Beside me, Gideon stares with some mixture of confusion and horror.
“Hmm.” Sheriff Henderson’s forehead creases. “We’re looking into the Instagram account.” He stands up, jangling a set of keys and squinting at me. “Cassidy, how’s your head now?”
It feels like someone threw a brick at my skull. “It’s great.”
“Good. I want you to show me where you heard this go down.”
* * *
Sheriff Henderson parks a few houses down from mine, and we lead him to the log. I point out the spot, recounting what I heard in full detail. Gideon shoots me a furrowed look when we get closer to the log, but I can’t read it or even focus. I need another dose of ibuprofen for this raging headache.
After hearing us out, Sheriff Henderson stares down at his notepad for an uncomfortable moment. Then he motions for us to stay back as he approaches the log, clomping a perimeter around it. I wait in feverish agitation for him to spot the empty raspberry wine cooler. Brandon’s prints could be pulled off of it.
But he keeps walking until he’s made it full circle.
My heart swerves in my chest, and I rush closer. “Isn’t there—”
But the sheriff puts up his hand. “Whoa, whoa. Easy there. I need you to stay back.” It hits me with the force of a sledgehammer.
He came back. Brandon came back and cleaned up, just like he did at the sawmill. Even those marks in the dirt have been meticulously swept away.
Sheriff Henderson’s eyes flick to Gideon. “So, you went straight from here to Melody’s house?”
“Yes.” Gideon’s face falls. “I mean, no.”
“Well, which is it?”
“We had to go back to the house for our bikes,” I say.
“Right.” He frowns. “So now,” he says, scribbling more notes, “why weren’t the two of you in school?”
My stomach drops to the moss-laden ground.
“We’re seniors, sir,” Gideon pipes up. “It’s pretty common to skip a class now and then.”
Sheriff Henderson doesn’t look up from his notes. “Doesn’t make it any less unlawful.” The word unlawful slashes through the sounds of rushing water.
Gideon rubs at his face and I try to calm him with a look. It’s my fault this has gotten so out of hand. I’m the one who asked to ditch school. The one whose secrets may have kept us from helping Melody in time. “I wasn’t feeling well,” I say. “Gideon offered to help me get home.”
“But then you started feeling well enough to come out here.” It’s not a question, and the sheriff doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns back to the log.
“Should we be talking to you without our parents?” I ask timidly. “Or a lawyer?” All the hours spent watching true-crime shows are failing me now that I’m the one being interrogated.
Sheriff Henderson turns to me, lowering the pen and paper to his sides. That warm smile slides onto his face again. “You two are just witnesses. You’re not in my custody, and you’re not in any trouble. Right now, I’m trying to find out if a girl is in danger. It’s up to you, whether or not you want to help.”
A guilty weight pushes on my shoulders for even asking. “We do, sir,” says Gideon. “Of course, we do.”
The sheriff goes back to his notepad. “Good. You said you recognized Melody’s voice, but couldn’t hear the other voice very well. Any guesses as to who it could’ve been? Does Melody have a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“We don’t know her that well, Sheriff,” I say. “She graduated last year, so we only see her at the diner now. We don’t know if she’s seeing someone.”
“So, no idea as to who the person could’ve been?”
The name Brandon Alvarez sits on my tongue like a rotten bite of fruit. I want to spit it out. But I force myself to swallow it down. “We couldn’t hear very well.”
“Mm-hmm.” Sheriff Henderson jots down more notes. “If you couldn’t hear well, what made you assume your friend was being hurt?” He looks up, his eyes resting on me.
“She’s not my—” Idiot. I take a slow breath, racking my brain for something. I know she was being hurt because everything happened the way I wrote it down in that notebook. Because Brandon came out here and followed my instructions, line by line. Up until the point where something went wrong. But I can’t tell Sheriff Henderson that. “She screamed for help,” I say, the memory resting in my throat. “And then it got quiet.”
Gideon nudges a beetle-infested log with his shoe. “We saw Seth Greer and Melody arguing that morning, Sheriff. Not sure if that’s helpful.”
Sheriff Henderson’s lips flatten as he scribbles some more. “Mm-hmm. Cassidy, where exactly were you when you heard Melody?” His gaze draws circles around us.
My heart thrashes against my ribs. I don’t want to show this helmet-headed beast the hobbit house.
But it’s too late. Gideon’s body brushes past mine. Before I can protest, he’s at the tree-lined barricade, giving up our shared secret.
Sheriff Henderson follows, sloshing straight through a puddle glowing with damselflies. He stops to squint at the pine trees. “How do you get through?”
“You kind of have to get down on the ground and push your way through,” Gideon says, demonstrating.
The sheriff pulls out his phone. “Okay, I’m going to call my deputy and see if Pam’s had any updates from the Davenports. Then you can show me inside there.” He steps away, and I get down on my knees, scrambling after Gideon. A bundle of pine needles brushes the delicate spot on my head and I wince.
I make it through and sit in the dirt, trying to slow my breathing as Gideon paces back and forth. “You were right,” he mutters, his voice low. “I wasted all that time, and Seth really took her.”
“I told you she was in trouble!” I whisper-scream.
“It sounded insane, Cass,” he growls.
His words knock the wind out of me. I can’t catch my breath. Insane. Pyro. Killer. Fire Girl. Those are the names Melody and Laura call me. Never Gideon.
Now he sees what they see in me. If Melody’s dead, Gideon is always going to blame me.
My eyes sting as I suck in a whistling breath. “I’m sorry.”
He’s right, though. And it’s totally fitting. Because I’m already responsible for one death.
* * *
An hour later, Gideon and I are chauffeured back to school, Sheriff’s Henderson’s cards tucked into our back pockets. Gideon storms ahead of me up the front steps, and I scramble to catch up. “Giddy, wait. I’m going to fix this.”
Slowly, he turns around. “Fix it?” His dark eyes narrow. “The only way this gets fixed is if Melody turns up, unharmed.”
I want to promise that she will, but I can’t lie to him again. I hate myself too much already.
“I keep getting the feeling it’s too late,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair. “That we gave Seth all the time he needed to hide Melody and return to the log to clean up.”
“Maybe he’s not the guy.”
Gideon’s eyes dart sideways. “Not the guy?” He lets out an exasperated puff of air. “He looked like he wanted to hurt her yesterday. You saw him yourself.”
“Yeah, he seemed angry. Hours earlier. We don’t know it was him in the woods. It could’ve been anyone.” And it could’ve been. Between the sounds of the water, that demented raven, and the pounding of my heart, I couldn’t hear the other voice clearly.
But I have more than the voice from the woods to go on.
Gideon glowers at me, and it isn’t in the childish way he used to. Then he turns and paces off down the hall. I scramble to keep up until he stops at the doors to the outer courtyard. “Why did you bike up into the hills? To the abandoned mill of all places? And why did you lie to the sheriff about it?”
I twist my lips, the text message flashing in my mind. My hea
d darts around, checking to see if Brandon is listening to my every word. The lunch bell sounds, and classroom doors fling open as students flood the hall. Gideon broods for a moment, but then he lays a hand on my arm. “Whatever you’re worried about, you can tell me. You know that, right?” His dark eyes bore into mine, and I force a smile. I lean into his shoulder, trying to hold back the tears.
After the way he looked at me yesterday, I don’t believe him.
“Come over tonight,” I say, looking up. “I have to ride the bench at our game after school, but then I’m free. We’ll figure out something. I’ll help you spy on Seth.”
“I’m not letting you anywhere near that guy.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Just come over. Maybe by then, we’ll have some news.”
He nods, but his eyes tell me he’s miles, maybe universes away. This time, it isn’t Middle-earth.
We walk back, side by side. But an eerie hum weaves through the hall. Whispering. A hundred sets of eyes stare at us.
Kids at school often whisper about me. And they whisper about Gideon. But they especially like to whisper about the two of us together. Mostly because Melody liked to spread the thought that a guy like Gideon shouldn’t be friends with a murderer like me. And when Melody graduated, her apprentice Laura carried on the tradition. We’re used to it.
Which is why it stings when Gideon mumbles, “I’ll see you after school,” and speeds off down the hall without me.
Watching him flee reminds me of the day he left me on the log in ninth grade. It’s a moment I think of often, even though the pain is still fresh.
He’d grabbed my hand in that innocent way he had a million times. Like the day we became friends on the Harris County Zoo field trip, when he stopped chasing his paper airplane long enough to take my hand and lead me away from the snickering kids and their fire jokes.
But this time, when he pulled me, it was to a seat beside him on the log.
I laughed at first. We’d overheard teenage drama unfold on the log once or twice, so I figured Gideon was staging a reenactment. At fourteen, he was about my height and stared me straight in the eyes. Eventually, his firm gaze halted my laughter. The face looking back at me was different, somehow.
Focused—on me.
“Giddy.” It had to be a joke. But before I’d finished my thought, Gideon’s lips pressed to mine.
I froze, dazed. When he pulled back, shy smiles tugged at our lips. He took my hand again, and a new feeling fluttered in my stomach. I had loved Gideon since the day of the zoo field trip, but in that innocent way best friends love each other.
As I looked into his dark eyes, my hand resting perfectly in his, I knew I would love Gideon Hollander in this new way for the rest of my days.
But a strange look washed over his face. Uncomfortable silence. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. Then he let go. He jumped off the log and strode awkwardly ahead of me through the woods.
The new feeling seized and tumbled like a baby bird too young for flight. I wanted it back—I wanted him back. But the spot beside me on the log was empty, and it stayed that way.
There was no discussion about what happened, about why Gideon never wanted to repeat our kiss. We remained as close as ever; I refused to let my confusion push him away. But we never held hands in that careless, innocent way kids do again.
We weren’t kids anymore, anyway.
I’ve wondered a lot over the last few years about what stopped Gideon from kissing me again. I’ve wondered if kissing me had been like seeing through some sort of window into my soul. If he sensed the darkness in me. The darkness that kept me from helping Melody in the woods. The darkness that had me plotting how to end her in the first place.
Now, I look up at the students still whispering. Still staring. But these aren’t the typical sneers and snickers I’m used to.
Emily rushes from one clump of classmates. “Is it true?”
My heart free-falls. “Is what true?”
“That you were there when Melody was taken. Some kids saw you and Gideon talking to the sheriff.”
No, they’re not taunting me. They’re looking at Fire Girl like she’s claimed another victim.
7
After school, Gideon gets a call from his mom that he’d better turn in every assignment tomorrow or he’s grounded over the weekend. Apparently, guidance counselor Haymitch informed her that Gideon is failing two classes. Next stop: academic probation, which means he can kiss football goodbye.
The two of us are seated on my bedroom floor, backpacks and books strewn about the rug. I’m trying to help Gideon get through his English homework, but he’s jittery. He stops every two minutes to ask a “what if” about Seth Greer. I want to show him the threat that came minutes after I snooped in Brandon’s locker. Then maybe he’d understand my need for secrecy and stop obsessing over Seth Greer.
Or maybe he’d head straight for the front door.
He can’t find out about that night with Brandon. He’d believe what everyone else says about me. I’d lose him.
Even if he forgave me, he’d want to tell the cops about Brandon. And then the notebook would appear on the sheriff’s desk. No, I can’t show Gideon or the cops yet. Not until I find proof that Brandon is the one behind everything.
“Let’s finish this.” I flick my pencil against the textbook. “Besides, if anyone knows how to get justice, it’s Shakespeare.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But if Desdemona’s any indication, we’re already too late.”
We’re only through one subject when my mom calls us to dinner. The kitchen smells of thyme chicken, one of Mom’s staple meals. She serves it up but remains hovering over the stove. Gideon and I pick at our vegetables; our nerves have extinguished our appetites. Asher tries to make me laugh by sneaking sips of wine every time my dad buries his head in his phone. I force a giggle, but Gideon’s anxious foot tapping against my chair is making me queasy.
Fortunately, Asher is eating enough for the three of us, already on his second plate when my mom sits down. She pours a glass of wine, and the bottle clanks against the table. By the time I’d gotten home from school, my mom—and half the town—already knew about my talk with Sheriff Henderson. She let me have it for not saying anything about Melody yesterday. Now she’s past anger and on to whatever terror grips parents when something bad happens to someone else’s kid.
“I saw Teresa Davenport hanging up flyers in town, so I stopped to help. That poor woman.” She shakes her head, eyes distant as she sips her wine. Like she’s envisioning hanging posters of her own child.
“Yeah,” my dad says through his chewing. “Very scary. I hope that girl just went on a road trip or something and remembers to call her parents.”
“Doesn’t sound too likely,” my mom continues, lowering her voice. “I talked to Louisa Stevens for a bit, who was helping Teresa with the posters. She says the state police already came in last night and opened an investigation.”
I freeze. They’ll want to talk to us.
Across the table, Asher stops chomping. “At least Cass and Gideon were able to help the cops with the details. That should point them in the right direction.” Guilt ripples in my stomach. He has no idea how much time was wasted because of me. How much I’ve impeded this investigation.
“Louisa didn’t mention any suspects?” I ask. Why is no one saying anything important?
My mom shakes her head. “I doubt that kind of thing would be publicized so soon.”
I look at my brother. “Asher, you know Melody and her friends. Have you heard anything? Around the diner?”
Asher glances up from the plate, mouth askew. “Sorry, no. Haven’t been over there lately.” If Asher had heard something—his little sister’s name at the top of the suspect list, for example—he would’ve told me. He’s nothing if not my protector. I learned that firsthand when I was seve
n years old and he almost died saving my life. I can’t help but glance at the scars that wrap his palm and snake up his wrist. Smoke trickles into my vision, and I blink it away.
When my eyes open again, everyone at the table is looking at me. Probably wondering why I’m asking so many questions. I lower my head. “Poor girl. I really hope she turns up. She was such a great…” I mumble, “Volleyball player.”
“Is there anything we can do to help, Mrs. Pratt?” Gideon’s question isn’t conversation filler. He really wants to help.
“That’s very sweet of you, Gideon. I’ll call Louisa in the morning and ask.” She smiles warmly at Gideon, whom she loves like a son. She doesn’t have to deal with all of the school principal meetings over poor grades like his own mom does. My mom is left with the angelic boy who sets the table without being asked.
My dad clears his throat. “Let’s talk about something lighter. Like how Asher’s business is going. Any new clients?”
My brother shrugs. “Things are good. I was waiting for the right moment to tell everyone this, but I’m going to be renting an office unit in town, starting next month. It’ll give me a place to meet with clients. And room for future employees.”
“That’s great.” My dad inhales another forkful of chicken. Mid-bite, he adds, “Cassidy, maybe one day Asher will hire you.”
I cringe. “Yeah, Dad. That would be great. If Asher could afford me.”
Asher kicks me under the table. I yelp and try to laugh, but my stomach is in knots. “Cassidy, knock it off,” my mom snaps, steadying her glass. “That’s wonderful, Asher. It’ll allow you some independence.”
Asher turns to me. “How’d the game go, Cass?”
“We won,” I say, trying to sound upbeat.
“Thanks to your hitting, I’m sure,” my dad says.
Shame heats my cheeks. Luckily, my parents didn’t make today’s game; they don’t know I only played two minutes. Volleyball has always been my thing, the court my place to shine. Every year, when Melody or Laura tried to get me to quit, it only motivated me to work harder. And it was supposed to be my ticket out of Maribel next year.
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