Todd Strasser - Wish You Were Dead

“You don’t know that.”

I was listening to a conversation between one person. The same voice speaking both sides of the argument. It was a voice I knew well. I twisted my head around. Where was Ethan? The memory came back of that sickening crack when she hit him on the head.

A bell pinged and I heard a microwave oven open and slam shut, followed by the slither of slippers. They came through a doorway—old, yellow, and terry cloth. I twisted my head higher. Baggy orange sweatpants. A navy blue hoodie. A tray with some sort of steaming food in a black plastic bowl. Thick red hair. The slippers stopped. Ms. Skelling looked down at me. She made a face but said nothing. Instead, she placed the tray on a small folding table in front of the couch and sat down to eat.

When the show ended she clicked off the TV and said, “What do you think about having more than one relationship at a time?”

I waited for her to answer her own question.

“Cat got your tongue, Madison?”

That caught me by surprise. “Sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be soon,” she said. “How did you find Ethan Landers?”

“He found me.”

“Really?” Ms. Skelling sounded surprised. “How … resourceful.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“I was sure the police had him.”

“What difference does it make now?”

Again, she seemed to be having a conversation with herself. “What did he tell you?”

A moment of silence passed. Then I said, “Are you asking me?”

“Who else would I be asking?” Ms. Skelling said with a dose of annoyance.

I felt a chill. Did she not realize she had conversations with herself? “He told me you killed his girlfriend and made it look like he did it.”

“Megan Woodworth.”

“God, wasn’t she a piece of work?”

“Thought she walked on water.”

“They all do.”

“Not anymore.”

“So you thought you’d be a hero? You thought you’d come here to rescue your friends? Some friends. I feel sorry for you, Madison. You’re so afraid that people only like you for your money. You think you have to be so nice to everyone because it’s the only fair way to be when you’ve been blessed with so much good fortune. What’s that fancy phrase for it? Noblesse oblige? No wonder you were so fascinated by that little bitch, Courtney. Such a bad girl. You liked that, didn’t you?”

“She’s different,” I said, knowing the best thing I could do was be agreeable and engage her. Maybe, if I could make her feel like I understood her, she would let me and my friends go. “I’d never really known anyone like her.”

“We have,” Ms. Skelling said. “Dozens of them. Snotty little bitches that think they’re the hottest things since sliced bread. Makes us sick.”

Us? I thought. What’s she talking about?

“Don’t you think the world would be better off without skanks like that?” she went on. “Who gives them the right to make everyone else feel so miserable?”

“Maybe no one gives it to them?”

“Maybe they just take it because no one stops them.”

“Everyone is too scared.”

It was hard to understand who she was speaking to.

“Can I ask something?” I said.

Ms. Skelling was silent for a moment, as if considering this request. “What?”

“Usually, the kids who care about that are the ones who, you know, have the problems with it. But you’re pretty and sexy. I mean, it’s hard to imagine you ever had those kinds of problems.”

“What does she know?” Ms. Skelling said. “Should we tell her?”

“What will it matter? We’ll be going in a few hours.” “You’re right.”

“The wonders of cosmetic surgery. Like the old showtune said, ‘Tits and ass can change your life.’ ”

“But that came later. Much later.”

“When we were your age we didn’t know. We were too scared to even think about it.”

“Plain looking, with a nose that was too big and eyes too close together. Flat as a board. A face only a mother could love.”

“But not our mother. The double whammy. She hated our looks more than the kids at school.”

“Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.”

“They always found us.”

“The terror we had to live with.”

“The way they stared. The hate in their eyes.”

“Even from our own mother, that stupid cruel bitch!”

“It’s only fair that they feel what it was like. Only fair that they know.”

Their eyes , I thought.

“They should suffer like we did,” Ms. Skelling went on. “Feel like trapped animals.”

“We did, didn’t we?”

She fell silent, gazing off across the room. On the floor I slowly tried to extend my legs again, testing how strong the cords were. Could I break them? And if I did, then what?

Ms. Skelling turned back to me. “Too bad, Madison. You shouldn’t be here. These aren’t your friends. Couldn’t you see that? Do you really think any of them would have come here for you? And now, even if they do, it will be too late.”

She finished eating and went back into the kitchen. As soon as she left, I tried to straighten my legs and pulled as hard as I could with my wrists. The rope was too strong. Keeping my eye on the kitchen doorway, I tried again but felt as if I was pulling my shoulders out of their sockets. A new conversation began in the kitchen: “You can’t take all this food.”

“You expect me to just leave it here?”

“Take the canned goods. Leave the perishables.”

“It could be a long trip.”

“You’ll manage.”

“How do you know?”

“You always do.”

“What about …?”

“Oh, right.” The slippers slapped out of the kitchen again.

“Time for you to leave.” Taking hold of the rope from my wrists to my feet, Ms. Skelling dragged me across the floor, through a doorway into the cold, damp air outside, over the cold wet ground to the rough concrete and stink of the pens. The wet quickly soaked through my jeans and hoodie and pressed against my skin. She dragged me past the pen where Ethan lay, his eyes closed, mouth agape, hair matted and dark with blood, a black collar around his neck. She opened a pen and dragged me in. So I was going in a cage like the others. Then was my fate to be like the others as well? She kneeled behind me. My nose filled with the sharp odor of filth. I shivered in the damp cold. From the tugging on the rope I had a feeling she was cutting it. I was so scared. My stomach was in my throat.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, trying to sound calm.

“Do what?”

“Put us in these cages. Keep us here. You can go. I promise I’ll make the others swear not to tell.”

The rope was cut. I felt her tug at some of the strands around my wrists to loosen them. Then the gate clanged shut. I swiveled my head around and watched as she went back into the house.

I sat up and worked my wrists free, then undid the ropes from my ankles. I searched my pockets for my cell phone, but of course, Ms. Skelling had taken it. It was dusk. The sun had gone down, but there was still enough light to see. The cold crept through my clothes and my teeth chattered. The gate to the pen was locked. I turned to the other pens and whispered, “Courtney? Adam?”

No answer.

“Courtney, Adam, it’s Madison. Are you in there?”

I heard some scratching sounds. From the doghouse in a pen near mine. Courtney’s head came out slowly, her hair a nest of dirt and pieces of brown leaves. Her face looked boney and streaked with grime; her dry lips were cracked, her eyes sunken. Her lips moved and a hoarse whisper came out: “I’m so thirsty.”

I looked around. Except for a green hose lying on the ground near the house, there was no source of water. An empty bowl covered with a gross layer of crust lay on the ground in each pen.