October 2

Lewis writes about the suicide pact and psycho Erika.

 October 2

Now that it's my turn to write, I'm not sure of what I'm supposed to be writing. Erika only told me to write what I felt about this day, and what happened, so I will. Whoever is reading this, bare with me.

Erika is a murderer. Blatantly. I always knew she had it in her to kill someone, but I never thought she would actually stoop to the low level to actually do it. And today, she did. 

Kathleen Harvey is dead. Kathleen was a horrible excuse for a person, and I hated her almost as much as Erika, but it doesn't make the fact that she's dead any less disturbing; especially since my best friend did it.

I'm not positive where Erika got a hold of it, but she used cyanide. She's always been very resourceful. It was a genius plan, really. Erika basically poured half of the contents of a tiny jar into Kathleen's water bottle she stole out of her cheerleading locker at lunch, and locked it back up so she'd drink it during sixth period. I'm assuming Kathleen left her locker open, or else Erika picked her lock which is very possible. Anyhow, on the track during sixth period, Kathleen fell down screaming her lungs out. I could hear her screaming from the top floor, as our window was open and right by the track. I have never heard anyone scream so loudly or with such intensity. Then, we heard the screams of other girls as they crowded around Kathleen, unaware of what was going on. And then, suddenly, the screaming stopped, and she was dead.

I knew what happened because Erika told me at lunch that day, after showing up ten minutes late at our usual meeting spot, what she had done.

“Where were you?” I asked. She had a slightly sinister smile on her overly pale face, so of course I was bracing myself.

“You know Kathleen Harvey?”

“Yeah, who doesn't?” 

“She'll meet her last friend today,” she said. She was checking her makeup in a small hand mirror. She looked almost to be one color. Almost white skin, almost white hair,  and for some reason, almost white lips. The only break in the monotony of her coloring was her deep green eyes, making ice cold eye contact with me. It makes it difficult  to talk when she stares so intensely. She does it often, without noticing. It's basically natural for her to glare.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, taking a stop close and leaning in to whisper, “I put cyanide in her bottle. No one will ever know it was me, until they read our records, in six days.” I heard her words but I couldn't quite comprehend them. 

“You're killing Kathleen? Why?” 

“I've got a hit list and that will be one less to hit. Did you think I'd leave without getting revenge?” She was right. Erika is the type to get revenge, in the way that if you call her ugly she will be sure your face got burned so you will be uglier. This is what she considers fair vengeance, and Karma. 

“You've lost your s**t, Erika.” 

“Just be sure to stay quiet.” She looked up at me, the evil suddenly gone from everything but her eyes, and smiled. She looked almost innocent, like she was just here with her best friend, discussing everything in the world like they used to. I felt my heart drop a notch.

All of the commotion that the cheerleaders death caused didn't phase Erika at all. No one knows yet except Erika and myself. She thinks it unwise to tell the others because they may report her. But there was no guilt in her eyes today. She just walked down the street to my house, leading myself and the other five behind her. It was very overcast, I noticed, casting a gray shadow on everything. Once we were all in the living room, sitting down, Erika opened her bag and pulled out the pact.

“Okay, everyone,” she said. We all looked at her, some more intently than others (Miriam looked as though she had found her Prince Charming) and waited for her to tell us what to do. I'm used to her telling me what to do, although I am one of the few people in her little web of followers who will actually challenge her. I think she likes it, underneath it all. 

“I need to let all of you know now what preparations need to be made for October 7th,” she said. She sounded very formal, which to me is odd, because she's usually so comfortable with me.

“Preparations?” I asked. “Prepare to die?” Robin smiled. He is a slightly overweight,  and very dark colored guy. He rarely talks anymore, although in middle school he was the biggest class clown the world had ever seen. We were friends at one point, but after a while he stopped coming to school barely at all and when he did, he never talked. I'm not sure exactly what his deal is but I know it must be serious.

“Yes,” Erika said, obviously annoyed. “October 7th is on a Monday. In the morning, before school starts, we need to get onto the roof of the school. I know the way up there, so don't worry about that, but there are a few things that need to be brought that day.”

“Such as?” I asked. Everyone else looked entranced and almost excited. Erika has a way of talking about this multiple suicide as if it were going to be a party. I even felt myself looking forward to it until I gave myself a mental slap and remembered what it was we are going to do.

“Fireworks.” Everyone but myself suddenly had their mouths open, with looks of complete confusion in their eyes. Maybe it will be a party. 

It turns out, Erika plans to set off fireworks on the morning of October 7th while we are all on the roof. This is to get the attention of everyone to come to the front of the building (where the concrete is, of course, to fall on) and once it is nearly time for class to start, we're to jump. We're to jump holding hands, she said, so that no one “chickens out” by seeing someone else splattered on the ground when it's their turn. This is all very well thought out. And she has her claws in everyone. I really do not think anyone will back out. She's told them all that life is truly to be punished, and that we are all “smarter than the masses because we realized that we can get out of the punishment by ending the life.” I hope she's having fun playing demi-god. 

Lewis

Author's Note

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