Page 2 of I Dare You
The gymnasium soon fills with terrified screams.
Some vomit uncontrollably.
A girl faints.
The sight of Bobby cradling a headless corpse in a cheerleader’s outfit is apparently too much for some.
The commotion finally alerts two teachers who wander in, about to query what the fuss is about, until they see Bobby and what’s left of Rebecca.
Her decapitated head sits on her neck, eyes wide open, staring at us with her pink mouth agape.Whomever did this slashed her lips so her forever smile now resembles the Joker.
“Oh my…GOD!”shrieks a female teacher, covering her mouth in horror.
The gym erupts into pandemonium as more teachers and students enter, as word has spread that Rebecca Bloom is dead.
The scene is pure bedlam.
The fire alarm blares, and we’re drenched as water cascades from the overhead sprinklers.
Reality kicks in, and we realize our behavior isn’t appropriate, but only after it’s already been livestreamed, of course.
Students burst into tears, hugging their peers tight, sopping wet.Teachers attempt to mask their morbid curiosity and act as expected, but as with anything gruesome, no one can look away.
The football coach gently coaxes Bobby to let go of Rebecca, but Bobby shakes his head, spittle running down his chin as he screams for everyone to stop looking at him.
Somerset University will no longer be remembered as the perfect school, but rather as the place where Rebecca Bloom was murdered.
So now, the question is, who killed her?
A real-life whodunit.
And in the sleepy little town of Hollow Banks, everyone will soon become a sleuth…and a suspect.
This is the most exciting thing to happen since Mary Atkins claimed to have seen the face of Jesus Christ in her morning toast.
Leaving the chaos behind, I wear a somber expression, mirroring the students’ sorrow as I wipe away unseen tears.Yet the instant I step outside, my frown transforms into a broad smile.
Not as wide as Rebecca’s, though.
I stifle a chuckle behind my hand.
Rebecca’s death will be mourned, but not by me, and that’s because I’m glad she’s dead.
I hated that fucking bitch.
As I walk past the mourners, I’m ignored because I’m no one.
But it’s the quiet ones, they say, to look out for.
I mean, anyone could be the killer.
Everyone is a suspect.
Even me.
So I guess let the sleuthing begin.
Justwhoam I?
