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smell of dirt before, from Drea's pink bra, and how I was able to feel its vibrations in the laundry
room. I even tell her how I've been trying to help Drea with my spells. How Amber, Drea, and I
created the protection bottle and then consecrated its powers. And when I'm done, when I'm
finally able to take a breath, she looks at me as though I'm crazy, as though I should be the one
going to a hospital.
Of course, none of what I say--not one single syllable does she deem notebook-worthy. And this
alone makes me want to rip the damn notebook out of her prettily paraffined hands and chuck it
in the trash.
-Do you still have any of the notes that Drea received?" she asks.
I shake my head, remembering how Drea burned the notes over one of my candles. But then I
remember. "We did find a note in Veronica's jewelry box."
"What did it say?
'Mind your own business."
"Hmm . . sounds like maybe someone was angry at Veronica."
"Obviously" I say.
"Listen, Stacey," she says with a big sigh, then leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. -
Let's say that Drea did receive those things. It's hard to follow a lead like that without any
evidence."
"Isn't Veronica Leeman's body evidence enough?"
"Let's talk about that. Amber told me you girls went to the school last night to get a book you left
in one of the rooms."
"She did? When did you talk to her?"
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Officer Tate clears her throat, ignoring the question. "From what you just told me, that obviously
isn't true."
I consider compromising the truth in some way. Some way to support all the information I just
gave her and protect Amber's lie at the same time. I turn to glance at the door, wondering if it's
locked, why there aren't any windows in this room. Why it's so freakishly hot.
"No," I say, deciding on the truth.
"Do you know why Amber might have lied?"
I shake my head. Sure, it might have something to do with not getting caught for breaking into
somebody's room, being out after curfew, or breaking in and trespassing on school property. But
the penalty for those things seems so incredibly minor compared to what's already happened.
Amber doesn't have a right to lie. And neither do I.
"I'll tell you what," she begins, "I'll make a report about your roommate's alleged disappearance
and check into it personally. But first, I need you to answer something for me. Have you ever
talked to anyone about all these visions you say you have?"
"What do you mean, 'visions I say I have'?"
"Well, Stacey, you have to admit, it's not exactly. . . common."
I stand up from the table, air sucking up into my lungs, sending my voice three octaves higher.
"You don't believe me?"
"I didn't say that."
"Look, whether you think I'm crazy or not, someone's after Drea." I hold the protection bottle up
to my head, where it's begun to ache. "Don't you understand? He's
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going to kill her, just like he killed Veronica. The cards, the lilies, the notes, my nightmares . . .
today is Drea's day to die."
Officer Tate stands up from the table, her voice like powdery beach sand. -I think you need to get
some more rest. You had a pretty unsettling night last night. That would make anybody a bit. . .
confused." She presses the stop button on the recorder.
"I'm not confused!"
She pulls a business card from her jacket pocket and holds it out like a lollipop, like she's the
nurse and I'm the patient and this is a pediatrician's office.
Like nothing I've said means anything.
"I'll probably need to ask you more questions later," she says. -But call me if you think of
anything else."
"So, you're going to look for Drea?" I ask.
'As I said, I'll look into it and get back to you. But don't worry, she probably stayed in someone
else's room, especially if you girls were fighting. We see this type of thing all the time." She
gestures once more for me to take her card. I slip it into my back pocket.
"Good." She smiles. -Now, let me give you a ride back to campus." She holds the door open
wide for me to leave.
That's when I know for sure. If I want to save Drea, I'll have to do it myself.
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thirty
The trek across the Hillcrest campus to the boys' dorms takes longer than usual. The police have
blocked off the entire O'Brian Building, including the parking lot and quad area in front of it,
forcing students onto the main walkways. News teams, school administrators, and curious
spectators flock to the scene, eager to feast upon any juicy tidbits that aren't being served up on
the morning news. Lucky for me the story is still relatively fresh; news reports
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are still referring to me as "the female student who found the body." Still, I have to wonder if any
of them know it's me.
I scurry through packs of students as best I can, dodging suitcases and shifting knapsacks--
people escaping for the weekend. Some senior boys are treating this like a cheesy horror movie,
running around, making sick jokes, trying to get people more riled up, if that's even possible.
"Last one off campus is a dead coed," one of them shouts.
Meanwhile, a group of freshman girls stands in a huddle only a few yards away, crying and
hugging each other. I lock eyes with one of them--a girl with spiky red hair and a freckly face.
Her lips part when she spots me, and I wonder if that's suspicion crawling across her face. I look
away and keep on going.
When I feel it's somewhat safe, I stop to look closer at the scene. The O'Brian Building looks so
different from last night, so violated, with its yellow police tape and swarm of photographers.
My eyes wander around the individual faces--crying, shaking, gesturing toward the open window
where we entered.
I'm just about to turn away when I see Veronica. She's standing beyond the yellow tape, her face
positioned toward me, resting over the shoulder of a much older man, in an embrace.
I blink a few times in confusion, with excitement, thinking for just a moment that somehow, in
some way, this has all been a huge mistake.
But then I see it's not Veronica at all.
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The woman breaks the embrace, but keeps her arm tucked into the man's side as she continues to
sob into the collar of his jacket. Her hair hangs down to the tops of her shoulders, curly and
brownish, the color of nutmeg. But it's her eyes that startle me the most. Unmistakable, doelike
and mossy green. Veronica's eyes. Veronica's mother.
The sight of her makes my knees tremble, my heart squelch. I felt terrible before. Horrible.
Guilty Responsible. But seeing Veronica as someone's lost daughter makes it so much worse.
I continue across campus, tunneling my vision, trying not to focus on any one person or thing.
The ironic part of this whole police / security scene is that when I get to the boys' dorm, there's
no one working the front desk, just fleets of boys filtering through the exit doors, not even
signing out for the weekend. I thread my way past them and climb up the stairs to the second
floor. I need to find the one person who I think can solve this riddle.
PJ.
"Yeah," he says, peeking through the door crack.
"PJ?" It's so dark in his room I can barely make out his face. "Is that you?"
"Who else would it be?" He ekes the door open a bit wider, enabling me to see that he's dyed his
hair yet again. This time, jet black.
"What's with the dark room?" I push him out of the way and step inside.
"Helps me think. I like to do that from time to time." He closes the door behind me. "Pretty crazy
out there. A little too real for me."
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"Unreal," I whisper. I look toward the window at the shade, drawn down, and wonder why he
insists on keeping us in the dark. "I almost didn't recognize you with your hair that color.- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]