All good questions I’d like answers to, but not the one I’m really concerned with: Who in the group snitched?
Because either someone in the group ratted us out, or we’ve fallen victim to the one uncontrollable variable in every plan—randomness. You can plan a heist down to the last second, practice it until you dream it in your sleep, and double then triple check that every battery is charged, every schedule is running on time, and every person is in their exact position, and still be tripped up by a random act of the universe—the power going out, a dropped tool, a sudden sneeze, or, worst of all, a stranger accidentally wandering onto the scene.
Is that what happened here? Did someone walking by the football stadium on that December night see us and shoot the pictures? Then, realizing later what he or she had witnessed, contact the Chaos Club?
I consider calling Boyd because he’d know what to do. Most likely, he’d get to the park early, hide somewhere where no one would ever see him, then come out when the Chaos Club arrived, helping me overpower them and ending their reign of terror. Clearly I’ve watched too many movies. But because the note specifically said not to tell anyone, I don’t call Boyd. And this is too important to screw up. Besides, Boyd might tell my parents. Like I need more trouble in my life.
So I’m alone as I get to the vacant Ryder ball fields shortly before ten. The fields are near the school but aren’t on school property, so I won’t be in violation of Stranko’s zero-tolerance trespassing rule. The infield of field four is concrete hard, and the rain and snow of the last few months have leveled the pitcher’s mound. For a clear view in all directions, I wait at second base and pray no one’s parachuting in, bringing death from above. My head’s on a swivel, and I’m questioning every life choice I’ve ever made. I mean, agreeing to meet my sworn enemy? Alone? In the dark? How crazy does someone have to be?
Completely crazy.
? ? ?
It’s a few minutes after ten when I hear feet scraping on the hard dirt of the adjacent ball field. I squint hard into the darkness, and two figures emerge around the visitor’s side dugout, stepping onto the field, and…
They’re wearing masks.
And not like hockey masks or cute little bunny masks with a rubber band across the back, but full-fledged demon masks that cover their entire heads. Both stop dead when they see me, standing silent in the moonlight and looking creepy as hell.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Their loose-fitting clothes make determining their exact sex difficult, but the person on the left is clearly bigger and at least a foot taller. If I had to guess, I’d say one guy, one girl. They start toward me in confident strides, and it’s only my clenched butt cheeks that stop me from shitting myself. At ten feet away, the bigger one pulls a small box from his pocket and holds it up to his mouth. When he speaks, his voice is obnoxiously distorted, like he’s a kidnapper making a ransom call.
“Give me your phone.”
Yep, a guy.
“What?” I say.
He holds out a hand.
“Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“To make sure you’re not recording us.”
Huh. I should’ve thought of that.
I hand him my phone, and he pushes a few buttons. The smaller one leans in and whispers something that has the big one nodding.
“I’m turning off your phone-finder app too. I don’t want anyone to know where we’re taking you.”
“Whoa, wait a second. I’m not going anywhere.”
The small one takes the distorter and holds it up.
“We’re not going to hurt you.”
A girl.
“Where are we going?”
“Someplace private.”
“More private than this?”
The guy reaches into his jacket and pulls out a mask identical to the one they’re wearing, except this one has duct tape over the eyes.
“Put this on,” the girl says.
I may be dumb enough to come here, but I’m not dumb enough to put myself completely at their mercy.
“I’m out of here,” I say.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” she says.
“There’s no way I’m putting that mask on.”
The guy grabs for the distorter and holds it up.
“If you leave, Stranko gets the picture tonight. How long do you think it’ll be before he figures out who’s in the mascot costume? Now put the mask on.”
Again, do I have a choice?
I can’t see anything with the mask on, and the small slits at the nostrils and mouth have me suffocating. I’m led by the arm across the hard infield and off the diamond completely. We’re on grass for a bit, and the girl says, “Be careful. Don’t slip. There’s a step down here.”
Ah, kindhearted kidnappers, the best kind.
Then we’re walking on concrete, and I hear the chirp of a car door unlocking.