Shadow Hills

by Anastasia Hopcus

  I was about to just start pulling on any book with the word “secret” in the title when a loud crash reverberated through the library. Instantly, I broke out in a cold sweat and my chest tightened. The sound had come from across the library.

  I held my breath in apprehension as I crept over to the back wall. The noise had come from directly across the room, but I felt safer sticking to the shadows, in case there was someone else in here.

  The bookcases lorded over me, tall and forbidding, as I continued down the opposite wall. In front of the darkest section of shelves, lying on the floor as if they had fallen there, was a pile of books. Either somebody was in here hiding, or the books had moved of their own accord. Neither option was comforting. I glanced up at the scientific journal section in front of me.

  There were only six bookcases in the whole library that were facing out like this, perpendicular to all the others, and for some reason this one seemed stranger than the rest. I inspected the bookcase. It stuck out farther from the wall, like its shelves were deeper. That in itself was weird, and add to it the subject matter … I had never seen this kind of book in any school library before. What high schooler in their right mind checks out scientific journals? There was a large empty space on one of the higher shelves. I picked the books up and placed them there. Every one of them hung an inch off the shelf. It was as if something wouldn’t let them go in all the way. I pulled the books back out and set them on the floor.

  My bracelet knocked against the shelf as I felt along the back of the bookcase. I held my breath. Maybe this was some kind of trap, and I was going to pull back a bleeding stump. But nothing bit off my hand; all I felt was wood. Then my fingers hit a cold circle of metal. It was a very large lock. I looked at Graham’s key ring. There was no way that any of these would fit it. Shit!

  I ran back to the front counter in a half crouch just in case there was someone around. Zach had said they had to get the key from the librarian, which meant she must have one. Possibly the only one. I hoped she kept it here instead of taking it home with her. I slid open the top drawer of the desk. Paper clips, rubber bands, and loose Tic Tacs. No keys. I tried the side drawer. Aha. A large metal lockbox was hidden under some file folders. I pulled it out and set it on the counter to study it. It needed a pass code like my dad’s law briefcase, the kind you typed in on a keypad.

  What would a fifty-year-old librarian have as her code? At least it was in letters. If I’d had to break a numerical code, I would be totally screwed. I thought back to the woman’s endless speech to Adriana. I typed in “Jane Austen.” Nope. I tried “Pride and Prejudice.” Uh-uh. I’ve got it! “Darcy.” Seriously? It’s not “Darcy”? I had to stick with my theme or I would be here until morning. I thought for a moment, then tried “MrDarcy.” With a little mechanical pop, the lock released. Oh, thank God for predictable people.

  There, nestled in the black velvet lining of the box, was an ornate gold skeleton key. Exactly like the one from my dream.

  The key was weighty and large, almost as long as my palm. My hand shook as I carried it back to the lock I had discovered. I turned it to the left and heard a soft click before the whole bookcase moved closer to me. My heart was beating in my throat; I could hardly draw a breath. I grasped the right edge of the bookcase and pulled. It opened slowly, and only with great effort.

  This was the archives room. It was real. I stepped into the small space but left the bookcase/door standing open. Several shelves of books lined the left wall, and to the right were three tall file cabinets. The back wall held two locked glass cases filled with old-fashioned books, and in the middle of the room stood a sturdy wood desk.

  The drawers of the file cabinets were labeled with letters, starting with A–B and ending with W–Z. I tried each drawer on the three towers; all of them were locked. I continued to the glass case on the left. Some of the books in it looked old and worn, but some were newer and marked by subject. Two in particular caught my eye: Characteristics and Evolution of the Epidemic and Shadow Hills: An In-Depth History.

  I tried to slide the glass door open, but the lock held firm. I let out a sigh. I’d gotten in, but still I couldn’t get any actual information.

  Or maybe I could. The shelves on the left side of the room were accessible. However, the books there seemed strangely ordinary. They were all fairly new, and nothing about them suggested that they were particular to the town of Shadow Hills.

  I grabbed an old receipt and a pen out of my purse so I could write down some of the titles. Maybe there was a theme here, something that would be apparent if I looked up the books. I scribbled down several of the most interesting ones: The Body Electric: Electromagnetism and the Foundation of Life; Distant Mental Influence; Quantum Speed Reading.

  On the top shelf were a number of spiral-bound books. I took one down. The cover read Identification of a Novel Mutation Associated with Gravell’s Dementia. I had no clue what that meant, but I glanced through it anyway. I couldn’t understand enough of the terminology to even guess at what they were discussing.

  As I continued to browse through the books one caught my eye—Derbyshire, England. According to the hospital plaque, that was where the first settlers of Shadow Hills were from. I turned to the title page: Study of the CCR5 Gene Mutation Delta 32 of Individuals in Eyam, Derbyshire, England.

  Thumbing through the pages, there were several mentions of bacterium and organisms, and I saw the phrase “DNA inheritance” often. As I scanned the book I noticed several mentions of “the delta 32 mutation” and “Shadow Hills genotype,” but there was no explanation of what they were. Halfway through the book was a chart that looked fairly readable, titled “Eyam.”

  The next page was identical, but its heading read “Shadow Hills.” Toward the bottom of the chart, the name “Redford” jumped out at me. Zach’s family. A few lines above that, it said “Kincaid.” Wasn’t that Brody’s name?

  I turned the page and found what looked like a genealogy chart, with lines going from one box to another. But the way the boxes were divided up with letters in them reminded me of the Punnett squares from biology. At the bottom of the page a legend gave the meaning of the different letters: the big S stood for the “Shadow Hills Mutation.”

  I closed the book and set it back on the shelf. I was beginning to understand, I thought, or, at least, have a glimmer of understanding. The people of Shadow Hills carried some kind of gene mutation that they seemed to have inherited from their ancestors in Eyam, England. From what Graham had told me, the people who didn’t die from the epidemic two hundred years ago were the settlers from Derbyshire. So the mutation probably had to do with their surviving the epidemic.

  There’d be plenty of time to dwell on this later. I needed to finish before the movies let out, or I’d be in big trouble.

  Turning, I moved back over to the glass cases that held about twenty identical leather books. The first was labeled THE COUNCIL: 1800–1810, and the last one on the bottom shelf read THE COUNCIL: 2000–2010. The books covered about two hundred years, starting not long after the epidemic. These I needed to see. The bookcase had a separate lock on each of the shelves’ sliding-glass doors. I started at the top, where the 1800s books were—it wouldn’t budge. I tried the next one down, then the next, and so on, until finally I felt one give. It was unlocked.

  I grabbed the first book off the shelf and flipped quickly through it. The pages looked like my dad’s court documents, and every once in a while there would be a mention of the Brevis Vita Alliance. I pulled out the next book, labeled THE COUNCIL: 1970–1980. One of the later entries caught my eye, and I stopped flipping. This page was different—for one thing, I could actually read it.

  Articles of Banishment

  Therefore, Be It Resolved,

  That for numerous and serious violations against the Brevis Vita Canon of Ethics, the following persons shall be required to remove themselves and their possessions, after a fair and just recompense for all properties abandoned from the
environs of the township of Shadow Hills, Massachusetts:

  Robert Henry Cowper, age 44

  Emily Rutherford Cowper, age 42

  Derek William Cowper, age 19

  Gregory Douglas Rutherford, age 39

  Sherry Milton Rutherford, age 39

  Jennifer Elizabeth Rutherford, age 17

  Stephen Alexander Rutherford, age 14

  Alan Benjamin Nicholson, age 35

  Melissa Sanders Nicholson, age 34

  Leslie Anne Nicholson, age 13

  Christina Rose Nicholson, age 11

  Marilyn Cowper Gates, age 39

  Damon Gates, age 17

  The list went on for about twenty more names, but I stopped reading.

  Banished? People were actually being banished in the 1970s? And banished from what? I presumed it must be from this Brevis Vita Alliance, or maybe it was the Council. But what had these people done that was awful enough to warrant banishment? Were these the same people that Mr. Carr and the other man had been arguing about when I’d overheard them in the hospital? For all I knew, they routinely kicked people out of … whatever it was they were kicking them out of.

  I turned back to the first few pages, hoping maybe the Canon of Ethics was in the beginning of all the books. No such luck. Most likely it was in one from the 1800s, probably when it was first established.

  I checked my cell’s clock. It was a little past eight thirty. Two movies and pizza? That had to take at least three and a half hours. Which meant I should have until nine thirty. I turned around and pulled the chair out from the desk so I could open the top drawer. I sifted through it, looking for a key to the file cabinets, but instead I found a set of flash cards and two folders rubber-banded together.

  Flash cards? Curious, I picked them up and turned them over. On top was a blue star. I went to the next. It showed a red ball. I went through them rapidly, finding drawings of different shapes in assorted colors. Pretty simplistic flash cards for a gang of high IQs. But there was something familiar looking about them …

  I remembered a TV show I had seen where they were investigating psychics—they had used cards like this to test people with ESP abilities. Okaaay … Cue the Twilight Zone theme now.

  I straightened the cards and returned them to the drawer, then pulled out the folders and removed the rubber band connecting them, setting them side by side on the desk. There was a note paper-clipped to each folder. I tried to decipher the scrawl of the memo that had been attached to the bottom file.

  Ms. Grier,

  These are the last of the folders for this month’s evaluation. Sorry for the delay; these two boys were hard to pin down. Trent Redford is displaying some disturbing warning signs. His psychological test results show his attitude toward both ethics and power to be a little troubling. His folder needs to be sent to the board for special consideration and, possibly, more extensive testing.

  Sincerely,

  Valerie Kramer

  Ms. Kramer? My psychology teacher was doing some kind of weird, secret testing thing? I pulled the note off the folder that had been on top. It was labeled Brody Kincaid.

  Ms. Grier,

  I’m afraid Brody is again exhibiting some of the same antisocial signs that were first seen after his father’s death when he was four. He failed to show up for testing appointments multiple times over this summer, and even after he came, Brody was uncooperative. He is emotionally detached, distrustful of authority figures, and obstructive to any attempt to connect with him. Without proper guidance, I worry that Brody’s attitude could revert to being as grim as it was after his mother’s death two years ago. I think he would greatly benefit from revisiting his therapy sessions. Group counseling with Brody and his legal guardians might also be prudent. While he seems fond of Mr. Carr, I sense there is some tension with Mrs. Carr. Please take this advisement under consideration.

  Sincerely,

  Valerie Kramer

  Even though Graham had already told me that Brody was an orphan, I still felt an overwhelming sense of sadness reading about how Brody’s parents’ deaths had affected him. I knew how awful it was to lose someone important in your life, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, but I couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have no family whatsoever.

  I opened Brody’s file, hoping for some kind of record of what had happened to his parents, but there were only three pages, all dated August 29 of this year. They were meaningless to me, a bunch of numbers with one letter from A–D next to them, like answers to a multiple-choice test. I looked back at the file cabinets. What do you want to bet Brody’s permanent file with his whole history is in there?

  I renewed my search for keys, dropping into a squat so I could look in the side drawers.

  “Hello, Goldilocks.”

  My hand tightened around the drawer handle instinctively, my knuckles going white.

  Trent was standing on the other side of the desk. His folder was still lying there, out in the open, with the note on top. He knows I read it. I forced myself to loosen my grip on the handle, and then I stood up slowly. My feet felt embedded in the floor, like concrete had been poured all around them.

  “Looks like you’ve been doing some snooping.” Trent smiled, picking up the paper clip and the advisory note that had been on his file.

  I watched Trent warily. After reading Ms. Kramer’s note, I was even more uneasy around him than before. He stuck the slip of paper into the front pocket of his jeans, then slid the other note back under the paper clip on Brody’s folder. Trent placed the rubber band back around the two folders, Brody’s on top, his on bottom. Except now there was no note on Trent’s folder.

  I took a deep breath. I had to say something, but what? I decided to break into your secret society’s hidden crypt to dig up answers you don’t want me to find? Honesty was probably not the best policy at this point in time.

  “I’m trying to cheat on a test,” I blurted out. Being turned in to the campus security had to be better than being turned over to “the Council.”

  “A test?” Trent was so not buying this load of crap.

  “For psychology on Monday.” At least Trent was in that class with me and we were actually having a test.

  “So why aren’t you in Ms. Kramer’s office, then?” Trent raised an eyebrow.

  “I, um, overheard some students talking about a secret psychology office in the library where Ms. Kramer kept her tests and stuff….” I trailed off lamely.

  “Um-hmm.” Trent pursed his lips, regarding me as if he found me mildly amusing. “And who were these students you heard saying this?”

  “I didn’t actually see them. I was sort of eavesdropping.” That part was mostly true.

  “Okay.” Trent’s cold eyes glittered. “I’ll pretend to believe this story of yours for now. And tomorrow after school, when we go to the café at the SAC, you’ll have had some time to construct a slightly more plausible alibi.”

  “The café at the SAC? For, like, a date?” My voice came out all squeaky.

  “Yes, a date. Unless you would rather I talk to some of your friends.” Trent cocked his head to the side as if he was thinking, his long hair falling across one eye. “Doesn’t that Graham guy work in the school office? Maybe he could tell me where you got the library key.”

  I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Trent knew he had me with this.

  “Sure.” I tried to muster up the brightest smile I could. “Sounds great. But I can’t do it tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Fine. We’ll make it Wednesday after school.” Clearly he wasn’t going to be easily dissuaded.

  “All right,” I agreed. “I’ll meet you Wednesday.”

  “Wonderful.” The self-satisfaction in Trent’s voice made me want to rip out his perfectly disheveled hair. “Now, we should get this place back in order, don’t you think?”

  I nodded silently. Trent put the folders into the drawer and followed me out of the room. He removed the gold key from the bookcase after he pushed it closed.
He obviously knew where the key was kept because he headed straight to the front desk and dropped it in the box, then put it back in the drawer. A minute later, I was locking the library door with my stolen keys. I was afraid Trent would try to walk me to my dorm, and I had to get back to Graham’s room pronto. I was trying to think of an excuse to get rid of Trent when I heard a man say his name.

  “Dad?” Trent spun around. “What are you doing on campus so late?” He instantly sounded less arrogant and more like a child.

  I looked at my phone: 9:28. People would be leaving the SAC any minute now. I had to get out of here.

  “I could ask you the same thing.” Trent’s father seemed menacing, standing in the shadows outside the light from a nearby lamp. “Mom said you were here late studying, though it looks to me like the library is closed.” His tone was suspicious, which was a little hypocritical, given that he was here skulking around in the dark. “I was getting off work, so I thought I’d offer you a ride home.” I couldn’t see his dad’s eyes in the dim light, but as he turned them on me, I had a feeling they were the same dark, cold color of Trent’s. “Of course, if you’re busy with your friend, I can certainly understand why you might be reluctant to leave.”

  I grasped this chance at escape.

  “Actually, I have to go back to my dorm to study. I guess Trent and I were both under the same misconception that the library would be open. We just bumped into each other. But nice meeting you.” I trotted off before his dad could get a chance to realize he hadn’t actually met me. For all I knew, he worked here at Devenish, and I didn’t need any more witnesses to where I was tonight.

  Once I was out of their sight I ran as fast as I could back to Garrettson. I didn’t even bother to take off my shoes when I reached the tile lobby. I closed my eyes tightly as I crossed in front of their housemaster’s door. The old peek-a-boo trick—if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. It must have worked. When I opened my eyes again, the hall was still clear. I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and burst through Graham’s door.