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Chapter 6: Child's Slay
Theodora tried not to disguise the surprised little jump she took at the voice.
Good Lord in heaven, but the room seemed almost deserted! There was Fitz Smith, where they'd left him. But she hadn't appreciated just how few people there still were. Tina Hudson and Lance Wilson hadn't returned with Deanna, Tina's son was gone as well. No sign of Noah Foster, nor Zach Henderson...
Theodora don't know what had possessed her to think Brooke would stay put. She wasn't even sure she had the energy to yell at Fitz about it. He only had the one eye to see, after all.
"Lennox" she turned to him, "No new crisis, I hope?"
"Not exactly, uhm..." Carl cleared his throat.
"I...I couldn't help but overhear that argument with Leslie. About the fingerprints on the knife. Did Principal Teague find any?"
"Leslie?" Theodora prompted, "Oh God...Lennox, you are a tad behind the times."
She wasn't sure what Carl Lennox and Leslie Adon had in common. Indeed, two more different people she couldn't...
Micah Hendricks.
Oh dear.
She softened her expression, "You'll be comforted to know I owe Leslie Adon my life. The girl's as plucky as she is angry."
She sluiced rainwater out of her hair, making a mental note to grab a fresh change of clothes from her cabin.
"None, I'm afraid. I got a good luck at this killer myself tonight. He wears gloves, which I suppose we must have anticipated. Still, it was a good hope while it lasted," she cocked an eyebrow, "Why?"
Carl could barely stop himself from shaking as he produced the taped fingerprints.
"Because I wanted to know if these could help."
Theodora accepted the roll gingerly, "Good Lord."
She met his eyes, "Did you print everyone?"
"I tried to. I don't think I got Sanchez, or some of the others, but I think I got most of them," Carl explained.
He swallowed hard. It was now or never. He HAD to tell her.
"And...there's something else I need...to tell you."
"Well, I wouldn't advise you to approach that man in any season," Theodora sighed, "This is fairly impressive detective work. Reckless and somewhat stupid, certainly, but I must commend you," she met his eyes, "I can't say how helpful this may be now, but having them is comforting."
At which point it occurred to her that neither Dave Evans nor Stavo Acosta (not that he'd said much at all) had mentioned the weapon that killed Sawyer Martin. In Dave's case, it was possible he hadn't seen it, but...
That would have to be for Teague to find out.
"Something else?" she looked up, "By all means."
"I...I have this...friend, who's having some...really hard times at home," Carl closed his eyes for a minute, to try steadying himself.
"How...how would I go about reporting Child Abuse to a teacher?"
"Ch..."
This must be what the kids mean when they talk about 'The Grind'.
She thought, wildly, of Harold Frey lying dead in a hole somewhere, and was both sorry he wasn't here for what would have been a momentous moment of his career, and grateful for Carl's sake for the same reasons...
"Child Abuse," she heaved a sigh, "Well, hypothetically all that would need doing is going to the teacher and...reporting it. Similar, let us say, hypothetically, to this very conversation that is happening right now."
It was no secret the kind of creatures the boy's parents were. Vile racist drunks who impugned good taste and reveled in the ugliest underbellies of this town. In some ways, it was refreshing that at least one family in Lakewood didn't see the need to keep their depravity a secret.
But depravity was still depraved.
"The teacher, you understand," she continued, "Would then be obligated to report the instance to the authorities who might, not at all hypothetically this time, take action."
She was quiet for a while, "Mr. Lennox, may I ask what prompted this instant of candor?"
"Because I need to report it," Carl said, swallowing again, "And I don't know what to do. Because if I do..."
He took a deep breath and continued, "Because if I tell my Uncle, he'll go to prison for killing my Dad."
Theodora sighed, "It seems to me you're doing what must be done, because you want to do it. And you know it's right. And, Carl," she used his first name, selectively, "If the night we've all passed has taught any of us anything, let it be that none of us ought feel trapped by our circumstances. Life is too short for that."
She nodded to a nearby table, sitting down, "Naturally, I can't fill out a proper form, much less call child services, unless I want to be subject to the world's more maudlin hold line. But I assure you, your complaint will be heard."
If we live to see the back of this place.
"Can you trust this uncle of yours?" she prompted.
There were rumors the boy didn't even live with his parents anymore. She doubted the uncle could know that. But if he could be persuaded to take him in...Carl was almost 18 as it was.
"Yeah. I can trust him," Carl said, sitting down.
Theodora considered, "It's no small thing what you've just done. I can promise to do all in my power..."
She thought again of herself, standing powerless before the killer, wondering, truly, how much of her was just sound and fury...
"You have endured enough," she told him, meaning many things at once.
"Thank you," Carl said with a shaky breath.
"I just...I just want this to be over."
"As do I," Theodora sighed, "Thank you again for the fingerprints."
She looked around, "Will you be alright here?"
"I think so."
"Very good, then," she got to her feet and, on second thought, turned to him as she went, "Take care."
The peculiar and, yet, weirdly fulfilling encounter out of the way, she set about the task that had brought her here.
Ted almost bumped into the Vice Principal, when he saw her and stopped just in time.
"V.P.K., are you ok?"
"Oh!"
The parade goes on.
"Harris," Theodora sighed, "Please tell me there's nothing wrong with you."
"No, I'm alright. Just...restless."
Ted asked, "Do you need help with anything?"
"Oh, I..." she cleared her throat, "I'm going to fetch a map is all. Of the campground."
It would probably be best to discourage any more vigilante efforts from the kids. Certainly Ted Harris who, while good-hearted, seemed about as resolute as a gob of sour cream.
"Are we going to try getting out of here soon?"
"Oh," Theodora paused, looking him up and down, "That...that is the hope."
She didn't want to say 'plan', because that would imply they already had some idea what they were doing. A tragic lie.
"I hope we do." Ted said, "And you and Principal Teague have done a good job, inspite of everything. Thank you."
Dave felt as if he were in a dream, with no control over his actions. He hovered about, his eyes glazed over, not sure of where or when or how or why he was. The sound of the rain blocked out everything else. Some words were exchanged, questions asked but they were beyond his understanding.
One voice was trying to break this barrier and make itself heard. Dave turned slightly at the disturbance.
"What happened?" He murmured, taking in the question. Dave turned away, silent, breathing in slow rhythm.
Finally, Dave answered in a low register. "I told her not to go out. I said it wasn't worth it but she persisted and took the keys and..." His eyes were fixed on the body. "...I was supposed to be there."
In a ghost of a voice, he added, "Kathy needed me...and I wasn't there."
***
Stavo watched over Sawyer's body, taking in all its details. She was petite, small. Even for her age. The way it looked, she seemed to be sleeping, if it weren't for the gash in her throat. Her clothes were stained red, the same red that stained him.
He had to avert his eyes. Hand in his face, Stavo tried to understand. Body after body in his sketchpad, corpse after corpse, disfigurement after disfigurement...yet Sawyer's was the one that revolted him.
Maybe it was because he knew she wasn't the first. And likely, she wouldn't be the last.
***
Nicodemus looked over the small child's body. Now, the groovy doctor didn't dig dishonesty but for the sake of sensitivity, he had at least act like the chickadee had a chance to live for the big fella. Even took out his stethoscope and lit some revival candles. Course he didn't receive not a vibe. This girl was long dead.
Still, Nicodemus analyzed her body, as long as the big fella remained. But he could only do this for so long before the dishonesty would taint his spirit.
***
Kieran removed the paper towels from his ear hole. That solved that. And no crazy visitors knocking at the door! This night seemed to be turning in his favor.
He opened the bathroom door just an inch to peek outside to see what was going on. Just a bunch of GW students but no crazy Marine watching over them, nor crazy ex. Just that weird Jeeves-looking guy in the midst of it. Theoretically, Kieran could leave custody and run out of this place, not looking back.
But with his luck, he'd be mauled by some wild animal or maybe Piper would come back from the dead to torment him for shits and giggles, or Teague was just standing outside taking a smoke break.
No, Kieran would wait for this to blow over and for these horrible people to cart him back to prison. He closed and locked the door.
But that got him thinking...did "blow over" simply mean to wait until they found out how the Lakewood Masher (?) was? He couldn't trust them to do that. They were idiots! The alternative wait for all of them to be killed. That seemed like a safer bet.
And if the killer came after him? Hell, he'd fight for whatever remained of his dignity but dying now didn't seem too bad of an option. What did he have to live for? His crazy sister with a fetish for murder whom he let down immensely? The cousin with an inferiority complex that nears equals his mother's severe drinking habits? The ex who bit his ear off? The lesbo who rewarded Kieran with her forgiveness but threatened to kill him if he even came close to her again (the participation reward for apologetic serial killers)?
Yeah, no. Kieran would happily take the under on this whole life thing. Maybe he'd get reincarnated as a much better person. What was he thinking? With his resume, Kieran would be lucky if he came back as a tape worm or a mole rat or some kind of blob fish.
If not that, weekly sessions with Nicodemus and life in a cell didn't seem too bad.
Kieran sat against the wall, waiting patiently for this to "blow over," sapped of whatever motivation he had to begin this night. He needed to sleep, let his options wash over him.
To the background of the rain, he closed his eyes and dozed off.
***
Leslie trudged into the common hall, exhausted and filthy, holding her wounded arm. She was able to wrap her jacket around it no problem, but Leslie knew that wouldn't last. Regardless, she couldn't help but be in awe of what she had just done: risk her life for that centrist Kellerman. What had come over her? Then, again, what had come over Kellerman talking to the killer like that?
Bold is bold. And game has to respect game. Kellerman, cop or not, has some fucking game.
She sat next to her other unlikely ally, confident she couldn't sink deeper than she had tonight. Leslie didn't bother to greet Wiz-Kid, as she was still catching her breath from the run of her life.
Panting for air, she finally asked, "I take it you've been hard at work?"
***
Emma returned to her new den, feeling fulfilled for the first time in she didn't know how long. She felt exhilarated, rejuvenated, capable. She felt capable!
But Emma couldn't rest on those laurels. She had more work to do. And to that work, she finally had to grow up, mature into the woman she was destined to become.
She got down on her knees and readied her knife. Emma cut her sleeves and ripped them off, tossing them in front of her. Next was her hair, which she cut with ease with her now sharpened blade. She also tossed the hair in before her. On this pile joined the Polaroids she had taken with Audrey's camera back when she was naive enough to believe they could be friends. The ones with Audrey, Brooke, her mother--all of them were placed there.
Now there was the flower, the last one the stupid girl within her picked. The idea dawned upon her after she had finally cleared her chest and the rain came down. She placed the daisy on top of the makeshift pyre. Taking the kerosene lamp lighting the alcove, she lit it aflame and watched the small fire burn the remains of her old self.
She closed her eyes and held her knife with both hands. Without thinking, Emma whispered, "Daisy, daisy, give me your answer do..." She bowed her head in reflection.
Emma scoffed and stepped out the fire. Enough with the ceremony. She was ready.
Throwing aside her bloodied blade, Emma dove into water Stavo had risen from earlier in the night, eager to explore her more of her new abode.
-Dave, Stavo, Nicodemus, Kieran, Leslie and Emma
"Ah," Theodora nodded, unable to hide her surprise, "Yes, well..." she cleared her throat, "Thank you."
At which point she dashed into the stock room and nearly trod on Micah Hendricks's cold dead hand.
"Oh God," she bit back a gasp.
What does it say that you've forgotten all the corpses are being kept here?
Starting to stink too, particularly the more mutilated corpses of the two women. Theodora wondered if that was indicative of something...Ari being drained of her blood, and Maggie dismembered. Next to them, Micah and Howard had died fairly cleanly, knife-through-the-eye notwithstanding.
"Think of something else, think of something else..." she muttered like a mantra, going through the cupboards, "Something else, something else...something not dead..."
There was a deal of old dusty junk in these cupboards, left by management or by earlier renters she could not say.
Pens, paper, old budget sheets for a summer camp circa July '77, Cheech and Chong bobble-heads, some mildewy Batman comics (in an envelope labeled 'CONFISCATED') that might be worth something if the damp hadn't corrupted them so badly, a faded American flag, immaculately folded in a way that she was sure would make Teague proud...
"Aha," the square of paper of discolored and splotchy in several places, but it had not been as ruined as the comics. In the lower corner, in a delicate script, was written Kingfisher Campground.
"Progress," Theodora muttered, tucking the map into her blazer, "Hopefully."
***
"Dave?" Phyllis prompted, noting from his manner, the tone of his voice...
He had gone away. It was another dead girl he was remembering, one dearer to him than the one dead on the table behind them. Perhaps that dead girl had only been dear to him because of this first one.
"With Sawyer, Dave," she said gently, "What happened with her? Tonight?"
-Theodora and Phyllis
"Harder than you might think," replied Carl, looking her over.
"You look as bad as I feel, you know that?"
He felt the second set of prints in his pocket. Maybe it was his Uncle's influence on him. Maybe it was just his plain need to prepare for things. But he had taken a second set of every print he'd found.
"Are you alright?"
"Sawyer. T-Tom Sawyer. I read her Tom Sawyer, yes," Dave muttered aimlessly. "Kathy liked it. She liked stories. I told her many, many stories. So many told, so many more to tell..."
Nicodemus shook his head. Twas no good. He pulled the sheet over the girl's body.
Dave saw the doctor raise the sheet. In an instant, he bolted over there and grabbed his hand. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"
Stunned, the groovy doctor stammered, "I-I'm coverin' the body, man."
"IS THAT ALL SHE IS TO YOU?! A BODY?!"
"I'm sorry but she's gone, Dave. She's transcended to the spiritual realm."
"What do you know of transcendence?" Dave hissed. "You're young and naive and foolish. I was too for so long. Years. Decades. And only now do I realize that 'transcendence' is a term for the cowardly who can't handle their sad existences."
"P-please, man," Nicodemus whimpered. "You're hurting my arm."
"There's nothing after this. It's just this cruel world. No amount of pompous language can hide that."
"Mr. Evans, I-I beg. Please..."
-Dave and Nicodemus
Noah
The young would be detective watched as the girl with the toughest brave face he knew crumbled before his eyes. He wasn't sure what to do, how to comfort her, hell if anyone even could at the moment. However, he did know he could reassure her,
"Did you find Stavo with the body?" He asked for context, hoping she didn't think he was just trying to justify him as a suspect. "Because if it helps, if you found him with the body, that actually decreases the chance of him having killed her." He spewed the facts, almost forgetting he was talking about a dead girl.
Had he become so used to death that his first concern wasn't asking who died?
"Who was the girl?"
_______
Drew
Watching as the common hall population dwindled, He couldn't help but wonder why these people were being so stupid. Dead bodies turn up and the first thought they have is to go wandering off like kids in a shopping center. Honestly it kind of blew his mind.
"Anyone know any good stories?" He asked no particular person.
"Dave!" Phyllis came between him and Nicodemus, "Dave, it's not Kathy, it isn't! Kathy's dead!"
She broke off, breathing heavy and ragged, feeling her eyes moisten.
"Kathy's dead and gone now...for a long time. You told me yourself in the night."
She placed her hand over his arm, gently prying Nicodemus free, "That girl on the table...she isn't Kathy. But she is dead, and someone did kill her. Now, if there's anything you can say, anything at all, that can help us find out what happened...for the love you bore your daughter, and the girl on that table..."
She broke off, feeling new tears escape to stain her face, "Please. Tell us."
***
"S-Sawyer," Brooke stepped away from Zach, patting him lightly (perhaps thankfully?) on the arm as she did, "The...the freshman girl, the one who..." she gestured vaguely to her neck as if to impart meaning.
"I think Stavo found her, but...I haven't gotten to see him, he's..." she nodded through the trees to the outline of the infirmary, "He's in there. With them. Teague and Evans and some of the others."
"And they think..." began Zach.
"Evans says he saw Stavo, covered in blood, carrying the body," she paused, "I ran off, Noah. I ran away when we heard the screams, and I didn't...I didn't forget Sawyer was there, I just...I didn't bother to look behind me, to make sure she was following."
She paused, "...he won't tell them anything," she spoke the realization quietly as any run-of-the-mill fact, "He won't."
***
"Stories?" asked Ryan, turning from the window to regard Drew in a pertinent gaze, "Sure. Why don't we all sit in a circle and reenact the Sign of the Cross?"
He shrugged, "I know a few. Scary, though. I wouldn't wanna shock your silver hairs off."
-Phyllis, Brooke, Zach and Ryan