The 10

21

Christopher enters Kate's school, lights out, janitor cleaning a classroom, and doesn't see anyone in the other rooms. Slowly closing the main office door, he sneaks his way to the attendance office. Finding it unlocked, he lightly chuckles. What school leaves any office unlocked? Realizing it is to his advantage, he shrugs it off and opens the door. Without turning on the lights, he makes his way to the desk. Hitting the power button, his face lights up white. Somewhat blinded, he shuffles through the files until he finds the one labeled "Junior Class '18." Dragging the mouse over, he clicks the left side and watches as the file opens.

Shuffling through the student's photos, he thinks he remembers someone from the prison. Pausing on Frankie Young, he studies her photo. She remembers being assigned to some guy nicknamed "Druggie" because he ended up on a murder charge due to the drugs he had sold to some guy that didn't want to pay. Thinking she's probably an acquaintance of Kate's, he writes her name and address next to Isabella's and continues to shuffling through the students. He takes a moment to reflect on how many victims he's up to. Kyle, Mr. Parker, and Luke; three victims. About to be four, he smirks. Logging out of all the files, he turns the computer off, solitary in the dark.
He hears the door creak open and hides under the desk. He hears the janitor's cartwheel in and breathes a sigh of relief. The janitor begins emptying trash bins, grabbing any trash off the desks. Pulling the vacuum from the back of his cart, he plugs it in, and Christopher rolls his eyes. Come on bro, why are you actually doing your job? He hears the vacuum inching closer, and he holds his breath. The janitor moves the chair and continues vacuuming. When he feels the vacuum hit something that was not the desk, he turns off the vacuum and lowers it onto one knee.
"Oh, what the Hell?" He curses. "What the fuck? Who are you? What are you doing here?" he shouts, a vein in his neck ready to burst.

"Calm down. I work here."

"Yeah? I've never seen you before."

"I'm security. I usually only work the day shift, but now I've been switched to nights."
"Then what are you doing in here?"
Christopher laughs. "Well, about that-" Christopher takes a swing at him.
The janitor, unaware that Christopher would get physical, stumbles back at the force of Christopher's fist. Christopher steps over him as the janitor weakly grabs his foot. Christopher stumbles but uses his other foot to kick the janitor in the ribs. He groans and releases Christopher's ankle. Christopher realizes he can't keep this man alive; he would surely report him to Mr. Henricks and be fired. Otherwise, Mr. Henricks or this janitor would recognize his face from the news, and he would go back to jail, which he was not ready to do. Not yet.
Christopher pauses for a second, taking in his surroundings. He sees keyboards, coffee mugs, and chairs. Swearing under his breath, his eyes wander to the cart. Smirking, he makes his way to the cart, observing his options. Grabbing the broom, he makes his way to the janitor. He's weakly trying to stand up, using his hand on the desk as support. Christopher stands in front of him and kicks the man in the stomach. Groaning, he looks up at Christopher.
"What do you want?" He chokes out.
"I'm not going to let you ruin this for me."
"Ruin what?" He coughs, a trickle of blood falling from the corner of his mouth.
"You clearly haven't watched the news lately." Christopher leans eye-level with the man, smirking.
"Jesus Christ."
"Don't worry. You'll be seeing him soon." Rising, Christopher snaps the broom in half.
Christopher tosses the end of the broom full of bristles and puts the sharp end in his right hand. The janitor weakly puts his hand up, begging Christopher not to do what he's about to do. Laughing, Christopher lifts the end of the broom and lowers it into the man's chest. He cries out, his head falling to the floor. Christopher pulls it out, watching the blood pour through the fabric of his blue jumpsuit. Rising the broom once more, he lowers it into the man's leg. He's passed out from the blood loss, and Christopher uses it to his advantage.
"Fucking pussy."
Christopher pulls the broom from the man's leg and finally lowers it into the man's eye. He lowers and grabs the man's ID badge.
"Tyler Underwood." Christopher releases the badge and writes his name on his list.
Using his jacket sleeve, he wipes everything down, removing any of his prints. With his sleeve still wrapped around his hand, he turns the knob and makes his way back to the main office. After wiping his prints from that room, too, he exits the building. Once back in his car, he drives a block away and pulls over. Pulling out his list, he turns it over and writes his order.
Kyle, Mr. Parker, Luke, Janitor.
Sticking it in the glovebox, he makes his way to Kate's street. He stops in his usual spot, the patrol car gone. He looks up at the house and sees there aren't lights on. Just as he opens the door, he looks at Kate's driveway, with no cars. Cursing under his breath, he gets back in and slams the door so brutally. He's surprised the glass of the window didn't break. Turning the key in the ignition, he speeds off. Just as he turns off of Kate's street, Kate and her mother pull into their driveway.
"Kate, can you grab the bags while I unlock the door?" Laura asks her daughter, getting out of the passenger seat.
"Sure mom." Kate cuts the engine of her Jeep and walks to the back.
Kate makes her way into the house, kicking the door behind her, and drops the bags on the island.
"You better not have to broken the eggs." Laura jokes.
"Funny." Kate laughs, rolling her eyes.
"Seriously, though, they better not be broken."
"It's not my fault you suddenly wanted to bake."
"Funny." Now Laura laughs and rolls her eyes.
Kate disappears up into her room and opens her laptop, swarmed with homework that is yet to be completed. She peeks out the window and breathes a sigh of relief when she sees Christopher's car is nowhere in sight. Flipping through her notebook, her fingers restlessly pound the keyboard keys, determined to finish the essay on Christopher tonight. An hour later, she types the final sentence of her essay. Internally cheering to have a piece of Christopher out of her life. Saving her document and hitting print, she rips her notes from her book. Stapling the essay and the notes together, she sticks the papers into her folder.
Opening a new document, she gets started on a history essay due Thursday. Sure, Thursday is three days away but her teacher expects at least six pages on D-Day. Flipping through her textbook, she finally lands on the section. Scrolling through the pages, she realizes the textbook has only two pages on the mutilation of soldiers on a beach during World War II.
"How the hell am I supposed to write six pages when the textbook only has two?" She mumbles.
"Anything I can do to help?"
Kate jumps, startled, and turns to find Christopher. Sighing, she turns back and asks, "What are you doing here?"
"Why am I always here?" he jokes.

Christopher grabs her folder and opens it, pulling out her essay.

"Seems like a lot more than ten pages." he smiles.
"I do okay, I guess," Kate mumbles, continuing to research D-Day.
He skims over it, chuckling occasionally. "You really made me sound like a guy." he pauses. "Think you could bring this to my parole hearing?"
"You do realize after this little stunt you're not going to have a parole hearing. Like, ever?"
"You don't know that," he says.
"Actually, I do," she states.
"Really?" he says, becoming annoyed.
"Yeah." she finally looks up at him.
"How so?" he pushes.
"Because my father did it." she spits.
   Christopher stares at her, speechless. Kate shakes her head, letting out an "I shouldn't have said that" type of chuckle. Christopher puts the essay back in the folder and returns it to its place. "I didn't know that," he mumbles.
"How could you have? You don't know me. You're acting like we're boyfriend and girlfriend, you're an escaped convict for God's sake."
Christopher licks his lips, unsure of what to say. "So, what did he do?" he finally speaks.
She laughs, looking up at him, leaning back in her chair. "Fine, I'll play along. He robbed a convenience store. Money wasn't tight or anything. He just fell in with the wrong type of people. They planned it for weeks, monitored how fast the cops showed, kept track of how many customers went in and out, etcetera. One Saturday night, they finally decided they would pull the job off. My dad snuck out after dinner like right after, my mom and I were still eating. They picked him up, and off they went. Next thing I know, my mother's getting a call saying my father's been arrested.
We go and prepare bail money, but the clerk at the desk shakes his head, lowering my mother's hand from her purse. "You don't understand, ma'am, your husband and his buddies beat and tortured the employee to death. One even raped the poor girl. There is no bail," he says. My mother broke down. She had no idea what my father was doing that night. I mean, I didn't either, but, it was still heartbreaking to see my mother like that. I was suddenly showing more remorse for my mother than my father.
A few weeks later it was time for the hearing, the trial I guess you could call it." she shrugs. "We sat behind them, for support or whatever. They asked us to testify on behalf of my father. I said no, but of course, my mom, being my mom, said yes. She was afraid everything would come crumbling down if he went to jail. All she kept was saying that he's a good man, a good father, and a good husband. The jury felt sympathy for her, sure. But, they weren't going to let a murderer free. He was sentenced to five years, with the possibility of parole. My mother called him everyday, visited when she could and made sure he was taken care of in there.
Suddenly, after maybe two years, my father walks through the door. My mother thinks it's me, so she comes out of the kitchen and screams. I come down, and my father's there, hugging my mom. She moves from the hug and turns to me, tears streaming down her face. She says, "Kate, look who's home." I immediately go, "It hasn't been five years. How are you out?" He goes, "I was up for a parole hearing, they let me out, baby girl." He smiles, and my mother is blinded by my father being home.
For a while, it was nice. Having him home, I mean. My mother was finally happy again. The money wasn't so tight anymore. The energy in the house seemed better. Then one day, he's arrested for selling drugs. Cops knock on the door and tell us. My mother covers her mouth, appalled. Then they tell us that they've been looking for him for weeks. My mother says, "Why? He made parole." The cops shake their heads and say, "He did, but he was denied." My mother goes back into her depressive state. We go to the trial, once again, and the jury sentences him to serve for life. The judge agrees but sentences him to remain in solitary without any contact from the outside world. When he said, he said it into my eyes, saying it directly to my face.
So yeah, I do know what's going to happen to you when you get caught."