The backyard of Jane’s house was barren.
It was an empty plot of grass and nothing else. There were no trees or bushes, only an empty space above the ground. A white-painted and half-rotting fence wrapped around the yard, riddled with holes and cracks in planks that had not been replaced since it was initially built. Mice could sneak through the gaps in the fence, deer could sniff at the holes. It was empty and rotting, but it still existed.
Jane watched the yard with skepticism and concern, her grip tight around the home landline. One of the fence boards was loose, it could be pushed aside for somebody to sneak in. She had tested it herself, measured how much it could move. She had assumed that was the method Joe had used to get into her backyard to attack her, moving the board to sneak in the basement window. It explained why there was no blood from climbing over any part of the fence.
She knew it was still loose. She knew that somebody could get in through it.
The night stayed dark, the yard unmoving. A distant bird cawed off in the trees, the marker of how close her house was to the woods. Cars whirred by in the distance, and a conversation drifted in from the street outside, boisterous chatter that went right by her house without acknowledging it.
Jane still watched the back fence.
Nothing moved behind it, or through it. Nothing gave away that there was something there over the several minutes that she spent watching it. But she knew that something was wrong.
She walked over to the back door and opened it, thumb posed over the phone’s keypad as she shouted.
“I know somebody’s out there!”
Not even crickets replied to her.
“Come out, now! Or I’ll call the police!”
The grass stood still for a moment, and then the plank moved aside as a shape in dark clothing slowly moved through the gap, gliding through the darkness in a display almost effortless and certainly silent. A pale face reflected the light coming off of her house, and the shape stood to full height as she recognized the features watching her.
“How long have you known?” Michael Jay asked.
“I only thought that there was something wrong I couldn’t figure out,” she answered. Her hand was loosening around the phone. “I wasn’t sure who was out there.”
“It’s only me.” Michael shrugged. “I’m not here to kill you.”
She believed him, relaxing even as she asked him another question. “Then why are you here?”
He looked around, skeptical, before settling on her and slipping his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “There’s a connection of some kind. The crux of it is Sarah. I don’t know how, but it is her. You were a secondary target they wanted to use against her, without throwing somebody else directly at her only days after the first attempt.”
“Have you been watching me because you’re trying to stake me out?”
“Yes.”
Jane looked at him with shock and a small amount of fear. “How long?”
“Only the last two weeks,” he said with a shrug. “It’s been on and off. I’ve been primarily looking for signs of other people watching you that might be trying something again.”
She nodded, the point becoming clearer and less bluntly intimidating. “You’re trying to use me to find any other leads.”
“Correct. Nothing has come of that, for better or worse, but you do seem to be in the clear. This was going to be the last night I was keeping tabs on you.”
The phone was loose in her hands, and she leaned back inside to replace it on the wall mount before continuing the conversation. “But I wasn’t the only person involved. Joe didn’t work alone, and you found that out yourself. Why me?”
“Process of elimination puts you as the most vulnerable target.” Something scuttled through the grass on the other side of the fence, and Michael didn’t move save for one hand drifting slightly behind his back. “It’s just a mouse. But you are a more vulnerable target than Sarah. Joe survived his initial attack on you. Nobody saw Matthew after he went for Sarah. That discourages repeat attempts.”
She had always wondered what, exactly, had happened to Matthew. She hadn’t heard more beyond the rumors of him being at the party, and Sarah’s sudden mood shift the day after had been really weird. It made sense that even a self-defense kill would be strange. But to hear the total disinterest in Michael’s voice, not just talking about deaths as a social event of little consequence but as something that he genuinely did not care about at all, not even enough to put a euphemism on it–it was sobering.
Sometimes the coldness in Ravenville was unavoidable.
He looked around one more time, and reached behind him to tilt the board back up. “I’ll leave you now. If you get attacked again, call the police and say that you think you recognized who it was. Send them on the trail early.”
Jane nodded at him, and watched him slink back through the gap in the fence, knocking the board back into place. She didn’t see him leave after that.,
A cold breeze rushed past her face.
Sarah said many things that Jane didn’t agree with, but the more that happened with this strange conspiracy, the more she had to acknowledge that her friends might be on to something.
Twelve hours later, Michael was sitting in a school hallway, watching one of the men’s bathrooms during lunch and pretending to do homework instead of eating. He had already been there for several minutes, and was fully prepared to wait several more, just to ease off a hunch that he had. He trusted Jane to be able to at least cover herself if attacked again, and if no move had been made in the two and a half weeks since Joe’s death, they likely wouldn’t be going for her again. But he also doubted that Brad would give up so easily, regardless of what he and his friends were planning.
So if the stakeout of the possible victim turns out to be fruitless, follow the likely perpetrator.
Brad had remained subtle over the course of his surveillance, sticking to his job, hanging out in fairly obvious places, not being careful. He was on his phone almost every night, and repeatedly Michael had seen him sneak off with one friend or another faster than he could track, but they had not attempted any actual movement of whatever their plan was, in preparation or in action. He had pulled back, been cautious.
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Michael didn’t expect it to last. But he had to remain vigilant. There was a mystery of a scale that he had not seen before, even if it was only the disconnected ambition of a few fools. He was curious to see where it led, how long it would take to strike a dead end. Because it could only strike a dead end, only find empty uselessness that never led anywhere. Whatever the plan was, it would never work. But he was closer to it than he had expected he would ever be with a plan like this, so he might as well see where it went.
The bathroom door swung open, and Brad stepped through, moving with purpose down the hall. He didn’t seem to notice Michael, or acknowledge him, just moving down towards the secretary’s office with purpose.
Michael stood as a coincidence of the date clicked in his memory.
Today was a visiting day.
He packed his homework back into his backpack and began walking after Brad, keeping a far enough distance behind that he didn’t look suspicious while still keeping him in line of sight. Brad looked out through the school’s front window and ducked into the secretary’s office, the offset room walled by glass and metal lattice full of a handful more people than usual. Michael followed him right up to the door, stopping to lean against the glass with an ear aimed inward, just tilted at an angle so that nobody could actually see his face from the inside.
“...wanted to ask about extra credit.”
“Well, I suppose that I could answer some of your questions. We do share an extra credit policy across all schools in Ravenville, or at least between the middle and high schools.” The voice that Brad was speaking to was smooth, with a faintly rhythmic lilt and an undertone of an emotion that Michael could never place, always seeming somewhere between satisfaction and resignation.
“Yeah, it’s just about how, like, sometimes people do stuff outside of school that they can count for extra credit, like it’ll go on your record and look better or it makes up for when the report card isn’t as good. Do you get what I mean?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Extracurriculars are a very valuable part of a well-rounded student. I’m sure some clubs could be put on your transcript for your record.”
“What about, um, outside of school? Stuff I’m doing outside of classes, do those count?” Brad sounded more desperate than curious then, and Michael saw their visitor pause in confusion at the question.
“Well, no. Those are obviously not connected to the school at all, we cannot offer extra credit for things that happen entirely outside of the system. Sanctioned extracurriculars count, but things such as jobs would go on your resume, and not your school transcript.”
“Okay, I got you, I got it. But where do those two things intersect?”
“Typically, they do not. Unless you win some kind of award, or do a particularly noteworthy achievement such as a state sport championship win, resumes and transcripts stay separate.”
Brad nodded, slowly and a little disappointedly. “So there’s no way to get, like, something else I do independently on my transcript for some extra credit? Or does that go on my resume?”
The visitor hummed. “It would usually go on your resume, not your transcript. Something needs to be associated with the school to go on your transcript.”
“I get it, I get it.” Brad waved. “Thanks for the help, mister superintendent. I’ll see you.” He walked out of the office, entirely missing Michael as he did, and Michael didn’t move until somebody else came out of the door a few moments after Brad was gone.
“Oh, my, hello there, Michael.”
Michael looked over, taking in the royal purple suit and muted crimson tie, the high cheekbones and tightly combed hair, the eyes like a half-dulled razor.
“Hello there, Mr. Peel.”
Superintendent Peel, formerly Principal Peel, gave him a gentle smile and crossed his hands behind his back. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”
“Got bored in lunch. I wanted to go for a walk, get a bit of sun outside of the cafeteria.”
“Oh, you should get what sun you can. We’re already into fall, and the days are only getting shorter.” Peel rocked back and forth on his heels, just rhythmically enough that Michael began to catch it before he stopped. “You’re a sophomore now, correct?”
Michael nodded.
“Ah, good, good. I hope high school is treating you well. I haven’t seen your grades, but I also haven’t heard of you getting into any trouble.”
“It’s going well.”
“That’s always good to hear. I do care about all the students in Ravenville, you know. There’s not very many, admittedly, but it allows me to be able to truly focus on ensuring that all of you are able to grow to your full potential.”
Michael didn’t respond beyond a slow nod, and Peel stretched his arms around behind him. “So, do you have an idea of what you want to do with your future?”
The question struck him with a cold pipe to the spine, and Michael felt himself freeze on the spot. It was certainly a loaded question that he had given very little thought to. In theory, he had anything open to him. He could go to college somewhere, get a degree, and see what job he could get with that. But that possibility only remained a theoretical. He would most likely end up somewhere in Ravenville, taking up a position left vacant by a recent death, living in one of the northern apartments or in his parent's house in the event of their untimely death. It was a question with a simple answer that he barely had a choice in.
It was hard to remember that there really was a future in Ravenville. Knowing that his choices were to keep up some mask that barely existed or to end up in a puddle of cooling blood.
“I’m not particularly excited for any of my current job prospects,” he said, flatly.
“Oh, many people aren’t in their sophomore year. It’s entirely okay to not know what you want to do with your future so early on. I only asked out of curiosity.”
Peel’s voice trailed up at the end of the sentence, as if he was waiting for Michael to finish the statement for him, a bait he didn’t fall for. He just stayed where he was, leaning against the door.
It almost felt like a trick question. Peel had to know what Michael thought about Ravenville, what it all really meant to him. It was like he was asking him if he’d like a part in a play for no audience, following a script with a punchline that nobody would get. He had to know.
“No idea.” Michael shrugged.
“And that’s okay. We all take time to make decisions, Michael. I’m sure that whatever you decide, you’ll enjoy it.” Peel smoothed out his suit and straightened his tie. “Please excuse me, now, but I need to finish up the purpose of my visit here. There are a few teachers that I would like to check in on, and see how they are doing. Have a good day, Michael.”
Peel gave him a jaunty salute and strolled off, his stride perfectly paced as he turned the corner. Michael stared after him for a moment longer and then turned the other way, going towards his next class after lunch.
The question had stuck with him. His answer might have even more. He didn’t know what he wanted to do in Ravenville. He didn’t know where to find something truly novel, or how to make anything feel like it really meant something. He didn’t know where to look.
He had no idea at all.