Pretty Girls Die Last

by Lisa Mancini

  “We’re here,” shouted Anya, acting as the leader of the trio.

  The girls dismounted their bikes and stood together in the darkness. Turning on their flashlights in unison, they began to follow the dirt path leading toward the pond. Their flashlights offered a dim passage as they slowly stepped over fallen branches and wayward shrubbery. Arielle screamed as a thorny branch caught on her jacket. Believing she was being grabbed by an unknown assailant, she shouted out into the night. Anya giggled but Megan rubbed Arielle’s arm in solidarity.

  “Arielle! You are such a girl sometimes,” admonished Anya as they approached the pond. Even in the dark of night, the pond appeared an ominous sight as the water gleamed in the waning moonlight. It was almost early morning now and the girls feared the worst for their friend. Sydney had been missing over three hours now. The girls presumed the worst.

  “You don’t think the same person who took Hannah Baker took Sydney, do you?” asked Megan worriedly.

  “I hope not,” said Arielle.

  “You guys! Hannah’s back. It was on the news earlier, remember?” Anya reminded them of the earlier news conference they had heard about at the movie premiere.

  “I still can’t believe that Logan left her here,” said Megan.

  And this time, Arielle did not defend him. Standing in the dark in the middle of the huge forest, Arielle shivered in her thin jacket. How could Logan have left her friend here? What kind of fight would lead to that? Arielle tried to reason what and how it could have happened. But, she knew that Sydney had a temper and maybe the teen-age boy had met his match. She knew her dad often walked away whenever they had an argument. Her grandmother told her a long time ago that men did not like to engage verbally. Women were better at that. Well, maybe that’s what happened tonight.

  “Look! Over there. It’s her bag,” said Anya. The girls turned their flashlights toward the direction Anya pointed. Yes, there was her Prada bag. A recent gift from her aunt in New York City. She bragged to everyone about the bag and carried it with her everywhere. There’s no way she would have just dropped it.

  “She must be hurt!” said Arielle. “Maybe she fell and hit her head,” said the worried young girl. Megan uncharacteristically ran toward the bag and picked it up. She opened it, removed her cell, and held it up.

  “Her cell is here. But where is she?” She looked around and flashed her light but only darkness surrounded the girls.

  “Give me that phone,” said Anya as she grabbed the phone. She swiped it and scrolled her finger down the screen.

  “Look, here are your texts. But no response.” Anya passed the phone to Arielle who reviewed the texts and calls. She saw her texts but more importantly, she saw the call made to Molly Raju, their friend from school. It fit the time frame offered by Molly. Arielle made a decision.

  “We need to call the police right now.”

  Anya and Megan nodded and Arielle removed her cell from her pocket. But, she had no bars.

  “I have to walk back to the road and call 911. I don’t have any cell phone reception here.”

  She followed the path back to the main road and hit 911. She explained her concerns and gave the location to the officer. Before she clicked off, she heard a scream. It sounded like Megan. Oh my God! Maybe the person who took Sydney just grabbed Megan. What should I do, she asked herself. But, being the type of person she was, Arielle put her friend first and ran into the forest.

  She arrived at the far end of the pond and saw Anya holding a crying Megan in her arms. Shocked by Anya’s show of compassion she almost missed the dead body floating in the pond. She shone her flashlight in the direction that Anya pointed. There, in the middle of the pond, was her friend Sydney.

  She immediately remembered the first day she met Sydney, back in 4th grade. Arielle was new and had just moved to Agatha Falls from North Dakota. She walked into the cafeteria and stood with her tray surveying the tables filled with girls. They ignored her as if she were invisible. But one girl acknowledged her. She was pretty and smiling and waved her over. Arielle walked to the table hesitantly and said shyly, “Hi I’m Arielle Armstrong and I just moved here from North Dakota.”

  The dark haired girl stood up and introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Sydney Sanders and I just moved here from New York City. We’re new here. We should stick together.” And they had, for the last five years.

  Arielle burst into tears, dropped her flashlight, and covered her face with her hands. Her best friend in the whole world was dead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Death of a Beauty Queen

  By Freya Barrett

  Sydney Sanders had it all. Good looks, money, and even a title – Miss Junior Connecticut. The popular thirteen-year old was found drowned in Raven’s Pond in the early hours of the morning following Halloween. Sydney was an eighth grader at Evergreen Middle School. According to her best friend and next-door neighbor, Arielle Armstrong, a fellow eighth grader at St. Bernadette’s School for Girls in Castleton, Sydney left a planned slumber party at Arielle’s house to go on a date.

  The date, Logan Bell is a sophomore at Wainsbridge Academy. The sixteen year old said he picked Sydney up at the slumber party and they drove to Raven’s Pond. While there, the young teens got into an argument and Sydney refused to get back in the car with Bell.

  “She was stubborn,” said the young man. According to Bell, Sydney made a call on her cell to Molly, her other friend and neighbor. According to Raju, Sydney inquired whether Katie, Raju’s older sister could pick her up at the pond, but Katie was unable, as her car was being serviced at a local garage. According to Miss Raju, Sydney said she’d walk the two miles back to Arielle’s house. She never made it.

  Miss Sander’s parents are physicians at Mercy Regional and were unavailable for comment for this article. Her classmates are holding a prayer vigil this evening at Evergreen Middle School at 7pm.

  The town of Agatha Falls has been rocked recently with the abduction and eventual return of nine-year-old Hannah Baker. Ms. Baker still has not spoken since her return. At this time, there are no known suspects in her abduction.

  Sheriff Carmichael is warning the public to stay calm. Just last month, Clyde Embrey, a registered sex offender was released from prison and relocated to Agatha Falls. Mr. Embry and his sister have received death threats since his relocation. An investigation is ongoing and Sheriff Carmichael will be giving a press conference tomorrow afternoon.

  Sydney Sanders was an honor student, an accomplished pianist, and the winner of several beauty pageants since childhood. Ironically, her platform as Miss Junior Connecticut was teen safety. According to Anya Andersen, Sydney’s friend from St. Bernadette’s, Sydney had dreams of being a television journalist and her idols were Lady Gaga and Oprah Winfrey. Sydney Sanders celebrated her thirteenth birthday, exactly one month ago today.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Hannah Baker hadn’t spoken since her unexpected return two nights ago. Her mother suspected the girl experienced sufficient trauma. As a doctor, she understood how the body processed stress. In someone as young as Hannah, it wasn’t unusual to lock the bad experience away in a box and act as if nothing happened.

  When someone experienced trauma, no matter their age, the brain often forgot the events, in order for the person to go on with their life. Sometimes later, maybe even years, the memories resurfaced and the victim remembered the traumatizing event. Dr. Baker had seen enough sexual assault victims who could not remember where their attack occurred but could remember what their assailant smelled like or the color of their shoes. This inability to remember key details made sexual assault hard to prosecute. It was not surprising that so few rapes or sexual assaults were prosecuted by the law. And it was not surprising that so few women ever came forward to report their attacks. Many felt assaulted all over again by the very people who were supposed to help them.

  Thankfully, her Hannah had not been sexually abused. At least, the examination found no physical evidence. In fact, she wa
s found in pristine condition. Her hair was washed and set in a perfect French braid. Her little pink dress was handmade. Whoever took her daughter had loved her.

  But, now Sydney Sanders was dead. Drowned in a pond not far from their home. It made her shiver to think that another girl’s life had ended just when her own daughter was safely returned. She dreaded her interview with the reporter from the Beacon today. But, her husband wanted life to get back to normal and he thought an interview would do that.

  Her daughter was a difficult child. She was stubborn and liked to do things her way. Her husband said she took after her mother. But Lydia Baker was a surgeon with a successful practice. She didn’t have time for little girls with an attitude. Not even her daughter.

  “The reporter’s here,” said her husband anxiously.

  Her husband Thomas was a surgeon too at Mercy Regional Hospital. As much as they wanted children, their careers came first. Six nannies in four years; for some reason they never worked out. Neither would admit their daughter was the reason. No nanny could deal with her tantrums for very long. Eventually, they all quit.

  Freya Barrett arrived at the Baker’s home with a photographer. Normally she worked alone but the editor wanted a family picture for the front page. After her interview with the Bakers, Freya was heading over to St. Bernadette’s School for Girls to speak with Sister Evangeline. As the principal, Freya hoped to learn more about the culture at the elite girl’s school. Last night she went online and checked out the website. She was shocked at the tuition. $59,000 a year. Not many people in Agatha Falls could afford that. No wonder so many of the students were from out-of-state and international. Sydney’s best friends and neighbors attended the private school so Freya thought it best to begin there.

  The interview with the Bakers went well until Freya started asking the hard questions. The Bakers wanted to go on with their lives and their careers. But, at what cost to their young daughter?

  “So, you don’t think Hannah needs counseling?” asked Freya. “Is she speaking yet? I heard she hadn’t spoken since she returned home.” Freya sat back and waited for the response.

  “What? Who told you that? Of course, our daughter speaks. She’s nine years old. I don’t know where you are getting your information from, Ms. Barrett but that is totally false,” said Dr. Baker defensively.

  Changing the subject, Freya said, “I noticed she was holding a puppy on TV. What’s the dog’s name?”

  The innocuous question shocked Dr. Baker even more than the previous one. She stared blankly ahead. Finally, her husband answered for her.

  “His name is Brady, after Tom Brady. I’m a Patriot’s fan,” he offered shyly.

  Freya nodded. “Could we get a family picture for the paper? I think it would be a great final touch for the article. Is Hannah here?” said Freya looking around.

  ‘Yes,” said her father. “I’ll get her.” He left the room, leaving Freya and Dr. Lydia Baker together. Her photographer, Neil, was astute enough to know she wanted to be alone with the doctor. He gave the excuse he had a call to make. Once alone, Freya turned to the doctor.

  “Dr. Baker, can I ask you something, off the record?”

  She nodded cautiously.

  “Dr. Baker, do you think there is a connection between Hannah’s abduction and Sydney’s murder?”

  Dr. Baker sat still and said nothing. She inclined her head to one side as if weighing the possibility. And then, her decision made, she spoke.

  “No, I don’t. I think the person who took my daughter was disturbed but rational enough to return her. As far as Sydney goes, I think that person is different. Do you know how hard it is to drown someone?”

  Freya nodded.

  “They would have to have held her down for at least 20-60 seconds submerged underwater. Just her head but still that is a long time when someone is fighting for their life. Drowning occurs when an individual’s lungs fill with water. The ability to transfer oxygen in your bloodstream is diminished. As you struggle to breathe, you expand so much energy, you lose consciousness,” explained Dr. Baker.

  “She was held down, we know that from the autopsy report,” said Freya. “The multiple bruises on the back of her neck and upper arms were large enough to belong to a man. I wonder if we have another murderer in Agatha Falls,” pondered Freya aloud.

  Before Dr. Baker could answer, Hannah entered the room with Brady on a red leash. The little golden retriever puppy jumped up into Freya’s lap and she laughed as he nipped at her pencil. Neil returned and took the requisite shots of the family. Both parents sat on the sofa with Hannah on her father’s lap and Brady in her arms. It was very sweet. And this time, Hannah smiled a broad happy grin.

  Freya saw her chance. “So, Hannah, do you remember anything about the past month? Where were you?”

  Before either parent could stop her, the little girl responded. “She was nice to me. She played with me. She didn’t have a career,” said Hannah in a soft sweet voice.

  Her honesty shocked Freya. She didn’t have a career. Well, that said a lot. Dr. Lydia Baker caught the innuendo as well.

  “Come on Hannah, it’s time for your lunch. Tom, take the dog out for a walk. Ms. Barrett, we have a great deal to do today, so if you’ll forgive me….” She walked away with Hannah in tow and Freya glimpsed the angry look her daughter gave her mother.

  Freya and Neil let themselves out the front door and walked quickly to their vehicle. Neil broke the silence.

  “That is a dysfunctional family, if I ever saw one. I feel sorry for that dog.” He shook his head as he tossed his camera in the back of Freya’s SUV.

  “So, now where do we go?” he asked.

  Neil was a long-time employee of the Beacon. His pictures had won awards over the years and now on the verge of retirement, he worked only part-time for the paper. He loved his job but looked forward to retirement next January. He was tall and lanky with a grey crew cut and wire rimmed glasses. He resembled an accountant more than a newspaper photographer.

  “St. Bernadette’s School for Girls,” said Freya dramatically.

  Neil nodded knowingly. The school had a reputation for cliques, hazing and bullying. Not the place Freya would send her daughter, if she ever had one. Sydney was best friends with some of the girls there. It was the perfect place to begin an in depth interview about the dead girl.

  “That’s the posh school for little rich bitches, am I right?” he asked.

  Freya laughed. “Yes, but don’t say that. Especially in front of any nuns.”

  They drove to St. Bernadette’s School. The drive took them to the border between Agatha Falls and Castleton. The school was private, all girls, and college preparatory. Founded in 1908, its motto was education equals power or educationem deducis imperium. With the yearly tuition topping out at $59,950 Freya couldn’t wait to see what kind of education was offered for that price. Situated on 50 acres and surrounded by a private forest, the campus was littered with brick buildings dating back to the early 1900’s. Overall, the campus was lovely.

  “It’s certainly pretty,” said Freya.

  “For almost 60 grand a year it should be,” quipped Neil.

  He started snapping pictures and Freya locked her vehicle. She checked her phone for the latest text from Jean, the assistant at the school. She gave Freya directions to Sr. Evangeline’s private office. Her interview earlier in the week was cursory. But now, she had planned detailed questions for her friends. She remembered what eighth grade had been like for her. And that was only seven years ago. She knew things changed fast but not that fast. As a former babysitter, Freya had a way with children and young people. She liked to talk to them. And she never spoke down to them. Kids were smart. Adults sometimes forget that. Freya never would.

  Freya and Neil entered the front door of the school and walked the short distance to the principal’s office. She knocked gently on the office door and waited. A few seconds passed before the door was opened by a woman in her early sixties wearing a
habit. In the typical Roman Catholic orders, nuns wore a habit that consisted of a black tunic covered by a scapular, suspended from her shoulders. A black veil covered her head.

  Freya researched the wearing of a veil and found in the Bible a quote that read, “Every woman praying or prophesying with her head uncovered disgraces her head.” First Corinthians 11:3. She unconsciously stroked her own long, wavy brown hair worn loose and wondered what the nun thought of her uncovered head. She needn’t have worried. Sr. Evangeline smiled broadly when she saw Freya and grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Freya! What a wonderful surprise. I thought you were coming tomorrow?” she queried. Freya explained the texts from Jean, the assistant and the nun rolled her eyes.

  “Jean! She never tells me anything. Sometimes I think it is more work having an assistant. Never mind, come inside. The girls will be here shortly. Do you want to speak to them here or in private?”

  Freya knew the girls would not say anything useful in front of a nun. And she was sure that the principal knew that too.

  “I’d like to talk to each of them separately if I could. Did you speak with their parents? They are underage.”

  ‘Yes, I explained the situation and their parents and guardians have no issues. Let’s have some tea first,” she said turning to Neil as if seeing him for the first time.

  “Now, who are you?” she asked directly.

  Freya explained that photos of the school would accompany her article. She suggested it would be a good idea to emphasize that Sydney’s best friends attended this school. St. Bernadette’s had a reputation of including girls of every religion. Freya wanted to demonstrate the friendship between a devout Catholic girl and a devoted Jewish girl. The nun agreed it was a good idea.