The Shadow Club (15 page)

"You better shut up!" he growled.

"Hey, Darren," I said. "Why don't you take the sheets off his bed? I think that's where the smell's coming from." Darren did what he was told and pulled back the blanket. The sheet underneath was clean, but when he pulled that away, there lay Tyson's rubber sheet for everyone to see. Tyson struggled, and I put him into a full nelson.

"Wow," said Jason. "You mean Tyson pees in his bed?"

"Oh, didn't you know that?" I said. "He does it every night. It's a wonder he doesn't have to wear diapers." Tyson struggled and I made the nelson tighter, pushing down on his head until he could barely move. "Did you know, Tyson, that Austin broke his ankle and he may never run again?" I forced the nelson even tighter. "I just thought you should know."

"I hate you!" he screamed. "I hate you!"

"The feeling's mutual!"

"You stupid Gopher," he said, and then something in my mind snapped. It was as if suddenly I wasn't me anymore—I was someone else—something else. Something evil. It was like I was possessed. I jerked Tyson around and took him out through the front door. He struggled all the way, kicking, knocking down lamps, leaving black footprints on the wall.

When I got him outside, I let him go, only to slug him full force in the face. He reeled and grunted, and I popped him one in the eye, then gave him an upper cut to the chin.

I couldn't stop! I was out of control. Then the rest of the club grabbed him, and held him back so he couldn't move. He couldn't even defend himself, and still I pounded away at him, thinking about Austin, and Vera, and Drew, and the rest.

I kept delivering punches to his stomach, as he tried to kick me away.

"Do I get a turn?" asked Jason.

"How about me?" asked Abbie. "For Vera!"

Finally I stopped. "Are you going to confess?" I growled at him, and in his pain he looked at me and said, "I don't confess to anything!"

I stepped right up to him, grabbing his shirt again, making sure I tugged it hard enough to rip it, and then, well, I'll never forget what I did next—I'll never believe it either; it will live on in my own nightmares.

I spat at him. Just like Randall had done, I spat at Tyson. I'm not proud of it; I'm pretty ashamed of it—all of it, if you must know—but that's what I did. Then I let go of him, and the club grabbed him, holding him back.

That dark cloud that had been in my mind was now in my blood, filling up my whole body. It was hatred—evil hatred—mixed with power, and together those two things are more dangerous than nitroglycerin. It filled me and took me over. At that moment none of us were the kids we had been before; we were monsters filled with one desire: destroy Tyson McGaw.

I stood there like Darth Vader, breathing the power. The power of club leader. I had Tyson McGaw in the palm of my hand, and all I could think to do with him was crush him— like I would crush a soda can.

"Take him to Stonehenge," I said.

"Yes, yes, to Stonehenge!" echoed the rest.

While they carried Tyson away, I called Jason over. "Go get all of his puppets," I said. "Tear down that clothesline and bring it along, and don't forget to bring the scissors."

At Stonehenge, while Jason played with the marionettes, the rest of us tied Tyson's arms to two separate trees with two pieces of clothesline. There was enough slack so that it wouldn't hurt, but he could barely move his arms.

Cheryl had vanished, leaving me alone as leader. She had probably gone off to look for Randall and would be back soon.

"You'll go to jail!" screamed Tyson, losing his voice. "All of you will! You'll see. When my uncle and Mr. Greene hear about it, you'll all be expelled from school! You'll see!"

I stood back, leaning against the wall of Stonehenge, letting the dark power flow through me. I watched as, by my command, the members of the Shadow Club yelled nasty things back at Tyson about him and his family, and pelted him with pinecones.

Jason, who had been examining the marionettes, turned to me and said, "Hey, these puppets are of us!" He was right. Now, looking closely at them, what I had first thought to be a coincidence was no coincidence at all. The entire Shadow Club was here, as well as some teachers, and other kids at school.

"What are these, voodoo dolls?" asked Abbie.

"You leave them alone!" said Tyson, spitting out words that I won't repeat. "They're mine!"

Jason looked at me, and I gave the signal. One by one, Jason cut the strings, and O.P. tore each of the marionettes into shreds, throwing them at Tyson's feet.

"Confess," said Darren, "and we'll stop," but Tyson didn't confess a thing. He was a hard nut to crack. In a few minutes there was a pile of little heads and arms and legs and string in front of Tyson. He tried to break free, but the ropes held.

"You're gonna pay for this," screamed Tyson. "Pay pay pay! All of you!"

"Confess," I said calmly, folding my arms, standing just out of his reach.

"I'll never confess to you!" he said.

The Shadow Club looked at me. Time for a new plan. I pointed to the ropes, snapped my fingers, and they ran to cut Tyson down.

"The beach!" I said, and I led the way as the rest carried him down toward the shore.

We hauled Tyson down the rocks to the small cove closest to Stonehenge, just below where Cheryl and I had our first kiss. The cove was hidden, with no homes anywhere nearby, so no one could catch us. It was close to 4:30 when we got there, but it seemed even later, because those black clouds over the ocean were closer now, churning up the sea.

We let Tyson go, but formed a semicircle in front of him. With the ocean right behind him, there was nowhere he could run.

"Leave me alone!" he whined. "Let me go home! My aunt and uncle will be home soon, and they'll be looking for me! You're gonna be in so much trouble!"

"We'll let you go home as soon as you confess!" I said. "What's so hard about that?"

"I don't have anything to confess, gopher brain!"

"You're lying," said O.P., "and I'm not going to be suspended from school because of what
you
did!" And with that we began to move closer to him. Tyson backed away until his dirty, torn tennis shoes were being washed over by the icy October sea.

"Stop!" he said. "You're all dead meat! All of you!" We got closer and he backed away farther.

"What are you going to do to me?" he asked, suddenly not as angry as he was frightened.

"Nothing," I said, "if you confess."

By now, the waves were crashing at his knees and at our feet, but we didn't care how wet we got, as long as we forced Tyson to admit the pranks he had pulled.

"It's cold . . ." Tyson backed away a bit more. The water was now breaking at his waist and at our knees, then in one last mercy cry he said, "I can't swim . . ."

When I heard that, I smiled a dark, evil smile, and moved closer. If Tyson couldn't swim, then he would
have
to confess. Either that or learn to swim real quick!

That's when I heard Cheryl calling from far away. "Jared!" I looked up; she was on the cliff. "Jared, come here," she called.

"I'm busy! You come down here!"

"It's an emergency!"

"So is this!"

"No," she said, "I mean a
real
emergency."

Figuring that Cheryl had to have the worst timing in the world, I reluctantly left. "You're in charge," I told Darren. "I want a confession from him by the time I get back."

And I left them—four kids, and one rough sea, to do battle against Tyson McGaw.

What Happened to Randall

AS I HAD guessed, Cheryl had left Stonehenge to find her brother, but when she had arrived at home, she hadn't found Randall there. Instead, she had found a note that said to call her parents at a strange number, which turned out to be the hospital. Randall was in the hospital and Cheryl didn't know why. Her parents weren't entirely sure yet either, but whatever it was, they had been pretty stressed out about it, and so was Cheryl.

They told her to wait at home until she heard from them again, but Cheryl's not the type to sit at home waiting.

"Do you think your mom's home by now?" she asked me.

"Probably."

"Good. I need a ride to the hospital."

We ran all the way to my house. My mom had just gotten home from work, and when she heard about Randall, she hurried us off into the car and took us to the hospital.

The hospital was big and white, like all hospitals in the world seem to be, and it smelled like a hospital. I hated that smell; it reminded me of the time I had my tonsils out.

Paul, Cheryl's stepdad, met us in the lobby, surprised, but not upset, to see us.

"It's OK," he said. "It's not as bad as we first thought. He didn't hit his head or anything. They think he might have fractured his hip though."

"Oh no!" said my mother, "Poor Randall!"

"What happened?" I asked.

"Near as I can tell, he was playing basketball in some friend's backyard, went for a shot, took a bad fall, and came down hard on the cement. I don't know the whole story."

Cheryl and I looked at each other, but said nothing. Ten minutes later, Randall was wheeled out of X ray. He looked awful. He had been given painkillers and barely seemed to be able to move on that gurney. I had a bad feeling about this—even worse than the feeling I had when I realized Austin was about to plow into those rocks.

We all followed as Randall was wheeled into a room. The doctor examined him again and then left with his parents to examine the X rays. When my mother stepped out, we were left alone with Randall.

"Tell us what happened, Randy," Cheryl said.

"I broke my hip," he said groggily.

"We know," said Cheryl. "Paul said you were playing basketball? Where was it?"

Randall closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Eric Kilfoil's," he said, "and I wasn't playing basketball."

Cheryl and I looked at each other in disbelief, and that's when I realized that the entire bottom had just dropped out of the Shadow Club.

"Tell us what happened, if you can," asked Cheryl. Slowly, quietly, Randall told us. He told us how he went over to Eric's house after he snuck out of school, instead of coming to Stonehenge. He told us that he had been planning it for days, and he knew no one was home. He told us how he climbed onto the roof of Eric's garage, carrying tools to take down Eric's backboard and hoop and steal it. Halfway through unscrewing the thing, however, the backboard fell without warning. Randall lost his balance, and plunged to the ground. "I would still be there if the neighbors hadn't heard me yelling," he said.

"Why did you do it?" asked Cheryl. Neither of us knew that Randall could do such a thing. Sure, he was a brat, but planning to steal something like that . . . Well, it made us both wonder what else he might have done.

"I did it for Darren," he said. "Because Darren's my friend, and he doesn't deserve to be treated the way Eric treats him. I just wanted to get Eric back for Darren, that's all."

"Does Darren know you did this?" I asked.

"No."

I swallowed and asked the question that I was afraid to hear the answer to. "Randall . . . did you pull all those other pranks, too?"

"No!" he said, grimacing from the pain in his side. "I swear, I only pulled this one! Only this one! Tyson pulled the rest!"

Cheryl looked away from me when I turned to her, and finally the last piece of the puzzle snapped into place. It fit so well that I knew I was right. I had to be. I knew the truth, and it was so ugly that I was afraid to accept it. It was uglier and more horrible than anything we could have imagined.

"Cheryl, can I talk to you?"

"Sure." Cheryl gave Randall a kiss on his forehead, and even in his sedated state, he was able to lift his hand and wipe it off. We stepped out into the hall.

"Do you think Tyson pulled all the rest of the tricks, like Randall said?" I asked straight out.

"Of course," she said.

"What about Austin?" I asked. "Did Tyson do that?"

"I guess." Cheryl shrugged, and looked away from me— and that wasn't right; Cheryl doesn't look away like that. Not unless she knows something that she doesn't want to tell.

It was time for me to pull a bluff. It was a mean, nasty bluff to pull on Cheryl, but I had to do it. Things were way out of hand, and if what I suspected was true, we were all in more trouble than humanly possible. I had to trick Cheryl if I was going to find out the truth.

"You're lying!" I said right to her face.

"What?"

"I know he didn't do it!" I said. "You did it."

That lawyer look came over her face—the look she had whenever she was about to argue somebody down into the ground.

"How dare you accuse me of something like that, Jared Mercer! I thought we trusted each other!"

"We do, but you did it."

"You don't have proof of that!"

"Yes I do," I lied. "I saw you. I saw you planting the stones, I just didn't want to say anything until now. I saw you, Cheryl!"

My heart sort of locked up for a while; I would swear I was having a heart attack or something. If I was wrong, then this little lie may have just ripped apart my lifelong friendship with Cheryl. If I was right, then it would be even worse. Either way, we were going to lose.

Cheryl gave me the lawyer look for a while longer, but the anger faded from her face.

"You should have said something before," she said. "That wasn't fair." She looked away from me for a moment, then looked back. "All right, I did do it," she said. I bit my tongue and tried hard not to react. "I did it for you," she said. "I didn't mean for him to get so hurt. I just wanted to scratch him up a bit so that you'd get to run in the District Olympics like you wanted to."

For a split second I had the nauseous feeling that this wasn't Cheryl. This was some vile, sickening creature that had taken Cheryl's form, but was still dark and evil inside. Then the feeling passed and I realized that this was
Cheryl through and through—and what I saw in her was
just a reflection of myself. That was the worst thought of all. It was like a disease that took root in both of us—all of us—the moment we started the club, and was growing ever since.