A/N: Some of you were oh-so-close, others, well, weren't. But that's all part of it! Enjoy chapter three...

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.KILL THE MESSENGER.

3

The crowds were quieter than usual, and students whispered pointedly to each other as they shuffled around the halls. The gossip mill was spinning, spinning, spinning and it was so loud, so soft, it was nearly deafening.

Cody walked languidly beside Zack as they made their way to their lockers. Once they reached then, Zack quickly opened his, grabbing what he needed and then sticking his entire head inside as if to hide from the world.

In truth, he didn't want to look at Cody whose sad face was nearly heartbreaking under the circumstances. Cody hadn't cried, or anything, but he kept asking that damned question, why? Why, why, why, why, why, WHY?

"Hey, man."

A low voice behind him, Zack whipped around, nearly banging his head against his metal locker. A fellow junior was standing next to Cody, face solemn. Zack recognized him as one of his brother's friends.

"Hey," sighed Cody. They stood awkwardly for a few moments, and again Zack was a witness. "Weird."

Cody's friend nodded. "Yeah," he agreed.

"Do we have physics club tomorrow?" Cody asked, an odd note to his voice.

His friend shrugged darkly. "Probably," he said lowly. "But, you know…"

Zack cringed, hands beginning to shake. "I'm gonna go-," he said quickly to his brother before slamming his locker and taking off in the direction of the boy's bathroom. Relieved to find it empty, he collapsed in one of the stalls, throwing up his breakfast as his chest heaved.

Oh, God.

The way the gun had clicked as it froze beside his temple seemed as redundant as the squeal of sneakers on the linoleum floors. The dark, crimson blood that had flowed from Austin's open wound seemed as apparent as the whispers sent like emails through the hallways. The murder that flickered in the eyes of the killers seemed as human as the breaths he now fought to take.

His mind was spinning, his heart was racing, his hands were shaking terribly as he clutched the porcelain bowl for dear, sweet, precious life…

And then the door to the bathroom opened and voices killed his quiet silence. Zack went very still, wiping a quivering hand over his mouth.

"…My dad said the cops are looking at the security cameras to see, like, if they got anyone on tape. They've asked all the hotels and restaurants and stuff to send in their tapes."

"Do they know who they're, like, looking for, or…?"

"Like hell I know. What kind of psycho would wanna shoot Austin Craver? The guy never did anything wrong. I heard he had a four-o'."

"Betcha ten bucks it was Mr. Curtis."

Mr. Curtis was the gym teacher. Zack's insides squirmed uncomfortably. Not wanting to listen anymore to the conversation he flushed the toilet, standing shakily to his feet and reaching into his pocket for a stick of gum.

"Nah. It was probably just Samarra."

"Man. You watch way too many of those horror movies. It's starting to show."

Zack slowly left the stall, briefly looking at the two guys he didn't know as they talked before hurrying over to the sink. They looked at him briefly (freshmen; typical) before carrying on with their conversation.

"Did you know the kid? The one who was killed?"

"He's in my debate class. Er—he was in my debate class."

Nervous laughter. Zack hastily pumped out the soap across from the sink, trying desperately hard not to look at his own reflection.

"I heard he was cool. His girlfriend's all freaking out, and stuff. Dude, how much would that suck, man? Your boyfriend, or whatever, turns up randomly dead. That's so, like, cheap."

"Dude! Is she hot?"

Zack spun around, suddenly angry. "Why do you gotta be such an ass-hole, man?" he demanded, causing one of the freshman boys to jump in surprise. "He was murdered, and all you care about is how hot his girlfriend is?"

Zack swore viciously and left the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Zack had math first hour.

He sat down next to a boy his age, as he set down his book and got out his calculator. He'd completely forgotten to do the homework.

"Section four was due today?"

Zack nodded. "Yep."

The kid sitting next to him blew out his breath. "Crap," he said darkly. He tapped his pencil on the desk in front of him in an arithmetical beat, though he made it seem oddly idyll. "Hey—was that Austin-kid at that party last night?"

Zack bit his lip. "No clue," he said honestly. The boy's tapping was getting obnoxious and Zack lacked the tolerance to be patient. "Cut that out, Adam." he snapped, ignoring the weird look he received in return.

Adam and Zack had been best friends since the ninth grade. As juniors they were pretty close and generally mild-mannered, though Zack wasn't in the mood to deal with his friend's ADHD-like habits. Adam was funny and loyal and just as popular as Zack, though he had issues when it came to taking things seriously.

Like, say, murder, for example.

"How awkward would it be to just, like, be trick-or-treating, or whatever, and then somebody 'accidentally' shoots you? Talk about a sick joke!"

Zack's stomach flipped uncomfortably.

"I mean, it's not like he was into drugs, or whatever," Adam continued, oblivious to his friend's sensitivity, having none of his own. "Maybe he looked like some junkie and the dealer got, I dunno, mad or something."

Zack opted to use sarcasm to hide his unease. "Are you drawing from personal experience?" he mocked their English teacher. Adam snickered.

"Man," he whistled. "I hope they don't broadcast who was at the party. My parents still think I was at your place."

Zack felt his stomach drop. "And my mom thinks I was at yours…" he trailed off, running a shaky hand through his hair.

Adam looked as though he was about to say more when the teacher called the class's attention. Zack took a deep breath and sunk further down in his seat.

"Prepare to be amazed!" declared the math teacher. Eccentric and passionate, Mr. Dillon was popular with the student body. Usually Zack enjoyed his animated lectures on trigonometry and pre. Calculus, but today he found himself jumpy.

Security cameras…

Ten numbers had been drawn on the white board:

0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34

"Someone tell me what's so unique about these numbers," said Mr. Dillon, stepping back and observing the class with nothing short of barely-contained glee. Zack couldn't focus and the board suddenly seemed a mile away…

Adam's hand went up, albeit hesitantly.

"Mr. Scott!" cried Mr. Dillon. Adam cocked his head a little. His cocky smile seemed to fade a little suddenly, and he shook his head, mumbling a never mind under his breath. Mr. Dillon waved him off, and when no one else raised a hand he spread his arms wide and ecstatically.

"Each number," he began, uncapping a red marker and demonstrating his words erratically on the board. "Is the sum of the two preceding numbers-," he paused theatrically. "That is to say, for each number to exist in the pattern, it must be the equivalent of the two numbers before it added together! It's like, for you to tie your shoelaces you must first have put on your socks and chosen the correct shoe for each foot. No sock, no shoe; no shoe, no laces. If X plus Y does not equal W, than the numbers do not fit the pattern, and our entire point is dissolved!"

Comprehension dawned like sunrise around the room.

"Ah-ha!" Mr. Dillon nodded at them all excitedly. "Class, meet the Fibonacci numbers!" He barely paused before continuing. "Of course, these are only the first ten. The list goes on and on and on…Simple, yet incredibly complex!"

Simple…Yet incredibly complex…

Simple.

Yet incredibly complex.

To Be Continued

It would take many fingers to display the number of clues in this chapter...