“You and Sakura should stay with us tonight,” she said. “It isn’t safe in the dorm, Miho. We were lucky last night. It could have been any of us.”
But maybe not you. Why not you? Why don’t you have nightmares? Kara thought Sakura’s certainty that it was her dead sister Akane back from the dead to take revenge was crazy. But she’d already established a connection between everyone who had been plagued by nightmares and all of those who had died. If Ume really had killed Akane, and her friends had helped-or at least known about it-then they were being targeted. Jiro had been indirectly responsible because he’d spurned Ume and fallen in love with Akane. And Sakura might be visited by the dreams because she was Akane’s sister.
Which explained why Miho didn’t have the nightmares.
But it didn’t explain why Kara did have them.
“Dad,” Kara said, “just one night. I don’t want to leave them here.”
“What about the rest of the students?” her father asked.
Kara tried a smile but knew it must look broken and desperate. “We can’t fit them all in our house.”
Her father relented. “If Mr. Yamato doesn’t object, it’s fine with me. I’ll find out.”
She hugged him and kissed his stubbly, unshaven cheek. He must have thrown on his clothes after Miss Aritomo called, no shower, no shave. But he’d never looked better as far as his daughter was concerned. Her dad had come to the rescue.
Miho and Mr. Harper bowed to each other again.
“I’ll call you later,” Kara told her. The girls shared a short embrace.
“I’ll see if I can find that Noh play,” Miho said.
Kara nodded. “Good.”
Her father led her out of the room. In the corridor, some of the girls had retreated into their rooms, though most of the doors were open at least a fraction. Police and EMTs crowded the third floor, along with teachers and several school administrators. Ume had closed her door.
Kara followed her father to the landing, but voices from the common room off to her left drew her attention and she looked over to see Sakura seated in a wooden chair, being questioned by two policemen. The girl wore torn pajama pants and a T-shirt upon which she had painted some kind of calligraphic message. One of the cops stood, arms folded, glaring down at her and the other sat in a chair opposite Sakura, sleeves rolled up, leaning forward and speaking to her quietly. To Kara, they looked absurdly cliche, the living embodiment of every movie’s good- cop/bad-cop routine. But if she’d been sitting in that chair, she suspected she’d have fallen for it completely. Under the intense gaze of the cross-armed detective, the kind tones of the other would have been welcome.
Sakura seemed unfazed. She sat rigidly, back straight, chin up, studiously ignoring them both. As Kara paused to stare into the room, Sakura spoke quietly, a perfunctory reply to one of the questions that Kara couldn’t hear.
“Kara, come on,” her father said, in curt Japanese.
Hearing this, the detectives both turned toward them. The intimidating one scowled, strode over, and shut the door with a bang.
“Kara,” her father said, taking her by the arm.
“Dad, they don’t really think Sakura could have killed Chouku, do they?”
“I couldn’t begin to tell you what they think. I just know I need to get my daughter out of here and home safe.”
His tone made her look up at his face. He brushed the hair away from Kara’s eyes and cupped her cheek in his hand. She wanted to ask him what he meant by “home” but knew that was a conversation for later.
“All right. Let’s go.”
They started toward the top of the steps, only to be halted by Miss Aritomo, who came down the corridor after them. Kara assumed she’d been in Chouku’s room talking to the police.
The dynamic chemistry between her father and the art teacher crackled in the air, an unmistakable energy. As Miss Aritomo closed the distance between them, both of them wearing looks of profound concern, Kara had the impression they were about to embrace. But then Miss Aritomo brought herself up short.
“Harper-sensei, Yamato-san would like to speak with you for a moment before you leave,” she said.
Kara felt her father hesitate; he glanced at her.
“Go ahead,” she said.
“Are you sure? I really just want you to get home.”
“I could go-”
“No. I want you with me,” he interrupted. “Would you mind waiting just a few minutes? I promise I’ll be right back.”
“It’s fine,” Kara said. “But I don’t want to stand around here. Can I wait out front?”
Her father frowned, weighing the request. But with so many cops and teachers going in and out of the building, there wasn’t much chance of anything happening to her.
“Stay by the stairs,” he said, then threaded back down the jammed corridor with Miss Aritomo.
The second floor buzzed with chattering students, some of whom were visibly upset, even weeping, but others who seemed only morbidly curious. A trio of boys stood on the steps, daring one another to go up. Kara passed them without meeting their eyes and hurried down to the lobby, longing for the sun’s warmth and a breath of fresh air.
As she strode across the foyer, someone called her name and she turned to see Hachiro coming down the steps after her.
Kara waited for him. “Hi.”
The sadness in his eyes broke her heart. He had known Chouku well, and his face showed all of his pain. Jiro had been his best friend, and now this. Today the sweetness that usually lit up his face had been replaced by a grim expression that made him seem far older.
“Hello, bonsai,” he said, trying to keep a light tone between them.
Kara reached for his hand. “I told my father I would wait outside. And I feel so cold, I need the sun. Would you walk with me?”
Hachiro nodded, clutching her hand, and accompanied her, holding the door for her. When they stepped into the sun, Kara felt some of the tightness in her shoulders relax and the ice in her gut began to thaw.
Side by side, they looked out across the green field that separated the dorm from the school. Though the air was very chilly, the vivid blue sky spoke of another perfect spring day.
“I can’t believe it,” Hachiro said.
Kara looked at him, squeezing his hand. “It’s true. I… I saw her.”
Without warning, her hands began to tremble. She took a long, quavering breath and tried to say more, but no words would come. Hachiro looked at her, his eyes very old suddenly, and instead of asking the questions that he must have had, he took her into his arms and held her while she shook.
“Something awful is here,” Kara whispered against his broad, strong chest. “Something evil. I know that sounds crazy-”
“No,” Hachiro said flatly. “It doesn’t. Not at all. I think you may be right.”
On a huge wicker chair in the corner of her father’s bedroom, Kara curled up and delved into the pages of Sense and Sensibility, desperate to lose herself. The era conjured by Jane Austen’s writing had always been the most effective retreat from thoughts she wanted to avoid and emotions she hoped would go away. The words lulled her, wrapped her in cleverness and longing and the concerns of another age.
Her father had been back to the school twice that day and on the phone half a dozen times in between. Even now he was in his office with the door closed, and though she could hear the occasional muted tones from the other room, she could not make out any specifics.
When he came out of the office and down the hall, pausing to regard her from the open doorway to his bedroom, Kara kept reading to the end of the paragraph before she looked up. The real world-and the surreal world that had begun to intrude upon it-was not welcome. She tried to communicate that to him silently, to let him know that for just a while she wanted to pretend that nothing was wrong. But he was too preoccupied with the panic at school to notice her wordless pleading.
“The board of directors has closed the school until further notice,” he said.
Kara held her page with a finger. “Good. I don’t know if… I mean, hopefully they’ll catch whoever did it. But
