For Your Own Good

by Samantha Downing

  “Oh, don’t worry about your retirement account,” Teddy says with a wave of his hand. “Belmont only has 401(k)s now, so you can roll it over into an IRA or whatever you like.”

  “It’s not that. I wanted to ask about the memorial.” Frank leans in a little toward Teddy. It’s the first time he’s moved anything but his mouth. “If you’re going to have clergy at the event, I hope you will consider me. Although I won’t be employed by Belmont, I still care deeply about its future.”

  Teddy is tired of this conversation, and of Frank. He needs to get back to his email. “Of course we want you there. Frank, no matter where you go, you’ll always be part of the Belmont family.” He stands up, indicating that their little chat is over. “I’m sorry. I’ve been rude, haven’t I? I should’ve offered you something to drink. My wife isn’t home, and I’m afraid she’s a much better host than I am.”

  “How is Allison? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “She’s great, just great. Busy as always, but she’s great.”

  “I’m happy to hear that.” Frank stands up. “I should be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time.” He pauses. “Unless you’d like me to stay and pray with you.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  Teddy walks him to the door and then out to his car, asking about his wife and child.

  “Missy and Frankie are at her mother’s house right now,” Frank says. “It’s for the best, considering my life transition.”

  So she left him. Not surprising. “Probably a good temporary move.”

  “Thank you again,” Frank says, unlocking his car with a click. “I really want to stay involved with Belmont.”

  “Of course.”

  Teddy waits for Frank to get into the car, forcing himself to be polite, and he waves as Frank drives away.

  Calm. Cool. Collected.

  Until he gets back into the house, his mind on that email, and he picks up a glass bowl. A wedding present, one of Allison’s favorites. Teddy slams it against the floor with so much force, a piece of glass flies up and lodges itself in his arm.

  He spends the rest of the evening cleaning it up.

  * * *

  I know you’re helping him.

  Zach stares at the email. His first thought is that it’s a joke from Lucas. But Lucas wouldn’t send an email; he’d send a text. And he sure as hell wouldn’t use an email address like LittleBirdie.

  Next thought: Fallon Knight.

  She’s the one who has been following him, the one who’s been going to Crutcher’s house every day. And she thinks he’s . . . what? Helping the Mad Scientist? Because Zach was outside Crutcher’s house once?

  Insane.

  But she also may be right. Just not about him. About Crutcher. Fallon isn’t the only one who thinks he may have killed those people. Zach still thinks the same thing, especially after Crutcher was named headmaster. And after learning about the milk.

  He sits back in his chair, staring at the words, trying to figure out why she would even send an email like this. What’s the point? If she really thinks he’s helping someone kill people, why not go to the police? What’s she going to do—try to blackmail him?

  Part of him wants to go talk to her and see what this is all about.

  The other part of him keeps coming back to the same thought: She’s crazy.

  76

  FRANK. FRANK MAXWELL.

  Fallon shakes her head, not understanding. In all the months she has been watching Teddy, he’s never had a visitor. Not once. And on the night she sent that email, Frank shows up at his house.

  She watches the video again.

  It’s early in the morning, and she’s parked down the street from Zach’s house. She’s been sitting here for a half an hour, watching the footage from outside Teddy’s house last night on her phone.

  Frank Maxwell.

  The last time she heard about him, he was on medical leave from Belmont. Now, he shows up out of the blue. Fallon was trying to provoke a reaction with that email, and she got one. But this isn’t what she had in mind.

  Maybe she’s sitting in front of the wrong house.

  She looks up where Frank lives, and it’s not in this rich neighborhood. She drives to the Maxwell house and parks down the block, though it’s clear she can’t stay for long. This is Willow Heights, a middle-class subdivision where the houses are close together and close to the street. Guaranteed there’s at least one neighbor who keeps an eye out for strangers in the neighborhood.

  Fallon watches just long enough to see Frank come out of the house.

  Lucky. Today, Fallon is lucky. Five more minutes, and she would’ve left.

  She follows him to the interstate, where he drives for about twenty minutes. He takes an exit she’s not familiar with and goes through a neighborhood she’s never heard of. Frank doesn’t stop until he pulls into the parking lot of Touchpoint Ministry.

  Church. Not even nine o’clock in the morning, and Frank is going to church.

  Maybe he’s done something so horrible, he needs to pray for forgiveness.

  * * *

  ZACH IS PRETTY sure he’s being an idiot.

  He shouldn’t be sitting here, in his car, outside Fallon’s apartment building. First, because it makes him feel like a stalker. Second, because she’s probably insane.

  Or maybe she just Roarked. She wouldn’t be the first from Belmont, though Zach’s never seen it for himself.

  The term comes from a kid named Roarke. His last name changes, depending on who’s telling the story, but his first name is always Roarke. Valedictorian, all the right extracurricular activities: math club, volunteered with children, and in his free time he invented something you might see on Shark Tank. Didn’t get a lot of sleep, though. And he didn’t take failure well.

  He cracked under the pressure to be perfect. Set fire to his locker, burning up his books, his laptop, even his phone.

  Walked away, dropped out, and was never heard from again.

  Is it true? No one knows. But Roarke is a cautionary tale, a fable, the bogeyman for Zach and his friends. Other kids get told to stay away from drugs, hang out with the right crowd, get good grades, and go to college. Belmont students are warned about Roarke.

  Maybe that’s what happened to Fallon. She cracked under the pressure and walked away, then decided it was Crutcher’s fault. Now she’s back for revenge.

  Or maybe Zach’s losing his mind, too. Hard to tell at this point.

  What he does know is that he didn’t help anyone kill. He’s going to explain that to Fallon in a calm, reasonable, factual manner and hope she doesn’t pull out an axe or something.

  If only she would come home. He lowers the back of his seat, prepared to wait for as long as it takes. Too bad she didn’t follow him today. Zach closes his eyes for a few minutes. He opens them when he hears a car door shut.

  Someone has arrived and parked off to the right, at the far end of the parking lot. He leans forward to get a better look.

  Not Fallon.

  Crutcher.

  77

  EIGHTEEN MINUTES. THAT’S how long Zach waits for Crutcher to come back out of Fallon’s building. He goes straight to his car and drives away.

  Zach knows she isn’t home. He’s already checked, and as far as he can tell, she hasn’t returned. The door to the apartment building is visible from where he’s parked.

  Oh, wait. The back door. There must be a back door.

  Zach is terrible at this stalking thing.

  He gets out of his car and goes to the door. No buzzer to enter. Just an open door, like it’s a hotel. That’s pretty much what the building looks like, an old hotel converted into apartments. The lobby even looks that way except there’s no desk clerk.

  The internet says her apartment number is 104, which means she’s on the first
floor. It doesn’t take long to find it. And, yes, her apartment faces the back.

  Zach crosses detective off his list of potential professions. And criminal. He’d be bad at that, too.

  He knocks. No answer.

  Second knock. Still no answer.

  Zach puts his ear to the door, listening for any sound from inside.

  Nothing.

  Did Crutcher stand here for eighteen minutes? Was he writing her a note that he slipped under the door? Who does that? She works at Belmont—he must have her phone number. Why not just send her an email or a text?

  Then again, this is the teacher who refuses to have a smartboard in his class.

  Zach starts to leave the way he came but stops. Goes back to look out the back door. There is a row of parking spaces behind the building, but Fallon’s car isn’t there.

  Good. For a second, he thought Crutcher might have done something to her.

  With nothing else to do except some assignments for Titus, Zach decides to stick around to make sure. She may be crazy, but she doesn’t deserve to be murdered.

  * * *

  THREE HOURS. FRANK has been inside that church for three hours. No one can pray for that long. They’d fall asleep. She almost has a few times, and she’s not waiting for God to answer her.

  Her plan had been to watch from a distance, not to talk to him. So far, that plan has accomplished nothing. After checking her hair and lipstick, making sure she looks appropriate for a house of God, she walks into Touchpoint Ministry.

  The outside of the building is deceptive. It’s big, yes, but on the inside it’s massive. More like an arena than a church.

  “May I help you?”

  The woman’s voice is low, almost hushed. She’s middle-aged and dressed in a turquoise suit. She has a kind smile and too much makeup.

  “Is it all right if I just sit?” Fallon says.

  “Of course.” The woman motions for her to go ahead. No one is on the stage, and Fallon sees just two others sitting down. Both have their heads bowed in prayer.

  Neither one is Frank.

  Fallon sits down and waits. About twenty minutes later, something finally happens.

  A man walks onto the stage. Older, grey hair, wearing a white suit, black shirt, and a white clerical collar. He advances to the podium and picks up a tablet, showing it to a younger man following behind him.

  Frank. Who is also wearing a clerical collar.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  He’s not here to pray. He’s here to . . . work?

  Fallon watches them, transfixed by this new Frank, until they leave the stage and disappear. She doesn’t wait around to see him a second time.

  On the drive back, she tries to wrap her head around this new development. And about why Frank was at Teddy’s last night. It’s not like Teddy was praying for forgiveness.

  She’s still thinking about this as she parks at her apartment building.

  Zach’s car snaps her back to reality. Sleek, black, and expensive enough to stand out here.

  Not so bright, that kid.

  It doesn’t look like he’s inside. Not until she walks up to it and sees him leaning back in the front seat. Asleep.

  Really not so bright.

  She considers leaving him there, waiting until he wakes up and comes knocking on her door. But maybe that wouldn’t be smart. She’d be trapped in her own apartment, and he’s probably stronger than her.

  And this is what she wanted, why she sent the email. She wanted a reaction, and here it is.

  For a second, she hesitates, gathering her thoughts, trying to brace for the confrontation. When she’s ready, she makes a fist and knocks on the window.

  Once. Hard.

  Zach’s eyes fly open. He looks at her, blinks, and sits up.

  Fallon steps back as he opens the door. The smell of fine leather wafts out with him. She breathes it in, remembering what it was like to have a car like that. Remembering that this is the kind of car she’s supposed to have.

  If not for Crutcher.

  “Hi,” he says, straightening his button-down. “Miss Knight, I’m not sure we’ve actually met. I’m Zach Ward.”

  So polite. Even when he was just sleeping outside her apartment.

  “Yes,” she says. “I saw you getting arrested at Belmont.”

  This stops him cold. Smile gone, he looks down at his feet. “Yeah. That was me.”

  “And why are you sleeping in your car outside my apartment?” Fallon stands a bit straighter, acting more like the teacher she is supposed to be.

  He looks up at her. “Why have you been following me?”

  Not a surprise. Fallon was expecting this question as soon as she saw him. “Because you’re up to something.”

  He smiles. This little prick.

  “Okay, Little Birdie,” he says.

  78

  ZACH SEES THE shock in Fallon’s eyes. She’s not good enough to hide that reaction.

  “So you did send the email,” he says, relaxing a little. When he first saw Fallon through the car window, he was sort of scared. No telling what she might do.

  Now she’s the one who looks nervous.

  “I thought it was you,” he says. “You’re the only one who’s been following me.”

  She rallies a bit, jutting out her chin. “Must have struck a nerve, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  Fallon’s right. It’s just not the nerve she thinks it is.

  The conversation isn’t going the way he wants it to. She’s defensive, yes, but so is he. Wrong approach. Acting like enemies isn’t going to get them anywhere. They should be working together, not against each other.

  Like Dad always says: Make more allies than enemies.

  “I can’t blame you for thinking that,” Zach says. “I probably would, too, if I were you.” She looks skeptical, but she’s listening. “You and I think the same thing about Crutcher. We’re on the same page.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying? Maybe you’re helping him, and this is part of it.”

  “Fair,” he says.

  “If I were you,” she says, “I’d say exactly what you just said.”

  She’s right. And he has no way to prove otherwise. “So we’re at a stalemate.”

  “Looks that way.”

  If he had any proof against Crutcher, he’d offer it. All he has is a strong hunch, the plant book in Crutcher’s desk, and his milk preferences.

  And nothing to lose.

  “Okay, here’s the thing,” he says. “I think Crutcher did it. I think he killed all those people at Belmont, starting with Courtney’s mom, and I think he did it because he’s a psychopath who wanted to become headmaster.” Fallon’s eyes widen a little, but not enough. “I have no way to prove it, but it’s what I believe. If you think the same thing, we should work together on this. Because I don’t think the FBI has a clue.”

  He takes it as a good sign when Fallon doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t do anything except stare at him.

  “If you want to work together, that’s great,” he says. “If you think I’m lying, fine. But that’s the truth.” He turns away, only looking at her again once he’s back in his car. “And you can stop following me. You’re wasting your time.”

  Zach shuts the door and starts the engine, giving her time to tell him to hold on. To say something.

  She doesn’t.

  “One more thing,” he says. “Crutcher was here.”

  “What?”

  “Before I got here, Crutcher walked into your building and didn’t come out for eighteen minutes.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re lying.”

  “I know you think that, but if I were you, I wouldn’t eat or drink anything in your apartment.”

  * * *

  FALLON WATC
HES ZACH until he turns the corner, out of sight, before going into her building. No sense in following him now. He’s not about to go anywhere interesting.

  She approaches her door carefully, just in case Zach wasn’t lying. First, she checks the handle.

  Still locked.

  She slips her key in and opens it, looking down at the floor. In case Teddy left a note . . . or something else.

  Nope. Not a thing.

  Her apartment looks exactly as she left it. Bed unmade, lamp on the floor. Her tiny closet is overstuffed with clothes, the door bulging open as it always does.

  She drops her bag on the floor and heads straight to the mini-kitchenette. That’s what the landlord called it. A fancy name for a sink, microwave, and refrigerator. All the food she has is in the fridge so it doesn’t attract bugs. Nothing inside except a box of crackers, some condiment packets, and a carton of orange juice.

  It all looks the same, but Teddy wouldn’t be stupid enough to move things around. He would put them back exactly as he found them.

  She shuts the refrigerator door without touching a thing.

  On her laptop, she searches around for labs that can test food for poisons. There aren’t many companies who will do this for regular people like her, and the ones that will are very expensive. It would be worth the money if it would prove Teddy tried to poison her. But that assumes Zach is telling the truth.

  He did sound sincere.

  Not that she’d expected him to be a bad liar. But if he was lying, he’s better than she’d thought.

  And if he was telling the truth, he’s right. They should work together.

  It would be amazing to have him—or anyone—as a partner in this. Someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to help figure it all out and put it together in a way the police would believe.

  The police. Zach’s reputation with them is probably worse than hers even if they read the emails she sent to Teddy.

  She goes back and forth on it, finally deciding she needs to test him. Like in her Belmont science classes, where they’d taught her to come up with a hypothesis and then test to see if it was true. The scientific method could be applied to Zach.