The Lancaster Murderer

Costume Room, 10:43 PM

REVELATIONS V.

"Shit," an unfamiliar voice spites, stepping clumsily in the room. They accidentally kick something, sending it skittering across the floor and slamming into the wall beside me. "Shit," they mumble again. "What the hell is going on?"

It's definitely not Martin. And if I don't recognize the voice offhand, then... I glimpse through the capes, watching a jagged man bathed in moonlight rip a hand through his hair and just as forcefully yank it out. He doubles over and catches his breath, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Are you Jack?" I whisper.

"Shit!" he calls for the third time again, whirling towards me. "Come out, who are you?"

I poke my way through the rack and approach the wild-looking man. "I...saw you on the news," I warily say, unsure if my tie to Izayah is something he would appreciate now or despise. "You're Dumois's son."

Jack stands up straighter, eyeing me with scrutiny. His pale eyes catch the light, looking unreal in the nighttime. "Oh, I've seen you, too." He takes a step closer, glowering down at me. "Also on the news. You chewed out my mother on national television." He jabs a finger at me. "And you're Zay's girl, aren't ya?"

I find myself wanting to back away and create distance, not liking his imposing atmosphere. "Does that matter right now?" I counter, glancing at the door. Who is more dangerous right now? Jack or Martin?

"I have an old score to even with him. Maybe I could settle it now?" he proposes, leering down at me.

I note the beads of perspiration on his face. Without thinking, I reach up and touch it to confirm its existence. Jack starts, looking confused and shy all of a sudden. "You're sweating," I remark. "Who were you running from?"

Jack grimaces and glances away. "Some kid was stumbling like he was drunk – no injuries or anything, but he was just slamming into everything. Coughing. He kept mumbling somethin' about a goalpost or whatever. Checked it out..." his voice cracks and he stares at his feet.

Though he just insinuated that he'd attack me as revenge for Izayah, I understand that these are pressing times and our stressors are flaring up. I step closer and gently place a hand on his upper arm. "What did you see?"

He's vulnerable when he stares into my eyes, and when he realizes this, he jerks out of my grasp. "Doesn't matter now, does it? We're all stuck in here with a maniac."

If he just came in from outside, then Jack must've been the darting figure outside the doors to the field. And the stumbling kid running into everything...who was that? Was that the figure I mistook for Martin in the locker room? Who else could be that big?

"What did the stumbling kid look like?" I ask.

Jack throws his hands up, petulant but disturbed. "Greasy hair, big muscles, a bit...I don't know – scruffy?"

Greasy hair and muscular could apply to Martin, definitely. But scruffy? He would drop dead before cracking his façade. Who that does apply to, however, is Peter. And if that was Peter by the lockers, then what happened to Kat?

"They're all still out there," I grumble, mainly to myself, seeing as Jack would never understand.

"We better hope so, or we're next."

"They aren't a food chain," I snap.

"And this isn't kumbaya," he retorts, practically growling.

I realize that right after his mother passed, he's been thrown into another death-tainted situation. If he was mourning and missing his mother, he might meet her again sooner than projected. "I'm sorry about your mother."