Free I Don't Want To Kill You by Dan Wells

a book on Herb Mullin from her just a few weeks ago.
     
    Why did normal people kill themselves?
     
    ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.
     
    ‘I know,’ said Brad. ‘It’s nuts.’
     
    ‘Suicides always go up during periods of trauma,’ I said, ‘and we’ve had plenty of trauma over the past year, but why teenage girls? They’re not in the target demographic of any of the three killers, so it’s not personal fear, and I don’t think either of them have had connections to the other victims. Did the two girls know each other?’
     
    No one answered, and I mentally kicked myself. There I went again, spouting off about the technical details of a crime and making everyone think I was a freak. I looked up quickly and sighed with relief, seeing that Rachel was ignoring me altogether, too lost in her tears to listen, and Brad was only half-listening, probably out of politeness, while he tried to comfort Rachel. When I stopped talking he turned away altogether to focus on her.
     
    But there was Marci again, looking at me with that same look as before; not judging, and not really studying, just . . . looking. Thinking.
     
    Brad and Rachel were whispering now, locked in some tearful private conversation. All around us the class was involved in a dozen similar hushed conversations, as the other kids struggled to come to terms with their emotions. I watched them blankly, unsure how to react. I wasn’t sad about Allison, I was . . . confused. Angry. Why was I even bothering with these idiots if this was how they valued their lives? I told myself I shouldn’t think like that, but it was hard to think of anything else.
     
    Marci pulled out a notebook, turned to a clean sheet and started writing. When she finished she sat up straight and smiled at me – a fake smile, trying to be playful but leaving her eyes dull and sad.
     
    ‘I’ve made my prediction,’ she said, tearing out the page and folding it carefully in fourths. ‘Are you ready?’
     
    ‘I haven’t thought much about it.’
     
    ‘That’s okay,’ she said, handing me the note. ‘We can work together on this one.’
     
    I took the note and unfolded it.
     
     
    John Cleaver
     
     
    I looked back at Marci and raised my eyebrows.
     
    ‘You think?’ I asked.
     
    ‘I do,’ she said. ‘And as for your guess, I have it on very good authority that a girl named Marci Jensen absolutely cannot handle any more school today.’ Her eyes misted up, just the tiniest fraction of a tear, and she blinked it away. ‘Pick her, and who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky, and we’ll both win.’ She smiled again, more real this time, but still a mask of sadness. ‘It could happen.’
     
    I looked at the classroom – a mess of crying, confused students, and still no teacher. It was already five minutes after class was supposed to start. School wasn’t likely to be much of anything today anyway, after the news about Allison. I looked back at her.
     
    ‘Where do you want to go?’
     
    ‘Out,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘Out and away.’
     
    The windows in the classroom were dark and blurry, made of some ancient plastic that had yellowed over the years. The sky beyond looked old and sour, like a jaundiced eye.
     
    We didn’t need demons. It almost didn’t matter how many they killed, because we just rolled over and killed ourselves. Would it ever stop? Would there be anyone left when it did?
     
    And I was the one who’d called them here.
     
    I grabbed my backpack and stood up. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
     

Chapter 7
     
    Marci had a much newer car than I did, though, that’s not saying much, and she drove me to her house to pick something up on our way to Friendly Burger. The front door was open, as before, and the twin four year olds were still there – and still, as nearly as I could tell, wearing the same clothes as before. Marci smiled at them as we walked inside, and ruffled the boy’s hair.
     
    ‘Hey dude,’ she said. ‘Mom in the