SSS 2 - Epilogue

The storm is over, but there is only chaos.

Gurlberg wasn’t known for big, splashy things before the first Peachface attack. Draconian laws and feisty sororities are tame on the spectrum of things that can go on. It’s a college town in Central Florida. There isn’t much going on. Usually.

Sirens wail, voices are raised, and hurried footsteps blur together and become background noise.

You watch the doctor hurry out of the room. This is a small hospital, and it’s rare to have a lot of emergencies at the same time. A nurse remains, and you can see the uniformed police officer outside the door. Officer Stark, she said her name was. You think. You are not at your clearest.

The nurse gently ties your gown shut, leaving it loose so that it doesn’t squeeze the bandage on your side.

Another nurse pokes her head in and says something.

“I think we’re OK on plasma,” the nurse beside you replies, pressing a call button into your hand, then bustling out of the room. Right. They have plenty to do. You blink rapidly. The painkillers they gave you are no joke, but you’re not stoned. You’re not capable of it at the moment.

You hear voices outside the room.

“No. Not yet,” the cop is saying.

You see Colby’s face in the window. You’re still weak, but you find your voice.

“Let her through,” you say, speaking up so that the cop can hear you over the chaos in the hallway. “That’s my girlfriend!”

The cop enters the room, holding Colby by the arm to keep her from rushing to your bed. She glowers at you for a moment.

“Thirty seconds,” she warns, then lets go.

Colby hurries over, eyes wide. “Meri, what the fuck?”

You shrug at her. “I’m so glad you’re OK,” you say.

“Me? What the hell happened to you?” she demands. “Oh my god.” She’s unsure what to do with her hands. She doesn’t want to touch you. You use your hand on your good side to squeeze her hand.

“I love you,” you tell her, gazing up at her. **** are part of this.

She stares at you in disbelief. “I love you too,” she replies, looking lost.

“OK, that’s good. Out. Don’t make me cuff you,” the cop says gruffly.

Colby bristles, but doesn’t argue. She backs away, then frowns and leaves the room. The cop gives you a look, then snaps the door shut.

You sit there, propped up in the hospital bed. There’s the very first hint of dawn outside. You were there, bleeding, for a long time. Hours. It felt like even longer. You’d like to organize your thoughts, but you don’t know how.

The door opens. A slim woman your mother’s age enters. She’s pale with short, dark hair and dark circles under her eyes. She wears jeans and a VISIT GURLBERG tee under a light jacket. She looks pissed. She turns the lock, then drags a chair to the bed and sits, leaning forward and locking eyes with you. You’ve never officially met her, but you know who she is. The chief of police.

“Chief Harper,” you say.

She stares at you. Hard.

“You can call me Ellen,” she says, but it doesn’t come out sounding very friendly. “What happened?”

You shake your head, unsure where to begin. “They… I guess they took us from the motel. I don’t know where that place was.”

“Just inside the county line. Abandoned for years. Back off the road from 32.”

“Sure,” you say. A local would know where that was; you aren’t from Gurlberg. “They made me like… play games. Made me think that they had Colby.”

“Colby?”

“My girlfriend.”

“But they didn’t?”

You shake your head. “Are they OK? They said they were alive.”

“We didn’t find any bodies, if that’s what you’re asking. There are…” She turns to look toward the door. “Four other girls. The Sheriff’s department found two more tied up at the motel. They’re all traumatized, but still in one piece. Your injury is the worst.”

You nod weakly.

“Focus, Meri. What happened?”

“I just told you. It was… Sal and Bian. And Kalyna and Taytum. They had these… tests.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you, kid. We’re talking about three assailants. Wearing the same masks as that night at CCL House. The same night they killed my detective and went on a **** spree. Why? Three up-and-coming girls from well-to-do families. And now I have this. Whatever this is,” Ellen says, waving a hand. “What were you doing at that motel? Why did they take you? What was this about? The last time Peachface made a move it was a CCL prez and her officers. How do I know you weren’t in on this?”

“You think I stabbed myself?”

“I think I wouldn’t put anything past you,” Ellen says coldly.

“If you talk to the others, you’ll know we were not a part of this,” you reply.

“A part of what? Did they rob you? What are they doing, Meri? What are these girls doing? Last time, these girls killed everyone. Tonight, they didn’t kill anyone. You think they only wounded you by accident? They’ve killed more people in one night than my entire department has in fifty years. If you were supposed to be dead, you would be. Why are you still alive if you weren’t in on it?” She’s not quite yelling, but she’s getting close.

You haven’t forgotten what Peachface said. No fatalities. The endgame was this: for you, the heroic president to be left a bloody, but triumphant survivor of a horrible attack. You can leverage that to boost not only yourself but CCL. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with virtually limitless potential. There could be a movie about you. You can give motivational speeches for absurd amounts of money. You can make CCL great again. No more sex toy deals. Peachface has killed two birds with one stone: ensuring that everyone in America will be reminded that CCL exists and given you the tools to guarantee that every employer knows that CCL on a resume means grit, fearlessness, and ambition. You don’t fully understand their motives, but that part seems clear.

Yet if it comes out that this was all performative, even if you were an unwitting participant, that will render it useless and cast suspicion over you that will follow you for the rest of your life unless Peachface is somehow apprehended and the truth comes out. CCL can’t survive a second incident like this without a big, positive story like yours to shift attention away from the fact that CCL girls have been victimized yet again.

Tell Ellen what Peachface said?

Or keep it to yourself?