Characters Wanted!

Thirty minutes later, Mr. Merryweather pulled into parking lot of Silver Springs High School. It had been built in the mid 70's, as the architecture made abundantly clear. Over the past several decades, two new wings had been added to the school to alleviate an overcrowding problem. Neither of them seemed to do any good. An ebbing and flowing mass of students swarmed through the main entrance. Pulling the cap down over his eyes, and grabbing a small tool bag from the passenger seat, Mr. Merryweather joined the throng.

He moved deftly through the crowded hallways, side stepping chattering girls here, and conveniently ignoring a locker stuffing there. He came to a stop in front of a door marked 'Custodial' and turned the knob. Rather, he tried to turn the knob only to find it locked. He cursed under his breath and, checking to make sure he wasn't drawing unwanted attention, retrieved a small, thin skeleton key from the tool pouch. A quick jiggle and a few seconds later the lock popped open. Mr. Merryweather grinned in triumph. His disguise was working perfectly. If anyone is more ignored than janitorial staff in an academic institution, you'd be hard pressed to find them. He hadn't drawn a second glance since entering the building.

He placed his bag on a cluttered supply shelf and grabbed a mop and bucket before allowing himself to be absorbed into the activity around him. It was easy to be overwhelmed by it all. The potent funk of body odor, fruit fusion lotions, body sprays, and hormones was enough all by itself to swirl up in the brain and cause an overload. But Mr. Merryweather was a professional. He blocked out all his senses except for sight; he only needed to observe for now at any rate. In this setting, it didn't take long to find what he was looking for. Entwined like two octopuses fresh from a trip through the spin cycle and sucking each other faces like the very fate of the universe depended on it, was exactly what Mr. Merryweather had hoped for. They were young, passionate, and perfectly generic. So much so, he couldn't even describe their appearance seconds after seeing them. Mentally, he named them Tiffany and Justin.

The ringing of a bell alerted everyone to the start of class and students scurried and vanished to the respective rooms. Tiffany and Justin lingered an extra moment in each others' embrace before parting ways. Now alone, Mr. Merryweather took the opportunity to check the locker number they'd been in front of during their amorous moment.

Committing it to memory, he returned to the custodial closet and took out a rather clunky looking revolver. Swinging open the cylinder revealed three fairly large holes in place of the standard six. He inserted three tranquilizer darts and swung the cylinder closed. Next he hunted down two of the wonderfully large garbage cans you find only in places with large crowds that seem incapable of cleaning up after themselves. He wheeled them into the closet, where it was a tight fit, but sufficient for his purposes. Lastly, he took out a sheet of paper and scribbled a note.

He slid it into the locker he had noted from before. Trap set, he concealed the gun in his jumpsuit and proceeded to pretend to clean the restrooms until class let out. The sounds of "My Old Kentucky Home" echoed out into the halls.

The end of class was announced with another blast from the bell and Mr. Merryweather gave up his mopping to watch the swarm of students stream into the halls. He saw Tiffany and Justin in the crowd and he tensed. This wasn't right. He watched Tiffany open the locker and saw the note float to the floor. She picked it up and began to read it, but she didn't get far before Justin tore it from her hands and read it himself. Mr. Merryweather cursed himself. It was going all wrong. Only one of them was supposed to find the letter! Tiffany and Justin began to argue, with Justin gesticulating wildly at the paper. If only I could hear them, thought Mr. Merryweather.