Pressure - By Jeff Strand Page 0,33
experiences, right?
I scratched my chin and looked at one of the photographs more closely. Good Lord, was that a can opener protruding from her—?
“Cool, huh?” asked the tall, lanky guy who entered the room. He had blond hair that was cut just above the shoulder and was handsome in sort of a goofball stand-up comedian sort of way. He wore a silver earring shaped like an outhouse, and a T-shirt that depicted a skull about to be hit by a cream pie.
“Uh, yeah. Way cool.”
He stuck out his hand. “I’m Will. Either you’re Alex or a trespasser that I’ll need to shoot.”
“Yep, it’s Alex.”
“Glad to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand. “I hope you don’t mind that I picked this side of the room, but I got here yesterday and didn’t have a whole lot to do.”
“No, no, that’s okay,” I said. I knew that the subject of gory photographs and my objection to having them wallpapering our living space would have to come up sooner or later, but I didn’t want to start things off on a bad note.
“So what are you majoring in?” I asked.
“Criminal psychology.”
“Big surprise.”
“With a minor in cutlery.”
I stared at him.
“That was a joke,” he explained.
“Ah.”
“Actually, I’m not truly a criminal psychology major, it’s just regular psychology, but the criminal mind is my main interest. What about you?”
“Not really into the criminal mind, to be honest.”
“No, your major.”
“Architecture, I think.”
“Hey, cool.”
“I haven’t officially declared a major, but I figured I’d try a few basic classes and see how I like it.”
“Good plan, good plan.”
I cleared my throat. “So how long have you been interested in…you know, people who passed away?”
Will considered that for a moment. “Since forever, I guess. I know all of them. Jack the Ripper, Jeffrey Dahmer…everyone. Here, test me. Name one at random and I’ll give you the stats.”
“That’s all right, I believe you.”
“No, you’ve gotta do it. Pick one. Any one.”
“I’m blanking right now.”
“You can do it. I have faith in you.”
“Fine. Uh, the Boston Strangler.”
“Too easy. Albert De Salvo. Thirteen victims, all women, between June 1962 and January 1964. They were all sexually assaulted and then strangled. He usually posed as a—”
“So what non-death-related hobbies do you have?” I asked.
“Computer games. The gory ones, at least. I do like cartoons. Hey, these pictures aren’t going to bug you, are they? I can tone it down if you want.”
“Nah, that’s okay,” I said, giving myself a mental kick in the ass as soon as the words escaped from my mouth.
“Cool. Have you been set free yet?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did your parents leave yet?”
“I drove myself here.”
“Nice. It took me three hours to get rid of my mom yesterday. I thought I was going to have to fake a demonic possession to make her leave. So you have a car?”
“Yeah. Not a good car, but a car.”
“Excellent. Have you eaten?”
“Right before I got here.”
“Good plan, good plan. Get in that one last meal before you have to face the cafeterias. But don’t worry, one of our neighbors is premed, so if you need a stomach transplant he’ll be around.”
“I heard the food here was pretty good.”
“Yeah, the fish sticks I had last night were decent. I just like being cynical.”
“Okay. Well. I think I’m gonna head over to the campus bookstore. Did you already get your books for the semester?”
Will shook his head. “I’m gonna hold off, though, in case I have to drop any of my classes after the first day.”
Good, I thought. “All right. Nice meeting you. I’ll be…uh, back.”
Okay, so I had a weird, morbid, fairly annoying roommate. I could live with that. I was in college, damn it, and I was going to have the time of my life!
I hadn’t returned to Branford Academy after that miserable year. Instead, my parents had sent me to Twin Streams Academy, which had no nearby streams and which was pretty much the same as Branford save for the lack of a psychotic little creep like Darren. It sucked but I got through it.
I moved back in with my parents during my high school years. I worked evenings at a movie theater and weekends as a busboy at a restaurant, and while at home made myself as invisible as possible. My mother and father didn’t seem to mind having me around when I didn’t exist.
Though my grades were decent but not spectacular, I relentlessly pursued college scholarships. And I got them. I ended up with a full ride at Shadle University, an Arizona