After much discussion, the remaining eight split up into two teams of four; Max, Miranda, Abbott, and Brent went together in one group; Lindsey, Richard, Tabitha, and Thomas went in another. The first group searched the house for a bit before going off into the surrounding forest.
"Find anything over there, Abbott?" called out Miranda as she searched through a nearby bush.
"Just this giant tree," replied Abbott. He whistled, "Dang, Michael was right—every path is blocked. These Surf's are good."
"They went to great lengths to make sure we couldn't get away, that's for certain," remarked Max, taking a good look around the evergreen forest. "But why go to all this trouble, I wonder? Do they think we did indeed do those things we were accused of doing?"
"What I'd like to know," said Abbott, "is how the hell they found out in the first place. I mean, they could've just read about Kamp or Ronnie or Kayla in the newspaper, but who would really pay that much attention to Michael's case? That sort of stuff happens at parties all the time—if it didn't, MADD wouldn't even exist. I mean, dude, there's literally too many cases of someone dying of alcohol poisoning or an OD or whatever at someone's party to pick and choose just one and go, "a-ha—murder!" You know what I mean?"
"I don't approve of what he did," said Brent, pushing a few tree branches out of the way as he made his way forward. "But yes, I see what you mean."
"Just to clear everything up," said Max, "is there anything else anyone would like to say about the accusations against them last night? I'm going to say this much—I was never very close to Billy. I was only a bystander in his bullying, but I wish I could've done more to stop it. Maybe then he'd be alive today." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "Maybe, in a way, it was murder. I could've stood up to the bullies, but I didn't."
"Don't listen to what those Surf's say," said Miranda sharply, stepping forward. "It was not your fault, or anyone's fault. We can't let them get to us."
"So," said Abbott, circling Miranda like a vulture, "is there anything you would like to say about Ronnie? You and Tabitha looked like you were ready to have a catfight last night when talking about him."
"Tabitha is anally retentive," said Miranda sharply, marching off. Abbott, Max, and Brent followed her.
"You know, Miranda," said Abbott, catching up to her, "I thought I heard the other girls at school talking a while back. They said you and Tabitha used to be friends until something happened in the eighth grade. Did Ronnie have anything to do with it?"
Miranda stopped walking. She turned to face Abbott and said calmly, "It's not that complicated; I liked Ronnie, but he liked my best friend. End of story."
"You're cute when your eyes get that like that," remarked Abbott.
Miranda huffed and leaned against a nearby tree, doing whatever she could to make sure she was looking away from Abbott.
"Touchy," remarked Abbott.
"Abbott," said Brent, "was there any, ah, tension between you and your brother?"
"No, never," said Abbott quickly. "Why?" His eyes narrowed. "You're not suggesting..."
"For the record, I think it's despicable to betray your own siblings," said Brent coldly. "They're your family."
"Who said I did, huh?" said Abbott defensively. "And for your information, Caleb and I had our 'issues', but I would never, ever..."
He stopped suddenly and said, "What about you, Mr. Perfect? Are you really that good of a big brother, hmm? If so, just how protective exactly are you?"
"Very," replied Brent bluntly. He said, "I've been doing some thinking this morning, and...I think it's about time I told the truth for a change." He gestured for the remaining three to come into a circle, and they did so.
Brent looked into their eyes and spoke: "Last spring, a new family moved just down the street from us. They were...the Falcone family. It was a couple in their mid-thirties. They had no children. The husband was my father's co-worker. I noticed he and my sister, Chloe, got along quite well. I thought nothing of it...at first.
"And then...one day—you all remember I was on the yearbook committee last year, right? Well, on this particular day, the meeting let out early. And when I came home and went upstairs to my room..."
"You found the Falcone dude screwing your sister," finished Abbott bluntly.
Brent seethed and nodded. "After I just about blinded Falcone chasing him out of the house, my sister explained the two of them were "in love" to use her words. I tried to explain to her that she was being naive, that Falcone was just taking advantage of her, but she wouldn't listen. She made me swear not to tell our parents...and I, being the fool I was, agreed.
"Nearly a month later, Chloe woke me up and told me, with tears pouring down her face, that she thought she might be pregnant." He sighed and put his head in his hands. "When the test came back positive, she said she would tell our parents she just had a boyfriend on the side she never told them about. And so she did. Our parents were not pleased, and I knew from the looks on their faces that they would be even angrier if they knew about Falcone and so, I kept quiet, wondering what Chloe was going to tell Falcone."
He chuckled, "Well, I got my answer when I asked all right—she had told Falcone a while back, and he promised to pay child support as long as she didn't told a soul about the two of them. And then, when Chloe was six months along, he stopped paying because he claimed his wife was beginning to suspect the truth. That was when she marched up to our parents and told them everything. They weren't as angry with her as I thought they would be—actually, all their anger was directed at Falcone. They called him up and threatened to charge him with statutory rape—the age of consent had been changed from fourteen to sixteen a while back, you see."
He clenched his fists. "And then...that bastard blackmailed my father. A few years ago, my father embezzled money from the company he worked for. Falcone was the only one who knew of this, and he threatened to have that exposed in court if we pressed charges against him, or if we tried to force him to pay child support."
He shook his head in disgust. "I tried to tell my father not to let his blackmail get to him, that we could rise above it, but he said our reputation has to come first. He and my mother pressured Chloe into giving the baby up for adoption, but she refused, and so they reached a compromise: My parents would take care of the baby while Chloe was in school and on school nights when she had to sleep, and she would take care of it the rest of the time."
Now, he began to smile. "I still remember being called out of class to be told that Chloe was in labour and wanted only me to be by her side the rest of those long hours. And so I did." He said in a softer tone, "I swear to God, I had never seen Chloe happier in her entire life than when she held Cecil, my nephew, her son, in her arms for the very first time. I knew then I had to do whatever it took to protect her. Whatever it took."
"So you killed the bastard," said Abbott in the same, blunt tone.
Brent nodded. "A week or so later, Falcone called me over to his house and informed me that he was going to blackmail my father anyway. He told me to pass on the message to pay fifteen-hundred dollars by the following Monday, or else he would have him arrested."
He shook his head. "But that wasn't what set me off. No...it was what he said when I asked what would happen if I didn't pass on the message. And he said...he said he and his wife would fight for full custody of Cecil and have him taken away from Chloe."
The smile had vanished. Brent was trembling with rage as he spoke: "I was calm. I was collected. I was able to control myself as I stood up, thanked him for his time, picked up the handgun he kept in his drawer, and shot him through the head. I was still wearing my winter gloves, and I had seen him earlier handle it, so I knew it would look like a suicide. To further set the scene up, I forged a note in his handwriting where he confessed to his horrible crimes."
He continued to look into their eyes, which now contained looks of shock and horror: "My parents never figured it out, nor did any of the neighbours, or Mrs. Falcone, who moved a few days later, and we never saw her again. Chloe, on the other hand...she could never look at me in the same way after that. I never told her, but I think she knew."
"Brent," said Miranda softly, "that's...I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," said Brent, turning his back on the others. "It'll all be over soon anyway."
"What do you mean?" asked Miranda.
"I mean," said Brent, turning around, now with a creepy smile on his lips. "That we're all going to die, of course. None of us will leave Hunter's Lodge."
"Don't talk like that, Brent," said Max calmly. "I know things look bad, but we will catch those Surf's and get out of here alive."
"We'll get out of here, all right," nodded Brent. "We'll be leaving in body bags."
And that was all he had to say before turning around once more, to walk through the forest, the nearby chirping birds suddenly flying away as though they sensed something awful coming their way.
"No one over here," announced Richard as he and the others turned his room upside down.
"Damn it," groaned Tabitha. "That's every room."
"Maybe we're just not looking hard enough," suggested Lindsey.
"Where else is there to look?" pointed out Thomas. "We've looked everywhere."
"Maybe they've escaped already," said Lindsey. "Maybe, after they—killed Aimee—they ran off. Maybe they found a secret path, chopped down the last tree behind, and ran off."
Richard sighed and ran his hands through his dark hair. "So now what?" he said exasperatedly. "They just...get away while we stay here, trapped?"
"We're not trapped," said Tabitha firmly. "In four days time, the shuttle will come back for us."
"What if the Surf's sent out orders for the shuttle to not come back?" pointed out Richard.
Tabitha ignored this and marched off over to one of the windows. She looked out at the stretching blend of green that was the forest and muttered, "I wonder, I wonder." She turned to Lindsey and said, "Lindsey...is there more to your accusation than what you told us last night?"
"What are you talking about?" said Lindsey, sitting down on the bed.
"Are you sure the kid just died of cancer?" said Tabitha, standing above her. "And that his death wasn't, perhaps, brought on by something you did?"
Lindsey's eyes widened and she shot up. "What kind of a question is that?" she cried.
"Now Lindsey," said Richard, walking over to the two girls, "if you did kill him, we won't judge you for it. It wouldn't be murder so much as...shortening the poor kid's suffering. Now you said you didn't remember the exact form of leukemia he had. Do you think you remember now?"
"Leave her alone, you guys," said Thomas, stepping in. "If she doesn't want to talk, then leave her alone."
"You're one to talk," sneered Richard. "You didn't say anything about your friend other than 'it was a tragedy'—everything is a fucking tragedy!"
"You know what," said Thomas suddenly. "You're right. I think I will tell you all, seeing as we're going to die here anyway."
"We are not going to die," said Tabitha firmly.
Thomas ignored this and said, "My parents used to fight a lot when I was little. I didn't understand why back then; it was confusing to see my parents happy one day and then screaming the next. They were always fighting, always arguing. One time, I came home with a finger painting from pre-school, and instead of even going, "that's nice, dear", my dad just tossed it aside and continued to fight with my mom over God knows what."
His eyes shined as he went on: "And then, one day, I discovered a way to get their attention. One day, we were at this theatre, and then there was this fire. They had stopped arguing when we had to get out. And so, I...became a pyromaniac. I'd get my hands on whatever matches I could find and just let them loose around the house."
He smiled. "My parents would smell smoke, see me in the living room or kitchen or whatever, and rush me out. They weren't fighting anymore. We were a family."
"Thomas?" said Tabitha, concerned.
"It wasn't until the sixth time that they realized," said Thomas, the smile slowly falling off his face. "They took me to some kid's psychiatrist, where I was diagnosed. Well, to make a long story short, my parents went into marital counselling and got better, while I went into counselling and got better." His eyes shifted. "Or so I thought."
"How does Caden Black tie into this?" asked Richard.
Thomas sighed and walked over to the window, not looking at any of them as he spoke: "It was at that Kings and Queens concert a few years ago. Caden and I went, but it wasn't very good. The lead guitarist broke a few strings, the drummer looked like he was drunk, and the lead singer's lip synching was worse than Ashlee Simpson's. Caden and I went to the bathroom halfway through just to get away from it. While he was using a stall, I saw a pack of matches someone had carelessly left behind. I can't explain, but I had this...urge. A compulsion. I tried to restrain myself, I really did, but I thought, 'what the heck—just once for old times' sake'. So I struck a match and threw it in the garbage can. It wasn't until it burst into flames that I realized what I had done."
He shook his head and said, "I ran out of the building before the fire alarm even went off. I found out later that while Caden was inside, he had died from smoke inhalation. Ever since then, I have been seriously working on restraining myself."
"And they never figured out it was you?" said Richard.
Thomas shook his head. "They couldn't find anything at the scene of the crime. But I knew. I always knew." He turned around and smiled an eery smile. "It wouldn't be so bad, actually, if the Surf's killed us all," he said. "Then our misery would be over and done with."
Thomas walked right past the horrified three and closed the door behind him without once looking back. Tabitha shook her head and said, "Well, one of us just went nuts. We'll just leave him alone for now."
Only one of them thought, Ah, my plan is unfolding just nicely. Just have to keep putting on a mask of innocence and none of them will suspect a thing. And now, time to kill my next victim...