Kill Your Darlings

Chapter 7 - Strathlorne.

The station wagon is parked with the door wide open by the time you make it out of the school doors. Instead of going to it immediately, you double over and vomit into the bushes by the entrance, not bothering to attempt to clean it up. The acidic smell is still on your hands from cleaning the number you had done in the gymnasium. Don’t get caught. That’s what Spencer told you, and that’s what you intend to do.

The sky is pitch black, making it hard to see albeit the slender light the moon offers. Even so, you slip your shaking body behind the wheel and turn the car on, zooming as far from the school as possible. You’re sure that Spencer would expect—probably even want—you to go back to the motel, but you drive to the opposite direction, intending to run away again. But vivid memories of what happened last time are still fresh in your head; you can feel the ghostly trail of Spencer’s cold fingers wrapping around your neck and the hot tingle of his breath against your ear when he spoke.

The memory causes you to swerve the car to the side of the road, stopping it with a jerk. You’re in the middle of nowhere without a place to hide. Spencer seems to be everywhere at once, watching your moves like a vulture on its prey; waiting for the moment you’re too weak to defend yourself against his attack.

How long has it been since he first entered your office? The memory seems like a distant dream. Maybe—just maybe—Spencer had known you before entering your office. That could be the only logical explanation on how he knows so much about your life. Scarce conversations couldn’t grant a kid this much knowledge, could it?

You lean back in the seat and close your eyes, thinking about the sequence of events. The old couple, the little boy, and the teenager…what could be next? Was Spencer out there right now, preparing another ‘masterpiece’ for your eyes to feast on?

How long would it be until he got bored and shot you too?

 ***

Morning light rays strike through the windshield and assault your eyes, pulling you out of a dreamless sleep. It takes a moment for the panic within to dim as soon as you look at your surroundings, remembering what had occurred the night before.

How long, you wonder, will it be until they find the dead bodies? Who would be the first to see it? A student, custodian, or a teacher?

You rise from your seat and crack your back, ignoring the dull ache of your head. On the windshield is another note flapping in the morning wind, held by the wipers.

He was here while you were sleeping. Had he entered the car? Planted another body in the backseat? You exit the car immediately, checking the back, underneath the seats, and even the trunk. But everything seems normal, except for that note.

There’s hesitation as you reach for the note, carefully removing it from the windshield as if it would combust if you didn’t. Once it’s safely in your hands, you unfold it and read what Spencer has written.

The law isn’t perfect.

Behind it is twenty dollars, taped for security. You remove the money and trash the note, gingerly slipping it into your pocket as you head back into the car. The law isn’t perfect. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

The fatigue overwhelms you, yet you still pull into the silent road and begin driving to the nearest city. After what seems like hours, there’s a sign that says welcome to Strathlorne, the letters old and crumbling.

The name pulls forth a vague memory. A younger you, all smiles and new to the big city. You were content with staying in your small town, but your parents thought otherwise. Go out and make us proud, they had said. We want you to have what we couldn’t.