Am I crazy? Did I just dream the whole thing?
Wednesday
Chapter 5
Quill
“Destroy. Obey. Kill.”
I repeat the words endlessly, standing in formation between Liam and Dane.
“Blood brothers.”
My mouth is forming the words, but my mind is far away, on a red-headed girl with bug-eye glasses. On her cute little ass, the outline of which I can always guess at, no matter what frumpy outfit she’s wearing. On her non-existent breasts, but I don’t mind that. I’ve never been a breast guy anyway.
On her eyes. That’s new. I’ve never thought of her eyes before. I can barely see them behind the thick, permanently foggy, scratched lenses of her glasses. Her eyes are green, I think. But I’m not sure. Sometimes they look a bit blue.
I’d like to know for sure. I wish I could take off those glasses and see her eyes, and then, maybe…
No!
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Lately, I can’t trick myself into thinking my obsession stems from pure hatred anymore. Since we started senior year, my urge to kill her has been tempered by an urge to do… I don’t know what, exactly.
I don’t just get aroused anymore at the way she cries after I’ve bullied her. I get… sad. Like I want to comfort her.
But that’s crazy. I hate her. I despise her.
“Destroy. Obey. Kill.”
I force my thoughts away from my possibly green-eyed obsession, just in time as Tragen, the leader of the Devil Soldiers, begins to walk down the ranks, eyeing each of us inturn.
Then he calls the names of four soldiers, including me. Liam and Dane stay back in the general formation.
I march forward with the other guys, only one of whom is from my high school. The other two must attend West Astley High, on the other side of town.
The guy from my high school—Finn Austen—gives me a curt nod, which I don’t bother returning. I don’t like him. I don’t like anyone, but he bothers me more than most people, maybe because people have a tendency to draw parallels between us.
He’s a brooding, sullen type of guy, who spends most of his time smoking weed in the boys’ bathroom. I’ve heard it said that he’s the drug dealer of Astley High, and he certainly looks the part, with the shaggy, jet black hair that falls around his face, his left jeans pocket that bulges with whatever illicit substance he’s currently distributing, and the bomber jacket he never takes off. He’s got a stick and poke tattoo on the side of his face, small but present.
It’s an open secret that he smokes and deals, but as with me, no one would think of stopping him, let alone go near him. Astley is full of rich, snobby cowards with a mob-like mentality. When someone comes along who doesn’t conform, everyone waits on everyone else to react. Sometimes there’s a general movement to put down the guilty party. Other times, the mob hangs back, watching passively.
I wonder how Finn Austen got into the training program for the Devil secret society. Nearly everyone else strictly conforms to the soldier aesthetic, not too smart, not too stupid, close-cropped hair, tailored clothes. I know Tragen likes me, and that’s why he allows my presence. But I’ve never seen him so much as spare a kind glance for Finn.
Still, he’s been chosen by Tragen for this new thing… whatever it is. Something weird, like nerves, tugs at my stomach as weenter a small adjoining room, then follow Tragen down a series of corridors. I remember these greyish-white, sickly walls that have a hospital feel to them. But the strange thing, the thing that’s got my heart beating painfully, is that I don’t remember much else.
I should probably wonder why that is. But I guess the soldier training has had its effect on me.Obey, don’t question. Act, don’t ask.
Maybe that’s just my personality, though. I don’t think I’ve ever asked a real question in my life.
I follow the others passively down the long hallway, which grows narrower as we reach the end of it, as if the walls are closing in on us. The only physical sign of my growing anxiety are my sweating palms, which I keep close to my sides. Finn looks entirely unbothered, and I wonder if it’s a facade for him, like it is for me. The other two are easier to read. They both look like they’re a second away from shitting their pants.
At last Tragen stops outside a small, unassuming door.
“Attention, soldiers!” he barks.
We all stop and stand stiffly, including me. Then, abruptly, he leaves, shuffling back down the corridor as we wait in front of the door. From the side of my eye, I notice his expression as he walks away. For the first time, I seem to read something like… guilt in the features of his face, before he passes me and the dying sound of his footsteps tells me he’s gone.
Moments later, the door opens onto someone I suddenly recognize. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the thick-set, double-chinned man in a white overcoat, but I know without a doubt his name is Al Campbell. He gives us a jovial grin, though his beady eyes glint menacingly, as he opens the door and gestures for us to walk in.
