The Jesters Fool- Chapter 16

The final chapter in this young adult novel follows high school senior Brooke Taylor during her last year at the prestigious Timberline Preparatory School

I have only just made it to my room when a faint knock sounds on my door. I know for a fact that my parents have not come yet. They probably won’t  make it here until the end of the day�" maybe tomorrow morning if they’re really slacking. As much as I hate being home, they hate me being there just as much. I think my face is too closely the reflection of my sisters. It hurts them too much to properly love me.

I know I am not supposed to, but I crack the door slightly to see who is there. To my moderate surprise, it is Marcus. “What do you want?”

“Let me in?” His voice is pleading. I am still furious at him, I don’t know what he thinks giving me a few seconds of peace before coming to bother me will do.

“Not allowed to. ‘Students must be in their own rooms’.”

“Brooke, I want to spend my time with you!”

“What about your roomate? The school is on lockdown because his girlfriend's killer has struck again, I think you should go give him some company. I think you need to be a friend to Thomas right now.”

“He already went home, with his mom.” He restates his former plea�" “I want to be with you, Brooke. Please.”

“If I let you in, will you promise not to ask me if I love you?” He nods, and I open the door enough for him to slip in before I lock it again.

“We have some time to kill before your parents get here, don’t we?” We both laugh. He knows as well as I do that I will be one of the last students on campus. 

“It’s not like your family is going to get here much sooner,” I push back. His large family makes it hard to make it out the door in any reasonable or timely fashion. I try to picture all of his younger siblings tumbling out of his parents minivan, blissfully unaware that the reason they get to see their older brother is because there’s a murderer freely roaming his highschool campus.

“Then we’re stuck here together.” 

“You know, besides everything that has happened, I’m so glad we’re friends, Marcus.” My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I don’t want to interact with anyone else in the world. I want a moment of unbroken connection with Marcus, I want to give him my attention, in a devoted way, that I have not given to him in a long time.

“I need you in my life, Brooke. I would do anything to keep you.” His tone is chilling, but the sentiment is sweet. In a grossly romantic gesture, I place my head on his shoulder.

“For all the times I have said I don’t love you,” I begin my confession, steeling a breathe for confidence, finding it hard to voice to him this thought that I’ve been struggling with for the past few months. “I have thought the opposite just as much.”

“And that’s why you keep coming back to kiss me?” A playful smile spreads across his lips.

“Yeah.” We both stiffen with the confession. Two teanagers unable to process the complexities of emotion. How one can both love and have such strong objections to loving. Suddenly it feels awkward to be next to him, now that he knows how I feel.

“When did you first love me?” I ask, getting brave enough to dive into his passion. Finally let him confess to me in depth, in a way that I have blocked him from doing before.

“I have been in love with you since before we were friends Brooke. Before you ever stumbled into my room, I had seen you around campus. I had thought you were so beautiful.”

“But you never tried to talk to me then?” In all honesty, I had never really noticed him until I had entered his dorm by mistake, that fateful finals week night, two years ago.

“I knew you were too good for me. You were so academic, and athletic, and good at everything. I doubted you would even give me a second thought if I had introduced myself to you.”

“And once we became friends, why didn’t you say anything then?”
“I lived with the way you looked at Trent. I pretended it could matter less to me whenever you would have crushes. But it killed me! And then after Aaron, after I saw you dating him. I realized I was going to keep missing my chances if I didn’t stop hiding how I feel.”

“But you still didn’t tell me.” I argue.

“No. But I made it so obvious Brooke! I was always there for you�" more than I would be for anybody else. I made myself so available to you. And you still didn’t want me. You still didn’t want me until you could use me to try to get to Trent.” As he goes on, his voice becomes angrier. 

“Marcus, that was wrong of me! How many times do I need to apologize for that?” He takes a deep breath and seems to calm. “I’m sorry I did it.” But am I sorry that I kissed him? Am I sorry for the way that  using him brought us closer? Am I really sorry for the way that kissing him without a thought has made me love him?

Marcus stiffens next to me, “Do you hear that?” His voice is barely a whisper. For all the times I have thought he looked like a man, he now pales ten shades and practically shrinks before me; he becomes a semblance of the skinny, short, awkward teen he was when we first met.

I listen closely but cannot figure out what it is that has spooked him, “What?” My voice carries his nervous tone. But as the question leaves my mouth, I hear it. I hear heavy, rapid footfalls in the hallway. Somebody is approaching, with determination.

With every footstep I hear in the hallway, my heart sinks lower. Everyone around me has died, I can feel it in my soul that I’m next. I know that my killer is close. I push closer to Marcus, feeling his skin burning against mine. His hand wraps protectively around my leg as I flinch after hearing a faint thud a long way off into the distance, as if someone had collapsed, and hit the floor. “You’re okay,” He whispers reassuringly into my ear, kissing my hair softly. Despite the fact that he is scared, he reassures my safety.

“I love you,” The words are choked in fear, and as they leave my mouth, Marcus tenses. Not in his awkward shy way that he often does around me, but in an almost instinctual way.

“Brooke, that’s all I ever wanted to hear,” His voice sounds deeper as if he wants more�" more than my admission.

I let him wrap his arms around me in a tight embrace, chills climbing their way up my spine as his cold fingers brush against the nape of my neck.

I jolt away from him in utter fright, as the door handle shakes violently, the whole frame groaning in protest. I press my hand against my chest, trying to still my heart as I wrestle with the knowledge that I am about to come to my end. Tears stream down my face silently, and next to me, Marcus has gone slack and completely pale. 

“Brooke!” It’s Trent's voice, he sounds desperate, and I mechanically get to my feet, and find myself trying to open the door before Marcus’ strong grasp wrestles me back to reality. Trent can’t be here to kill me�" why was he running so desperatly down the hall? I am wrenched away from the door.

The back of Marcus’ hand finds its way to my cheek, as he slaps me�" hard. I whimper in pain, and fall into him, gingerly touching my face, “Are you stupid?” He grits out, grabbing at my chin, forcing me to look into his unreadable eyes. I whimper again and place my hand over his, allowing him to pull me into a kiss. My cheek throbbing in pain, eyes burning from tears that desperately needed to be shed, but my occupied lips distract from all that. 

“It’s Trent,” I try to defend.

“And he’s coming for one of us, Brooke!” Marcus’ fingers dig into my skin, harder.

Again his death-cold fingers send a shudder through my already fear-chilled body, and my breathing stops. Wood splinters behind me, and pain pierces through me, my neck burns, and I can feel my hot blood dripping down it, matting my shirt to my skin, just like Lexi. 

I fall to my knees, the shock and pain washing through me. Marcus stares down at me, panic flashing in his eyes, he drops in front of me, and begins to remove a knife from my wound. He recoils, my blood staining his hands, as Trent pushes him off of me. 

“What have you done?” Marcus spits at Trent, a pure hatred in his voice. I look at Trent  with dazed eyes, the shock and betrayal washing over me, my emotional pain deeper than my physical. Although, the adrenaline rush I can feel pumping through me, probably is also helping to mask the agony of my injury. 

“Trent?” I croak, feeling more blood leach out of me with the strain. Did he really just stab me? Am I really going to die at a close friends hand?

Trent just stares, completely aghast at the scene. Marcus pushes himself to his feet, before pinning Trent to the ground next to me. “I didn’t mean to stab her!” Marcus cries, “I was just getting ready for when you entered.”

It was Marcus with the knife! It was Marcus’ death cold fingers�" they were a blade, poised at my neck, running down my spine. He had traced an outline of me, not gently with his hands�" but cruelly, he’d carved around me. My best friend had made me love him�" and literally stabbed me in the back.

“You were going to kill me?” Trents face is pushed forcefully into the tile beside me, distracting me from my thoughts. 

“I have to!” Marcus raises his arm, hands shaking as he is about to bring the knife down on him.

“Trent,” he sputters. He has the eyes of a mad man, and when I look at him all I can see is Lexis blood. The morning after homecoming, the way it coated me. But now it’s on him. Marcus’ hands are red. “Trent.” His voice is more firm this time. “You are my best friend,” an observation, “And I’m going to kill you.” A definitive statement.

“Marcus no!” I hear myself scream, but I don’t feel my mouth move, so I don't know if the sound came out or not. “Please don’t hurt him,” And although I know for a fact that this time my cry is verbal, it is drowned out fully by my sobs. I fight against bursts of pain, and try to draw my knees to my chest. Push myself up from the tile floor�" I feel sick, looking down at the puddle of my blood. I fight desperatly agianst the urge to vomit, and back myself into a corner.

“You love him, Brooke.” Marcus’ wild eyes dart to me, focus on me. The rest of the room blurs, as I stare at his eyes, the way they’re so red and wild. “He has to die because you love him.”
“I love you.” I try to defend. I try to reason with the boy who I thought was my best friend, but I don’t know what to say. Not now, not after everything.

“Don’t lie to me!” His scream is shrill and I flinch as it pounds me back with its strength. “I know you love him! You’ve always loved him!”

“I thought I loved you.” Is my only response, as I am helpless to do anything but watch in horror as he slits Trents throat. Marcus grins menacingly, as Trent lays slumped before him, his hair still gripped firmly within his hand. I scream, stagger my way over to Trent, and despite any personal risk, I lay across his lap. Wishing to revive him. His blood dripping down from his throat, intermingling with mine. We bleed together, in front of Marcus.

“Oh my god,” Marcus mutters, his face is green as if he’s ill. “Brooke! Help me! What have I done? What have I done?” He sobs over and over again. Each stream of tears becoming more desperate. His despair is consuming him as he realizes that he’s killed his best friend.

He grabs my arms, pulling me off of Trent, violently, desperately. 

I flinch, expecting him to hit me again�" or worse. Instead, I watch, with a melancholy sense filling me, as he hugs the dead mans body to himself, coating his hands in Trents blood. “Hey man,” He whispers, “Open your eyes now, it’s over. She doesn’t love you man. I’m so sorry. I thought she loved you. It had to be done.” His hands grip his neck, widening the fatal wound, “I thought she loved you.” 

“Marcus,” I dare to whisper, but it is to my own misfortune. 

“This is your fault.” He thrusts Trents body to the ground, a show of anger. “He would be alive if it weren’t for you!” Walking like an animal, he prowls his way over to me. I make myself small. I feel like prey. 

His bloody hands grab my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. And he kisses me, with his foul mouth. I struggle, but in my despair I am weak. The force of my tears have stolen my strength. “If I had known you loved me, I wouldn’t have had to kill him.”
“Don’t touch me,” I cry, but his fingers still trail across my neck, marring my flesh, painting with blood. “I don’t love you. Not anymore.”

He stops, hands freezing. Trents blood feels like glue, holding Marcus to my body, making him stick. My own blood must hold him close, too. He says nothing, but he smiles, with no evidence of emotion other than manic delusion, he smiles. The small knife, still protruding from the back of my neck, is wrenched from the wound. Marcus slowly, slowly, drags it from the back of my neck, down my throat. Leaving a clean line of stinging flesh, straight to my heart.

I can see my life ending. Marcus’ unreadable eyes the only thing I can focus on in my hour of death. But I am awaiting a fate that will never come. He moves his hand as if to puncture through my heart, break it. Instead the police barge into the dorm, wrestling the deluded boy off of my body, dragging him away.

I watch as if from third person as my body trembles and Marcus is put in handcuffs. An officer, gingerly helping me to the ground, observing my injuries. Flinching at the dead body lying limp against the wall. “That’s Trent,” I tell him. I tell the officer about how Marcus killed him. How we were all once friends. And there were more of us too�" before Marcus killed them. The officer just shakes his head slowly, absorbing my sob story, trying his best to keep me distracted from Marcus being dragged away.

“I never thought ‘I love you’ could be a lie, Brooke!” Marcus snaps. His voice is full of such raw, uncontrolled anger. “I didn’t realize a kiss could mean nothing.” How many times must I pay for this crime? 

The officers that are escorting him out, struggle against his wild thrashing, as he tries to make his way back to me. His long limbs springing almost uncontrollably, refusing to go without a fight. “Brooke!” He screams, his voice echoing down the hallway as he is finally dragged out of the room. 

My hand is pressed against my heart, where Marcus had aimed a knife, poise to end me, only minutes ago. The skin he’d cut open, weeping blood, but recovreable with a few stitches, the officer assures me. He wants me to go outside to the awaiting ambulance. I don’t want to leave the room.

My highschool dorm, holding so many memories that would be best forgotten. Lexi’s body in bed, next to mine. Aaron pleading me to give him another chance. Trent, still against the wall. The place that I’d once felt safe, alone with Marcus. I steal a breathe, and follow the officer outside, allowing his firm arm to guide me, pushing me gently toward the building exit, and into the world.

Sirens fill the air. The crisp, early winter, calling with the wails of dozens of cop cars. More lights rush into the drive, marked with the names of neighboring counties. HIGHSCHOOL MURDERER CAUGHT will fill the newspaper headlines tomorrow. Parents will sleep better across the country, believing that with the arrest of a Minnesota teen, their children will be safer. 

Snow crunches under my socked feet. I never grabbed shoes when I left the dorm. I’d willingly lose all of my toes to frostbite, if it meant that I could breathe in the fresh air. A new life flowing into my lungs. 

A car door slams, and I watch as a cop begins to pull out of the drive. Marcus sitting, head down in the back seat. His face unreadable. I think that he is feeling grief. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I reach to grab it, but my blood soaked fingertips make it impossible to use the screen. I reach down, into the snow, and allow it to melt away the red from my hands. From fourty minutes ago, I have a dozen missed texts from Trent.

Trent: Brooke, I know who it is.

Trent: I hear someone leaving our hall!

Trent: Brooke, I think he’s heading upstairs.

Trent: It’s Marcus!

Trent: I’m calling the cops.

Trent: Whatever happens, don’t let Marcus get near you.

If only I had looked at my phone when he had first texted me. He would still be alive. I never would have let Marcus in! Everything, all of this, is my fault.

My phone vibrates again. A message from mom.

Mom: An hour away, dear. How are you holding up?

My parents could have lost a second daughter today. They never would have forgiven themselves if I had died.

Me: I’m fine mom. Just going to clean up a little before you get here.

I tuck my phone away into my pocket, pushing past curious classmates, who had left the dorms and gathered outside with the commotion of the cops. Kids try to push questions at me, giving me pitying looks, as they take in the blood soaking my clothing. I ignore their advances, needing to get inside. Wanting nothing more than a warm shower. 

I make it inside, and despite the protest of the police against entering my room, I shove past. Lock my bathroom door, and tip the faucet to the warmest setting it could go. My skin was still stinging from Marcus’ death-ridden touch as I turned on the faucet, letting the scalding water burn away the sins of a killer.

Author's Note

This is the final chapter, and I feel that it is rushed. Any suggestions on how to fix this would be greatly appreciated, along with any other feedback you may have. Thank you so much for reading my novel, it means more ot me than I can express.