Finals (5 page)

Although, these freshmen did appear to be dim-witted partiers, they had the potential to change their ways. Thanks to Brent, these four freshmen would never be given a second chance, at least not at St. Elizabeth. Not to the mention the naïve freshman girl, who was seriously injured or worst. I couldn’t believe he had disregarded her condition as if she had a case of the sniffles. It was sick. Disgusting even. I didn’t know if I despised my former best bud or myself for associating with him. Like a pot of steaming water, the fury I was trying to contain was close to reaching its boiling point, and if I didn’t find Lexie soon I knew I was going to get Hulk-like angry.

Knowing Lexie detested Hayley as well, I found it highly unlikely that she would wind up shaking her groove thing in Hayley’s proximity. I wandered into the basement hoping to stumble into her.

As I made my descent, I heard gasps and shouts of “No way that went in!” and “Shit man!”

Another epic beer pong game was in progress, each team had but one cup left to make. Drunken spectators had surrounded the table in hopes that this game would end in dramatic fashion. Pushing by the many pong observers, I uncovered two girls chatting away on a plush grandma-style couch.

“
Wayne!”

“
Hello ladies,” I said, plopping down between Lexie and Jaclyn.

“
Thanks for abandoning me,” Lexie said, her sarcastic tone suggesting she wasn’t too bothered by my disappearance.

“
No sweat. It looks like you found a hottie to talk to,” I said, as I jokingly caressed Jaclyn’s knee.

“
Thank you, Wayne. You know, if I wasn’t committed I would total ravage your body.”

Immediately I began to crack up, which helped cool my rage.

“
Tease,” said Lexie.

“
Better a tease, than a stuck up bitch,” Jaclyn retorted playfully.

“
Dirty slut!”

“
Wannabe
Jersey Shore
skank!”

“
Whorebag!”

Amused as I was by the girls’ repartee, my desire for the evening to end far surpassed
my interest in their
banter. I knew after learning about those poor freshmen, there was no way I could enjoy the rest of my evening.

“
Come on you drunk bitches,” I said, pulling the girls to their feet. “Let’s go.”

“
Fine,” Jaclyn replied. “I’m sick of trying to set Lexie up anyways. Talk about a pointless activity.”

In most cases, Lexie wouldn’t have let a comment like this slide but she was too drunk to care. With one arm around my waist and her eyes focused directly on the ground two feet ahead of her, she had more pressing concerns at the moment.

The evening air felt wonderful once we escaped Brent’s house. I don’t know what it is but a room full of drunk dancing girls always gets me hot and bothered. That and confessions of unthinkable acts. The fresh air did wonders for Lexie as well, who after a few deep inhales, needed less supported.

“
So Wayne, did you play nice like I told you?” Lexie asked, looking up from the pavement for the first time.

Play nice? What was she talking about? When had she told me to play nice? Ah, she was drunk. She had probably said that to someone else.

“
Yes, I did. I always play nice,” I said, on the off chance she had said that to me, probably in reference to my chat with Brent.

“
Good,” she said, her eyes back on the sidewalk. “What did you talk about?”

I didn’t feel like discussing the coke story. It was a long-winded tale that would likely force me to answer questions, give analysis and express opinions. I wasn’t up to the task. Instead, I fabricated our conversation, stating that we merely discussed homework, post graduation plans and intramural sports. Lexie was vaguely interested but since she was a glutton for gossip, my inquisitive nature told me that her next question would be about Hayley.

To avoid the topic, I quickly asked Jaclyn where her boyfriend was this evening. Jaclyn rambled on about her relationship troubles until we were outside the girls’ apartment. After brief hugs, the girls stumbled indoors, leaving me to make the trek back home alone.

The journey home lasted less than five minutes. The light breeze turned my evening walk into more of a brisk jog as I hastily quickened my pace. Once home, I tossed my cell and wallet on the nightstand, stripped off my clothes that reeked of PBR and threw them in my dirty clothes hamper before crawling into bed.

I didn’t have the energy to decide what to do about Brent, I was completely exhausted. The story had seriously upset me, but racking my brain to come up with an appropriate solution could wait. It was two o’clock in the morning and I needed rest. Before I could enjoy the benefits of the REM cycle, I had to set the alarm on my phone. I grabbed the phone, flipped it open and found to my surprise that I had one new text message from Lexie. She was probably thanking me for dragging her drunken ass home. I am such a great friend.

“
You play nice,” read the message.

Now, Lexie’s comment made perfect sense. She hadn’t been the inebriated idiot after all. I was the idiot for not checking my phone.

As I sat staring at the text I began to think that maybe that was my problem; I was too nice. I was always incessantly nice. I was the loyal friend, not a
rat, a
douche or a backstabber. In certain situations perhaps I needed to be a dick.
My whole life I had lived to get others’ approval. I was the well-behaved Catholic boy who never broke any rules. Deep down I knew that wasn’t me. I was living under a blissful disguise, pretending to follow the ways of the divine, but I knew His way wasn’t my way.

I had always followed Brent’s
lead
and supported him in his conquests.
I’d
helped him turn in homework at the eleventh hour,
I’d
been his wingman at parties, and
I
always had his back no matter what stupid argument he was in. Supporting or approving of Brent’s actions gave the impression that I found his deeds acceptable. After tonight, no longer would my friend find me in his corner.
Change
was brewing.
It was time to remove my costume and for once take my true form.

As my brain continued to reel, I decided that disapproving of his actions wasn’t enough. I needed to do something. Action was necessary, but not some rinky-dink feat, something really needed to be done. Like a beacon in the sky pleading for justice, I would take up the call. Unfortunately for Brent, he would not like the end result.

As I placed my phone back on the nightstand, I knew what had to be done. With a perfect idea ingrained in my head, an idea so dastardly, no goody-two shoe, Catholic boy would ever dream of acting upon it, I knew my world as well as Brent’s was about to forever change.

Chapter Six

P
lanning to commit murder is not like deciding to super-size your meal at the drive-thru or purchasing gum at the checkout counter. It’s not random. It’s as permanent as blocking a former friend on Facebook.

It’s impossible to rationalize why murder is the best available option. You can’t create a pros and cons list, tally the totals then decide; murder it is. The act is instinctual.
Deeply rooted in the pits of one’s being is the innate ability to take another’s life. Like any plant, this corrupt seedling growing in the darkness must be nurtured if it hopes to thrive. Most of these seedlings die early, as though they were plants starved of water thanks to a prolonged family vacation. Many
are distracted by
the frivolous chores of everyday life. A once promising killer can become sidetracked by having to take out a second mortgage
or driving
the kids to soccer practice.

Growing up
an
only child in suburbia, my road to
depredation
was far from
obvious to others. My criminal behavior started at an early age, but when
my father realized I was capable of stealing toys from my kindergarten classmates
, his
belt
helped
illuminate the error of my ways.

Similar to many other sociopaths, the thrill of creeping in the woods to pursue elusive prey excited me as well. Stalking an unsuspecting beast then delivering a fatal blow helped nourish my ever-growing darkness. Despite my yearning to hunt, I was by no means a sadist. My goal was never to prolong suffering, it was merely the pleasure of an impulsive kill that drove my desire for more.

Let’s be honest, these actions are not uncommon. Many people like to hunt, and tons of little munchkins jack toys. For me, these early habits
had a purpose, but they
didn’t strengthen the internal darkness which allowed me to kill my former bestie, Brent Crane. Rather,
it
was a run-in with
an
arrogant prick in middle school that shed light on what I was capable of becoming.

†

My seventh
grade class was comprised of about
twenty-five
students. I knew the habits and
routines
of all of them.
It
was common knowledge that Todd Miller stayed with his grandmother every Saturday night because Todd’s mother spent her evenings trolling the bars in search of the boy’s new father
to be. Sadly for Todd, his mother wasn’t much of a looker.
Tisa Barnes and Amanda Evans
sat together
on the same bench every recess, giggling and whispering about cute boys, butch haircuts, the latest fashion trends, and God knows what else. No doubt, these two had turned into Facebook-stalking, Twittering floozies. Colton Mooney
had the best scarf collection of anyone in the school, and regardless of which side of the fence he ended up on, I knew the kid had turned into one stylish hombre.

Like Colton, I knew I was different. To most, I appeared the typical schoolboy. I had friends, was active in Bible study, was a member of the junior high basketball team, and I even had a wonderful girlfriend named Anna. But, even with all that, I felt out of place. At the time, I thought my feelings were caused by the raging hormones rather than my twisted demon that was rattling his cage, demanding to be let out.

In early January, a transfer student named Taylor Hardy joined our seventh grade class. He was unlike any boy I had ever met. This filthy rich, city boy had the intelligence and extended vocabulary of Hermione Granger. I often thought he had to be making up words because I often only understood half the terminology that escaped his lips.

Even at his age, it was clear his future mail would read, Dr. Taylor Hardy. Due to his gifted predisposition the boy had such a self-righteous swagger, the idea that he had single-handedly cured cancer seemed plausible given the projected persona. His superiority spewed from his being like a broken faucet. I sensed he usually got what he wanted without question, regardless of what stood in his path. When the cocky son of bitch set his sights on Anna, I knew we were going to have a problem.

Once seventh grade began, Anna and I started “going out.” The term vaguely meant that Anna and I wrote notes to each other in class, hung out at recess, and held hands briefly in the hallway. St. Mary’s was a strict Catholic junior high school, meaning public displays of affection were entirely out of the question. As exceptional students, as well as model Catholics, breaking the rules was not plausible.

Although, we weren’t old enough to drive, not having a car put a strain on our relationship as well. Sunday morning after Mass was the lone time I saw Anna outside of school, but our conversations never lasted longer than a few minutes since Anna’s mother was battling cancer; a cancer that constantly kept her fatigued. She rarely left the house unless it was essential, and to Anna’s mother, death would be the only factor stopping the woman from attending Sunday services. Keeping an ever-watchful eye on her mother meant Anna’s free time was very limited.

Like me, it took Taylor no time to discern that Anna was a queen co-mingling with the townsfolk. He quickly took up the task of trying to make her his own. The dude was as cool as the other side of the pillow. For a seventh grader he had game, probably more than I would have in a lifetime. Thankfully, Anna detected his slimy exterior, politely shutting the guy down before he could bring out the big guns.

This did not stop his attempts. Taylor continued to woo Anna throughout the month of January by tossing an endless array of compliments her way, writing her cutesy notes, and even by spending his allowance to buy her little trinkets.