The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) (3 page)

Feeling a rush of relief, I take a step back. I have no idea quite how far that pervert would have gone if we hadn't been interrupted, but my heart is racing and I feel certain that he had a few ideas in mind. I don't know Hannah at all, but I hope she can handle herself if he tries something similar on her. At the same time, it's not my problem. I've got too much to deal with right now, without trying to get sketchy school counselors into trouble.

“You okay?” a voice asks suddenly.

Turning, I see Molly making her way along the corridor.

“Yeah, I -”

“Another session with the creep, huh?”

I nod.

“Don't take it personally,” she continues as we start making our way toward the doors at the far end. “You're not the only one who feels, like, super uncomfortable being near him. Personally, I've always thought that if he ever tries anything on
me
, I'll bite him. Like, properly chow down on his forearm, something like that. The dude's got it coming. Sometimes, I actually feel like he's a -”

“Hey,” I reply, stopping suddenly and grabbing her shoulder, “what are you doing tonight?”

“Um...”

“Do you want to hang out?” I wait for her to reply, but I can already tell that she's reluctant. “Please?” I add, trying not to sound
too
desperate. “Do you want to chill and talk about crap and just not have to think about the world? For one night?”

“I'd love to, but...” She glances both ways along the empty corridor.

“What's wrong?” I ask. She's been a little evasive lately, as if she's up to something at night that she won't or can't share with me. “Ashamed to be seen with me?”

“You know it's not that,” she replies. “I'm not one of those total bitches. I just... I have plans tonight, and I can't really break them, but how about tomorrow? You can come over to my place, we can hang out, you can even sleep over. It's been too long since we just sat around chatting and listening to music, all that stuff. How about it? Please don't think I'm a total asshole for being busy tonight!”

“Sure,” I reply. Hearing footsteps nearby, I see two other girls making their way past, and they both cast dirty looks at me. Debbie is trailing along behind them, but she doesn't even look this way. She's ignored me ever since the shooting, and I can't say I blame her but... She and I used to be such good friends.

“Don't worry about
them
,” Molly says with a smile. “Stuck-up assholes. Come on, we're gonna be late for class.”

“Sure,” I mutter, although I hang back when she turns and heads toward the door. “I've got a few things to do first. I'll catch up.”

“Don't take too long,” she replies, glancing back at me. “And don't worry. Tomorrow night we're gonna have so much fun!”

Once she's gone, I'm left standing alone in the corridor.

“Yeah,” I say finally. “
Tomorrow
night's not a problem. It's
tonight
I'm worried about.”

Chapter Four

“Hey! There she is!”

I haven't even made it all the way into the bathroom before I hear the over-excited squeal of Lucinda Jones and her friends.

“Hey Bonnie,” Lucinda continues, hurrying over to me. “Got any plans for tonight? I'm sure it's gonna be electric!”

“Hilarious,” I mutter, pushing past her as I head to the nearest stall.

“Seriously,” she adds, following me as her friends titter by the mirror, “I guess it's gonna be kinda weird for you, huh? Yeah, I sure wouldn't want to be in your shoes right now, but I guess you'll just have to get through it as best you can. I hope you've got somewhere nice to sit. Like, maybe, a comfortable chair. With a cushion. And straps.”

Stepping into the stall, I try to push the door shut, only for her to force it back open. She flashes her usual sickly sweet smile at me, but there's a hint of determination behind her eyes. She's no better than Adam and his friends, and she's quite clearly loving every second of this.

“Do you want my advice?” she asks.

“No,” I mutter darkly.

“Just close your eyes, say a little prayer, and hope it's over fast.” She grins. “In a flash!”

“They're not electrocuting him,” I point out, once again trying and failing to push the door shut.

She frowns. “I thought it was tonight...”

“They use drugs,” I continue. “They pump drugs into him. There's no electric chair! Now do you mind if I shut this damn thing, or do you want to watch me pee?”

“No chair?” She seems genuinely confused. “But my brother said -”

“Maybe your brother's an ignorant asshole,” I reply, interrupting her. “I guess that kind of thing runs in families.” I wait for her to leave me alone, and finally I can't help sighing. “For your information,” I continue, “they don't use the chair in this state, they use a cocktail of drugs, primarily sodium thiopental and -”

“Okay,” she says, holding her hands up in mock surrender, “I don't need to, like, know all the gross details. Whatever they use, it's pretty goddamn disgusting. Must be pretty embarrassing, too, having someone in your family who's gonna go out like that. The ultimate black sheep in the family. Are you gonna go watch?”

“Am I going to stand in a little room and watch through a window as my brother is executed?” I ask, before sighing again. “No. No, for some reason, that doesn't really appeal.”

“Are you gonna visit him first?”

I flinch at that question. “No.”

“Why not?”

“It's complicated.”

“So he's gonna be all alone?” she continues. “That seems kinda rough. Then again, it's hard to feel sorry for him. I mean, after what he did to all those people.”

“Do you mind if I pee now?” I ask, trying once again to push the door shut, only to find that she's still holding it open. I try a couple more times, with increasing force, but she's stronger than she looks.

“You can always come and hang with
us
,” she says. “I hate to think of you stuck at home with your drunk-ass mother, and there's a party at Claire's place. We wouldn't invite you most times but I guess tonight we can be charitable. So long as you promise not to be a total dork, anyway. I mean, maybe Josh will be there, and I know you too broke up a while back. I guess that'll be super-awkward.”

“The whole thing sounds lovely,” I reply, “but I'd rather eat mud and die.” With that, I slam the door shut so hard and so fast, she actually lets out a gasp of shock.

“You almost hit my nose!” she shouts from the other side.

“Oh no,” I mutter. “Maybe you'd have needed to get it fixed. Again.”

I lean back against the wall and listen as they head out of the bathroom, and finally I realize that I'm alone. All I want to do is scream, but I know that won't make the day pass any quicker. Checking my watch, I see that it's exactly 2pm, which means I only have to wait another ten hours and then this part of the nightmare will be over. Taking a deep breath, I try to convince myself that somehow everything will be different tomorrow, that I can finally start getting on with my life. At the same time, I can't help thinking about my brother, and wondering what he's going through right now. Is he waiting for a visit? Does he think Mom and I will go see him before it all ends? No matter what he did, he's still my brother, and I remember what he was like before all this madness started. It's probably wrong of me, and I would never admit this to anyone, but I honestly don't hate him, not completely.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, with tears in my eyes. “Not much longer now.”

***

Making my way down the steps at the front of school, with hundreds of other students hurrying all around me, I can't help feeling that this day has been grinding along way too slowly. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that time has been running at half-speed, as if the universe is determined to make me endure every last moment of discomfort. I spot Josh over by the steps, hurrying away with Melinda Williams trailing after him. Josh and I used to be so close, but ever since the shooting he's been completely ignoring me. I guess even
he
doesn't want to be associated with my family.

As someone bumps into me and laughs, I step aside to let the crowd pass. After a moment, I turn and see Hannah sitting on a nearby wall, watching me with a smile.

“You look how I feel,” she says. “Well, not exactly, but close enough. You look like you'd rather be
anywhere
apart from here. A US high school, surrounded by squealing kids, is not exactly my idea of heaven.”

“It's fine,” I mutter.

“So can I ask you something?” she continues. “That counselor guy, is he a total pervert with
everyone
, or was I just unlucky today? 'Cause I got some major-league weird vibes in his office.”

“I think he's like it with everyone.”

“Huh.” She pauses. “Well, I guess in the circumstances...”

“Gotta go,” I reply, stepping past her and heading toward the road now that the majority of the crowd has already hurried away. I hate crowd, I hated them before the shooting and I hate them especially now. I just want to get away from here and be alone. After just a few steps, however, I realize that Hannah is following me. I try to ignore her, hoping she'll get the message, but when I start making my way down another set of steps I can tell that she's stuck to me like a goddamn leech.

“This town is weird,” she says finally, as if she's trying to restart the conversation.

“Major revelation,” I mutter.

“But, like,
majorly
weird, It has the strangest energy of any place I've ever been. It's like the whole town is constantly holding its breath.” She keeps up with me, and it's clear that she's trying to make friends. Boy, did she pick the wrong day for that. “I know what happened here,” she adds finally. “It was before I moved to the area, but I know about the shooting and I also know that it was your brother who was involved. I can't even begin to imagine what that's like for you.”

“Then don't try,” I reply, intentionally being a little prickly. After all, I just want to be alone. “Trust me, it's not worth knowing.”

“I almost never see you talking to anyone,” she continues.

“I'm lucky like that,” I say darkly. “Usually.”

“But since I'm new in town, I was hoping maybe you'd want to hang out some time. I don't know, we could grab a soda, you could show me the -”

“Are you serious?” I snap, stopping and turning to her.

Wide-eyed with shock, she seems lost for words.

“Why the hell would you want to hang out with
me
?” I ask. “For some kind of sick joke? Are you like those people on the internet who idolize killers and think they're cool? Let me guess, you've got some kind of weird crush on my brother and you think hanging out with me is somehow edgy. You wouldn't be the first. Believe me, there are people from the internet who idolize him and want to marry him.”

“I...” She pauses. “No, I mean... It's not like that...” Another pause, and she seems a little tragic now. “I just thought we could maybe be friends.”

“I don't want to hang out with you,” I continue, unable to hold my frustration back any longer. “I'm sure you're very nice, and I'm sure you'll make plenty of friends once you've been here for a while, but I am
not
going to be one of them, okay? And if that makes me a major league bitch, then fine, that's just how it's going to have to be. I'm not interested in meeting new people, and I sure as hell don't need to be rehabilitated back into society.” Taking a step back, I feel as if I want to grab her by the throat and knock some sense into her. At the same time, I know I'm overreacting massively. “Just leave me alone,” I stammer, turning and hurrying away.

This time, thankfully, she doesn't follow me. By the time I get to the street corner and glance back, there's no sign of her, and I let out an actual sigh of relief as I realize that I've managed to drop her. I have no idea what compelled her to reach out to me like that, but I guess maybe she just felt sorry for me. I don't need anyone's pity, and I sure as hell don't want to become a magnet for every wannabe-edge kid in town. Maybe my anticipation of tonight is making me more bitchy than usual, but I feel like I'm just about ready to explode.

Once I've made double-sure that Hannah isn't anywhere around, I turn and head home. With every step, I know I'm getting closer to the moment when I have to make a decision. By the time I reach the house, however, I already know what that decision is going to be.

I have to go.

Even if it messes my head up permanently, I have to go tonight. Deep down, I think I've known that all along.

Chapter Five

Reaching into my pocket as I wait at the bus stop, I pull out my change and count it again, just to make absolutely certain that I have enough. I must have counted it twenty times since I left the house after dinner, but I figure it's a good way to clear my head. It's late, and the whole town seems subdued tonight, as if everyone's holding their breath.

“You getting on or not?” asks the driver.

Looking up, I see that he's waiting impatiently.

“Yeah,” I tell him, making my way up the steps. “Just out to Cotton Road.”

“Huh.” He eyes me with a hint of disapproval. “That's a busy stop tonight. Kind of morbid, if you ask me.”

Checking my watch, I see that it's a little after 9pm. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Morbid.”

As I take a seat, I glance around and see that there are several other people making the same journey. One of them is tapping excitedly at his phone, and I recognize him as a guy from school who thinks he's this big-shot citizen journalist. A little further back, there's a woman whose daughter was paralyzed in the shooting, and when she glances at me I can see the anger in her eyes still. I quickly turn away, in case she decides to say something to me.

The bus pulls away and I realize I'm going to regret going tonight. But I think I'd regret not going more.

***

Twenty minutes later, when I step down from the bus, I see that the driver was right. I mean, I knew there'd be a crowd, but there must be at least a hundred people standing on the grass opposite the prison's tall, dark gates. Some of them are carrying banners protesting against the death penalty, while others have signs with biblical quotes and messages about redemption, and there are even some banners that call my brother out for being in league with Satan. Quite a few people are holding candles, and at the very edge of the street there are even a couple of crews from the local news.

As the bus drives away, I suddenly feel as if it was a mistake to come out here.

“Stop state-sanctioned murder!” a woman shouts nearby as I force myself to head through the crowd. “Not in our name! Ban the death penalty!”

“He's getting what's coming to him,” a man mutters darkly, his face lit by the flickering light of a candle. “Why should we pay to keep him alive for the rest of his miserable life?”

“Hey!” a woman says suddenly, grabbing my arm.

I turn to her, terrified that – despite the hat I'm wearing and my attempt to change my look – I might have been recognized. The last thing I need is for anyone here to realize that I'm Malcolm's sister.

“You're a little young to be out here, aren't you?” she asks, with a hint of concern in her eyes. “Are you alone?”

“I just wanted to see,” I reply, pulling free from her grip.

“Which side are you on?”

“Side?” Pausing, I realize what she means. “I'm not on any
side
,” I tell her. “I just came down because I wanted to...” My voice trails off, but I honestly don't know how to finish that sentence. I guess I should have thought up a better cover story on the way here.

“Are you a blogger?” she asks with a frown.

I shake my head.

“There's a lot of them about,” she continues. “Seems like everyone thinks they can be a goddamn journalist these days. You've got the news folk, of course, but they're outnumbered a hundred to one by all the assholes who came so they can live-stream the event. If you ask me, there's something wrong with human beings these days.”

I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly I realize that I recognize this woman. I think she's a substitute teacher who's been at my school a few times.

“I'm sorry,” I stammer, “I really just came to watch.”

Forcing a smile, I slip away, threading my way through the crowd until I reach a patch of unoccupied grass almost directly opposite the prison's main gate. Nearby, a middle-aged man and woman are slumped in fold-out chairs, eating sandwiches and sipping from beer-cans. It's almost as if they came down here to be entertained.

“Tonight, though,” says a reporter standing nearby, speaking into a camera, “most of the country's attention is turned here, to the prison where, in just under two hours' time, Malcolm Bromley will be put to death for his part in the massacre that killed fifteen students and three teachers at Dayler Martin High School. That's assuming, of course, that last-minute appeals filed by various civil rights groups are unsuccessful. A source close to the situation told me exclusively, however, that the governor is not planning to intervene, and that Bromley himself is not involved with any of the attempts to obtain a stay of execution. In other words, Peter, tonight's execution is almost certain to go ahead as scheduled.”

“Some critics say that the state's governor has rushed the process,” another reporter says into a different camera, “and that due process hasn't been carried out, all so that the execution can go ahead before next month's key polling. Others, however, argue that since Malcolm Bromley isn't seeking to challenge the verdict, there's really no reason to wait any longer.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the folded-up piece of paper I used earlier to jot down the order in which things will happen. After checking my watch again, I realize that right about now Malcolm is probably sitting alone in his cell, waiting to be taken to a different waiting area. He should have had his last meal by now. I bet he asked for bacon and eggs. That was always his favorite.

Glancing toward the dark prison buildings, I realize I have no idea which of them might be the one where my brother is being held right now, but I swear I can sense him in there somewhere. I know that's most likely just my mind being totally irrational, but I can't help wondering whether in some way he knows that I'm out here. My mother refused point-blank to go and visit him, and I wasn't allowed to go without her. I thought about trying to call him, but I doubt he'd have accepted and anyway, I don't have much to say. I just feel like I have to be here, because if I was anywhere else right now, I'd be losing my mind.

As the next couple of hours pass, I sit on the grass and keep track of the itinerary. I'm pretty sure I know roughly when Malcolm is offered the chance to meet with a priest, and the moment when he's led to the waiting room. I try to imagine what it must be like for him right now, what he must be thinking, but my thoughts are interrupted when suddenly a few nearby protestors start singing hymns. Their voices immediately set me on edge, but I force myself to button down and stay calm.

I've been letting my anger get out of control lately.

After tonight, I need to work on not being a bitch.

Checking my watch again, I see that it's now just five minutes before midnight, which means Malcolm is most likely in the execution chamber, strapped to a table with needles being put in place. I've read so much lately about the experiences of other executed prisoners, about how their final moments went down, but right now none of that information really helps. My chest feels impossibly tight, and there's a part of me that wants to get to my feet and race into the prison, to scream at them until they stop what they're doing to him. At the same time, I know that I can't do anything, that I'm just another observer. All around me, the crowd is starting to move forward, although police officers are making them stay on this side of the road. Finally I get to my feet and stumble down the grassy embankment until I reach the front of the crowd.

And then, with tears in my eyes, I wait. My heart is pounding, but I know there's nothing I can do. I'm freezing cold, and when I look around at the other people in the crowd I see that they're all wearing thick jackets, whereas in my daze I came out here wearing my old, worn coat. Taking a deep breath, I turn toward the prison and see lights in some of the windows. This is the place where my brother is being executed, but it looks so mundane and ordinary.

I check my watch every few seconds, until finally there's less than a minute to go. Staring at the hand as it ticks around, I feel as if my body has become impossibly light, and when midnight finally arrives I find myself imagining the chemicals being pumped into my brother's body. Is he fighting back? Is he screaming? Is he calm? Has he repented for what he did, or does he still believe he was right? Nearby, some people in the crowd around me are singing more hymns, and I feel a wave of sorrow pass through my body as I realize that at this very moment my brother is finally been executed, just a few years after he and Jonathan Wilder went into the school with their stolen guns raised.

“Hey, dumb-ass,” I remember him saying to me once, years ago, as I sat playing with dolls on the bedroom floor. “Having fun down there?”

His smile.

I remember his smile.

I also remember how he used to walk straight through my dolls, knocking them with his feet.

“Sorry,” he'd always say.

“Why are you so mean?” I remember asking him one day.

“I'm not mean.”

“Don't you like me?”

“That's a dumb question, Bonnie.”

I was too young to really have any deep conversations with him, but I thought he was so cool. I wanted to be like him one day, and to be his friend. I must have been out of my mind.

In a daze, I don't notice at first as a figure emerges from the prison's gate, flanked by two officers. They stop on the other side of the road, next to a microphone stand, with more police keeping the crowd back. I feel as if I'm about to faint, but somehow I manage to stay standing, although it takes a moment before I can focus on the words that are being read out.

“- can confirm, therefore, that the execution of Malcolm Bromley was carried out in full just a few minutes ago, in accordance with the sentence handed down by the court. The prisoner made no final statement, and his body is now being transferred for processing so that it can be transported by ambulance to -”

The man says some more words, but I let them wash over me as I stare at the dark buildings and realize that somewhere in there, my brother's dead body is most likely being wheeled along a corridor. Looking up at the stars above, I briefly catch myself wondering whether he's up there now, but I quickly remind myself that this is no time to get maudlin or romantic. He's just dead, that's all, and his soul – whatever that word means – is now gone, lost to the mists of time, never to return in any form. I wish I could believe in life after death, or in ghosts, but somehow I've always felt this brick-heavy certainty in my chest, telling me that there's nothing to come after this life.

Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I turn to walk away.

And then I see her.

A little further back, Hannah is standing alone. We make eye contact, and I feel an immediate rush of anger as I realize that I was right earlier. Obviously she
is
some kind of groupie, out to vicariously experience the thrill of this whole macabre mess. Unable to hold back, I pull my hands from my pockets and stomp toward her.

“Hey,” she says with a smile as I get closer, “how -”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I shout, shoving her in the chest. She stumbles back and lands on her ass as I tower over her.

“Listen,” she stammers, “I think you should -”

“Don't tell me what to do,” I sneer. For a moment, I feel as if all my anger is directed at this dumb idiot, and I can't hold back, even though I know I'll regret my outburst later. I really,
really
need to get it out. “Are you enjoying this?” I ask. “Did you get a little tingle out tonight, soaking up the atmosphere and listening to all the shouts and sobbing?”

“No, I -”

“People like you make me sick!” I hiss. “This isn't some kind of theatrical event! You're not supposed to enjoy it!”

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” she asks. “Please? It's important.”

“I don't want to be your friend!” I shout. Aware that a few other people are staring now, I force myself to lower my voice. “I don't want to be anyone's friend,” I add, taking a step back. “Whatever sick pleasure you experienced from all of this, that's your problem, but I don't want anything to do with it. Leave me alone, or I swear to God...”

My voice trails off. I can see the shock in her eyes, but I can also feel my anger starting to gnaw at my guts. I thought shouting at her would help, but if anything I'm starting to feel worse, as if there's an actual, physical pain clawing its way up through my chest.

“Oh my God,” a voice whispers nearby, “is that... I think that's his sister!”

Turning, I see that I've attracted some attention.

“Bonnie,” Hannah says after a moment, still down on the grass, “please, let me explain and -”

“Go to hell,” I mutter, pulling my hood up to cover as much of my face as possible, as I turn and hurry away. I can hear Hannah still calling after me, but I don't look back, and finally I reach the road and hurry over to the darker side. Glancing back, I see to my relief that no-one is following me, but I still pick up the pace, determined to get the hell out of here.

It's too late for me to catch a bus into town now, but I always knew that I'd end up having to walk. The night air is colder than I'd anticipated, but as cars start driving past me I can't help feeling that the walk will be a good opportunity to get my head straight. When a woman slows and offers me a ride, I tell her that I'm fine, and I just smile politely when she offers again. Finally she speeds away, and a little while later I finally find myself all alone on the road, with the lights of town up ahead. I look over my shoulder a few times, but thankfully that dumb Hannah girl seems to have understood that I don't want anything to do with her.