The Society

by Jodie Andrefski

  Why was Jessica even at the party? I didn’t think she’d even be here after her fall yesterday.

  I tried to tell myself it would be all right. So what if Patrick hadn’t seen the new post, and did what I’d originally told him to do; it wasn’t like anyone would get hurt. He wasn’t even going to touch her.

  The sound of glass shattering carried through the door. I trembled. He was only supposed to hide and scare her, jump out in the dark and freak her out.

  Becky was supposed to be at the party too, supposed to go ahead of Jessica upstairs to hide and videotape Jessica shrieking like a baby over someone jumping out at her.

  Jessica should have been coming out by now. Pissed, sure, but still. Why wasn’t she coming out?

  Another loud crash sounded, followed by a heavy thump. The doorknob rattled, and seconds later the door ripped open.

  Jessica barreled out, her face ashen, streaked with tears. She ran right into me, and for once didn’t even seem to recognize me.

  “Someone’s in there. He was going to kill me. He was going to kill me!” she wailed and ran down the hall toward the stairs, yelling for someone to call the police.

  What the hell?

  I froze, half afraid to look inside.

  Where was Patrick? Why hadn’t he followed Jessica out, laughing and busting on her that he’d gotten her good? Where was Becky?

  No sound from inside the room. I tiptoed forward but couldn’t see anything. The room was completely dark. I took another small step, until I was just outside the door.

  I leaned in and whispered, “Hello?” No answer. “Patrick? Are you in there?” I thought I may have heard a slight groan, but wasn’t sure.

  I reached my hand into the room and felt along the wall—looking for a light switch. When I made contact, I flipped it up, but nothing happened. I flipped it up and down. He must have loosened the bulbs or something to make sure the room stayed dark when she came in.

  I pushed the door open wider, hoping some light from the hallway would help. I could make out a long, low dresser to my left, and it looked like a desk to my right. A large shadow across the room was probably the bed. I stepped farther in the room.

  “Is anyone here?” I whispered, my voice hoarse with fear.

  Something crunched beneath my feet. I looked down. Broken glass littered the hardwood floor—tiny pieces of clear, pale blue.

  What the—

  A body lay to my right, several feet away.

  I gasped.

  It didn’t move.

  “No, no, no, no, NO!” I dropped to my knees and crawled toward the body, barely able to breathe. I didn’t even feel the shards of glass cutting into my hands.

  I could tell it was a guy from the hair, the build. He lay face down. I reached out a trembling hand, and grasped his shoulder, trying to roll him over. His unexpected weight made turning him harder than I’d expected. The phrase dead weight flashed through my mind, and all the alcohol I’d drunk threatened to come back up.

  I tugged with all my might. Patrick’s eyes stared back at me. He didn’t blink. The remnants of a shattered heavy vase lay next to him. It finally registered what I’d missed when I first saw him. The side of his head was wet. I touched his hair, and when I brought my hand back, it was sticky. Dark red blood covered my fingers.

  Patrick’s blood.

  Thirty-One

  Can’t wake up in sweat ’cause it ain’t over yet.

  —Avenged Sevenfold

  Vomit flew from my mouth, splattering the grass in front of me as I bent over, dizzy and finding it difficult to breathe.

  Red and blue lights flashed around the yard. Once again, kids cried and whispered, huddled in groups across the grass—déjà vu in the worst possible way.

  It had to be a dream. Right now I was tucked in my bed, blanket tight around me while Aunt Loretta slept down the hall. No way could this really be happening.

  Only…it was.

  Two police officers wandered through the groups, questioning people, trying to piece together exactly what occurred.

  Jessica sat on the wooden steps leading to the deck, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. I noticed one of her arms was in a pink sling.

  A strange woman in street clothing knelt in front of her. She must have been some kind of investigator, because she held a small notebook and scribbled in it furiously. I couldn’t hear their words, but the lady kept nodding her head in an encouraging manner as Jessica gestured with her free arm and spoke.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and turned, embarrassed, from the mess I’d made in the lawn. No one noticed.

  Jeremy and Pete were nowhere around, probably still inside. Other officers had gone in the house, too.

  I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Pete’s parents’ reaction would be when they got home. They’d gone out of town overnight for some business thing for Pete’s dad.

  EMTs had carried Patrick out on a stretcher about twenty minutes ago, paramedics leaning over him the whole time as they loaded him into the waiting ambulance. It’d rushed down the driveway, sirens wailing, headed to St. Joe’s Hospital.

  I’d tried to remain calm after finding him bleeding in the bedroom. After I’d dialed 911, I’d sat next to him, afraid to move him, petrified that at any second he’d stop breathing.

  He’d muttered something unintelligible seconds after I’d knelt next to him, then closed his eyes and didn’t move. The only way I could tell he was still alive was the fact his chest moved faintly up and down.

  While I’d sat there in shock, 911 still on the line with me, two seniors had barreled upstairs and rushed in the room. They’d told me Jessica had run downstairs screaming about someone coming after her, and how she’d clocked him over the head with a vase. Once they saw Patrick wasn’t moving, one of them stayed with me while I’d asked the other to go and find Jeremy.

  By that time, cops and EMTs were already bursting in and brusquely instructed us to leave the room and wait downstairs so they could talk to us.

  A lot of the kids must have taken off before the police arrived, since the room held far fewer people than when I’d gone up. Apparently no one wanted to stay in a house with a possible killer, even if he was unconscious.

  It didn’t make sense. I knew Patrick wouldn’t have tried to actually hurt Jessica. He had no reason to. I could only guess that when she’d gone into the dark room, and Patrick jumped out to scare her, she must have lost it. She would’ve seen it wasn’t actually Blane and freaked out. Plus, she’d probably been half wasted and not thinking straight when she hit him with the vase.

  She didn’t have any visible bruises, and from the little I’d been able to overhear he hadn’t actually laid a hand on her. I’d been right there next to him on the floor; he didn’t have a weapon. She must have gotten scared and reacted on instinct.

  No way he would have actually been trying to kill her like she’d been screaming when she ran out of the room. It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense. It was supposed to be a practical joke. Harmless.

  The only thing that kept me from running away on the spot was the fact that I needed to avoid arousing suspicion. I was petrified of what would happen when Patrick woke up, when he told police his version of what happened, all of it. When he explained that someone told him to do what he’d done.

  What if he’d printed out the original instructions for the party, or they traced it back to me even though I’d taken them down from the site the other night? It could be done by the right person, and I knew it.

  Working from the coffee shop rather than my own home might buy me some time since they couldn’t track the IP address back to me directly, but it wouldn’t take long until they pieced it all together. Deleting it from the site didn’t make it disappear. There were plenty of ways anyone tech savvy enough could pull the information. Just because you deleted something from the web didn’t mean it was gone, and I damn well knew it.

  Why hadn’t I bothered to check i
f the coffee shop had security cameras? For all I knew, an image of me merrily posting the entire website was stored on tape somewhere, waiting for police to find.

  I shivered and gagged down the bile that began to rise in my throat again. Goddammit. Why had he still gone through with it? And how the hell had it gone so horribly wrong?

  The quick flash of a lighter on the far side of the deck caught my attention. Someone huddled in the darkness, alone, smoking.

  I took a few steps closer and swallowed. Becky. My first reaction was shock; I couldn’t imagine sweet, innocent Becky smoking. My next: fear. What if she’d told the police the truth?

  I had to know. I needed to find out how much she’d pieced together.

  Becky’s hand holding the cigarette trembled as I approached. A burning ember fell to the ground. An oversized straw hat lay at her feet, apparently part of some kind of farmer costume.

  She didn’t meet my eyes when I stopped, steps in front of her. A suspender fell down her shoulder as she shoved her other hand into the pocket of her overalls.

  It all seemed so ludicrous now. It was supposed to be a way to blow off steam…dress up and hang out with friends. Laugh, party, be normal. Only things were as far from normal as they could get.

  It’s all my fault.

  So what if I’d tried to stop it? I should have never fucking started it. I took a deep breath, willing my voice steady. Calm.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. Stupid question.

  Becky slowly raised her eyes to meet mine, her expression guarded. “I’m fine. Just shook up, like everyone else.” Her voice was quiet. Too-pale skin and wide, frightened eyes belied her statement.

  “So, do you have any idea what happened?”

  She stared at me, cigarette forgotten, ash dangling unheeded inches from her fingertips. “I have no idea. Why would I know anything?”

  Fear obviously prevented her from wanting to talk, to mention her part in getting Jessica upstairs, which didn’t really make sense. She had to realize Jessica would tell the police all about it. The rose. Becky telling her Blane was waiting for her up in the bedroom.

  Only of course he hadn’t been there. Hell, I hadn’t even seen him at the party.

  Why the hell hadn’t Becky stayed hidden in the room like she was supposed to? Maybe if she’d been there, none of it would have happened.

  I recognized the blame-shifting...and hated myself for it. I sucked in a deep breath.

  “Have the police talked to you yet? Looks like they’re questioning everyone.”

  Becky tossed the cigarette and stomped it into the ground with a quick movement. She walked away without bothering to answer.

  “Sam!”

  I turned. Jeremy stood several yards away with Pete. My stomach twisted in knots. He’d know. He’d be able to see it in my eyes somehow.

  He leaned in to say something to Pete and then walked toward me. I met him in the middle of the yard.

  “How is he?” I asked, motioning to where Pete stood, green shoulders slumped, shaking his head as he stared up at the second floor window.

  “Not good.” Jeremy sighed. “His parents are on their way home now. The police called them. They should be here soon.”

  I nodded.

  “Can we go?” I asked. “I mean, are they done talking to us, do you think?”

  Jeremy stared at me for a long moment. I knew what he was thinking. He’d seen the names in my notebook. Patrick, Becky, Zena, Jessica. The wheels had to be turning in his head, trying to figure out if I’d lied when I’d said it was over. I looked down at my feet. I couldn’t bear to see the doubts and accusations I knew I’d find in his eyes. Not when he was right to blame me. Hell, I blamed myself enough for the both of us.

  Thirty-Two

  Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.

  —Mark Twain

  We didn’t talk much on the ride home, both of us too lost in our own thoughts. His hug didn’t last long when he dropped me off with a promise to call the next day. I hoped he would, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

  No sound came from the dark trailer. Aunt Lor had long since gone to bed. I closed the front door behind me and stood still for a few seconds, staring out the window. Tiny orange specks from the car’s taillights rounded the bend as Jeremy drove away. The reality of all that had happened crashed into me, and I slid to the floor, shaking. I’d been so stupid. So completely freaking stupid.

  What if Patrick died? Tears ran down my cheeks in jagged, black splashes. I banged my head against the wall, over and over again. I welcomed the pain. I deserved it. I had no idea how long I sat on the kitchen floor crying. Long enough for pale streaks of light to creep through the window, and birds to begin calling out to each other. Aunt Lor would probably be getting up soon, coming out to make her coffee. She couldn’t see me this way.

  I dragged myself up from the floor and went to my room, locking the door behind me. Sprawled out on the bed minutes later, I prayed for sleep. But it didn’t come. There had to be something I could do, some way to make things right, only I couldn’t imagine what.

  Nausea crashed into me like a train derailing. I jumped up from the bed and ripped off my costume, pulling pieces of my hair out when I tugged the stupid leaf crown off. I rolled it all up in a messy ball and shoved it in the trashcan next to my desk. Just as I’d finished throwing on sweats and a hoodie and sat back down on my bed, my phone chirped.

  You awake?

  Jeremy.

  I rolled to my side and answered him. Yeah. Can’t sleep.

  Wanna go for a drive?

  Indecision tore at me. I desperately wanted to see him, be near him, but fear held me back, fear that he’d see me for what I really was—a monster who hurt people.

  Seconds ticked by until the need to be close to him won.

  Okay.

  Pick you up in twenty.

  I prayed it wouldn’t be the last time he wanted to be around me, because I’d decided to ask him to take me somewhere, and once I told him where, it might push him away for good.

  “You want to go where?” Jeremy’s eyes grew wide, while the dark smudges beneath them hinted that he’d probably gotten about as much sleep as me. Translated—none.

  I sucked in a deep breath. “The police station.”

  His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Why?” His voice barely rose above a hoarse whisper, and he stared straight ahead, refusing to look at me. We sat parked behind my aunt’s car.

  “I…I need to talk to them,” I mumbled.

  “Why?” he repeated, still facing forward.

  I closed my eyes and pulled on the last ounce of courage I possessed to answer him. “Patrick didn’t try to hurt her. I have to tell them that. I don’t want them believing he tried to kill her like she said.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. Who knows what happened before you got there? He could have—”

  “He didn’t.”

  My calm assurance finally made him look at me. His jaw tightened a fraction, and furrows formed between his eyes.

  “He was trying to scare her…jump out in the dark and freak her out,” I said.

  Jeremy’s throat moved as he swallowed. A few more seconds passed. “And you know this because…”

  I tightened my hands on my lap. “Because I’m the one who told him to do it.”

  It was his turn to close his eyes. “Sam,” he croaked. His fear came through; I could tell how scared he was for me.

  He didn’t say anything more, just opened his eyes to watch me, silent. His eyes were sad. I sighed, emotions spent. “Jer, please say something.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Say I was wrong, I was stupid. Say I deserve whatever they throw at me.” Say you’ll be there for me and still be my best friend no matter what. “Say anything.”

  “You were stupid. And wrong.” His voice wasn’t mean; it sounded more like he’d given up.

>   My lips pressed together as I tried not to cry. I didn’t think I had any tears left anyway. “I know,” I whispered, head bowed. “Trust me, I know.”

  His breath whistled out as he swore.

  “Don’t tell them,” he burst out.

  I raised my head to stare at him. “What?”

  “Don’t go. Don’t tell them. Just leave it alone. Maybe they won’t find out you had anything to do with it. Maybe—”

  I shook my head as he spoke. “Jeremy, I have to. I have to try to fix this.”

  “Do you realize what can happen to you? Do you realize they could find out everything?” His fist pounded the wheel. “They could arrest you!”

  His face drained of color. “Hell, Sam, I don’t know all of what happened exactly, but I can guess enough of it. And if the police find out, who knows what will happen to you. And I can’t…I can’t lose you.”

  I reached out and took his hand from where it still rested in a tight fist against the steering wheel. He resisted at first, but then his fingers gripped mine tight.

  “I need to do this.” I spoke softly, firmly.

  He squeezed my hand and sighed. “I know,” he finally said.

  “I’m scared,” I whispered, staring at our fingers twisted together.

  Jeremy reached out his other hand to cover our joined hands. “I know,” he whispered back. “Me too.”

  The plastic chair was hard and uncomfortable. I shifted in my seat, while Jeremy sat stone still next to me, waiting for someone to come out and talk to us. To me.

  We’d arrived at the police station about twenty minutes earlier. The cop behind the counter had taken our names and instructed us to take a seat and wait, then disappeared in the back room for a few minutes. He didn’t so much as glance our way again when he’d returned and went back to work sorting papers.

  Shouldn’t they be more interested in what I had to say? I’d told him that I needed to speak to a police officer about what happened at Pete Rogers’ house, explained that I had information about it. Yet we still sat, watching the hands on the clock slowly inch ahead, minute by long minute at a time.