Chapter 4: Choose a Side

03

Back in high school, Derek was practically a legend.

He ran everything—science club, Homecoming, AP Chem reviews. He could charm teachers and students alike, always with an answer ready. Some people worshipped him; others just wanted to ride his coattails to an easy A.

Especially in science club; it seems today he’s putting all that knowledge to work for something far darker.

We all remembered his elaborate science fair projects—smoke bombs, Rube Goldberg machines, even that junior-year prank with the principal’s car covered in Post-Its. But this? This was on another level. Deadly.

Derek coughed twice through the intercom.

It sounded theatrical, forced—a reminder that he was in control now, not just the kid with the best GPA.

"Those who know the murderer, stand by the window."

"Those who don’t, stand by the door."

Everyone glanced around. Some moved quickly, as if afraid to change their minds; others hesitated, searching for some sign of what to do.

My old deskmate Aubrey clung to my arm: "Natalie, which side should we pick?"

Her hand was clammy, her eyes wide with fear and pleading. She looked at me as if I could still protect her, but I had no answers.

Brian, the class secretary, stood between the two groups, trying to reason with Derek.

Brian always tried to keep the peace, even when we were kids. Now, he looked exhausted but determined, voice shaking slightly as he tried to speak for us all.

"Derek, you saved us back then, but you can’t just take our lives now. If you have something to say, let’s talk face to face. Lillian was a good person—I don’t believe any of our classmates caused her death."

"Even if someone did... you can’t lump us all together, right?"

His hands shook as he spoke, and I saw a flash of vulnerability in his eyes—he was scared too, but standing up anyway. A few people nodded, grateful someone was still trying.

Back then, our whole class had gotten lost hiking outside Maple Heights. If Derek hadn’t braved the cliff edge and called 911 with the last phone, we might have frozen to death.

The memory was sharp—Derek, shivering in his threadbare varsity jacket, knuckles white around his phone, voice steady as he relayed our location. The wind howled, the battery ticked down, but he never flinched.

When the rescue team brought me down, I saw Derek’s father chewing him out behind an ambulance.

The old man’s face was beet red, voice low and venomous. I watched from behind a door, every word making me wince.

"Who the hell told you to call the cops! Don’t you know this could get me in trouble?"

I looked away, pretending not to see, but I still heard Derek say: "That was the lives of the whole class."

Those words stuck with me for years.

...

For a moment, everyone seemed to agree with Brian.

A ripple of hope moved through the room. Maybe, just maybe, we could talk Derek down—remind him we weren’t enemies.

"Derek, come out, let’s talk face to face. We won’t gang up on you just because we outnumber you."

Brian’s tone was calm and steady, but his hands trembled at his sides. I wanted to believe we could still reason our way out of this.

[Comments]

*These people are so weak. He could kill you one by one—why bother talking?*

*1:47, what’s the point of talking? If you’re set on a killing spree, who needs conversation?*

*Stop arguing, someone’s definitely dying this time.*

[End of comments]

After a long pause, the intercom crackled again. Derek ignored everything Brian and the rest had said.

The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath, waiting for what came next.

"Those standing by the door can leave the classroom."

The steel door slid open, and the group by the door bolted, shoving and shouting.

A surge of bodies rushed the exit, sneakers slapping the tile, hands clawing at the air. Some tried to pull friends with them, but the panic was too great.

I stood by the window, numb with panic.

My hands shook against the glass, mind spinning with every memory of Lillian, Derek, and everything we’d done—or failed to do.

I whispered it like a prayer, knuckles white on the windowsill, as if the words themselves might keep me safe: "Only honesty can save your life, only honesty can save your life..."

Suddenly, the hallway outside erupted in gut-wrenching screams.

The sound was worse than before—raw, desperate, unstoppable. A girl behind me started to hyperventilate, clutching her chest, trying to block out the noise.

Then a cloud of white smoke, sharp with the metallic tang of blood, swept under the door and through the room.

The smoke curled around our feet, burning my throat and eyes. For a second, all I could hear was my own heartbeat, loud and frantic.

And as the screams faded, I realized the only way out was through the truth—no matter who it destroyed.