by M. D. Archer
All of a sudden, I was exhausted. “Okay, fine.” My voice was small. “Whatever.” I turned to go upstairs.
“And take off that damn boot. The lies stop now, Calliope.”
By that night, Mom had already set up a full-day training session with Ms. Spencer for Saturday. Mom was still so mad at me she couldn’t look directly at me, and she sure wasn’t interested in getting to the bottom of why I pretended to be injured. She didn’t want to hear anything from me unless it was about dance training.
I flopped on my bed to check whether there was a message from Isaac. Nope. Nothing. I didn’t even have any more notifications. Nothing new about Amanda’s meme or my injury. Because something else had happened to make everyone forget.
Two more students were in hospital.
Nikki had collapsed during the athletics testing session for grade twelve students.
And Theo had almost overdosed.
It felt as if something was reaching critical mass.
I wasn’t imagining this, the craziness. Something was going on, and Logan Kerry was behind it. He used a stun gun on some guy at the health centre, he was weirdly interested in that hiker’s death. And he did something shady to the Montrose blood samples.
I had to figure out what Logan was up to, and I had to get proof.
16
I’d become a permanent fixture next to the window, doing a pretty good job of pretending to work while my eyes stayed locked on the health centre.
Something had occurred to me last night.
No one took me seriously, but maybe it was up to me to change that. Maybe the way to get people to believe me was to go out there and get some actual proof, some evidence that something was going on.
I’d come up with a two-part plan.
Making sure I kept my head raised enough so I’d see any motion from the health centre, I slipped out the blue spiral-bound notebook I’d brought from home. In here, I’d written down all the weird stuff I’d seen and heard. Health Centre/Logan Kerry was at the top of the lined page. Underneath, I’d written:
- Logan tasering someone at health centre Sat night.
- Person (Kade?) at health centre same night.
- Logan shredding in health centre (day drinking – relevant?) Monday.
- Logan arriving in town just before Robert Symonds went missing - pleased when death ruled accidental.
- Logan using the wrong blood bags, talking about analyzing blood, and interested in the hockey game.
- Logan saying they’d ‘do it again’. ??
- Steroids?
I stared at the list. If you asked me, it was pretty damning, but I already knew that I wasn’t super credible, so I needed more. I eyeballed the list again. I’d included Kade because even though it wasn’t officially possible for me to have seen him at the health centre—because of the coroner’s report—last night I’d remembered what Brie Paulson said about the recent deaths in Montrose. She’d pretty much suggested someone was doing something shady to cover up deaths in Montrose. Maybe that included the coroner’s office, and maybe Kade was part of that.
I picked up my phone, opened Twitter, and went to @BusyBrie. I looked at her feed, noticing that she hadn’t posted in a while. I couldn’t even find a link to that old news story, but I remembered it as clearly as anything.
What if the information about Kade’s death was part of some sort of cover-up? What if Kade did die later than they said, and if so, what had he been doing at the health centre?
I opened up another browser and typed in Kade’s name, then started clicking through each article. Kade had last been seen near the Montrose turn-off, and….
“Oh,” I blurted.
“Yes, dear?” Mrs. Pemberton said from the other side of the office, not bothering to look up.
“Nothing.”
I turned back to my phone. The person who saw Kade said they also thought they saw a dark-coloured sedan-type car. Just like Logan’s car. I wrote this down then eyed the list. It still wasn’t enough. I needed to know if my theory—as full of holes as it was—could be correct. How could I get more information about what happened to Kade? I needed access to the police report. But that was impossible. It wasn’t as if I could stroll into the station and ask to see it. I couldn’t hack into their database and read it for myself.
Wait. Hacking in. I didn’t have those skills, but based on what Mrs. Pemberton had said the other day, it was possible another Montrose student did. Harvey. Would he do it? Could I trust him? And if I didn’t ask him to do anything specifically illegal, it would be up to him how far he went. I nodded to myself. It was worth a shot.
I sent him a message asking for information about Kade Liston.
He replied almost immediately.
Sounds interesting. What’s it about?
Can I tell you later? I’ll owe you.
Sure. I’m bored anyway.
Tx.
I stared at the messages. Was Harvey messing with me, or was he actually going to do it? All I could do was hope and wait. I put my phone and my notebook back into my bag and then returned to my seat.
Part two of my plan also involved waiting. And watching, of course. Always watching.
Finally, just before midday, Logan ambled out of the health centre, looked left and right, almost as if checking who was around, then got into his car and drove away. It was time. From all my window watching, I knew Gillian took a sneaky smoke break mid-morning, and she hadn’t had a chance to have one yet. All I needed now was an excuse to go over there. I didn’t have a proper plan, just to get behind the front desk and get my Nancy Drew on.
After a quick glance around the office, I spotted the box of photocopy paper sitting by the door. “The health centre needs more paper, so I’ll take it over now,” I told Mrs. Pemberton as I left. She nodded and waved without looking up.
The doors to the health centre slid open with a loud beep. The buzzer was finally working. Gillian, sitting at the front desk but rummaging in her bag, looked up.
“Hi, Gillian,” I said breezily.
“What brings you by, Calliope?” Her smile was tight. She moved her hand around inside her bag for another few seconds, then dropped it down and looked up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed.
“To drop off some paper.” I leaned on the counter. “How’s it going?”
She shrugged, drumming her fingers against the counter and biting her lip.
She was jonesing for a cigarette. It was obvious.
“I hope I’m not bugging you. I have fifteen minutes left on my break, so I’m killing time,” I said.
“Oh, really?” Gillian said, her eyes wide and already clutching her bag. “I need a bit of a breather myself, but we’re expecting a courier. They said they would be here half an hour ago, and I have to wait to sign for it.” She rolled her eyes at me, and I rolled mine back in sympathy.
“I could watch for the courier if you like?”
Gillian had already stood up. “Oh, lovely. And you’re a Montrose staff member, after all,” she added, trying to make herself feel better. I nodded. “Great, okay.” She let me behind the reception counter. “Back in a sec.”
As soon as she’d gone, I sprang into action, casting my eyes around the space, taking in the cluttered reception desk, the unemptied bins, and the general messiness. Between Logan and Gillian, the health centre wasn’t exactly being run by a crack team.
First, I checked the computer. I jiggled the mouse, but when the screen lit up, it asked me for a password. Gillian had one over Mrs. Pemberton there. I poked through the in–tray and the papers on the desk but found nothing juicy. Then I got a break. The filing cabinet behind the front desk was shut but had keys hanging out of the lock. Sucking in an excited breath, I slid open the top drawer. It was full of what looked like patient files. After a quick check of the names, I realized it was the grade twelve class. Curious, I went to L. When I found a file with my name on it, I drew back in surprise. Why did I have a patient file? I’d neve
r been a patient here. I wasn’t even a student. I hesitated for only a second before I opened it. In the front was a summary sheet with my name, date of birth, and address. Next was a bunch of test results: my iron levels, blood sugar and some other “metabolites”.
Then a really strange one: Calliope Laws DcH-015 .000
I’d been tested for something called DcH-015.
With a loud beep and a crackle of a radio, the doors slid open. The courier had arrived. Without thinking, I shoved my file in my bag.
“Thanks.” I signed for the package and placed it in an obvious place behind the counter, then sat in Gillian’s chair.
What was DcH, and why had I been tested for it? I let the chair swivel back and forth as I tried to think, until it came to me.
The truck crash. Of course.
These were the results of the pinprick tests. DcH had to be the chemical the truck was carrying. I relaxed. My results were zero, which was what they should be.
But that wasn’t why I came here.
I went back to the cabinet and ran my finger down to F. Mitchell Faulks. I doubted there would be a note with Mitchell is taking steroids written on his file or anything, duh, but there could be something. Logan had talked about getting the blood analyzed, so maybe there was evidence of that.
I pulled open Mitchell’s file and flipped through until I found a results sheet. I stopped still in my tracks.
Mitchell Faulks DcH–015 .618
Something slow and icy crawled over my shoulders. My result was zero, but Mitchell’s was not. What did that mean? I went back to the file drawer, and Gabby’s name jumped out at me. She wouldn’t mind if I looked, would she? I grabbed the file. Her results were different again: Gabrielle Santino DcH–015 .086
Did the truck chemical, DcH, somehow get absorbed into both Mitchell’s and Gabby’s bloodstream? Why them and not me? And Gabby seemed fine, so maybe it wasn’t a big deal.
But Mitchell wasn’t fine.
He was anything but fine.
I turned back to the drawer and pulled out the file of another student who wasn’t fine—Emily Levene. I glanced over my shoulder toward the door. Gillian wasn’t back yet, but I had to be running out of time. I went straight to the DcH results page in Emily’s file and looked at her result. Emily Levene DcH–015 .539
There was a noise from outside.
I shoved the file back into the cabinet and looked at the door.
It was Gillian, talking on the phone, still outside but about to come back in. She hadn’t caught me in the cabinet, but what about my file? I glanced down at my bag, then at the door. There was no time. I shut the file drawer and lurched away.
The doors slid open. Gillian smiled at me, and I took a shaky breath. That was close.
But it wasn’t over. Someone was coming in behind her. I sucked in a breath, my whole body alive with tension.
Logan.
He moved through the reception door; suspicious eyes fixed on me. “What are you doing back there?” he said, his voice low. His eyes looked glassy as they flicked from Gillian to me.
“Calliope, isn’t it?” he said, moving toward me. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” he repeated, pushing his face even closer. I got a whiff of something that smelled like alcohol. I guess I could probably put the question of what he was drinking from the hip flask to rest.
But now was not the time to worry about Logan’s drinking problem.
“Logan, uh….” Gillian hurried forward. “I can explain.”
His eyes narrowed as he turned to her. I reached down and grabbed my bag, then started edging away, hugging the wall, trying to keep as far away from him as possible. Suddenly he marched over to the filing cabinet and slammed his hand down on the top, making me jump
“Gillian?” His lip quivered. He was working hard to keep up his charming-guy facade. “Why are the keys in the cabinet?”
“Um,” Gillian said, staring at Logan with wide eyes.
Logan locked the cabinet, shoved the keys into his pocket, and turned back to me, a smile still pasted on his face. “I’m not going to ask you again.”
“The courier,” Gillian said, flustered. I continued taking slow steps backward toward the door, my eyes trained on Logan. “Uh, I had to… I thought you’d left for the day.”
His eyes narrowed. Logan’s mask was slipping, and I could tell Gillian was confused, but he managed to regain his cool and smiled. “We need to have a chat, Gillian.”
“Um, okay.”
I lunged for the door.
“Wait,” Logan called. “I want to talk to you too.”
But I didn’t wait. I broke into a full-out run and sprinted away, still somehow able to feel the weight of his eyes on my back. I went to the closest washrooms in the main building and stayed there, my heart pounding, until I was sure he hadn’t followed me and wasn’t about to bang down the door.
Mitchell and Emily both had DcH in their system, and if I remembered right, they had much higher levels than Gabby. I was fine, Gabby seemed fine, but Mitchell and Emily had both collapsed.
It couldn’t be a coincidence.
I had to tell someone. But people had barely taken me seriously before I’d been outed as a liar and turned into a meme. So who was going to believe me now?
17
Boxes, packing Styrofoam and scotch tape littered Mr. Ellison’s office.
“Calliope?” His look of surprise verged on alarm. With glasses perched on his nose and a little askew, his shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up and his hair ruffled, he was rocking a pretty strong nutty professor vibe.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sorry, I…. Are you packing?”
He eyed me for a moment as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain, then nodded. “I received a grant for my research.”
From Isaac, I knew that Mr. Ellison had been working part-time toward a PhD in something to do with genes and the brain and the environment. Isaac had been worried he was going to get funding and abandon him before he left for college.
Now it felt as if I was the one being abandoned.
“You’re going today?”
“Indeed.”
“What about teaching and everything?”
“I haven’t been teaching this semester.” Mr. Ellison looked a little annoyed. “Not that I’m required to explain to you,” he added.
“Sorry—”
“But I found out about the funding at the start of the school year,” he continued. “And given the short notice, I agreed with Ms. Michaels that I would stay a bit longer to help ease the transition.” He pushed his glasses farther up his nose again. “Calliope, why are you here?” he repeated his question from earlier. “Do you have a biology question for me?” he added with a tight smile.
It was a dig, and I knew it.
“Isaac trusts you,” I found myself saying. “I know that you two…. I thought—”
“How is Isaac? I suppose I’ll see him soon enough. We’ve planned to catch up in a couple of weeks.”
A little surge of annoyance pulsed through me. I guess Isaac wasn’t too busy to stay in touch with some people in Montrose.
“He must be loving the program,” Mr. Ellison continued, his expression transforming from mild irritation to the same enchanted look Isaac got when talking about neuroscience. “He sent me a copy of the prospectus. An exciting future ahead of him.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “According to Insta, he’s doing awesome, but I haven’t spoken to him recently…. I don’t know, he’s busy.”
Mr. Ellison eyed me, and before he could ask once again why I had come to see him, I said, “I’m not here to talk about Isaac.”
“Yes?”
“Um.” I hesitated, gulped, and continued, “I’m here about Logan Kerry.”
“Why on earth?”
“Because….” I took another breath. I just had to say it. “There’s something weird going on. The test results. I heard Logan talking about the blood samples. He wa
s talking about running an analysis.”
Mr. Ellison’s brows knitted together. “Do you mean from the blood drive? Running analyses on donated blood is normal. They have to check the blood.”
“I know. And Logan knows too. So that’s why he messed with the donation!”
“Pardon?”
“He used the wrong bags. Don’t you see? On purpose!”
“The wrong bags?”
“And both Emily and Mitchell collapsed. And he was talking about the dead hiker, Mr. Ellison, and he was relieved.”
He frowned.
I was getting it wrong, wasn’t explaining properly, but I couldn’t seem to control the words spilling out of my mouth.
“He tasered someone. Why does he even have a stun gun, you know? And Kade and Robert. They’re both connected. I mean, I didn’t actually see, but it makes sense in a kind of a way. And he was… he was drunk the other day.”
Mr. Ellison’s frown deepened. “You saw him drinking at work?”
“I mean, it could have been cranberry juice, I guess, but—”
“Calliope, what exactly are you saying?”
As I tried to find the words, his eyes dropped down to my foot, the one that no longer had a moonboot covering a fake injury.
All of a sudden, the memory of Logan and Mr. Ellison smiling at each other in the doorway to the administration office jumped into my head.
They were college buddies.
I couldn’t tell him about spying on Logan because he’d say I was the one doing something wrong. He’d be right, but that wasn’t the point.
“Nothing. Sorry to bother you.” I nearly tripped on a box as I tried to back out of his office.
“Calliope?”
But I’d already gone.
What could I do now? I started toward the administration office. Mrs. Pemberton was beginning to seem like my only hope. Even though she didn’t take me seriously, maybe we could call the donation centre together and she’d believe me then?
Outside the office, I paused for a moment to set my shoulders and my resolve, then marched in. I stood at the front counter where Mrs. Pemberton sat. I had to tell her about Logan. I had to make her stop mooning over him for once and listen.