The Scathing

The Scathing
by
Zander Williams


1
The thunderstorm raged over the town mercilessly. What a perfect day for someone's path of destruction. The Destroyer let the Scathing eat at the flesh of his first victim, and stuffed the carcass of his latest victim into the janitor's closet of his new school. The path was forming perfectly, and like all paths, that one seemed endless.

2
Fallington, New Jersey wasn't a large town, and neither was its high school—it consisted of only one story, and since it was a small school, things got around fast. There could be no secrets kept—except for the one about Evan Deagam.
He was a new student at Fallington High when October came around. He was black with a curly little afro, and many people in the school pondered whether he was half-Spanish or half-Indian or half-something. His eyes were coffee-colored, his skin caramel-colored, and he wore clothes that were not too 'preppy' and not too 'gangsta' either—right in between. He had the average height and weight of an eighteen year-old, and his face was free of blemishes as if the Proactive Solution he probably used actually worked.

Just like all the new boys who came to this small school, Evan was a chick magnet—all the girls were on him. How foolish of those giggly little girls; little did they know that Evan had tricks up both of his sleeves—tricks that had gruesome conclusions. When the girls went crazy over the new boy, the other boys got jealous, especially the ones with girlfriends—they feared that their girls would leave them for the new boy. Little did those envious guys know that Evan was not what they thought he was. The staff thought he was just another under-achieving student with a learning disability; those stupid teachers never learned that he was government property—or had been, anyway. Traitors were disowned by the government and became susceptible to persecution—but Evan Deagam had been marked for murder as a substitute.

He didn't have any brothers or sisters that anyone in Fallington knew of; in truth, he was foreign to Fallingon, and no one ever knew if he had parents or any other relatives. Principal Toffers would never have an answer for that mystery, however—he forgot about the time he enrolled Evan that day when the detectives asked him what happened at Fallington High on October 25, 2006.

3
It was Tuesday, October 25—six days away from Halloween—and Wendy Hughes didn't have a costume yet. She sat in the middle of the second row of homeroom as Mr. Brenner past out notices for the Hallo-Boogie Dance on Friday. She was a light-skinned beauty with jet-black hair that extended an inch from her shoulders, and roseate cheeks. That kind of appearance always brought along haters and enemies of every ilk; just last week, she fought Rachel Gerard because Rachel claimed she saw her boyfriend, Eric Cambry, flirting with Wendy at lunch. It was true, and Wendy beat Rachel down when she was confronted about it. She didn't even like Eric like that, and she didn't like his "bald-headed" girlfriend prior to beating her down either. Now, after that skirmish in front of her house was over (she told everybody that Rachel was "somethin' light" although she was about two inches taller than Wendy), she was ready for any other wench to step on her toes.

She had love for fashion, and loved more to dress up. Never was there a day when came to school off-point—she was always beautiful in the outfits she wore. She had a voluptuous set of legs that resembled the ones a stallion used to trot across the land with grace on. With an average-sized breast and nice-sized bottom, it wasn't safe to leave her around middle-aged men who still thought about the girls they went to school with. All the upperclasswomen had flaming envy as soon as she stepped through those high school doors and became a freshman.

Her need to get a costume for Halloween that year had been vital. One year she was Cleopatra, the next a witch (in which she still was fine), the next a cross between a devil and an angel. Now, this year, her senior year in high school (thank God for that), she didn't know what she was going to be. I might as well be myself, she thought. A goddess.

"Don't leave these papers lying around in here," Mr. Brenner said stubbornly, "or I'll come to your class in the middle of the day and make you come back here and throw'em away, alright, class?"

Keri Ann Ellis, Wendy's best 'bitch', sat in front her. She turned around and handed her three orange pieces of papers to Wendy in order for her to take one and pass the rest back.

"Are you going?" asked Keri, who was as pretty as Wendy, but had lighter skin and brown hair.

"I dunno." Wendy put her elbow on the desk, and sat her perfectly shaped head in her palm after she put the two remaining papers on the desk behind her Mr. Brenner always does that, she thought. "Last year it was corny. Plus, ain't nobody to go with."

"Well, what about the new boy?" Keri Ann suggested.

Wendy rose from her bored position. She had forgotten all about the new boy. What's his name...Evan. What a cute name for a cute boy like him.

She really didn't want to ask him to the dance for two solid reasons: a) she always wanted the boy to ask her to go, and b) almost every other girl slobbered over Evan since he arrived. She declared that she would never involve herself with a boy who had many admirers—that was like fighting over the last piece of chicken in a room full of scavengers. Too much haters in this school to mess with the new boy, she thought.

Keri Ann saw the apprehensive expression on Wendy's face and asked, "Do you want me to go over there and introduce you to him?"

Evan was in six of her nine classes, including lunch. He came to the school last week on Thursday, and when he walked bashfully into her sociology class that day, her heart melted like ice cream in a microwave. There he had stood, those curls on his head, that sexy green shirt and blue jeans, those full brown eyes, those juicy pink lips, oh so kissable...If she hadn't been stuck on a question asking about ethnic backgrounds on her worksheet, she would have had a little orgasm right there in her seat. Now he was in her noisy homeroom, seated four crooked rows over and three graffitied desks down in the sixth row.

"Now?" she replied.

"Yeah," said Keri Ann, "why not? Now, I know you ain't scare—"

"Since when you knew me to be scared?" Wendy interrupted. She giggled arrogantly. "I'm from the Hughes family, and girls in it intimidate the boys—not the otha way around, sweetie!"
Keri Ann giggled with her, causing the ones around them to stare in puzzlement.
"Well I'm about to go over there, then," said Keri Ann. "Don't stop me once I get up—'cause when go, I ain't comin' back until my job is done. And make sure you give him the Eye when he looks at you."

The Eye was when they stared at a boy or group of them in order to provoke them to flirt, or use them like a gold digger would, getting the boy or group of boys to give them money for lunch or something of the sort.

Keri Ann walked to the back of the room and turned left in her sexy blue shoes. In no time she plopped her fat booty in the empty desk chair in front of Evan. He was scanning over his class schedule when she snatched it from his view. His desk had two gigantic books stack together on it, probably pre-calculus and physics Wendy guessed as she watched her best "bitch" grab the paper he was reading.

She's a crazy light-skinned girl, but she's my crazy light-skinned bitch.

Wendy turned her torso to get a full outlook of this ritual of the Eye that was seven years old; her and Keri Ann developed it in the fifth grade. She fixed her juicy lips in a smile that was just irresistible, her straight and sparkling white teeth resembling those off the Crest commercials that seemed to appear on roughly every channel on TV. She crossed her cute little hands that had fake white and red nails on the fingers; she had just got them done the day before yesterday at Nails 2000 in the mall. Her gold bracelets jingled and jangled as she put her hands together, trying to appear as pretty and innocent to that new boy, Evan Deagam.

Outside, thunder began to accompany the rain.

4
The Destroyer had already killed seven students here at Fallington High and made four others extremely sick. He just arrived to the high school five days earlier, and did he waste any time?

Nope.

Now he was in homeroom, which had pandemonium spraying from all sides and corners of the classroom. He was trying to decode the mystery of his schedule, which very confusing. Some Puerto Rican guidance counselor named Ms. Velez had put it together for him while he discussed his grades with the principal, Herbert Toffers, who had gray hair and the memory span of a goldfish. When he called Ms. Velez into his office to give The Destroyer his class schedule, he actually asked her "Who are you?" and then called her some other guidance counselor's name.

Ms. Velez had to be around the age of twenty-
five or in that brink because The Destroyer felt attracted to her. He never liked females who would be killed by the Scathing.

She had her fine brunette hair with glamorous gold streaks in a loose ponytail that hung to her lower back—right above that fat rump of hers. When he had followed her into her room in the main office, some stiffness slowly slid into his tool as he observed the bounce and curve of her buttocks. His tongue fell a bit out of his mouth in hunger—hunger for sex. The canine in him barked, howled, and wagged its tail in anticipation. It had been a while, given that he used the Scathing on mostly every girl he came into contact with since his treason.

"Have a seat," she said as they entered her office.

He sat in the chair and ogled her ass once more as she went around her desk to sit in her own chair. She sat and caught him looking.

"Is something wrong, Evan?" Ms. Velez asked.

"No," he said as he pulled the reins of his gaze away from her and looked at his watch, "I'm okay. Just a little cold. Can I shut the door?"

"Sure."

He got up and shut it carefully. He had something concocting in his mind—something random. He sat back down and smiled salaciously at his next victim. She smiled back, but reluctantly; her cheekbones made her very appealing, and went together with her eyes. He pressed the button on the demonic device in the left pocket of his jeans.

5
The news on TV had numerous stories about students having affairs with their teachers and other school staff members—and Jacqueline Velez had sworn it to her heart she would never ever scoop that low with any student. Of course, some of the boys that intended Fallington High were attractive, and of course, she was a knockout herself. She was currently twenty-nine but looked five years younger.

No, she wasn’t a Spanish teacher (that’s what Principal Toffers had thought when he interviewed her in his office four years ago), and, no, she wasn’t a cafeteria aide (that’s what Principal Toffers had thought after she told him she wasn’t a Spanish teacher in the interview), but a drop-dead gorgeous guidance counselor. That’s all. She went to college to study sociology and became a licensed social worker; nothing else. Now she was a guidance counselor that had a purpose—to give Fallington High School students guidance. Never would it be her intention to guide those male students to her clitoris—or female (the news did have a couple stories about student-teacher relationships that were lesbian).

Here she was, nevertheless, constructing a class schedule for the new boy who came Thursday named Evander Deagam; she found him very attractive. Oh, yes, he was of age as she could she on his enrollment form—eighteen. He was legal, with those legally plump lips and those legally black curls in his head. If only his eyes were a different color, she thought. Jackie prized guys who had eyes other than brown; brown was simply boring. But Evan…Evan had brown eyes and brown skin, and he was far from boring—at least a thousand miles in distance. But he was still in high school, and that was where she drew the line—a long and wide red line that she programmed to burn her if she ever tried to cross it.

She directed him into her office. It was cool as an early April breeze in there. After telling him to have a seat, she walked around her desk and pulled her rolling chair away from it to sit down. At the moment she turned to face him, she caught him gawking in direction of her mid-section. He was just looking at my ass, she thought as she sat.

It wasn't anything new, though; she had occasionally caught Principal Toffers doing the same thing. Some of the boys at Fallington High had the hots for her rump as well; one day while walking past a lunch table with nothing but black boys sitting at it, she had heard one of them say, "Damn! Ms. Velez gotta fat ass! Just give me five minutes wit her, ten tops, and I'll make her feel real good!" She hadn't bothered looking back—to her, it had been a compliment rather than a grimy insult. It was there, and as long as the boys knew it was there, that was the lone thing that mattered.

Now that she caught this new boy drooling over her buttocks, she would believe she still was a first round K.O. at the age that was four months from thirty.

"Is something wrong, Evan?" she asked him. After that, Evan sharply turned his head and looked at his watch. She wanted to imply that she knew he was enjoying her best physical feature. Look and love. You know it's there, Evan, and I know you know it's there so look at it and love it.

"No," he responded. "I'm okay. Just a little cold. Can I shut the door?"

That was strange—why would someone that felt chilly want to close the door of a room that was colder than the area outside of it? Wouldn't that increase the chilliness of the room, thus make that person feel even colder? Jackie gave him a look of perplexity, but that didn't stir any concern in him; Evan peacefully awaited her answer. Why do all cuties have to act so weird?
Because it's always this for that, the voice of her mother said. One person can't have all good attributes; God didn't make us perfect, you know. You can't be the strongest person in the world and be the smartest. But do good-looking guys have to act so damn odd? Danny Bermudez, the guy she dated last year, was an undercover Star Wars freak. On occasion, he would bring up someone named Yoda and how he helped some guy named Luke become something called a Jedi. But because he was so cute, Jackie put up with it—right up until she caught him doing the sound effects of something called a lightsaber battle with his in her bathroom one morning. She told him to get his stuff and leave immediately at breakfast that same morning.

It's always this for that.

Jackie struggled to put a smile on her face.

"Sure," she told Evan.

He rose and walked over to the door. He grinned at her as he slowly closed the door, and put his left hand in his pocket. As he returned to his seat, a monotonous buzzing filled her ears; a low agitating sound that an ailing wasp might make. She cocked her head in concern as she tried to figure out where such a sound would just arise from unexpectedly. Her first guess was the heating system, which had been malfunctioning ever since she had started working at Fallington High. It always sounded like it would explode any minute as it came on and went off during the day. Then again, she thought, it could be lights—unfortunately, those weren't in perfect working order neither. The ceiling lights in her office had flickered from time to time with a droning noise attending it, and that's when she began to assume it had been the work of ghosts. She had managed to tell Toffers about it, but he was always busy with some badass student, and besides—Toffers had trouble remembering things. It would be months before he'd have one of the school custodians and some of electricians from downtown come and fix those damned lights.

"Are you alright, Ms. Velez?" Evan inquired. He leaned forward as if he was an eager tourist trying to get a better view of some old French painting in a museum.

"I'm fine," she lied.

The buzzing grew louder, and suddenly her vision wavered around the edges; it was as if she had on goggles that regularly let in chlorine water from a pool. She could feel the buzzing on the top part of her ears. She glanced at Evan to see if he was affected by the buzzing, but he sat there unchanged and smiling as if he never had a bad day in his life.

"You don't hear that?" she asked.

"Hear what?"

"That buzzing sound."

"What buzzing sound?"

If he doesn't hear it, is it all in my head? she asked herself. The buzzing intensified, and now she could feel it in her body. She tried to ignore it and discuss Evan's classes, but when she went to open her mouth, the buzzing triggered a sharp tingling sensation in her muscles; it was like pins and needles, but all over. Finally, she mustered enough strength to speak over that buzzing, which was a decibel over the thunderous roar an old model vacuum would make.

"You sure you don't hear that?" She was on the verge of hollering.

Evan chuckled and uttered smoothly, "Why are you shouting at me?"

Now she was shouting. "Why are you actin like you don't hear it?"

Jackie got to her feet, pushing the chair back forcefully in turn. A dark vertigo stole over her and she stumbled back in the chair; the buzzing sent excruciating shocks through her mind and body. Suddenly she could see red streaks soaring through her vision, and the computer before her exploded like a megaton bomb—but she never heard it explode. In addition, she couldn't perceive the sound of her voice, and began to think not only was she going blind and deaf and mute, but also insane. She could feel the scorching of her tonsils as she screamed in agony, but the buzzing was far too piercing to hear anything. She felt her brain start to split in many different directions, and could no longer see Evan—only a red radiance as she slid out of her chair like a slug onto her knees. She pasted her hands to her ears to keep the buzzing out of her mind, but now it was in her, jerking violently at her skin and bones. Tears fell, and she felt like she was on fire—no, she felt like her blood was on fire. The buzzing was constricting her brain when—

I can make it stop.

It was some far away voice, but it echoed in her mind. Everything she was about and had to remember was now no more at that point; her new purpose was to escape this extremely harsh abomination. I want to die, she thought, but if this is Hell, I'll keep on fighting it!

You can't fight it off, the distant voice said, but I can make it stop.

She knocked all of the things off her desk in desperation trying to reach for that distant language. The red she was seeing now had black streaks flying across it like vampire bats soaring across a waterfall of blood, and that horrified her—and it would continue to horrify her for the rest of the time she had on the raucous world.

"Please!" she cried out, but evidently not hearing herself doing it. "Make it stop! Make it stop, whoever you are! Please!"

In the midst of the red glow, a dark shape emerged as it came closer to her. Jackie reached out with both arms and the shape caught hold of them firmly—a little too firm. The shape's grip was human to her relief, but its grip was tight on her wrists. She tried to scream for help again—and that's when she felt human lips touch hers. She shrunk back, but they were soft, so soft. She could feel coarse hair pressing against her mouth, so it had to be a man (thank God for that—no lesbian action here). The red glow and the devilish buzzing began to fade, and that red line she had set between her and the students was infringed. It was Evan Deagam.
When her vision returned completely, Jackie discovered that she was sitting on the floor next to the desk—and he was leaning over her with a hatefully happy grin on his face. She struggled to free her wrists from his hands, but no success was present.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked. His grip grew steadily tighter. "Let go of me, motherfucker! Let—"

He slapped the saliva out of her mouth; she flew back and knocked her head on the desk. He then forced himself between her to legs, pinning her to the carpet like a bear atop of an unlucky camper (oh why did you have to have that skirt on? a voice told her). He took her thin wrists and anchored them on each side of her head. She was worn-out trying to feel her way around when the buzzing began and could barely wiggle herself out of his grapple. Finally, she gave in.

"Yes," Evan whispered. "That's right—relax. Nobody can hear you, honey. Shouting will do no good, Jacqueline. So I take it you didn't like what the Scathing was doing to you, eh?"

She found a burst of energy inside and attempted to break free; Evan slapped her again and put her back in that submissive position. She tried to scream as loud as she could, thinking that Mr. Flannigan, the other guidance counselor, would hear her since is office was right next door. He slapped her once more and silenced her. Suddenly he wasn't some cute boy anymore; he was a malefic monster.

"You better calm the fuck down," he exclaimed, "or I'll let the Scathing buzz your fuckin' brains out, Jackie!"

She froze, and for the first time that day she felt the frigid air in the office that came from the air conditioner. The keyword there was buzz, which was something she had a moment ago developed a phobia for. And what the hell was a 'Scathing'?

"Now this what you're gonna do," he said. He unzipped his jeans and pulled her skirt up. "You're gonna let me hit this, alright? Or do you want to take this up with the Scathing? I can make it come back in an instant and make the smooth hair on your head fall out and make your skin dry up. Now is it worth risking your life over refusing me? You know you like me, Jackie. Give in."

She did like him, despite the fact that he was about to rape her, or worse, turn that horrendous buzzing back on somehow. He pulled the part of her underwear over her vagina to the side, and then she could feel that hypersensitive utopia as his warm manhood rubbed against her. At the same time, it was pleasant and unpleasant.

"Don't," she complained softly, and tears plunged from her eyes. He did, though, like she was a worthless two-dollar whore.

After he was finished, he got to his feet and zipped his pants up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long silver pole with a red ball at the top like it was some kind of clown trick. He spun it on his fingers as if it were a drumstick that belonged to someone in on the school band. For every swing and wave it made, she heard that dull buzzing again; she winced sporadically on the carpet.

"Let me get something across to you," he uttered, smiling. He held the silver pole up the same way the Statue of Liberty held the torch. What he said next was majestic in a wicked way.
"I'm Deagam the Destroyer, but you can call me Ev. It's best you keep this to yourself, Ms. Velez. If anyone approaches me about any of this, I'm going to turn this thing up to maximum and make your organs and that person's organs burst. There's something I want you to do for me, Jackie. If you do just that, I'll leave you alone forever, are we clear?"

She gazed at him with pure fury; she was definitely in a tight spot. The new boy just had his way with her—a student, no matter how attractive he was, had his way with her. She felt like absolutely nothing at that point. And now he wants to use me? This boy is psychotic! He might've made me...pregnant! I would call my brothers Marcos and Gabe up here to slice his head and his balls off at that same time, but that buzzing...that redness...the Scathing...

He told exactly what he wanted her to do, put his jacket on, took the paper with his class schedule on it, pulled the paper that he covered the door window with off from the door, and grinned hideously as he left her office.

She would sit in her chair for the next half of an hour crying in apathy, with her hair ruffled and face stinging scarlet, and would destroy the wire that connected every telephone and computer in the school as Evan commanded. She crunched on six Advil tablets for her head, but neither of them worked. She called Toffers and told him that she wouldn't be assisting any more students that day.

That was when it started to rain something fierce outside.

6
Some light-skinned girl with brown hair snatched the schedule out of his hands while he tried to figure it out. He didn't notice that she had come over to sit in the seat before him. The schedule was nothing but a bunch of nothing on top of nothing. His classes were scattered all around the school and he had to know where to be when he would let the Scathing release its maximum power. He had a score to settle here, and dumb-ass bitches like the one that snatched his paper away could screw things up. He glared at her with rape and murder prominent on his mind.

"Hi," she said, "what's your name?"

"Evan Deagam," he replied.

As annoyed as he was with the girl, he still tried to keep his cool—the Destroyer had such a blazing red temper. He hated having casual conversations with those he knew were inferior to him. If he had the Scathing on his side, no one could overwhelm him—not these students, the faculty, the police, or the CIA. The Scathing spoke to him on a psychic level, and he cherished it very much. It was a fraction of him, and if it were a girl, he'd make love to it every night. The CIA put it in him, and now he was putting it to use on everybody in his path—a path of destruction.

A man is not a barrier; if he bleeds like I bleed, then I shall knock him and every other man down standing in my way.

"Where are you from?" the girl asked.

The Destroyer massaged his stubby beard. "It doesn't matter where I'm from, my dear, but where I end up. I'm from Fallington."

"Okay...someone doesn't like their past very w—"

"Can I help you?" he rudely interrupted.

She recoiled in disgust and looked back at another girl who had been staring at him from across the classroom, smiling. He smiled back and remembered exactly who she was.

Well, looky-here—it's Wendy Hughes, that girl from some of my classes. She is so hot! I know she got the hots for me, too. She's the most beautiful girl in this substandard school. She's also smarter than most of these idiots. She and I are going to have loads of fun before the night ends. I might just let that sweet thing over there live.

"Tell your friend to come over here," said the Destroyer.

The light-skinned girl gave him a glance of aversion as she stood up. Evan gave her a glance that a Nazi would give a Jew in return.

"Whatever," she murmured.

I'm going to make that bitch cough up blood, the Destroyer thought. No one looks at me like that. Call me Hellraiser, because I can rip your soul apart!

He glared at the light-skinned girl as she walked back to her desk.

7
Keri Ann came back to her desk with a face of discontent, which bothered Wendy like a sexual harasser that doesn't seem to know the definitions of stop and no. She wondered if the Eye worked and if Keri Ann did the job right. Evan did stare back, and Wendy knew she had him then, so why did Keri Ann look like she had bad news?

"So," Wendy said with a long o at the end.

Keri Ann shrugged. "So..."

"Well, what happened?" Wendy was anxious.

"I don't think you should mess wit him."

"What do you mean I shouldn't mess wit him?"

"Exactly what said—you shouldn't mess wit him."

Wendy didn't like that look on Keri Ann face. What the hell happened over there?

Thunder cracked outside and heavy rain poured on the high school. The windows in the classroom blurred the scenery of the grass and forest and the street outside. Mostly every student in there was out of their seat and talking; Mr. Brenner with his gray hair and his apparent black toupee sat at his desk grading tests from other classes. Another crack of thunder unleashed itself like transvestite coming out of the closet, and it made Wendy flinch. Then she saw the new boy coming down the aisle. He smiled at her as he went past to sit in the empty desk behind her, and the corners of her luscious lips went up to reveal her Crest-commercial teeth.

"You must be Wendy," he said.

Wendy fell into a dreamlike state in a downward spiral. Up close, he was what white girls called a 'hunk.'

"Yes, that's me," she replied, and now she knew she was smiling excessively—but she really couldn't help it.

"Hi, Wendy. I'm Evander Deagam, but you can call me Evan or just Ev—whichever suits your lips best."

I'd love to put my lips on yours, she thought. You'd love me forever after that, Evan. If only all these nosy people left us alone in here...Forget that—I'll get it to you anywhere, good-lookin'!

She turned herself around so she could sit comfortably at the desk and look into his divine brown eyes. "So, Evan—where are you from?"

"Vineland," he said.

Wendy heard Keri Ann gasping behind her, but Keri Ann stopped herself abruptly as if she was going to say something. Wendy glanced back at her and saw that she shaking her head back and forth. She then turned back to Evan and shook her own head in confusion.

"What made you move here?" she asked him.

"Well, is a long story, but—"

A boy came over and wrapped his arm around Wendy's shoulder. It was Barry Yorkston, one of the boys from Eric Cambry's little clique. The name of it was something that imitated some rap group—D-Unit, or something like that—Wendy couldn’t remember and didn’t care. Barry “B.Y.” Yorkston was a very disgusting black kid with cornrows that sold marijuana especially in the school’s bathrooms between periods; he thought he was cute to all girls, and probably was to some, but Wendy didn’t find him cute at all. He was the type that believed he was ‘all that’—the type that she detested with a passion. In fact, all of the members in Eric’s clique acted that way and all of them sold drugs. They acted like bullies as well, always walking together in the halls, searching for someone to fight. Eric liked her and when he liked any girl, as she observed many times before, he’d send one of his subordinates to play ‘matchmaker.’

“Wassup, Wendy,” B.Y. said. She shoved Barry’s arm off of her and gave him a gaze of extreme dislike.

“Don’t touch me,” she told him in a low and toneless voice.

“Why you actin like dat?” he said.
She turned back to Evan. “Just don’t touch me.”

She thought Evan would meet her eyes, but his were strongly focused on B.Y Never had she seen such blood-spattered wrath on someone’s face, and it made her heart speed up in pace. At that moment he was something else completely, something she hadn’t noticed since the time he got here the week before. It didn’t scare her, though—or at least that was what she thought.
B.Y. met Evan's eyes.

"Who you?" he asked Evan. He obtained no response—the new boy's scrutiny endured. Wendy saw this and spoke for him.

"His name is Evan Deagam," she said. "He came here last week on Thursday. He came from Vineland."

"You from Vineland?" he asked Evan again. Evan said nothing. "I heard dudes from Vineland can't fight."

"Oh?" Evan replied finally. He was calm, but Wendy felt the vice in the smile as he gradually dressed his face with. It was like watching a wildfire slowly consume an entire building. "That's what you heard? Well, how would you know if you never fought anyone from there? You can't go around believing everything thing you hear especially if you never went toe-to-toe with a Vineland boy before."

Wendy knew exactly what B.Y. was going to say next.

"So whatchoo tryin to get at?" he said. He let the jacket he was wearing drop of his shoulders to his elbows as if he was going to take it off. "You wanna rumble? It don't matta to me, motherfucka! Me and my niggas is down for whateva. Matta fact, I ain't even goan fight you in here."

Mr. Brenner's head bobbed up. The students around began to observe.

"Why," Evan said, laughing a little, "are you and your boys gonna jump me? Why can't you and me just fight?"

B.Y. put his jacket back on. "I'll tell you like this: watch ya back."

Wendy stood up and put her arms out. "Chill out, B.Y.! Why do have to start a fight with everybody you see?"

"Ain't no new boy goan come here talkin' dat shit!" B.Y. demanded.

Another boy came over that also had braids. Wendy knew exactly who it was—Kevin Dash. He was taller than B.Y. and much more aggressive—and he was a member of Eric's clique, obviously. She had heard about how he almost killed some boy in the tenth grade with his bare hands. Evan was cute, and she didn't want that to happen to him.
Keri Ann stood this time to stop Kevin from getting involved in the argument, but she didn't like the new boy—she did it for Kevin's sake, for if he got in trouble again, he'll be on the first bus to juvenile hall. Maybe even prison. Besides, she had sex with him a few times.

"Go sit down, Kevin," she told him. But he went over to B.Y. instead.

Kevin looked down at Evan. "What's the problem?" he asked B.Y.

"This curly-headed punk right here think he hard," B.Y. exclaimed. He pointed his finger directly in Evan's face, and Evan smacked his hand away.

"Don't put your hand next to my face," he said. There was no smile on his face now—just restrained wrath. "If you keep on fucking with me, I'll crack every bone in your body."

"Word?" said B.Y. and put his finger back in the vicinity of the new boy's face.

Evan stood and pushed B.Y. into Kevin with dynamic force. They stumbled backward, and with pure reflex B.Y. swung on the new boy.

"Fuck!" a voice croaked from across the classroom. It was Mr. Brenner making his way over to break up the altercation. All of the students stood around the fight, watching in awe like Boy Scouts listening to a scary story at a campfire.

Evan ducked from the impending jab and threw a hard punch to B.Y.'s nose. He jumped over the desk and socked B.Y. again, this time in his right eye. Wendy sprang from her desk and tried to pull Evan's arm as hard as she could ("No fighting in on your senior year, please," Principal Toffers exclaimed in an assembly for the seniors in the auditorium, "or you will not be walking the grass to get that diploma!"; he was booed harshly afterwards), but he flung her crosswise into the nearby row of desks. Kevin swung and jabbed Evan in his jaw and made him stumble into the same row. He smacked his head into one of the desks. All of this flashed in front of Wendy's eyes like a DVD in fast-forward mode.

"So, y'all wanna gang up on somebody?" the new boy exclaimed. Blood seeped from his mouth, and his eyes illumined as he staggered to his feet. "So y'all wanna start somethin'? Well, I got just the shit that'll start and won't end 'til everything's demolished! Here comes the Scathing, bitches!"

The new boy plunged his hand into his pocket and fiddled with something in it. Mr. Brenner came in between the battleground, arms out so that no one each side could approach the opposing side. Evan grinned as he glared at Keri Ann, who managed to punch Evan when he flew into the desks after a punch from her sex partner, Kevin. He sat at one of the desks.

"You boys stay right where you are so I can call security in here," exclaim Brenner, panting madly. His toupee had been cocked to a weird angle.

"I leaving," said Evan and got up. He walked around everyone at the front of the class.

"Stay in here!" Brenner yelled.

Evan stopped at the door. "I am going to the bathroom to clean the blood off of my nose and lips. I'll come back as soon as I'm done."

"No! Get in here, Mr. Deag—"

The new boy left. Brenner meant to chase him, but saw that B.Y.'s blood flow was something crucial. The first period bell rang, and some of the students made little effort to leave the classroom. Wendy stood up and looked at Keri Ann, who had red lines falling from her bottom lip.

"Keri!" Wendy screamed. She couldn't believe what she was seeing; blood was pouring out of her friend's mouth like red Kool-Aid pouring from a pitcher (Oh yeaaaaah!). "What's wrong? Why are you throwing up blood? Keri!"

Keri Ann fell to her knees, making strong gagging noises as the red stuff formed a puddle in front of her. Wendy trotted over to her friend with hot tears burning her roseate cheeks. The students stood in fear around her.

"Somebody call nine-one-one!" someone said in the crowd. Mr. Brenner ran from helping B.Y. stand up from the floor to Wendy and Keri Ann, almost vomiting himself after all the blood he saw. He backed everyone away from the two girls and reached the phone. B.Y. and Kevin approached them.

"What's wrong wit her?" Kevin hollered.

"Back up!" Wendy cried, patting Keri Ann on the back. The hemorrhage persevered.

"C'mon, Kevin," said B.Y., nose leaking long droplets. "Let's go get dat faggot! I think he know what happen—he had somethin' in his pocket and I think he pulled it out on her!"

With that said, the two boys knifed through the crowd building around the door in sizzling pursuit of the new boy. Brenner's first period class had arrived, only to see desks flipped and two girls on the dusty floor, one crying and screeching and the other choking on her own blood. Two boys ran out of the room, one with a gun in his hand. It was a horrible spectacle.

"There's nothing to see here!" Brenner shouted at the students while on the classroom telephone. First, he spoke to the assistant principal; then, he spoke to the principal; then—

The phone went dead.

"Hello?" he said into the phone. "Hello? Hello? Hello-hello-hello-hello?" He let the phone dangle on the springing cord and thwarted the students out of the door, shouting at the very summit of his aging lungs. The toupee fell off of his head.

Wendy was being drenched in blood and throw-up as she tried to lift Keri Ann and drag her out of the room. Surely whoever was responsible for that, she was going to murder, even though see had no clue how. She heard B.Y. say that Evan had something in his pocket. The new boy was no longer cute to her—only a target. She wanted Kevin to do to the new boy what he did to that other boy back in the tenth grade. He saw the way he looked at Keri Ann in that desk, and he hurried out of the room because he knew what he did and Wendy knew what he did, too—she just didn't know what he did it with or how he did it. You will pay, you devil—you will pay.

Brenner helped Wendy tote Keri Ann to the nurse office through the herds of students in the hallway. An odor followed them all the way there, a stench of death boiling in a cauldron that a witch—or in this case, a warlock—would use to stir wicked brews in. That warlock was the new boy. The new boy had to be lynched like the man-witch he was.

And Keri told me not to mess wit him. Why didn't I listen...

The thunderstorm raged on, but it didn't frighten Wendy one bit.

8
The Destroyer left the room with a grin the size of a jack-o-lantern's. He pulled his phone from his coat pocket and dialed a number on it.

"Do it now," he said grimly, and pressed the red END button.

He went into the boys' restroom on the left and went to the sink. He tore a piece of paper from the translucent dispenser next to the last sink and wiped the blood away from his mouth. He laughed as his twin in the mirror laughed. The Scathing felt so good to him, and it wasn't even at maximum power. He wanted to use it on the two dudes that jumped him in the classroom, but he had a better idea. Something random. The light-skinned bitch, who managed to snatch the schedule out of his hands and sucker-punch him when he crashed into the desks, was probably coughing up bones and organs at that point—how lovely was that! He felt a little sorry for Wendy because the Keri girl was her friend, but that was the Keri girl's fault—she involved herself into something that had nothing to do with her. What else should happen if someone got in the way of a Destroyer?

Three more things had to transpire before he could wreak more havoc. He was quite sure that the two dudes who attacked him were on their way in the bathroom—that number one. Jackie was on course to cut the wires, so that no phone calls could be made or received by the school and that no Internet service could prosper—that was number two. Many kids had to have cellular phones, and he had to use the Scathing to block all service signals—that was number three. With the thunderstorm going crazy outside, there wasn't going to be any outsiders or escapists. The prisoners were now his prisoners—and even though that wasn't a part of his twisted agenda, it was definitely number four. I should wipe them all out by morning, he thought.

The Scathing gave the Destroyer the ability to emit highly concentrated gamma rays, causing radiation sickness in everyone in close parameters. It could produce a psychotic eruption in the brain as well as vomiting, cell depletion, and other nasty conditions—like instant death. The Destroyer knew he was a walking sickness, an embodiment of ruin waiting to spread and exterminate everything efficiently everywhere. The power of the Scathing was unwieldy without the proper tool to use it.
The silver pole with the red ball on the top was what a hose did for water—it wielded the Scathing. Instead of just knocking down shit all at once, it could knock things down one at a time; the Destroyer preferred it that way. He believed in taking out the vital toothpicks of a model bridge instead of kicking the damned thing over. He liked it when things rotted slowly before his eyes; it gave him a high that no illegal stimulant or depressant could. He perceived destruction as a work of art like paintings and sculptures and music, and like all the painters and sculptors and musicians, the Destroyer's art had to be perfect.

He withdrew the pole and hid it behind his back; his pursuers would arrive shortly.

9
"Do it now," said the voice on the other end of Jackie's cell phone.

She had obtained a red axe from the school's basement, busting the glass case it was in to get it. The things she was doing were things she never did in her life. She was in the computer room with an order to chop the wires—not pull them out—chop them. There was no exception, because Evan would know if she did as he said; she felt that he knew where she would be if she tried to fuck him over. That buzzing was enough to keep her in line and do whatever Evan told her to do. She was now his little bitch and she knew it like she knew the week of her menstrual period.

With the computer room door locked, the damage could prosper. Jackie dragged the axe on the carpet because of its massive size and weight—she could barely lift it to her shoulders. There were roughly sixty monitors in the unlit room, each flat-screened and recently updated (hey! Toffers remembered to do something!). It was cold in there given that she sat in her office with the A.C. up high, and the axe handle was like holding an icicle. At first she was very confused about where to start, and stood in one corner like a kid with a cone hat that said DUNCE on it.

After about minute later, she realized a door on the other side of the room, wooden with a rectangular glass window. She went over to and tried to turn the knob.

Locked. Through the window she could see nothing but darkness at first. Then a green flash appeared and continued to flicker. With it, she saw a network of cables running along the floor.

Bingo.

She toyed angrily with the knob like it was going to miraculously open before her eyes. The need for a miracle was exactly what she yearn for, though—if that door did not open, something told her that she wouldn't have anymore brains left after Evan got through with her. She stood back, used all of her might to raise the axe over her head, and let it drop on the steel doorknob. It fell to the carpet and the door swung open. She went in, determined more than ever to fulfill her duty. A couple paces in her right foot tripped over a thick wire. She bent down and grasped it, tugged it, and discovered its source—the left corner of the ceiling.

Without even thinking, she aimed the axe at the wire and severed it. A low hum faded a second following its death and the green flicker died with it. Sparks cracked all around the small room that scared the bejesus out her; the axe fumbled in her clammy hands and when it fell it slashed her inner arm a half an inch deep.

"FUCK!" she shrieked, and fell to her knees.

This just wasn't her day—not at all. Her sobs went on for a long while until she heard two voices closing in on the computer room door. She recognized one of them to be the loud and alarming voice of Mrs. Grier, the only visual arts teacher in the school, but the other one sounded alien and masculine—probably a janitor—but they were on their way in. Jackie got to her feet and ran out of the small room into the computer room again. She peeked into the window of the door and saw no one yet. Her blood made a trail, but her duty had been fulfilled—that was the important thing. She opened the door and ran out; Mrs. Grier and Mr. Simmons came around the corner at the same time she soared down the stairs. Luckily that class was in session, or else she would've be spotted, a woman sprinting down the hall holding her forearm and leaving beads of blood in her menacing path.

She managed to make it to the nurse office without anyone seeing her. Mrs. O'Hannah, the head nurse, sat at her desk while telling a boy not to overdose the amoxicillin his mother dropped off earlier when Jackie burst in.

"Do you have gauze or somethin?" she asked.

Mrs. O'Hannah's eyes widened with incredulity; the bottle of pills in her hand fell. Everyone else in the office just stared at Jackie, tears steadily falling, arm still bleeding.

Mrs. O'Hannah stood with her blonde curls bouncing on the sides of her head. "Jacqueline? Don't move. I'll be back—try not to move your arm around much so that the blood won't—"

Screams and shouts coming. The door burst open. It was Mr. Flannigan (where the hell were you when that maniac raped me?) holding it wide as Mr. Brenner and a girl—it looked like Wendy Hughes—came in with another girl in theirs arms. It was Keri Ann Ellis as Jackie could see, and red stuff was showering out of her mouth. So much for a proper wrapping of a bloody forearm—somebody was about to die.

Why are you doing this, Evan? Jackie thought.

10
"He went into the bathroom, man!" said B.Y.

They stopped in front of the boys' restroom door. Kevin pushed the door and flinched at the black pistol in B.Y.'s hand.

"Why did you bring that shit to school?" Kevin inquired. The heart in his chest went haywire. Guns were for drug transactions out of school Eric told them, and Barry had to be the hardheaded one and bring his to school like a first-class idiot. Don't he know what kinda shit he could get into with the police if he got caught? Kevin thought.

B.Y. pushed the door in further. "In case I run into cats like him in there. If he wanna stab people, then I'm all for bustin' a cap in his ass."

Kevin started to have second thoughts about what was going to happen here. If the school found out he had something to do with a shooting, off to Jamesburg he'd go. The lawyer that his mom hired when he beat the shit out of Juan Domingo said that Jamesburg was one of the most ruthless detention centers on the east side of the country. Kevin was on probation until next year, and any fuck-up—even arguing with a student—would be his road to childhood imprisonment. Still he acted like he didn't care so that others would see him as a tough guy.

But was it worth it, going in this bathroom to beat the brakes off of this new boy that might have stabbed his girlfriend? Nobody saw the new boy do it, or at least Kevin didn't. The only blood that he saw on Keri Ann was the blood coming out of her mouth.

Maybe B.Y. wanted to shoot the new boy because the new boy got him good twice in face.

"Yo, he might not be in there," said Kevin. He tried to come up with a reason not to go in and bang the new boy's head up against the urinals, and this was that best he could come up with. "He probably lied and ran to the office. He wouldn't really run in the bathroom, right?"

B.Y. gave Kevin a suspicious glance over his shoulder. "What? Stop playin', K-Money! You and I both know that faggot's in here. I can feel it. I ain't goan shoot'em, if that's whatcha scared of." He put the gun behind his back and faced Kevin, his right eye dowsed in blood. "I might pistol-whip the boy, though."

B.Y. went in like a DEA agent; Kevin went in like a boy who had been forced to go to school on his birthday. Kevin thought that the new boy would be hiding in one of the stalls in order for a surprise-out-of-nowhere attack, but the curly-headed fellow was standing on the other side of the bathroom, staring in the direction of the door with his hands behind his back. The grin on his face had a feel of malice and contempt as if he were delighted to be purely evil. B.Y. stopped a couple yards in front of the new boy. Kevin put on his tough guy act and stood next to his gang mate with his arms crossed.

"No wonder you thought you were Superman back in the classroom," said the new boy. The whole restroom smelled like urine, but the new boy seemed to be unaffected by the stench. "Does that gun make you super? Why use it when you gotta big man backin you up?"

"You scared, curly boy?" said B.Y. He held the gun at his side.

The new boy chuckled. "Not at all. I want to fight the both of you, but you must be scared if you gotta firearm and a big man to protect you from some Vineland boy like me."

"You know what?" said B.Y. He handed Kevin the gun and took his jacket off. "I'll fight you myself, dog—me need no help." Kevin picked his jacket up off of the floor. Don't this dummy know that people piss on the floor? he thought.

The new boy took a step forward, laughing like a devil. B.Y. put his fists up and assumed the fighting position. Kevin placed the gun and the jacket on top of the paper towel dispenser and threw his fists up as well.

"I'm goan knock the teeth outcha mouth for what you did to my girl," he exclaimed as he approached the enemy. B.Y. followed up.

"Who?" said the new boy. "That light-skinned slut? You saw all the blood, didn't you? She deserved that. The bitch shouldn't have added her input. That same thing is about to happen to you two for the same reason."

Kevin frowned and swung on him; the new boy stepped back and pulled out a silver stick that had a big red ball at the tip. He swung it to and fro as his eyes lit up like twin buildings set ablaze. A sharp pain filled Kevin's entire body; it immobilized him in ways indescribable. He felt ruptures dash across his face and chest. The new boy stabbed him in the cheek with the other end of the pole, breaking his jaw on the left side. Kevin collapsed to the floor bloody.

"That's what you used on Keri!" B.Y. shouted. He turned around and ran for the gun on the dispenser. The new grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back. B.Y.'s head smashed against the closest sink and cracked his skull; he cried like a berserk baboon. When he fell, the new boy stood over him and positioned the pole over his face. The skin on B.Y.'s face instantly began to deteriorate. His eyeballs bulged and swelled until they popped; eye goop flew all over the floor, some of it landing on Kevin's face.

The new boy came slowly over to him and stomped his chest wildly. Kevin blacked out. He felt himself being pulled into the second stall and sat on the toilet. All he could see was red with two shining orbs glaring at him. A rapping buzzed in his head, and was the only thing keeping him from going out for good.

That'll teach you not to fuck with the Scathing, a faraway voice said to him.

I think I learned my lesson, thank you.

11
Toffers was frustrated that whole day. First, before he even got out of his silver Ford Expedition in the school parking lot after a trip to an Italian restaurant, Charles Simmons ran to his SUV. Simmons, an assistant principal, told Toffers that Peter Banderwell, a custodian, found two dead boys in one of the boys' restrooms. They called the police and the ambulance toted the bodies out of there. Cops asked Toffers questions he couldn't answer, and they stared at him as if there was no reason why he couldn't. By one in the afternoon, the students were finding police cruisers all in front of the main entrance.

A girl had died in the nurse's office; the autopsy report had stated that the girl was killed from an extreme exposure to gamma radiation. People from a health hazard organization had come to Fallington High to investigate and had discovered traces of this deadly radiation—but had been unsuccessful in the search for the source of the radiation. Many of Fallington's students had been tested, and eighty-percent of them had tested positive for gamma radiation.

With the actual source of the radiation unknown, Fallington had been shut down and then destroyed. It had been rebuilt eventually.

Toffers was not the principal this time around—he was killed in a car crash because he forgot that red means "stop".

12
The Destroyer had come to Fallington because of his grudge and left when he wasn't ready to do just yet. With the phone cut and the Internet down, he had had his way with the high school—he raped a faculty member, made numerous people deteriorate before his eyes, and created a state of fear throughout the town. He had escaped before the police could get to the school and begun to walk the streets on a path of destruction. All because of Fallington.

He had been born there with a rare condition that was sure to destroy by his first birthday. He never knew his parents and never knew if he had any other family, but he did know that his parents had abandoned him. He didn't even know his real name.

From there, since his condition was a rare one, he had been examined by some of the world's renowned doctors and scientists. His case was so unusual that the word on him had interested the U.S. government. He had the ability to emit radioactive waves; ever since, he had been property of the government, where he had gone through many operations just to keep his body stabilized when he radiated waves. Some saw him as a weapon, and that had been his life—being someone's weapon. They even gave him a title as if he wasn't human enough to have a regular name: The Destroyer.

He had tired from all the experiments in which he had been forced to participate in, and without warning he escaped from his hi-tech prison, gave himself a name, and with his skills in espionage, he had returned to Fallington to destroy it. He didn't care who lived there and what places had been built there—whatever was apart of the town, it would go down with it. His weapon, the Scathing, was his pathfinder through this harsh world—and he was going to be harsher. There were many ways to destroy the world, and he was one of them. This was his destiny, his fate, and his path.