Chapter Eight
Santana was beginning to feel like a caged tiger. She didn't like the fact that her friends had left the gym in search of Rachel. She didn't like the fact that the adults that were supposedly in charge weren't telling them the truth about what had been going on. Hell, she didn't even like the fact that so many people were staring at Brittany's Daisy Duke shorts.
"Come on," she said, grabbing the blonde girl by the hand and pulling her out of the gym.
"Where are we going, 'Tana?"
"We're going to find Coach Sue and find out what the hell is going on here!" Santana figured if anyone was safe from a crazed killer, it would be their equally insane cheer coach. Nothing scared Sue Sylvester.
They passed a surly looking older detective, who demanded to know why they had left the gym.
"We've been stuck in there for over an hour with nothing to do but drink punch. My bladder is about to explode," Santana glared at the man.
"Detective Carmichael," another voice called out from further down the hallway. "I think we found it!"
The older man glared back at the two girls, before calling over his shoulder. "I'll be right there." He spoke to the girls once more, leering at them. "I suggest you hurry up and do your business, then get your pretty little asses back to the gym as fast as possible."
If Santana weren't already concerned about the safety of her friends, she might have made a comment about sexually harassing underage girls, but instead waited until his back was turned and flipped him the bird, before rushing down the hallway towards Sue's office, still holding Brittany's hand.
She slowed down as she noticed the office door was open, a feeling of relief washing over her. Sue would know what was happening. She'd help them find their friends.
But the relief fled as she noticed the light was out in the office.
"I don't like this, Sany," Brittany said. "I want to go home and hide in the closet with Lord Tubbington."
Santana didn't like it either. Something felt terribly wrong. "Wait right here, Britbrit. I'm just going to see if Coach Sue is in there." She tried to give the blonde girl a reassuring smile, but wasn't certain it came across that way. She let go of the other girl's hand and took the last few steps to the doorway.
At first she didn't notice anything, the office seemed empty. She was about to turn and step back away from the door when something caught her attention. Was that a pom-pom? Frowning, she took another step forward, and saw the outstretched hand, the cuff of a tracksuit just visible in the dark.
No. That can't be what she thought it was. There was no way someone could get the better of Sue Sylvester. She took a couple more steps into the room to see better. The frown on her face deepened as she saw the top of the blonde head sticking out from behind the desk.
"She's not dead," Santana whispered to herself. "She's unconscious, that's all."
Another step closer. Another, and one more. She saw the foam that had dribbled from the older woman's mouth. The sightless eyes still showed absolute shock at what had happened.
Santana rushed out into the hall and hurled.
…
"Rachel!" finn called out. Kurt thought it was kind of pointless to cup his hands around his mouth when he was still wearing the helmet. However, he stayed silent. Now was not the time to be chastising his stepbrother.
"Where could she be?" Mercedes asked. The lot of them had been wandering the school in search of their Pink Ranger for she wasn't sure how long. But it certainly felt like forever.
"Maybe she's hiding in the auditorium," Sam suggested. "It's big enough for her to hide and not be found, right?"
Ironically, the auditorium was the one place none of them had thought to look. They were perhaps too wound up and with a killer on the loose, she could still be anywhere, not just the obvious.
Essentially, if the killer was someone who did their homework on their victims, they'd know exactly where to look for Rachel. If she was smart enough, she'd hide somewhere unexpected. But none of them were in a state of mind to think that logically.
Puck jiggled the handle on a classroom door to find it just as locked as the other doors. He let out a growl. "This is getting us nowhere!" he shouted.
"You need to calm down," Mercedes said. Puck just glared at her.
"She's right," Kurt said. It was the first time he had spoken since the five of them had come together after a short split search. "Getting aggravated isn't going to help us find Rachel."
Instead of helping matters, his words set Puck off into an angry tangent and the others chased after him a few feet as he marched off down the hall, banging his fist on lockers as he passed them.
"Kurt!" The pale boy turned his head sharply to the right at the sound of his name. It sounded kind of echoey and not all that loud, but it was still clear. He glanced back at his friends, but they gave no indication that they'd heard anything and were still trying to get Puck to calm down.
"Hello?" Kurt called out, turning to face the direction of the voice.
"Kurt, I'm stuck in here! Please, help me!" It was only at these words that Kurt realized the strange voice sounded like Rachel. Again, he glanced back at his friends, and again they didn't seem to notice anything.
You don't need their help. You can rescue Rachel, and really feel like a hero, instead of just dressing up and pretending to be one. Kurt wasn't certain where the thought had come from, but it was true. He could save Rachel on his own. Everyone else was too busy bickering.
The pale boy considered telling his friends he was going to check out something, but the last thing he needed was more of his friends fawning and babying over him. Sure, he was having a shit Halloween and a super shit birthday, but that didn't mean he needed to be coddled every single minute.
"Kurt please help me!" he heard the voice again. It was all he needed to make up his mind. With one last fleeting look at his friends, he jogged off down the hallway to the right.
…
Carmichael glared at the two people standing in front of him. The woman had the brightest red hair he'd ever seen, while the man wore a sweater vest that made him want to douse his eyes with bleach.
"What do you mean, they wandered off?"
The man cleared his throat and moved so that he was slightly shielding the woman. "You told us not to tell them there was a murderer on the loose, so they aren't aware of the possible danger. They're teenagers, and they have the attention span of a gnat. Unless there is an xbox or playstation in front of them, they are going to get bored!"
The older man looked like he wanted to spit nails. "Then why didn't you have teachers watching every exit?"
It was the woman surprisingly who spoke up, always her polite, neat self. "With all due respect, Detective Carmichael, this is a school, not a prison."
Carmichael could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing. Halloween was always the worst night of the year. Between the vandalism, pranks, crank calls, and drunk party goers, they were almost always busy on Halloween. But in his thirty some odd years on the force, he could not recall a single Halloween night like this. He wanted to snap at the woman, who looked like she might faint if he so much as called her an impolite word, but knew it would do him no good.
"Sinclaire!" He called out to a passing patrolman. "Call everybody in. We need to search the building from top to bottom, and find all the kids that have wandered off. Find them and escort them back to the gym. Lock them in if you have to! I don't want them contaminating my crime scenes!"
"What a jerk," the woman whispered to the man who merely nodded his head. All he could think was he hoped that the cops wouldn't harm the students.
…
Blaine had reached the point where he was ready to make like Lord of the Flies and roast Carmichael on a spit. Teenagers got antsy. It was a fact of life! Did he really think that the kids were just going to behave themselves and stay put in the gym? Honestly, Carmichael should feel damn lucky he wasn't dealing with the Warblers of Blaine's high school years. Now that would have been a headache, to put it lightly.
Still, his priority was making sure the missing kids weren't hurt. And that none of them had the misfortune to come across another body. So far, the police hadn't been notified of any more but the way this night was going, you could never be too careful.
His thoughts kept drifting back to the pale boy and the fact that today was his birthday. Some birthday! What kind of gift was having a dead body fall on top of you, or getting beat up by kids who had no real reason other than they hated you? A shudder rolled through Blaine. Even now, more than a decade after the last taunt had come his way, he could still picture the terror perfectly. It was his strongest reason for becoming a cop.
Blaine paused in his step, finding himself outside the library. He knew the likelihood of anyone actually being in there was low, except maybe to sneak away to makeout. Other than that, what teenager willingly went in the library?
However, something in his gut told him he needed to go inside. Besides, Carmichael would probably have his head if he found out Blaine hadn't searched every nook and cranny. The young detective rolled his eyes.
Carefully, he pushed open one of the double doors and peered inside. "Hello?" he called out. He didn't get an answer. So, he stepped into the room. He wasn't too keen on being loud in a library, but there was no one there to disturb. "Hello?" he tried again a little louder.
There was still no answer and Blaine kept walking forward. Until his foot kicked something. He glanced down to see there was a book on the floor. And it wasn't the only one. Another lay just a couple paces away and when he raised his head in that direction, he saw a whole trail of books littering the floor.
"Well, that's certainly normal," he stated sarcastically. He moved further in the direction the fallen books were leading until he spotted a video camera sitting on the end of a table. Confusion laced his features and he hurried over.
The scene that met him made him inwardly groan. A bookcase had been toppled over. And beneath it and the array of books lay a motionless boy. He was half-pinned beneath the fallen bookcase. But the worst part of all was the large heavy book embedded in his skull. Blaine grimaced.
"This is Anderson," he said, raising his radio for what felt like the billionth time that night. "I've got another one. Library." He sighed and shook his head. How many more bodies were they going to find that night?
As he waited for backup, something else caught his eye. The red light on the camera was on.
Blaine snatched up the camera so quickly, it escaped his mind that he should have put gloves on. If the red light was on, that meant the camera must have been recording when this boy was killed. Maybe, just maybe, it had caught the killer. This was without a doubt the strongest piece of evidence yet. And there was no way Blaine was turning it over to Carmichael. That man did not deserve all the glory. He didn't even give a damn about these kids.
Glancing around, the young detective spotted a door against the back wall. It probably led to a library office. Perfect. He could still be close at hand, yet out of the way enough, none of the cops who came for the body would be able to interrupt him.
Blaine hurried over to the door and was relieved to find it unlocked. He slipped inside. He was right in thinking it was an office, but it wasn't that large.
Pulling out the desk chair, Blaine took a seat and pressed the button to rewind the tape. He wasn't sure how many minutes of emptiness in the library had passed since the boy's death. But he did notice the film was timestamped, which would make it easy to determine time of death.
He must have been distracted slightly, because he nearly missed seeing the book be brought down on the boy's head and something blipped by backwards.
"What was that?" he said in a harsh whisper. Outside the office, he heard the sounds of officers entering the library.
Quickly, he stopped the video and pressed play. You could just make out the top of the boy's head as he struggled to free himself from the bookcase. So it was clear he'd been alive after the bookcase fell, though that didn't surprise Blaine. If it had killed him, there would have been no need for the heavy book.
He watched as swiftly, the book came down and there was that flash. Blaine hit the pause button so hard he was surprised he didn't break it off. But it was in enough time.
Displayed on the screen was the book, which nearly filled the lens. But there was just enough room to catch a gloved hand. And right at the edge of the frame, was part of the arm, enough to make out the color of the sleeve.
The young detective sat there frozen solid for a good five minutes, trying to comprehend what he was looking at. He swallowed heavily, giving his head a solid shake. That was when he heard his name being called from the library.
"Detective Anderson?"
"Yeah, I'll be right out!" he said, without really registering it. The proof may have been subtle, but it was all he needed. And sometimes, Blaine really kind of hated this job.
…
Azimio had never found himself so bored. He wished he could have just gone home. But the cop who'd let him out had told him he needed to stay on the premises. Apparently, there were bigger fish to fry at the moment than dealing with a bunch of punk jocks. The cop's words, not his. But while they were being let free, they weren't allowed to leave..
The dark skinned football player had been over this stupid dance the moment he'd even heard about it. Dressing up was for little kids. What he really wanted to be doing was driving around, getting drunk, and teepeeing people's houses. It was all about the tricks these days. But no, instead he was here at this lame dance.
Sometimes he cursed the fact that he was Karofsky's best friend. But he was always going to be loyal and support him.
Though Azimio wouldn't say as much aloud, after three and a half years, picking on the same kid was getting old. He'd first met Karofsky their freshman year of high school. Despite going to the same middle school, they'd never met before that.
Sure, he never tired of watching the twink squirm like a worm on a hook, but he wanted to expand his horizons a little. What was the point of being proud to be a bully if you only picked on one kid?
It was that question that kind of made Azimio wonder if his best friend was really a bully at all. Why did Dave focus all his concentration on one kid? It didn't make any sense. But Azimio knew better than to ask that question aloud.
He'd long since disposed of the black robe, leaving himself in just the jeans and t-shirt he'd shown up in. Ironically, he hadn't seen any of his football buddies.
"This sucks," he muttered.
"I don't know about this, but I know about who," said a voice. Azimio whipped around in the hallway. Standing not too far away was a figure, a rather familiar looking figure. However, he could recall seeing a couple of people wearing the exact same thing as this particular person. On the other hand, there was only one he knew to have the distinctly added details to the front.
"What do you want?" Azimio growled, crossing his arms and standing to his full height. He could take this freak on his own. He was sure of it. Karofsky would be so proud.
"I think the real question is, what do you want?" the figure asked, and that was when Azimio got a confused look. He knew exactly who was wearing this particular costume. However, he also knew the voice he was hearing did not belong to the person in the costume.
"Are you using a voice changer?" Azimio asked, glaring.
The figure scoffed. "Do I look like I'm holding one of those stupid little gadgets?" they replied, raising their hands and wiggling their fingers.
"You could have it in the helmet," the jock pointed out.
The figure crossed their arms over their chest. "Then I guess you would have heard it earlier, wouldn't you?"
It was clear to Azimio by now that the figure had caught on the jock thought they knew who they were. But he realized then that the figure was also right. If there was a voice changer in the helmet, he would have noticed earlier. But then if there was no voice changer, he couldn't have come across this person earlier. Did they maybe steal the costume?
A chuckle filled the air. "He's not here you know. He is, but he's not," the figure said.
"What the hell?" Azimio spit out, not having any clue what the figure was talking about.
The figure chuckled again. "He's here, but he's not. I'm sure you're smart enough to figure out what that means. Or does your jock brain not know the stories?"
Azimio took a step back. What stories was the figure talking about? Whoever they were, they were starting to confuse him, and he did not like being messed with.
"Listen you little freak," he said, standing up to his full height. "You nearly got me and my guys arrested!" He wasn't playing games anymore. There was no way this wasn't who he thought it was. Even if the voice was completely different! It must be an acting thing.
"Oh, that wasn't me. Well, not me per say. That was my vessel."
Again with the games. Azimio growled. "Cut the crap lady, this ends now!" He started to punch a fist into his hand. "You're going down."
"Oh, a fight. How fun. I have so longed for a chance to get revenge on my own bullies, who beat the life out of me. Literally." The figure chuckled.
Azimio did his best to ignore the uneasy feeling that was building in him. "You're no match for me pipsqueak!"
"Really? We'll just see about that!"
At that instant both of them charged forward. Just before they ran head on into each other, Azimio heard the familiar voice he'd been expecting.
"NO!" it shouted and suddenly the figure fell to the side and Azimio barrelled into the stairwell, narrowly catching himself before he fell. He turned around to face the figure with wide eyes.
For a moment, they seemed to be fighting with themselves.
"I won't let you kill him!"
"You want a bully to live?!"
"It's not about that!"
"Sure it is! Bullies need to pay!"
"Killing them is just as wrong! It doesn't solve anything!"
"It solves everything!"
Azimio watched from the stairwell with wide eyes as the figure flew backwards as though shoved by an invisible force. There was a beat and then the figure stood up slowly.
"Now, where was I?" The unfamiliar voice was back. Whatever war that was, it seemed to have just come out the winner. "Oh right!"
The dark skinned football player barely had enough time to throw up his hands as the figure barrelled into him. He was caught by even more surprise at how strong the lithe framed figure turned out to be. They held their own pretty damn well.
Azimio managed to get his hands up to his attacker's face. He applied pressure to try and shove the figure back from him. But he didn't have the best grip and his hands slipped, hitting the latches on the helmet. He repositioned and shoved the figure.
The figure stumbled back harsh enough that they involuntarily threw their head back and the unlatched helmet went flying off.
"KURT?!" shrieked an unexpected voice. Both boys turned in the direction of the sound and noticed Lauren Zizes peeking out from around a corner. She had a bag of chips from the vending machine in her hand.
The pale boy looked directly at her, his eyes flashing coldly. "Kurt's. Not. Here," he said.
The sound of that unrecognizable voice coming from a very recognizable face was enough to cause Azimio to freeze. The action proved to be his downfall.
With a dark chuckle, Kurt, or the boy who claimed not to be Kurt gave one hard shove to the jock's chest. The boy lost his balance and toppled over, falling into the empty space behind him, letting out a scream as he fell to the floor, a story below.
Gritting his teeth, the boy in the Green Ranger costume turned to face Lauren. "It appears we have a problem," he said.
"W-what?" Lauren was appalled at her apparent ability to stutter. She stood to her full height and stared the boy down.
"I can't have you running around loose after that. There are cops in this building. You'll run directly to them and ruin everything I've worked for."
"Kurt what the hell?!" Lauren grit out. She was completely thrown off-base. Never in a million years would she have guessed that Kurt Hummel, of all people, was going around killing others.
"I already told you. Kurt's not here."
And then Lauren saw the boy's face change. It became kind of distorted, like he was fighting against something.
"Lauren run!" That she knew was Kurt's voice and suddenly she found herself frozen in place. What the hell was going on here?
"You stay out of this!"
"No! I can't let you kill anyone else!"
"She'll turn you in!"
"I don't care!"
"You want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!"
"I deserve it!"
"You're pathetic! I never should have picked you!"
As with the earlier supposed argument, the boy flew backwards like he was shoved by an invisible hand. But this time, he found himself slowly getting onto his knees. And he stared at the floor.
"You have to tell the police Lauren," came the weak voice. He sounded broken, like he'd been fighting something for so long. "It's the right thing to do. He can't leave the school, so I'll be free."
Before Lauren could do anything, another figure ran onto the scene.
"Kurt!" they shouted, almost fainting from the knowledge that yes, it was true. The killer, the person who had been taking all these lives. It was Kurt.