None Shall Sleep (Damnatio Memoriae Book 1)

by Laura Giebfried

  “You see that? He’s done it again.”

  His voice was deadened with anger. I looked up at him cautiously.

  “That’s ... that’s horrible.”

  “He’s just going to keep doing it, too. He’ll just keep at it, killing them off like it’s nothing, all because I can’t figure this out –”

  “It’s only been a few weeks, Jack. We can’t expect to get him so quickly.”

  “So when can we expect to get him by? Easter? What’s the time limit for catching him? Graduation? Are we just going to stop if it’s not figured out by then?”

  He reached into his pocket for a cigarette but didn’t find one. Swearing, he threw the empty box across the room. It clattered on the floor beside the trashcan along with numerous crumpled papers.

  “We’ll get him, Jack. We just have to figure something out.”

  “No, we won’t,” he said. He sighed and sank down on his bed, covering his face with his hands in a rare display of blatant discouragement. When he spoke again, his voice quivered lowly. “I thought that it was over with her. I thought that after he’d killed her, he’d stop.”

  The mention of Miss Mercier chilled the room, and the photos of the missing girls scattered around his bed smiled up at us with eyes as blank and unseeing in the photographs as they were in death. I searched for something reassuring to say but he turned away and went back to rereading his scribbled notes. After watching him for several more minutes, I collected my textbooks and went down to the library to finish my homework.

  I selected the most secluded table in the far back of the room and took my textbooks out, but after opening each one and reviewing the assignments, I found that I had no desire to complete any of them. I could barely remember a time when I hadn’t felt so tired and drained, or when the distant sound of opera music didn’t creep up on me through the silence. And, though I could feel myself sitting there under the harsh artificial lights, I didn’t feel like myself; it was as though my mind had been disconnected from my body, and I was just walking about in an empty shell that wore my clothes but failed to reach my senses.

  And what bothered me more than anything – more than the sleepless nights, or the thought of the girls being thrown from the cliffs, or the images of them lying face-down in the ocean, or the way that those thoughts drew me back to my mother’s botched-suicide and left Jack sitting up in the dorm room agonizing over their deaths – was the knowledge that nine girls had drowned right on the edge of Bickerby’s campus, and yet no one could even be troubled to care. I thought of my mother lying hidden in the room at the end of the hallway and of how no one, including her husband and son, ever visited her there. We thought of her only to be tormented by what she had become; if she had not survived the fall, perhaps we wouldn’t think of her at all. And perhaps if I had taken the right number of pills and not woken up, no one would ever think of me either. Perhaps we were all just doomed to fade from memory.

  “Hi, Enim.”

  A few of my papers fluttered as Julian Wynne sat down beside me at the table. He smiled as he moved my books to the side to make room for his own.

  “Julian.”

  “I saw you sitting over here alone and thought I’d join you,” he said pleasantly before leaning over to look at my paper. “What’re you working on? English? I put it off until now, too. Doyle’s really asking a lot of questions, isn’t he?”

  He took a few papers out of his bag and set them on the table. I said nothing.

  “I mean, in all honesty, I haven’t actually read the assigned chapters of Jane Eyre yet, have you?” he asked. “It’s a bit dull, isn’t it? I mean, how many chapters can she be in that school? I thought something might’ve happened by page two-hundred, but it’s still the same old story. How far have you gotten?”

  “Not much further.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think anyone has. I’d blow the whole thing off, but Doyle can have a temper. Kyle got sent to his office the other day and Doyle shouted for an hour, at least, and threatened to suspend him.”

  My eyes flickered over to him slowly.

  “He got sent to his office?”

  “Yeah. All because he broke Doug Lawson’s wrist trying to get his cheat-sheet back before Mrs. Daley saw. Can you believe that?”

  “He got sent to his office,” I repeated, paying Julian’s story no mind.

  “Yeah, don’t act so surprised, Enim. I bet Jack’s been there a dozen times already this year. All the English teachers send students down to Doyle’s.”

  I could hardly believe that it hadn’t occurred to us that we could easily get into Barker’s office just by getting into trouble: I just had to think of what it would take to warrant a trip to his office rather than one of the other administrators. The stunt that we had pulled the year before had certainly done it, but Karl had warned me that Barker would expel Jack if he caused any trouble; and if I waited to let my grades slip again, it might be too late for Barker’s next victim. I frowned as I tried to think up something else.

  “Doug deserved it, anyhow. I mean, Kyle would’ve gotten into loads of trouble, and it’s not like he was the only one cheating. And I don’t even think his wrist was really broken, it was more like a sprain or fracture or something, and –”

  As he continued to speak, completely oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t listening, I reached over and picked up my copy of Jane Eyre. Though smaller than my textbooks, it was still thick and heavy.

  “—Kyle wouldn’t’ve had to do it anyhow if Doug had just given the paper back, but he insisted on being a prick about it. If you ask me, he just got what was coming to him –”

  I stood up, raised the book to eye-level, and then slammed it hard against the side of Julian’s face. He was thrown sideways off his chair from the impact and clattered to the floor. As he clutched at his jaw, he looked up at me in bewilderment.

  “What the fuck was that for –?”

  Before he could get the full sentence out, I raised the book and struck him again. His head snapped sideways and blood spurted from his nose to stain the dark-blue carpet with red. As the students from the next table rose to see what was going on, I hit him a third time even though he was making no effort to fight back, and blood shot up to splatter my sleeves in a pattern of streaks and dots.

  “What are you doing? Get off of him!”

  Someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me away. Julian had curled up on the ground clutching at his face; his pale fingers were covered in blood, but the expression on his face was worse than whatever injury I had inflicted there. The student holding me pulled me back another few steps and someone rushed forward with a handful of tissues for Julian to press his nose in. A moment later, a teacher hurried through the crowd to inspect the scene.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Lund just attacked him!”

  Someone was helping Julian up from the floor. The hands clutching his face prevented him from speaking.

  “You did this?” the teacher said, turning to me. “Why?

  The bloodied book was still hanging in my hand. With as much dissonance as I could muster, I shrugged.

  “You don’t have an answer?” he said, angrily snatching the book from my grasp and tossing it onto the table. “Maybe you can think of one in my office. Come with me.”

  He indicated for me to follow him, but I planted my feet firmly in place. Going to his office would do me no good. Aware that everyone’s eyes were on me and that my voice would echo around the huge room if I spoke, I unclenched my jaw and did so regardless.

  “No, I have an answer.” He looked at me expectantly, perhaps waiting for an excuse about how Julian had mocked me or provoked me, or about some trivial tiff that we had had that had caused my behavior, but the expression morphed into one of sickened shock when I continued. “I wanted to hurt him. I enjoyed it.”

  Ch. 13

  My impending punishment would have to wait, as Barker had taken the weekend to go to the mainland with his famil
y. I could hear his outraged tone on the other line as a secretary informed him of the situation in the library. As it would take Karl at least five hours to get to the school, the meeting had been set for that night. Barker gave the task of watching me to his secretary and made it clear that I was not allowed to go anywhere in the meantime.

  She appeared to be under the impression that she was not allowed to leave the room, either. After planting herself in front of the computer, she didn’t even get up to use the bathroom, and I was growing increasingly anxious that my imprudent plan to search Barker’s office would result in nothing more than an expulsion. As the hours dragged by and my window for searching for evidence diminished, I straightened in my seat and cleared my throat.

  “Yes?”

  “Am I allowed to get something to eat?” I asked politely.

  “No; you’re not allowed to leave.”

  “Right. It’s just ... I missed lunch, and I’ll probably miss dinner ...”

  “You should have thought about being hungry before you got into trouble.”

  “Right. It’s just ... I’m not supposed to miss any meals. Did Mr. Barker say anything?”

  She looked up from her computer with a wary expression.

  “No. Why would he?”

  “Because I’m not supposed to miss any meals,” I repeated. “I ... have a medical condition.”

  Her eyes flickered over my thin arms and hollowed, pale features, but she didn’t look entirely convinced.

  “You’re not allowed to leave.”

  “Right. It’s just ... it’s written in my file.”

  When she didn’t respond, I inched forward a bit on my chair.

  “Do you have anything with you?” I asked, craning my neck as though hoping to see a basket of fruit behind the desk. “A piece of gum or something?”

  She sighed and pushed her chair out from the desk to look at me straightly.

  “It’s written in your file?” she said. I nodded solemnly. “Well, I guess I could get something from the staff lounge ... that wouldn’t take too long.”

  I leaned back in my seat in feigned repose and she left the room, but no sooner had the sound of her clomping heels disappeared down the hallway than I hastened to Barker’s private office and went inside to feverishly begin searching for something incriminating.

  Despite my initial imagining of framed locks of hair, he had no such trophies on display adjacent to Bickerby’s many honors. I went to his desk and opened the drawers, pushing aside monogrammed pencils and pens to leaf through the contents, but shut them again upon finding nothing. Going to the bookshelf, I searched the titles for any sign of a journal or album dedicated to his kills. When nothing there looked remotely out of place, I took out the books one by one and flipped through the pages in search of a similar list of the girls’ names that we had found in Miss Mercier’s house. I flipped through the last book on the shelf and found nothing. Shoving it back into the line, I ran my hand through my hair anxiously and looked at the clock. Though it would undoubtedly take the secretary longer than ten minutes to walk to the teachers’ lounge in her ridiculous heels, I didn’t have much time.

  I looked around the pristine office once again, running my eyes over the large windows overlooking the sporting fields and the houseplants decorating corners of the room, before settling on the framed honors and certificates on the walls. Thinking again of the prescription bottles beneath my mattress and the knife that Jack hid in the binding of a folder, I crossed to the wall and lifted the frames to look behind them; they only revealed the dull, cracked paint behind them, though.

  I looked at the clock again. Another seven minutes had gone by. My heart began to pound beneath my sweater and I glanced at the door: the secretary’s office was still empty. Turning in my spot, I looked around the office again. Apart from the desk and bookshelf, there was only an end table, a drop-leaf table, and a file cabinet. Perhaps he had nothing hidden there after all.

  I went to the file cabinet and pulled out the bottom drawer, but it was filled with student files. As I started to shut it again the name Wynne, Julian caught my eye and I crouched down to pluck it out, letting my curiosity take over. Apart from learning that he got average grades, though, there was nothing of interest inside. I stuffed the file back and opened the drawer above to look for more familiar names, bypassing Hadler, John to look for Cabail Ibbot’s instead. It wasn’t there.

  Before I could think of why, my eyes fell on my own name. I removed the file curiously: it was considerably thicker than Julian’s had been. As I flipped through the pages past the yearly grades and exam scores, a few yellow pages slipped out from the rest.

  I picked it up carefully to discern what it was. The pages were filled with comments that had been written by various teachers and Barker himself: ... appears to be reacting to the loss of his mother by engaging in senseless activities … recent act of torturing animals has more-than-likely stemmed from the strong negative influence of another student … grades have severely dropped as a result of depression … deprives himself of food in a desire to disappear … advised to keep an eye out for warning signs of a psychotic break …

  My hands turned cold. The comments dated back several semesters. The realization that my father had been having me watched long before that year unsettled me, and my apprehension concerning my mother’s unknown illness increased. I laid the papers out on the floor and rifled through them to find any mention of it, turning the pages with such haste that I creased and ripped half of them, but nothing was there. Apart from the crossed-out name on my contact information, she appeared not to exist.

  There was a noise from the outer office and I jumped and slammed my file closed, but it was only the sound of my bag toppling off the chair, not the return of the secretary. I sighed in relief and turned back to the drawer to replace my file.

  And then I saw it. Just a few files down from my name, written in blue ink instead of black and in a slightly different manila folder, was the name Mercier, Émilie, which had seemingly been misplaced with the student files rather than the teacher’s. Immediately upon opening it I knew that it hadn’t been put there accidently: behind the standard academic documents were the familiar-looking newspaper articles regarding her death that Jack had also saved.

  As I licked my lips and flipped another page, my breathing hitched. There was an in-depth police report that had been personally composed for Barker. I scanned through the paragraphs underlining where and when Miss Mercier had disappeared and how her body had been found, reading intently to discover what the police had not released to the public, when I turned another page and my stomach heaved.

  There, tucked away in her organized file, was a series of photographs. It took me a moment to realize what they were, but then I recognized the forest floor and a piece of fabric, and from there I made out the form of what had once been a person – though it certainly wasn’t a person anymore. The body had been hacked with such force that the limbs only clung onto it by threads of flesh, and only the chalk-white of bone gleamed up under the bright lights: the rest was a bloody hue that had oxidized to brown. It seemed impossible that that could be the once-beautiful French teacher.

  I sat there for what felt like an eternity. The cold room had turned unexpectedly warm and a thin sheen of sweat covered my skin. I wanted to go to the window and lean against the cool glass, but my legs would no longer function, and when I shut my eyes to block out the photos, the reddish insides of the lids only reminded me of them further.

  The distinct sound of clomping from the hallway alerted me to the secretary’s return. I staggered from the office and shoved the file-folder into my bag, barely managing to zip it closed and sit back down before she opened the door.

  She came in without a word. I glanced at the door to Barker’s office: I had left it open just a crack and the breeze from the hallway was gently blowing it open wider. As the secretary came over to me I was certain that she would realize what I had done, but she only ha
nded me a sandwich and returned to her desk. I closed my eyes in relief and slid the sandwich into my pocket. My stomach was far too clenched to consider attempting to eat it.

  Barker appeared in the office shortly after five, closely followed by Karl. Despite the confirmation of what he had done to Miss Mercier, I couldn’t decide which of them was more frightening. Karl’s expression was rigid.

  “Mr. Lund, back again, are we?” Barker waved me through to his office and sat down at the ornate desk. He pointed for me to sit down, but didn’t bother to offer Karl a chair. “Would you care to explain yourself? I’ve been told that you attacked a fellow student – in the library, of all places. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Nothing. He’ll say nothing.”

  Karl crossed his arms and I closed my mouth without responding, only then realizing the extent of trouble that I was in. I slid my hands beneath my legs to prevent them from shaking.

  “You can hardly tell him not to speak, Karl. A crime has been committed in my school – I would like to hear what the reason is.”

  “I hardly think that you need to throw around the word ‘crime.’ I was under the impression that there was a slight dispute between classmates.”

  “A slight dispute? Really, Karl – the other boy needs stitches!”

  “I spoke to the nurse at the Health Center. She said that he was fine.”

  “Perhaps she meant that he was fine considering the fact that he was beaten in the face with a textbook! This is ridiculous, Karl! I can’t have this type of thing going on in my school!”

  “It was a novel: that can hardly be considered a weapon.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that he struck another student!”

  “He was provoked.”

  “He was – no he wasn’t!”

  “Enim told me what happened.”

  Karl lied so easily and convincingly that it was both a wonder he was a lawyer who only ever dealt with taxes, and that he lied so poorly about everything else.