Who'll lend a knife?
I, said the canary bird,
I'll mark the sward
For poor Cock Robin.
—
"God, I need another smoke."
J.D. passed Veronica his lighter. She accepted it without touching his hand at all.
"I knew you moved towns all the time. It was one of the first things you told me," Veronica said. "I'll admit I was looking for some temporary fun, preferably of a horizontal nature. You delivered on that front. Then, whoops, we murdered my best friend. You murdered my best friend."
"Worst enemy," J.D. added.
"That too. And you lied to me about something pretty damn major," Veronica said. "She's not dead. Unless I'm hallucinating. If all in life is illusion, I'm seeing the psychotic break equivalent of three dancing giraffes in pink chiffon tutus."
"It's real. Kind of a funny story," J.D. said.
"Long ago, I wrote this big prepared speech for any unwanted suitors," Veronica said. "How did it go? Thanks for the not-exactly-lovely evening, Blank, but since you lied to me about killing my best friend, I think we're done here. Dead relationship. Imagine a dodo swallows a doornail, then gets hit by an asteroid the size of Brazil. That's the degree of deadness I'm going for here."
Heather was back inside the Snappy Snack Shack, leaving them alone. She could choose to be tactful when she wanted; she just generally didn't.
"Heather was buried on Saturday and dug up on Tuesday, surprisingly chirpy," J.D. said. "Does that raise any questions you want answered? You're a genius - you could help."
He was reaching out to Veronica, desperate, but softer and more restrained than she'd expected. If there had been a brick wall in front of her, Veronica would have slammed her head against it and indulged in a loud screech or three.
"I'm not convinced," she said.
"If we want to kill her again, we should at least know her weak points," J.D. offered.
"That's not funny, asshole." Veronica smoked aggressively. "At least I get to tell Heather Duke to go to hell via the express route. She somehow figured out that we killed Heather. Did you know that? No, you were busy ignoring me for Undead Heather. Can't convict a girl for murder if the habeas corpus is walking around complaining about it."
Heather Chandler slammed the door of the Snappy Snack Shack behind her and joined them. "You losers finished the tragic-romantic-comedy moment? Well done and fuck you."
Veronica gave her the finger.
Suddenly, Heather grabbed J.D. by the head and felt through his hair. It was far too intimate a gesture for Veronica's boyfriend - but he was her ex now, so she wasn't in a position to object too much. J.D. disentangled himself quickly, but not before Heather grinned at something she'd found.
"I gave you that scar," she said. "Under your hair."
"The hell?" J.D. said. Veronica thought the same; she hadn't even known there was a scar there.
"You don't remember. Not surprising; I was in preschool and you should have been. But my dad remembered," Heather said. "I hit you over the head with an Easy-Bake Oven. Your mom ever tell you how you got that scar?"
J.D. stared at Heather like he was seeing a real ghost, his cigarette neglected between his fingers. The fire crept close to his fingertips. "I think I recall ... a blonde girl," he said slowly. "Did you also tear my book? I remember something like that."
"Yeah. I think that's why you pissed me off," Heather said. "I couldn't read yet. And then there was this stupid little boy, showing off. So pretentious."
"You mean I wasn't paying any attention to you," J.D. said. "I had to get five stitches."
"You deserved it. Young Heather was very sensible," Heather said. "That makes three times your dad came here. First when you were born. Second when you were still too young to remember. Third time's the charm. There's a reason he keeps coming back.
"He's looking for the most important person in Sherwood. He's looking for me."
Heather's self-conceit was as intact as ever, beyond the grave. Veronica inwardly rolled her eyes. There was nothing exceptional about Heather Chandler, beyond an ego so massive that aliens from Alpha Centauri would notice it a million years later and marvel at how something so lacking in depth could be so breathtakingly massive in size.
"It's because of what your dad did, and what I did accidentally when that waddling crybaby Martha - " Veronica noticed that Chandler's speech seemed to suddenly change direction, just as J.D. scowled. "It's about people who can kill," she said. "Maybe he's looking for Heather and Heather as well, since they saw this coming, but they got it wrong. I think they're different to me. I don't think they really have power." She sounded like she was guessing; Veronica thought that part of Heather just didn't want to believe anyone other than her could have something special about them.
"Can you tell Heather Duke you're alive, and also to go fuck herself sideways with an unusually large terrapin?" Veronica interrupted. "She threw out some broad hints that not only did she know J.D. and I did it - "
"Not so much you," J.D. muttered.
" - but she made sure I knew exactly where she's going to be tonight," Veronica finished. "The surprise secret I'm not supposed to know is that she and Heather are dating Kurt and Ram. I guess she expects Kurt and Ram to beat J.D. up and force some hard evidence out of us."
"Damn, that's cold, Veronica," Heather said. "Heather's on my personal shit list too, but I didn't realize you hated Heather that much." She glared at Veronica and J.D., her head moving side to side like a blonde cobra. "Heather's practically a preschooler. Locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out at the first, last and only Remington party I took her to. A cooze, a waste of time. She doesn't understand the score and how to pay your debts. You were even worse, Veronica."
From the look on J.D.'s face, he understood exactly what Heather was saying - and despised it with everything in him.
"At least the Remington guys would put something extra in her drink first," Heather said. "Kurt and Ram aren't nearly as subtle."
"I know. I double-dated with Heather the night of the funeral." Veronica caught J.D. turning his head in surprise. "I would have told you, but you were probably with Heather. I left Kurt flailing in a pile of cow shit while Ram and Heather McNamara did the wild monkey dance. She always gets drunk, fucks Ram, feels mopey about it the next day. Typical."
"Kurt and Ram know better than to cross me," Heather Chandler said. "Now I'm dead, that's a huge fucking mess. Where did you say they were going?"
"Date rapists or Heathers. Tough choice," J.D. said, but he was already moving toward where he'd left his bike.
Heather realized too late that she should've travelled in Veronica's car if she wanted a comfortable ride. Oh well. That thing was a huge ugly tank; Heather's own precious red baby was much better. She hoped nothing bad had happened to it while she was dead. Time for a new one if something had. She gave J.D. directions above the roar of his bike.
"What's up with the groceries?" Heather asked. She'd seen a flash of egg carton and mini flour bag, hanging next to her on the back of the bike; totally mundane.
"I thought of making revenge brownies. You're not getting any. ... Admittedly, it was a lame revenge plot, but it was either that or hydrochloric acid shampoo," J.D. said.
"Veronica doesn't like chocolate. Heather and Heather think she's such a lucky bitch," Heather said. "I like chocolate just fine, but it doesn't get the better of me."
"Then revenge pancakes it is. One of few recipes my mom was actually good at cooking, so prepare to be amazed at what you're not getting."
"You brought your gun?" Heather asked, sliding her hands further down along the coat.
"Stop that. Yes, but only blanks."
"Probably for the best," Heather said.
—
Heather Duke clung to the upper branches of the tree in the graveyard. Kurt and Ram bayed like bloodhounds below her. She was terrified. Ram took a few steps back then ran barrelling into the tree, and she felt the trunk shake under her.
"Stop it. Please." She tried to say that, but her words were choked by sobs and tears, and she hated herself for that. She hadn't climbed trees since she was a little kid. With her bloody, painful knee and ripped stockings, Duke knew there was a good reason for that.
"Don't be shy," Kurt called. Heather McNamara sat on a stone grave next to Ram, looking up and saying nothing.
Duke's fingers scraped along the bark as she tried to hold herself up. She forced a deep, ragged breath into herself.
"You're supposed to wait," she said. "For them. They'll come and you can have them both. Revenge."
Kurt and Ram only laughed at her. "Why wait?" Kurt said. "Don't be a cocktease, Heather. Get down or get thrown down."
No one came in the distance, no sound of motorbike or car or sight of shadows rising and falling in the hills.
Duke thought she'd given the perfect bait for Veronica. She'd hold a seance by Heather's grave, she'd told Veronica, all by herself and her cards. She'd find out what sort of justice and righteous vengeance Heather's ghost would want. Given Heather's general character, that probably meant nothing less than a firing squad.
Enter Veronica and that asshole, making their move; then Kurt and Ram would finish them off. They both wanted revenge on Jason Dean and his blank bullets. Kurt wanted Veronica.
But Duke's precious plan wasn't working. Kurt had brought a cask of beer from god-knew-where, the boys and Heather McNamara got drunk, and everything turned to shit. Please, come, Veronica. If you come and get me out of this, I won't even hurt you.
Heather McNamara stood up. "Lift me," she asked Ram. "I can get her down for you."
There was nowhere for Duke to run to. She clung stiffly to the tree, scared of Heather now. I shouldn't be surprised. I always hated you and Veronica, she thought. Heather Chandler told both of you to laugh at me and hurt me and you always did it.
The drunk boys hoisted McNamara with a lot of difficulty and laughter. McNamara, oddly, didn't join the laughter. She gracelessly clambered up, closer and closer.
"It's okay," she whispered to Duke. "I won't let them violate you."
Duke allowed her to edge next to her. The two girls sat together on the branch, both of them away and free of Kurt and Ram. Heather McNamara did nothing when Ram called at her to hurry up and push Duke down.
"Let's throw rocks at them," Kurt said. "They're coming down sooner or later."
"They're going to win," Heather McNamara whispered. "There's only one way where they can't hurt you."
And then, out from the folds of her cheerleading skirt, McNamara drew a long sharp steak knife. It glittered in the moonlight, particularly the silvered edge of it. She offered it to Duke, black handle first.
"Kill yourself," she said.