They All Fall Down

by Roxanne St Claire

  “I saw ‘do not tell anyone’ in caps.” She pushes off the bed. “I suppose that includes your BFF.”

  “Molly, come on. This is …” Bigger, worse, and scarier than she could ever understand. “This is …” A matter of life and death.

  “I know what this is,” she says, backing away. “This is you blowing me off so you can hang with much cooler girls.”

  I shake off all the fear that’s gripping me and give Molly my full attention. “This is not something you can understand easily.”

  She coughs and says, “Oh my God,” rolling her eyes. “Of course, only the Sisters of the List can understand.”

  “I mean it, Molly. I’ll explain it to you later, but now I …” Can’t tell anyone or I might be next.

  Not that I believe that for one minute, but I can’t completely disregard the warning.

  “Whatever, Kenzie. Do what you have to do. I’m going home.”

  “Molly, please, if I could take you, I would. I swear I would.”

  She turns on her way out, a world of pain in her expression. “Then why don’t you?”

  Because what if she got hurt? What if she was somehow in danger? What if I was responsible for that? An old familiar ache takes hold. “Because I can’t,” I say simply as the text buzzes again. I ignore it, looking hard at Molly, praying she somehow understands and forgives me.

  “Better get your phone, sister,” she says, turning back to the door.

  “Molly, please.”

  But she doesn’t hesitate, leaving without another word. I stay still for a moment, then pick up the phone to read the text from Dena.

  Pick you up in 10?

  I type one word in response: Yes.

  Mom buys that I’m going outside to ride back to Molly’s house with her so we can do homework together. First I pray Mom doesn’t come outside to wait with me; then I pray that Molly doesn’t come running back to make up after I’m gone. Because that would turn my mother into a screaming, police-contacting lunatic who doesn’t know where I am.

  But Molly was pretty mad and I doubt she’s coming back tonight, so I take the chance and hop into Dena’s ancient Subaru that smells vaguely like gym clothes and Gatorade. She’s dressed in sweats, and tells me she just left volleyball practice. But she still manages to look pretty.

  “What happened to Candace?” I ask.

  “She damn near drowned in her bathtub. Wait till you see her hair.”

  “Oh my God,” I mutter, turning in the seat to face her. “What happened to her hair?”

  “Her mom had to chop it off to save her life. She was in her mom’s Jacuzzi taking a bath and her hair got sucked into the bubbly thing and it pulled her under. If her mother hadn’t walked into the bathroom …” She closes her eyes and blows out a shaky breath. “We are all in such trouble, Kenzie. We have to do something. We have to stop this.”

  “Why don’t we go to the cops?”

  “Because they don’t investigate curses that cause unavoidable accidents. And before you say anything, yes, I’m buying into it.”

  “Oh, Dena.” I’m disappointed to lose my only ally on the “curses are ridiculous” side of the issue. “There’s no such thing,” I say, but even I can hear the doubt in my voice. Could there be a curse?

  “Oh, yeah? Then tell me how come all this weird shit is happening to us? No one was in the bathroom holding Candace under. No one made my cat chew a wire that damn near electrocuted me. No one stuffed peanuts into Chloe’s allergic mouth.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  She fires a look at me. “Do you?”

  “I don’t … Maybe.” I look out the window, half expecting to see the truck. In the distance behind us, I see headlights, much too small and close together to be a truck’s. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “Shannon’s dead grandmother’s trailer.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “Don’t knock a good inheritance.” She veers onto a highway that heads toward Pittsburgh. “Most grandmas leave you their knitting collections when they kick. Shannon got her very own trailer in the country that she can move into when she’s eighteen. Until then, we go there to party sometimes.”

  “This is hardly a party,” I say dryly.

  We drive in silence and I try to memorize where we’re going, a slow, low burn of worry building in me. Periodically, I look behind us and every once in a while I see headlights, but they are way in the distance.

  We cross a bridge, cut through a rural area, and eventually turn off onto a narrow road that looks like it leads into utter darkness. “Where are we going?”

  “Here.” She pulls into a long dirt drive tucked between huge oak trees and the car jolts, kicking up gravel, until the lights finally shine on an ancient double-wide surrounded by nothing but dirt, grass, and a few abandoned appliances.

  The three other cars parked there look completely out of place, yet familiar. I recognize Amanda’s silver SUV and Candace’s bright-green cube-shaped thing as we park and walk to the dimly lit mobile home.

  The night is silent, and cool. Beyond the trailer are a wooded area and some fields. I rub my jacket-covered arms against the chill and follow Dena.

  Inside, the girls are gathered in a rattily furnished living area, a few on a plaid sofa, some on the floor. They are all staring at something on the coffee table, but a few look up to greet me.

  “Maybe Kenzie can help,” Kylie says. “Aren’t you, like, some kind of freak with foreign languages?”

  My chest tightens a little and I lean to the right to see around Amanda’s head to what’s on the table. “Just Latin,” I say.

  “This looks like Latin.” Amanda scoops something up and holds out her hand, the shiny gold making me gasp.

  “Where did you get that?” I exclaim. I grab for it, but Amanda yanks it away.

  “You’ve seen this before?”

  Today, as a matter of fact. “Please, Amanda. Let me look at it. It could have a tracking device and someone could be on his way here right this minute to kill us.”

  Seven sets of horrified eyes stare at me as Amanda slowly opens her hand and relinquishes the coin.

  It’s exactly like the one Josh left at Kipler’s. “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it in my bathroom,” Candace says from the sofa. I look at her for the first time and barely recognize her with shorn hair. I can’t help but recoil in surprise. Her thick, waist-length hair looks like someone hacked it off two inches from her head.

  She gives me a hard stare, like she doesn’t give a crap about her locks. She’s alive.

  “Holy shit!” Dena lunges at the coin. “I found one like that, too. Right on the floor where my cat chewed the cord.”

  “Do you have it?”

  She shakes her head. “I thought it was my dad’s because he just got back from a business trip in Europe. It’s probably still sitting in the junk drawer in our kitchen.”

  I look around. “Anyone else find something like this?”

  “Maybe,” Bree says, standing to get a better look. “I heard my parents talking about finding something gold after that power line fell into our house. I didn’t pay any attention, but they were fighting over where it came from. My dad accused my mom of buying it at the flea market even though she said she wasn’t going there anymore, but she swore she didn’t. I just ignore them when they fight.”

  “Maybe it’s the mark of a curse,” Kylie says.

  “Or a calling card,” Candace suggests.

  I give her a nod. “That makes sense, except for two things. One, the inscription means ‘to leave nothing behind and no trace,’ but that would mean someone left something behind. Two, worse than that …” I lift the coin to the dim light and try to imagine a chip or something inside. “It can track where you are.”

  “Holy hell,” Shannon mutters, standing up. “I’m out of here.”

  “Wait a minute,” Amanda says. “How do you know this?”

  I search a few f
aces and debate what’s safe and smart to tell them. All of their lives are at stake—and mine. I can no longer doubt that this coin—which showed up after these freak accidents—is somehow related to the deaths of two girls on the list and the near misses of several others.

  “I know it because I was followed by someone when I had a coin like that today in my hand. I was—”

  “Shit!” Dena jumps back from the window, eyes wide. “Someone’s coming.”

  A collective shriek rises from the group.

  “Let’s hide!”

  “Run!”

  “Kill the son of a bitch.” Candace stands, fearless, fixing Shannon with a hard look. “Surely your grandmother kept a gun in this redneck hellhole.”

  “Hey!” Shannon’s eyes pop. “What are you—”

  “Not now!” Dena gives her a good shove. “There’s a freaking car out there.”

  We all freeze for a second as Shannon slams a fist to her mouth. “Oh my God, I don’t want to die!”

  “Then don’t.” I look around to find something to arm us, spying a faded, speckled mirror in a frame over the sofa. “Two of you, grab that mirror!”

  Amanda and Kylie leap to action, kneeling on the sofa to work in tandem to take it down.

  “Get behind the door so you can smash it on his head if he walks in. Turn the lights off!”

  “What if he’s a ghost?” Shannon asks.

  I don’t bother with a response to her shocking stupidity. “Are there knives here, Shannon? Anything in the kitchen?”

  “I’ll look,” Dena says, darting into the galley kitchen and whipping open drawers and cabinets. “Coffee mugs,” she hollers.

  “Give one to each of us,” I order. “We’ll throw them at him. No knives?”

  Dena’s handing out mugs to Bree and Ashleigh, while Candace yanks open a cabinet and finds a cast-iron skillet just as someone kills the lights. “I’m good,” she says.

  The slam of a car door freezes us all.

  “Shit,” someone murmurs.

  “Quiet!” I say in a hushed whisper. “Get into position to attack the minute the door opens.”

  They scramble and I give Amanda and Kylie a push into the right place, near the door. Taking Candace’s hand, I pull her next to me.

  “I’ll kill him,” she says under her breath.

  “I have no doubt.”

  We hear footsteps, light and fast. Inside we are totally silent and still, and I’m surprised I can’t hear eight thumping hearts. Someone breathes softly. Someone—Shannon, I think—whimpers a little. And we all jump when there’s a hard, sharp bang on the door.

  He’s knocking?

  No one moves, the air hot and thick and tense with our fear. Could he have a gun? A knife of his own? No way he’s armed with skillets and cups.

  Very slowly, the handle moves. Candace takes a single step forward, raising the pan. Amanda and Kylie move, too, lifting the heavy mirror.

  “Wait till he’s inside,” I whisper softly. “We have one chance.”

  I brace myself as the latch clicks open, certain I’ll see the hooded man who drove the truck. I train my eyes at the six-foot height where his head will be. The wood snaps as the door creaks open. I grip my mug, ready to fling and smash and—

  “Kenzie?”

  What? “Don’t!” I scream as I see the mirror fall and Candace lunge. All I can do is leap forward without thinking, tackling Molly to the ground with a thud, covering her body with mine.

  Chaos erupts and something hits my head as I roll us both out of the doorway, screaming, “Stop! Don’t hurt her!”

  I’m aware of lights going on and Molly fighting with everything she’s got and another cup whizzing by my head.

  “Stop, she’s my friend!” I holler again. “She’s okay! Don’t kill her!”

  After a few heartbeats, we’re surrounded by girls yelling and questions flying, and finally I trust them enough to let Molly go.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand, but I already know, remembering the close-together headlights behind Dena and me on our way here: Molly’s VW.

  She’s barely able to make it to her knees, shaking as hard as I am, her gaze darting around the circle surrounding us. “What the hell’s going on here?”

  After a beat, Dena steps forward, lifting her mug like a toast. “Private party,” she says coolly.

  Molly’s eyes widen and shift to me. “Kenzie?” There’s nothing but disbelief in her voice. “Why did you attack me?”

  “Molly, I—”

  “Hazing ritual.” Amanda reaches to help Molly up. “And, sorry, chica, but you’re not in the group.”

  Molly’s jaw drops. “What are you—”

  Candace gets right in her face, lifting the skillet. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  “You guys,” I say, getting next to Molly. “We can trust her. She’s my friend.”

  Every one of them looks at me like they could kill me, too.

  “We don’t trust anyone,” Kylie says.

  Molly shudders and looks at me. “Is this what that list has turned you into?”

  My shoulders sink. I feel sad for her gross misconception, but know that if I tell her anything, these girls will not react well. They’re scared, they’re dangerous, and Molly’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “You better leave, Molly,” I say simply.

  The hurt in her eyes is ten times worse than it was when she left my bedroom. “Why are you doing this?” she whispers.

  “You don’t understand,” I say, knowing it sounds lame. And so damn mean.

  “Yeah.” She sniffs. “I do. That list changed you, and I … I …” She looks around from one to the other. “I don’t like who you’ve become.”

  “Good.” Candace gives her a little shove. “ ’Cause we don’t like you. Adiós, amiga.”

  Molly gives me one more pleading look, and in the space of two seconds that look turns to ice. “Bye, Kenzie.” She pivots and heads back to her car. I feel a physical pull to follow her, to explain everything, to assure her that she is and always will be my best friend.

  I take one step, but Candace grips my elbow. “Don’t even think about it, Fifth.”

  I let Molly go.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  We left the trailer, ditched the coin about a mile away, and went to Amanda’s house, where I told them the story of what had happened that day with Josh and Levi. I got a mixed reaction; not all the girls were ready to let go of the curse theory, and some of them rose to Josh’s defense. They all wanted to blame Levi for everything bad that had happened in town.

  The next day, Molly doesn’t show to pick me up, so Mom has to drive me to school. The first place I go when I get there is the media center. I am certain that I once saw a whole section containing all the old Vienna High yearbooks. I have to find out more about Jarvis Collier and his weird collection of ancient Roman artifacts … which could include coins left as a killer’s calling card.

  There are very few kids in the media center this early, and Mrs. Huffnegger, the librarian, is reading her computer screen intently enough that she doesn’t notice me. The reference area is abandoned, and I walk between the stacks to find the yearbooks.

  They date back to 1943, when it was simply Vienna School, a brick building that housed twelve grades for the kids of the farmers who lived in rural western Pennsylvania, long before my town became a populated, popular suburb of Pittsburgh. But I’m not interested in history that ancient. I go straight to the middle and pull out yearbooks from the early eighties, guessing that’s where I’ll find Jarvis Collier.

  I do, as a junior in 1984. Immediately I’m struck by how much he looks like Josh. I can’t help scanning the black-and-white photos of this junior class, studying the girls with big, big hair, lots of winged bangs, and plenty of shoulder pads.

  The fashions don’t interest me, though. Somewhere on these pages are pictures of the first hotties, women who are now in their forties. Are they all still alive?
Were any of them friends with Jarvis?

  In the 1985 yearbook, I find Jarvis again, this time as a senior, so I learn more about him, including the fact that he was president of the Latin club, among other academic and athletic pursuits.

  While I read, I slide down the side of the stacks until I’m sitting on the floor, my gaze landing on his senior quote.

  QUALIS PATER TALIS FILIUS.

  LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON.

  He does look like his father, I muse, and his son looks—

  “Hey.”

  I jump a foot at the sound of a voice, flipping the book closed over my hand as I look up guiltily. His son is standing directly in front of me.

  “Josh.”

  “What are you doing back here?”

  Digging up dirt on your father. “Studying.” I press the top of the yearbook but that just smushes my hand between the pages and the hard cover. “How’d you find me?”

  “Huffnegger told me you were here.”

  The heat in my cheeks slides lower and settles in my chest, where it starts to burn. He’s lying. Mrs. Huffnegger never even saw me. A fleeting thought crosses my mind: do I have a coin on me somewhere I’m not aware of? Has one been slipped into the lining of my backpack?

  I make a mental note to check as he crouches down to the floor where I’m sitting. “So, you got home okay?”

  I just nod.

  He reaches to my face, caressing a hair off my cheek, and I instinctively inch back, looking down, noticing that the other yearbook is open next to me, his father’s face staring right up.

  “Kenz,” he says softly. “I’m really sorry.”

  “ ’Sokay,” I say, looking away from the book because I don’t want him to follow my gaze.

  “It’s not okay.” He relaxes and lets his backside hit the floor next to mine. “I acted like a shit.”

  “No, no.” I finally look up at him. I have to hold his attention—talk, flirt, whatever, but I can’t let him look at the book that’s open one inch from my leg. “You just wanted to have a good time and I was a drag.”

  “You are so not a drag, Fifth.” He leans a little closer. “Can I make it up to you?”

  I kind of shrug and shake my head, giving him a shy smile. Anything but have his eyes move one foot over and spot his dad, whose picture looks so much like Josh they could be twins. “It’s no problem, really.”