The Fixes (35 page)
Authors: Owen Matthews
People close to Eric are openly staring at him by now. They're pointing and nudging each other and whispering his name.
(And Eric's pretty sure it's not because he showed up in a hoodie.)
Eric ignores them. Reaches the back of the champagne table and ducks underneath. Stretches for the duffel bag, hooks the strap with his fingers. Drags it toward himâ
                     Â
(gently, gently)
                             Â
âthen picks it up and walks, like,
fast
for the nearest exit.
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP â 08/27/16 â 06:20 PM
USERNAME: Anonymous-9
MESSAGE: Haley Keefer. Paige Hammond. Eric Connelly. Three of the four members of the SUICIDE PACK, though in truth none of them have the balls to LEAD the Pack. So who's calling the shots, you ask?
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP â 08/27/16 â 06:21 PM
USERNAME: Anonymous-9
MESSAGE: Well, me.
More gasps behind Eric as he bursts out of the tent. Hundreds of people talking at once, scanning the crowd, looking for the ringleader. Some of them are smiling. They still think this is a joke.
(They don't know how wrong they are.)
Eric's beyond all that now. He has the bag. He needs to get the bag out of here. He's hoping all to hell that the bag has both bombs.
And if it doesn't?
He's running back inside to help Paige find the other.
Eric shoves an old dude aside as he runs for the exit. The red carpet lineup. The parking lot.
He's almost outside when someone blocks his way. A Cap student. Someone big.
It's Callum Fulchrest.
“You
asshole
,” Callum tells Eric. “You and your fucking friends
ruined
me.”
He has his hands raised, fists clenched, like he's ready for a fight. But Eric isn't in the mood.
“You ruined yourself,” he says as he dodges past Callumâ
(feeling the contents of the duffel bag jostle within).
“Next time lay off with the fucking roofies.”
Callum reaches for Eric. Misses.
Eric keeps running.
“That Basquiat was a fake, anyway,” he calls back.
Then he's in the parking lot, and Callum's far behind him.
Eric's thinking about how he could be on a Greyhound bus right now. He could be far away from this fiasco.
He could be anywhere.
Instead he's still in Capilano, probably a wanted fugitive already, carrying a homemade IED through a parking lot full of luxury cars.
(
Live in the moment.
)
(
Just don't die.
)
Eric carries the duffel bag through the parking lot. Scans the darkness for any sign of Jordan. Can't see him.
(Of course, that doesn't mean he isn't out there.)
Callum's still standing at the entrance to the tent. He's calling for security. Eric ignores this. Sooner or later, though, the rent-a-cops are going to intervene. Eric wants to have these bombs defused before that happens.
(Then he can start worrying about escaping.)
He ducks down a row of cars, kneels between a Range Rover and a Porsche Cayenne. Sets the bag to the ground and unzips it and peers in at the contents.
It's a bomb, all right. It looks just like the first one, Jordan's failed attempt. The bomb Eric resuscitated in his basement bedroom. This is both good and bad. It's good, because Jordan hasn't graduated to advanced bomb-making yet. The bomb should be easy to disable.
Where it starts to go bad, though, is the fact that there's only one bomb. And that means there's another one out there.
Eric pulls the lid off the pressure cooker. Looks in at the phone and the blasting cap and the tangle of wires, the gunpowder. Is about to reach in and dismantle the apparatus when he hearsâ
(no,
feels
)
âsomeone behind him.
   Â
He looks back.
It's Jordan,
dressed in freaking
Armani
,
smiling that mischievous smile.
Before Eric can react, Jordan PUNCHES him, hard,
sends him sprawling into the side of the Range Rover.
Jordan picks up the bag. Zips it closed again.
“Tsk, tsk,” he tells Eric. “I had this whole Fix planned out, and you freaking
ruined
it.”
Eric just stares up at him. Eric thinks:
Damn
.
“I'm not going to lie, E, I'm a little disappointed,” Jordan says. “What happened to
together to the end
, huh?”
Eric pulls himself to his knees. Rubs his cheek where Jordan punched him. It hurts.
“But then again, I'm kind of impressed, too,” Jordan says. “Who knew you had all this hero stuff in you, am I right? I'm telling you, the Eric Connelly I met at the start of the summer didn't have
half
your backbone.” He smiles. “You might be my favorite Fix of all, E. Excluding the grand finale, of course.”
Eric stares at him.
(Tries to figure out a way to divest Jordan of that bomb.)
“You're not doing this to fix anything,” he says. “It was never about that. This is just one big ego boost for you, isn't it?”
“On the contrary.” Jordan shakes his head. “This town is a shithole, E. I'm doing the world a favor. And if I happen to get really, really freaking famous in the process?” He shrugs. “Well, shit. I guess that's just a perk of the job.”
“You're a hypocrite. You know that, right? You're just as bad as any of these assholes.”
Jordan's smile doesn't waver. “Think about how far you've come since the first day of summer. Think about all the fun we've had. It's been amazing, right?”
Eric starts to reply. Jordan holds up his hand. “Just answer me. Did you have fun?”
“We freaking
killed
people,” Eric says. “That's supposed to be fun?”
“Psh,” Jordan says. “Listen, E, I'm just saying, I've never steered you wrong before. Just trust me, and this will all work out fine.”
(Just trust me.)
(Just
trust
me.)
(Let me
do
this and then we'll be together forever.)
(You'll thank me when this is over; just
trust me
.)
But Eric's through with that bullshit.
He's friends-off with Jordan.
(Enough of that
trust me
crap.)
He looks up at Jordan. “Where's the second one?”
Jordan laughs. “Oh, is this the part where the evil bad guy is supposed to reveal his evil plan to the helpless hero?”
Eric shrugs. “I mean, whatever.”
“Fine,” Jordan says. “You want to know where the second bomb is, E? I'll show you.”
Jordan pulls his phone from his pocket and types in a number. Presses send. “Here you go,” he tells Eric.
And halfway across the lot,
a GMC Yukon blows the fuck up.
              Â
Between the fireball and the chaos and the hundred car alarms, Eric's thinkingâ
I recognize that truck
.
It's Donovan Connelly's personal Yukon. It's Eric's dad's ride.
“I meant to save that one for your dad,” Jordan says. “You know, while he was in it. Just one final âFuck you' to the senator for all the ways he screwed up your life. But I guess I can't resist showing off for you, E. And he'll get his in the end, anyway, don't worry.”
The lot is insanity now. The Yukon burns bright. What cops remain in the park are pouring in from the perimeter as rich people in tuxedos and gowns spill out of the gala. Everywhere is car alarms, sirens, and screaming. Eric can see Paige at the exit, searching the crowd. He sees Liam, too, coming out of the forest.
“You're totally crazy,” Eric says. “You should be in, like, a mental institution, for real.”
“Poor people are crazy, E,” Jordan says, shouldering the bag. “Rich people are eccentric. That's just facts.”
He turns away from Eric, walks out from between the Porsche and the Range Rover. Starts to walk toward the crowd milling around in front of the gala. And that's about when Eric pushes himself to his feet and launches his body at Jordan's.
You can picture what happens next.
(Cue the ACTION-MOVIE FIGHT SCENE.)
Except we've already established that Eric's not much of a fighter. He's tall, but Jordan's taller. He's strong(ish); Jordan's
built
. Plus, his head is kind of pounding from where Jordan punched him, and oh, also, the bomb. He's hardly in the best fighting shape.
He
does
have the element of surprise, though, and that counts for something. Specifically, it counts for enough to knock Jordan stumbling down to the pavement, where he lands on all fours.
Eric lands on top of him. Police are running past, and security guards, and old rich people in five-figure formal wear. And Eric and Jordan are fighting.
It's not a fair fight. (See above.)
Jordan lets the bomb go and proceeds to kick Eric's ass. Again. Like, Eric gets a few shots in, but mostly it's Jordan with the fists and the kicking and the elbows and the knees. And eventually Jordan gets Eric pinned, and he's straddling Eric's body and raining punches, no mercy, until he's sure Eric's ass has been satisfactorily kicked.
(And Eric, for his part, can just lie there and take the punches and, like,
bleed
.)
And then Jordan lets up. Stands and picks up the Herschel
bag. Looks down at Ericâ
(who's lying there, dazed, thinking he might never get up).
“I'm sorry, E,” Jordan says, and he looks like he truly means it.
“I really thought we'd be famous together.”
It's Eric
, Eric wants to tell Jordan.
My name's freaking Eric
.
But that argument seems inconsequential now,
given the circumstances.
So, Eric lies there.
(Surrounded by chaos.)
              Â
Watches Jordan pick up the bag with the bomb inside and start down the rows of cars toward the gala doors.
                  Â
Looks past Jordan to the crowd at those doors, and if he looks close, can see his dad in the crowd, standing with his driver, looking upset but not at all blown up.
                     Â
But Paige and Liam are over there too, struggling to hold back the crowd, all those terrified gala-goers who are going to go down as collateral damage, and none of them
really
deserve it.
                         Â
They're rich, and shallow, and really kind of awful, but that doesn't mean they deserve to die.
                             Â
Especially not so that Jordan Grant can become the infamous Suicide Pack Killer.
So, you know what's coming.
Redemption.
(Kind of.)
Jordan's cutting between a big Range Rover and a Lexus. Once he gets through, it's a clear path to the gala entrance. Nothing stands in his way.
(The time to act is NOW.)
(This is
the Moment
.)
Eric rolls over. Pulls his phone from his pocket. Scrolls through his contacts to Jordan's first burner phone. Points it at Jordan, like a remote.
(
You don't have to point it like that
.)
Presses send.
Nothing.
Eric scrolls down to the second burner's number. Presses send again.
(And if you're at all acquainted with the rule of three,
you can figure out what happens.)
Jordan keeps walking. The bomb still doesn't go off.
(Wrong number again.)
Eric scrolls to the third burner phone in his contacts. Lifts his head and finds Jordan. He's still between two cars.
“Jordan,”
Eric calls out.
“Drop the bomb.”
Somehow, Jordan hears him. He looks back at Eric. He just smiles, and it kind of looks like he knows what's about to happen.
(
They'll remember my name.
)
          Â
But he doesn't stop walking. He keeps going, daring Eric to do it.
And Eric's running out of time.
So he does it.
BOOM.
KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP â 08/27/16 â 06:26 PM
USERNAME: SuIcIdEpAcK
MESSAGE: So long, Capilano. You're too broken to fix.
(I would like to tell you that Eric saves the day, and nobody dies, and he gets away clean, and even Jordan survives.
I would like to tell you there are no consequences for the things that Eric did. But that would be a cop-out. You wouldn't feel satisfied.
Real life has consequences.)
Eric wakes up in a hospital bed. He spends a few days there, and then he goes to jailâ
(more accurately, a
juvenile detention facility
).
Detectives Dawson and Richards come to see him. They take him to an interview room, and they tell him that Jordan's dead. They tell Eric that with Haley and Jordan dead, and Paige already confessing, he's the only target they have left. They tell Eric he's an easy target, and they're going to take him down.
They tell him the prosecution is going to try him as an adult.
And they tell him his father ain't chipping in a dime for legal representation.
          Â
(
If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you
.)
Basically, they tell Eric . . .
he's fucked.
