He had a wall full of knives and daggers, garrotes hanging by handles, a bull whip that had to have been nine feet long when rolled out. He had precis...on surgical scalpels, hemostats, even a stethoscope.There was no telling how long he had been at this.They had found diaries, started a couple years ago, that told of his recent killings and hinted of past ones. The diaries were scary on their own. Each page was filled with small neat handwriting from the top to the bottom, side edge to side. "So one of these desks is mine, right?" I asked."Oh, yeah, dude, sorry," he said. "I been studyin' my playbook at your desk."He swept his shit off and I started moving in.From there, it just got worse. I seemed to have landed in some football players' hallway. Only about a quarter of us weren't jocks, and of those, I got along with maybe two or three. The jocks? There was a guy named Alec who was decent enough; the rest were simply greater or lesser assholes.Alec was actually going to be a. More

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