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By Philip Roberts
Everyone in school knew about Greg’s temper, and while many could guess,
no one knew Greg was also a sociopath. Maybe it was his importance to the
football team, or maybe it was simply out of a certain fear none of them would
admit they had, but every one of Greg’s teachers let him pass. That isn’t to
say he was an A student, because no teacher’s conscience could allow them
to give him an A after seeing the answers he actually put down. Edward wasn’t
as kind.
Edward didn’t know who Greg Wilton was past the fact that he happened to
take American History 1. Three nights prior to the day Edward gave Greg an
F, as he sat at his desk, tests out in front of him, he’d read through Greg’s test
with almost stunned amazement. To give an example, the first essay question,
which asked the student to give two reasons why the American Revolution
began and explain why, Greg’s answer read, word for word, “Because Hitler
was trying to invade and enslave all the Jews.”
Much to the vast amazement of Edward, Greg was surprised by his grade.
This seemed to be the worst part of the entire situation; that a student could
turn in such an obviously terrible test, and yet stand in surprise at the grade
he received. And when Greg came up to Edward after class to ask him why
his grade was so low, it took Edward a moment to gather his thoughts as he
searched for some answer that wouldn’t make Greg feel like a bigger fool.
The conversation didn’t go well, and by the time it ended, Greg had stormed
out of the room.
While for most, murder is a complicated affair, for Greg it’s quite simple. One
needed only to walk up to someone from behind, grab their mouth to muffle
the scream, drive the knife into their lower back, and then, when they’re
reeling from the pain, turn them around and slit their throat. Nothing
complicated at all, really. Greg had done it four times before and felt nothing
at all about doing it for a fifth time.
The procedure was simple, fast, and effective, or at least it always had been,
until Greg made the mistake of attempting to use it on Edward. He made this
mistake at exactly nine after five in the evening, while Edward walked up to his
car to leave.
The knife went in his back easily. Edward, who had been dreaming about the
delicious meal waiting for him at home, opened his mouth to scream in pain
right as Greg’s hand found its target; as planned, Edward’s scream was heard
only by the two of them.
Then Greg spun Edward around, cut his jugular, and Edward felt his own
warm blood splash down his chest.
Edward couldn’t breathe, his neck hurt horribly, yet he didn’t gasp for air. In
fact, his lungs felt perfectly fine, almost as if he was still breathing normally,
even though he didn’t think he was. His mind considered the possibility he was
merely in shock, but as thirty seconds turned into a minute and his lungs still
felt fine, blood still pumping out of his neck, still flowing down his shirt, he
reconsidered.
For Greg, who always watched his victims die, the situation was just as
confusing. Edward brought his hand up to his throat, touched the wound,
hissed in pain, and lowered it, still alive. Greg was afraid now.
“What the fuck…” Greg said, almost as much to Edward as to himself, and
leaned back down, this time driving the knife through Edward’s chest and in-
between his ribs. The tip of the knife punctured his lung, and now, his right
lung on fire, he’d surely start gasping for air, life flowing out of him.
Edward wasn’t sure who was more surprised, he or Greg, when he didn’t die.
Oh, his lung hurt plenty, as did his throat, but Edward was very much alive.
While none of the attacks had killed him, the pain was taking its toll, so when
Greg decided he simply couldn’t wait around trying to kill Edward any longer,
the blow he gave to Edward’s head was sufficient to render him unconscious.
Greg felt a great wave of relief at that one as he dragged Edward away, and
managed to get him into the trunk of Greg’s car, which was where Edward
awoke an hour later.
After ten more minutes, or so Edward believed, the car came to a halt, and
Edward listened as the car door opened, closed, and footsteps crunched
towards the trunk. The space was tight, but Edward shifted as best he could.
When the trunk opened, Edward leapt into the chest of a rather surprised
Greg Wilton.
Edward almost would have believed he couldn’t be surprised anymore that
day, the long string of astonishing events so much that nothing was left to
surprise him. He found out he was wrong when he hit the ground only to find
himself rolling down a grassy slope, hands latched onto Greg’s shirt, dragging
him down as well.
Had Greg been of just a little sounder mind, he might have been able to save
himself from the fall by kicking the bewildered Edward off, but surprise kept
Greg at bay until the two of them were off the cliff and plummeting downward.
The lake didn’t quite reach the base of the cliff, leaving a small area of dirt
and rocks. The rocks were hardly jagged, but there were a lot of them, and
given the height both of them were falling from, they didn’t make for a soft
landing.
Lucky for Greg, he happened to be on top, and he pondered if a fall from
such a height, along with Greg’s two hundred and ten pounds on top of him,
could finally kill Edward.
The answer was no.
That isn’t to say it didn’t hurt.
The ground erupted as they hit, dirt and rock flung everywhere, and Edward’s
scream of pain pierced the previously calm surroundings. Perhaps by some
form of odd instinct, or perhaps by pure bad luck, Edward’s legs moved down
just before he hit, almost as if he thought he could casually land and walk
away, no harm done. Kneecaps shattered, a deep crack ran up his femur in
his right leg, and the ankle snapped so badly the foot nearly tore off. But
there was more. After his legs were all but destroyed, the full brunt of Greg’s
weight came crashing down, and Edward’s poor right arm happened to bend
back, landing under his back.
As for what happened to Greg? He felt the impact as well, though, not
enough to either kill or seriously injure him, but still enough to render him
unconscious. So for a few seconds Edward lay there. He stared up at the
stars winking down at him, Greg’s unconscious body on top of him, and pain
like no other flaring up across his entire body.
He might have stayed there all night, or until Greg woke up, had the bit of
ground they landed on not been an incline.
When they first started to slide down towards the water, Edward considered
whether or not there was some higher being who controlled fate, and if there
was, he wanted to kill whoever it was as brutally as he could. He even found
himself laughing right before the two of them slipped into the icy waters.
Edward didn’t even try to hold his breath, mouth wide open as water poured
down his throat.
At least there wasn’t any weight on his chest now, and through blurred vision
he watched Greg’s body sink as well, then stir. His eyes flickered open, briefly
at first, then abruptly, entire body awake with a jerk, and with that sight,
Edward was afraid.
The fear he felt wasn’t for his life, because what was really the point? He wasn’
t even afraid that Greg would kill again, which he certainly would, because at
that moment Edward really only cared about himself. Greg had to pay for what
he’d done, and that price was death, nothing else.
Edward thought he had no strength, but realizing Greg was about to live gave
him some. His left arm, the only somewhat uninjured limb on his body, latched
onto Greg’s leg. When Greg looked down, the look on his student’s face
allotted Edward a small bit of amusing revenge.
Many things helped the following events along. Greg’s surprise slowed his
movement and stole away his strength. Edward’s apparent inability to float,
along with the continuing pull of their weight, helped drag both of them down.
Greg was never able to free his ankle from Edward’s grip, and his screaming
only quickened his death as water poured into his open mouth. It only took
two minutes before Greg’s struggle ceased, but still Edward held on. His grip
never released, not even when he hit the bottom.
Three hours later Edward let go. He’d used that time to consider quite a few
things, and held on just to make sure there wasn’t some freak of nature that
kept Greg alive.
That night he tried to pull himself out of the water using his left arm, a venture
that ended in utter failure. The ground was simply too soft and his body too
weak. This left him with but one option: wait until his body healed, assuming it
could.
This assumption, as he came to finally accept exactly one month later, was
wrong.
The day after Edward vanished, his wife called the police and four days after
Greg vanished his father called the police as well, only after the school called
looking for him. Edward’s blood was found covering the ground next to his
car. While the connection was made between Greg and Edward almost
instantly, Greg’s car wasn’t discovered until a month after the day Greg died,
and it was only found then thanks to a frightened ten year old boy who jumped
into the lake to take a swim, only to find Greg.
The lake itself was searched, but Edward was never found. Perhaps he’d
simply sunken just a little too deep, or perhaps they just didn’t do a thorough
enough search. Either way, Edward was never found, not that being found
would’ve done much for him, not at that point in time.
One might ask what Edward is up to now, and that’s an easy question to
answer. All you need to do is get some scuba gear and go for a swim. While I
doubt he’d be able to carry on much of a conversation, I’m sure Edward would
enjoy the company.
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