Page 13 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

“Fuck! Call the ambulance!”

“Is she alive?”

“She better be, or he’s going to lose his shit and kill whoever did this.”

My eyes open and I peak around. Who is the he? Her dad, perhaps? Is she dating someone? I try to see through the darkness. Kneeling next to Isabelle is her number one minion, Mia, and some preppy looking guy.

I hear sirens piercing the night, getting louder by the second. My heart is pounding in my chest, and my mind is playing tug-of-war, not so much with what’s right and wrong, but if I can go through with either choice. I’ve worked too hard to have one moment, ten minutes, out of my life to ruin everything for me. She’s still alive, just banged up a little. Yeah, she’s just banged up. She’s going to live. She’s going to live. If I just keep repeating that enough, maybe I can believe it. I know her family, they’ll see to it I’m ruined for this, and worse, that my entire family suffers for this.

I could get an attorney and settle this. But the scandal…my family name…

I hear the sirens and the sound of tires pulling into the gravel lot. I stay against the wall and ease around, so nobody finds me. Let’s see, I could walk up there and check on her. Make sure she is going to live and then…what? If she does live, she’ll tell everyone who did this to her. I should confess now; it’ll look worse if she does. But if she doesn’t? Her life is over, should mine be as well? Oh, I’m horrible! No. I have to tell the truth.

Maybe she won’t remember? She was drinking! My alibi is that I was avoiding her. Truth. I saw her walking earlier, probably searching for me, so I… walked away. Truth. I went in the opposite direction…But what did I do during the time she was getting the shit kicked out of her? I went to the bathroom then to ride some rides. Lie.

The medics and two more police officers arrive. Lights illuminate the site now. I ease back to remain hidden in the shadows.

I hear a deep baritone voice ask, “Is she responsive?”

“No, Sir. But I think she’ll pull through. Took one hell of a beating.”

“Did you see anyone?”

Mia cries, “No. We just found her like this.”

Seeing the officers, along with the crowd that’s gathering, I can’t go through with this. I can’t leave either. If I’m spotted running off, it’s sure to draw suspicion. I need to appear to be having a carefree time. I’ll go play some games, ride some rides, and then get a ride back home, pack my bags and head straight back to campus.

The neon lights change colors and cheerful music plays. People are laughing and I hear a few screams coming from the rides. The smell of fried foods mixed with the sweet sugary scent of cotton candy fills the air. Even the night air is pleasant. If only I was someone else and this was a different town, maybe I could enjoy the rest of the night. I hurry to find a restroom to try and clean the blood off me the best I can, thank goodness it’s dark out. When I’m as good as I’m going to get, I grab my phone and text my friend, Samantha. I ask her if she and Tiffany found Seven. I’ve never seen him, and neither has Sam. He’s supposedly called Seven because he has seven different types of drugs he sells. They always have different names on them; people I’ve never heard of. Tonight I need something stronger than my usual Klonopin. She responds immediately that she found one of his sellers.

Only the elite use Seven. We’d been looking for him when we ran into Isabelle. Isabelle had probably already found him, or his seller. Samantha is still there. I walk up to her, and her eyes are already dilated, and she’s smiling brightly at me. The one person in the group who I don’t recognize is most likely the seller. He’s dressed in designer jeans and a light blue polo with blond hair and a clean-shaven face. He’s probably a little younger than me. This boy looks like he could be a camp counselor, not a drug dealer. He’s definitely one of Seven’s.

“Hey, what’s your name?” I ask.

“I’m Nine.”

“I need a downer. Something heavy.” He’s one of Seven’s, so I skip the chit-chat.

“I got it. How much you need?”

“Not a bottle. Only a few. Just for tonight.”

“Two pills. Three hundred.”

With Seven, you pay for the best product and complete discretion. I pull out the money and hand it over. He snaps his fingers and a guy comes out of the shadows with a small, clear plastic bag.

“It’s been a pleasure.” He turns around and disappears into the darkness with the other guy. I walk over to one of the food trucks and get a water. I take the two pills and lean against the truck, contemplating my fucked-up life. If my parents had any clue. Ha. My parents give me a generous allowance. To ensure they don’t catch on to my large purchases, I don’t withdrawal that much cash at once. Making small withdrawals over time for made-up scenarios is a delicate process, but the majority of the time, they don’t even question it, which all leads up to this glorious moment.

I begin walking, zig-zagging through the crowd, occasionally bumping shoulders with people. With each step, my shock from almost beating a girl to death that I’ve known all my life begins to fade and dissolve into anger. This is all her fault. If she would have just let all of this go and wouldn’t had made it her life mission to destroy mine, things wouldn’t have gotten so out of control.

Finding a stand with balloons lined up, I walk over. I grab a few bills from my wristlet, not bothering to count the money; in fact, I barely glance at it as I hand it over and wait as the guy raises his eyebrows.

“All of it?” he asks. Since I’m still too pissed at how my night has turned to speak, I give him a curt nod. “You got it.”

He hands me a huge handful of darts. Then he reaches over and gets another handful to lay on the ledge in front of me. I pick one up, and with all my strength, send it flying. The balloon makes a satisfying pop sound. I go through popping balloon after balloon. When I’ve gone through all the darts, after blindly throwing them in my rage, the wide-eyed guy slowly hands me a giant teddy bear. Wordlessly, I snatch the bear and stomp toward the parking lot.

My anger starts to deflate as the pills start to set in. Most of the cars are leaving. The siren lights are still flashing from the parked police cars. This is not how my night was supposed to go. The one freaking night I decide to go out. It’s Isabelle’s fault. Why didn’t she just let me be? Speaking of…there’s her shiny black little Mercedes coupe. The same one that she hit me with and had the nerve to accuse me of jumping out in front of her.

I lick my lips. I pull out my set of keys and squeeze them in my hand so hard that they begin to cut into my skin. Slowly, I slide my keys to where my new apartment key is sticking out between my fingers. A new key is sharp. So sharp that it has no trouble scraping the pristine paint off a luxury sports car. This really is a beautiful car. Shame that its owner is a mega bitch. I walk, as casually as possible, close to the car, letting the key scrape alongside it. There’s still so much chaos that I’m sure I’m the only one who hears the gratifying sound of the key going against the metal. I giggle as I effortlessly key her stupid, ridiculously expensive car. She’s stupid. I giggle some more. Stupid. That word sounds funny when you draw it out. Stuuuupid.

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