Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

“Come on, let’s go, Candidatus,” the helper said, practically pushing the girl along. “Headmaster doesn’t appreciate clumsiness. Sit by yourself over there. And I hope you aren’t expecting a replacement meal.”

“Of course not, Helper,” the girl said, sitting down all the way across the room.

“Quiet!”

Leif kept his head down as he wiped the remaining glop from his legs, confounded by the entire incident. What had she even tripped on?

As he went to wipe some flecks off his beige Keds, Leif noticed a small piece of paper sticking out of the left one.

Shoe.

Leif’s heart beat faster as, after a quick glance in both directions to make sure no helpers were nearby, he slid the paper out of his sneaker.

He hid it in his fist and rose to the table before bending back down, pretending to notice one last bit of the girl’s lunch on his jumpsuit.

He unfolded the paper with shaking fingers. It was a note in purple ink on a piece of stationery with a unicorn on the top.

Alicia was my friend, the note said.

So you are too.

Keep fighting.

J

—

LEIF WAS AMAZED at the power ten words could have.

They proved to him that Alicia had made a mark on this place. In her short time here, she’d inspired J. And who knew who else.

As Leif walked to the Leisure Room that afternoon, he reached into his jumpsuit pocket and rubbed J’s note between his fingers. He was overcome with a deep shame for giving up so easily, for so quickly retreating to his tendency to defer.

Since his arrival, Leif had wanted to believe that Rex was coming up with some kind of plan to save him, to expose the school for what it was. But Leif was the one with the advantage of being on the inside. If he could get through to even just some of his peers, could convince them that they too could choose not to follow, it might have a ripple effect. Maybe they could be the ones to change things around here. Maybe they could take down the whole school.

He found himself thinking that Rex would be proud, but then he realized that’s probably not how leaders thought.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

—

LEIF TOOK A seat in the corner of the meeting hall and watched his schoolmates quietly file in for Reports. He’d spent most of his day—including a four-hour lecture on the evils of pop culture (the two C’s in C&C Music Factory, they’d been taught, actually stood for crack and cocaine)—resisting the voice in his head telling him that leading a rebellion would be foolish.

As he surveyed the defeated faces in the room, all of them looking down at their feet, he was reminded just how strong the spell was. These students had been conditioned to follow for weeks or months. Why did he think he’d be able to change their minds in a few days?

But then he saw J walking in.

She cracked the slightest, shortest smile.

Once everyone was present, the female helper from his first class spoke. “Welcome, Candidati. Does anyone have anything to report?”

Sweat dripped from Leif’s underarms.

After a young redheaded boy reported an older girl for longingly looking out the window for an extended period of time, and a tall teenage girl outed her roommate for asking her how she was doing, the helper prompted again, “Does anyone else have something to report? No infraction is too small.”

Leif heard himself swallow.

He looked over at J.

She locked eyes with him.

Keep fighting.

He shot up from his seat without thinking.

“Hey, everybody,” he said, immediately wanting to sit back down and pretend it hadn’t happened, but knowing it was too late for that.

So he kept speaking.

“My name is Leif Nelson—not Candy Datoose or whatever—and I want you all to know: There’s some truly evil stuff going on in this place.”

“Stop that!” the helper shouted as she started marching toward him from across the room, weaving through the crowd, stepping over those seated.

Leif tried to speak faster, knowing he had minimal time. “And I’m not just talking about being rolled up in a carpet. Kids are being murdered!” His heart was pounding so hard, he felt it in his ears. “But guess what? There’s more of us than there are of them! So we don’t have to follow!”

Flattop and Sideburns were now making their way to Leif along with the woman, pushing students aside. Not one of his peers was showing any indication they were hearing him.

But then J stood up.

“He’s right! We don’t have to follow!”

The female helper, already feet away from J, turned to grab her, affording Leif a few extra seconds to speak.

“They can’t put us all in that carpet at once, right?” he said. The two male helpers reached him, hooking him by the arms and beginning to drag him out of the room.

But he kept talking.

“Don’t follow!” he shouted, trying not to get disheartened by the complete lack of a response from anyone other than J.

“Don’t follow!” he repeated.

“Don’t follow!” J joined his chant.

The female helper grabbed J by the arm, but she and Leif continued shouting, leading their defiant, two-person mantra from the unhappy clutches of the helpers, the rest of the students silent and staring down.

“Don’t fol—”

Everything went black as Leif was whacked in the head with something hard.

—

WHEN LEIF OPENED his eyes, he was covered by a cushy purple comforter.

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. Even without his glasses, he could see the room was decorated with bright splashes of color, and the bed was about a hundred times more comfortable than the one in his dorm.

“Well, there you are.”

Leif almost screamed when he saw that Wayne Whitewood was practically next to him, sitting at a desk, writing.

“Your glasses are here if you want ’em.” He pointed a gloved finger toward the corner of the desk, which was almost close enough to the bed to serve as a nightstand.

Leif sat up, reaching out a trembling hand to retrieve them.

Was this how it ended?

Was this where it had ended for Alicia, too?

With glasses back on, it became clear he was in a little girl’s bedroom. Maybe that should have been comforting, but in the context of a school where every other room was that same insipid beige, Leif found it chilling.

The door was closed.

“You could try to run,” Whitewood said, as if reading Leif’s mind, “but I wouldn’t recommend it.” Leif didn’t know whether that meant there were helpers standing guard outside the door, or if Whitewood himself would pummel him if he stood up. Either way, his head was still aching—pounding, really—from whatever had knocked him unconscious earlier, so he had little choice but to lie there.

Whitewood put his pen down and held up a stack of paper. “See this? It’s the names of all my students, their real names, along with a record of what they did to get here and how they’ve behaved since arriving.” He placed the stack on the desk. “I’ve been lookin’ at this list a lot.”

Whitewood paused as if waiting for Leif to respond, but he was too scared to speak. This was the man who killed Alicia. Those three other kids. Sure, he’d be stupid to kill Leif, but he could still harm him.

“That was quite a little speech you gave,” Whitewood said, now turning his rolling desk chair so he faced Leif head-on. “I liked it. Very much.”

Leif nodded, unable to say thank you.

“You see, that kind of thing only makes my job easier.” Whitewood stared at Leif for what felt like a full minute before standing and starting to pace around the room. “Now, what I did not like was that comment you made in class, the one that got you sent to the Roll. What was that word you used…?” Whitewood turned back to Leif. “Oh right. Cult. I hate that word.”