A Whisper To A Scream (22 page)

The cops filed into the gym. A few of them
crowded around the body, taking pictures, while two more of them
questioned some of the students that were still in front of the
stage. Adam had to get out of the gym. He didn’t mix well with the
police.

He took a step forward. His leg was caught on
something. Adam looked down at his feet. Megan White tugged on his
pant leg. “Adam,” she mumbled. “My head.”

Adam bent down, and picked Megan White up by
the shoulder. He avoided looking at her neck. It would be too much
for him. “Where’s Blake?” he asked, scanning the gym. He would be
impossible to find in this madness.

“I don’t know,” Megan’s words slurred.

“Let’s get you outside,” said Adam as he
pushed his way through the crowd of people.

Paramedics arrived on the scene, and Adam
handed Megan over to one of them as they rushed toward the gym. “I
think she has a concussion,” said Adam as the paramedic grabbed
Megan by the shoulder.

When Adam was eight, he’d had a concussion
from getting hit in the head with a snowball that had a rock in it.
One of the first things you’re supposed to look for is the
mispronunciation of words.

Before Adam left, he had to find Ellory. He
rushed back into the gym as more people ran out screaming. He
stopped in the middle of the gym and stifled chanced a look
around.

Some students were still in there, watching
the police examine Katie’s body. Principal Anderson was behind
them, trying to shoo them away. “Let the police do their job.”

Adam glanced at them briefly, realizing
Ellory wasn’t with them. And if she wasn’t with them, where was
she?

Chapter 31: You Are Dead To Me

The gym is a scattered mess of screams,
people running, pushing, crying. Megan White fell from the stage
and passed out. Footsteps pound into the floor, echoing off the
linoleum. Couples run side-by-side to the nearest exit. Teachers
shout at the students trying to calm everyone down. I’m still on
stage gawking at the body. I don’t know what to do and in the back
of my mind I keeping wondering if Adam did this.

I slowly creep toward the body in complete
disarray. This seems like a cruel prank. The girl hanging from the
rope is
not
Katie.

Somebody must have gotten a hold of a
real-looking dummy and thought this would be funny. It’s not funny.
At all. It’s sick, twisted, and disgusting.

The body dangles in front of me from a thick
noose, dressed up in a royal blue taffeta gown. Her blond hair is
curled, but not lively. Instead of silky and shiny, the hair looks
dull and ashy. Her throat is slashed open with the purple, blue,
and pink from her esophagus visible. Dried blood runs down her pale
throat with sporadic splashes of it all over her dress. Whoever did
this even went as far as placing a tiara on her head, and a sign
pinned to the front of her dress that read ‘Queen Bitch.’

Still after seeing all of this, I can’t make
myself believe that this is the real Katie. It doesn’t hit me until
I stumble forward and my skin comes in contact with her skin. Her
ice cold, clammy and lifeless skin. Her dead skin. The girl hanging
by a rope is Katie Halston.

I start shrieking and I don’t stop. I step
backwards slowly. I am still screaming. I’m sick and terrified at
the same time. I don’t even bother to look around for Wren or Adam
because I’m so screwed up inside that I can’t even speak.

I just keep walking backwards. To get away. I
have to get away. I swear I see her head snap up. No Katie. No.
She’s looking at me. She’s wearing a haunting yet vacant look. She
unhooks the noose and lands on the stage. The thud throbs in my
ears. This isn’t real. I’m seeing things. Katie tilts her head to
the side and smiles with an evil glint in her eye. “You’re gonna
die tonight,” she whispers.

Then I step backwards off the front of the
stage and crack my head on the floor before I’m covered by a
blanket of darkness.

****

I’m groggy when I come to. I don’t know where
I am, but I know someone is dragging me by my feet. I hear them
grunting and panting then we stop for a moment and the dragging
continues.

My fingertips graze against blades of grass,
dead grass, and the hardness prickles my skin. My head pulsates and
I feel like someone is hammering nails into my skull. I moan and
try to open my eyes, but I can’t. I’ve been blindfolded.

A slight pinging echoes like a person
flicking the tip of a needle. I wince as the sharp, cold metal
pierces my skin and a fluid injected into me sizzles as it travels
through my veins. I open my mouth to scream, but my voice is
muffled by a piece of sticky masking tape.

Then the injected drug thriving inside of me
takes effect and my entire body goes limp. I’m silly putty. No
bones. I can’t move at all.

I’m hoisted up and my head snaps back as I’m
tied to a hard plastic chair. I’m delirious and petrified. I wish I
could scream. I wish I could move. Most of all I’m wishing that the
person doing this to me isn’t Adam. Please don’t let it be
Adam.

A gut-wrenching blast of pain torpedoes
through me when I’m stabbed in the thigh with a long slender
object. I cry out and choke on my breaths. Another stab in my other
legs and I’m convulsing. My legs are on fire and I feel the life
flowing out of me, dripping down my legs. And I can see the red
puddles on the floor in my mind. I try to swallow, but I can’t. My
throat is closed off, and clogged, coated with thick saliva. I’m in
so much pain that I’d rather be dead than go through anymore.

No one can hear me. I’m a lost cause. A
discarded idea on paper tossed in the garbage can. I have no hope.
Maybe Katie was right. Maybe I am going to die tonight.

Chapter 32: Death Becomes Me

I’ve been fading in and out of consciousness
for I don’t know how long. Minutes. Hours. Days. I’ve been stabbed
two more times once in each leg. That brings the total to four.
I’ve been stabbed four times. Blood drains from me and I feel like
I’m growing weaker by the minute.

I don’t know where my tormentor has gone, but
I can’t hear them moving anymore so I’m relieved. But the pain has
now worked its way all over me. Throbbing, gnawing at me, spreading
like the venom from a black widow.

I wish they’d just kill me already. If I
could speak, I’d beg them to please put me out of my misery.

I still can’t see, but somehow it feels like
room is spinning in circles. I’m zipping around and around. Picking
up speed going faster and faster. I hang my head down. I’m going to
throw-up. Vomit inches up the back of my throat and I swallow. If I
throw-up I will die for sure by exficiation—choking on my own
vomit.

Tears dampen my blindfold before splattering
down my face. What did I do to deserve this? I think of my Mom and
how she’s probably out combing the streets for me. I’ll never get
to say goodbye. I’ll never get to tell her I’m sorry for putting
her through so much grief. I’ll never get to tell her just how much
I love her and how much she means to me. The dull ache that grips
my heart when I think of Mom is worse than any amount of pain my
tormentor can inflict on me.

A door creaks open and I hear them again.
Footsteps scrape against the floor. I tense up and suck in my
breath, preparing myself for another round of agonizing pain when I
hear a deep throaty growl. Then I hear a loud crash like a wrecking
ball slamming into the side of a condemned building. I try to cry
out, but forget my mouth is taped shut.

Hands are on my face, soft hands with a
tender touch. Adam’s hands. He lifts my blindfold and gazes into my
eyes. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His attention shifts
to my legs. “Oh, god.” He unties the bindings on my hands and feet.
“We need to get out of here now,” he says as he rips the masking
tape from my lips.

“Adam.” My voice cracks and quivers.

He slips my arm over his shoulder. “Can you
walk?”

“I don’t know.” He bends down and I try
standing, but my knees buckle underneath my weight. “I can’t,” I
sob. “I can’t walk.”

“We’re out of time.” Behind him my attacker
is stirring. Dressed in all black, a ski mask covering their
face.

In one swift motion, Adam scoops me up into
his arms and takes off, sprinting toward the door. But we don’t
make it. My attacker sweeps a limb by Adam’s feet and he trips. I
fly out of his arms, landing just outside the door of his cottage.
I’m close to home. So close that even though the red brick ranch is
barely visible, I feel like I can reach it.

Adam appears behind me and helps me up, but
it’s too late. A black combat boot appears to my left and kicks me
in the jaw. Then with a stiff arm my attacker clotheslines Adam.
His back smacks against the ground and I hear him cough. I reach
for him and he rolls his head toward me. I clutch the grass trying
to pull myself closer.

“Ellory,” he whispers.

“I love you, Adam!” I scream. My final
goodbye to him. Then I drift off into a river of black.

Chapter 33: Hello

Adam clenched his fists and locked his jaw.
He’d never been so full of fury. He’d never wanted to slaughter
another human being as bad as he wanted to slaughter this one. He
gritted his teeth, exhaled, and tried to get up, but a black combat
boot clamped down on his chest, immobilizing him. “I’m going to rip
your damn throat out!” he growled.

He was breathing heavily, shooting a panicked
glance at Ellory. She was still breathing. Thank God she was still
breathing. The boot dug deeper into his chest, cutting off his air
supply. Adam thrashed violently, exerting all of his energy. “You’d
better kill me now, because as soon as I get the chance, I’m sure
as hell going to kill you,” he threatened.

Shrill laughter rode the tails of the wind.
Shrill feminine laughter. The attacker removed the ski-mask and
their foot and crouched down next to Adam.

Adam’s mouth gaped open. “Miss Miller?” he
gasped.

Miss Miller tucked a piece of her hair behind
her ear and smiled as she caressed Adam’s cheek. “Hello, Adam. My
beautiful baby boy.”

Epilogue: Yelling Out Loud

Every time I dream, I dream that I’m
running—sprinting vigorously through the forest behind my house. My
feet plod into the muddy, well-beaten path as I swat at the thicket
of branches looming above my head. The jagged edges from the
branches cut deep into my flesh and I feel blood leaving my veins
as it drizzles down my forearm.

But I can’t stop. I won’t stop running.
Nothing can slow me down.

The sound of twigs snapping beneath a set of
feet apart from my own keep me going. They’re getting closer and
that pushes me further. It makes me run faster.

An intense pain ripples through my lungs. My
breaths are short—rapid, and a cramp throbs in the side of my
waist. Someone is behind me. Someone is following me and I can’t
help but feel an icy grip of terror when I slow down, allowing them
to get closer.

The person behind me doesn’t speak, but there
is a menacing rasp to their breathing that makes every hair on my
neck stand up. “Stay away from me!” I scream, breathlessly. I cause
further complications to my breathing and now I am gasping for
air.

A white light shimmers through an opening at
the end of the path. Despite the tightening pain in my calves, I
charge forward anxious to plunge into the light. That’s when I feel
a hand on my shoulder and I dig my sharp nails into their fingers,
listen to their painful howl, and feel their hand slip away.

The light is close, so close I can
practically feel the warmth on my cheeks. With every stomp of my
feet, it means I’m that much closer. Closer to freedom.

I don’t make it to the light.

Feet before I cross the barrier of darkness
into the light, the person behind me tackles me. I kick them, but
they pull me backwards, dragging me through the mud. I’m filthy,
covered with dirt, leaves, and moss. I wail as hot tears sting my
cheeks. “Please,” I beg. “Don’t hurt me.”

I blanch, turning my head to the side. I can
feel the heat radiating off their skin as their hands inch closer
to my neck. Shrieks are clogged in my throat. “No,” I manage in a
final protest. I don’t want to die.

In a last ditch effort to save myself, I
raise my free hand, clench my fist, and plow them in the jaw. The
crack combined with a thud sends me crashing back to reality and I
feel a pair of hands resting on my shoulder blades. Mom is shaking
me. “Ellory, sweetheart. It’s me. It’s Mom.” Her voice is
frantic.

I’m stuck in a world of half-delusion,
half-reality. I thrash violently. “No! No! No!” Still the hands
remain on my shoulder.

Mom presses down on me harder and shouts,
“Ellory! Calm down, honey! You’re having another nightmare!”

Rolling over, my lungs expand as I suck in
air. My alarm clock blinks on my nightstand and a wave of relief
washes over me. I sit up slowly, wiping the tears from my eyes.

Mom wraps me in her arms and smooths back my
hair. “Hush now, baby,” she soothes. “It was just a dream and now
you can see you’re in your own bed.”

“You’re right, Mom,” I assure her. “It was
just a dream.” I can’t let her worry. If I don’t lie about the
nightmare, she’ll stay up all night and lose sleep over me.

“Do you want me to stay in here with you?”
she asks, pulling back to examine my face.

“No, Mom. I’m fine. Just go back to bed.”

“Are you sure, honey?”

“Yes, Mom. I’m sure.”

She kisses my forehead and walks out of my
room. I lie back on my bed, in the darkness, staring at the faint
glow from the stars on my ceiling.

There is one thing about my dreams that I can
never tell my mother. I can never tell her that the nightmares I’ve
been having over the last couple weeks…Are real.

Lauren Hammond knew from a young age that she
was born to be a writer. After publishing her first novel in 2007,
she then went on to write several screenplays and a few award
winning poems. She aspires to be a positive role model for young
people who have a pencil, a piece of paper, and a dream. Never give
up on your dreams, you might wake up one day and regret not
pursuing them. She currently serves as the Executive Literary
Manager for ADA Management Group, has twelve novels slated for
release between 2011 & 2012, and resides in Ohio.