17. Meeting in the Art Room

Nathan and Carrie meet up in the art room to discuss serious matters.

Caroline:

    “ Carrie? Is that you?”

    I was halfway to the door. I turned to see Matilda, propping herself up with her arm.

    “ Yeah.”

    “ Where are you going?”

    I took a deep breath. Should I lie to her? No, how could I do that to my best friend? But what could I say to her? What should I tell her?

    “ I’ll tell you later. Just don’t tell anyone I’m leaving.”

    She nodded her head. “ Okay then,” she said, and laid back down.

    I tip-toed as quietly as I could and shut the door, cautious not to let it be loud or slam. I made my way to the art room. I remembered the way, it wasn’t far. It was cold and I was shivering, turning my head this way and that. Keeping watch. I felt like someone was watching me. Watching my every movement. It was eerie. Creepy.

    “ I guess this is what it’s like to have a stalker, huh?” I joked, silently, to myself. I was hoping my joke would lighten things up a bit. It didn’t. Actually, it only made me more nervous, the thought of dead, soulless eyes watching my every movement. A shiver rolled down my spine.

    I reached the door to the art room, disgusted with what I saw. Blood was splattered on the door and was dripping off the door knob. I gasped. The blood must have been fresh. A recent kill. I gulped and grabbed the knob, my insides churning. Would he be in there? Or would I be met with a horrifying surprise? What if this was Nathan’s blood? My eyes started to burn.

    I turned the doorknob.

Nathan:

    And there she was.

    I was almost afraid that the sight of blood on the door would scare her off, but I should have known better. Carrie was a strong girl. But, I had doubted my own strength when I was given the “honor” of watching someone brutally murdered in front of the art room. I shivered, remembering the sight. Poor kid, never stood a chance. If only we had found him. Her eyes met mine and gave me a shaky smile. I smiled back, not able to take my eyes away from her.

    Her hair was a blond, tangled mess. Of course, nothing here was spic-and-span anymore. Tiny splotches of dried blood rested on her clothes and skin. Aside from the gore that was on her due to the strangeness that was occurring, Carrie was still beautiful. There was a sort of elegance about her. She closed the door and just stared at me, not quite knowing what to do. I wasn’t sure what to do, either. I beckoned her to a chair and I took the seat next to it. She walked over, the only sound being her sneakers against the hard floor. She pulled the chair out from under the table, sat down, and moved a strand of her gorgeous hair from her face.

    Her voice shaky and body trembling, she asked, “ So why did Harriet kill herself?”

    “ She knew, Carrie. She felt guilty.”

    “ Huh?” she asked, her bold voice sounding strangely small.

    “ She knew all of this was going to happen. She didn’t tell anyone. She was afraid to. I noticed some strange thoughts roaming through her mind a few days before she died, so I began interested in what she was thinking. I snuck myself into her dreams the day before she died, and she dreamed everything that had led up to her killing herself. The whole story. I know why.”

    Carrie’s face grew pale and sickly looking as she turned her attention to her black and white converse. I cupped her face in my hands and asked,

    “ You wanna know why?”

    She considered this question for a moment, looking at me with her large, brown eyes.

    “ Yes.”