Chapter Text
Usually, Linda wouldn’t be one for getting her hands dirty, at least not in the literal sense. It’s undignified, and, quite frankly, beneath her. As they say, though, sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette. Or sabotage some dumb snow bunny’s skis (actually, she likes that second metaphor a lot better). The point is, she knew where Mayor Lauter buried that book, and she just had to dig it up and see for herself what all the fuss was about.
The thought of taking the entire thing, of having that absolute, unimaginable power all to herself, was enticing, but she decided it was more trouble than it was worth. Mayor Lauter is a smart man. He knows she was there, and that she witnessed at least some of what happened. If he ever came back for it and found it missing, he might suspect her. She’s convinced she could take him on if it came down to it, but he and his family are a valuable connection to have, and getting rid of the mayor is a little messier than doing the same to some random townie nobody will miss.
Still, she wasn’t about to come back empty-handed. She was the one who saved the day. It was only right she should take a little something for herself. It was like fate—the spell that enticed her the most was the spell that Mayor Lauter would probably miss the least. He might be a lying, cheating politician who will do just about anything to achieve his own ends and only pauses when it affects the very few people he seems to care about (Linda deeply admires that about him), but she doubts he’s going around eating people’s souls. He probably has better things to do with his time.
She took care to tear it out neatly so that it didn’t look like a page had been removed, but rather like that page had never been there in the first place. It’s an ancient magic spell book; it’s not as if it has page numbers and a comprehensive table of contents.
She didn’t steal it. She prefers to think of it as borrowing it on a permanent basis, without permission, but she doesn’t have to ask permission for anything. She finds a way to get what she wants and she takes it. It’s what Gerald’s always loved about her, and damn if she isn’t starting to love it about herself.
It’s not as if she took that page for entirely selfish reasons, either. How could anyone call her selfish when she’s currently subjecting herself to Clivesdale to do what she’s set out to do? She’s breathing their foul air, soaking in their pitiful loser energy. She needed a caffeine boost for the late night she has in store and had to go to their sad, pathetic answer to Beanie’s. And Beanie’s is already sad and pathetic, so one can only imagine how bad their version is! She’s on a mission, and a righteous one at that, that will benefit all of the ingrates in town and outside of it whether they appreciate it or not. Fortunately for them, she doesn’t need anyone’s validation anymore. She’ll do this with or without it.
It’s a beautiful day in Hatchetfield—the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and a gruesome murder just took place in Clivesdale. Solomon stands before a podium on the steps of city hall, Stephanie and Grace right beside him. Despite everything they’ve been through, they stand tall and proud, looking quietly dignified, with just a glint of mischief in their eyes that only he can see. Briefly, he smiles at them before turning to address the crowd gathered up for this impromptu press conference.
Quite literally everyone in town is here, and they’re packed into the blocked-off section of the street like sardines. Tense, yet excited chatter fills the air as people speculate amongst themselves. Periodically, Solomon hears a click and sees a flash of light. The crew for Action News is present, too, their cameras trained on Dan and Donna, who came to cover the event. Stephanie pointedly told them where to stand and Grace made sure they complied. Apparently, the angle they’re at will be the most flattering for Solomon and show off his “good side.”
“People of Hatchetfield,” he starts, “this recent incident, the discovery of one of our own, brutally murdered in a run-down park in Clivesdale, proves what we in Hatchetfield have long known to be true: Clivesdale is a vile, dangerous place, and its residents are not to be trusted. Now, he may not have been a good man, or well-liked, or accomplished, or good-looking…”
He doesn’t have to look back to know that Stephanie and Grace are suppressing smiles. They wrote that line, and they were quite proud of it.
”…but if it happened to him, it could happen to any of you. Keep your eyes peeled, Nighthawks, and if something seems amiss, keep your fingers pointed firmly at those wretched Chemists—not at me, not at each other. To have any hope of surviving this, we must be united. As we often say: fuck Clivesdale!”
Uproarious applause breaks out and continues for a full five minutes—clapping, whooping, hollering and curses towards their rival town all coalesce into one deafening noise. When it finally calms down enough for people to hear one another speak, Solomon finds dozens of microphones jammed in his face as the questions from reporters start rolling in. They’re frantic, cutting each other off and speaking over one another.
”Mayor Lauter,” says one very strange, unnerving reporter that Solomon has never cared for, staring at him with unnaturally wide open, virtually unblinking eyes. Boy Jerry, he calls himself. “Do you think the disappearance and subsequent murder of Gregory Jägerman has any connection to the recent disappearance of Roman Murray? And the string of disappearances involving teens in the Witchwood? Because, uh, I, for one, think that’s a completely logical conclusion to make. The only explanation that makes sense, if you think about it. Why, it just steams my broccoli! We oughta find this guy—or girl! It’s probably a woman, actually—release a swarm of moths into her car and let ‘em eat the upholstery!”
Solomon blinks at him, clearing his throat to buy himself a couple of seconds to compose himself and formulate a response. “At this time, the authorities have very little information on the disappearance of Roman Murray. We have no reason to believe there’s any connection to the Jägerman case, or any of those other ones.”
“Oh, murders, disappearances, who cares?” Officer Bailey cries out. “I’m gonna ask what we all really want to know: how’s Max holding up? Is our boy gonna be able to play?”
Pointing out that football season is over, or that Max will be graduating and, therefore, cannot play for the Nighthawks next year, is not going to win Solomon any favor with this crowd. For the time being, he’s got them firmly on his side, hanging on his every word and ready to do whatever he tells them. Why ruin a good thing? Instead, he simply answers, “I know Max personally. He’s a close friend of both my daughters, practically family as far as I’m concerned. As such, I can tell you that he’s doing the best he can, and he has a strong support system to help him through this difficult time. And I, of course, will be making every resource available to Hatchetfield High’s athletics department, so that we may send a strong message to Clivesdale: you will not best us! We will prevail, no matter what you throw our way! Also, fuck you.”
The crowd breaks out into cheers and applause again. Solomon knows those last couple of sentences are going to make for an excellent sound bite, which will hopefully play on every local news network for a week straight, further solidifying his public image as a strong leader. The high school football obsession and the anti-Clivesdale sentiment are, respectively, the most effective distraction and scapegoat that he has in his arsenal, so it’s strategically important to stoke the flames and encourage them at every opportunity he gets—and how often does one fall right into his lap as this one has?
Solomon isn’t the only one reaping the benefits of that piece of shit biting the dust. Later that day, Stephanie watches with glee as Max shoves some nameless nerd in the hallway, causing him to drop all of his books as he topples to the cold tile floor and lands on his arm at an unnatural angle. The kid wears suspenders and thick, black glasses, not unlike Pete used to wear.
”If you fight back, it’s bullying,” she says. “His dad literally just died, have some respect.”
“I—I think my arm might be broken,” he says weakly.
”So?” Ruth says, so loudly and in such a high-pitched, shrill tone that the dweeb winces. “Why are you crying to us about it? We have other shit to worry about. God!”
Brenda looks down at him with a sneer. “Sounds like a you problem! Don’t bother Ruth with it, she’s been through a lot. The disrespect! Somebody wasn’t paying attention at the anti-bullying assembly.”
”See?” says Grace. “This is why nobody’s allowed to walk in our hallway. It’s a safety issue! This wouldn’t have happened if you followed the rules. Detention!”
She whips out her pad of pink detention slips and hastily scribbles something onto one before tearing it off and tossing it at the nerd. It floats down and lands on him gently, like a butterfly. It’s sort of beautiful in a way.
”And if I hear you were late or skipped out on detention ‘cause you went to the emergency room, it’s double detention. There’s no excuse for tardiness or absence!”
”For the last time, what have I told people about stealing my signature look?” Pete says, crouching down to snap the guy’s suspenders really hard. He does it five times on each side. The dweeb winces again, and when Pete moves over to the side with the possibly broken arm, he tries and fails to suppress a whine. “Ha! Enjoy the tenderized titties, bitch.”
”How ‘bout we tenderize something else while we’re at it?” says Max. He locks eyes with Pete, they grin mischievously at one another, and Peter holds the guy down while Max issues a flick-it ticket.
Richie strolls up, two Beanie’s cups in hand. One of them has the words “stay strong, Maxie” scrawled across it in Zoey’s messy approximation of cursive, followed by a little heart. He hands it to Max.
”Here, it’s from Zo,” he says. He and Max smile gently at each other, and Max takes the cup in one hand, still holding the nerd down with the other.
”She made me an almond milk latté, but I don’t know. Caffeine makes me jittery. Hey, this guy looks like he needs a pick-me-up!” He removes the lid and begins to tilt the cup. The guy’s eyes go wide.
”No, please!” he begs pathetically. “I’m mildly allergic to almonds! My skin’ll get all red and blotchy and break out in hives!”
”How the fuck is that our problem? You don’t see me complaining about my overactive sweat glands.”
”Yeah!” Ruth adds. “Some of us are allergic to deodorant and break out in hives when we try to wear it, then scratch at ‘em and make ‘em pop and get itchy, pussy pits! Your problems don’t seem so bad now, do they, you privileged fuck?”
Brenda looks at Ruth with a soft, fond, smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Richie dumps the lukewarm, probably spit-laced coffee all over the guy’s face. He coughs, sputters and spits, desperately trying to wipe his face with the one hand he can still move.
When Miss Mulberry stumbles across the scene, ceasing her speed-walking and skidding to a halt, the nerd shows no sign of relief. By now, everyone knows that the teachers aren’t going to do shit, especially now that their group consists of a star quarterback (a grieving star quarterback), a star cheerleader, the mayor’s kids and a Honey Queen (and the very first one to stay loyal to Hatchetfield at that). They plie her with some story about how the guy tripped and fell, spilling his coffee all over himself while he was making cruel, insensitive jokes about Max’s dad dying. Max really sells it, too, employing a sad, pathetic, kicked puppy sort of look—quivering, pouty lips, sad, downcast, glossy eyes, balling his fists and tensing his face as if he’s trying to keep it together and hold back tears.
He’s really honed his skills since Ruth initially taught him to cry on command, with much practice and help from her and Zo. Stephanie thinks he could probably be a movie or TV star if he wanted to. He’s got the chops, he’s ridiculously conventionally attractive and he likes being awful to people. He and Ruth could fly off to LA and be an iconic acting duo. It wouldn’t be hard to land either of them roles; Stephanie could easily make them trend, and Zoey says that trending is how you get big roles now.
She doesn’t think either of them would take the opportunity, nor would anyone else in their group. Hatchetfield is their home turf, where they’re most comfortable, where they know they have power. Stephanie wonders if they’ve seen too much here to truly belong anywhere else. Besides that, she somehow can’t shake the feeling that their work isn’t done here. She can’t name it, but something holds them here, waiting to call them back if they wander too far. She suspects that it’s not entirely unlike what keeps her father here.
Long ago, Stephanie dreamed of one day getting the hell out of here and never looking back, a dream practically ubiquitous amongst the angsty teenagers in this town. Now, she can’t picture leaving. Now, she doesn’t even want to leave her father’s house.
He offered. He told Stephanie and Grace that he could easily use his connections to get them into his alma mater, that he’d happily rent an apartment for them. He looked a little sad as he did so. Stephanie knew that, secretly, he didn’t want them to go. Grace looked at Stephanie, as if for guidance. She thought it over, then replied that they should stay in Hatchetfield, lest they risk making the impression that Stephanie and Grace are snobby elitists who think they’re too good for their humble hometown. It’s never too early to start thinking about the next election, after all.
Solomon beamed with pride and seemed relieved, then asked if they’d like their own apartment here in town. Stephanie replied that staying here in the Lauter mansion would make them seem more down-to-earth. From her many hours of Twitter scrolling, she’d learned that a lot of young people these days are living with their parents well into their twenties out of financial necessity. Moving out right after graduation just isn’t what people do anymore. Doing the same might help sell the mayoral family’s public image as down-to-earth and relatable. A family just like any other hard-working family in Hatchetfield, who just so happen to live in a mansion and use their power to manipulate the townspeople to their own advantage like puppets on a string.
They might not be leaving town, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t further their education. Hatchetfield Community College is right here, and rumor has it the school has greatly improved since their worst professor ran into some legal issues and took a forced sabbatical. Grace’s decision to go was hardly a surprise; she’s always adored learning, as well as school itself and the structure that comes with it. She loves taking meticulously organized, detailed notes with the most beautiful handwriting and the most elaborate highlighter color coding known to man. She relishes taking tests, knowing that her hours upon hours of studying flash cards will result in a perfect grade. Stephanie’s sure she’ll thrive there.
As for herself, she desperately needs a break from school—she’d like to go to college eventually, she thinks, but she’s burnt the fuck out and needs a gap year, minimum, before she can resume the grind of constant studying and desperately trying to keep up her grades. Solomon saw no problem with that as long as she was doing something with her life, so he pulled some strings to land her a position as social media manager for city hall. Privately, he told her that it’s technically Miss Tessburger’s responsibility, but she’s really incompetent at it. Stephanie grinned from ear to ear and rode that high for days. It left her wondering: is nepotism really so wrong? If it’s the reason that she, by far the most perfect candidate for this role, landed it, then it clearly works. It is a bummer for the dozens of applicants whose resumes went straight into the trash on the HR rep’s computer, but that’s not Stephanie’s problem. Sucks to be them.
Grace, of course, was supportive and delighted at the possibilities for abusing Steph’s power in her newfound position, but a little sad that they wouldn’t get to be study buddies. Fortunately, she’ll still have one—Pete’s going to go to HCC, too. He also once had aspirations of blowing this town, and a full-ride scholarship to a faraway prestigious university in a big, glamorous city was supposed to be his ticket out of here. But full-ride scholarships are actually extremely rare and difficult to obtain, and, as he puts it, his dad sells women’s shoes. His parents can’t really help him, and he doesn’t want to bury himself in debt.
It’s kind of a bullshit excuse. They easily could have helped him sabotage the competition for any scholarship and, failing that, Solomon might have even agreed to help him pay his way if Stephanie and Grace pitched it to him as somehow advantageous. He’s staying because he wants to be here, with them, with her, and Stephanie smiles whenever she thinks about it.
When he first told the gang about his plans to stay, just nonchalantly mentioning it over lunch, everyone’s shoulders seemed to relax a little. They all voiced their relief that he’d still be around and how much they would have missed him if he left. By that point, they’d all known they’d be staying for a while (after all, they already agreed they’d work together to take over Hatchetfield the day they decided Ruth would run for Honey Queen, which kind of requires them to be here) and voicing it was basically just a formality, but it was still nice to hear it confirmed. Max, however, got up and went around to the other side of the table to throw his arms around him and pull him into a crushing hug. Apparently, despite everything, he hadn’t quite been able to shake all his worries about his friends leaving him behind. Steph and Richie exchanged half-exasperated, half-amused looks and went back to eating. Max stayed like that for the rest of the lunch period, only prying himself off when the bell rang.
While Peter tried to figure out how to eat his questionable grilled “cheese” (it’s longtime a staple of Hatchetfield High’s cafeteria, and they list it on the menu with the quotation marks and everything) with Max clinging to him, Brenda announced that she, too, would be staying in town. She was second-guessing her career choice and didn’t want to commit to anything if she wasn’t sure, so she decided to keep working and building some savings while she figured everything out. She’d started waitressing part-time at that diner downtown, owned by that weird tall, lanky, greasy-looking man with the unsettling smile who dresses in all denim and makes his employees do the same, and he was more than happy to let her pick up more hours after graduation. Despite the extremely off vibes, he doesn’t sound like a terrible boss. He doesn’t care if his employees show up late, slack off, or snap back at rude customers. He doesn’t seem to care about customers, period, but for whatever reason, a handful of loyal regulars always keep coming back for the god-awful coffee (even worse than Beanie’s) and stale, flavorless pie.
She mentioned, staring down at her untouched food and avoiding everyone’s gaze with the most self-conscious demeanor Stephanie had ever seen from her, that she’d applied to a few schools despite not really wanting to go (her parents insisted), but had gotten rejected, even from her safeties. Ruth, of course, was quick to reassure her that she was smart and talented and they were all idiots for turning her away.
”Brenda,” said Max, “good grades aren’t everything! Getting into some dumb school doesn’t define your worth either. We’ve seen what you can do! We know you’re smart, and you know you’re smart! And that’s the most important thing! Right guys?” Everyone mumbled enthusiastically in agreement.
She smiled, still looking a little dejected. ”Thanks, guys,” she said. “I would’ve liked to keep cheering, though. I liked being captain. Kinda made me feel like somebody, and I’ll really miss putting together routines.”
That’s how it was decided that she’d be the choreographer for the Hatchetfield Community Players’ upcoming season. They had plenty of time to figure out what to do about the current choreographer, and from the way Grace was snapping her fingers, it seemed she already had some ideas.
Naturally, Ruth was ecstatic at the thought of spending even more time with her girlfriend.
”This is really gonna be my year! Look out, Hatchetfield, here I come. And I mean that in both ways!” she said.
By the end of the day, they’ve tripped three more people in the hallway, stuffed two more into lockers, and Brad Callahan has been left writhing in agony on the floor after yet another flick-it ticket, all without so much as a warning from a teacher. Stephanie smiles to herself.
All in a day’s work, she thinks.
She has the best friends in the world, a lot going for her now and a lot to look forward to in the future. To think that all this is because of one night spent back at the dilapidated old Waylon place with the school weeb, possibly the horniest person alive, the resident repressed christian girl and the school bully who’d been terrorizing the halls for years, who are all now so much more than that to her. The universe works in mysterious ways, sometimes involving structurally unstable houses with rotting floorboards, sometimes involving ugly, annoying eldritch Gods who get hilariously worked up when you dunk on them.
Max doesn’t know how to feel about the whole thing with his dad. He sucked. Usually, he was nothing but awful to Max. He’s barely been around for a long time, anyway, and Max has been way better off for it. He has a home with Richie and Zo, and his friends give him all the love and support he could ever ask for. He doesn’t need his dad, and he hasn’t for a long time.
He sort of did, though. He’s never told his friends—he didn’t want to make them feel like they weren’t enough for him—but secretly, stupidly, naively, he never stopped wanting his dad to be proud of him. He sometimes wondered if he might have kind of come around the way Steph’s dad did. Unsurprisingly, there was no such luck on that front, but that didn’t stop Max from hoping just a little.
Max misses him. He’s glad he’s gone. He wants him back more than anything. He never wants to see him again, and he’s glad he won’t. He knows he can cry in front of his friends, but not over this. He has to wait until the middle of the night, when Richie’s fast asleep, and let them fall silently, careful not to shake or sob. Sometimes, he’s overcome with anger. It’s not fucking fair. His dad just had to be a jerk to him for most of his life, then disappear and turn up dead, and his feelings over it are so confusing and contradictory and hard to process that he can’t handle them, and he didn’t do anything to deserve this. His dad could have just not been an asshole and not fucked off and died; lots of people get non-asshole dads who don’t fuck off and die. Why not him? Taking it out on helpless nerds and losers who dare walk their hallways at school brings him some relief, but it’s not enough.
School’s been out for a couple of hours, and the gang is gathered up in the living room. He sits on the couch next to Richie, clinging to him, burying his face in his shoulder and taking in his familiar, musky scent as he tries not to think about anything. There’s an occasional clicking sound as Grace scrolls through some streaming service trying to find a movie for them to watch. That cheers him up ever so slightly, even if the joy feels hollow; it’s been a while since they took it, but it’s still always fun to watch something on Paul’s stolen TV. He sort of raises his head and looks around the room to see what everyone’s doing, and catches Grace looking at him with a concerned frown. She must know something’s wrong. Maybe he’s not hiding it as good as he thinks he is. She returns to her scrolling, looking at the screen with renewed focus and intensity.
He feels a hand on his shoulder, and looks over to see that Pete’s taken a seat next to him. Steph, sitting to Pete’s right, leans over to look at Max. She gives him an understanding smile, and presents her phone screen to him.
”Hey,” she says softly, “check it out. I found Brad Callahan on Twitter and everyone’s having fuckin’ field day.” She scoffs. “He thought not using his real name or giving away any identifying information would stop me. Dumbass.”
@TheRealOfficerBailey tweeted: Looser! Go play for Cl*vsdale!
@inahurrytopartydown tweeted: my cousin who works for the school (won’t say who, don’t wanna doxx him obvs) talks mad shit about you on Thirsty Thursday. Even he thinks you’re a dipshit!
@secondlauterdaughter tweeted: You know what everyone says about you? They say you’re a total freak who’s just a less hot version of Max!
@s.lauter replied: real
“I mean, not Officer Bailey’s best work, but I can’t blame him. He’s had his hands full.”
”Ha,” says Max, doing his best to smile and drum up some enthusiasm. It’s getting harder and harder. “Yeah.”
“Ugh,” says Brenda. “Never liked him, even when he was cool. He should trade that stupid beanie for a ski mask so nobody has to look at his face.”
”Right? That’s what I’m sayin’!” says Ruth.
Suddenly, Max feels a warm, damp hand wrapping around his wrist and clasping it tightly. He sees Richie peering over at him with his face contorted into a sort of helpless grimace, as if he knows something is wrong, and has some idea what’s wrong, but has no idea what to say or how to help.
Looking around at all of his friends, he realizes it’s the same with all of them. They know. Of course they do. They were probably just avoiding it, either waiting for him to bring it up himself, trying not to poke around in that wound before he was ready, or unable to deal with it themselves. It’s unlike anything they’ve faced before. He supposes the only person who might understand is Linda, but it’s not like they’re close and he’s not sure how he’d even approach it. Just find where she lives, show up at her mansion and ask if she wants to form a club for people orphaned by shitty dads?
He might not be able to do that, but his friends are right here, and he really should talk to them. What are friends for?
”Guys, can I be honest?” he says. They all look towards him with uncharacteristic somberness. “You know how sometimes I lie and say I’m sad about my dad to help us get away with pounding nerds at school?” They all nod. His eyes begin to water. “Well, sometimes…” He chokes back a sob, and his voice breaks. “Sometimes I feel sad about it, like, for real. I-I know he wasn’t good to me, and I’m probably better off, but…I dunno…it’s complicated.”
”Max,” Stephanie says, reaching over Pete to place a hand on his arm and smiling at him sadly. He feels Pete’s grip tightening on his shoulder and Richie’s free hand rubbing his back. “We know. You’re a lot better at fake crying than you are at fake not-crying. Well…it’s not even that you’re not convincing, but we know you. Of course we noticed something was up. I’ll be honest, I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve just been fully avoiding talking about it ‘cause I have no fucking clue how.”
”Yeah,” Pete admits sheepishly, drawing out the word.
Everyone else nods and murmurs in agreement, their guilt and distress plain on their faces.
Max chuckles. “‘S alright,” he says with a sniffle. “I don’t, either. I feel a little better, now that I told you guys. I should’ve just told you right away.”
“Well, as we’ve established, it’s not easy to talk about,” says Pete gently. “But we got you. You know that.”
Max smiles. “Yeah, I do,” he says. He sniffles again.
Grace finally chooses a movie and hits play. When he hears the opening notes, he finally stops crying and wipes away the last of his tears with the back of his hand.
”We know it’s your favorite,” says Steph. “Again, nothing gets past us.”
Halfway through “Dancing Queen”, the lock to the front door clicks and Zoey enters, her necktie undone and her white blouse littered with coffee stains. She looks as exhausted and irritated as she always does when she gets off work, but her expression softens as soon as she sees them.
”Don’t tell me you guys are watching Mamma Mia without me,” she says with a pout, flopping down onto the couch. “I do love that you’re watching a musical on Paul’s TV, though. Iconic.”
“Ha,” says Richie. “I didn’t even think of that. Sucks to suck, Paul!”
They all have a good laugh at that, and the dark cloud finally starts to lift, if only a little. Max settles back onto Richie’s shoulder, and it isn’t long before his eyelids grow heavy. There’s a specific type of drained he’s only ever felt on the rare occasion that he’s allowed himself to really bawl his eyes out, and it’s kicking his ass right now. It feels like he has no more tears left to cry, and no more sadness left to feel. He knows it’s not true; both of those things will come again, probably soon, but so will happiness, and in both cases, his friends will be here for him.
”I wonder if it would have worked,” he says, “if I tried to do what Linda did. If my dad was there, I mean. Not that he would have shown up, but, like, hyper-thetically. I guess I’ll never know.” He almost wishes he had. At the very least, he would have had some control over it. Maybe it would have given him some closure like it seemed to give Linda.
”I wonder what happened to him,” says Pete. Brenda looks at Grace and raises an eyebrow inquisitively. Soon, everyone’s eyes are on her, not judgmental or accusing, just curious. She raises her hands defensively.
”Hey! You guys should know by now I would never be that sloppy. I know how to clean up a crime scene, and besides, Lauters don’t do their own dirty work. Yeah, I drove him out of town, but I’ll remind you all that that was a group effort and—” Everyone except for Max shoots her severe looks. She clasps her hands over her mouth and looks at him with wide-eyed shame.
”I…I..Max…” she stammers. “…We were only trying to help you. If we’d known that would lead to this…well, we probably still would have done it…but if we’d known it would lead to this and that this would be so hard for you…”
“I hope you can forgive us,” says Brenda, “‘cause things are going to be really fucking awkward at school otherwise. I mean, no pressure or anything.”
Max shrugs, and everyone’s relief is palpable when he breaks out into a goofy, easygoing grin. This time, he’s not faking.
”Hey, don’t sweat it,” he says. “Who doesn’t have a few skele’uhns in their closet?”
That provides another much needed laugh.
”Hey,” says Steph with delight, doing finger guns at him. “The skele’uhns thing! That’s my favorite!”
”I know,” he says. “For real, though, you guys are the only people in the world I care about. I think…I think I’d forgive you, even if you did do it. No, I know I would. And I know Clivesdale is horrible…”
”Fuck Clivesdale!” everyone shouts simultaneously.
”Damn right, fuckin’ Chemists,” says Max. “But we don’t know who did it, or why. Maybe it woulda happened even if he was still here in Hatchetfield.”
”I mean, possibly, but don’t tell the voters that,” says Stephanie.
“Yeah, seriously, don’t,” says Grace, looking deathly serious.
“Wonder who it was,” says Pete quietly.
Steph shrugs. “Well, Hatchtfield’s finest are on the case,” she says. “Officer Bailey’s actually leading the investigation. He’s technically supposed to collaborate with Clivesdale PD since it happened in their jurisdiction. In other words, we’ll never know.”
Linda had never met tonight’s target, but from what she’d gleaned, he was essentially a much cruder, more boorish version of Roman. Through meticulous stalking (which she had to do herself rather than hiring a private investigator to avoid suspicion), she’d learned that he’d been living in this disgusting cesspit of a town for quite some time, having apparently been blackmailed into leaving Hatchetfield.
She’d just lured him to a park on the edge of town, and they stood in the dewy, overgrown grass, shielded from any possible witnesses by a thick of trees. It was so dark out that she could barely see their outline. The air was crisp and cool, but not intolerably so. If anything, it was pleasant. Electrifying. The jolt that it sent through her body was only a precursor to the one she was sure to feel afterwards.
With a devilish smile, she reached into the zip-up pocket on the inside of her chic new leather jacket. Not long after Roman had been officially presumed dead, once all of the pesky paperwork had been sorted and his money became her money (shockingly, despite all of his threats over the years, he hadn’t disinherited her), she decided a new, more badass aesthetic was in order. True, nothing was stopping her from buying it before, but she wanted to use that money. She chose this one specifically for that pocket, needing a place to keep that page safely tucked away while still always keeping it on her person, just in case. It’s a lot more lightweight than her shovel or her pepper spray, and much more effective.
He tilted his head inquisitively as she took out the page and held it up like the hard-won trophy it was. With a stupid, sleazy grin and leering eyes, he asked, “What are you doing?” Disgusting. As if. She considered toying with him and getting his hopes up. It might be fun to play with her prey just a little bit. No, she decided, she would end the charade and get down to business.
”Invoking the names,” Linda replied. She threw her head back and cackled harder than she’d ever cackled in her life. It racked her entire body, and it was almost as cathartic as killing Roman. It washed away years and years of sadness, of working herself to the bone in pursuit of approval she was never going to get. It made her feel so light, so giddy. Her head was swimming almost like it does when she and Gerald indulge in one too many glasses of wine, but her mind was sharp and her thoughts crystal clear. In fact, she’d never felt more lucid, or more in control.
“‘Invoking the names, sure, whatever,” the man replied. He then muttered under his breath, “God, I always manage to find the weirdos, don’t I?” As dismissive and unshaken as he tried to sound, Linda could tell by the way he slowly backed away that he’d begun to sense he might be in actual danger.
”This spell lets me devour your soul,” she explained. “You see, the souls of the dads make me strong. The worthless ones, anyway.”
”What the hell are you talking about? Where…where’s that guitar coming from?” He raised his voice to a scream. “Whatever lousy street musician is playing that, stop and help me! Call the cops or something! This woman’s nuts!” It was pointless. Nobody would hear his calls for help, just like nobody other than him and Linda would hear those electric guitar chords. Just like nobody would hear his agonized dying shrieks.
The music was Pokey’s doing, but she wasn’t going to waste her breath explaining that. He would meet Pokey, along with the other Lords, soon enough. Instead, she smiled in mocking faux-pity and shook her head.
“You think I’d stop with him?” she sang out. Initially, she wasn’t a fan of the musical angle, but Pokey insisted they at least workshop it, and he’s not one for changing his mind. She had to admit that it was beginning to grow on her; she loved the drama and the pageantry of it all, and it only made her victims all the more terrified in their final moments, in turn making the killing blow that much more satisfying. Wiggly wants his wrath, and she delivers without fail.
Max’s worthless father (she never bothered to learn the creep’s name) continued to back away, but she kept pace, closing in on him. As he stumbled over himself and stammered, she moved smoothly and gracefully, like the purebred Bengal cat she had for two weeks before realizing how high-maintenance it was and dropping it at the Hatchetfield kennel. (The outcry that caused was frankly ridiculous. As if none of those protestors ever regretted buying something and ended up donating it! Hypocrites.)
”With who? What are you talking about?”
”You think all of that time was waste, I spent in chase, after his approval?”
“What the hell are you on about, lady?”
She cackled again, much colder and more controlled than the last one. ”But you never really knew, that someday soon you’d meet your end, no fake amends suffice to save you.”
“You…you think this scares me?” It obviously did. His false bravado was so transparent that it was pitiful. Linda had begun to find it funny in a twisted sort of way, how quickly these types always lost their courage when faced with someone over whom they didn’t hold the power.
“I don’t care if you’re impressed,” she sang, “with the mighty power I now possess!” She held the page with one hand and raised the other with a flourish, preparing to bring it down like a judge’s gavel and carry out her sentence. “Shitty dads must die! Shitty dads must die! Every shitty dad, watch as I destroy your kind. Linda’s on the rise! She doesn’t need a prize! Every shitty dad, watch me score, rewrite the lore of the kids you minimized.”
”Oh, fuck this, I’m getting outta here,” he said. He stumbled again, then tripped, but scrambled to pick himself up and began to run away. Linda stayed put, calm, serene and self-assured. He would never run far enough, or fast enough, and he would never get away in time.
A chorus of disembodied voices began to sing in the background, also Pokey’s doing. Linda was too focused on the task at hand to pay their words too much attention. Something about not being a loser, breaking the rules and being the ruler of their world (or is it their worth? She wasn’t sure). To give credit where credit is due, it was quite fitting.
”Who will pray for you?” she called after him. It was a rhetorical question. She knew nobody would. How pathetic. He’d invested so much time in making Max feel worthless, like nothing he ever did would be good enough to make him matter, yet he was the one for whom nobody would shed a tear. The only ones who would feel any sort of emotion over it were five unimaginably horrifying beings, who would soon be delighted to receive a new plaything. “When your body’s gone? This is the consequence for what you’ve done!”
She, the judge, jury and executioner, finally banged the gavel, forcefully bringing down her hand as her hapless prisoner abruptly became a lifeless husk, his now vacant eyes eternally open as his remains collapsed to the ground. With a satisfied smile, Linda tucked the page back into her pocket and walked over to admire her work.
She surveyed her reflection in a cracked compact mirror and noted that her skin looked brighter, plumper and more youthful, as it always did after these encounters. Her gossipy brunch friends had been beside themselves with envy, barely masking their bitterness as they demanded to know her secret and told her that it’s like she’s aging backwards. It wasn’t the reason she did this, but it was a nice bonus. Making people feel jealous and inadequate is always a good time.
”Run, dads,” she whispered to no one in particular. “Run.”
Another crisp, cool, sunny morning finds the gang sitting in their usual spot on the front steps of the school before homeroom starts. Max’s posture is relaxed, a mischievous smirk on his face as he keeps watch for any nerds who dare cross their path. Richie has an arm slung loosely around him, and in his other hand he holds an almond milk latté that he does not intend to drink. In fact, he made sure Zoey hawked a generous wad of spit into it. Steph sits shoulder to shoulder with Pete and only picks up her phone occasionally, forgoing her usual habit of constantly, ferociously tweeting to only do so when she really needs to clown on somebody. When the rest of the group asked what was up, she said she just felt like vibing and enjoying their presence. She nurses a lollipop, part of a noble effort to finally quit her smoking habit. The combined power of Pete and Grace’s lectures, Ruth and Richie’s incessant pestering, Max’s sad pouty face and Brenda’s insistence that it makes her look hot and edgy, but it still smells fucking gross finally got her to cave and at least try.
Ruth leans up against Brenda, one leg stuck out to trip any nerds who walk by. Unluckily for them, they’re all going to have to pass through at some point if they want to get to class. Grace double checked to make sure the side entrance was locked, leaving them no other option. Max has been doing a lot better lately, breaking out into his signature goofy grin more often, laughing more easily, talking about them more openly about his dad again, whether it’s a bad memory or the pitifully rare good one. She wanted to get his day off to a strong start and keep the ball rolling, and she figured an ample supply of nerds to pummel was a good start. Well, it’s not just important for him; this morning ritual of theirs is almost as essential to having a good day as a healthy, balanced breakfast or a nice, hot cup of coffee.
With the freedom of graduation drawing ever closer, a few of these losers have become a little too emboldened, and some even dare shoot dirty looks or mutter something under their breath, guaranteeing themselves a beating or an all-expenses paid trip to the inside of their locker later. They certainly aren’t going to forget any of them, either, because Grace is carefully jotting down names (or descriptions, for those who are such losers they can’t be bothered to remember their name) along with their transgressions in her notebook. She uses a dark blue glitter gel pen that matches the fringes of her hair for a touch of whimsy.
“Hey,” says Pete excitedly, grinning diabolically as he reaches forward to shake Max’s shoulder. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Max perks up and instantly matches Peter’s sinister delight. The rest of the group follows suit as Brad Callahan approaches, looking worse than he ever has. He’s thin, pale, haggard, shuffling along like a zombie, his eyes absolutely dead and miserable. Grace smiles and lets out a triumphant hum. As Zoey would say, they did that.
”Just can’t get enough of us, can ya?” says Max.
”Yeah, obsessed much? Fucking freak. Even I don’t want you, and I recently moved Jar Jar Binks up a couple spots on my list of most fuckable Star Wars characters.” Nobody in the group is phased, but Brad can’t contain a look of confusion and disgust. “Oh, judge me,” says Ruth with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He has a certain appeal! You know, unlike you.”
”Yeah, ugly! What the fuck even happened to you? You look worse than a crusty used body pillow,” says Richie.
Brenda snorts and bursts out laughing. Richie smiles. To borrow Stephanie’s phrasing, those two don’t seem to vibe as hard as some of the others in the group, and Richie seems pleased and a little proud that she liked his insult.
”Oh, c’mon Brenda! What happened to you, man? You used to be cool before you started hanging out with these assholes,” says Brad. Brenda scowls at him and raises an eyebrow in annoyance.
”Okay, what are you, new here? I’m still cool. You’re the one who’s not. God, get with it. Also, Max is literally grieving, so you need to give him space to process and if you don’t, you’re a bully.”
”Is this about that stupid dad thing?” Brad demands. “That was, like, a month ago! I’m sorry or whatever, but you can’t keep using it as an excuse to treat everyone like shit!”
Stephanie rounds on him and gets right up in his face. His eyes go wide; he knows he’s messed up. “I’m sorry, are you gatekeeping? Are you actually gatekeeping grief right now? Un-fucking-believeable, what is wrong with you?”
”Yeah, did you learn nothing from our anti-bullying assembly?” says Pete. “You have no idea what it’s like to be in his shoes, so you shouldn’t be talking shit, okay?”
“Well, not that I owe you dickweeds an explanation, but my brother actually—”
”But my brother, actually,” Richie echoes back mockingly with a mighty eye roll, cutting him off. He pops the lid off the coffee and throws it into Brad’s face.
”Ha!” says Max. “Got him!”
”Hey, what do they say, Grace? An eye for an eye?” Pete says. Grace nods, buzzing with anticipation as she waits to see where he’s going with this. “Well, if Brad wants to hit below the belt, I say we repay the gesture in kind.”
”C’mon, please! That’s, like, the third time this week. At this rate, I don’t know if I’ll be able to have kids!”
Grace looks him square in the face, and says matter-of-factly, “That’s actually a good thing, Brad. You trying to raise children would be disastrous. Besides, who would agree to have them with you? See, it doesn’t really make a difference, does it?”
”Ha,” says Max. “You’re gonna die alone and unloved, bitch! But don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of flick-it tickets in between!”
He knocks Brad over and pins him down. Ruth rushes over, barreling past Richie and Pete so she can do the honors.
When they finally get bored toying with their prey and discard him, watching Brad limp away, trying and failing not to whimper pathetically, evokes the same feeling as watching a breathtaking sunset at the end of a perfect day. After the initial laughing, fist-bumping and congratulating each other on a job well done, the group falls into a contented silence, occasionally breaking it to talk about whatever mundane, everyday thing is on their minds.
This is Stephanie’s favorite flavor of lollipop so far. Ted sent Peter some really out of pocket, barely comprehensible drunk texts last night. Brenda’s sister sent more pictures of her tabby kitten getting into trouble and being adorable in the process, and now Brenda wants a cat, won’t Ruth just come down to Hatchetfield kennel with her later this week and take a look? The fast fashion retailer across from Toy Zone in the mall closed down, and Richie’s wondering if it’s the perfect spot for his dream anime, manga and comic book store that doesn’t carry any pedestrian trash, only real art (and merch, of course). Max is a little nervous for his remedial algebra test today, but beating up Brad relieved some stress, and Pete’s help with studying left him feeling pretty confident. Ruth reminds everyone that tonight is her night to choose the movie, and she’s feeling a classic Golden Age musical. Also, yes, of course she’ll go look at cats with Brenda, and if Brenda wants a cat they’re getting one. Their families will just have to deal until they get their own place. Ruth’s is barely home, anyway, they could keep the cat at hers. That clothing store going out of business reminds Grace that the crafting supply store downtown is closing, too, so she’ll have to swing by their closing sale and buy a lifetime supply of glitter gel pens.
Grace checks her watch and sees that they have a few precious minutes before they have to head to class. She’ll miss these nice, tranquil moments that turn these cold concrete steps into the coziest place in the world when they graduate, but the good times are far from over. Really, their rule isn’t ending when they leave; they’re simply outgrowing their kingdom and moving on to bigger and better things. What could stop them? They completely and totally conquered this school in a matter of weeks. They’ve faced horrors beyond belief and prevailed. Together, there’s nothing they can’t accomplish, and they’re going to make that everyone’s problem.