Interim(54)

He waited beside the abandoned property—the one he knew she’d pass on her walk home from soccer practice that afternoon. He leaned against the rusted chain-linked fence then pushed himself up. He dipped backwards on his heels again, letting the fence bow and cradle his body, wondering if it would hold him or give way completely under the strain. It didn’t. He pushed himself to a standing position once more, and then leaned back again until he found a suitable rocking rhythm.

Time passed slowly, and he watched the corner of the street for her arrival. He didn’t consider that she may have driven to school today. That would ruin everything. He had to talk to her before she told someone. This morning was a close call—too close—and he knew eventually she’d squawk. He wouldn’t entertain the idea that she already had.

She rounded the corner and froze when she saw him. He watched her back pedal a few steps before hesitating, looking side to side for something. Someone. He didn’t know, but he was instantly angry at her sudden fear of him.

“Why?” he called to her.

She shook her head.

“Why are you afraid of me?”

She said nothing.

“You weren’t afraid of me yesterday when you came to see me at work. Remember? You brought me cupcakes, for Christ’s sake.”

“I . . . I . . .”

“What have I done, Regan?”

He pushed himself off the fence a final time and walked in her direction. To his surprise, she walked toward him, too. They met at the corner of the abandoned lot, and he watched her swing her soccer bag in front of her chest, positioning it like armor. What the hell did she think he’d do to her? Punch her in the gut?

“I know you learned about my tattoo,” he said. He wanted to get straight to it.

“You’re damn right I did,” Regan replied.

“How long were you at it?”

She snorted. “Too long.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I learned a lot more than I wanted to.”

“You still think I’m a lunatic planning to shoot up the school, don’t you?”

“Partial verse, Jer. Okay? That’s a partial verse etched into your back.”

Damn. She really did do some studying.

“And don’t tell me the other half wouldn’t fit. I’m not an idiot,” Regan said.

Jeremy shook his head slowly.

“You’re not asking God to avenge you. You wanna avenge yourself!” Regan cried. “Yeah, I figured that shit out! You lied to me! You made me believe you were some lonely, pathetic victim when all this time you still plan on MURDERING PEOPLE!!”

He instinctively grabbed her hand and hauled her toward the empty house. She dug in her heels.

“Let go!” she screamed.

He did when they were safely out of the street view behind the dilapidated screened-in back porch.

“Did you tell anyone?” he demanded.

She fumed. “Maybe.”

He lunged for her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her hard.

“Don’t play games with me!” he roared.

“Let go! You’re hurting me!” she cried.

He released her and backed away, spitting on the ground beside her feet.

“Did you tell anyone?” he asked again.

Silence.

“Regan . . .”

“No! Okay? I didn’t tell anyone! But I was planning on it!”

“Why didn’t you?”

Familiar conversation. He already knew her answer: “I was scared.”

“I don’t know,” she confessed.

He inhaled sharply then breathed out slowly, trying to expel his aggression. He chose his next words carefully.

“I knew I made a big mistake,” he began.

“Wha—?”

“Not telling you about my tattoo yesterday. I shouldn’t have let you go home and look it up. I should have known you’d freak out and start believing a bunch of garbage about me shooting classmates.”

“You said it was your motto! Do you even know what a motto is? I mean, do you have any idea the enormity of that word? And that’s the word you chose! You chose to tell me it’s your motto!”

He glared at her.

“I know what a f*cking motto is,” he said.

“There! Right there you’re admitting you want to kill those people—”