The Bullet List (The Saving Bailey Trilogy, #1) (26 page)

Chapter 33

The Vicodin is a life saver. It is sucking the pain away, like poison from a snake-bite. The only thing it can’t seem to do erase is the memory of Trenton trying to drown me, and Miemah trying to kill me; which is all written on the inside of my skull. But next to it, is my Bullet List.

Clad is snoring in his sleep, and he looks to be at harmony with the world. I untangle myself from his arms and the blankets, careful not to disturb him. Then I slowly put pressure on my injured leg; the pain so bad that it takes me a minute to remember how to breathe again. I limp to a pair of Clad’s boots that are lined up against his wall along with his skate shoes and Converse.
This guy has got more shoes then I do
, I think as I ease my feet into the boots, the insides imprinted with the shape of his foot. I lace them up as best I can with my damp cast and broken fingers.

I open his drawers, the wood of them squealing from being put off their runners. I take a black hoodie and a pair of sweat pants.
This isn’t a fashion show, Bailey,
I think to myself as I roll the pants up to keep them from slipping off.

The analog clock on his dresser tells me it is seven in the morning. The sun has already made its debut and, more importantly, kids are just now arriving to school. I open his door quietly, and step into the hallway, creeping along the wall like a spy.

I slither into his living room, and cross it on tip-toes. Alec must be asleep in her room, because when I open their front door and close it behind me, no one follows. I breathe a sigh of relief, and clunk to my house, my feet almost coming out of the boots with every step I take.

I am calm and rigid on the outside, but my insides are melted like warm M&Ms. It will be a miracle if I can pull this off without anyone trying to stop me, and even more of a miracle if Trenton and Miemah actually show up to school today. Then again, they would look suspicious if they didn’t, seeing as I am dead, and they have no reason to believe otherwise. This could work:
for once the odds could swing in my favor.

Mom is not home, which is strange, considering it is early morning, and she usually doesn’t leave until later. I retrieve the key from the flower-pot, and unlock the door. Angel bounds up to me, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and dripping saliva on Clad’s boot.

“Hey baby, miss me?”

He whimpers, and lays his head on the boot. “I’m sorry, I have something important to do, boy. Mom will take care of you when she gets back.” I gently shake him off Clad’s boot and head for the gun and bullets.

They are in the drawer. The Walther had been patiently waiting for the time to come when it would be put to use, when I would trade in my dolls and crayons for its destructive powers.
This is the only dream I want to be real
, I think as I reach for the Walther and its lead bullets. I hide it in the folds of Clad’s hoodie, the cold metal resting against my bruised stomach.

Angel is pacing around the living room; he can sense that I am about to do something terrible. I pick him up and lock him in the bathroom so he can’t run to anyone and, like Lassie, spill my plan. He scratches at the door and barks at me, upset that I would lock him away. “It’s nothing against you, Angel, I just have to be positive that my plan is…well…bullet proof.”

I take a look around the apartment before I go out the door. I absorb it, the color of the carpet, the paint on the walls, the smell of lemon and Windex, because this is the last time I will ever get to see it once the names on my Bullet List are finally crossed off.

The door clicks behind me, like the closing of a thick novel. I am finishing off my story with a bang!
Justice will be served
. I pass Spencer’s house on the way to school, see Lydia’s little patch of flowers sprinkled with morning dew in the corner of his lawn. I pick one for myself and then carry on. I twist the waxy stem between my fingers, then I bite the stem with my teeth, let the water stored inside of it drip onto my tongue. I taste the petals; they disintegrate in my mouth like toilet paper. I swallow them and they tickle the lining of my throat as they go down.

Now Lydia is inside of me, she is a part of me; maybe her angel can guide me. The sun beats down on my back and heats the leather of Clad’s shoes, making my feet sweat while I walk, and burn as they rub against the too spacious insides. The Vicodin is wearing off in a bad way, and I have to grate my teeth just to keep myself from screaming out in pain.

I pass the retention pond, the scene of all my recent horrors, without so much as a glance. My bag is gone from the sidewalk, probably with Trenton, and now with my locket.

I walk through the student parking lot and have a student open the back door for me.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Yep, welcome,” he says, oblivious that he has just given me the means to kill everyone on my Bullet List.

I shuffle down the gym hallway, the art hallway, and stagger up the main stairs. My hand sliding across the hand-rail brings my thoughts back to a lab we once did in Environmental class, to test the railings for germs. The results were alarming. I wipe my hands on the hoodie and push open the door to the hallway with my elbow so I won’t germ them up anymore.

I pause with the hallway stretched out before me. Soon the bell ending first period will ring, and Miemah will come out of the class that she shares with Trenton. Ashten will get to see me kill Trenton, and she will no longer have to worry about her brother’s gang.
Maybe they won’t make me join,
I think with a grin,
or maybe I will be like an honorary member
.

The bell rings, and bounces around the inside of my head, urging me forward. I robotically take a couple of strides farther down the hall, my body feeling as though it is under somebody else’s control.

The students swarm out of the classrooms like bees from a disrupted beehive. I reach my hand inside the hoodie pocket, and get a grip on the Walther. As soon as I am about to unsheathe it like a sword from the confinement of Clad’s hoodie, Clad himself shows up.

He faces me, and stands his ground, feet planted firmly, his hands on a 9-millimeter Berretta. He aims the Berretta between my eyes, and I stare down its barrel, my soul knocking right into me, and my body becoming mine again. The dream-state that I have held on to up to this point dissipates like a morning fog, a new fear replacing it.

I see Miemah emerge from her class, chatting with Trenton like it is an ordinary day at school. Like they didn’t just torture and murder a teen-age girl yesterday. I flash my eyes to them, then Clad.
Let me kill them
, I plead silently with my eyes.

“Please,” I beg him.

He rests his finger on the trigger, pressing it against my forehead. Then he says, in a voice so stern, and yet soft, I wonder if I really heard him say anything at all, “Bailey,
run!
”

I turn and feel each strand of fiber in the carpet as my boots slide across them. I am wrapped up in a sense of heightened reality. My hair flips with the sudden twist of my body, as I break for the double doors leading to the main staircase, the Walther still securely in my grasp. I push open the door, and as my foot touches the first step, I feel the impulse to turn back around, but I continue on forward. The kids don’t run or scream. All is silent except for the rapid fire of Clad’s gun
Bang! Bang! Bang!