“We’re not set up to care for her properly,” Grandma said, in a tremulous voice. “We need to make arrangements. Talk to a psychiatrist, find her a bed in a facility. That could take weeks.”
“Ma’am, where this girl goes next is not my problem. Four p.m., she’s gone, and that’s all I have to say.”
Four o’clock wasn’t soon enough. Rose couldn’t even wait that long to get out of this place. She wasn’t safe here. He’d come to her room last night, done his best to silence her, and presumably thought he’d succeeded. But he’d been careless. At the first signs of the nurse coming, he’d run off without finishing the job. The second he found out that Rose was still alive, he’d be back. She had to be gone before then.
Grandma and Mr. Adams were alone in the hallway now, discussing what to do about Rose’s impending release.
“You can’t just take her home. She’s dangerous,” Warren Adams said.
“We don’t know that for sure. We haven’t gotten an opinion from a psychiatrist yet. Maybe it would be all right.”
“You don’t need a psychiatrist to tell you that a girl who stabbed her sister seventeen times is a danger. It’s common sense, Martha. We can’t let them release her. I say we go talk to Heath Donovan. He was just named headmaster. New headmasters need to prove themselves as fund-raisers. Dangle a big enough cash contribution in front of him, and he’ll keep Rose locked up here forever.”
He’ll keep Rose locked up here forever. She panicked, her heart racing. Heath Donovan was now headmaster, and they were going to tell him that Rose was still alive, about to be released, out of his control. He’d murder her before she could put her shoes on. Rose needed to get out of here, fast. But she needed help. She had no money and no clothing other than a hospital gown. Outside her window it was nearly dark, and the sky was spitting a frigid-looking rain. She was in the middle of the vast Odell campus, which Donovan now ruled. If she tried to run, her fellow students would turn her in in a heartbeat, either because they were nasty backstabbers or blind rule-followers. Most of them were.
Maybe not everyone.
* * *
The nurse, eager to be rid of Rose, had gotten careless. She left the door unlocked, and Rose strolled out of her room, easy as pie. There were kids sleeping on stretchers in the hallway, with no adults in sight. She stopped to pilfer a pair of rain boots and a parka from the coatroom near the front door. Nobody saw her. Her bare shins protruded from her hospital gown as she exited into a gust of bitter wind. Stinging sleet blew into her eyes and scored her skin. She shivered with cold as she hurried on stiff legs, unused to walking after a couple of days in bed, forced to take the much longer back route to avoid being seen.
Once upon a time, Rose had lived for Zach Cuddy, and in those innocent days, she’d made it her business to know everything about him, including which dorm was his, and which window. He lived on the second floor of Ashcroft Hall, in a room accessible from the ramshackle fire escape that snaked up the back side of the building. By the time Rose reached Ashcroft, she was soaking wet and blue-tinged. She stood and stared at that fire escape. During her ill-fated crush on Zach, she’d imagined climbing it, though never in a million years would she have done it for real. (Sneaking into a boys’ dorm outside of official visitation hours was a major disciplinary offense.) She’d been a good girl then, but now she had bigger worries than getting suspended.
The fire escape was steep and narrow with rusty metal steps. She climbed quickly, the wet hospital gown flapping around her bare legs and the too-big boots slipping. When she reached the landing, she looked in the window and saw that Zach’s room was empty. Her spirits plummeted. When she’d decided to ask Zach for help, she’d assumed she would miraculously find him in his room. But there were a dozen other places on campus he might be, including the library, the gym, a snack bar, a friend’s room. If Rose went looking—recognizable as she was, dressed like a hobo, spattered with mud—there was a likelihood approaching a certainty that she’d be caught. And sent to Donovan for discipline.
The wind gusted and lashed cold rain into her face. Rose huddled into the lee of the building, shivering. She couldn’t stay here, but she had nowhere else to go. With the next gust of wind, the ancient part of her brain told her to seek shelter, so she threw up the window sash and climbed through into Zach’s room.
The room was warm and messy, and smelled like dirty laundry. In the midst of the horror show that her life had become, she recalled, as if from long ago, what it felt like to be smitten with Zach. She immediately knew which side of the room was his. It was piled with books and papers, the walls hung with posters for indie bands and an Ansel Adams photograph of snow-covered mountains. The other side, covered with sports memorabilia, clearly belonged to Zach’s roommate, a hockey player Rose considered beneath him. She walked around for a moment, mesmerized, running a finger over Zach’s bed with its navy-striped comforter, imagining how she might have sat on this bed during visitation hours had things gone differently between them.
A noise in the hallway reminded her that she could be caught. Heart racing, she dove into the closet on Zach’s side of the room, squeezing in amongst shoes, sports equipment and dry-cleaning bags. Her movements stirred up dust, and she sneezed, stifling the sound with her hands, terrified that someone might hear. But nobody came to investigate, and she settled in, making a nest for herself on the floor. In a laundry bag stuffed in the corner, she discovered a pair of sweatpants and an Odell sweatshirt, slightly tangy with sweat but warm and dry. Maneuvering carefully so as not to make noise, she got out of her wet things, and dressed herself in Zach Cuddy’s clothes.
It was warm and stuffy in the closet. Rose tucked the laundry bag behind her head, leaned back and closed her eyes. Just for a minute.
Sometime later, voices woke her. Zach and his roommate were in the room, talking about whether to go over to the dining hall or order a pizza. Zach’s voice was right outside the closet door now. If he opened it and discovered her, with his roommate watching, she was done. But he moved away. He was sitting at his desk now, from the sound of it. He told his roommate to go on to dinner without him, that he’d be along shortly.
Rose waited until the roommate was gone, then eased the door open. Zach sat with his head on the desk, cradled in his arms, like he was upset. Rose stepped out.
“Zach,” she said.
He jumped out of his chair and backed away. “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing here?” he said, shutting the door to the hallway. “Did they let you out?”
“No, I escaped.”
He looked at her, horror-struck. “You’re wearing my clothes. You’re scaring me, Enright. People say you’re a fucking loon, and I defend you, but now I have to wonder. Maybe you did kill your sister.”
Rose raised her hands placatingly. “No, I swear to God, I didn’t kill her. Zach, you know that. It was Donovan. It has to be. Last night, he tried to kill me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“He came into my room in the infirmary while I was sleeping, and tried to suffocate me with a pillow.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No. There’s no phone in my room, and I was locked in. I told the nurse. And guess what, she accused me of trashing my own room, punching myself in the face and making up a story to cover my ass. That nurse hates me. But now that Donovan’s headmaster, nobody’s gonna believe me. That’s why I came here, because I knew you would. I need your help, Zach. My phone is missing, but you have those pictures, right? We have to give them to the police right away. We have to get Donovan arrested, before he comes after me again. Or after you.”
“Hate to burst your bubble. But I gave the cops the pictures. Nothing happened.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“How do you know they didn’t arrest him?”
“I saw him on the Quad half an hour ago. It was like seeing the devil walking the earth. I actually got a chill.”
“No. She said thank you, but it didn’t mean shit. She thinks I did it, given that I got hauled in to give a DNA swab, all because of you. What’s up with that, Enright? I thought we were friends, and you claim I killed Bel. Why did you lie?”
“It wasn’t a lie, it was a mistake. I saw you in the woods, right before I found her. When somebody came from behind and hit me in the head, naturally, I thought it was you.”
“Why would you think that? You know how I felt about her.”
“You always denied it. Besides, I actually thought you were stalking her, so that sort of made it more likely you were guilty. But now that I remember what happened, I know the truth, and I’ll tell them. I’ll clear your name, I promise.”
“A day late and a dollar short. I saw you in the woods, too, you know. You actually cut me, but I didn’t tell on you. I told the cops to go after Flynn instead.”
“Why would you do that, if you thought I killed Bel?”
“I never believed you would hurt her. In my heart, I knew it was Donovan, that fucking creep. He killed her to shut her up.”
“Then why not tell the police it was him? Why implicate Brandon Flynn?”
“Flynn,” Zach said with a bitter laugh. “That asshole torments me. I’m pretty sure he tapped my phone somehow, when I gave it to him to be wiped. But that’s another story. Honestly, I wanted to make trouble for him. Plus, I didn’t think they would believe me about Donovan. Donovan walks on water, as far as the rest of the world is concerned. What do we have to put up against his angelic reputation? Pretty much nothing. The photo from the laundry room is so blurry that it sucks as evidence. And the picture of Bel getting into his car doesn’t prove anything. I could have great photos, and I bet you nobody would buy it. Donovan’s like Teflon. Nothing sticks to him. He charms everyone. Just look where we are now. Bel is dead, and Donovan is on top of the world. He won.”
“Don’t say that. You can’t give up. We owe it to Bel to stop him.”
“What do you suggest we do? I gave the pictures to the police this morning. I think we would have heard if they arrested him. Instead, the scuttlebutt is, he’s moving into the headmaster’s house as we speak.”
“I could tell the police he tried to kill me last night.”
“Be my guest. I’ll give you the detective’s phone number, even dial the phone. But the nurse didn’t believe you, so why would the police?”
“You know who would believe me? Mrs. Donovan. She trusts me. She knows I didn’t kill Bel. That I wouldn’t make this up. We should go talk to her.”
“We can’t. Mrs. Donovan has dropped from sight. Nobody knows where she is.”
“That’s not possible. I just saw her— Wait, what day was that?”
“I wouldn’t know. Kids in the dining hall were speculating that she’s out with the flu. But Emma says she’s not in Moreland, and the Donovan kids got sent to their grandparents’ house. Their stuff is getting moved to the headmaster’s residence, but the secretary is handling the move. Mrs. D isn’t in the infirmary. I heard that from a guy in my dorm who just got discharged this morning. It’s bizarre, like she vanished.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I might be willing to give your idea a try, Enright. But in order to do that, we have to find her. I’m thinking maybe Donovan doesn’t want to risk that happening.”
Rose stared at him, as the fear spread like cold liquid through her body. “Like, he did something to her?”
“The guy is a psychopath. I wouldn’t put anything past him. If Mrs. Donovan knew something, yeah, he could go after her. For the same reason he killed Bel.”
“What’s that?”
“Like I said. To keep her quiet.”
61
Sarah asked the taxi driver to take her directly to the infirmary, and to wait for her while she checked inside. But when she got there, Rose had already left. Kim Kowalski claimed that Mrs. Enright took Rose without asking or signing discharge papers. Nobody saw her leave. Sarah found this troubling, but her mind was cloudy from the virus, which came on with terrible ferocity, it seemed, each night when the sun went down.
Kim took one look at Sarah, and told her to go home to bed. Sarah promised to do so, and borrowed money to pay for the cab. She needed to go home anyway, to find her phone, and call Rose to make sure she was all right.
At the turnaround area behind Moreland Hall, a large moving van blocked the road. As Sarah got out of the cab, the door to Moreland’s rear entrance flew open, and a mover came out, carrying the oval mirror from Sarah’s bedroom, wrapped in Bubble Wrap, and the bunny lamp from the kids’ room.
“Wait a minute, those are my things,” she said. “Where are you taking them?”
He was a young guy, beefy, with tattoos, and a harried look. “Headmaster’s house, ma’am.”
“Who gave you permission to do that?”
“Betsy, the headmaster’s secretary. We were told to move the stuff from this apartment over to the headmaster’s house.”
“But that move isn’t happening yet,” she said.
“Yeah, it is. I’m doing it right now.”
Was this for real? It felt like a bad dream. Like Sarah had returned home after a long absence, to find strangers living in her house.
“But those are my things,” she repeated, on the verge of tears. “Put them back. I don’t want them moved.”
“I’m doing my job here, lady. You got a problem, take it up with Betsy,” the mover said, turning to go.
“Wait. Where are my kids?”
“I don’t know your kids from Adam.”
“Are they inside?”
“Nobody’s in there. They already moved,” he said, looking at her like she was crazy.
Her fever spiking, Sarah forgot about Rose, and thought of nothing but the fact that her children were missing. Find the children. Find the children. She ran down the path and out onto Founders’ Road, toward the headmaster’s house. It was a ten-minute walk under the best of circumstances, but now it felt endless. Like Sisyphus with the boulder, the more she walked, the farther behind she fell. A mix of sleet and freezing rain made the road slick. The old loafers she’d worn in the hospital seemed to have glass soles. She took baby steps on shaky legs to avoid slipping and falling, and got colder with every step. She couldn’t stop to rest. She had to get there, to find her babies. What came after that, she didn’t know. If what she suspected was true, they couldn’t stay with Heath.
The headmaster’s house was a brick-and-limestone folly, extravagantly ornamented with turrets and gargoyles. It sat on a slight bluff at the head of Founders’ Road, at an inconvenient distance from the main Quad, with a wide front lawn that sloped down to the street, and dark woods in the back. People said it was crown jewel of Odell architecture. But Sarah saw it in the distance and shivered. With its windows lit from within and glowing a turgid yellow, it looked evil. Like a haunted house. Or the house of a killer.
She was panting and soaking wet by the time she got to the front door. When it swung open as she reached for the bell, she might have been living a nightmare.
Heath stepped back and pulled Sarah into the double-height entry foyer. It was massive, with a chandelier and sweeping staircase, but Sarah wasn’t impressed. She’d grown up in a fancy house, and knew the coldness of such places. Her main memories of her childhood home were of being scolded for tracking mud on the expensive carpet or leaving fingermarks on the walls. But Heath would love it here, she suspected. It would feed his delusions of grandeur.
“Where have you been?’ he said. “I’ve been worried sick. You pulled out your own IV and walked out of the hospital? Are you crazy? I had to leave my meeting to go driving around, looking for you.”
Through the fever-haze, she noted that he had not called the police. Odd behavior from a man truly worried for his wife’s safety.
She heard t
he dog barking. The sound came from far away.
“Is Max in the basement?” she asked.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
“Heath, why is the dog in the basement?”
“He’s been misbehaving.”
“Since Bel died, right? Why did you do laundry that night? And what happened to the knife from our kitchen?” Sarah asked.
His face contorted. Or maybe that was a trick of her eyes. The checkerboard marble floor came up to meet her.
* * *
Sarah woke up alone, in a strange bed, in a strange room. It was dark outside, and quiet, but the bedside lamp cast an orange circle that lit the room sufficiently to see. From the height of the ceilings, and the fussiness of the décor, she knew—she remembered—that this was the headmaster’s house. But where was Heath? Where were the children?
Sarah dragged herself from bed and staggered across the Persian carpet to the door. The knob wouldn’t turn. Was she that weak? She tried again. It wouldn’t budge. Had Heath locked her in here? She put her forehead against the door, and tears flooded her eyes. The man she’d loved for her entire adult life was keeping her prisoner? She couldn’t let him do this to her. Sarah lifted her fist and pounded.
He came in an instant. She heard the key turn, and fear clutched at her throat. Fear, of her own husband. Heath entered the room and took her by the shoulders, steering her firmly back to bed.
“Babe, you shouldn’t be up,” he said, pushing her down, and not gently.
Her legs collapsed under her, and she fell back onto the bed. Heath loomed over her. He was larger than her in every way—taller, broader, stronger. Before, always, she’d found that comforting. Even in their lowest moments, she’d felt physically protected by him. But now she saw that he could use that strength against her. He could turn on a dime, with no warning. All men could. That comfort, that trust, would then turn to terror in her heart. Presumably that was what happened to Bel Enright, the night she died.
She Was the Quiet One Page 30