An excerpt from the journal of Gaspard Gemeaux, written as follows:
Journal:
That goddamn little wench Saphir attempted to escape from my circus this evening! She’s been a troublesome little creature ever since I first saw her with her parents, a decade ago. From the moment I saw her, I knew she had potential to be a performer! What I didn’t know is how much of a fucking handful she would be! Always trying to escape, that one. When will she just accept her fate? She is never going to be free from my clutches! I went through all the fucking trouble of murdering her parents and hiring peacekeepers to cover it up, simply to acquire her as a performer. Now I must deal with her antics! I wonder if I should just dispose of her now. I just don’t think she can be easily replaced. I don’t have sufficient funds to cover up yet another double homicide. I suppose I shall weigh my options before taking action.
“Are you done yet?” Carth asked behind me. “Nooope.” I said, popping the ‘p.’
“How about now?” Troy echoed. “Mmm-mm.”
“Now?” they chorused. I did my best to hold back my smile, “I could be done a lot sooner if you two left me alone for ten minutes.” “But we’re boored.” Troy whined.
My days off from both work and school were rare, usually I had one or the other or both. Seeing as how I had a solid free day I told Troy and Carth we’d go out for a while after I finished this essay, apparently I wasn’t moving fast enough for them. Part of me was dragging it out just to spite them, two can play at this game, well, three.
They fell silent and I finished off the last few paragraphs. I tossed the pen down and stretched in my chair, slouching back and shutting my eyes. “So, are you done?” Troy asked. “Mmmhm.” “Can we go then?!” Carth asked excitably, “I’m too comfortable to get up.” I said lazily.
And then I heard the faint twang of my bow string being strummed. My eyes snapped open just in time to see the two of them race out of my room, my bow missing from its usual corner. I sighed and stood, “Alright, I’m up!”
The majority of people in Three lived in the city near the factories. Ya know, tall buildings, living on top of each other, seemed to be noisy and awake at all hours. We lived on the outskirts, in the suburbs. It was a bit of a walk to get there, but I never minded it. We made the walk every day for school, my folks, Marathon and I for work.
When I first started working Marathon would usually come pick me up from the tavern. I was fine to make it home on my own, but it soothed Mom and Dad’s worries about me wandering around the city in the middle of the night. I usually got out anywhere between midnight-2am.
“Where are we going?” I asked him, fighting tired eyes after my first late shift as he led me through the concrete maze of a city. “Whoa.” I mumbled, suddenly alert, “Found this place while we were moving trash from repairing a building.” he grinned. To anyone passing by it was just another run down alley between two abandoned buildings: trash and crates, dumpsters, low hanging pipes and piles of rubble both in and outside the building, broken catwalks scaling the walls.
To my brothers and I, this was a damn playground.
Solid ground, broken ground, things to climb on, weak surfaces that tested your balance. We started making this a regular part of our route home, exploring the inside and out. It became more than that, our own obstacle course in the middle of the city! The first time I went through I pictured myself as a sniper sneaking my way through enemy territory. I’m still a kid at heart.
I never brought my bow with me though, last thing I needed was to get caught popping arrows off in the middle of the city. For that I had the backyard: we had a shed, tossed some trash cans around, wooden pallets, etc. All I had to do was turn on the simulator Dad brought home and viola, instant battlefield.
This was the perfect place to let my brothers run off their energy, myself as well. As much as I enjoy picking my brain with school work I was restless as all hell. “Can we climb to the top?” Troy asked, “We’ve never gone all the way up before.”
This was also my chance to bond with them. I mean, we’re close, the whole family is. But with my folks and Marathon working steady hours I’m left with Carth and Troy a majority of the time. I didn’t mind it at all, yea they’re pains in the ass, but shouldn’t all little brothers be?
“Pretend the ground is lava!” Carth shouted as he and Troy began jumping from crate to crate on the bottom floor of the building towards the first set of stairs.
Marathon taught me everything. This was my time to show them everything he showed me. He came out with us as often as he could, family was top priority for him, as it was for me, “Watch me.” I said as I took a few steps back from a rickety pallet of wood. I took a running start, jumped and touched down on the pallet with the sole of my right foot, pushing off immediately, twisting my hips to shift my weight and allowing my momentum to guide me to the other side, “Letting your weight rest will cause it to break if it’s unstable.”
Sometimes I think this is the one thing that separates us from the other kids here: our sense of adventure, our spontaneity, our willingness to look and think outside the box, that there’s more to life out here than being cooped up in hot factories all day. Mom and Dad told us that when they were growing up most people were all work and no play, especially when the new regime was put into place.
“C’mon, we got ya.” I said to Carth as I grabbed one hand, Troy taking the other as we heaved him up from a pile of rubble that brought us to the top floor. He raced ahead with Troy, kicking open the door that opened to the roof. “Wow!” he exclaimed as he took in the skyline of Three: the buildings, factories, “Everything looks so small from up here.” he gawked looking down from the edge, Troy right beside him.
I had a good adrenaline rush from the run up. I plopped down on the ground as they walked the perimeter, pointing out things in the distance. It reminded me of the first time I came up here with Marathon, that hint of innocence and wonder of the world around them, wanting to go a step further and jump higher.
A part of me hopes they’ll never lose it, not the way Marathon and I have.
“Ready to head back?” I asked getting to my feet after they explored the roof entirely, “Wanna go back through the inside, or...” I glanced down at the maze of catwalks and ladders that ran along the side of the building. Their faces lit up, part of me knew I didn’t need to ask.
And just like Marathon and I, their thirst for adventure was never satisfied.
“Can we do that again?!” Troy exclaimed after I caught him from dropping the last foot from the ladder. “Another time yea, when Marathon’s off. We can race, you guys’ll end up doing chores for a month.” “What’s that mean?” Troy demanded, “Means you two don’t stand a chance.” “Well, we’ll beat ya home!” Carth shouted as he and Troy took off ahead of me.
“Two against one ain’t fair!” I yelled playfully as I half walked, half jogged behind them, purposely dragging my feet and letting them take this round.
Opportunity Strikes ↑↑ Victory Tour of the 22nd Hunger Games
Marathon told me stories about warriors from all over the world growing up, and of them all snipers and assassins became those I admired the most, the archers and marksmen. I never liked guns, there’s something more appealing about the bow to me. Skill, strength. That’s what I wanted.
I read about different types of bows, different techniques and styles of shooting, placement of your fingers. I wanted to learn how to shoot, how to hit targets far distances away, just like the figures I read about. There was no where to get a bow in Three, so I did the next best thing: made my own.
My first one was nothing more than a stick with a chain of rubber bands tied together, take a guess how long it took for that to snap. Marathon helped me forge a “more durable one:” taught me what type of wood to look for, how to shape it and attach a bowstring, ditto with how to make a decent arrow.
Let me tell you how long it took to finally make something “durable.” In time I got better at it, even made a few arrow heads out broken pieces of glass, “Gotta build up that muscle, kiddo.” Marathon said smacking me in the arm when he saw me having a difficult time pulling back the tight string of a bow he helped me with.
Again, I got better over time, stronger, my shots better, found my preferred style of shooting. I went back and forth between the thumb draw and Mediterranean style. The simulator Dad brought home from work was a huge help; moving targets and all. The home-made bows suited me well, but ya can’t blame me for wanting something more. Little did I know one would fall into my lap in due time.
I started working at the tavern when I was 15, just cleaning tables and all. Easy work, my boss was laid back. We were located right next to the biggest factory in the District and always brought in a big crowd after the work day ended, the Mayor stopped in from time to time.
And then of all people, the Victor of the 22nd Hunger Games when he passed through during his Victory Tour.
He was a Career, name was Justice something-or-the-rather. He came in with the celebrity’s treatment: a duo of Peacekeepers, the Mayor, his mentor and escort, a smug ass grin on his face, dressed in his best and his prized bow slung over his shoulder. I listened in as he bragged about his victory, how his training at the academy allowed him to land all those final shots.
“Might’ve had more luck just hitting ‘em with the bow.” I mumbled under my breath as I turned from his table after clearing it. Everyone went quiet, and judging by the look on my bosses face, they all heard me. Oops?
“Excuse me?” Justice said. I took a quiet breath and turned around, a calmed expression on my face, “I said, you might have had more luck hitting the others with the bow itself.” No one spoke, Justice’s grin grew broader, “And what makes you say that?” he asked, sitting up straighter. Our of the corner of my eye I could see my boss’s face fall. He knew I wasn’t one to hold my tongue or back down.
“Honestly?” I began, holding myself steady, “You’re a pretty lousy shot. Your form wasn’t all that great, your shots were crooked, I was actually surprised that you even landed one. And if I recall you didn’t kill anyone with an arrow, just caused some injuries, and used your sword to deliver the killing blow.”
You could hear a fucking feather fall at this point. The Peacekeepers looked like they were ready to jump me, Justice’s smile not fading in the slightest. “I’m so very, very sorry, sir.” I heard my boss say as he hurried behind me, “The drinks and meal are on the house. Might I get you another gla-” Justice put his hand up to silence him, his eyes still on me.
“What’s your name, boy?” “Naxos.” I replied. “Naxos. Strange name coming from these parts.” “It’s a Greek island. Good history, might want to read up on it when you’re not training.” I explained. “Naxos, sto-” I heard my boss whisper only to be cut off by Justice again, “Well, ‘Naxos,’ you certainly know a lot about shooting for a bus boy.” he said mockingly. “I read.” “I’ll bet you do, all the great minds come from Three, no?” I heard a few people around me snicker, the Peacekeepers even cracked a grin.
“Let me tell you something, boy, it takes more than just ‘reading’ to know how to shoot. It takes time, practice, dedication, the sort of things you can’t learn from a book.” “I beg to differ.” “Do you now?” he stood, towering a few inches over me. I wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. My eyes wandered briefly to his bow on the table, a switch flipped in my head and a smile formed on my face.
“Care for a friendly wager? A little competition, your training versus my ‘reading.’” Justice chuckled and folded his arms, “Go on.” he said, “A lil’ shoot out.” I looked to the pile of empty bottles on the bar, “Five targets a piece, whoever takes down the most wins. Just for fun, unless you want to raise the stakes.” “By all means.”
“If I win, I get your bow.” Justice laughed, “And what do I get if I win?” “I’ll send you my earnings for a solid month; tips and all.”
Fifteen minutes later a Peacekeeper brought us ten arrows, five a piece. We set up the bottles outside on a crate, spaced evenly apart. Justice went first, lazily loading the bow and firing, striking down the first bottle, second, third, the fourth arrow went right over the neck of the bottle and clanked to the pavement. No one said anything, his expression didn’t shift, but you can tell he was put off. His final arrow struck the last bottle, totaling four hits.
“Don’t hurt yourself, boy.” he said forcing the bow into my hand. I took a moment to take in its weight, pull the string back and gauge the tension. The pull wasn’t that bad, made for his size but I could manage.
I slipped the first arrow between my index and middle finger, notched it on the string and pulled back, tilting the bow at the slight angle I preferred and lined up my shot.
One bottle down. Two. Three. Four. When the fifth arrow left the bow and the remaining bottle shattered on the ground, my heart skipped a beat. Holy shit! I turned to Justice, hiding my enthusiasm. The cockiness from Justice’s face was gone and the small crowd was looking back and forth between he and I. Part of me was expecting him to lunge at me and snatch the bow out of my hand, or the Peacekeepers to.
“I think all that reading did me some good.” I shrugged with an innocent smile.
He stalked off with his groupies without another word, the Peacekeepers grabbing all ten arrows before they left. They could have ‘em, I had plenty sitting in wait at home.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Marathon whispered with a grin when he came to pick me up when I got off at 2am. I told him about what happened while we walked home, the bow in a black trash bag until we were safely in the house. "We’ll adjust the tension tomorrow.” he said after testing the draw out himself, “It is yours after all now.”
District 9 was alright. Sure, we were one of the poorest districts and completely overpopulated. But as the “bread bowl” of Panem, the district smelled delicious. I closed my eyes and took a whiff of the aromas flying through the air. Cinnamon, Nutmeg, and other unnamable yet delicious spices flooded in my nose. It smelled like home. I opened my eyes glad to still see my younger siblings strolling ahead down the path.
“Don’t you think they are old enough to walk home by themselves?” my close friend Neda spoke from next to me. She was kicking a rock while we walked. I think Neda is my close friend, but she isn’t my best friend. She does some things that drive me crazy. She gossips all the time. I hope she doesn’t gossip about me to other people. She also turns on this persona when we are around boys. She laughs louder and tries to show off. Do I do the same thing? I don’t know. Maybe I’m a little too judgmental.
I hike my backpack up on my shoulders, “Why do you say that?” I looked up to see both Barley and Rachelle a safe distance ahead. They were tilting their head back and laughing, bumping into each other, and trying to make each other fall over.
“I say that because they are almost twelve. None of the other kids are escorted home from school.” Neda looked up at me.
“I-I..” I paused for a second to collect my thoughts. “I know I may seem a little..”
“Overprotective,” Neda filled in.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “It’s just ever since Petra, I feel like I have to protect them. Even letting them walk home frightens me. They are almost age twelve and that means the games are coming. But if they don’t end up in the games, I can’t have them out in the fields. I-” I spoke rapidly, every word getting me more and more upset.
Neda pushed her arm in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. We were almost home and about to enter the main market place of the district. She turned to me and stood on her tip toes. Then, she proceeded to wipe away the tear that had been beginning to form in my eyes. Any time I talked about Petra or the kids, I just get uncontrollable. I am trying though, to be better.
“Blake, you can’t isolate them their whole life. You need to give them some space. They can’t learn to be themselves when you are stalking them. They need to have experiences and fuck up. Like that time I made out with Jon Baxx. Bad decision but I learned from it!” I looked up to see the kids sticking to the path, on their way home. I liked Neda when she was serious and not throwing herself at boys. When it was just her and I. She was smaller than me and when we talked alone her voice got soft. I am smaller than average, so being bigger than someone was something new. I just wanted to hug her and protect her from the horrors of the world. It was almost like a mother Bear and her cub. Neda didn’t make fun of me when I cried. In moments like these, I want to lean in and kiss her and maybe then I could forget about everything and shut down my brain, even for a moment. But then I remember that I’ve only known this girl for a little and I was walking on thin glass. I felt more confident now then I did after Petra died and I was talking to more people, but I felt like I was constantly in danger of destroying every friendship with a single move. It was like I was carrying a glass vase on my head, trying to walk without it dropping.
“You are right,” I said, taking a deep breathe. “I’m ridiculous. I am almost 17 and worrying about such petty stuff.” I shook my head and pushed back my hair.
Neda smiled, “What happened is in the past. You just have to keep taking it day by day and focus on you. Not the kids.” It was easy for her to say as an only child. I wanted to say that, but I resisted.
I nodded to the short girl with dark hair and skin. I could focus on me. It couldn’t be too hard! Right? We continued to walk as she began to talk rapidly about the newest boy who had taken interest in her. Honestly, I didn’t give a shit but I listened because thats what friends do. I knew I wanted to get home to check if the kids got home safely, but I walked at Neda’s pace. I would try to not be so overprotective.
I walked Neda to her house which was before mine. I gave her a hug and she walked up the steps to her door. I waved goodbye and saw her entering her door. I had barley moved past the grass in front of her house when Neda stook her head back out the door. “Blake!” she yelled.
I whipped my head around and stopped in my tracks. She leaned on the doorframe, taking a second in usual dramatic Neda fashion and said, “I think you need a boyfriend or a girlfriend. That way you can have someone to obsess over and someone can obsess over you.” She grinned as if she had just solved a grand mystery.
I laughed in reply, “I know Neda, we can work on finding me someone tomorrow at school.” She waved again and disappeared into the house. I paused for a second, kicking the grass underneath my foot, waiting to see if she would come back out. She didn’t.
Home was a minute away, but in that minute I thought of what she had said. Either a boyfriend or a girlfriend was fine for me. I had no preference. I needed to find something to distract myself. I had been relying on people so heavily lately… I decided I would try and become a New Blake. I would focus on me now. I would study more, improve my relationships with friends, and not worry so much. I hoped becoming the New Blake would help. Maybe people would like the New Blake more. Maybe I could do something amazing and not be so average and dull. There was endless possibilities to the New Blake.
I opened my front door to hear the voices of the kids. They had gotten home safely.
Except, Barley sat in a chair in the kitchen with a cut on his foot with blood gushing out of it. God damn it. This was going to be difficult.
The secret of all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious || Journal Entry
“Mr. Cadfan. Mr. Cadfan?”
“Hmm, what?” I mumbled, snapped out of my day dream by the rapping of a ruler against the blackboard. Mrs. Watts, my chemistry teacher starred me down. “I asked if you can explain how to balance the formulas in the equation on the board.” “Oh, um...with a scale?” A couple of people laughed, and I swear even Watts cracked a hint of a smile as she rolled her eyes. She moved onto the first hand in the air.
It’s not that I’m disinterested in school or anything, I actually enjoy it, but science just isn’t my top choice, unlike the majority of the kids in Three. I mean, biology and some of the experiments we do are cool, but having chem lecture followed by an hour lab period is brutal, especially being the last class of the day.
After the lecture Watts gave us a few minutes to stretch our legs before lab, “On a scale?” a voice behind me said sarcastically, “What? It’s a legitimate answer.” I replied with a grin as I leaned against a locker while Pexey fished through his own. He’s one of my best pals here, total opposite of myself: quiet, keeps to himself. He’s a great guy if you take the time to talk to him, probably the next inventor or doctor. He helps me get through chem and I give him a hand with history, among other things.
A loud SLAM on the locker beside his broke our conversation, “Oh, sorry didn’t mean to scare you, Peeky. Thought I saw a spider or something.” Ryam sneered as he and his gaggle of dickhead lackies stalked off laughing. He’s your typical schoolyard meathead, ya know, the one who’s probably not going to get anywhere in life. His eyes narrowed when he saw me, as did mine as we locked gazes for a brief second.
“Just let it go, please.” Pexey pleaded as he caught his breath from the scare. I grumbled under my breath as I watched them turn a corner, strumming a rubber band between my fingers. I always kept a handful around my wrist. Ryam and I had a history, I made it clear day one that I wouldn’t put up with his shit and we typically stayed out of each others way (a story for another time). But once he starts with one of my own, then it’s my business.
“You really need to throw a fist or something before I do again.” I said as we headed back to class, “I can show ya-” “No, it’s fine really.” he defended himself. I rolled my eyes, “People are gonna keep crapping on ya until you do something.” “C’mon, Pex. Let karate master here teach ya a thing or two.” Gadge said from behind us, clasping him on the shoulder.
Gadge is a lot more like me, as far as personality goes. Bit of a slacker, but still good people. The three of us paired off as lab partners and watched Watts demonstrate the mixture we were to reproduce, “Follow the instructions exactly as they’re written on the board. I think you’ll find the results quite fascinating.” It actually was a pretty cool trial. The chemicals started changing colors on its own, flashing from red to yellow, green, blue, repeat, just like the gizmos and gadgets made in the factories here.
We headed to the lockers after the bell rang. Pexey nearly fell when he got shoved in the sea of people, and take a guess who was conveniently passing by with a smug grin on his face. I watched Ryam out of the corner of my eye as he met with his girlfriend at her locker only a few paces away and turned his back towards us
That’s when my brow arched slightly and a smirk started forming on my face.
“Nax, what’re you thinking?” Gadge asked seeing the glint in my eye, “Oh, nothing.” I replied. “You’re full of shit, I know that look.” They followed my line of sight to Ryam, then back to me. “Nax, don’t.” Pexey pleaded. Gadge shook his head and laughed, “I want no part in that.” before walking off. Pexey hurried to fill his bag and follow, “Just..don’t get into trouble or anything.” he pleaded before disappearing down the hall.
I waited a minute or so to make sure I had my pieces in place: he was distracted, the hall was still partly filled and, Beautiful, I thought to myself seeing the principal round the corner. I started down the hall, pulling the straps tight on my backpack and slipping a rubber band down from my wrist. Keeping my hands down I hooked it on the tip of my thumb and stretched it back with my index finger on my opposite hand.
Just as I passed by Ryam I shot the rubber band, aiming for the back of his neck and making my mark. He snapped around and saw me as I quickened my pace, “Wha- CADFAN!” he bellowed as he tore after me. That caught everyone’s attention. I threw myself forward, a look of sheer panic on my face as I ran through the parting crowd until I reached the principal, “Mr. Bians! Help!” I yelled. He saw me coming, likewise Ryam barreling towards me with malice in his eyes. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the principal.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Mr. Bians yelled. The hall went silent and everyone’s eyes were on us. “That little fucking shit-” “Watch your language and tone of voice with me, young man.” Bians said sternly, standing between us. I was “breathing heavily” behind him, "fear" still plastered on my face, “What happened?” he asked me, “I dunno. He just came after me.” I said. “He shot me in the neck-!” “No I didn’t! I was heading home-” “Yes you did! I know-”
“That’s enough!” Bians yelled, silencing us. “This is the third time this quarter I’ve seen you harassing other students. Between the complaints, the inappropriate language and insubordination you’ve landed yourself a weeks worth of detentions.” he barked at Ryam. He turned to me, “Are you alright?” “Yea, I’ll be okay.” I said, “You are free to go. You.” he pointed at Ryam, “My office. Now.”
The principal grabbed Ryam by his sleeve and began guiding him down the hall, and as he looked back at me I shot him a wink and a smirk. His face scrunched up and he mouthed one of his usual death threats at me. A few people around me laughed, hell one person started clapping. I left the smile on my face as I spun on my heel and made for the exit.
Gadge and Pexey were waiting near the door, and judging by the look on their faces they saw the whole thing, “You’re unbelievable.” Gadge grinned as he smacked me on the back while we began home, “Defender of the weak!- No offense, Pex.” I don’t think Pexey even heard him. He had a small smile on his face, “Thanks.” he said. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.” I recited with a smile.
My therapist tries to fix me. What she doesn't understand is that I cannot be fixed. None of us can be fixed.
Everyone walks around with twisted ideas on what life is. They always talk about life and death but they do not know anything about it. Life is not jumping from buildings and not giving a fuck about anything. Life is not having a beating heart and working brain. Death is not something great. People try and glamorize death.
They will be in peace when they are dead.
It's a lie.
There is no peace here.
There are only people who want me to believe lies.
It was two days after I received the letter and I decided that I had to do something about it. This was my year, he didn't deserve it. I'd beaten him more times than he'd beaten me in one on one matches. Just because he's 18 he gets to go? Fuck no. I can't wait another year, this is it. And I had to get him out of the way.
So I found Lamar working overtime at the training center in order to prepare for the arena. It was simple, easy really. Not many kids trained once the volunteer had secured their spot, most looked at it as their only opportunity for a vacation. The 18 year olds stopped altogether, in hopes to find real jobs and their place in a District that they'd always call home. The younger kids just took a break, back to training they went after the Reaping. A rigorous year round schedule, this being their only down time. And the trainers, who worked 6 out of 7 days of the week, well they wanted their break, too.
So Lamar trained alone, as did most of the volunteers did the week between their official notice and the Reaping. That gave me the perfect opportunity to strike.
Now, back to the insulin. I know for a fact that the Career Academy doesn't keep records on their students like they should. Medical history, ailments, allergies, shit like that. They should, but they don't. So would they know whether or not Lamar was diabetic? Probably not. What's better is that your body naturally produces insulin, so by the time they figured out that he had too much in his system, he'd already be dead or a fucking vegetable... if they did at all. Even in a place like Four, not everything was so easy to come by. And Lamar didn't come from the richest of families. Could they afford an autopsy? Who knows. But if they could, it wouldn't matter because by that time, I'll be in the Capitol.
So equipped with a needle full of insulin, far too much insulin for a normal person, much less an actual diabetic, I waited for Lamar. I was stealthy as fuck, Erik and I had trained ourselves well. He was the only one in the locker room that night... just him and I. The steam from the shower and the noise of the water splashing against the tile concealed me. I snuck up on that fuck, catching him off guard and cracking his skull against the wall. He slipped down into the water, blood starting to swirl the drain.
He groaned, having no idea who his assailant was yet. I planned on making sure he never knew. I held him down, injecting him with the entire contents of the syringe as he struggled against my grasp. Once I plucked the needle from his neck, I backed up and released him. He was dazed, I think he'd broken his nose. He groaned again and before he could roll over, I was gone.
I'd read up on it. I knew that a dosage like that would have some pretty dire consequences. The fast acting insulin had already started to give him the shakes before I left. I knew that within a few minutes he'd get sick and vomit. Soon after, a seizure would follow. I could only hope that it would be so soon that he'd still be in that shower when he slipped into a coma. It'd make sense, the way he fell into the wall and broke his face. There was zero evidence of foul play.
On my way out, I could hear him making noises, noises only a man in extreme pain would make. I wiped the syringe clean and stashed it in his locker, along with a few other injection drugs for good measure. Probably overkill, but I needed him to be discredited. I needed it to look like he was dabbling in shit that he shouldn't have been. I left everything else the way he'd left it and booked it out towards the hallway.
I was in the clear. I was gone. I'd done the deed and was this fucking close to getting away with it. But that's when I ran into Cecilia...
