Pressure - By Jeff Strand Page 0,32
the library, and that he was going to come after you! Well, he didn’t, he came after me, and now I have to see a doctor and they’re probably gonna give me shots!”
“They won’t give you shots.”
“Yes they will! You don’t know what they’re going to do! It’s all your fault!”
“No, I didn’t do—”
“Get out of my room, Alex!”
I just stood there, completely stunned.
“Get out!”
I quietly left the room.
Chapter Ten
I lay in bed, eyes closed but not asleep, enjoying the movie in my mind.
Peter, Jeremy, and I kicked the box out from underneath Darren, shattering the wood. As he dropped, we heard the satisfying crack of his neck breaking.
He dangled from the noose, slowly turning in circles, the rope getting tighter and tighter around his dead flesh.
His head fell to the ground, followed by his body. We left his body alone, but kicked his head around until it was unrecognizable.
No, rewind…
We kicked his still-living, screaming head around until it was unrecognizable. He begged us to stop, but we laughed and laughed. When he tried to bite us, we kicked out all of his teeth.
I opened my eyes.
In my mind, I watched men in immaculate white suits strap Jeremy to a machine. They gave him shots with an oversize needle to keep him calm, and then pulled a lever. His body spasmed, drool gushing from his mouth, blood trickling from his eye sockets.
No, nothing like that would happen to him. You couldn’t get in that much trouble for beating up another kid.
Bashing him bloody with a textbook…
Jeremy didn’t even get the pleasure of the act that he got blamed for.
What did Darren have planned for me?
Nothing.
I was vigilant those last couple of weeks of school. Vigilant to the point of paranoia. But Darren didn’t try anything. He returned to classes, face still swollen but healing nicely, but he didn’t even make eye contact. He didn’t look guilty. He looked…satisfied.
The term ended. Because Branford Academy didn’t have a summer session, my parents really had no choice except to pick me up, even if they planned to immediately dump me someplace else. My mom hugged me and said that she missed me, and while her words weren’t convincing even to a thirteen-year-old, I told myself that on some level, they were true.
We loaded up the car. My dad asked me some superficial questions about life at Branford Academy, and I gave some superficial answers. I really didn’t want to talk about it.
As I ran back upstairs for one last check to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind, I saw Darren standing by my door.
“You’re too late,” I said. “You can’t do anything to me now.”
“I wasn’t going to. But you were pretty scared that I was, weren’t you?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Darren smiled. “I bet you spent every day scared that I was gonna get you.”
“If you could get me, you would’ve done it. You wouldn’t have gone after Jeremy.”
“I liked you better than Jeremy.”
“Well, I hate you.”
Darren shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. You coming back to Branford?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know where I’m going.”
“Did you beg your mom not to make you come back?”
“No.”
“I bet you did.”
“You bet wrong.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll see you around. Have a good life.”
He chuckled, turned around, and started to walk away.
“Hey, Darren!”
He glanced back. “Yeah?”
“Did you kill Peter’s dog?”
“Nope. I found him that way. But I did finally kill one of those fuckin’birds.”
He walked away, whistling cheerfully but tunelessly through his swollen lips.
PART TWO
* * *
FRIENDS
Chapter Eleven
There were dead bodies everywhere.
It was the tackiest decorating scheme I’d ever seen. This was my first year of college, and while I fully expected cinder block shelving, pizza box tables, and beer can wallpaper, I really hadn’t expected to walk into my dorm room and discover a love shrine to serial killers and their prey.
I tossed my garbage bag of clothing on the unclaimed bed and did a quick survey of the room. Virtually every square inch of my roommate’s half of the wall space was covered with graphic photographs and newspaper clippings on the subject. This did not seem conducive to an effective study environment.
I’d only spoken to Will, my randomly selected roommate, for a few minutes on the phone before arriving at Shadle University. We’d discussed who would bring the TV, who would bring the stereo, and who would bring the contraband microwave, but the joys of maiming human beings had never entered into the conversation.
Oh well. College was supposed to be all about new