The Little Woods

by McCormick Templeman

  It was allowed. There were other kids at St. Bede’s with weird hair, but for some reason, Helen couldn’t handle it on me. I didn’t know why anyone would care, but people tended to freak out when you did something drastic to your appearance. They thought you’d gone crazy, but really maybe you’d been crazy all along, and doing something like that made you feel less crazy, giddy even, in control and out of control all at the same time.

  I didn’t feel like dealing with her comments, so I waited until she’d gone to the bathroom, and then I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my books, and headed out the door.

  Jack was outside the dining hall, sitting on the little brick wall, reading his Genet. When he saw me, he gave me a big thumbs-up and smiled.

  “You’ve gone completely mad,” he said, laughing. “I love it.”

  I gripped my gritty blond tendrils. “Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”

  “Of course I like it. You look like a pint-sized Sid Vicious,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me down to sit next to him on the wall. “Did you get the flower?” he asked, and I nodded.

  “Are we okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I was just in a weird mood yesterday.”

  “Clearly,” he said, indicating my hair. “I really do like it, Cally. It brings out your eyes.”

  “Thanks,” I said, trying not to blush.

  “You’re sure everything’s okay, though? You seem like something’s going on with you that you’re not telling me. Not just yesterday. Sometimes you get all quiet and look like you’re trying to figure something out. What are you thinking about when you do that?”

  “Deeker,” I said, shaking my head. “Has television taught you nothing? I’m a teenage girl. I’m probably just thinking about shoes.”

  “You can tell me things, you know,” he said, and I could tell from his eyes, the liquid emotion of them, that he was serious.

  This was what he wanted. He wanted me to tell him how I felt, to include him in parts of me that I wasn’t comfortable sharing even with myself. Standing there, staring into his eyes, I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry, and then I wanted to kiss him. But I didn’t do either of those things. Instead I laughed.

  “Let’s get some juice,” I said, and his smile seemed to drop just a little. We went into the dining hall after that and were filling up our beveled red cups with apple juice when I felt a familiar hand on my waist. I turned to find Alex, with something like disgust on his face.

  “What the hell happened to your hair?” he asked, looking at me like I was some kind of complicated joke.

  “Hey,” I said. “I like it.”

  Alex didn’t smile. He looked disappointed. He didn’t say anything—he just stared—and then I noticed Jack was staring back at him, standing maybe a little too close.

  “Do you have a problem with me, Deeker?” Alex said, squaring himself on him.

  Jack straightened up, craning his neck to face Alex, and the two of them looked like Japanese fighting fish all set to rumble, but then Jack eased up and laughed. “Why would I have a problem with you, man?”

  Just then Brody walked over and placed his hands on Alex’s shoulders.

  “Hey, buddy,” he said, his voice hypnotically calm. “You got a second?”

  Alex’s shoulders relaxed, and with one last look at Jack, he allowed himself to be led away.

  Without missing a beat, Jack took my hand.

  “Last one to class has ugly hair.” He laughed, then took off running.

  Our race to class ran into a few detours, and we ended up being late to first period. Jack let go of my hand and put a bit of space between us before we walked in. Ms. Harlow was already lecturing on A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She came to a full stop when we entered, her hand pressed against the hip of her bell-bottom jeans.

  “Cally!” she exclaimed, her voice cracking with spurious joy. “It is so awesome of you to come to class today. And oh, great, you brought your excellent new hair.”

  I ignored her as Jack and I took our usual seats on either side of Sophie.

  “You look insane,” Sophie whispered, gripping my hand. “I think I love you.”

  After sports, I went down to see Alex. He was on his bed, reading Proust. He looked up and smiled, hesitant. He was dressed for hiking and had a pack leaning against his bed.

  “Running away?” I asked. “Did my hair scare you off? And you’re still reading Proust? I blew through that whole thing in, like, a weekend.”

  “I’m glad you came by.”

  I smiled. “Seriously, though, where are you going?”

  “Going on an overnight into the woods with Reilly and Brody.”

  “Is that safe?” I said, trying not to sound as shocked as I felt. “I mean, considering.”

  “Reilly got it okayed. We’re big guys, and we’ll have Tinker with us.”

  “What are you going to do out in the woods?”

  “There’s a sweat lodge back there. We’re going to work out some of our demons, then spend the night under the stars and head back at dawn. We’ll be back in time for class.”

  “That sounds pretty cool, except for the Reilly part.”

  “You’re delusional. Reilly’s solid.” He sighed. “Cally, we need to talk.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Seriously, what’s up with the hair?”

  “What?” I could feel my cheeks start to burn.

  “You had gorgeous hair. Why maim yourself?” He grabbed his guitar and began picking idly at the strings.

  “I like it. What’s the big deal?”

  “It’s just weird is all.”

  I didn’t stay long after that, and as I walked back to my room, I realized I had to break up with him. He was everything a perfect guy was supposed to be, but he wasn’t my perfect guy, and I sure as hell wasn’t his perfect girl.

  I’d do it the next day. I had to. It didn’t matter how beautiful he was or how much everyone loved him. It didn’t matter that when I nestled my head into the crook of his neck, he smelled like fresh lime and mint. None of those things mattered anymore.

  The next morning Helen and I got up early to quiz each other for our bio test. We went to the dining hall at six-forty-five, and in my memory I heard someone screaming, but I don’t know that it happened that way. There were people everywhere, milling around. Too many people. I was confused, trying to figure out what the strange flashing light was. It was pulsating against the side of the dining hall.

  “Oh my God,” Helen gasped, and then I took in the whole scene. The flashing light was from a police car. There were cops everywhere. Something bad was happening again.

  And then Freddy was there, standing right in front of me like a splotch of ruddy marmalade.

  “They found something,” she said, her eyes wide. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s another body. Oh God, do you think someone else was killed?”

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

  “Who found it?” Helen asked, her voice shaking.

  “Alex did. He and Reilly and Brody were hiking back, and Alex was way ahead of them with Tinker, and apparently Tinker darted off the trail. Alex followed and found him digging like crazy. He found something—Tinker did. It must have been a body. What else could it have been?”

  That was when I noticed Alex. He was wrapped in a blanket, talking to a police officer, who was taking notes and nodding. The officer closed his tablet and walked away just as the nurse handed Alex a steaming drink. He was shaking. I ran over to him, and he looked up at me distantly. The nurse held me back a little.

  “What happened?” I almost whispered.

  Helen was yelling somewhere, demanding to know what was going on. Why was she doing that?

  Alex just shook his head.

  “He’s had a shock,” the nurse cautioned. “I think you’d better leave.”

  “No,” he said, his voice wavering. “No. I want her to stay.”

  I sat down and put my arm around him. Helen was still yelling at Cry
ker, expletives flowing freely.

  “I’m so glad I have you, Cally. Oh God,” he said, putting his head in his hands.

  “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

  He shook his head, then wiped his eyes and tried to get himself together.

  “They were out there,” he said, his voice breaking. “In the woods. Buried. I found them.”

  “What was?”

  “They were buried. In a gym bag. All these little bones. Tiny bones.” He bit hard into his lower lip, trying to fight back tears. “They think it’s them—the girls.”

  I was cold and tingly, suddenly aware I couldn’t feel my fingertips. “What girls?” I demanded.

  “The lost girls,” he said. “The ones who disappeared. Asta’s daughter, Laurel, and her friend. They said her name was Clare.”

  After that everything went black.

  PART TWO

  Yo sé quien soy, y quien puedo ser.*

  —Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

  * (I know who I am, and I know what I can be.)

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?” I heard Sophie say as my eyes strained to bring her into focus.

  I looked around me, trying to understand where I was. White walls, paper cups, cots.

  “The infirmary,” she said. “The nurse asked me to keep an eye on you while she deals with the boys.”

  “Oh God,” I groaned. “I fainted, didn’t I? How embarrassing.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Cally?” she said, and sitting on the side of the cot, she put her hand on my arm. I noticed tears were welling in her eyes.

  “Tell you what?”

  “About your sister. About Clare.”

  It came back to me in a strange flood—Clare, the bag, the bones—and for a second I thought I might faint again, but I shook myself out of it.

  “How did you know?”

  She exhaled and shook her head. “I’ve been wondering what was up with you for a while. I knew there was something you were hiding, but God, I didn’t think for a second it was that. I saw you when Alex told you. I saw the look on your face, saw you go down like a load of bricks, and I just knew. I asked one of the policemen if Clare’s last name was Wood, and that settled it. God, Cally, I can’t even comprehend. I don’t even know what to say. I am so sorry.”

  She squeezed my arm, and before I knew it, I was crying, and she held me there, my snotty, weeping face smashed against her like a child’s, and I thought this must be what it was like to have a sister. I told her everything after that. Well, not everything. I didn’t tell her about Jack, but I told her about finding the body, about the encryption, about the dragon. We went back to my room and I curled up on my bed, cold and too tired to cry.

  “Poor thing,” she said, patting my leg. “I wish I could give you some brandy. That’s what they always do in the movies. Sucks being seventeen.”

  She had a look at the dragon in my closet and shuddered.

  “That can’t be good,” she said.

  “Dragons are good luck in some cultures,” I muttered.

  “Yeah, but still. This is disturbing.”

  I shrugged and asked her if she was absolutely positive she couldn’t procure that brandy.

  I had her take another look at the puzzle box and the note, and humming to herself, eyebrows furrowed, she examined it while I closed my eyes, drifting into and out of sleep.

  It took Sophie about five minutes to cover the cryptographic ground it had taken me weeks to attain, and I felt like an ass for not giving her the note in the first place. Sometimes the smartest people don’t make a big deal about how smart they are. Sophie was one of those people.

  She tapped her finger against the paper. “This doesn’t look good.”

  “You mean you can’t decipher it?”

  “Not without knowing the starting point of the key text, no, but that’s not what I meant. I mean why did someone send this to you, the sister of one of the missing girls, right after the body of another girl was found?”

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I’ve thought about this. I realize the person who killed Iris could be the same person who took my sister, and I know the person who left me the box could be the same person, but it also could be someone else, someone who knows something and is trying to communicate with me. I just need to figure out what they’re trying to say.”

  “Cally,” she said, fastening her eyes on me. “This isn’t a game.”

  “I know it’s not a game.”

  “The thing that worries me is if someone knows something about your sister, why come to you? Why not go to the police? Leaving this for you, it just seems really bad. Really creepy. You said someone left it for you?”

  “With Ms. Sjursen.”

  “Great. I’m sure that wasn’t an accident.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that her memory is notoriously bad. Even if she did remember someone, no one would believe her. That was planned. Whoever left this for you is smart. They’re thinking several steps ahead.”

  “More than that, considering I don’t even know what the hell’s happening.”

  “What do the police say?”

  She looked at me with such guilelessness that I almost couldn’t bear to disappoint her. I shook my head, and her mouth fell open.

  “You didn’t tell the police?”

  “What are the police going to do?” I whined. “They’ll just take it all away from me and then I’ll never know what happened to her. I know there has to be more to solve with the box. I just have to figure it out. Whatever this person has to say to me, whether it’s the killer, or someone else, I know it has to do with my sister, and I can’t risk losing that chance.”

  Sophie shook her head. “No. You have to hand it over. You might be in danger.”

  “They’re not going to be able to protect me. They couldn’t protect Iris. They couldn’t protect Clare. They couldn’t even find her.”

  “Cally,” she said, her voice low and soft, the kind of voice you’d use to talk to kittens. “This isn’t negotiable. You have to tell them. It’s not just about you. Other people might be in danger.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but how could I?

  “Fine,” I sighed. “But let me make a copy of the note before I hand it away.”

  When I’d finished, we walked up to the top of campus in search of Cryker.

  “It’ll be okay,” she said, her arm around my shoulder. “Everything will be okay. And I’ll go in with you.”

  But when we got to the teachers’ lounge, an officer told Sophie to head to her room, and he ushered me inside. She tried to protest, but he closed the door in her face.

  The teachers’ lounge had been turned into a kind of impromptu police headquarters. Cryker sat at a desk, examining an array of plastic bags. There was a strange energy to the room, a sense that something was about to happen.

  “Good. You’re here. I just sent someone to find you. Nice hair, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Please, take a seat.”

  “I’m fine standing,” I said. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

  He looked up at me with a lifetime of sadness in his eyes.

  “We have reason to believe it is.”

  “How can you know?”

  “Please sit down,” he said, and I did as he asked.

  He cleared his throat, and then, with a pair of tweezers, he held up a plastic bag. I leaned in close and saw that it was Clare’s pink charm necklace. If someone had asked me about it the day before, I wouldn’t have remembered, but seeing it there like that, I suddenly felt blind, eclipsed by Clare’s presence, her strawberry smell, her crisscrossed teeth as she leaned down, her face level with mine, offering her hand. God, how I missed her. I still missed her.

  “Miss Wood, do you recognize this?”

  I choked.

  “Yeah,” I managed to say. “It’s Clare’s.”

  He nodded. “We’re
checking with dental records, but it’s looking like these bones belong to your sister and Laurel Snow.”

  I tried to keep it together. “That necklace … it was just in the bag with the bones?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “I know this must be extremely difficult for you.”

  “I’m okay.” I shrugged. “It’s not like I had some fantasy she was alive. I’m not stupid.”

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss. There are no words.”

  He shifted around in his seat and cleared his throat. I looked at him, and for the first time, I saw a real person, the forehead inscribed with worry lines, the eyes possessed by the devotion to finding the person who had murdered my sister. That pain was his job, and for a moment I was overwhelmed with gratitude to him. I cleared my throat as if in solidarity with him and nodded.

  “It’s the same person, isn’t it?” I asked. “The same person who killed Iris did this to my sister and Laurel, right?”

  He sighed and massaged his pencil with yellow-tipped fingers. He looked at me for a second as if trying to decide how much to tell me, then grimaced, showing finely demarcated canines. “This is confidential. I can’t have you spreading this around. This information doesn’t leave this office, capisce?”

  I nodded.

  “Iris was strangled, and it’s looking like at least one of the girls might have been strangled as well.”

  “Strangled?” I managed to say. “So you’re sure, then. You’re sure they didn’t … they didn’t die in the fire?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s looking like murder.”

  “You’re sure they were strangled?”

  “We can’t know for sure, but”—he cleared his throat—“but there’s evidence to suggest as much. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re telling me my sister was strangled?” I said, my head spinning. “You can’t know that. How can you know that?”

  “It’s not conclusive, but one of the hyoid bones is broken. That’s a flag for strangulation. It’s possible it could have happened postmortem, but it got our attention because of Iris.”