Last to Die

“What are you looking for?”

“A comet.”

“Did you see it?”

“No, I mean a new comet. One that’s never been reported. Amateurs find new ones all the time. There’s this guy named Don Machholz who found eleven of them, and he’s just an amateur like me. If I find one, I get to name it. Like Comet Kohoutek. Or Halley or Shoemaker-Levy.”

“What would you call yours?”

“Comet Neil Yablonski.”

She laughed. “Like that has a ring to it.”

“I don’t think it sounds so bad,” he said quietly. “It’s in memory of my dad.”

She heard the sorrow in his voice and wished she hadn’t laughed. “Yeah, I guess that’d be pretty neat. Giving it your dad’s name,” she said. Even if Comet Yablonski did sound stupid.

“I saw you a few nights ago,” he said. “What do you do out here?”

“I can’t sleep.” She turned to look at the water and imagined swimming across lakes, across oceans. Dark water didn’t scare her; it made her feel alive, like a mermaid returning home. “I hardly sleep. Ever since …”

“Do you get nightmares, too?” he asked.

“I just don’t sleep. It’s because my brain’s all messed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have this scar here, on my head, where the doctors sawed open my skull. They dug out pieces of the bullet and it damaged things inside. So I don’t sleep.”

“People have to sleep or they die. How can you go without it?”

“I just don’t sleep as much as everyone else. A few hours, that’s all.” She took a breath of the summer- scented wind. “Anyway, I like the nighttime. I like how quiet it is. How there are animals that you don’t see during the day, like owls and skunks. Sometimes I go walking in the woods, and I see their eyes.”

“Do you remember me, Claire?”

The question, asked so softly, made her turn to him in puzzlement. “I see you every day in class, Will.”

“No, I mean do you remember me from somewhere else? Before we came to Evensong?”

“I didn’t know you before.”

“Are you sure?”

She stared at him in the moonlight. Saw a big head with a moonlike face. That was the thing about Will, he was big all over, from his head to his enormous feet. Big and soft, like a marshmallow. “What are you talking about?”

“When I first got here, when I saw you in the dining hall, I had this weird feeling. Like I met you before.”

“I was living in Ithaca. Where were you?”

“In New Hampshire. With my aunt and uncle.”

“I’ve never been to New Hampshire.”

He moved closer, so close that his big head eclipsed the rising moonlight. “And I used to live in Maryland. Two years ago, when my mom and dad were alive. Does that mean anything to you?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t remember. I even have trouble remembering my own mom and dad. What their voices were like. Or how they laughed or smelled.”

“That’s really sad. That you don’t remember them.”

“I have photo albums, but I hardly look at them. It’s like seeing pictures of strangers.”

His touch startled her, and she flinched. She did not like people touching her. Not since she’d awakened in that London hospital, where a touch usually meant another needle prick, another person inflicting pain, however well intentioned. “Evensong’s supposed to be our family now,” he said.

“Yeah.” She snorted. “That’s what Dr. Welliver keeps saying. That we’re all one big happy family.”

“It’s nice to believe that, don’t you think? That we’ll all look out for each other?”

“Sure. And I believe in the Tooth Fairy. People don’t look out for each other. They only look out for themselves.”

A beam of light flickered through the trees. She whirled around, spotted the approaching car, and instantly darted toward the nearest bush. Will followed her, moving like a noisy moose with his giant feet. He dropped down beside her.

“Who’s arriving at this time of night?” he whispered.

A dark sedan rolled to a stop in the courtyard, and a man stepped out, tall and lean as a panther. He paused beside his car and scanned the night, as though searching the darkness for what no one else could see. For one frantic instant Claire thought he was looking directly at her, and she ducked lower behind the bush, trying to hide from his all-seeing eyes.

The school’s front door swung open, throwing light onto the courtyard, and Headmaster Gottfried Baum stood in the doorway. “Anthony!” Baum called out. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“These are disturbing developments.”

“So it seems. Come, come. Your room’s ready, and there’s a meal waiting for you.”

“I ate on the plane. We should get straight to the matter at hand.”

“Of course. Dr. Welliver’s been monitoring the situation in Boston. She’s ready to intercede if necessary.”

The front door swung shut. Claire rose to her feet, wondering who this strange visitor was. And why Headmaster Baum had sounded so nervous. “I’m going to check out his car,” she said.

“Claire, no,” whispered Will.

But she was already moving toward the sedan. The hood was still warm from the drive, the waxed surface gleaming under moonlight. She moved around the vehicle, her hand caressing the surface. She knew it was a Mercedes because of the hood ornament. Black, sleek, expensive. A rich man’s car.

Locked, of course.

“Who is he?” said Will. He’d finally found the courage to emerge from the bush and he now stood beside her.

She looked up at the west wing, where a silhouette briefly appeared in a lit window. Then the curtains abruptly slid shut, cutting off her view.

“We know his name is Anthony.”

NINE

 

MAURA DID NOT SLEEP SOUNDLY THAT NIGHT.

Perhaps it was the unfamiliar bed; perhaps it was the stillness of the place, a silence so deep that it seemed the night itself was holding its breath, waiting. When she awakened for the third time, the moon had risen and was shining directly in her window. She’d left the curtains open for fresh air, but now she climbed out of bed to close them against the glare. Pausing at the window, she looked down at the garden below. It was aglow in moonlight, the stone statues as luminous as ghosts.

Did one of them just move?

She stood clutching the drape, staring at statues that stood like chess pieces among the clipped hedges. Across that spectral landscape moved a slender figure with long silver-bright hair and limbs as graceful as a nymph’s. It was a girl, walking in the garden.

In the hallway outside her door, footsteps creaked past. She heard men’s voices.

“… We’re not sure whether the threat is real or imagined, but Dr. Welliver seems convinced.”

“The police seem to have the situation in hand. All we can do is wait and see.”

I know that voice. Maura pulled on a bathrobe and opened her door. “Anthony,” she called out.

Anthony Sansone turned to face her. Dressed in black, standing beside the much shorter Gottfried Baum, Sansone seemed a towering, almost sinister figure in that dimly lit hallway. She noticed his wrinkled clothes, the