Authors: Daelynn Quinn
“He
was going to get some drinks. It may be a while, though. There’re a lot of
people here.” Carrie’s eyes shifted beyond Daphne. “Or maybe not.”
Daphne
turned to find her boyfriend carrying three bottles of Terrapin beer in each
hand. His three-inch Mohawk was stiffer than a corpse and painted neon green, a
new shade since last she saw him. His brown eyes were heavily lined with enough
black makeup to make Cleopatra look like a line drawing.
“Hey
babe,” Rocks said, handing Daphne a bottle. He wrapped his other arm around the
small of her back and pulled her body to his roughly. “I missed you.”
“I
missed you, too,” Daphne said, and kissed him.
In
an exaggerated effort, Carrie cleared her throat. “Is that for me?”
Without
letting go of Daphne, Rocks reached an arm out and Carrie took both bottles.
“How did you get through the crowd so fast? I thought it’d take an hour to get
served.”
“I’m
with the band sweetie. I get special treatment.” Rocks pulled away from Daphne,
though she still held on to him. “I gotta go find the guys. They’re waiting on
their refreshments.” Rocks lifted the hand that still held three bottles. Daphne
stared longingly as he marched away.
“How’s
he been?” Daphne asked, watching the earlier band leave the stage.
“You
know, the usual. Let’s go get a spot up front.”
The
girls pushed and maneuvered their way through the crowd. Since Daphne was so
small she led the way, meandering through bodies and pulling her Amazonian
friend behind her. When they finally reached the stage they ignored the dirty
looks tossed their way.
“What
do you mean, the usual? Like it doesn’t even matter that I’m gone?”
“No,
I mean, I think maybe he’s just coping. You know, it’s not going to do him any
good to mope around without you.”
“So
he’s still going out? Partying? Moving on?” Daphne caught a glimpse of Rocks
with his band mates. A tall, thin brunette was walking her fingers up Rocks’s
sleeveless arm, tracing the dragon tattoo on his bicep. He didn’t seem to mind.
In fact, he looked to be quite enjoying it.
“Don’t
think of it that way, Daph. He’s not moving on, he’s just—” Carrie turned
to see what Daphne was looking at. Disheartened, she turned back to Daphne.
“Look, I don’t think he’s ready for a serious commitment yet. But he’s still
all about you.”
“Huh.
I’m not sure I’m buying it.”
“Don’t
worry about those little tramps. You know how it is with bands. They’re
everywhere. They mean nothing to him.”
“Yeah,
I know. But I won’t be at his shows anymore. And I know how guys are. Pretty
soon someone else will come along and he’ll forget all about me.”
The
brunette Daphne was staring at reached up and pulled Rocks’s face down to whisper
something in his ear. It didn’t look like she was just some girl he’d only just
met. If Daphne didn’t know better, she’d think the brunette was more than just
a groupie.
Carrie
looked down at Daphne with sorrowful eyes while the band took the stage. Rocks
made brief eye contact with Daphne and winked just before twirling the
drumsticks and kicking out the beat of the first song. Daphne’s heart sank. She
barely even heard the music while she thought of all the college girls
surrounding her, ogling her boyfriend. Rocks was 22 and she was only 17. Maybe
he wanted someone older, more mature. Not a girl that was still in high school
and living with her parents. She couldn’t block out the vision of the brunette
flirting with him, or how he enjoyed it.
As
he hammered the drums, Daphne watched him intently, interpreting every nuance
in his behavior as a sign that he’s moved on. The music was nothing more than
irritating background noise by now. Daphne could have sworn he winked at
somebody else. Following his gaze, her eyes rested on the brunette, who was
leaning on the other side of the stage.
Daphne
had had enough. Once the band paused for a break, she shoved her empty beer
bottle into Carrie’s hands and made her way to the side of the stage just as
Rocks was coming off.
“Hey
baby,” he said as he reached out for Daphne, but she dodged him.
“We
need to talk.”
“Now?
We’re in the middle of a show. It can wait 'til later.”
“No.”
Daphne glared at him. “It can’t.”
A
look of boredom washed over his face and he stared up at the rafters in the
ceiling. He sighed heavily. “I know what this is about.”
“You
do?” Daphne was puzzled.
“Yeah.
It’s about us, right? Look, Daphne. I like you. You know that. But this thing
we have—with you living here and me in Atlanta—it’s just not going
to work.”
Daphne
panicked. She had gotten herself all worked up about the other girl and had
been fully prepared to let him have it. She hadn’t been expecting him to break
up with her. “But we can make it work. I only have one year of school left, and
then I can do whatever the hell I want. I’ll come back to the city. Everything
will be fine.”
Rocks
shook his head. “I know what your parents are like. They won’t just let you go.
Anyway, you should move on too. I’m not worth crying over.” One of his band
mates tapped him on the shoulder and mumbled something in his ear. “Hey, look.
I gotta get back on stage. You take care, okay?”
By
the time he’d reached the stage, Daphne was pushing her way back through the
crowd to reach the exit. In her rush to get out she bumped into several people.
“Hey
bitch
!”
Daphne
turned to find a tall blonde in a silk top, stained with some kind of red
liquid.
“You
spilled my drink!”
Daphne
scowled at the girl and turned to leave. She didn’t have time to argue or
apologize. Not with the rising tide of emotions she was trying to hold down.
A
clawed hand gripped her shoulder and turned her around. Something took hold of
Daphne. It was another emotion, one that caused this whole Athens mess to begin
with. The same one that took hold of her at Kiera’s party in Atlanta. As the
blonde girl turned Daphne to face her, Daphne clenched her fist and swung hard
and fast, making contact with the girl’s cheek. The girl swung back and just
barely nicked Daphne across the forehead. Daphne swung again, but her arm was
caught as a bouncer dragged her away and out the front entrance.
***
“You
don’t think it was too much, do you?”
Mrs.
Werring clutched her husband’s arm as they departed from an upscale Italian
restaurant and walked toward Clayton Street where they had parked. Her heels
clicked against the sidewalk, a subtle arrogant sound against the background of
drunken college revelry going on around them. They were, after all, right
across the road from the main campus of the University of Georgia.
“Not
at all, darling,” Mr. Werring replied. “You made a notable impression tonight:
firm, capable, and as tenacious as ever.”
“Are
you sure? Don’t you think I come off as pushy and arrogant?”
“Absolutely
not. And even if you had, there are plenty of other potential investors out
there.”
The
couple turned onto a one-way side street. The darkness enveloped them, only to
lift under an occasional street lamp.
“Yes,
but none with the financial backing of the Richardsons,” Mrs. Werring sighed.
“Don’t
worry. They need time to think it over. I’m sure they be ready to negotiate by
the end of next week.”
Mr.
Werring wore his confidence almost as well as his perfectly manicured blond
hair. Mrs. Werring didn’t really need his reassurance; she was as headstrong as
he, if not more so. But like any red-blooded human, she reveled in hearing it.
Her poise diminished however, under a red neon sign that read “Jagger’s” in
sloppy cursive. Her heels stopped clacking.
“Darling?”
Mr.
Werring pulled back. “What is it?”
She
didn’t say a word. Simply pointed at the silver BMW Z3 parked just three feet
away from them. She didn’t need to see the license plate to confirm it was her
car. She could see the antique key hanging from the rearview mirror. It was a
key Mr. Werring had given to her as a wedding gift. An heirloom passed down
through generations of his family. There was no other like it.
Mr.
Werring’s face wrinkled with rage. He stomped around the car, looking for
scratches and dents. Lucky for Daphne there weren’t any. However, she wouldn’t
be that lucky, considering they’d discovered her little stunt.
Just
as he’d looked up at the entrance of the club, Daphne came stomping out,
searching her purse for the car keys, followed closely by the bouncer. When she
finally looked up, keys in her fingers, her eyes widened with terror in the
bewildered stare of her parents. A stare that turned so icy it could have
created glaciers in the Caribbean.
Chapter
Five
That Boy
Flashes of white light
pranced from side
to side and top to bottom, in the dank, brick-lined tunnels underneath
Neverland Academy. Bare feet—three sets of them—pounded in
whispers, setting an ominous rhythm to the silent catacombs. The air
underground was cool, almost chilly, a welcome respite from the scorching
August sizzle of the Georgia summer. The musty odor made no matter to the
boys—they didn’t smell so fresh themselves. A shower was a real treat to
the outcast boys of Neverland Academy.
Finn
was in the lead, wearing a crudely made headband with a small flashlight
attached at the top with duct tape. Following him were a ginger-haired boy a
little shorter than him, but strong statured like a wrestler, and a lanky boy
with sloppily cut blond hair and indiscernible eyebrows. They heaved heavily,
not so much because of the running, but to help them to stifle the laughter
that was bursting from within. They were under the administration office now,
and voices carried too easily in that particular run of the tunnel.
Finn
led the boys into a small, dark cellar that jutted out from the tunnel. He
erupted into a fit of raucous laughter. His companions joined him in the
humorous howling.
“That
was epic, guys,” Finn spat between guffaws.
Once
he’d caught his breath Finn fumbled around in a corner, switching on a
battery-operated camping lantern. The small room glowed with a faded amber hue,
revealing hidden cubbies built into the walls, about a foot tall and the length
of a human body. Stuffed inside many of them were wads of blankets and clothes.
Others held a range of objects from board games to packaged food, most of which
were considered by adults to be junk: Twinkies, Cheetos, potato chips, granola
bars, and enough Oreos to feed the entire academy staff and students.
“That
was beyond epic,” said the red-haired boy as he ripped open a bag of Cheetos
and began devouring the neon orange nuggets by the handful.
“Pass
them over, Trick,” said the tall boy. He sat down on the floor, leaning his
back against the wall and stretched out his arm. Trick pulled out one massive
handful and tossed the bag to his friend.
“Hangman’s
got the munchies, too.” Trick grinned devilishly.
Finn
turned and flung his headlamp into a cubby. He frowned at both the boys. “You
guys been tripping again?”
“Not
me,” Hangman retorted. “You know I’m not into that stuff. I get a high seeing
Vermin get what’s coming to him.”
Finn’s
eyes shot to Trick.
“Okay,
you got me. I found some weed in that new kid’s stash. I just borrowed a
little.” Finn stomped over to Trick and stopped within two inches of his face.
“Where?”
he demanded.
“Don’t
worry, man. It was way back at the lake. No one could smell it.”
“You
should have told me.”
“Did
it matter?”
“Of
course it matters!” Finn barked. “It’s not just the smell that could lead them
down here. I know what that stuff does to your head. You could have gotten
lazy. Careless. You could have screwed up the plan.”
“But
I didn’t.”
“That’s
not the point! Look, Trick, I don’t care if you smoke dope. I don’t care if you
smoke or shoot or snort anything else for that matter. You are free to do
whatever the hell you want here, you know that. But you do it on
your
time and not
mine
. You knew we had plans tonight. I can’t risk all of
our lives on your dope habit. Next time, you tell me. Understand?”
“Yeah,
Finn. Sorry,” Trick murmured. Finn snatched the bag of Cheetos from Hangman and
poured the remains directly into his mouth. A waterfall of orange gushed down.
“Hey,
shouldn’t the others be back by now?” Hangman wondered aloud. Finn rubbed his
arm across his chin, dusting off the remaining powder in an orange flurry.
“We’ll
give them a few more minutes,” Finn said, glancing back toward the tunnel
opening. “Shag’s probably slowing them down with that bum knee.”
“I
told that dumbass not to jump off that wall,” Trick piped in. “I guess that’s
what he gets for having such a monstrous ego.”
“Almost
parallels the size of yours. After all, you wouldn’t shut up about the night
you snagged that kid’s iPod,” Hangman mused. “I still can’t figure out how you
managed to do it right in front of his eyes.”
Trick
snickered, his smile reaching both ears. “And that’s the reason for my
namesake, my friend. A magician never reveals his secrets. I’ve always got
plenty of tricks up my sleeve.”
“You’re
not wearing any sleeves,” Hangman argued.
“It’s
an expression you moron!”
Finn
stood, leaning against the wall, looking bored. He was tired of listening to
those two bumbling boys talking and wished they’d just shut up.
“Shh!”
Trick
and Hangman shut their mouths abruptly and looked up at Finn. He was listening
intently to the silence in the tunnel. A subtle glow cast shadows on the bricks
across the way. Suddenly, a small figure with a mop of short curly hair skidded
to a halt at the entrance.
“Toot!
Where’s Shag and Kevin?” Finn asked, suddenly alert. The smaller boy—the
youngest of those living under the academy at age twelve—folded over and
huffed, struggling to catch his breath. “They’re . . . coming . . .” He
continued to gasp for air.
“Did
you get them?”
“Course
we did,” Toot snapped between breaths. “We’re not morons.”
Two
more boys came to a halt behind Toot. Shag, a stocky teenager with long black
fringe that covered his eyes, shoved Toot to the side. Toot tumbled over and
shot up just as quickly, ramming his shoulders into Shag’s solid body, barely
nudging him.
“Nice
try, Toot.” Shag laughed and flipped his hair to the side. “But you’re still a
runt.”
Toot
began to walk away, then turned and swiftly kicked Shag behind the knee. He
went down and cried out in pain.
“You’re
gonna regret that!” Shag reached out and clawed Toot’s jeans at the ankle. He
yanked and Toot fell with a yelp.
“Okay
guys, enough horseplay for now,” Finn declared. “Did you get enough, Kevin?”
Kevin’s
dark skin made him nearly invisible in the dim light of the tunnels. He held up
his hand, displaying a ragged coil of wires, some copper and others wrapped in
colored plastic.
“I
think so,” Kevin replied. His voice was deep and gravelly, which made him sound
much more mature than the boy of fifteen that he was. “I need to strip these
first, but there should be plenty if I disconnect one of the kitchen outlets
and run these down to the main cellar.”
Finn
thought for a moment, arching his eyebrows and pinching his chin. He narrowed
his eyes at Kevin. “Do you think there’s enough to reach Pervpot’s bedchamber?”
Finn never called the headmaster by his true name. That would give him too much
respect. Too much credibility, which he didn’t deserve. Ever since the incident
that got him kicked out of the academy, Finn had made it his life’s mission to
make Byron Trappe’s life a living hell. Most of his pranks were subtle;
something that could be blamed on chance or coincidence or a random student.
But once in a while he’d do something more substantial, just to remind Trappe that
he was still around and that he still had the upper hand. Out of all the boys
lost to the academy, Finn’s ego was the greatest. He couldn’t be topped. And
that’s why the boys looked to him as their leader.
“Maybe,”
Kevin replied as he studied the wires. “If not, I can easily get hold of some
smaller wires to attach.”
“Good,”
said Finn. “We’ll need them.”
***
A
set of fingers tapped sharply on the varnished mahogany table in tune to the
ticking of the clock that hung on the wall at the head of the conference room.
A cough and a sniffle broke the rhythm. The buzz of a phone that had been
silenced added to the tension, only to be ignored.
Thirteen
professors, all men, sat at the long conference table, irritated that their
sleep had been interrupted for this impromptu meeting. The stifling heat
aggravated the men even more. Not one of them would escape this room without
sweat stains on his shirt. Most would have had no idea the power had been cut
for nearly an hour had they not been woken up by Trappe’s page. He’d sent
Professor Smeed to check the breaker but when he arrived he was met by Finn,
Trick, and Hangman. They held him off, playing head games with him in the dark,
all to keep him from getting within five feet of the circuit breaker. After an
hour of no power, Trappe called in the other professors. By the time they’d
arrived Smeed was huddled in a corner like a trapped mouse, and the boys were
long gone.
The
air in the conference room was taut with heat and tension only to be heightened
when the door flung open. Trappe entered and, leaning upon his cane, marched to
the head of the table. The sound of the cane cracked against the wooden
floorboards and his shoes gave off a slightly higher pitch. The angry sound
seemed to amplify the morbid tension.
Trappe
turned and glared at each of the professors, some of whom actually cowered in
his gaze. Smeed himself refused to make eye contact. He was still visibly
distressed from his encounter with the boys, and ashamed that he’d let a few
teenagers take advantage of him. Trappe’s power over the men was eminent.
“I
want the boy!” His voice boomed like thunder as he released the four simple
words. The professors sat silently, none audacious enough to grant a response.
Trappe paced slowly but steadfast, never taking his eyes off the professors. It
would have been comical, him marching around the conference room in his
blue-striped pajamas and cotton robe, had the circumstances not been so dire.
“We’ve
let that boy slip through our fingers too many times,” Trappe sneered. “It’s
time once and for all to eliminate him.”
“But
sir,” piped in a man with a face that resembled a horse, “how are we supposed
to find him? He’s been here for what, five years now? And nobody has been able
to locate his whereabouts.”
“That’s
because, Professor Bradley,” Trappe said fixing the man in his icy stare. “You
all have gotten lazy. He’s only a teenager for Christ’s sake!
“Five
years ago that boy was expelled. Five years ago he was just a young lad,
capable of little more than a setting a whoopee cushion on your seat. Now he’s
on the verge of becoming an adult. He’s bigger. He’s stronger. Somehow he’s
grown smarter. The longer we wait, the more risk he poses to us.” Trappe met
the eyes of three professors in particular. “
All
of us.”
Trappe
planted his fists firmly on the table. “Find him. Or I will hold you all
accountable for his future actions.”