The Lottery (28 page)

They entered a small loading area she’d never seen. Another door stood open to their left. “This way to the auditorium,” sang Linda, but Willis pushed forward with an abrupt “I’ll lead,” and they followed him into a hallway lit only by an EXIT sign at the far end.

The hallway seemed larger in the dark, an endless gloomy row of lockers and classroom doors. As they started along it, Sal had the quick blurred impression of stepping into herself and beginning a long walk toward something that waited within. Beside her, Willis picked up the pace. They seemed to be circling the auditorium that sat at the center of the school. Doors led into it from the north, east and west halls. As far as Sal knew, they were always left unlocked, but Willis passed the north entrance without glancing at it and turned down the west hall. Gradually the three gigglers behind them fell silent. Everyone was wearing soft-soled shoes, and the eerie quiet gave Sal the feeling of walking through a shadowy underworld.

Abruptly, Willis stopped at the west door. Knocking three times, he turned to her and said, “What follows herein will be kept secret until you are laid in your grave, on pain of death.” Then he opened the door and she followed
him into a darkness so immense and complete, it seemed like a living presence.

No exit signs, she thought, squinting into the unrelenting dark. Someone must have unscrewed the bulbs.

“Begin,” said Willis, and the auditorium’s darkness was shredded by flashlight beams. Deliberately they crossed Sal’s face, momentarily blinding her. Blinking, she watched as they turned toward the stage, bringing two objects into sharp relief — a wheelchair that sat center stage and above it, a human body cut off at the knees and dangling mid-air, a rope around its neck.

“Brydan!” she screamed, shock gutting her brain.

“Too late,” said Willis, stepping in front of her and cutting off her view. “You disobeyed, and now someone has to pay the price. The bell tolls, the traditions are written in stone, blood is required for a traitor’s — ”

She lunged at him, shoving wildly. The body that dangled center stage seemed to be jerking. Was it still alive, was — ? But Willis had stepped in front of her again, blocking her view of the stage. Suddenly she knew with absolute certainty that he offered her no protection and never had — Willis would always do whatever Shadow required to save his own skin. Whirling, she rammed her way through flailing arms and startled shouts. Then she was out the auditorium door and tearing down the long, gasping hallway. Darkness squeezed in and out of her head. Disoriented, she slammed into a wall and bounced off. Find your feet, find your feet, she thought. Endless doors flashed by, endless locked and empty rooms. Then, finally, she saw it — a dim light that could only be coming from the front-office glass doors. There would be a phone in there. If she reached it, she could call for help. It took a while for someone to strangle
to death in a noose, not like head injuries. Maybe an ambulance could get here in time. All she had to do was smash through the glass. If she put up an arm to protect her face, she would just have to work up enough speed ...

“Sal, no!” Footsteps pounded behind her and Willis grabbed her arm, swinging her around.

“Let me go,” she screamed. “You’re killing him, you’re killing him.”

“Listen to me,” Willis yelled into her ear. “Would you just listen?”

Hands over her face, she sank quivering to the floor. It was over now, the chance was gone — she was sure of it. “Brydan,” she whispered.

“It’s not Brydan.” Breathing heavily, Willis leaned over her. “It’s a dummy and a wheelchair, just a stupid trick. Come back, let them play their infantile game, and then they’ll let you go. The whole thing will be over — half an hour and you’ll be out of there, I swear.”

She stared up at him, stunned with disbelief. “Like you swore to Dusty?” Struggling to her feet, she stood swaying as the hallway looped figure eights around her. “More of Shadow’s honor, is that what you’re offering me?”

“Dusty told you?” Willis hissed, his face contorting.

“Told me what?” She didn’t know whether to move forward or backward. Everywhere had become nowhere, all the same dying place.

Willis paused, his face drawn and wasted in the dim light. “We have to go back,” he said, “or they’ll come looking. They’ll cover the exits. There’s no way out.”

He started down the hall and she followed. Slowly the darkness sorted itself out, taking on the vague outlines of lockers and doors, everything silent and closed into itself.
Without speaking, Willis turned down the west hall, toward the group clustered in the auditorium doorway. A whisper went up and the figures disappeared into the auditorium.

“What’s going to happen?” Sal asked as they approached the door.

“I don’t know,” Willis said, pushed it open, and passed through.

She stepped into the auditorium. For a long moment there was nothing, just a vast room echoing with darkness. Then a single flashlight came on, pinning the dummy that swung center stage. Dim figures shifted beyond the flashlight beam, closing in.

“Now is the time,” a male voice began to chant, “a time for reckoning.”

“Time for reckoning,” other voices repeated, overlapping and out of sync. In the brief pause that followed, someone giggled. It was Linda, Sal would have recognized the vampire queen’s titter in any darkness. Turning toward it, she filled with a rage so dense and complete she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Suddenly she was bent forward and screaming, her whole life pouring between her lips.

“You’re so fake, with your shadows, codes, and stupid games. You couldn’t come up with anything real, you don’t know what real is. I saw my father die, I saw his brains smeared across the car windshield, and you know what? I survived it. You think you can shut me up now with a dummy? You’re the dummies. You’re nothing but shadows, the biggest cowards this school has going. None of you are real. You are all just so full of bullshit.”

She staggered as the fury evaporated, leaving her hollowed and spent. The flashlight cut off, and in the ensuing darkness, no one moved. The game seemed to be over.

“I’m leaving,” she said hoarsely. Groping toward the door, she leaned briefly against the frame.

“I’ll drive her home,” said Willis. “Everyone clean up. We’re finished for tonight.”

This time she led and he followed, even when she miscalculated in the dark and he took her arm to correct her. As the long labyrinth of hallways faded behind her, Sal had the feeling of emerging from some deep interior place. Coming through the loading area, she stepped out into the clear night air — a great darkness above, loaded with stars, and space opening on all sides. Exhaustion rippled the ground beneath her feet as she and Willis walked the several blocks to his car. Neither spoke, though he paced himself continually to her, tensing when she stumbled. Finally they reached the car and she climbed in thankfully, staring out into the trance of passing streets.

“What did you mean when you asked if Dusty told me?” she asked, her mind thick and slow-moving.

Willis’s fingers tapped his hesitation onto the steering wheel.

“Just once,” she said, turning to look at him directly. “Just once in your life give a straight answer, Prez.”

Willis’s eyes flicked toward her, then away. She had a sudden inane desire to undulate her right hand slowly in front of his face.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “The stunt they pulled tonight is a tradition usually reserved for the victim until the end of the year. It’s a scare tactic designed to shut you up, seal your lips. This year they decided to bump it up because you handed out the codes.”

“And Dusty?”

Willis sighed. “Your brother gave Shadow a lot of flack
when he was in grade ten. They pulled that stunt on him too, made him think they’d hung his best friend.”

“Lizard?”

“Shadow got Lizard to drop some acid with Dusty just before, and your brother fell for the game completely. Of course, he figured it out later, but it was enough to crack him. As far as I know he never told anyone, and he stopped harassing Shadow.”

“And me?” asked Sal. “What was this supposed to do to me?”

“What d’you think?” Turning down the back alley, Willis parked at the Hanson’s back gate. “That beer Linda gave you was spiked with enough to send you way over the edge. Lucky they were too far gone to notice you didn’t drink any.”

She sat, cradled by the car’s gentle throb, considering the vast loneliness of the universe. All these years, Dusty had remained best friends with a guy who’d betrayed him, and had never talked about it with anyone. And what about all the years she’d wasted, not trusting the one person in her life who’d turned himself inside out trying to protect her?

“Y’know, Willis,” she said, getting out. “There are no nice jerks.”

Closing the door, she went inside to talk to her brother.

Chapter Nineteen

She stood before the yellow door, tracing the black iron outlines of the number thirty-four. How she remembered this door, the initial resistance as it opened, the quick give midway, and the inevitable slam as she and Kimmie tore through, en route to the water park, the rollerblading rink, or soccer practice. It was the only yellow door in the neighborhood — the Busatto’s entire house glowed with dandelion yellow doors, shutters and eavestroughs. Yellow was the color of spring, starting anew, and forgiveness. Raising her hand, Sal took a breath of the impossible and pressed the buzzer.

Footsteps approached from the inside, pausing as someone peered through the peephole. Five heartbeats went by, deep, underground detonations. Then the door opened onto Kimmie’s face, expressionless, carved in stone. Her eyes were swollen, her makeup smudged — Kimmie had
always been abysmal at applying makeup. Without a word she stood holding the door ajar, grimly staring into Sal’s uncertain gaze. The muffled sounds of late-afternoon TV could be heard from down the hall, laughter erupting as Oprah carried off yet another intimate, up-front, and personal interview.

“Who’s there, Kimmie?” came Ms. Busatto’s voice.

“Just the paperboy,” Kimmie called over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

They stood watching one another, Kimmie’s relentless gaze forcing Sal’s downward. The silence grew interminable, a thick sludge. “I, uh ...” Awkwardly, Sal fished an envelope from her pocket. “I wrote Chris a letter, and I was wondering if you’d give it to him.”

Kimmie glared at the envelope, making no move to take it.

“I didn’t seal it,” Sal said. “You can read it if you want.”

Kimmie let loose a huff of air and began to close the door.

“Wait,” Sal said desperately, jamming a hand between the closing door and the frame. “I’ll read it to you.”

Kimmie hesitated, then opened the door partway and stepped into the gap. Ignoring the pain in her hand, Sal slid out the letter. She’d worked all weekend on it. No one had seen it, not even Dusty.

“Dear Chris.” She had to stop and clear the self-loathing from her throat. “I never should’ve done what I did to you. When I delivered the envelopes, I didn’t know what was in them, I swear. But if I’d known, I don’t know what I would’ve done. You’re so brave, Chris — of all the kids in S.C., you’re the only one who said no. I’m sorry I didn’t
have your guts, but I’m working on it. Maybe someday we’ll all be as brave as you are. Until then, please get better and come back to S.C., because that school needs you more than anyone.”

She lowered the letter and stood watching the toe of her left runner. The sky was an immense weight pressing down. It was all she could do to keep breathing. Then, slowly, incredibly, the letter began to slide through her fingers.

“Okay,” said Kimmie, carefully avoiding Sal’s eyes as she folded the letter into her shirt pocket. “I’ll take this to Chris.”

“D’you want the envelope?”

Kimmie snorted. “I don’t think Chris needs to see another envelope for the rest of his life.”

They stood, looking past each other, watching the wind wrestle with the afternoon.

“Well,” said Kimmie.

“Yeah,” Sal agreed helplessly. “Well, see ya.”

“See ya.”

Sal turned to go, and the yellow door closed behind her. Something had ended, something innocent — two girls ricocheting through summer afternoons with popsicles in their hands, shrieking about boys and water parks — and it had ended because Kimmie still believed in the victim. But that victim, Sal realized as she walked down the front walk, was Kimmie Busatto, not Sal Hanson. In spite of what had happened to her brother, Kimmie continued to obey Shadow Council. She hadn’t told her parents what had really happened to Chris, and in her private thoughts she was holding the lottery victim completely responsible, exactly as Shadow wanted her to.

I’m the obvious scapegoat, Sal realized. It was simply easier to hate someone on the bottom rung than to take on the gods directly. As long as there was someone as tangible as a lottery victim to hate, Shadow Council could get away with anything. Year after year, the selection of another lottery victim would ensure that there was always someone to absorb the fear and hatred the S.C. student body actually felt for Shadow Council.