Dead Center

Chapter 6: Writ Upon

We cannot learn the cipher

That's writ upon our cell;

Stars help us by a mystery

Which we could never spell. 

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Are you okay?"

"It's definitely a cipher."

"Sandy, this is serious, you could've —"

"Please stop talking."

"You have to report this."

"No."

"Look, this time they'll have to listen to you."

"Ruth, please stop, okay?"

"You can't keep letting them bully you, Sandra. You have to start —"

"Start what, Ruth? Start fighting back?"

"Yes!"

"God, Ruth! Stop it!"

Sandra got up. "Don't follow me." she said to Ruth as she walked away, leaving a full lunch tray behind.

Sandra started running as soon as she got out of the cafeteria. She stopped when she reached the library. He had to be here, he was always here. Dennis Damper, puzzle extraordinaire. The library was empty. Even the librarian was out. "Lunch. WIll be back later." Read the card propped up on her desk. She walk through the aisles until she found Dennis sitting at a desk in the back of the room.

"Dennis!" 

Dennis peered up from the game console in his hands. He had a very generic face, the type one would cast in a television advert. Brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin.

"Sandra. How can I help you?"

Sandra flopped the diary open in front of him.

"It's a cipher."

"Do you have the key?" He asked, setting down the console.

"I think so. Here." she said pulling out a small piece of paper on which she had scrawled the numbers 19540907.

Dennis looked at the scrambled letters on the pages. "I see you got the first word."

"Yes, but the rest is just comes out as gibberish."

"It must be an alternating cipher. Did you try applying it in reverse?"

"Yes."

"And that didn't work either?"

"No."

He thought for a while. "It could be a decaying key."

"What?"

"The key probably changes the closer one gets to the date. That is a date, right?"

"Yes. Explain."

"The first word is 'January', which has an alphanumerical value of 90. If we were to either add or subtract that from the key we'd get —"

"— a new one. Thank you." She interrupted. 

The boy just nodded and went back to his console. Sandra closed the diary and left the library. Genius, she thought as she peered at the boy for the last time.

She checked her face in the bathroom mirror. The cut was barely visible but it hurt. She pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and a cotton swab from her bag. She dipped the swap into the bottle and cleaned the wound. Ruth's voice was still present in her head. She was right. The blade could've slipped and she could've lost an eye. She had tried to fight, but Hanna had a posse of three. They held Sandra down and Hannah sat on top of her and pulled out the blade. It was something akin to a prison shiv, a sharp piece of metal with one half wrapped in duct tape.

"I made it myself." 

That's what Hanna said. At that moment, Sandra, for a split second, thought she was going to die, but Hanna just slit her cheek and waited for the blood to seep out before getting off of her. She was sick, Hanna Julia Hartridge West. A pretty girl with a diminished psyche. Sandra packed everything into her bag and left the bathroom. The bell rang and she headed off to class.