This set has nothing to do with my story. I made this set a few weeks ago and can't remember how I was going to work wings into my plot. But the other NAJ set I have already made I DO remember the motive for, and it's not ready to be unveiled yet. So, enjoy this in the meantime.
AUGUST 31ST, 5:00 PM
the discovery of tate's body left the perfect opportunity for the murderer to strike again, while most of the girls are still mourning the first victim. mackenzie's body was found in her bathroom, and it looks like a suicide, but blaise's screams can be heard throughout the whole dorm.
Surprisingly, the fifteen minute skit show went swimmingly. Not that we had many viewers; after the memorial, and right before five o’clock, everyone was still too quiet and exhausted and scared to watch save for about 5 people. Also, improve is a tricky thing to keep people’s attention. As it goes, it involves a lot of thinking on your toes. But I loved it so! Wilson was a natural, and by his ring leading I was able to go to a place outside my self and have fun, and laugh, and talk louder than a library whisper.
“Hey, Ani,” said Wilson with his arm around my shoulders once we took our bows. One hour and we were strangely chummy. “What are you doing this fine, fine evening?”
“I uh,” I paused. There was surely a joke in there somewhere. “I was planning on going for a swim. You?”
Wilson laughed. “We should do that. Have a swim party in a bathtub or a…shower. Or something.”
“No one’s going to want to what with Tate dead.”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Wilson winked at me, and was about to continue our excess of wit when his brother, who’d been walking a pace behind me, came around and tapped him on the shoulder. The twins exchanged a few grunts and gurgles that I couldn’t hear, but by the way Wil’s face dropped and brows puckered, I figured there was something going on I was not privy too.
“Hey, Ani,” said Wilson turning to me, “Will you excuse us for a moment?”
Without my endorsement, Wilson and Rhett walked down the hall together, leaving me alone.
The hour barely began when the screaming started.
I was in the rec room, gathered around a particular unmotivated game of foosball, when Blaise came rushing in, her head in her hand, sobbing and wailing like a newborn.
“Oh, it’s horrible, so horrible!”
The room, having gone silent, watched as she flung her self about, and slid against the wall.
It was Hannah, who at that moment was slumped in a recliner like the heathen king of some tropical island of cushions.
Blaise dropped her voice to a stage whisper, which for her came out like a cartoon squeak, “She’s…not with us any longer.”
Hannah only smirked. “Our Patron saint not having a good trip?”
Blaise, lost in a flood of tears, wasn’t paying attention. All of us were well aware of what happened up in the attic two hours ago, so it wasn’t as if what Hannah said didn’t make since. Why would two dead bodies show up in one night?
But then Brook and Ames came crashing through the games room door as well, also hysterical and also raving about Mackenzie being dead.
“Suicide,” said Ames in her matter-of-fact journalist matter. “Swallowed a bottle of pills.”
Blaise screamed once more. The mere mention of sin and death apparently not something which sat well in her stomach so divine.
The rest of the room erupted as well:
“What are they going to do with the body?”
“Suicide my a ss! That’s two in one night!”
And then the question was…
“Who really did it.”
Blaise refused to believe it, even if suicide went against all she believed in. And she burrowed into her self once more.
I was standing against the wall, biting my lip. I believed in the suicide, and did not fear it. For, if there was a murderer, why would it be one of us…and how would they get it. Hannah, on the couch a few feet away, was watching my carefully with her hazy blood shot eyes.
“What?” I asked, more harshly than I’d meant.
She shrugged. “You’re not screamin’.”
“Neither are you.”
And she smirked again.
I slipped out of the room, everyone too busy trying to comfort each other to notice. I headed back to my dorm room, wanting to drown my self in impartial activities, like playing Nintendo DS, provided it wasn’t out of battery, or reading up on my psych homework. Something, anything but what was going on in reality. Maybe Morgan would be there. We could talk, if she really had to.
Half way down the hall, though, there he was.
“Rhett,” I said softly. He hadn’t partaken in the play earlier, but trailed around his brother the entire time. This was the first I’d seen him alone since the attic.
We were the only two people in that section of the dorm hall; the shouts of everyone else could be heard clear through the dripping walls.
He held a stack of books, and a plastic bag, and he replied, “Oh, hello, Anika.” He sounded as if was in a hurry, but was still trying to be respectful of small talk.
“Did you hear?”
“Mackenzie was found dead.”
“Uh…Mackenzie Dennett. Committed suicide, supposedly. But everyone’s in an uproar believing more sinister acts.”
Neither of us made any motion to move.
“You wanna go…grab a beer?”
The boy hesitated. I was afraid he would say no, afraid he had better things to do on a stormy night, whatever was in that bag keeping him from what he really wanted, or what I convinced my self he really wanted, which was me.
“Yeah, alright,” he finally answered. “I’ll meet you there.”