She glanced at the social worker, who was watching them, her jaw agape. “The fewer people who know, the safer it will be,” she said. For both of us.
JANE DROVE NORTH INTO the dawn with one eye on the rearview mirror. In the backseat, Teddy slept through the entire journey. They’d stopped at her apartment just long enough for her to throw some clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag, and then they were on the road. Gabriel had wanted her to get a good night’s sleep first, to wait until daylight to leave, but she was anxious to get Teddy out of Boston.
And she sure as hell wouldn’t let him stay in her home or anywhere near her own family. She’d seen what happened to families who sheltered Teddy. Death seemed to walk in the boy’s footsteps, scythe swinging and hacking at whoever happened to be nearby. She did not want that bloody scythe harvesting the two people she loved most.
So she’d bundled the boy back into the car, threw her bag in the trunk, and by one thirty in the morning they were headed north out of Boston. Away from her family.
At that early hour, traffic was light, and she spied only a few headlights following her. She kept track of their progress. Just beyond the town of Saugus, the pair of sleek blue halogens peeled off. Twenty-five miles later, so did the lights belonging to the SUV. By the time she drove over the Kittery bridge into Maine, it was nearly three A.M. and she saw no headlights at all behind her, but she never stopped glancing in the mirror, never stopped scanning for a pursuer.
The killer was there, in the house.
She’d seen his shoeprint downstairs, knew that he’d walked throughout the first floor, yet she hadn’t caught even a glimpse of his shadow as she’d watched from the top of the steps. How long had she crouched, waiting for him to appear on the stairway? When adrenaline is flooding your veins, when you’re about to face your own death, a mere sixty seconds can seem like a lifetime. She was certain it had been five minutes, maybe longer. Certainly time enough for him to search the first floor, to turn his attention to the second. Yet he hadn’t. What stopped him? Did he sense that a cop was waiting at the top of the stairs? Did he realize that the odds had turned against him, that a simple execution had now become a battle with an equally lethal opponent?
She glanced over her shoulder at the boy. Teddy was curled up, skinny arms and legs tightly folded around himself like an embryo. He slept deeply, as most children do, showing no sign that tonight’s terror had invaded his dreams.
When the sun came up, rising through a receding bank of clouds, she was still behind the wheel. She opened the window and smelled damp earth, saw sun-warmed steam rising from the pavement. She stopped only once for gas and coffee and a bathroom break. Teddy slept through it all.
Even with that jolt of caffeine, she had to fight to stay awake, to stay focused on that final stretch of road. She was so exhausted she forgot to call ahead, as Maura had advised her. By the time she remembered to pull out her phone, the cell signal was down to zero bars, and she had no way to alert the school that she’d arrived.
It didn’t matter; someone was already waiting for her at the locked gate. The bear-sized man who stood blocking the entrance cut a forbidding figure in his faded jeans and hiking boots. Dangling from his leather belt was an enormous hunting knife, its lethal serrations glittering in the morning sun. She rolled to a stop right in front of him, yet he didn’t flinch, didn’t step aside, but stood with arms crossed, as immovable as a mountain.
“State your business, ma’am,” he said.
She frowned at the compound bow and quiver of arrows that were slung over his shoulder, and wondered if she’d made a wrong turn somewhere. If she’d wandered into dueling-banjos territory. Then she glanced up at the wrought-iron archway and saw the word EVENSONG.
“I’m Detective Jane Rizzoli. The school is expecting me.”
He stalked over to the passenger window and stared in at the sleeping boy. “This is young Mr. Clock?”
“Yes. I’m bringing him to the school.”
In the backseat, Teddy finally stirred awake, and when he saw the wild man peering in at him, he gave a yelp of alarm.
“It’s all right, son.” The voice was surprisingly gentle, coming from such a fierce-looking man. “My name’s Roman. I’m the school forester. I look after these here woods, and I’ll look after you, too.”
“Is that Mr. Roman?” asked Jane.
“Just Roman’s good enough,” he grunted and swung open the gate. “Three miles in, you’ll get to the lake. The castle’s just beyond. They’re expecting you.” He waved her through. “Go slow. Don’t hit the bear.”
She assumed he meant Bear the dog, who belonged to Julian Perkins. But a hundred yards down the road, she rounded a bend in the woods and skidded to an abrupt stop as a black bear—a real bear—sauntered across the road, followed by her two cubs, their fur bright and glossy in the sunlight.
“What is this place?” Teddy murmured in wonder.
“It sure ain’t the big city.” She watched the trio disappear into the woods. “I can see the headline now,” she muttered: “BOSTON COP EATEN BY BEARS.”
“They don’t eat people.”
“You know that, do you?”
“Black bears are mostly vegetarian.”
“Mostly?”
“Mostly.”
“That is not reassuring.” She drove on, wondering what other surprises might pop out of the woods. Wolves. Cougars. Unicorns. In this wild place with its impenetrable forest, it seemed that anything might appear.
In the backseat, Teddy was now alert and staring out the window, as if everything outside was fascinating. Maybe here, deep in the forest, was exactly where the boy should be. This was the first time she’d heard him say more than two spontaneous sentences.
“Will there be other kids here?” he asked.
“Of course. It’s a school.”
“But it’s summertime. Aren’t they all on vacation?”
“It’s a boarding school. Some of the kids stay year-round.”
“Don’t they have families to go to?”
She hesitated. “Not all of them.”
“So this is where they live all the time?”
She glanced over her shoulder, but he wasn’t looking at her; he was focused instead on the thick curtain of greenery outside his window. “This seems like a pretty nice place to me,” she said. “What do you think?”
“Yeah,” he said. And added softly: “I don’t think he can find me here.”
TWELVE
CLAIRE WAS THE FIRST TO SPOT THE ARRIVAL OF THE NEW BOY. FROM the stairwell window, she watched the hatchback drive under the school’s stone arch and roll to a stop in the courtyard. The driver climbed out, a compact woman with unruly dark hair, dressed in blue jeans and a windbreaker. She stood and stretched, as if she’d been driving for a long time, then walked around to the back of the car and pulled out two small suitcases.
The rear passenger door swung open and someone else climbed out of the car: a boy.
Claire pressed up against the glass to study him, and she saw an egg-shaped head with light brown hair topped by a wisp of a cowlick. He reminded her of Pinocchio, all stick arms and legs moving in mechanical jerks and stops. He squinted up at the building, and his face was so pale that Claire thought: That’s what a vampire must look like. Or someone who’s been shut away too long in a cellar.
“Hey look. It’s the Night Crawler.”
Claire’s back stiffened at the too-familiar insult. She turned to see Briana and her two snooty girlfriends come sweeping down the staircase on their way to breakfast. These three were the golden girls, the princess posse with glossy hair and perfect teeth.
“What’s so interesting out there?” one of the princesses asked.
“Maybe she’s looking for a new place to hunt for grubs tonight.”
“Hey, Briana. Look,” one of the princesses said. “There’s the new kid we heard about.”
The three girls pushed Claire aside and crowded forward to st
are through the window.
“He’s fourteen?” said Briana.
“You heard about him?” asked Claire.
Briana ignored her. “What a stick boy. He looks like he’s about ten.”
In the courtyard below, Headmaster Baum and Dr. Isles came out of the building to welcome the new arrivals. From the way the two women greeted each other, it was clear they were already acquainted.
“He looks like an insect,” one of the princesses said. “Like some creepy praying mantis.”
Briana laughed and looked at Claire. “Hey, Night Crawler. It sounds like your new boyfriend just arrived.”
HALF AN HOUR LATER, at breakfast, Claire got another look at him. The boy was sitting at Julian’s table, where the older boys sat. That’s probably why they’d put him there, so he’d be looked after on his first day. He seemed dazed and a little scared, as if he’d just landed on an alien planet. Somehow he sensed that she was looking at him, and he turned to stare at her. Then he kept on staring, as if Claire was the only one he found interesting. As if he’d just spotted the one other person who was as much a misfit as he was.
The insistent clink of a spoon against a water goblet made everyone look up at the teachers’ table. Headmaster Baum rose to his feet with a noisy scrape of his chair.
“Good morning, students,” he said. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have a new student with us today. Starting tomorrow, he’ll be attending classes.” He gestured toward Pinocchio-boy, who blushed at the sudden attention. “I hope you’ll make him feel welcome. And I hope you all remember what it was like when you first arrived, and try to make Teddy’s first day here an excellent one.”
Teddy, with no last name. She wondered why Headmaster Baum had left out that particular detail. She studied him more closely, the same way the boy was watching her, and she saw his lips curve into a smile so tentative that she wasn’t entirely sure it was there. She wondered why, of all the girls in the room, she was the one he was looking at. The three princesses were way prettier, and they were sitting closer to him. I’m just the class weirdo, she thought, the girl who always says the wrong thing. The girl with the hole in her head. So why are you looking at me?
It made her feel uncomfortable and thrilled at the same time.
“Ooh look. He’s staring at her.” Briana had sidled up to Claire’s table and now bent close to whisper in her ear. “It looks like Mr. Stick Bug has a thing for Ms. Night Crawler.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Maybe you’ll have cute little insect babies together.”
Without a word, Claire picked up her glass of orange juice and splashed it on Briana. Juice splattered her rival’s sparkly jeans and brand-new ballet flats.
“Did you see that?” Briana screamed. “Did you see what she just did to me?”
Ignoring the outraged squeals, Claire stood up and headed for the exit. On her way out, she glimpsed Will Yablonski’s spotty face grinning at her, and he gave her a sly thumbs-up. Now, there was another weirdo, just like her. Maybe that’s why Will was always so nice to her. Weirdos had to stick together here at Freak High, where no one could hear you scream.
The new boy was still staring, too. Teddy-with-no-last-name. She felt his eyes follow her every step.
* * *
IT WASN’T UNTIL THE next afternoon that she spoke to him. Every Thursday she had stable chores, and today she was grooming Plum Crazy, one of the four Evensong horses. Of all the duties regularly assigned to students, this was one she did not mind at all, even though it meant mucking out stalls and hauling around bales of wood shavings. Horses didn’t complain. They didn’t ask questions. They just watched her with their quiet brown eyes and trusted her not to hurt them. Just as she trusted them not to hurt her, even though Plum Crazy was a thousand pounds of muscle and sharp hooves, and all he had to do was roll over and he could squash her right here in his stall. Chickens scratched and flapped nearby, and Herman the rooster let loose with an annoying screech, but Plum Crazy stood still and serene through it all, nickering in contentment as Claire ran the currycomb across his flank and down his rear. The rasp, rasp of the rubber teeth was hypnotically soothing. She was so focused on the task that she did not at first realize someone was standing behind her. Only when she straightened did she suddenly notice Teddy’s face peering at her over the stall door. She was so startled, she almost dropped the currycomb.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped. Not exactly the friendliest of greetings.
“I’m sorry! I just wanted to … they told me I could …” He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping someone would rescue him. “I like animals,” he finally said. “Dr. Welliver told me there were horses.”
“And cows and sheep. And these dumbshit chickens.” She dropped the currycomb in a hanging bucket, where it landed with a loud thump. It was an angry sound, but she wasn’t really angry. She just didn’t like being startled. Teddy was already backing away from the stall door.
“Hey,” she said, trying to make amends. “You want to pet him? His name’s Plum Crazy.”
“Does he bite?”
“Naw, he’s just a big baby.” She gave the horse’s neck a gentle pat. “Aren’t you, Plum?”
Cautiously Teddy swung open the stall door and stepped inside. As he stroked the horse, Claire retrieved the currycomb and resumed grooming. For a while they did not talk, just shared the stall in silence, inhaling the smells of fresh pine shavings and warm horseflesh.
“I’m Claire Ward,” she said.
“I’m Teddy.”
“Yeah. I heard that at breakfast.”
He touched Plum’s muzzle, and the horse suddenly tossed its head. Teddy flinched and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Even in the gloom of the stable, she saw how pale he was, and thin, his wrists as delicate as twigs. But his eyes were arresting, wide and long-lashed, and he seemed to be taking in everything at once.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Fourteen.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“Because I’m a year younger than you. And you seem so …” Small was what she was about to say, but at the last second a kinder word came to mind. “Shy.” She peered at him over the horse’s back. “So do you have a last name?”
“Detective Rizzoli says I shouldn’t go around telling everyone.”
“You mean that lady who brought you here? She’s a detective?”
“Yeah.” He got up the nerve to stroke Plum’s muzzle again, and this time the horse accepted the pat and gave a soft nicker.
She stopped combing Plum and gave the boy her full attention. “So what happened to you?”
He didn’t answer, just looked at her with those wide, transparent eyes.
“It’s okay to talk about it here,” she said. “Everybody does. It’s the kind of school where they want you to get your pain out.”
“That’s what shrinks always say.”
“Yeah, I know. I have to talk to her, too.”
“Why do you need a shrink?”
She set the currycomb down. “I have a hole in my head. When I was eleven years old, someone killed my mom and dad. And then he shot me in the head.” She turned to face him. “That’s why I have a shrink. Because I’m supposed to be dealing with the trauma. Even though I can’t remember it. Any of it.”
“Did they catch him? The man who shot you?”
“No. He’s still out there. I think he might be looking for me.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it happened again, last month. My foster parents got killed, and that’s why I ended up here. Because it’s safe here.”
He said, softly: “That’s why they brought me here, too.”
She stared at him with new understanding, and saw tragedy written in his pale cheeks, in the brightness of his eyes. “Then you’re in the right place,” she said. “It’s the only school for kids like us.”
“You mea
n all the other kids here …”
“You’ll find out,” she said. “If you stay long enough.”
A shadow blotted out the light above the stall door. “There you are, Teddy. I’ve been looking for you,” said Detective Rizzoli. She noticed Claire and smiled. “Making new friends already?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Teddy.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Welliver wants to talk to you now.”
He looked at Claire, who answered his unspoken question by mouthing: The shrink.
“She just wants to ask you a few questions. Get to know you better.” Detective Rizzoli opened the stall door. “Come on.”
Teddy stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. Turning back, he whispered to Claire: “It’s Teddy Clock.”
He looks like a Teddy Clock, thought Claire as she watched him walk away. She left the stall and pushed the wheelbarrow filled with soiled horse bedding out of the stables. In the barnyard, that annoying rooster was causing trouble again, chasing and pecking a beleaguered hen. Even chickens could be cruel. They’re as mean as we are, she thought. They attack each other, even kill each other. Suddenly the sight of that poor hen, cowering under Herman the rooster’s assault, infuriated her.
“Leave her alone!” She aimed a kick, but Herman flapped safely out of reach and darted away, squawking. “Asshole rooster!” she yelled. Turning, she saw one of the princesses laughing at her from the corral. “What?” she snapped.
“He’s just a chicken, retard. What’s your problem?”
“Like anybody cares,” she muttered, and walked away.
Until the moment it all fell apart, the operation was running perfectly. When disaster strikes, you can usually look back and pinpoint exactly where it starts to unravel, where one unlucky event sets off the sequence leading inevitably to disaster. As the saying goes, For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, and it’s true; the smallest detail, overlooked, can doom a horse, a soldier, a battle.
But on that June evening in Rome, with our target in sight, the battle seemed ours to win.
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