“We don’t have a problem,” Steve explains politely, “with either of you.”
“Well.” I look around the room at the assorted Tau Phis, wondering which one is Doug. “What am I doing here, then?”
“Oh, did I not explain over the phone?” Steve wants to know. “I guess I forgot.” He steps forward and lifts a long, ornamental knife from the altar he’s made. Ornamental in that the handle is gold and covered with semiprecious stones.
The blade, however, looks plenty real. And sharp.
“Pledges,” Steve says, “it’s time.”
And from out of the shadows step another half dozen robed figures, who’d apparently been lurking in the back, over by Magda’s register.
“Time for what?” I ask curiously.
“Initiation,” Steve informs me.
28
No one seems to care anymore
Hiding away, shut behind a door
Never coming out to see the light of day
I don’t want to live my life that way.
Untitled
Written by Heather Wells
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me with this” I say disgustedly.
“Pledges,” Steve says, ignoring me, “now is the time when you will be given the opportunity to prove your dedication to the house of Tau Phi Epsilon.”
“Seriously,” I say. “This is freaking stupid.”
Steve finally looks over at me. “If you don’t shut up,” he says, “we’ll off your boyfriend first, then you.”
I blink at him. I want to be quiet. I really do. But…
“Gavin’s not my boyfriend,” I say. “And seriously. Don’t you think there’s been enough killing?”
“Um.” One of the pledges throws back his hood. I’m astonished to see Jeff Turner, Cheryl Haebig’s boyfriend, standing there. “Excuse me. What’s she doing here?”
“Shut up!” Steve whirls around to glare at Jeff. “No one gave you permission to speak!”
“But, dude,” Jeff says. “She’s the assistant director of the building. She’s gonna tell—”
“She isn’t going to tell,” Steve interrupts. “Because she’s going to be dead.”
This news appears to come as a shock to more than just Jeff. A few of the other pledges stir uneasily.
“Dude,” Jeff says, “is this some kind of joke?”
“SILENCE, PLEDGES!” Steve thunders. “If you want to be a Tau Phi, you must be prepared to make sacrifices for the cause!”
“Oh, right,” I say quickly, while I still have the pledges—or Jeff, at least—on my side. “Is that what Lindsay Combs was, Steve? A sacrifice? Is that why you killed her?”
More nervous movement from the pledges. Steve turns his head to glare at me.
“That bitch betrayed a member of our order,” he snaps. “She had to be punished!”
“Right,” I say. “By chopping off her head and grinding her body up in a garbage disposal?”
Jeff throws a shocked look in Steve’s direction. “Dude. That was you?”
“Oh, it was Steve, all right,” I say. “Just because Lindsay stole—”
“Something that didn’t rightfully belong to her,” Steve barks. “Something she wouldn’t give back—”
“She tried,” I insist. “She let your brother in here—”
“And it was gone!” Steve shouts over me. “She claims someone must have stolen it. Like we were supposed to believe that! She was a liar as well as a thief. She deserved to be put to death for her betrayal!”
“Dude.” There’s hurt as well as disbelief in Jeff’s face. “Lindsay was my girlfriend’s best friend.”
“Then you ought to be thanking me,” Steve says imperiously. “For if your girlfriend had continued to consort with the likes of that woman, she’d have eventually learned her ways and betrayed you, too, the way she betrayed one of our brothers.”
It seems to take a minute for this to sink in for Jeff. But when it finally does, he doesn’t hesitate a second longer.
“That’s it.” Jeff Turner shakes his head. “I’m out. I only joined this stupid frat ’cause my dad was in it. I did not sign on to go around killing people. You want to hit my butt with a paddle? Fine. You want to force me to chug a twenty-four-pack? No problem. But kill chicks? No way. You guys are fucking nuts—”
As he’s saying this, he’s reached down to pull off his robe. Steve, watching, shakes his head sadly. Then he nods at two of the robed figures in the circle around his altar, and they cross the room to deliver several blows to Jeff’s midriff—while he’s still floundering around in his robe, no less—until he finally falls to the ground, where they begin kicking him, heedless of his screams of pain. The other pledges, seeing this brutal treatment of one of their peers, stand frozen in place, watching.
They’re not the only ones who feel frozen. I cannot believe what I am seeing. Where are the cops? They couldn’t really have believed that idiot Curtiss, could they?
Knowing there’s only one person who’s going to be able to put a stop to this—or die trying, anyway—I say loudly to the other pledges, who are just standing there watching their friend get the snot kicked out of him, “Just so you guys know, the thing Lindsay stole? It was Doug Winer’s stash of coke.”
It’s impossible to tell what the boys’ reaction to this information is, since their faces are still hidden beneath their hoods. But I see them stir even more uneasily.
“Don’t listen to her,” Steve instructs them. “She’s lying. It’s what all of them do—try to demonize the order by spreading malicious lies about us.”
“Um, we don’t have to demonize you guys,” I say. “You do a good enough job of that on your own. Or are you saying your brother Doug didn’t strangle his girlfriend to death because she stole his nose candy?”
One of the people kicking Jeff Turner stops, and a second later Doug Winer is striding toward me, his hood down.
“You take that back!” he cries, eyes blazing. “I didn’t! I didn’t kill her!”
Steve reaches out to grab his little brother’s arm. “Doug—”