Johnny walked the halls of The Murder Academy, feeling sullen and heartbroken. This year wasn't turning out anything like he'd thought it would. After his killing spree the year before that nearly wiped out half the population of his hometown, Johnny's parents sent him here. The brochure had promised a "safe and progressive environment in which to mold today's young thugs and sociopaths into tomorrow's serial killers, assassins, mass murderers and hitmen", but so far it was all boring history, math and science. His teachers insisted that a solid grounding in these core classes would make him a more efficient, innovative and therefore sought-after killer following graduation, but he really just wanted to get to the actual killing. Hell, they didn't even let underclassmen into the Stabbing Club, and that was one of the reasons he wanted to come to the damn school in the first place.
Then there was Ms. Barry. He closed his eyes with a sigh just to think of her. She taught Advanced Poisons and was the advisor for the Femme Fatale Club. She had also substituted for his Violent Anatomy 101 class the previous week, and he hadn't been able to get her out of his head since. His roommate teased him about his crush, but Johnny didn't care. He didn't care that so far Ms. Barry seemed completely indifferent to his affections. And he'd gone out of his way to sneak home just to get his collection of preserved heads to show her. He thought for sure that would impress her, but she just smiled and suggested he talk to Mr. Weems about any possible extra credit.
But he'd show her. Somehow he'd find a way to show her how much he cared.
The next day, he was given his chance. Basic Tools and Practices had its first lab, and the class was assigned to bring in the mutilated corpse of a freshly killed hobo. He and his lab partner, Becky Johansen, went out that night to find a fitting victim. He'd told Becky his plan. He was going to carve Ms. Barry's name into the Hobo's chest, and present it to her at the assembly the following week. Becky agreed to help him with the carving. She had plenty of experience, as she'd been caught carving bad goth poetry into the flesh of her boyfriends' dead bodies at her old high school. Becky always helped him in his classes. She was a good friend.
But then that night, down at the railyards, something happened between Johnny and Becky. He was holding an old drifter down while shoving a rag in his mouth to keep him quiet and Becky was tying him up when Johnny looked at her in a way he never had before. There was something about the way the moonlight reflected onto her face from the steel bolt cutters she used to cut off the old bum's fingers that gave her beauty (which had always been obvious, for all that he never noticed) an otherworldly quality. Right then and there, he knew there was only one name he wanted to carve in the the struggling hobo's chest.
Later, their hands touched as they shoved Johnny's lucky hunting knife up under the drifter's ribs and into his heart, warm blood running over their entwined fingers. They looked deep into each other's eyes as the ragged old man gave one final spasmodic twitch and it was as though time itself had stopped.
"Becky," Johnny whispered nervously, "would you like to go to the Spring Massacre with me?"
Becky smiled and tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Johnny," she said breathlessly, "I thought you'd never ask."
Becky and Johnny stayed together all through school, eventually being named Master and Mistress of the annual Clergy Hunt in their final year. They went on after graduation to run a very successful murder-for-hire business until they died in each other's arms amid a hail of gunfire during an FBI raid on their compound.