Authors: Bonnie R. Paulson
Chapter 13
Two feet from the end of the bleachers, ten feet from the exit, my backpack thudded hollowly on the bars as I gave in to the desire to get the heck out of there. I froze. The sound had carried through the entire gym. Mr. Weston had made it to the exits where I’d started my journey under the bleachers. His taunting stopped as he listened for a followup sound.
I held my breath, pulling my backpack to my stomach and sliding through the final frame.
“You can’t escape, Cassie. If not today, I will find you. It’s only a matter of time.” He laughed, trying to hide the fact that he moved my way.
Of all the places I could be hiding
, I’d eliminated every single one of them but where I was. A terrible game of hide-and-seek.
The man moved fast and before I could get out from
the maze of bars criss-crossing each other, he stood before me, trapping me, caging me in. His husky laugh sent a spattering of zings down my nerve endings.
I pulled back under the bleachers, further in. He wasn’t encumbered by a pack, but he had a good foot or so on me in height and he had to weigh twice
what I did. He pushed his head under the highest bench, searching for me. The light didn’t spread far under the bleachers, but my shape had to be seen easily against the backdrop of the lit flooring.
“Look, Mr. Weston. I’m sorry. I don’t think I expected the same things you did. Can we just forget this and see each other on Monday?”
Please. Oh man.
How many times would my luck hold out? Number four wouldn’t be the one who stole the last vestiges of my innocence. It couldn’t.
“You should’ve thought of that. I don’t like cock teases and you’re exactly that.” His meaning was clear even though I’d never heard the term before. He tapped the metal above his head. “Come out, Cassie. We can make it fun or terrible, but either way, you’re following through with what you promised me.”
I’d have to face him, sooner or later. I could go deep to the other side of the bleachers, rush as fast as I could, but he’d beat me to the other end, if he stayed out from under the infrastructure. We’d go back and forth, playing a horrible version of keep-away with my virginity as the prize.
Escaping might have been my ideal outcome, but at the point I’d reached, it wasn’t the option. My inc
omplete plan had to take effect there. He’d be discovered sooner and I didn’t like the lessened chance of my own success. My knife didn’t have magical powers and could easily slice through my flesh as through his.
A flickering of the light caught my eye. He either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it.
I licked my lips. Everything had gone dry – lips, mouth, throat. No way would I get a scream out or even be able to cry for help. I clenched my jaw and reached into my pocket. Okay, enough was enough. He wasn’t going to corner me anymore.
I’m not a victim. He can’t take my power.
And I wouldn’t let him continue trying.
I changed direction
and moved toward him, the knife handle fit comfortably in my palm. Following through with my plans would work. It had to. If not… I shuddered at the other possible outcomes, least of which was my nude pictures going viral.
“I’m glad you’re being reasonable.” He backed out of the makeshift cave as I moved closer. It’d be easier for me to cut him, if he had less maneuverability, but I’d take my chances anywhere as long as I didn’t have to get naked or let him touch me again.
He moved to the doorway, waiting for me. His ominous outline hulked impatiently at the door. I lost his features in the shadow from the hall light.
I emerged from under the metal and wood seating, clenching and unclenching my fis
ts, my fingers clenching and unclenching around the handle of the blade.
Mr. Weston held out his arm, the baggy flannel sleeve creating a wing-like shape.
“Come on, Cassie. Let’s go.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the flimsy safety of the dark underbelly of the bleachers. I’d felt safer in the metal bars than I did in the open space walking out.
“Mr. Weston. I’m scared.” Speaking the truth… what was that saying? The truth shall set you free? Something like that. Or maybe it’d set my fear free and I’d gather enough courage to kill the bastard stalking me around the gym.
He dropped his arm. I edged closer. Within arm’s reach, I stopped. If I got too close, he’d try to paw me again, but if I didn’t get close enough, I’d be swinging my knife through air instead of gut.
He didn’t pay attention to the words I’d uttered or the distance I tried keeping between us. His hand snaked out and clamped on my shoulder. He dragged me closer, pressing my chest against his mid-torso. “All you girls are scared at first. It doesn’t last long. I promise.” He lowered his head. I turned my head and his lips mashed against my temple. He growled.
Why wait, Cassie? Do it!
I inhaled while pulling my arm back and exhaled as I shoved my knife upward under his ribcage. His fingers dug into my shoulder and his mouth opened on a gasp which sputtered and gurgled on the end.
Immersed in his body up to my wrist, the knife caught on something when I tried to pull it out. I couldn’t leave it inside him. The one thing with my prints would be found in his body? Not okay. I placed my free hand on his chest and yanked downward, dislodging the knife and releasing a torrent of hot liquid. My gag reflex kicked in, but I stifled it – at least for a few more minutes.
I couldn’t stop watching him. His mouth opened in an O with droplets of blood speckling his chin. Wow, where the heck had I stabbed him? I tried pulling away, but his hand didn’t relax.
Oh crap! What if he died and then went into that rigor mortis thing and I was stuck in his grasp until the cops found us?
I listened for possible sirens, like the cops had some kind of psychic ability to know that a teacher had been killed, but the only thing marking time was the surprising jagged rent to Mr. Weston’s breathing.
Fast. I couldn’t believe how fast he went from struggling and gasp
ing like a drowning man to slumping against the door frame, dragging me with him. He slid to the ground.
The side movement tripped me up and I stumbled
on my shoes, ramming into the brick wall beside him. My shoulder stung, but the crash dislodged his grip. His hand plopped into the puddle of blood.
I fell backward onto my butt, scurrying away into the gym.
He blocked my escape. Minus the gasps and moans, he stared into the corner of the doorjamb, his jaw down and his head back.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I wrapped my arms around my legs and rocked back and forth. Crap, what was I going to do? I couldn’t get out. I couldn’
t go past him. Fear curdled in my gut, twisting around my midriff like a belt and tightening, slowly, slowly.
And yet, the pain from the fear and guilt had
receded under the pressure of satisfaction pooling in my pelvic region. My own heavy breathing fit more with the labored intakes after a run than an organ-wrenching-wrestling-match with Mr. Weston.
I hung my head between my shoulders, tucking my chin to my chest. What would I do?
“Cassie! Cassie?” Slapping echoed in the hallway, barely caught by the open doorway.
Lifting my head, I waited, as if my fears and longings had created the delusions. The slapping
of feet didn’t fade as they drew closer. I held my breath to hear them better.
Standing, I swung
my pack onto my back. I couldn’t let go of the knife. The blood had turned sticky and my hand itched with its cloying weight. I stepped closer to the exit, but I couldn’t move past that point.
Mr. Weston’s body created a barrier I couldn’t bring myself to cross. I’d read somewhere once that if you stepped over a grave
, the ghost of that person would haunt you for eternity. We weren’t in any graveyard, but a grave held dead bodies and Mr. Weston fit that category well. Plus, I didn’t want to get close enough he could reach out and grab me. The stupid chicks in horror flicks always returned to the area around the “dead” psycho and ended up killed because he was just taking a cat nap.
“Cassie!” Deegan’s form blocked some of the light in the doorway. I’d never been so relieved to see someone, to see him – even when compared to the incident with Bobby. Trapped in the damn gym, I’d be trapped all weekend in there or until the janitor found us.
“Deegan.” My gaze darted between his shadowed face and the gaping mouth of Mr. Weston. Seriously, nothing else I could look at.
His foot came close to stepping in the lake of blood spreading from beneath Mr. Weston’s body.
Deegan stopped, staring at my latest victim. “Holy shit, Cassie.” His lips pressed together and his jaw clenched. He high-kneed over Mr. Weston, avoiding the blood and the body altogether and made his way to my side.
In the dim light, his features had taken on a coldness I never thought
I’d see when he looked at me – almost like disappointment or disapproval. He’d never judged me before, and yet there he was, condemning me. Anger spurt through me, mingling with the mounting satisfaction of my conquer. “What?”
“What do you mean what? Don’t you have a damn brain in that gorgeous head of yours?” He pushed into my face, heat radiating through his clothing, reaching me in the chill of the gymnasium.
He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He wouldn’t have to ask.
Tears welled in my eyes and spilled over.
At least he patronized me with calling me gorgeous. I dashed them away with my fingertips, but they continued to fight me, streaming to my chin and dripping – somewhere. The adrenaline had spiked and waned, leaving me spent. I couldn’t throw-up or do anything else to relieve the pressure inside.
Deegan brushed the pad of his thumb under my eyes. “Shh. Stop crying. You’re alright, aren’t you?” Worry narrowed his eyes and he glanced the length of me, as if he could see any injuries in the darkness.
I sniffed. “I’m fine. I just…”
He waited, patiently, as if we didn’t have a dead body sitting feet from us in a very public school while I held the
weapon. I fiddled with the blade, pretending I hadn’t just tried gutting the teacher with it. Scratch that, hadn’t just gutted the teacher with it.
Avoiding Deegan’s
eyes, I rolled the knife around and around, drying the blood on the handle and hilt faster.
But I had to look at him – like
a magnet to steel. A deeper fear dwarfed the other emotions rioting for a position in my heart. Saying it would make me more vulnerable to him, to the situation, but after a kill, with Deegan, nothing but complete honesty would fit. I had to tell him. I had to be that open book. “I didn’t think I’d see you this weekend… after our talk.”
He nodded, moving a few stray strands of my hair behind my ear. “I almost didn’t make it.”
“How’d you know I was here?” The movement of his fingers as they circled the lower part of my forearms distracted me. My attention could only handle so many things when I was around him. And when he touched me? I couldn’t think about anything else.
Deegan’s low husky voice riddled me with pockets of heat. If I moved even a centimeter, I’d be overcome with fire and quite possibly die. He lowered his head closer to mine. “I called your house. I was worried about what had happened earlier and wanted to make sure you were okay. This isn’t just
your
anniversary weekend, you know?” He fell silent for a moment, but his hands never stopped caressing my skin. I couldn’t comment, even if I wanted to. “Your brother said you’d come back here for your backpack. I thought I could catch you and talk some more without…” He couldn’t say her name. I didn’t want to hear it. “Plus, I saw how you looked at Mr. Weston – the same way you’ve looked at the last two guys. I figured it had to be him, but I didn’t think you’d do it here.”
“I get it. So, you’re here. Now what?” I had no i
dea what to do about Mr. Weston, yet the situation with Deegan had more of a time limit than the death. Deegan and I wouldn’t get another chance like the one sitting in front of me. If I didn’t snatch it up, it’d be my fault when I later looked back and asked what if.
He withdrew his touch, thrusting his fingers up through his shaggy blond hair. Turning away, he slapped his upper thigh with the other palm. “Damn it, Cassie. What do you want from me? I can’t be everything, you know?”
Anger filled me. The same anger that drove me when I ran, when I punched the body bags. The same anger that brought me every year to the men, into their proximity, to the danger point. I dropped the knife on top of my backpack and rushed at him, pummeling his back. I couldn’t stop the tears from soaking my cheeks. My body shook as I hit and hit and hit.
He turned under my assault, pulling me to his chest, letting me wear myself down.
Finally, after that last hit, a sob released its hold on me. “But you are. You’re already everything.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He ran his hands up and down m
y back, cradling me against him, rocking me.
I pulled back to see his face, the lines, the expressions I knew so well. “What? I’m not asking for a life commitment, Deegan.”
He thrust me away, the anger in his eyes matching my own. “Really? You’re not? Than what is this? Do you know for every murder, I’ll get a lifetime in prison? Not much more of a commitment than that.”