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Scott looks away, and clears his throat. “You would never have known if not for her.” Scott sneers triumphantly. “Payback is a bitch, isn’t it? You spoiled fuck. You had everything, and it still wasn’t enough. You got off light that night.”
Josh's entire body starts to shake. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Scott holds his head high. “You deserved it, prick. You’re a spoiled, rich asshole. You would have raped someone eventually.”
“No, he wouldn’t have! What the hell is wrong with you?” I find myself yelling, fighting for Josh. “Just because the guy came from a house with cash, doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”
“They all turn out the same in the end. Privilege makes them think they can take and take, without any penalty, ever. Well, I made sure he felt every bit as miserable as Carter did.” Scott laughs and shakes his head, before turning back to his painting.
Josh moves closer to Scott, arms lashed with corded muscles ready to fight. “You fucking asshole. I’ll—”
“You’ll do nothing. There’s no proof except the word of a slut who’s been fucking the faculty. Good luck with that.” Scott is utterly calm, with a lazy, triumphant smile on his face.
Josh is ready to take a swing, when I stop him. I grab him by the elbow and step between them, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Can you say that again? It’d be better with video.”
Scott blanches. “You recorded me?”
“You’re a sketchy guy, Scott.” I back away from him, holding up my phone—which is now recording video, as well as sound. “I’d be an idiot to walk in here, accuse you, and not record it. I’m not that dumb.”
Scott rushes toward me, hand outstretched, ready to take the phone from me. Josh rushes him and lets out a slew of swears as his fists collide with Scott’s side. I leave the recorder running, and stuff the phone back into my pocket. I look around for my bag, ready to grab my can of pepper spray when I realize it’s still in the other classroom.
Just when I glance at Josh to see if he can hold his own for a second while I grab it, I scream. Scott has something silver in his hand, and as he slashes across Josh’s chest, there’s suddenly way too much blood. Josh crumbles to the floor like a wet rag doll.
Scott smiles at me. “You’re next, honey.”
“You’re crazy.” I back away from him, from the shining blade in his hand. It looks like a box cutter, the kind they use to open the art supplies and cut canvas.
“No, I’m a man with a plan. And for every good plan, there’s always a backup plan.” He glances at his red painting and then at me. “How hard would it be for people to believe you went completely unhinged and killed Josh before killing yourself? Not too hard. You’ve left a trail of crazy so thick even the blind can see it. But, one thing that will give it a convincing finishing touch is your final painting.”
“What are you talking about?” I inch back toward the door, ready to bolt. Josh needs help before he bleeds out and dies on the floor.
“You had all that drama with your mother stealing your first boyfriend, and then you became a slut. Your behavior was so erratic, so completely unhinged that this last part will stun everyone into silence. Come here, Kerry. I have a blank canvas for you. It’ll be your final work before you die, and one of the most evocative suicide notes ever created. You’ll be famous in a deranged kind of way, but isn’t that what all artists want? To be recognized?”
His voice is level and unafraid. I race toward the door, but Scott blocks it and grabs me by the neck. He drags me across the room, my arms ripping at his grip on my neck. I slip in Josh’s blood and smear it across the floor. He shoves me into an easel and commands, “Grab that blank canvas and put it on the easel.”
I do it, shaking so hard I nearly drop the thing. “Scott, you’re not like this. You don’t want to do this.” I try to talk him out of it, but I’m trembling so hard I can barely speak. It feels like time slowed to a chokingly unhurried speed. As my eyes sweep the room looking for a way out, any means to call for help, I come up empty. Josh is going to die, and when they find my dead body next to his, everyone will think I did it. It’ll kill Beth. And Nate… I never got to apologize. I never got a chance to tell him I love him. Tears sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks even though I wish they wouldn’t. I wanted to be strong, to be fearless but I’m not. At my core, I’m a coward.
Fingers covered in red paint snap in front of my face. “Kerry, move or I’ll make you.”
Reality cracks back into focus making me sick. My stomach churns nervously, threatening to spew its contents. Every hair on my body is on end, and my muscles are screaming to run or fight. Standing here frozen, doing nothing, goes against their wishes and the tiny jerky movements I make aren’t part of the plan. Scott grips my arm and shoves me toward the blank canvases.
“Take one,” he growls.
I place my hand in a vertical slot between the cabinets that holds unused canvases and pull one out. The bumpy texture of the weave of the fabric feels like needles in the pads of my fingers. My heart slams into my ribs rapidly and rings in my ears. I pull out the blank painting and put it where he wants.
Without warning, Scott breaks a glass that was holding dirty paintbrushes. The sound makes me jump, and it’s not until I see the shard of glass and his hand coming at me that I realize what he’s doing. I turn to run and take off for the door. My hand is on the knob, but as soon as I yank the door open, it's slammed shut and I’m shoved against it.
Back to Scott, he pins me in place and hisses in my ear, “I would have been quick about it, after all, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but fuck that.”
He jerks my wrists and whirls me around, then ties them together in front of me. “What are you doing?” My voice is strained, so choked I can barely hear it.
Scott reaches for the broken piece of glass he laid on the counter, but this time he doesn’t release me. When he has it in hand, he comes at me, jabbing the shard at my face. I flinch expecting to feel pain in my eyes, but that’s not what happens. For a moment there’s nothing and then a warm drip on my cheek followed by searing pain. I scream. It’s not weak or barely audible. It’s a high-pitched, dog-deafening, glass-shattering screech. Surprise flashes in Scotts eyes. He mutters as he grabs a rag and shoves it in my mouth, silencing me.
I can’t breathe like this. I go to spit it out, but he warns me, “I swear to God, I’ll tape your mouth shut and make things a lot worse if you make a fucking sound.”
With that, he grabs my hand and slashes the piece of glass across my fingertips. Bright red blood rises up on each one then rolls down my hand, into my palm. Scott pulls my arm toward the canvas and puts my finger on the fabric.
He tells me what to write and when I don’t move, I feel a piece of glass at my side. He’s behind me, towering over me, pressing the shard to my side. “Do you want me to push it inside? I can think of worse places, locations no one will think to look. Since you’re a total slut, you might like that. Maybe I’ll save that for last.”
