Last to Die

“Then which of ’em did it?” said Roman.

Behind them, a voice asked: “Why do you think it was a student?”

They all turned to see Julian standing at the edge of the clearing. He had returned so quietly, they hadn’t heard him.

“You just assume it’s one of us,” said Julian. “That’s not fair.”

Dr. Pasquantonio laughed. “You don’t really think a teacher would do this?”

“Remember what you taught us about the word assume, sir? That it makes an ass of you and me?”

“Julian,” Maura said.

“Well, it is what he says.”

“Where, exactly, is this leading, Mr. Perkins?” asked Pasquantonio.

Julian stood straighter. “I’d like to take Herman’s body.”

“It’s already rotting,” said Roman. He lifted the corpse by its rope and tossed it into the woods. “Crows have already gotten a start on it; let ’em finish.”

“Well then, can I have the twig dolls?”

“I’d as soon burn the damn things. Forget this fool business.”

“Burning them doesn’t make the mystery go away, sir.”

“Why do you want them, Julian?” asked Maura.

“Because right now, we’re all looking at each other, suspecting each other. Wondering who’d be sick enough to do this.” He looked at Dr. Pasquantonio. “This is evidence, and the Jackals can analyze it.”

“What are the Jackals?” said Jane. She looked at Maura, who shook her head, just as bewildered.

“It’s the school forensics club,” said Dr. Welliver. “Founded decades ago by a former student named Jack Jackman.”

“Which is why it’s called the Jackals,” said Julian. “I’m the new president, and this is just the kind of project our club does. We’ve studied blood splatters, tire tracks. We can analyze this evidence.”

“Oh, I get it.” Jane laughed and shot a glance at Maura. “It’s CSI High School!”

“All right, boy,” said Roman. He reached up with his hunting knife and sliced the dolls from the branch. Held them out to Julian. “They’re yours. Go to it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Thunder rumbled, and Roman looked up at the sky. “Now we’d best get inside,” he said. “I smell lightning coming this way. And there’s no telling where it’ll strike.”

FIFTEEN

 

DID YOU DO IT?”

Claire had been expecting the question. Back at the clearing, when they’d all stood gaping at what hung from the willow tree, she’d caught Will looking at her and had read the question in his eyes. He’d been discreet enough not to say a word at the time. Now that they’d lagged behind the other kids on the trail, he sidled up to whisper: “The others, they’re saying it was you.”

“They’re idiots.”

“That’s what I told them. But you were out again last night.”

“I told you, I don’t sleep. I can’t sleep.”

“Next time, why don’t you wake me up? We could hang out together.”

She halted beside the streambed. Raindrops plopped onto their faces and drummed tattoos on the leaves. “You want to hang out with me?”

“I checked the weather forecast, and the sky’s supposed to be clear tomorrow night. You could look through my telescope, and I’ll show you some really cool galaxies. I’m sure you’d like seeing those.”

“You hardly know me, Will.”

“I know you better than you think.”

“Oh sure. Like we’re best friends forever.” She hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but once the words were out, she couldn’t take them back, and she wished she could. There were a lot of things she wished she’d never said. She tramped a few more paces up the trail and realized that Will was no longer beside her. Turning, she saw he’d stopped and stood staring at the stream, where water splashed and rippled across rocks.

“Why couldn’t we be?” he said quietly, and looked at her. “We’re not like everyone else. You and I, we’re both …”

“Screwed up.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, I’m screwed up, anyway,” she said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Everyone says so, including my shrink. You want proof?” She grabbed his hand and pressed it against the scar on her scalp. “Feel that? That’s where they sawed open my skull. That’s why I stay awake all night, like a vampire. Because I’m brain-damaged.”

He made no attempt to pull free, as she’d expected. His hand lingered in her hair, caressing the scar that marked her freakdom. He might be fat and spotty with acne, but she suddenly noticed he had nice eyes. Soft and brown, with long lashes. He kept looking at her, as if trying to see what she was really thinking. All the things she was afraid to tell him.

She shoved his hand aside and walked away. Kept walking until the trail ended at the edge of the lake. There she stopped and stared across rain-dappled waters. Hoping Will would follow her.

And there he was, standing right beside her. A frigid wind blew off the lake, and she hugged herself, shivering. Will didn’t seem to notice the cold, even though he wore only jeans and a damp T-shirt that clung to every unflattering bulge of his pillowy torso.

“Did it hurt?” he asked. “Getting shot?”

Automatically she reached up to touch the spot on her skull. The little indentation that marked the end of her life as a normal kid, a kid who slept through the night and got good grades. A kid who didn’t say all the wrong things at the wrong times. “I don’t know,” she said. “The last thing I remember is having dinner in a restaurant with my mom and dad. They wanted me to try something new, but I wanted spaghetti. I kept insisting on spaghetti, spaghetti, and my mom finally told the waiter just to get me what I wanted. That’s what I remember last. That my mom was annoyed with me. That I disappointed her.” She swiped a hand across her eyes, leaving a streak of warmth on her cheeks.

On the pond a loon cried, a lonely, unearthly sound that made tears well up in her throat.

“I woke up in the hospital,” she said. “And my mom and dad were dead.”

His touch was so soft that she wasn’t sure if she imagined it. Just a featherlight stroke of his fingers on her face. She lifted her head to look into Will’s brown eyes.

“I miss my mom and dad, too,” he said.

“THIS IS A CREEPY school with creepy kids,” said Jane. “Every single one of them is peculiar.”

They sat in Maura’s room, their chairs pulled close to the hearth, where a fire was burning. Outside, rain lashed the windows and wind rattled the glass. Although she’d changed into dry clothes, the dampness had penetrated so deeply into Jane’s bones that even the heat of the flames failed to warm her. She pulled her sweater tighter and looked up at the oil painting that hung above the mantelpiece. It was a gentleman hunter, rifle propped over his shoulder as he posed proudly beside a fallen stag. Men and their trophies.

“The word I would use,” said Maura, “is haunted.”

“The children, you mean?”

“Yes. They’re haunted by crime. By violence. No wonder they strike you as odd.”

“You put a bunch of kids like that together, kids who have serious emotional issues, and all it does is