Hour 8: Betrayers of Foes
Where were your friends when you needed them? Were they even alive, and if they were, were they still sane? They were the questions that everyone was asking, but to Mark Johnson they seemed particularly relevant, as his friends were not among the stronger, saner or more popular students in the year. That raised immediate issues of trust, since even by Anti-Clique standards Mark was notoriously insecure. He would never admit it, but he feared even they might betray him; they certainly weren't above betraying their enemies, anyway. Still, he was on their side and they were on his, so they were probably no threat to him.
He couldn't say that about anyone else though. He'd taken refuge in a small cottage in the residential area somewhere north and east of the school, so as to try and avoid people. Much as that sounded like a good idea anyway, narrowly avoiding an unwanted encounter with the machinegun-toting Layne Diallo just proved it, and he wasn't the only one he'd seen prowling about. What everyone else was thinking wasn't clear, but that didn't matter. Mark needed to avoid them all until he came up with some sort of plan.
He was on the religious divide of the Anti-Clique rather than the political, but simply by associating with that group he knew he was expected to eventually take the fight to the Government. If the others were alright, it was probably what they were doing. Scott and Adam? They were nuts, but if they could focus for even a little while, they'd do nothing else. Kenji…probably the same. He was less extreme than Scott, but had issues with wilfully not challenging injustice. And Kim? Well, then there was Kim.
The girl he cared about more than any other in the world. The girl who'd convinced him he was attractive and that people genuinely liked him for who he was. The girl with whom he could share his deep and devout religious faith. The girl who was struggling to keep her balance as she stumbled past the house and had now just fallen over. Wait, what? Kim!
Running outside, Mark immediately helped her up and inside the cottage, barricading the door with a chair from the kitchen and getting her some water. He didn't know whether to laugh at having found her or cry because she was drunk already. He hugged her tightly.
"Kim, are you alright? Drink this, please," he said, trying to sound calmer than he was. He was used to seeing her in far worse states than this, but given the circumstances how much of a state she was actually in wasn't really relevant.
"I'm not drunk, I'm not drunk. Really, I'm drunk not!" She might have been more easily believed if she wasn't so obviously woozy. Mark just smiled.
"By your standards this is only a bad sugar high, so I believe you, don't worry." Mark smiled mischievously. He could never be angry at Kim. She was ill, so what? Wasn't like she was unique in the world. In any case, pretending to look offended at that last remark she forced herself to sit up. Her breathing was slightly irregular and her pupils wider than normal, but overall she didn't seem too bad. Mark tried to hold in a huge sigh of relief.
"Try and hide it all you want, I know what you're thinking."
"Yeah, figured. You're almost as bad as Jenna like that. You know, I still think you two should team up and form some sort of psychic hotline – could make a fortune!"
"Don't…don't mention that name to me. Whore. And I'm not psychic, I just understand people. Kinda helps for people in our position. Some things the world wants to know but you just can't let it…" she said wistfully, looking up to the ceiling.
"You know you're sounding a lot more coherent than you should be, given…y'know?" He cast her a quizzical look, met with a glare.
"Do the words 'been drinking, not drunk' mean anything to you? I thought we'd met once or twice?" As if to prove she was alright, she stood up, though only managed a few steps before falling again. Catching a table and steadying herself, she beamed with barely-justified smugness to her friend. She was fine, she didn't need his help!
Mark held his hands up, knowing this wasn't a battle he was going to win. Such was the difficulty in controlling Kim. She'd become so good at hiding her alcoholism and drug abuse over the years that it was by now frequently almost impossible to tell when she was on something and when she wasn't. He didn't even know if she knew the difference herself. Many had been the time when she'd gotten into difficulty because she seemed sober and wasn't, or been mollycoddled by appearing high when only on water and sweets. This was the way she was though, and all Mark could do was try and help her.
"Mark…what do you think's going through Peter's head right now? I-I know you don't like him; I think you're a misguided idiot for it, but I accept it. But I need to know what you think he's thinking." The smile on Kim's face had been all too brief; more often than any other look she had of late was one of anguished despair, and it once again adorned her face as she begged Mark for answers with her eyes. Answers she didn't know she wanted, but needed nonetheless.
"Peter is a servant of God. So are we." Starting by stating the obvious wasn't a bad idea. "But then we don't define ourselves just by that. He does, so it's my first thought about him now." Mark knew that getting the balance right between honesty and tact was key here. Kim was right; he loathed and despised Peter, and saw him as a bad influence on her. He'd argued with her about that before though, and it never ended well.
"'Thou shalt not kill.' Can't get around that; if you could I'd have been happy to see Jemi on the list – she wasn't just a bully, she was a coward, always hiding behind Jenna, letting her take responsibility."
"Can't argue with you there!" He expected Kim to be impressed with him saying that about a friend she disliked intensely.
"Look…you're upset about her? I'm okay with it. Well, I'm not, but I guess I have to be."
"I'm upset about anyone dying. We all know each other, we're not all good people, but none of us deserve to die. No mortal has the right to decide that. But maybe Peter isn't listening to that. He's said for years their existing is itself defying God, that they're 'agents of Satan on Earth'. Honestly? I think he's taking matters into his own hands. And you're right about Jemi either way."
The last remark did nothing to amuse Kim. It was the answer she'd come to herself, but hoped Mark would not repeat, though she'd rather he not lie instead. Mark was right; Peter's interpretation of God's will differed from her own and Mark's. Even to Kim he seemed to sometimes lose sight of the connection between God and his creation. Was this one of those times? In this place, in these circumstances, what was he going to do?
Turning away from Mark, she put her hands together to pray. Mark easily saw, however, one arm reach into her bag for a beer. He quickly but routinely intervened, and thus followed the kind of scuffle he'd had so many times before with her. This time, though, he had no choice but to allow her some alcohol and another pill. It was the only way she could cope and right now he had to accept that.
"Kim, please, let me satiate your other addiction for a while. Let's pray, for us, for our friends, and for Peter, and then we can lose ourselves in the Bible for a while. There's no one else here and we're not in a danger zone, so we've got time."
As Kim held Mark close, he knew he no longer needed to think of a game plan. God had told him what to do – protect Kim, at all costs, from everyone and everything. Thanking him for that, he quietly added to his prayer a wish that he need not protect her from Peter. Even if he were there he'd have been no use to her anyway. Mark was the only one she could rely on – and that was exactly the way he wanted it anyway.
Ian Doherty was lonely and miserable. It was stating the obvious, but as he saw it, since nobody ever listened when he said it, he could do so continually until something changed. Eventually, people would be forced to pay attention to him; even if it was only to tell him to be quiet, at least they acknowledged his existence in doing so. More than a lot of people were willing to do.
For now though there was nobody around to have that conversation with. He'd wandered west after leaving the school, and had found his way into a forest on that side of Caphraig. It was his sort of place really, secluded and quiet. Of course, he'd rather have been in a bustling party atmosphere, but given that that was seldom an option, the peace and quiet of nature made for good hideouts for reading. Perth was surrounded by some picturesque countryside which offered several such places.
That said, this wasn't really the time for reading. No, Ian wanted to be making the stories about which others would write. That was something he'd always been keen on – being the hero! Ian wanted people to hear and talk and write about his magnificent, all-conquering adventures, about how this weak and puny little boy became a man through triumphing against all odds and enemies; he had many, but in this story none stood a chance when faced with his indomitable might.
Those enemies…they existed in all areas of his life. It wasn't just his own year who despised him either, or even just the students. He'd had a particularly bad relationship with the Depute Rector, Valeria "Hitler" Hall. She was a ruthless sadist who considered staff and students merely pawns in some plan she seemed to be concocting, and seemed to have some sort of personal vendetta against his weakness of character. He didn't know what her problem was, he couldn't help being this way! Still, she'd apparently emigrated to North Carolina when Ian was in S3, which made him happy.
But people like her hated everyone. The ones he really had issues with were those who seemed to dedicate themselves to targeting him. Some folk in the lower years were cool, like John Legg, who he hung out with every now and then, but most were more like Leighton Foe – horrible bullies who'd beat him up then set it up as though it happened the other way around. He hated them so much, and loved the thought of revenge against them.
Revenge…his eyes lit up when he realised that both it and his dream of being the hero were quite possible, thanks to the machine gun in his hands. Yes - four people were already dead, but he hadn't heard much gunfire yet, so at least some of the others probably didn't have as good a weapon as him. That gave him a clear advantage.
It was an advantage he was determined to capitalise on. He'd tried and failed to kill people already, but next time he would not be…okay, that was false, he clearly would be afraid, likely forever. But next time it wouldn't stop him, that was the thing. He was alone in the trees for now, which meant he could practice sneaking around.
He spent several minutes doing so, crouching and jumping out among the fauna and around the trees. He felt like James Bond or Alex Rider, and he liked it. There was one issue though – he needed to prove that he'd at last shaken his inability to use the gun he coveted so dearly. A person would have been useful for that, though even Ian was smart enough to know that if he failed again, he'd be dead. So on balance, it was better that he were alone.
Only he wasn't, was he? A squirrel lurked on a nearby tree. He crept up to it, being sure to remain unseen before it ran off. This was a good tactic, one he would do well to employ against his next human foe. Easy does it, just a little further! His heart was racing, which he tried to control. It's him or you, don't hold back or it's only you!
Almost closing his eyes so as to leave himself just able to see the target, he squeezed the trigger on his gun as hard as he could, with both hands. Bullets flew at the tree as the creature squeaked its last squeak. Shaking, Ian held the gun close as he nervously approached the body. He prodded it with the gun barrel to make sure that it was dead. The blood and guts covering the bark seemed to confirm that though.
Ian forced his face to show an emotionless stare as he turned away. The pathetic animal had stood no chance against him. Nor would anyone else who dared stand in his way. He'd conquered his fear, proving himself at last able to use his Uzi! Soon, all Caphraig and eventually all Scotland would know and fear the name "Ian Doherty." Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.
Continuing to prowl through the forest, still imagining himself wearing a tuxedo and carrying a martini in his free hand, Ian suddenly felt a lot more confident about his chances in the Program. For as long as he still possessed the gun, he would live. The greatest story ever was about to be written – and he was its star.
"I'm, I'm, dying again! I'm going under!"
No Adam. Don't you die on me, you haven't made your peace!
He was right and he knew it. The time would come when he was allowed to give in, but this was not it. He'd been following the red dot on his GPS tracker for the better part of two hours, though he was scarcely aware of the passage of time. Still it eluded him, though he was certainly getting closer.
As Adam paused to take stock of his surroundings, he realised he was on one side of a small hill – and that given the dot was now dead centre on the device, whoever he was chasing was on the other side. His breathing was fast paced, almost panicked. Was he really about to come face to face with destiny? Care. He had to take care. One wrong move could be fatal, as there were no second chances in this game.
Dropping to the floor, Adam crawled to the top of the hill and looked over, to see who it was he'd been chasing. It was not who he expected. A girl, clad in black and covered in blood, crying. "Jenna!" he said to himself, almost inaudibly.
You have a mission to fulfil. If you would cross paths with her, think hard about how to do so, and do not take unnecessary risks that would jeopardise your true goals. She does not appear to know you're here; it is not too late to turn back.
"I have nowhere to return to, and barely the time or capacity to think anyway." Adam didn't know what he was doing, but thought it best to crawl back down the hill, several dozen metres, so as not to give any indication of having sneaked up on the nearby girl.
As he did so, an unknowing Jenna Widdowson lay awkwardly on the other side of the knoll. She wasn't physically injured as a result of the two attempts on her life, but though she'd have thought it impossible just a few short hours ago, she was traumatised. Her best friend had died in agony in her arms, taking a couple of minutes to do so, and straight after that she'd had to contend with an axe-wielding maniac while escaping Jemi's killer.
Darren Cooper's body sat just a few metres from her. Jenna wanted to get away from it, but her legs felt glued to the ground. So she settled for staring at the mutilated corpse, using it to feed her hatred. He deserved what he'd given her. The only pity she felt for him was that he'd died so quickly as she hacked him apart.
Jenna's legs weren't working properly, but she soon realised her reflexes hadn't dulled a bit as she became aware of a boy charging over the knoll. Before she even realised it, she was on her feet with her katana in her hands ready to strike. Of all the people to chance upon her, it was Adam Lewis!
He was looking worse for wear compared with when she last saw him. He still resembled a slightly taller Harry Potter without the scar and, since S5 thanks to her own venom, the glasses, but he now cut a dishevelled figure. Where had he come from? She could have sworn he wasn't there a moment ago.
Adam didn't even seem to realise Jenna was there, as he almost ran straight into her, being stopped by the sight of her sword. He looked up at it, cowering beneath it as she imposed her physical presence on him, her tears gone as she faced her adversary. Jenna wasn't muscular, but she was known to be strong.
She was ready to strike. Jemi would be avenged, and all who got in her way would contribute, until finally Peter Lucianus himself felt the kiss of her blade. But something was wrong. Adam was lying on the floor, but he had not been cleft in twain as he should have been. He was at Jenna's feet, crying, shaking his head and generally panicking.
"No no no this isn't right it isn't the way it isn't how it was supposed to be! The red dot, it was supposed to guide me into the light, to guide me to destiny! Poor Tom's a-cold, Poor Tom's a-cold! Help me brothers! No, Matthew and Peter are over the hills and far away. Do they await me by the hollow tree?"
Even by his standards this made no sense. Adam was more frenetic than he had been in the classroom. I shouldn't be questioning it, I should be ending it now. His pain and my own. Just another death, no different to any other. He's asking for it anyway. She continued to stand there, and he continued to witter.
"It is the end of all hope, the end of all innocence and everything burns!"
Jenna couldn't believe what she was about to do. She should have been grieving for Jemi and looking for Peter, so why was she wasting her time with this lunatic boy? She didn't know, yet felt she had to know what was wrong. He wasn't subtle and she could read his every move, yet this escaped her. Defeat not being an option for her, perhaps that's what it was.
"Adam. ADAM! It's me, Jenna. What's wrong? Tell me now." His head jerked up, as if he hadn't even known she was there. If it were possible, he was now even more bewildered than before, looking around himself fearfully.
"You! You are not she? She was supposed to be the red dot, in her grace she should stand before me but she doesn't so now what happens? I must follow my destined path but no one will tell me what it is. Might the cake be a lie? I am a murderer, I have done evil deeds but so have we all the question is to what degree are each of us heinous? There sits a body, murder, perhaps, if self defence not so though you will murder yet as everyone knows. Evil begets evil, always has always will!" Adam acknowledged but did not engage Jenna, lost in his own tortured mind. Temporarily distracted from her own concerns, Jenna pursued. Keeping one hand tightly on the sword, she took his chin with the other, forcing him to look at her. The look with which she penetrated his eyes was as sharp as the blade.
"Adam, I might be able to help you, but only if you tell me what the matter is. You are my…oh I can't believe I'm saying this…you are my friend. I like you okay, and you like me. We hate each other very much, but deep down a part of me loves you, and I think you feel the same way. Fuck the denial and the games we play, you know it's true. I've lost one friend already, don't lose yourself to the madness you bastard!" Returning her look, though still giving no clues as to his thoughts, he considered for a moment, before dropping his head and sighing, seemingly realising he had no choice.
"It's… it's Holly. Holly Holly Holly where is she she should be here she isn't! I-I-I-I-I...I don't even know what to say or how, or why you should listen. I am Judas, Betrayer of Friends and I know that surrendering to death will make my passage quicker. But I love her, I think I always have though I don't understand it it's just a word I think I felt one day oh God where is it I can't have lost it oh God WHERE ARE YOU?" Realising he'd shouted seemed to scare Adam even more, as he tried to slow his rapid fire breathing as Jenna looked on, saddened.
So that's what it was. Accidentally causing Zoey to be killed had driven him insane, to think of himself as Judas, and now he'd become obsessed with finding Holly. Everyone knew how he felt about her, which he himself seemed to realise, yet he told her as though it were a secret. He was a pitiable, pathetic creature. Jenna didn't know what she was going to do now, but she knew she didn't have it in her to kill Adam. She bent down to help him up off the ground. As she did so, she had no way of seeing a fist flying towards her face.
Knocked backwards, unhurt but surprised, Jenna no longer needed to help Adam up; he'd quickly scrambled to his feet and was sending his foot quickly between her legs. She fell to the floor in agony, and experienced more straight away as he stamped hard on her wrist – forcing her to let go of the katana, which he quickly took for himself. Jenna could only stare up in disbelief as he circled her predatorily, awaiting a counterattack that never came.
"Adam…what. The fuck? What is this, I don't even..." She didn't know what to say or to do, and suddenly felt very lightheaded.
"I-I'm sorry Jenna. But this is how it has to be. I pursued you thinking you were Holly, but when I saw what you had in your hand I realised I'd found the only thing more important – a blade, the kiss of which will seal a legacy! This is the Blade of the Anti-Clique! Can you see?"
Adam could at last smile again, his improvised plan having worked like a charm. Jenna was a dangerous adversary under any circumstances, but for her, upset had always turned quickly to anger, and he knew exploiting her emotional turbulence was the only way he could defeat her.
"Just so you know, you were right. About everything. As usual you have all the answers! You even got to help me, in the best way you could, by giving me your sword. A most generous gift, and one I will honour when the time comes. I'll return it to you of course, when I'm done with it." What disturbed Jenna most about it all was that he believed his own gibberish; he was so delusional that he wasn't even boasting.
"If we ever see each other again, I'll kill you. Slowly, painfully, I'll tear each individual cell from your body with my bare fucking hands you backstabbing traitorous arse licking cunt!" Tears once again streamed down Jenna's face as several blood vessels in her face came close to bursting.
"I'd be happy to give you the chance to do so, it's what I deserve. It's what Judas deserved, and I am he, remember? But I fear you and I will never meet again. I will be burning in Hell long before you ever get there. My sins cannot be redeemed, nor should they be."
"Don't try and martyr yourself! If you were on fire you wouldn't be worth pissing on." His lament rang hollow with Jenna, but he continued to look on her with apologetic pity. Then, he changed his tone.
"Before I go to my death, you need to know that you'll come back from this. You're a stronger person than I or anyone, and where most in your position would die on the spot you will return better stronger faster than before you must accept that! I cannot survive I will not survive but you, you're the one you're the best and you know it. Never forget it. Let no one else forget it. They will die and you will live. Maybe that's your legacy, to everyone?" Jenna didn't respond. She'd given up completely.
"As the walls fall by my side, faces fly up in the air. It's the people that I left behind, but I'M STILL STANDING! All that I had I gave away; I don't wanna drown under a wave - I wanna survive another day!"
With that, and continuing to babble meaninglessly, Adam gave Jenna one last regretful look before running off. Jenna neither knew nor cared where he'd gone. All she knew was that other than Rem he was her only chance of seeing a friendly face, and he'd betrayed her as badly as Peter. Now in physical as well as psychological pain, and completely unarmed, she felt herself losing consciousness. Jenna could sleep at last. She didn't know that she wanted to ever wake up.