The Deadliest Institution Collection

by Holly Copella

  “No, it makes sense,” he informed her and leaned against the counter. “Broken trust; decreased confidence; anger with no outlet. It’s as if you’ve already met my mother.”

  Devon eyed him a moment then felt herself relax and smile. Both laughed. Brant collected the cans of soda and indicated the basement door.

  “Come on. We should get back downstairs,” he announced with an odd seriousness. “Before Ross eats both our lunches.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was late afternoon by the time Ross and Devon were finally able to set up the wax figures in the phantom display. The display was coming together nicely and was close to being finished. The phantom was seated before his pipe organ in a menacing pose while a woman lay unconscious on a fainting couch. Devon added some final touches to the unconscious wax woman then frowned and pulled a cobweb from her blonde hair.

  “Those thirty wax figures we got from that closed museum were a godsend,” Devon announced then shook her head. “But they’re still dusty as hell.”

  “You should do what I did,” Ross announced while sitting on the bench alongside the phantom and pretended to play the organ. “Take their wigs outside and beat them against the side of the building.”

  Devon eyed the wax woman a moment then uncertainly tugged on her scalp. With some effort, the blonde wig lifted, almost startling her. There was a residue left around her waxy, bald head, which was a mild glue meant to hold the wig in place. Devon sighed with relief then laughed nervously.

  “I thought I was going to rip the whole face off for a minute there,” she announced. “Brant’s better creations have hair implanted right into the wax.”

  Ross stood and turned to face her. He held his hand up. She tossed him the wig, which he immediately beat against the fake wall. Devon cringed as she watched the dirt fly from it.

  “I can’t believe how realistic some of those wigs are,” she announced. “Especially considering how old they must be.”

  “A little glue to hold them in place, and they’re nearly real,” Ross replied and tossed the wig back to her. “I don’t know why Brant wastes so much time implanting hair into his favorites.”

  She caught the wig and replaced it on the woman’s head. It would need more glue to secure it, but at least it wasn’t dusty. A flap of wax stuck up at the edge of the wig. Devon pushed it back down and secured the wig over it.

  “I should get the glue,” Devon remarked.

  “I’ll take care of it later,” Ross informed her with little care. “I have plenty of other things that need a little glue.”

  Brant entered the display dressed in a stylish, black tuxedo while struggling with the tie. He barely even noticed them, since he was having such difficulty with his own wardrobe.

  Ross looked up and whistled then chuckled. “Someone’s got a hot date tonight.”

  “I wish,” Brant muttered and nearly gave up on his tie, throwing his hands down with frustration. “Another tiring formal party at my parents’ house in the city. The world would undoubtedly end if I didn’t attend.”

  Without prompting, Devon approached and helped him with the tie. He watched in near surprise as she skillfully fixed it.

  “Ah, just tell them to blow off,” Ross announced with noted irritation. “If I had parents like yours, I’d disown them.”

  “Sometimes I’d like to,” Brant replied then sighed. “But they’re my parents, and I was taught to respect my parents.” He remarked then frowned. “Even if they are irritating as hell.”

  Devon straightened and smoothed the tie while grinning proudly at her handy work. He eyed the tie then looked at her and laughed.

  “How did you get so good at that?” he asked.

  “It’s the same knot I use on my horse’s saddle girth,” she replied then flashed a smile.

  “Huh,” he remarked with some surprise then fidgeted and looked at his watch. “I have to leave in half an hour,” Brant informed them. “If you could clean up what you’re working on, you’ll be able to leave early.”

  “We’re almost finished with this display,” Ross informed him. “It’ll just be another hour. We’ll lock up on our way out.”

  “Tyler won’t like that,” Brant announced with a sigh. “It’ll have to wait until Monday.”

  “The entire weekend off?” Ross questioned. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I’m required to spend the weekend at my parents’ house,” Brant informed him then rolled his eyes. “Believe me; I’d rather be working. I wouldn’t doubt my mother finally found a suitable host to carry her grandchildren.”

  “Honestly, Brant, you need a life,” Ross informed him. “I’m sure if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to find one or two illegitimate rug rats of yours running around out there.”

  Brant seemed to tense then chuckled. “I highly doubt it, Ross,” he remarked. “My life hasn’t been nearly that interesting.”

  “Man, if I had your money--” Ross began.

  “You’d buy a decent car,” Devon scoffed without hesitation. “That clunker of yours has been dying a slow death for years.”

  Ross glared at her, obviously offended that she’d trash his treasured car. “Hey, sister,” he snapped, “you don’t even own a car.”

  “I’d love to stay and debate this all night with you,” Brant announced then muttered, “trust me, I would, but I have to go next door and get my weekend bag. See you on Monday.”

  As they watched him leave the phantom display, Ross shook his head shamefully then cast a stern look at Devon and folded his arms across his chest.

  “What’s wrong with my car?” he demanded with annoyance.

  She groaned, shook her head, and walked away from the set. Ross hurried after her.

  “Seriously,” he announced. “It’s a classic.”

  “It’s a multi-colored beast held together with Bondo and duct tape,” she snapped back as they left the display.

  The wig on the unconscious wax woman shifted, and the waxy flap again popped open. Beyond the wax were strands of jet-black hair.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was early evening and the diner located in the center of town was busy with its usual Friday night dinner crowd. The diner was a 1970’s throwback with tables, booths, and counter seating. Jamie approached the small counter separating the kitchen from the diner and clipped her new order to the revolving wheel. Another waitress, Marlene Preston, deposited a pile of dirty dishes into a tub just near the kitchen door. Marlene impatiently glared at her young, blonde co-worker.

  “You could tend to your tables without young, good-looking men too, you know,” Marlene scoffed with annoyance.

  “I was getting there,” Jamie protested, although her tone conveyed she did not intend to do so. “Don’t worry about my tables.” She gave her co-worker a quick once-over, conveying her superiority over the woman. “When I’m famous, you’ll show a little more respect.”

  “You didn’t get that acting job yet,” Marlene snapped. “So stop acting all high and mighty.”

  “Burt Danson was very impressed with me,” Jamie informed her proudly while adding a sly grin. “You’re just jealous.”

  Jamie spun on her heels and walked away with an added swagger to her walk. Marlene watched her and rolled her eyes. Marlene was an attractive woman in her late twenties and possibly had been one of the more popular women in town before Jamie came of age. Her hair was jet-black and as smooth as silk. Her creamy white complexion and full lips made her almost impossible to ignore. Add her curvaceous body, and she was a vision of beauty. There may have been a time when she had the same insufferable attitude as Jamie, but maturity seemed to tone that down. The phone rang not far from where Marlene stood. She snatched the phone from the hook with some hostility.

  “Fairview Diner,” she announced with a huff. She listened to the caller on the other end then frowned. “One moment.”

  Marlene looked across the diner and saw Jamie flirting with a young, handsome customer who
wasn’t even in her section.

  “Jamie--”

  Jamie turned. Marlene held the phone in the air with an impatient look on her face. Jamie immediately turned giddy and rushed to the phone. Marlene approached the nearby counter and poured some coffee to those seated at the counter even though most had full cups. It was obvious she was attempting to listen to Jamie’s conversation. Despite Jamie’s initial enthusiasm with the call, she appeared slightly flustered.

  “Uh, yeah. I can meet you,” Jamie announced into the phone then paused and cast a look around the diner. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”

  Jamie hung up the phone and stood unusually still and silent a moment as if contemplating her next move. Marlene appeared suspicious of the look on the girl’s face and approached.

  “Something wrong?” Marlene asked while tilting her head.

  “No,” she replied a little too quickly then looked toward the kitchen beyond the counter. “Matt, I’m taking the rest of the evening off. My mother needs help with Chelsea.”

  The cook waved her off almost as if used to the routine. Jamie removed her apron while Marlene glared at her.

  “That wasn’t your mother on the phone,” Marlene snarled.

  Jamie glared back at her co-worker. “Tell Matt that, and I’ll tell him about the missing money from the register.”

  Marlene stared at her with wide, horror-filled eyes. “You took the money from the register, you little bitch,” she practically cried out.

  Jamie smirked slyly. “You can’t prove I took it,” she mocked, “but I can certainly make you look guilty. Don’t fuck with me, Marlene. I have important things to do tonight, and I won’t let you ruin it for me.”

  Marlene could only stare at her without comment. Jamie smiled mockingly and rushed out of the diner with a plan in mind. Marlene folded her arms across her chest and watched Jamie disappear.

  “I’m going to get that bitch.”

  §

  Nearly an hour later, Jamie got out of her old, red sports car and stared at the abandoned farmhouse located on the far end of town. She had changed into a low-cut, red dress that clung to every curve of her body. Her hair was styled with the greatest care, and her makeup was flawless if not a little thick. It was a little before seven o’clock that evening, and the sun was already hiding behind some trees, casting a shadow on the farmhouse. Jamie approached the dilapidated house and eyed the old, broken window in the front room. A dim light could be seen through the separation of the tattered curtains.

  She nervously walked onto the porch, the sound of her high heels clomping against the rotted boards. She hesitated, appeared to reconsider her meeting, and then forced herself to knock on the door. It creaked open, causing her to shiver at the sound. It was uncertain if someone opened it or if it moved just from her knocking. She nervously pushed the door open and peered inside. The dimly lit hallway appeared vacant. Jamie slowly entered the foyer of the dilapidated farmhouse and looked around the hallway. She grimaced at the state of the building. The interior walls were cracked, lacked paint, and were falling apart. The floorboards appeared slightly rotted, and the stairs had seen better days. Jamie nervously looked around waiting for someone to greet her.

  “Hello?”

  There was no response. She approached the living room containing the light and glanced over the room. Several pigeons flew past her, headed up the stairway, and flew out a broken window. Jamie jumped with surprise then held her chest while panting. A shadow loomed over her from behind. Jamie recovered from the pigeon parade and turned back toward the hallway. A man wearing the phantom costume stood directly before her, his white mask covering most of his face except a small portion of his left cheek, mouth, and chin. Jamie let out a scream and jumped back just as a large dagger was thrust downward for her. The knife sliced her lower arm, but she had managed to avoid being stabbed in the chest.

  She cried out with horror and pain but barely took time to clutch her bleeding forearm before bolting down the hall and away from her attacker. Unfortunately, she ran in the opposite direction of the front door. The phantom chased after her, his purple and black cloak gracefully flowing behind him. Jamie ran into the old kitchen and immediately bolted for the door. She attempted to open it and realized too late that it had been boarded from the outside. As she turned, the phantom was already behind her and thrust his knife for her. She leaped out of his path, and the knife struck the single pane window on the kitchen door, easily shattering the glass.

  By the time he freed his dagger, Jamie was already running across the kitchen and back for the hallway. The phantom chased after her, making up time in his elegant, shiny black boots matched against her clumsy, excessively high heels. She was nearly upon the closed front door when the phantom grabbed her around the waist and tackled her to the floor. She screamed as she fell backward onto the floor with her attacker landing on top. Jamie was slightly winded. She looked up as he hovered over her with the knife prepared to plunge into her chest. Jamie screamed and thrust her high heel sharply into his calf. He cried out with surprise allowing her precious seconds to plan her escape. He had pulled back just far enough for her to knee him in the groin, causing him to fall off her and drop the dagger.

  Jamie rolled across the floor and away from him then sprang to her feet. She saw the discarded knife near his hand and lunged for it. As she dropped to her knees to grab the knife, the phantom snatched it, and with a backward swing, stabbed her in the midsection. Jamie cried out with horror and agony while looking into the phantom’s eyes. His teeth gritted as he gave the knife a sharp twist inside her. She gasped, spit up blood, and slid off the knife.

  The phantom moved to his knees over her where she writhed in agony and attempted to scream. He clutched the bloody knife in his black-gloved hand while holding it over her body. He grunted with rage and stabbed her in the chest. Jamie’s body jerked slightly as blood spilled from her chest and mouth. Before she gasped her last breath, he pulled the knife free and violently stabbed her several times in the abdomen. When he finally pulled the dagger free after the last thrust, she wheezed then became still. The phantom moved off her, straightened proudly while panting slightly, and then grinned with satisfaction.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was early Saturday morning, and although she hadn’t gotten much sleep, Devon was up early, as was mostly everyone on her father’s ranch. Devon had decided to go for a long ride around the two-hundred-acre ranch. It had actually been a while since she’d been out for such a long ride. After her run-in with Joe a month ago, she was told to avoid the ranch hands. Devon rode her black and white pinto horse at a leisurely canter across the countryside and slowed when she happened upon some of the wranglers hanging out with the herd of heifers. She debated socializing with the guys but, ultimately, didn’t feel like hearing about it from her father if she did. She was about to continue with her ride when two of the ranch hands galloped across the pasture to greet her.

  She stopped her horse and decided it was only polite to say hello since they made the effort. Devon couldn’t help but wonder if they were mad at her for getting Joe fired. Maybe that was why her father was upset. Perhaps firing Joe got the other wranglers wound up. What if they shared hostility toward her regarding Joe? She was now anxious to meet with the guys, particularly alone. She hadn’t considered how they might feel toward her at that moment. Worst case scenario, she knew she had the faster horse and could outrun them.

  The two wranglers, Peter and Ryan, stopped their horses before her, pushed their hats back on their heads and leaned on the saddle horns with matching grins on their youthful faces. Both men were in their mid to late twenties and shared the same boyish good looks.

  “Morning, ma’am,” both men cheerfully announced almost in unison.

  “I’m a ma’am now?” she teased, although the greeting did concern her.

  Were the men already on edge around her, fearing anything they said and did would now be grounds for dismissal? It made her uncomfo
rtable, but she decided not to make a big deal about it. Both men laughed at the comment.

  “Where have you been?” Pete practically demanded. “It hasn’t been the same around here without you.”

  Devon was slightly surprised to hear him say that. Hadn’t they heard why Joe had been fired?

  “Martin said you got into a fight with your father,” Ryan remarked. “We feared you packed up and moved to the city.”

  “That would never happen,” she remarked then eyed the men almost suspiciously. “Martin didn’t tell you what my father and I fought about?”

  “He seemed unclear himself,” Pete replied then made a slight face. “Something about Joe, I suspect, but Martin was sort of rambling at the time.”

  She shifted uncomfortably in the saddle and decided to tackle the subject head-on. “You heard what happened with Joe, didn’t you?”

  “Just the meat and taters of it,” Ryan remarked then shook his head. “Must’ve been pretty bad for you to go to your father.” He shifted uncomfortably on his horse. “I mean, the rest of us have been playfully disrespectful to you at times, and it’s never been a problem.”

  “Joe was a pig,” Pete scoffed with irritation. “Always making lewd comments about other guy’s girls. I’m too much of a gentleman to repeat some of the things he said about you behind your back. Probably shouldn’t have told your father either.” He shifted and gave her a nervous look. “I thought maybe that’s why you weren’t coming around anymore. Something I said may have set him off, and he told you to stay away from us.”

  Devon stared at the men a moment and wondered if the guys told her father things that upset him more than what she’d told him. Perhaps that was part of the reason he didn’t want her hanging around the guys.

  “After what happened with Joe, he told me to stay away from the wranglers,” she replied with honesty. “I just assumed it had to do with Joe’s advance and that we shouldn’t mix girls with the guys.”