The Dead List

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  stayed in place. To be honest, like Trooper Ritter pointed out, it could’ve been a girl for all I know.” Tired, I reached up, rubbing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I know that’s no help whatsoever.”

  “No, it’s help,” he said, giving me a reassuring smile when I lowered my hands. “Now, a few nights ago, a call came into dispatch about a possible intruder at your home. The report filed said there was no sign of a break-in, but you said that the mask-the same kind the attacker was wearing was on your bed and there was a note, saying something along the lines of it ‘being your fault?’”

  Jensen stared at me. “What? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  Crap. “I… the cops didn’t find anything, so I thought it was just my imagination. The window wasn’t open and there was no mask on the bed when the police got there.” My gaze swung back to Shaw. “I told myself it was my imagination, but I also think it’s kind of hard to imagine all of that.”

  Shaw didn’t answer that immediately, and when he did, it was totally vague. Unease grew, shimmering through me. What if that thing had been in my house? I knew it was possible, but I’d been able to convince myself otherwise over the last couple of days. A shudder worked its way through my body, and Jensen’s hand shifted, his fingers curling around my knee.

  “How close were you to Monica?” Shaw asked.

  “I wasn’t at all.”

  His forehead creased. “But you went to school together since elementary, correct?”

  “Yes.” It was a little weird realizing that Shaw had done his homework. Then again, in a town this size, it wasn’t hard to make the assumption that we’d grown up together. “But we were never close. We hung out in different crowds and she wasn’t always…” I trailed off, thinking it would be work to finish that sentence.

  “She wasn’t what?” he coaxed gently.

  I pressed my lips together. Monica, like Wendy and Shawna, had never been particularly nice to people. Up until this week, I’d never had a problem with any of them, but….

  “Monica is popular, but she isn’t the nicest girl,” Jensen answered truthfully, saving me from having to be the one to talk bad about her. “She had a tendency… ever since middle school, to pick on other kids.”

  “Like Penn Deaton?” Shaw asked.

  I pressed back against the chair at the sound of his name. Hearing it roll over the deputy’s tongue floored me.

  “Yeah, like Penn,” Jensen muttered, fixing his gaze on the wall over Shaw’s decision.

  The question might’ve sounded abnormal to anyone else, but it had been common knowledge after… after everything, that Penn had been relentlessly bullied. Till this day, I could list those who, for whatever reason, had made Penn’s life a living hell.

  Monica Graham.

  Brock Cochran.

  Mason Brown.

  Wendy Brewer.

  My eyes widened as my stomach dropped to my toes. There was one more, and her name… her name was Vee Bartol. Until whatever stupid thing that had come between Vee and Monica during our freshman year, those two had been thick as thieves.

  Vee was missing. So was Monica.

  But there were two more names I could add to that list. And although those two names-those two people-hadn’t bullied Penn, they had let him down. They had failed him.

  “Do you think… do you think he has anything to do with Monica?” I asked, unable to say his name out loud.

  “Not really,” Shaw replied. “But knowing how everything turned out with Penn Deaton gives me a better understanding of what kind of person Monica Graham is.”

  His response should’ve relaxed me, but I was turning it over in my head, lost in my own thoughts until Shaw spoke again.

  “What about you, Jensen?” he asked. “From what I understand, you’ve been friends with Monica, and when we spoke to Wendy at school today, she listed you as one of her friends. Do you have an idea why Monica might want to leave home, or if she was having problems with anyone?”

  Jensen pulled his hand away as he rocked back in the chair, folding his arms. “Monica and I weren’t that close, and honestly, when Wendy mentioned her not coming home last night while we were at lunch, I didn’t think much of it.”

  He’d known that Monica was missing at lunch and hadn’t said anything?

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Her and Brock have been dating on and off for a while. If anyone knows why Monica might want to skip town, it would be him.”

  Shaw nodded again. “We’ve spoken with him and there still are several other people we need to meet with.” He looked over at me, smiling slightly. “I don’t want you to be overly concerned. Like I’d said, there is a small chance this has anything to do with what happened to you.”

  But there was no stopping the next though. The guy hadn’t managed to grab me, but had gotten to Monica. My stomach roiled. I felt like hurling.

  “Even if these things are related, the likelihood of him coming back after you is rare,” he continued. “In any case I can think of, the attacker has never gone after a victim that got away.”

  Victim. I hated that label, but what I hated more was the idea that Vee hadn’t run away and that Monica hadn’t run off without telling someone. That what happened to me Saturday night was connected to Vee, and now Monica, and that meant that the attacker was hanging around, and visions of serial killers and the like danced in my head.

  This couldn’t be real.

  I lived in a town were virtually nothing happened. Cows escaped farms and ended up on the Interstate. People got arrested because they were driving ATVs on the main roads. Sure, we had a drug problem, we had crime, and the random shooting here and there happened, but we were a safe community compared to other cities.

  “There was a mask in my locker today,” I recalled suddenly. “I have no idea how that slipped my mind, but when I opened my locker before I left the school there was one in there.”

  The deputy’s gaze sharpened. “What?”

  I told him again about the mask in my locker. “One of the teachers took it. Mr. Holden. He said it was a prank, just like the cardinal in Wendy-”

  “We were told about the cardinal by the administration at the school, but as far as I know, no one knows about the mask,” he said. “This is needed information. Thank you.”

  Shaw didn’t have any more questions, and the three of us walked out together. Shaw called Jensen over to him for what was obviously private. “Wait for me?” Jensen requested.

  “Sure.” I headed over to where my car was parked, and it was only a minute before Jensen joined me. “What was that about?” I asked, watching the cruiser pull out of the parking lot.

  It was late now, the sun turning the sky to a golden red as it set behind the mountains. Jensen frowned as he watched the cruiser disappear. “You’re probably not going to like it.”

  I crossed my arms. “Try me.”

  “He wanted to make sure I kept an eye on you.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Come again?”

  “Told you.” He sighed. “He just wanted to make sure you weren’t running around a lot by yourself. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  Annoyed that the officer hadn’t felt the need to tell me not to go off traipsing through the town, I got that it wasn’t Jensen’s fault. I shifted my weight. “So, he’s not being entirely honest in there. He thinks what happened to me is related to Monica and Vee.”

  “Right now, I don’t think any of them know what’s really going on.” Leaning against my car, Jensen rubbed his hands along his jaw as he stretched his neck from side to side. “Damn, this day has gone from weird to the absolute bizarre.”

  That was the understatement of the century. Opening my driver’s door, I tossed my bag into the passenger seat.

  “Why didn’t you tell me what really happened the night the police were at your house?” he asked, angling his body toward mine.

  I gripped the door. “Why didn’t you say anything about Monica?”

  �
�I didn’t think anything of it. Thought she just ran off or something. And I didn’t want you worrying, especially after what happened with you Saturday night,” he said, and that sounded pretty damn reasonable. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why would I?” I bit down on my lip. “The cops found no evidence of what I saw and it makes me sound crazy. Maybe I am a little crazy.”

  He pushed off the car. “You’re not crazy.” Rounding the edge of the door, he placed his hand next to mine and lowered his head. “Ella, you’ve had a pretty crazy thing happen to you. If your imagination got away from you, no one is going to blame you for that.”

  My eyes met his. “What if it wasn’t my imagination?”

  His lips thinned. “God, I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “Me neither.” I started to look away, but he cupped my cheek. The touch shocked me like touching a live wire would. Guard down, the next question slipped out. “Do you think what happened to me is related to Monica disappearing?”

  His eyes held mine. “Truth?”

  “Truth,” I whispered.

  “Shaw isn’t going to tell you yes, because that could jeopardize the investigation. It could also needlessly scare you, but think about it. For the most part, Martinsburg is a pretty uneventful town, right? What’s the probability of one girl going missing, another attacked and barely escapes?” When I winced at that, he smoothed his thumb along my cheek, skating under the pink, faintly scratched skin. “And then another girl goes missing? How can they not be related?”

  And that was a damn good question, but that wasn’t the only question that came to mind. My thoughts went back to that room, to the list of those who’d terrorized Penn all those years ago. Did it have anything to do with what… with what happened to him? But, why and how? There were other connections between all of us. After all, we’d all grown up together, but Shaw’s innocent question had planted a very ugly seed in my brain.

  Uncomfortable with where my thoughts were heading, I pulled away, pressing back against my car. “I’m going to head home.”

  Jensen let his hand fall to his side. “Rain check on grabbing something to eat then?”

  I nodded. “See you at school tomorrow.”

  He stepped back, closing the door for me after I got in behind the wheel. Sending him one last look, I pulled out of the parking spot, and when I glanced at the rearview mirror, Jensen was standing where I’d left him. His hands in his pockets.

  Watching me.

  #

  “This is so scary.” Linds paced in front of the couch. “It’s like something in a movie. Or on one of those forensics shows.”

  Heidi sat beside me, a red eyebrow arched. “Like Forensic Files?”

  “What?” Linds stopped, head cocked to the side. “What is that?”

  “A TV show,” sighed Heidi.

  She shook her head. “No. Like Criminal Minds or something-something people actually watch.”

  Both girls had showed up my house a few minutes after I’d gotten home. I was shocked when I’d heard that Linds had picked up Heidi and drove her here, and that hadn’t driven off the road, distracted by arguing with one another. Linds had seen my surprised expression, and had read it clearly.

  “I’m not going anywhere by myself,” she had said, stepping in, and the door would’ve smacked Heidi in the face if she hadn’t caught it. “I am not getting kiddie-napped.”

  “Like anyone would kidnap her,” Heidi had muttered under the breath.

  Now Linds plopped down in the old, worn recliner. “This is really scary,” she repeated. “Why would someone do this?”

  “Question of the week.” I twisted a section of my hair around my finger. “After talking to the deputy, I really don’t think they have an idea.”

  “The thing is. There’s no evidence.” Heidi pulled a plastic bag out of her purse and opened it, picking up chunks of granola. Glancing at Linds, I saw her wrinkle her nose as Heidi popped one in her mouth. I grinned. She offered the bag to me. “Want some?”

  I shook my head. “No thanks.”

  Heidi shrugged. “Anyway, there’s no evidence right? And if there is something, they might be keeping it quiet, because the person responsible for all of this is the only one who knows.”

  Linds hooked one knee over the other. “Did you learn that on Forensic Files?”

  “Yep.” Heidi grinned. “And from watching the ID channel.”

  “Or Monica could’ve ran off with their landscaper,” Linds suggested. “I mean, have you’ve seen her parents’ landscaper? He’s like hot.”

  Despite the seriousness of everything, I laughed. “Well, I hope that’s what’s happening. I just don’t want it to be what we fear.”

  “I don’t want it to involve you,” Heidi corrected, her hazel eyes more green than brown as she looked at me, a giant piece of granola between her fingers.

  “I second that,” Linds tossed out there.

  “Thanks, guys.”

  “But you know the thing I don’t get?” Heidi popped the granola in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully as we waited for her to continue. “Let’s say these things are connected. I know, that’s a terrible thought to consider, but what do you have in common with Vee and Heidi? I haven’t lived her my whole life, but I didn’t think you guys were ever friends, right?”

  “Ella has never been friends with Vee or Monica,” Linds answered.

  Heidi frowned as she rolled up her baggie. “So that’s what I don’t get. If it’s connected, it has to be totally random then, right? It has to be completely random.”

  My gaze fell to the coffee table as I nodded absently. Yes, totally completely random. Except that would make more sense if a clown mask hadn’t ended up in my locker and then on my bed before disappearing. And it would make sense if I didn’t have anything in common with Monica and Vee.

  But in a way, I did.

  #

  Everyone at school on Friday was buzzing about Monica Graham, especially when the police arrived in the afternoon to talk to a few more students. No one had heard from her, and I couldn’t imagine what her family and those close to her had to be going through.

  It was the same thing that Vee’s parents must be experiencing.

  What was sad about it was that no one had really mentioned Vee the whole week of school. After her fallout with the cool crowd last year, no one really seemed to care what was up with her, but now?

  She was the topic of conversation, right along with Monica.

  I was exhausted by the end of the day, skipping out on Smoothie Fridays with Linds and Heidi, a ritual we’d started at the beginning of our junior year, but when I got home, I climbed the stairs and found myself standing in front of my closet after dropping my bag on the bed.

  I opened the door and dropped down to my knees, pushing the piles of jeans out of the way until I found the unopened shoebox. Pieces of Christmas wrapping paper still clung to the sides. Mom had taped the lid shut, as if it would pop open, rip the wrapping off and ruin the surprise.

  But there was no real surprise to what was in the box. Mom got me the same gift every year and she would come into my bedroom after every closet and throw away the unopened box from the previous year.

  I had no idea why I was doing what I was doing, but I rocked back on my calves. Drawing in a deep breath, I exhaled slowly and then slipped my finger under the tape, breaking it. Once the lid was off, I was staring a pair of pristine black and pink sneakers.

  Running shoes.

  And the good kind with arch support, too. They had to cost a pretty penny, and these were like the fourth new pair I’d never worn, but Mom… she kept buying them.

  The desire to slip those shoes on and lace them up kindled alive deep in my chest. Just the idea of heading outside and going for a run-running anywhere-and allowing myself to get lost in that burn was hard to resist.

  But I didn’t put them on. I closed the lid and placed them back in the closet, setting them down carefully, a
lmost reverently.

  Running was not going to happen anyway. At least not with a possible psycho out there, roaming around. Besides that, I hadn’t slept more than three hours the night before and all I wanted to do was crash.

  And that’s what I ended up doing.

  Curled up on the corner of the couch, I watched a marathon of Ghost Adventurers with Mom, who had to have heard about Monica’s disappearance, but she didn’t bring it up and for that I was grateful. I didn’t want to think about any of it. My brain needed a break.

  I ended up falling asleep on the couch in the early morning hours and then waking up with cramped muscles. Glancing at the