The Demon Within

Part 3

   I locked the stall and knelt to the floor. My ears kept checking for sound in the bathroom. I could not be caught with this. I unzipped my backpack. Damien told me it was the best tool to use for this. A rusted hammer stared at me from within my backpack. He told me how to do it. How to hold it, and how to wield it. I can't believe my life has come to this, but this might be bigger than me.

"Just remember what I told you and you'll do fine." Damien said. "No one will ever find out it was you."

"What are you going to do with him... afterwards," I ask.

"Leave that to us. We have places they'll never find him," He says.

   I close my eyes. My stomach churns at the thought of Oliver's body rotting somewhere. I wish Damien could tell me what this guy is planning to do exactly. Then I might have some proper motivation.

The bathroom door opens. I zip my backpack shut and sling it over my shoulder. The person walks into a stall and shuts it. I open my stall and sneak to the sink. I check my appearance and flatten my outfit. The person in the stall sneezes. I recognize it. No one else had such a short, wispy sneeze.

"Lacy?"

"Yeah?" Lacy's voice came. "Is that you, Heather?"

"Yes. Listen, I need to talk to you."

   The toilet flushes. The door swings open and Lacy darts for the door. I reach it before she does and shut it with my hand.

   Lacy crosses her arms. "I'm not interested right now. Let me out."

"Please, hear me out." I beg.

"My mom picks me up in five minutes. It better not take longer than that." She says.

"I wasn't feeling well the past few days. I... got it checked out and it turns out I'm bipolar." It's an excuse Damien gave me. Apparently it works a lot.

"Yeah, right. You are the calmest and most level headed person I know. Well, up until recently," Lacy scoffs.

"That's the bipolar thing."

   Lacy puts up her hands. "Enough, Heather. You're just giving me dumb excuses for what you did. You can't just blame whatever you do on some convenient disorder you just got."

   I clench my fist. "I didn't do those things. I wouldn't-"

"Really? So who did do them, Heather? Because it sure looked like you. Oh wait, it's the mystical Ouija board that makes you such a jerk." Lacy mocks.

   My teeth grind. Why can't she just try to understand? It's not me who's doing this. She knows I'd never do those things. She's right. I'm probably the most calm person ever. I rarely ever shout, or get angry.

"I think I might be seeing the real you come out, and I don't like it. Just don't talk to me for now." Lacy says. She walks to the sinks and washes her hands.

   Now she's being the jerk. After everything we've done together, she decides it just over?

"Stop being such a whiner," I blurt out. At first, I catch myself from continuing. No, she needs to hear this.

"Excuse me?" She asks.

"You heard me. I've told you I'm sorry a bajillion times, in texts and calls, but you won't answer. You won't even let me talk. Anything I say is instantly ridiculed. What kind of a friend is that?" I spit.

   Lacy puts her hands on her hips. Not good. "How would you know what a friend is? You slapped me and called me a dweeb. You dumped milk on me in front every one and ruined my make up. I was late for class because of you and had detention for two hours. All you have for a defense is that you sent me a text and a few calls saying you're sorry?"