Just Kill Me Read Free Page B

where a fire in 1903 killed about six hundred people. The robber barons who built it cut every corner they could in order to get it open in time for the holidays, and the whole place was a death trap. We cruise slowly past the newer theater that stands on the site now, then around the corner to the alley that runs behind it.
    â€œA lot of people, like our competition, say they didn’t even build fire escapes,” says Rick. “They did build them, but the problem was that they were completely useless. They were only built to hold a few people at a time, so when there was a stampede, most of the people got shoved over the railings and fell down to the alley. This alley. Right here. The next day the Chicago Tribune called it ‘the Alley of Death and Mutilation.’ ”
    Stay classy, Chicago Tribune .
    A few people squirm, and Rick starts telling ghost stories about the site. “Employees at the new theater on the grounds,”he says, “talk about a ghostly little girl who makes her presence known by flushing a toilet backstage and giggling.”
    â€œYou should be careful of that one,” says one passenger. “On Ghost Encounters they say that ghosts who sound like little girls are actually demons trying to trick you.”
    Cyn turns around and says, “That’s because the guys on that show are drugged-up misogynist pigs.”
    â€œDude,” says Ricardo, “if some demon’s idea of evil shenanigans is just flushing the toilet now and then, I can live with it. It’s wasting water, but still.”
    People laugh, and Rick goes into a whole talk about other old theaters in the city with haunted bathrooms. Apparently there are quite a few.
    â€œIf I were on Ghost Encounters ,” he says, “I’d probably say, ‘Old theaters in Chicago are vortexes for phantom poopers, bro. And they never hear the sound of them washing their hands!”
    My phone buzzes in my purse, presumably either with texts from Mom or Zoey, since no one else ever really messages me, but I don’t check. I’m not going to take out my phone and risk looking unprofessional. I want this job.
    After getting back on topic and telling stories about ghosts in the Alley of Death and Mutilation, Rick takes us off the bus and lets everyone walk around looking for them. It doesn’t seem very spooky to me; it’s bright, clean, and only smells vaguely of stale urine (which is pretty good for a downtownalley). A tag on the wall says, BOB SAGET SELLS DRUGS HERE .
    That’s Cyn’s handiwork, I assume.
    Back when she was my sitter, her hobby was using a pencil to tag walls around Forest Park with fake gang names, like the Butt Onions. She let me act as lookout a couple of times. She’d tag a wall, then walk away casually while I ran off down the road, laughing and shrieking. I was the kind of kid who never had the nerve to do anything that would get me sent to the principal’s office, so being an accessory to tagging a wall—in pencil—felt like I was really living on the edge. Like I was really living like a villain.
    As people wander the alley, taking pictures, Rick comes up beside me.
    â€œSo, this is what we do,” he says. “We tell people stories from history, then let them wander around to see if any ghosts show up. Firsthand ghost sightings are pretty hard to find, but I try my best to stick to primary sources. Out here it’s mostly stuff I hear from employees on smoke breaks.”
    â€œI’m glad you aren’t just making stuff up. I think even the guides on the architecture tours make half their stories up.”
    â€œThey do. Most of them are actors. And you do have to put on a good show, even if you stick to the facts. Cyn said you had some theater experience?”
    â€œCouple of plays in high school. I was one of the sweet old ladies who kill people in Arsenic and Old Lace .”
    Rick holds up a hand. “High