“Neither do I,” Isidor said, and it was the first time that I had ever known them to agree on anything.
“We get the camera,” I said. “We see what it’s got to show…”
“And if it does show McCain killing the Clarke woman?” Potter asked.
“We get Kayla out of there,” I said.
“Then what?” Isidor said.
But before I’d had the chance to reply, Potter said, “We push McCain so freaking hard, that he never gets up again.”
Chapter Thirty
I arrived for the class the following morning only to discover that Sam had been right, Brother Michael had taken ill. As I sat down next to Sam, he couldn’t wait to tell me that rumours were rampant that our new teacher, Sister Margaret, had actually gone berserk herself and freaked out a few weeks before. Hearing this, my heart sank. Another freak!
“What happened?” I whispered behind my hand, as Sister Margaret sat slumped in a rocking chair at the front of the class. Just like the other Ravenwood Greys, her face was covered by the hood of her robes.
“Listen to this,” Sam whispered back. “I heard she started to eat a book she was reading!”
I looked at him and said, “That’s just a bunch of crap. That never happened.”
“Honest,” Sam said. “I’m not faking. She started to rip the pages from her book — then eat them, until she puked her guts up all over the classroom floor.”
I had seen a lot of crazy stuff in my life, but this story seemed
too strange to believe. The class as usual was in silence, there hadn’t been much work set for us. I guessed it was art class or something, because on each desk had been placed a jug of cloudy water with paintbrushes. It almost felt like we were killing time until we were either chosen by McCain for matching or we were set free. The class had been sitting quietly. As I spied around the room, I could see that some weren’t painting at all, but just staring into space like freaking zombies, while others sat and painted pictures.
Dorsey was sitting in front of me. I peered over his shoulder and could see that he was painting a picture. I couldn’t see what it was, but his small, narrow shoulders were slumped forward, his burnt face almost touching the paper in front of him.
Sister Margaret continued to sit at the front of the class, with a book open, but facing down in her lap. Her head was bent forward with her hood concealing her face, and all the while she just rocked slowly back and forth in her chair. I thought of the conversation that I’d had with Kiera, Potter, and Isidor the night before and knew that I had to find a way of sneaking out of the school and hiding the camera.
Dorsey suddenly stood up and went to the front of the class. He stopped at the sink and filled a jug with water. It was then I noticed Pryor. He was sitting next to two other boys. The three of them looked pale and gaunt, as if they hadn’t seen daylight for a while. The last time I’d seen Pryor, he was being dragged across the schoolyard by Brother Michael on his way to the Rat-House. By the look of the two emaciated-looking identical twins sitting on either side of Pryor, I guessed that they were the Addison twins that McCain had mentioned. By the look of them, their time spent in the Rat-House hadn’t been great. They looked dirty, scruffy, and haunted.
I watched Pryor lean over and nudge one of the Addison brothers. The twin began to snigger and he turned to his brother and laughed. His twin winked back at him.Dorsey made his way back from the sink holding the jug of water and some paintbrushes. As he approached Sister Margaret, Pryor stuck his leg out and sent Dorsey pin-wheeling through the air. The jug he was holding flew from his hand and I watched as it spun towards Sister Margaret. It crashed into her left shoulder and shattered on impact, as if it had just been thrown into a brick wall. Water sprayed everywhere, covering Sister Margaret’s head and chest.
For a moment she didn’t move, she didn’t even flinch, as if she had been totally unaware of what had just happened. Sister Margaret continued to sit, rocking back and forth several more times until she suddenly stopped. The class sat in silence as we stared at her. Dorsey got to his feet and began to brush himself off with his burnt and twisted fingers. Sister Margaret slowly rose out of her chair and loomed over Dorsey. For what seemed like the longest time, she just stood there, completely motionless. Then, without warning, her tongue rolled from between her lips like a fat, grey worm and she licked the water from her chin. Once she had soaked up every drop, her tongue crawled back into her mouth. She then raised one of her arms and pointed at Dorsey. Then as quickly as she had raised her arm, she lowered it and then freaked out.
She darted across the room, colliding with chairs and tables, until she reached one of the Addisons’ desks. Here, she snatched up his jug of dirty paint water, which he’d cleaned his brushes in, and raising it to her mouth she gulped down the lot. Thick coloured water spilled from the corners of her mouth and dribbled off her chin. She threw the empty jug onto the floor where it smashed into tiny pieces. Sister Margaret then headed towards another kid’s desk. Here she took hold of his glass of dirty water and hurriedly swilled it down. As she drank, I could hear the revolting sound of her slurping and choking as it washed down her throat.
Chucking the empty glass to the floor, she was off again and heading straight for me. She took hold of my paint jug in her grey hands, tilted her head back on her neck, opened her mouth wide and poured the muddy-looking water in. She spluttered and coughed as water appeared around the creases of her mouth in tiny bubbles. Once the water had gone, she sighed as if her thirst had at last been quenched. Sister Margaret then let out the longest and loudest belch I had ever heard, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her robe, turned and left the room. As she disappeared into the depths of the school, I heard her start to scream.
The class remained silent. I glanced at Sam.
“I told you,” he whispered.
It was so still and quiet that I could hear the racing heartbeats of those that sat nearby. The silence was broken as Pryor jumped up, knocking his chair flying. He grabbed hold of Dorsey with one meaty hand and with his other he scooped up a paintbrush and dangled it in front of Dorsey’s face.
Dorsey flinched away, but he wasn’t quick enough and Pryor began to daub his face with paint.
“There you go! You look a lot better already. Let’s cover up those hideous burns,” Pryor teased.
Some of the others in the class began to laugh and jeer at Dorsey, as he was humiliated in front of us.
Although it wasn’t me who was being bullied, I felt for him and was furious inside. The feelings I’d had the day Pryor had attacked Dorsey in the yard came flooding back. I had wimped out that time and I’d felt ashamed ever since. Those memories of how I’d been tormented came flooding back and I felt sick for Dorsey.
“Let’s see if I can’t make you look more human,” Pryor jeered, lurching forward with the paint brush again. Dorsey made a whimpering sound as he cowered before Pryor.
I felt rage explode inside of me like a bomb going off in a confined space. Then, before I even realised what I was doing, I leapt at Pryor, swinging my clenched fists at him.
“Leave him alone, you fucking arsehole!” I screamed.
Pryor looked up, saw me, ducked out of my way and as I shot past him, he punched me around the back of my head. Sam had been right, Pryor didn’t give a shit that I was a girl. He would beat up on anyone weaker than him, or so he thought. I lost my footing and clattered heavily into a table, sprawling it and myself across the floor. With my head throbbing from where he had struck me, I scrambled to my feet and launched myself at him again.
“Pick on someone your own size!” I roared at him. Then, all of a sudden, I felt a hand grip my shoulder and yank me backwards. I tried to whirl around to see who had taken hold of me, when I realised that it was Sam.