Friday, September 18, 2020

History of the Trap Vol. 2: Chapter One: Justice Trapped Part 4


 

4

 

My first conversation with Morgan Dona Tigh in over a year came early one morning in late April, our second year in the Trap.  This time, it was longer than her just trying to get free chocolate milk, but it was even more unpleasant.

I was where I’d been for our conversation that last morning before the Trap fell.  The trial still ongoing, I was trying to stay out of it as much as possible this time, only attending when called as a witness.  So,  I spent most mornings in the cafetorium, very early before the breakfast crowd filtered in, writing segments for the soap opera The Sands of Loren.  Yes, that was still going on.  Students loved it, and the TV equipment was still working (although Mr. Resart was starting to stress that our inventory of replacement parts was beginning to dwindle).

I did have Vice-Principal Charles Stein and Student Council Representative Wilbur Jones reviewing my script to edit any political or social commentary.  Sometimes it was easy to fool them. Sometimes it was not.  My best strategy was to have something blatant for them to pounce on, distracting them from smaller things that would slip through.

As I tried to figure out a new joke for Nurse Rackett, I looked up and saw Morgan approach, wearing a nurse’s uniform, a white dress, a little tighter than you would expect, and two buttons left undone at the top.  She was sexy, I admit.  Not as in your face as Nurse Rackett, but Morgan got her intent across.

She could not take her eyes off me.  I don’t mean in a sultry way.  She looked angry.  She looked like she wanted to take me out. At that time, she probably did.

“Hello, Lance,” she said, dripping scorn.

I tried to croak out, “Hi,” but was unsuccessful even at that.

She didn’t sit down.  She put her hands on the table and stared at me.  “I see you’re working on that little play you do.”

“Y-yes,” I managed to say.

“You’re real good at that, aren’t you, Lance?  You like ‘playing’ at things, don’t you?  You have quite the imagination.  You make up all kinds of things.” She smiled, a chilling, cold smile.

“It’s just a story,” I said, trying to get my voice back.  “I know the difference between what’s real and what’s not.”

She laughed.  “Do you?  Really?  Wow, can’t prove that by the wild fantasies you’re spinning about Mark.”

“It’s true!  He’s a killer!”

“Is it?  Are you sure?  You know, you’ve been after Mark ever since the Trap fell.  Why, I wonder?  Are you jealous?”

“No!” I shouted.  “Why would I be jealous of him?” 

She put a hand to her chin and looked up in mock puzzlement.  “Hmmm.  Let me think.  Maybe you never got over your ridiculous elementary school crush of me.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it, though?  Maybe you thought your way would be clear once you got Mark out of the way.  Look, I don’t believe you’re the killer.  You’re too big of a wimp to be that. But to take advantage of the chaos and try to blame Mark?  Oh, yes, that is for sure in your wheelhouse.”

“You honestly think Mark is innocent?  Come on.  You know him better than most of us.  I saw you hesitated to alibi him for Lisa’s murder.  You must know something is wrong.”

She hesitated, just for a second.  Did she have doubts?  I suspected she did, but instantly her guard was back up. “You’re right.  And that’s why I know most of what you say about him is bull hockey.”  Okay, Doctor Duncan, that’s not quite the word she used, but that’s what I feel comfortable writing.

 She pushed away from the table but kept up her deadly stare. “And just to make it crystal clear, your little plan is going to fail.  I will never fall for you.  I will never even like you, you worthless, chubby over-protected Principal’s son!  I wouldn’t fall for you even if we were the last two people left in this godforsaken Trap!”

At that, she huffed away.

Never fall for me?

Well, that turned out not to be true.

 

No comments:

Post a Comment