“You hacked my email?” Rage glittered in her eyes.
Oh. Shit.
She loomed in the doorway, fists clenched by her side. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”
Probably a lot.
“Those files were classified. Did you read the disclaimer at the bottom?” If Mom’s arms waved any more, she would take flight.
My mind scrambled to find a way out of this. “Well, yeah, but—”
“There are no buts! This is an active investigation!” She threw her hands in the air. “Weeks! Weeks of you looking me in the eye while you—” She broke off, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “I get wanting to know what happened. Really, I do. But that doesn’t mean you get to play detective!” Mom glanced up at the ceiling and took another deep, steadying breath before continuing in a lower voice. “Do you realize how much trouble you could have gotten into? How much trouble I could get into? Those files are protected under federal law.”
I swallowed hard and backed up until my legs brushed against the couch. “I’m s—”
“Do not apologize to me unless you mean it, Derrick.” The look in her eyes was dangerous. “I don’t want to hear you’re sorry you got caught. I want to hear why you feel you are so entitled to answers that you think you can to lie and cheat and steal and break the law to get them. What is with you lately? First you beat the daylights out of Josh—”
“Good!” I snapped, pushed past my breaking point. “I read the Kinlock Falls report!” I ignored her inward hiss of breath. “I know why you gave Tess all those clothes. Why you gave me my keys back. Because I was right, and you know it!”
“Giving your keys back had nothing to do with—”
“They did something, and people died because of it. Now everyone left is getting picked off one by one, and you’re not doing anything to stop it.”
“Derrick.” She drew back. “What happened that night was a tragedy, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
“Bullshit.”
Mom worked her jaw at my tone, but I continued, heedless of warning.
“No one is buying the animal attack line. Stop pretending something did this when everyone knows it was someone.”
“And so begins the witch hunt.” Mom rubbed her face, shoulders slumping in exhaustion as the anger drained out of her. “You know people think Tess killed those boys, right?”
They just kept screaming. I didn’t mean to do it, but they just kept screaming. I shivered at the memory of Tess’s voice.
“They think she’s lying about forgetting what happened to cover for somehow ripping twenty-three healthy football players into pieces, the logistics of how a ninety-pound girl could take on the entire football team be damned. Mr. Peterson up the road is convinced Ed McPhearson had something to do with the deaths. And Susan Atkins called me up the other day to tell me she saw Jeanette McCleary’s granddaughter hiking in those woods the other day, and wasn’t that suspicious? Criminals always return to the scene of the crime, you know. Oh, and did I tell you about the call I got from—”
“I get it.” Everyone was pointing fingers. I sat on the couch, gripping the edge of the cushions.
“It’s going to get worse. I was prepared for that. But I wasn’t expecting you to join the fray.” She knelt beside me. “You’re better than this. Be better than this, Derrick. Because I’m not going to be able to protect you next time you do something stupid. I’m stretched too thin as is.”
“She could die.” Did Mom seriously not understand? “This isn’t the frozen tundra. Animals don’t attack large groups of loud, healthy humans gathered around a large source of fire. Someone did this!”
“Derrick . . .” Mom sighed. “You lack the context for what you’ve read. The training. It’s easy to jump to conclusions—”
“Conclusions?” I shook my head. “Mom, the coroner straight up said no animals could—”
“No local animals,” she corrected. “People keep exotic pets sometimes. When they get too big, they let them go in the wild. Large, dangerous animals who have lost their fear of people and—”
“Mom.” I gave her an incredulous look.
“It’s an angle. And one that’s being looked into because the damage done to the bodies is more consistent with damage caused by an animal than that of a person. There’s no indication any tools were used, and the strength required to rend bodies limb from limb is a beyond typical human ability. Now, I know the football players are not your favorite people, but outside of an illicit grizzly bear fighting ring, I can’t think of anything they could have done to cause that kind of carnage. Can you?”
Gritting my teeth, I shook my head. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t lying.”
“Group dissociative disorders aren’t an unprecedented reaction to trauma.”
“Just incredibly rare. I looked it up.” Above us, the light flickered then caught, beaming steady.
“Even if they’re lying about forgetting, that doesn’t mean it’s malicious.” Our vintage wiring drew Mom’s gaze up to the ceiling, She’d had someone come by the house and check every light fixture and fan after Finn’s death, but that didn’t stop the worry that played across her face now. These deaths were getting to her.
And I wasn’t making her job any easier.
She dropped beside me on the couch. “With Tess’s reaction to the trauma, they suddenly had an excuse to not talk about it. Maybe to even actively block it out.”
“But if they have answers—?”
“If they don’t want to remember, no one can make them. They can’t even be questioned without their parents present. Their angry parents, their scared parents, their devastated parents, and yes, Derrick, their wealthy and influential parents who are itching to lash out at someone. I can’t—”
My fingers bit into the sofa. “You won’t, you mean.”
“I can’t.” She squeezed my shoulder. “It’s not my case. Which is honestly for the best. We don’t have the resources to figure this out, and if the investigation demands a closer look at any of the children involved, it’s better for that to come from the outside.”
She was probably right, but still. “Two of eight survivors died within a week of the bonfire. You linked the cases, that means—”
“That I’m examining every possibility, no matter how unlikely because that’s my job.” She shot me a forced smile. “But Chris was on the phone saying goodbye to his mother in an empty house when he made the cut, hon. No sign of forced entry. No prints on the razor other than his own. No one hurt Chris but Chris. And Isaac . . . it was an accident, honey. An old ceiling fan installed incorrectly by a friend of the family over a decade ago. It was only a matter of time before it came crashing down.” She reached for my blanket and tugged it over her legs. “If I thought Tess was in danger, I wouldn’t keep that from you.”
I swallowed hard. “So that’s not why you let her stay? Because you think she could be in—”
“Honey, no.” Mom fought back a yawn. “She’s here because she needs a place to stay. And as selfish as this sounds, I’m glad she does because it means you’re not alone at home while I’m dealing with all of this. I hate that you found those bodies.”
“I’m okay.” I pressed my shoulder against hers for a moment before moving away.
She smiled sadly and shook her head. “No, you’re not. But I think you will be, in time, and your counselor agreed that outside of the occasional rash or thoughtless action, you’re handling things fairly well. It’s natural to want answers, honey. But sometimes, uncertainty is all you get. Wanting doesn’t make you above rules or consequences. What you did, even ignoring the legal ramifications, was a major violation of my trust.”
“I’m sorry.”
She studied me for a long moment then seemed to decide I meant it. “Did you share t
he files with anyone else?”
“Tess.”
“I meant physically. Have they been forwarded, printed, anything?” When I shook my head, she let out a long sigh and sat on the love seat across from me. “Did you copy them to any other inbox of yours?”
I shook my head again.
“Well, that’s my email address now. I’m allowed to send files to myself.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, her gaze distant as she thought this through. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to sit down together and delete every single online account you have except your school email address. Your computer is getting a new password and moving into the living room where you will only be allowed to use it when I’m home. We’re swapping out your phone for a dumb-phone that will only be able to dial me and—”
“Mom!”
“Do not interrupt me. You’ve lost internet privileges until you graduate. And you’re lucky to be getting off this light.”
I fell silent. I’d lost my car until graduation, too. That hadn’t lasted a week, and once school started giving normal assignments again, this wouldn’t either. Mom liked to pretend my independence was a privilege she granted me, but I knew it was a necessity. She could get called in to work any time, day or night. For our household to function, she needed to be able to trust me in the house alone for twelve or more hours. I had to be able to drive myself to and from school or the grocery store or wherever she happened to need me to run errands. Just like she needed me to be responsible for my own assignments. I’d never given her any cause to regret the arrangement, but even if I had, she wasn’t home enough to enforce any punishment she dealt out.
Mom seemed to take my silence for acquiescence and nodded as if pleased with herself. “How is Tess holding up? Seeing those reports can’t have been—”
“I didn’t show her most of them.” I wasn’t a complete idiot. “I summarized.”
“Still.”
“She’s okay, I guess.” I shrugged. “Aside from the obsessive card-making.”
“Card-making?” Mom stretched, seeming more relaxed now that she was on a safer topic.
I rolled my eyes and leaned back, focusing on a water stain on the ceiling. “She made a card for every single family that well, you know.” Rubbing the back of my neck, I sighed. “Like super-detailed, hand-drawn cards. And it wasn’t enough to mail them. No, we had to personally hand-deliver each one. It’s stupid.”
Mom’s mouth dipped down at the edges, and she got that crinkle between her eyebrows she always did when she was in deep thought. “Sometimes people need to feel like they’re doing something helpful. It’s part of the process.”
“I guess,” I said around a yawn.
Mom shifted, trying to get comfortable on the couch then gave up and stood, rubbing at her back. “Good lord, I don’t know how you can possibly sleep on this thing.”
“It’s easier with the light off.”
She ignored that jab. “We could clear out the office and move that old futon into there. It’s not ideal, but—”
Her phone buzzed.
“Seriously,” I complained when she reached for it. “You just got home.”
Mom held up a finger and walked to the next room to take the call. A second later, she was rushing around the house to find her radio. “If I’m not back by morning . . .”
“Take the bus.”
“No, honey. You and Tess stay home.”
I stood. “Someone else died, didn’t they?”
She didn’t answer.
“Mom!”
She clipped her radio on and met my eyes. “Derrick, I can’t talk about it. Just stay home.”
I swallowed hard, nodding. “Be safe.”
“Always.” The door closed behind her followed a second later by the sound of the lock engaging.
Chapter 21: Tess
Tuesday, September 20th
I TOOK A SIP of my drink as Josh launched into another story. We stood so close to the bonfire, the back of my legs roasted and sweat pricked at my neck. The heat felt good, though. Fuzzy. Like one of those nice jackets with fluffies inside of them. Why didn’t I have one of those jackets?
The guys snickered at Josh’s punch line while I tilted my head, looking at the trees. The shapes didn’t match their shadows.
Oh. My mind scrambled to process the joke. I laughed too loud and a beat late.
Firelight played over Harrison’s face as he rubbed at the back of his neck and looked down. “I’m gonna . . . get a drink.”
“That’s a good idea,” Chris agreed. He and Liam followed Harrison. As Liam walked away, his head rolled off his shoulders.
Oh, my God. Jerking back, I looked at Liam, hand rising to my chest in shock, but he was gone. The other football players blurred like a camera going out of focus.
Josh looked down at me as the crowd broke up, and a grin stretched across his face. “You’re empty, want another?”
Liam is dead. The memory of his head lying on the forest floor surfaced, and my gut twisted. So is everyone else.
Despite my growing terror, I found myself glancing down at my red, plastic cup; surprised to see the only liquid left in the white interior was speckled drops of amber. Josh pushed another cup into my hands.
“You wanna . . .” Josh’s grin widened as he looked me over. “Head someplace more private?”
Hell, no, I thought, glancing around the clearing. Even ignoring the decapitated football player, the light looked wrong. No, it was the shadows. They didn’t match. Art 101, shadows stretch away from the light, not toward it.
I felt like I stood inside a double-exposed photograph. This layer was superimposed upon another. Certain details bled through more than others, the edges blurred, and an overall sense of wrongness permeated through the entire image.
“I don’t know if we should.” Dream me, the version of myself that belonged to this layer, played coy and set off for a familiar patch of woods, motioning for Josh to follow. “These woods are haunted, you know.”
He hurried after my shadow. “Haunted? Oh, come on. You don’t believe that.”
“I’m dreaming,” I realized. Or maybe remembering? I turned away from the shadow of me walking arm-in-arm with Josh. I’d seen enough horror movies to know telling ghost stories in the woods at night then wandering off was a very bad idea. Instead of following them, I knelt to study the ground. The leaves lay on slabs of wood. Obviously, the wood flooring wasn’t here, so where else was I seeing?
My foot came down on the forest floor with a crunch of leaves snapping like bones as the dream thrust me back into my proper place.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I leaned into Josh’s arm with a giggle and took another sip of my beer. The bitter taste was really starting to grow on me. “You have to have heard the stories. Green lights, creepy noises?”
I deserve this.
For a breath, I separated myself from the dream. Awareness drawing me toward Finn’s broken voice.
But then Josh shook his head, pulling me back to reality. “It’s just stories. Can you see? Because I can’t see.”
“That’s because it’s nighttime.” Didn’t he know anything? “So anyway, this woman, Aunt Jenny Johnston, lived in a cabin out here.” Motioning to the trees around us sent me stumbling again. I laughed when Josh steadied me. “You’re really good at that.”
“I try,” Josh’s voice sounded dry. “Here, watch out.”
For a dizzying second, I stood on the rail of a balcony, staring into the roiling shadows below.
Josh pushed a branch out of the way, keeping his hand on it until we were past.
“Anyhow,” I continued, shaking my head to clear away my confusion. “Her husband and son were hung during the civil war, so she had her kids swear an oath in her h
usband’s blood not to rest until they hunted down every one of those soldiers and made soap dishes out of their skulls.”
Josh paused, the sudden stop almost knocking me over. “She didn’t kill them all. One escaped. My dad says we’re rela—” he broke off, frowning at his drink.
“Related?” Dream-me snorted at that and separated from me enough to stumble along the path ahead. “That’s about like saying your part Cherokee. Everyone around here always says it, but statistically there’s no way it’s true for everyone.”
I hung back, watching the relief on Josh’s face. Like he’d let something slip he hadn’t intended. At the time, I’d assumed he was talking about being related to Aunt Jenny. Practically everyone did claim that. But with a clearer head, I realized exactly what he’d meant.
It wasn’t Aunt Jenny he was claiming to be related to, but the soldier who got away. And no one would claim that. Not around here.
Drunk me prattled on, unaware of what Josh had just let slip. “You know they say that she lived practically forever, way longer than any of her kids, and she all but ran this town behind closed doors. She must have been some—”
“Do you hear that?” Josh jerked his head to the left.
Finn! The panic in Wren’s voice had me jerking back just in time to see Finn step off the edge of the railing and plunge into the waiting shadows below.
“No!” I gasped, bolting up in bed.
Oh, bed. Thank God. Just a dream. A really . . . weird dream.
Or was it a memory? I frowned, sorting through my jumbled thoughts. Dream me had assumed I was drunk, but when I drank, I got weepy, not happy.
You were also seeing balconies and shadows. Chances are you can’t trust the details too much.
“ . . . even read the disclaimer at the bottom?” Derrick’s mom shouted from the living room.
I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock.
“Well, yeah,” Derrick replied. “But . . .”
I tuned them out, not wanting to listen in to whatever argument was worth having at two in the morning. Instead, I stared at the ceiling, checking out my progress on my latest art project while I mulled over the bits of loose memory solidifying in my mind. The bonfire was coming back to me. In disjointed fragments I wasn’t sure I could trust, yeah, but I remembered more than before.
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