Chapter 9

Grant and I stripped off our uniforms for another evening’s hanging practice. It was becoming our habit to do it after dinner. Even without the arousal of watching Grant hang, I still felt a flutter when I saw Grant naked, but I believed—hoped—at least there was no visible sign of it. But I had no way to hide my reaction when Grant’s turn came to hang.

As Grant secured the rope around my wrists, I had a vague feeling that he was acting oddly. Grant had never fumbled with the rope before, and he looked slightly flushed. Probably has some new move he wants to show off when it’s his turn to hang. I know he thinks it’s the funniest thing when I still run into the bathroom after his little show. I wish I didn’t have to. I know he knows I’m masturbating in there, so it’s not like I’m managing to keep any secrets. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let him watch.

I managed to push thoughts of Grant out of my head as I felt the platform descend to leave me hanging by the neck. As always, it was the one time in any day when the pressures of schoolwork could be put aside, and I felt ... self-realized ... was the word for it. When I’m hanging, I’m being the most innermost me I can possibly be. Doing what I was always meant to do.

As usual, I tried a little of Grant’s hip-thrusting. I felt I was getting better at it, yet, as quickly as ever, the first signs of hypoxia brought my concentration back to drawing air into my body and giving my blood a path up to my brain. Don’t worry, I insisted to myself as always, you’ve still got nearly three years to learn how to do it right.

It occurred to me that Grant was standing a little farther away than usual, his arms folded across his chest, looking at me with an unblinking concentration that exceeded any amount of attention I’d seen in him before.

I was tiring sooner than usual. Grant’s odd behavior, was probably disrupting my concentration, I thought. I waggled my foot to signal Grant to let me down.

But Grant just kept staring at me. I angrily waggled my foot again, and reached out with my leg to try to kick Grant, but he was standing just out of reach.

My heart suddenly raced; I could feel its beat throbbing in my neck. He’s going to kill me!

My last kick had twisted me so that I could see Miranda out of the corner of my eye.

Miranda! Give me some help now! I can’t die now! I’ve got to graduate, I’ve got to get to my show!

I rolled my head frantically, trying not only to breathe but somehow to call out for help. There were other boys so near, just on the other side of the side walls of the room. I couldn’t seem to make any louder sound than a light choking noise that seemed hopelessly muted, too soft to penetrate the walls, and too similar to the sounds all the boys made at some point while hanging to be interpreted as a sound of distress anyway. I struggled meanwhile to free my hands, but Grant, despite his fumbling, had my wrists securely wrapped in rope.

In twisting toward Miranda, I had lost sight of Grant. In a way that was good—I didn’t have to watch that maddening intense stare, and the immobility of the only person who could save me. I tried blindly kicking back toward where I thought Grant should be standing, but he was still too far out of range.

I could only look helplessly at Miranda. The room seemed to revolve, yet Miranda was still in view. It must just be dizziness. I wasn’t even sure my legs were moving anymore.

A slight haze clouded my vision, but I was suddenly aware that Grant was standing right next to me, reaching up toward me with his arm. Though my face and neck were feeling numb, I could sense that Grant’s fingertips were lightly on my neck. Like he’s taking my pulse, I thought ... no, not like that. That is what he’s doing. He wants to know when I die.

Miranda!! I screamed in my mind. Give me some strength for just one second!!

I lashed sideways with my foot, catching Grant in the stomach and sending him stumbling backwards onto his bed with an astonished look on his face, his shoulder thumping loudly on the wall. I bent my head back as hard as I could, putting all the pressure I could on the back of my neck and managed, finally, a loud choking “Arrgh!” sound.

That’s all I can do, I thought miserably, all hope fading out along with my energy. The redness closed in, and sound vanished. Unexpectedly the thought flashed through my head: I never told Daddy to make sure Scott gets some of my thanerone! Then everything went away.

I felt lips covering mine, forcing air into my lungs. I jerked and started coughing, and heard a triumphant voice shout, “She’s awake!”

I opened my eyes, squinting against the bright light in the ceiling, and felt the floor spin around under my back. I saw it had been Bridget kissing me—no ... giving me mouth to mouth. Nothing personal.

My hip and the back of my head hurt. My neck ached, and I tried to reach up with my hand to soothe it, but my wrists were still tied, my arms pinned under my back as I lay on them. I closed my eyes to stop the spinning, and became aware of being addressed. Bridget’s voice, worried. “Amy? Amy? Can you hear me?”

I decided it was important to answer. “Wha ... Okay ... yeah.” I breathed deeply, feeling my head begin to clear.

“Amy ... Do you know where you are?”

I gave her a faint smile. “Academy.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

I tried to get my brain up to full speed. “Had ... A&P class s’afternoon. I guess it’s Wednesday. Can’t be Friday. I’d be happier.”

I opened my eyes. Things in the room seemed more stable now, and I could see the relieved grin on Bridget’s face. Surrounding me was a circle of students, as many as could fit in the room, and more in a line stretching to the doorway and into the hallway. The noose lay in a loose tangle on the floor beside Bridget. Grant was sitting on his bed with his arms folded, biting his lip, looking scared.

Bridget straightened up into a kneeling position beside me. Gil stood behind Bridget, his arms held out to try to keep the boys on that side back. He said grimly, “Okay, who found her?”

Jem, from the room next door, nervously raised his hand. “I was in my room, and I heard this banging noise, and then some other weird noise. Then it stopped. I ... I waited to see if there was anything else, so I could figure out what was going on...” He looked miserably at me. “I’m sorry, Amy, I know I should have come in sooner.”

I struggled and at last sat up awkwardly. “Could somebody untie my hands?”

Bridget quickly bent to do that, and I reached up to my neck and coughed again. The throbbing feeling was already receding. My fingers brushed the smooth metal of my Academy slave collar, and I drew strength from it. I’m alive! I can still graduate! I can go out the way an Academy Girl is supposed to!

Gil looked at Jem. “Was she hanging when you found her?”

Jem gulped and nodded. “Sh-she was just limp. You know, unconscious. And...”

Gil’s jaw clenched. “And where was Grant during all this?” Gil was clearly mystified as to how anything like this could have happened.

“He...” Jem pointed at Grant. “He was just standing there, with his hand on Amy’s neck. He wasn’t doing anything else. I ran over to the wall and hit the release button.” A tear rolled down Jem’s cheek. I suddenly realized that was why my head and hip hurt—from the fall to the floor.

Bridget bolted suddenly to her feet. “What???” She stared at Grant, her jaw hanging loose. “Anybody else see that?”

Darin raised his hand, visibly shaking. “I - I was right behind Jem. Then I went and got you guys.”

Grant stood, wringing his hands, his voice quivering. “Look, I was just trying to...”

Gil snapped at him, “Save it!” He was visibly shaking with anger. “You can tell it to the Dean tomorrow. If you were about to say why you were doing it, I don’t think that’s going to matter. He’ll have to approve, but I think he’ll agree with me this is a clear Level 2 violation. For now I want you to follow me to the detention room.”

Grant stood up, his breath now coming in quick pants. A stream of urine flowed down from his cock. “N-no, please, wait...”

Level 2. The threat in the back of every student’s mind. Not that any of them constantly fretted about it, nor even gave it much conscious thought—they were all sure they could never do anything that bad. But Grant had done it, to a point beyond the possibility of any explanation saving him. And it looked to me as though Grant, for all his usual obliviousness to the consequences of his actions, seemed to understand that now.

Tomorrow, following the Dean’s approval, Grant would be executed.

Grant would be clothed in a loose-fitting, generic gray jumpsuit, his pretty Academy slave collar taken away from him and replaced with a dull generic slave collar. He would be taken from detention to the gallows room next door. He would briefly see the Dean, the designated executioner—a graduate or a third year student—and two witnesses chosen randomly from among the students. He would be led to the noose in the middle of that room. i Hs hands would be tied behind him in the usual way, and his feet as well—there would be no sensual kicking—and he would be blindfolded. The noose would be secured around his neck. The trap door would fall from under Grant’s feet, and he would plunge downward eight feet, a long drop into a darkened room beneath the execution chamber. The rope would stop his fall suddenly, breaking his neck. No one would see his actual death—that was the most fearsome feature of all to any Academy student, who lived for the day he could perform his last dance in front of an enthralled audience. There would be no dance, no performance, no culmination of all his training, just a quick death: the witnesses would see the rope go taut, then sway back and forth a few times, nothing more. Afterwards, his body would be sent to the converter and his thanerone distributed to the needy, unlabeled, not identifiable as him. His head would be reduced to ashes. No Hall of Honor niche for him.

Everything he had dreamed of, every shred of honor he had sought as an Academy Boy—all of this was lost. The Academy did not even so much as record the names of the students who had earned this punishment in the past. They were written out of the history of the Academy.

I found I was looking at Miranda, as I always did when I felt a need for guidance. I found myself opening my mouth. “Gil ... It was my idea.”

Gil whipped around to stare at me. “Wh ... What?”

I kept my eyes fixed on Gil’s, understanding what I was doing, barely knowing what my words were going to be until they were out of my mouth. “I asked him to let me go until I passed out. I wanted to see ... you know, how long.”

Gil continued staring at me, completely unable to speak. Grant looked equally stunned, wide-eyed, jaw slack. All of the students around me, who had been looking at Grant in astonishment, had shifted that same look to me—except for Jackie, who shot me an exasperated look, her jaw clenched and her head shaking slightly. Jackie knew exactly what had happened and what I was now doing.

I ... was still trying to decide exactly why I was doing it. I had no worries that Grant’s death sentence would be transferred to me. I had suddenly changed a case of Attempted Murder to Teenagers Being Really Stupid. I had saved Grant’s life, at the expense of exposing myself to the lesser punishment that was about to come. I knew what that would be. I tried to understand what made Grant worth it.

Bridget caught Gil’s eye, held up one finger and then used it to gesture back and forth toward Grant and me. Gil nodded and cleared his throat. “Intentionally experimenting with hanging to the point of unconsciousness without prior approval from higher authority is a Level 1 violation; Bridget and I as dorm parents can impose the punishment for that on our own.” He paused, looked at Grant, then at me. “Unless one of you wants to appeal our decision to the Dean...?”

I shook my head. Grant just stood there numbly.

Gil brushed Bridget’s arm. “Hon, would you secure the dorm and shut down the systems? I’ll get the key to open up the equipment closet and get them set up.” He turned to face the students clustered around the half of the room nearest the door. “Everybody, out of this room and back to your own. Amy, Grant, stay here until I come back.”

Like toothpaste being slowly squeezed from a tube, the students made their way out of the room, followed by Bridget and Gil.

Grant, still pale and wide-eyed, his voice shaking, started out, “Amy, I...”

I glared at him, my jaw clenched, held up my hand, palm out, and shook my head. At first sight of the expression on my face, he froze. We waited in silence for Gil to return.

I had to keep telling myself, I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t do anything wrong. It didn’t help. I still felt paralyzed with shame—not that I could move anyway.

Gil had returned with the key to the closet at the far end of the corridor, beyond the last dorm room, and pulled out two punishment stocks, one for Grant, one for me. I was secured in mine now, bent over at the waist, my neck thrust through a hole just big enough for it between the two wooden boards that were now locked together, my wrists similarly held in smaller holes in the boards on either side of my head. I was standing on my feet, with my ankles held in holes about a foot apart between another two wooden boards.

Grant was secured the same way next to me, facing the same direction, toward the back wall of the corridor. Behind us, I heard the murmured conversations of the other students, waiting to take their turns participating in the punishment. Not seeing them should have helped, but didn’t—it only served to make me that much more self-conscious, knowing they were looking, in some cases giggling, at my exposed, vulnerable butt, as I helplessly mooned all of them. We had both been naked for practice anyway, which saved a small amount of time—the Level 1 punishment was always received naked.

The worst part, I thought, was having to suck on the handle of the paddle that the boys would be using. There would be added punishments if I dropped it.

Gil had pulled up a chair and sat to Grant’s left, and announced, “Okay, everything’s ready. I’m going to keep time, for now—Bridge, could you take over about halfway through?” Bridget nodded.

Gil waved his arms to quiet the hubbub. “Let’s go in order of room numbers, back to front. You guys just decide who goes first from your room. I want to do three minute intervals. That will get us done in about three hours. So it’ll be awhile before we get to the front rooms. While you’re waiting for your turns you can go back to your rooms, or you’re welcome to stay and watch if you want.”