Her heart races as she clutches the shiv for dear life. Adrenaline pumps through her body, making her want to run, fight, or both. Logic tells her not to do anything stupid.
Wait, think, outsmart the enemy and use his weaknesses against him.
The intercom crackles to life overhead and screeches in that hollow, deafening way. Rachel grits her teeth as she stares at the door.
“Rachel Cleary, Rachel Cleary, please report to the office immediately,” Golvath announces, keeping his voice level. “Or ...” There’s a sigh on the other side of the door. “Or I’ll have to debone your mother and make a spice rack from her spine.”
The crackling intercom system dies, lending finality to his words. Rachel, however, doesn’t move, hardly breathes. She simply listens to the on-goings in the administration office, waiting to make her next move.
Rachel has no idea what her next move is yet.
Survive. That’s the plan.
The receptionist’s swivel chair moves across the plastic floor protector while something heavy slams down on the wooden surface of her desk. There’s a disgustingly loud slurp, followed by an equally loud gulp.
Rachel glimpses back at the window, but finds herself alone. She turns her attention to the door again, listening and waiting.
Golvath clearly doesn’t hear as well as Orion does, otherwise he would have heard her moving around by now. This certainly works in her favor. Rachel is also sure he can’t glisser. If he could, he would’ve caught up with her in the hallway. So, what can he do other than use human bones for his macabre art projects and dig around in peoples’ heads?
He can cause accidents, can’t he? Or is that just a byproduct of his intra-canter abilities?
The plastic wheels of the swivel chair roll against the non-slip plastic protector, pulling her out of her thoughts. The chair exhales as his weight disappears from the seat, before the intercom screeches to life once more.
“I’m growing tired of these games,” Golvath’s voice booms overhead, the calmness gone. “If I have to drag you out of whatever hole you’re hiding in, you’re going to wish you’d come out when I said. Don’t make me punish you, Rachel. You won’t like it. Not one bit.”
The announcement ends.
Those heavy biker boots walk one way across the tiles then return to the other side, all while he’s speaking under his breath. It sounds almost like he’s talking to someone else—probably to one of the people under his influence—but a second voice never joins in on the conversation.
It’s just Golvath ranting to himself.
And although Rachel can’t make out what he’s saying, she’s pretty sure he’s not doling out praises for her hide-and-seek skills. The one-sided argument goes on for a few minutes, before he walks with purpose across the administration office. Soon, his footsteps fade completely, his rants going with him.
She waits behind Principal Hodgins’ office door for a few more minutes, expecting him to return, thinking it may be a trick. Eventually, when it becomes apparent that he won’t come back, Rachel decides not to tempt fate by staying in one place. Besides, the idea of being trapped in a confined area without an escape route doesn’t sit well with her.
Rachel reaches for the doorknob and slowly turns it until the lock springs open. Inch by painstaking inch, she opens the door wide enough to look out. A steaming half-mug of coffee stands on the reception desk. She scans the rest of the area, before making her way to the next door. Rachel peers around the corner, looks down either side of the hallway and finds it empty. Quickly, quietly, she makes her way out of the administration office.
Hiding will only help her for so long. She needs a proper plan, one that doesn’t involve rotting away in a pantry while Golvath plays with her bones for however long it takes him to find his next victim. Maybe it’ll be years, perhaps centuries even. Who’ll help her? Rachel is lucky to have allies, but the next girl might not. Cameron’s next victim could be alone, confused by what’s happening and helpless to save herself from this monster. Rachel can’t let that happen. She won’t.
Rachel walks down the hallway, glancing over her shoulder now and then to make sure nobody is sneaking up on her. She keeps the shiv ready, in case someone jumps out of a classroom. Rachel doesn’t want to use the shiv on anybody, but she will if things spiral out of control.
Voices come from somewhere ahead, babbling on about how the vents are magical portals, because people disappear in them.
Rachel pauses then darts into the nearest open door just as Holland’s tousled head comes into view and hears the three townsfolk under Cameron’s influence coming closer. She glances at the interior of the room, where ruby red lockers are lined up against all the walls, and loose-standing rows fill the floor space. Long, slatted wooden benches are positioned between each block. Here and there lie dirty towels, some draped across the benches, while clothes are strewn about, and contents spill from a few open lockers. There’s dampness in the air and shadows linger, made worse by the absence of artificial lighting. A faucet drip, drip, drips an eerie song.
“I’m telling you, those two are somewhere in the vents,” the woman says.
Rachel slinks deeper into the locker room.
“They are not,” the man exclaims. “You looked for them up there, didn’t you? So, if they’re not up there and they’re not down here, they must’ve vanished by magic.”
Holland giggles and says something incoherent, making the other two laugh along.
Rachel slips behind a block of lockers, out of immediate sight, and waits for them to pass. However, the three loiter in the hallway for some time, their voices carrying a hint of madness.
