned look on their faces that left me thinking that they didn't yet fully believed their daughter was actually dead. As I stared at the coffin lid, I felt my stomach churning. I felt like vomiting, although I hadn't had anything except for the morning coffee and a pint of orange juice at lunch. I could sense the presence of her death. This is hard to describe, but I felt her. I felt the sadness and the fear. It was draining me. I didn't even know I was crying until Sam walked up to me and began to brush the tears from my face. By that time my shoulders were shaking as well. Once I got outside into the cool night air, I felt a little better.
Julian stood off to the side as I leaned into Sam, holding her weakly. She pulled me to her and began to run her fingers through my hair soothingly. Once again she made me feel stronger, almost as if she was literally holding me up. I had never depended on anyone like this before. I've always been on my own. I've always drawn my energy from some mysterious part of myself. Apparently my reserves were running out, because I knew I completely needed Sam. The feeling of love that I had for her at that moment was overwhelming. It was as if she had become part of me. It was the first time in my life that I had loved somebody so completely. All my defenses were completely down and she was seeing me as I really was. It was completely terrifying and joyously exciting at the same time. God, if she can make me feel like this in three days what's going to happen to me in a month? Or a year.
Did I just say year?
If this manuscript is correct than I don't have that long. I guess time will tell, but I know one thing at this point in time: I would never leave Sam. I'm not going to let her go. They're going to have to pry my dead arms off her.
Chapter 8:
You worship the wrong heroes, motherfucker
Thursday went by rather uneventfully. It appeared Vlad was definitely going to make it. Friday is where things got seriously screwed up. The day of the home football game. A day where I made history two times.
Bet you can't top that.
The hours before the pep rally were relatively slow. The only thing that happened was that Brad Ritchie, one of Ross's friends, bumped me into a locker as he walked by uttering the words "Fag Lover."
It didn't even phase me. I didn't even look at him. I wasn't going to let some asshole screw anything up.
The odd thing is that I had nothing at all planned for the pep rally. I figured I would just sit back and nonchalantly watch the circus while I plotted our revenge. I planned to be good, I swear. Only problem was I got pissed. Angry those jersey wearing monkeys were being paraded around like fucking war veterans. Angry those same monkeys were responsible for nearly killing Vlad. Angry about Alisa; to them it was as if she never existed. Then it happened.
Fucking boom.
The gym was filled with the screams of my peers. The cheerleaders jumped around on the floor below while the football players watched from a bench on the side. The whole thing struck me as silly. I felt detached, almost as if the whole spectacle was silent and the people were in slow motion.
I crept slowly down to the bench, towards the numbered backs of my enemies, ignoring Julian's, "Where the hell you going, Harlan?"
I kept moving until I was behind number forty-nine, Brad Ritchie.
Ross Morrissey had just been introduced and the crowd was cheering wildly as he strutted up to the stage. He was holding his hands up in the air in a V, egging the crowd to cheer him on.
I pulled Vlad's gun from underneath my shirt and put it up to the back of Brad's head. I pulled the trigger and blood splattered my face as he fell forward. A red pool of blood poured onto the sneaker-scarred gym floor.
The place erupted into more wild cheers, most people not yet realizing what I'd done. I think they thought it was part of the festivities. I aimed the gun at Ross standing at the podium.
I put one in his chest, blood instantly staining his white and yellow uniform. He stood there for a second, his mouth open and closing, then he collapsed to the stage.
This time the place went totally batshit.
People running over each other, pushing every which way attempting to exit the gym. It seemed they were still too stunned to stop me, so I shot two more players in the back as they ran. One of them kept his feet despite the fact that a jet of blood squirted from his shoulder with every beat of his heart, spraying those that fled around him.
I shot him again and he fell to the floor, swallowed up in the rush of people fleeing. People were slipping on the blood as they ran—falling over each other in a tumble of arms and legs. Screams filled my ears and I spun around in a circle looking for new targets.
The gym floor was a mass of bodies—all of them squirming like pigs in shit.
Coach Nelson lunged at me and I put a bullet in his throat. He fell to the floor clutching his neck as if he could hold in all that blood with his hands.
After that, I started firing randomly into the crowd.
Okay, okay, by now you probably realize that I'm just bullshitting you. None of that stuff happened. It's what I imagined, though. Pretty cool, huh? Too bad I didn't really have a gun. Yep, I cheated you. Made you believe for a second in one of my fantasies. That's what writers do. I always like to shock. Leave them with their mouths hanging open, that's what I always say.
Let's start over again.
I did walk down towards the players, and Julian did grab my arm as I went, asking what I was up to. I walked past the football players as they sat on the bench. They looked at me curiously, as if a cartoon character was walking by or something.
I walked up to Coach Nelson and whispered into his ear. It took some convincing, but he reluctantly agreed. I'm pretty good at being persuasive.
Coach Ne
lson walked up to the podium and spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention? Harlan Sexton would like to say something about Alisa Hanes. I realize that this really isn't the time or the place, but I also realize that many of you out there cared for that wonderful girl. We're going to win for her tonight, that's for sure."
What an asshole! What good could winning a goddamn football game be for Alisa? She wouldn't have given a shit if she were alive about some stupid fucking football game. I felt like punching him in the face.
Everybody was deathly quiet as I walked up to the podium positioned beneath the folded up basketball hoop.
I could see Principal Klug frowning and shaking his head. He was smart enough to know that giving me access to the microphone was a complete mistake, but he was powerless to stop it. He knew the outcry would be unbelievable if he tried to stop me now. The students would eat him alive.
Freedom of speech, asshole, I thought to myself as I pulled the microphone to my lips.
I swallowed heavily, and hoped I wouldn't get expelled. After clearing my throat noisily, I spoke. I could hear my voice reverberating around the gym, feel it shaking underneath my feet.
"You know something? Things are really screwed up." I saw Principal Klug close his eyes and begin to massage his forehead as if he was in deep pain. "It seems to me that we have lost sight of what really matters. Alisa was murdered this week. Her body was found underneath the same bleachers you find your asses parked on. Yet, here you are worshipping a bunch of guys because they can throw a football really hard, or run across some grass really fast. Our books are falling apart."
I saw Principal Klug whispering to Coach Nelson. I was going to be dragged away in seconds. There were murmurs of shock and disbelief running through the crowd. I heard a "Go, Sexton!" that I knew was definitely Julian.
Julian's voice gave me strength at the moment I almost froze. I smiled and continued. "Our books are falling apart, our rooms are deteriorating. Yet we always manage to have brand new uniforms for our school gods." I paused for a moment, staring right into Ross Morrissey's shocked eyes. It was glorious. "Coach Nelson stands here and says, 'We're going to win this for Alisa.'"
I saw them moving towards me; I was going to have to be quick.
"Alisa's dead, you asshole!" I shrieked at Coach Nelson. He actually flinched as if he was slapped. The crowd all seemed to draw back at once. "To say that you're going to win a game for her is to shit on her memory! It cheapens her!" They were almost upon me, so I shouted out the first thing that came into my head. "You worship the wrong heroes, motherfuckers!"
Coach Nelson and Principal Klug pulled me away from the podium and then a strange thing happened. The crowd erupted into cheers. At first I thought they were cheering because I was being dragged away, but then I saw that they were beginning to stand. They were actually giving me a standing ovation. They carried me and my smiling face out the door amidst screams of my name.
Let's just say that there were many officials at my school who wanted to lynch me.
Chapter 9:
Striking a Blow for the Real Heroes
I was promptly sent home and I was told they would be letting me know just what they were going to do to me. Probably an expulsion, Principal Klug had said.
At first I regretted what I did and then I got the first phone call— and then another. The phone has been ringing for the last two hours, all of them supportive of my little outburst. Three girls also asked me out already, which is so fucking typical. Not one girl has paid any attention to me since school started. Now Samantha has me, and all of a sudden people are interested.
I'm a little nervous. I'm already in danger of being expelled, yet Julian and I have some plans tonight that could very well get us arrested. What am I saying? If we get caught, which in all likelihood we will, we'll be arrested. Yet, we have to continue because of my promise to Ross.
He almost killed Vlad. We can't just let him get away with that.
That night, I told Samantha that Julian and I would meet her and Allison at Killjoy's after the game. We told them we had something extremely important to do. Samantha was suspicious, but she didn't ask any questions, thank God. When Sam told me that she was going to hang out at the home football game tonight, I got a little tense. If anyone would recognize Julian and I, it would be her.
I feel like a total dick. I'm actually wearing blue jeans, a backward baseball cap and a baggy flannel shirt, the uniform of choice for a high school teen. I don't think I've worn blue jeans since I was like five. I can't wear black because I'd more likely get recognized that way. I'm wearing a long trench coat to hide the weapon.
Julian was able to borrow his father's car, which was a blessing. Once things went down, we were going to need to get out of there in one hell of a hurry. We parked the car about two blocks away from the brilliantly lit stadium.
"Scared?" Julian asked me before we exited the car.
"Right out of my fucking skull," I answered with a nervous smile.
"Good. Fear is good. Fear will help us run faster. You sure you want to do this? If we get caught they'll probably be able to kill us before security can drag anybody away. It's gonna cause a riot."
"Julian," I said, opening the car door and grabbing the weapon out of the back seat—a sawed in half Louisville Slugger baseball bat. "That could have been me or you in that hospital bed."
We left the car doors open in case we had to get out of there in a hurry. Julian pulled a ski mask from his green trench coat and handed it to me. I didn't need it at the moment, but it was going to come in handy in the final minute.
I could hear the tribal drumbeats of the school band as we walked. It sounded like someone readying for war. It made me feel kind of like some twisted version of a soldier.
I just don't understand the concept of football. It's just a bunch of guys running around on some grass and fighting over a piece of pigskin. Someone throws you the pigskin, you look around, seeing there are a bunch of Neanderthals about to crush your head just for catching it, and then you run like hell. If it was me who caught that ball I'd say something like, "Jesus, cave people, if you want it that bad you can have it. I'm not going to get my narrow ass slammed between a bunch of foul smelling, sweaty dickheads for a ball."
It's even more excruciating on TV. It feels like you are watching an endless rerun. No moment looks any different than the next.
People call this entertainment—go figure. I can understand the concept of having fun while playing a game, but what really screws me up is the hero worship thing. A man can save three people from a crazed gunman on a New York subway and get about three minutes of fame. Some asshole runs across a basketball court and throws a round ball through a hoop and suddenly he has millions of dollars and a Nike commercial. What the fuck? Why does my society worship people who can do physical feats but not those that can really do something special or important? Why isn't intelligence looked up to?
Tonight I intend to strike a blow for the real heroes. Fucking boom.
There was not one ounce of security at the gates—unless you call two fat guys shoveling hot dogs and eyeing up high school girls security. They didn't even glance at us.
Julian and I found a spot at the bottom of the bleachers and waited for a good moment. Sam walked by once, but didn't look up at us. She looked so beautiful, like some angel come down from Heaven. She has a presence about her that just demands to be noticed. Every single male she walked by actually turned around and looked at her as she glided gracefully past. I actually have to fight the urge to run down and grab her in an embrace. She can have practically anyone and she wants me—an insane man-child.
"Think we're actually going to get away with this?" Julian asked, nudging my leg.
I looked over and saw the tension in his eyes. "I doubt it. You don't have to do this, you know. I can do it by myself."
"No way, Harlan. You had a moment today. Let me have an incident for a change, okay?"
As the game s
tarted we moved down towards the fence surrounding the playing field. We both had our hoods on and were wearing the ski masks like caps. Julian disappeared into the crowd to do his part. If he screwed up, everything was off. If he was successful, there would be no doubt. I would probably have about one minute until everything was put back to normal.
Ross Morrissey was punching one of his peers in the arm and laughing. Coach Nelson yelled at him and he ran off into the field with a loud war cry like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. Ross is such a freaking cartoon that if you look closely you can see thick black lines around him. I've only exaggerated him slightly in this journal, he really is this much of an asshole.
Up in the bleachers, the crowd was beginning to do the wave. This actually made me feel embarrassed for my species. How in the hell do insipid things like that get started?
I looked around to see if anyone recognized us, but saw no one. The incident at the pep rally had turned me into a celebrity of sorts, and I was surprised that not one person saw me, but then again, the gladiators are running about on the football field.
Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. We waited for the perfect play.
I kept my eyes glued to number sixty-nine, Ross Morrissey. The ball was thrown, and Ross was running a good ten feet in front the rest of the players.
I hate football and still I had to admire his athletic abilities. I pulled the ski mask down and began to run into the field. I was just onto the grass when I realized that Julian hadn't yet done his part.
I was totally screwed.
Oh well, I ran at Ross as fast as possible. Good thing I actually can run like the wind when I needed to. I was almost on top of him when Julian finally came through.
Ross was headed towards the end zone, ball under his arm, when he noticed me moving toward him. Then, every single light in Rawley stadium went out, throwing us into darkness.
HARLAN Page 8
