Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(58)

Once out front, the exhaust pipe coming from the Blue Beetle parked two houses over burped ghostly fumes into the night air. The metallic clang of the door rang out like a gunshot. “How long have you been waiting?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.

Lena twisted the cap on an empty can of Dr Pepper and dropped it into the open hole. “Only thirty minutes,” she said.

I nodded. “Not bad. Getting better.” I checked the clock on the dash. It was only 9:40. A breeze dusted the trees that ringed the cul-de-sac, bending them sideways.

I drummed my fingers easily on the armrest. “Do you have them?”

“Backseat.” Lena turned onto Main Street. “A couple packages arrived at my house, too. I had to get them from the porch before my dad found them.”

“Perfect.” The rest should be there by tomorrow. I twisted to retrieve the “invitations” that Lena had copied for each boy. On the backseat were three manila envelopes. I pulled them into my lap and slipped my hand into the top one. It was labeled Jessup Franklin and underneath Lena had neatly printed his address at Graves Hall. Inside there was a flash drive. I cradled it in the palm of my hand. “Where to first?” I asked.

“Sperry Street,” she said.

“Alex and Tate?”

“Do we have to use their names?”

“Sorry. Thing One and Thing Two?”

She nodded.

The climate shifted as we drove across the city line from Hollow Pines into Dearborn. We drove the length of fraternity row, but didn’t stop at any of the large colonial houses. For a Sunday night, the mood was dampened. We passed police cars parked at nearly every block. Where were they when I’d needed them or when Lena had? Or what about the dozen other girls?

Probably eating doughnuts.

I stared out the window at a policeman leaning against his cruiser, sipping from a mug of coffee.

“Safety first,” Lena muttered.

As she drove, fraternity row gave way to the town center, which was sparser still. Students walked in twos or threes—none of them traveled alone. Fear glued them to one another like a pack of animals. One boy was dead. One boy was missing. I rubbed the lines tattooed on my wrist and marveled—just a bit—at the shock waves I’d left rippling along the surface of Corbin College’s campus. They were lucky I didn’t burn this town to the ground.

Lena concentrated on her phone to navigate.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” I said. “Any of it.”

She rested her phone in her lap. “I’m not. I’m not doing it, I mean. I’m just opening the doors, laying the groundwork. What you do with that is your business.”

“But you know what will happen when I walk through them, Lena. And I will walk through them.”

“I only know what they did and what you did for me,” she said. “You’re a good person, Marcy.”

“Then you’re a terrible judge of character.”

We took a right at a stop sign onto Sperry Street. The houses here were mostly one story, made from yellowing brick. Bicycles were chained to posts. Trash cans overflowed with red cups. There was virtually no such thing as landscaping on this stretch. All dead giveaways that this was a street for off-campus housing. Music floated out from a few of the homes.

“It’s this one on the left,” she said. We rolled past a nondescript house. Closed shutters blocked out all signs of life inside.

“They’re probably not home, right?” I said. “It’s a Sunday night.”

“But look at all the cars parked on the street.” I did and she was right. Cars lined the avenues bumper to bumper. The county curfew was having its effect. “We could leave it on the doorstep,” she suggested.

I watched the horizon grow in the side view mirror next to me. “No. We can’t risk anyone else finding it. We have to make sure the message gets to them and only them. Park over there.”

I pointed at the end of the street where a fire hydrant marked the corner. Lena edged around it and parked a safe distance away. She cut the lights and the cabin faded into darkness.

“Coming or going?” I asked through the blackness that divided us.

She took a deep breath. “I’m coming. No reason to quit now.” I could think of plenty of reasons, but it wasn’t my job to explain them to her. She followed me out into the night where laughter came from one of the backyards. I handed the two envelopes to Lena and clutched the bottles of spray paint under one arm, then walked decisively to the address on Sperry Street.

There, Lena and I stood side by side on the front lawn as I tried to guess what was waiting behind the brick. At least from here, there were no signs of life. “Let’s check the other windows.” I kept my voice low.

Our feet swished through the grass as we walked single file. The first window was dark but the blinds were up. “Bedroom,” I whispered, peering in at the rumpled sheets I could just make out.

I moved toward the back of the house and located a bathroom—I could just make out the top of the showerhead—followed by what looked to be another bedroom. Lena kept glancing over her shoulder every minute. As we got closer to the backyard, I could hear voices drifting through the windows. Then I could smell cigarette smoke. At the very back of the house, I motioned for Lena to stay put. I flattened my back to the wall and peeped around the side. A shaft of light spilled from an open window onto the grass, spotlighting several cigarette butts littered on the ground. Thin fumes still spiraled into the air from one of them.