by Adalynn Rafe
“It’s a taunt.” Sabrina gets to her feet and faces Kelly, who is only a couple inches taller than her. “He lives to show us how inferior we are to him.”
I pull Kelly back from Sabrina, knowing full well that she is getting under his skin. “He thinks he’s scared us to a point that we won’t do anything rash. But he’s wrong.” I pull Kelly’s face so that I can see it. His jaw is tensed. “When he finds out that the FBI is town, there is no going back for us. We are dog meat either way, Kelly.”
Sabrina points a finger in his face, only making the contention worse. “We are getting that map.”
Kelly glares and I pat his shoulders, hoping he’d calm down. “How?”
“It’s relatively safe. We have to wait for him to be at the school. During lunch we’ll take it. Then we’ll call Owens and tell him we have something for him,” Sabrina explains. “Simple.”
I flash an innocent smile at Kelly. “Sounds easy enough, right?”
“I have no other option but to agree to this.” Kelly brushes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Please be careful, Cecily Wolf.”
Chapter 38
It is the next day. I’m sitting next to Hazel while pretending that nothing is happening during lunch. A few tables down, there’s an awkward, teenage make-out scene and the table behind them is filled with a bunch of nerds who dug up their old Pokémon cards and are having epic duels against each other. The girl sitting on the table behind us snickers, and a dude from across the room laughs loudly, gaining unwanted (or wanted) attention.
“Stop chewing on your lip. You’re going to tear a whole through it,” Hazel nags me.
Another cackle sounds from the kid and I look in his direction, bemused.
“What if it’s a sub?” I whisper to Hazel after a minute. She’s quietly reading her book.
Her green eyes meet mine. “Stop stressing, Cecily. Most people would be praising the sky to avoid their offender.” Her voice is kept extremely low.
My head shakes. “Something is wrong, Hazel. Something that we can’t see yet.”
“Well, I’m sure the dude is pissed that the FBI is hunting him down.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Not funny. There is seriously something gnarly going down.”
“Sabrina?”
Confusion fills me. Is Hazel asking me if Sabrina’s gnarly? “What about her?”
“The duchess is behind you.” She nudges her head in her direction.
Turning around, I see her with a few royals. She’s glaring at me and refuses to come closer than five feet. “Cecily Wolf,” she says, nicer than to be expected. “Cat got your face?”
The scratch marks still appear on my face, it is true. I stand up and face her. “Yeah, it was a black alley cat named Sabrina. What do you want?”
Sabrina sneers. “Your shoes are ugly. Just thought I’d let you know.”
I look down at my dingy black boots, which aren’t ugly, and back to her. “If you liked them, I wouldn’t be wearing them, would I?”
Sabrina rolls her eyes and struts away with her posse. “If I wore them, you couldn’t afford them.” With a wicked smile, she releases a short laugh.
Hazel and I sit there through the end of lunch. But when the bell rings, we don’t go to World Civ—we head out the doors to go home and skip class.
Once we reach the car, Sabrina steps out in front of it and puts her hands on her waist. We don’t say a word to each other as we all climb inside.
“Our secret code words are awesome.” Sabrina’s in the back, leaning between the front seats so that her head is between ours. “Epic.”
Hazel covertly turns up the music, as if to drown her out. It’s clear that she would love to fling her fist back and into Sabrina’s face.
The keywords go: If my shoes are ugly, there is a sub. If they are super ugly, Leison’s there. If Leison isn’t there, we ditch and go back to my house to discuss epic battle plans. And we don’t really know what those are yet, but we are going to discuss the crap out of them!
I fake smile. “We can’t have you being nice to me, can we? I wouldn’t want your reputation to be damaged.”
“Please, I’m more worried about Leison finding out that we are a team. He’d kill us both, I swear it,” Sabrina replies seriously. As if he isn’t going to already. Sitting back into her seat, she places her forehead against the cool window, staring out at the city as we drive on our way. “And the alley cat thing, really?”
I laugh. “It fit perfectly.” She growls.
I laugh, but inside I try to fight my panic of there being a sub. That means that Leison could be anywhere––stalking us, watching us, planning the horrible things he intends to do to us . . . I fight the urge to puke again.
The air is heavy. Gray clouds in the sky shadow the town, ruining its normally thriving spirit. Perhaps the serial killer contributes to the foreboding feeling. It’s one of those days off of a horror movie—dark and spooky, awaiting some sort of impending doom.
I look back at Sabrina. Haunted and traumatized, she stares out the window that her head rests against. Purple bags linger under her tired eyes and bruises are visible under her foundation. Sabrina glances at me and smiles, revealing a huge gash in her bottom lip. Not long ago, I would have said that she deserved it––but I know she’s seen the worst of Leison’s abuse, and I think that no one deserves abuse like that. “Has Leison tried to contact you at all?”
A shake of the head is her response. Perhaps that fact scares her.
“Do you think he’s onto us?” Hazel asks.
Sabrina sighs. “Absolutely.”
Hazel stares at me. “Do you think the principal and the officer scared him off after you brushed them away yesterday? He’s not stupid, Cecily. Smith knew that Leison did something to you.”
I look away from her and out the window. “They had nothing to do with this. It was totally Owens. He scared Leison, just as he promised.” The gray clouds remind me of how horrible the day is. “As for Principle Smith––”
“Leison hates the man, despises him really,” Sabrina says quietly. “He’d kill him.”
My body twists in my seat and I stare back at her. “What––why? I can understand Smith not liking Leison . . .”
“That’s why. Smith has been on to him. Rumor says that a girl told Smith that Leison had come onto her during his first week as a teacher. From that day forward, Smith knew that Leison was a bad man.”
Hazel’s mouth drops open. “Why hasn’t he fired the freak yet?”
“He hired a private detective. They found nothing.” Sabrina shakes her head. “And Smith couldn’t possibly fire the community’s most adored new teacher over ‘false’ accusations, could he?”
I feel sick. “How is Leison getting past everyone?”
Sabrina shrugs and looks out the window again. “He’s got tendrils out in the community, woven into everything this city adores. The man is the master of deception.”
“Mold in a piece of bread . . .” Hazel gags.
I recall myself using those words once: Master of Deception.
“I think Hazel is right, though,” Sabrina says. “He’s spooked.”
I stare out at the dreary community. Sabrina yawns and closes her exhausted eyes. “I miss my father,” she whispers.
I keep my sights to the slick, black road before us. I feel the same way—missing my father and all. The car becomes quiet as the music plays.
“Let’s hope he’s there tomorrow.” An overwhelming need to vomit fills me, but I push it back and try to be brave. “We have to get that map.”
* * *
Owens’s car is in my driveway when we arrive home.
Why is he here––could something be wrong? Has he found something new? Did they catch Leison? Impossible.
“Mom!” I almost yell while opening the front door, but silence my mouth when I hear talking. “Shh,” I motion the girls. We enter into the house and Hazel shuts the door without making any noise. She’s the b
oss at it by now; we’ve spent our whole lives sneaking in and out of this house.
Adie sits on the stairs in silence. She shoots me an odd look when I enter. I wonder what’s going on, asking her with one look. In the background I can hear a man and woman talking to Mom. Adie just points toward the kitchen. Something’s wrong with her. I can just sense it.
“Adie, is everything okay?” I ask her, staring at her through observing eyes.
“Mom and Owens are at the table,” she says quietly. “Some lady is with them. They’ve been discussing the mess with Leison, things that they don’t want you to hear.”
As if on cue, my ears perk to tiniest sounds. Eavesdropping? I think so.
We sneak further into the house and stand along the edge of the dim living room. Three people are sitting at the table in the kitchen beyond, which is filled with light from the exposed windows and doors along the back wall. The drapes in the living room are pulled shut for Sabrina when she sleeps––giving us the perfect shadowing to creep.
Only Owens faces us, but pays no attention to our direction. Covertly, I fall to my hands and knees and crawl across the floor like a ninja. I am stealth and no one sees me . . . except Hazel and Sabrina. Adie too, I guess. I’m still a ninja!
We hide in the shadow of the couch, lying curled up on the floor in close proximity, and listen closely to their conversation.
“This man, Mr. Edward Leison,” Owens says reluctantly, “is not really Edward Leison. He has multiple identities. We have reason to believe that his true identity is James Longhorn.”
“How did you find this out?” Mom asks, breathless. “When did you find out?”
The woman sighs. “Just before I came here. We scanned a faculty picture from a yearbook.”
It is quiet for a minute. “You’re the lead?” Mom asks the woman, I guess.
“Mrs. Wolf, I have been following this man for years. Any time a match is made in the database, I get my team on the scene,” she says informatively.
“So, he really is a serial killer . . . a wanted serial killer?” Mom’s voice fills with fear. “If you know who he is, why hasn’t he been stopped yet?”
Owens sighs. “Nina––”
A woman cuts him off. “The man has lightning quick wit. By the time we open a new investigation, his victims are dead and he’s run off to some other place.” She pauses awkwardly. “He’s a monster.”
“And Sheriff Copper?” Mom asks. “What did he have to say about it?”
Owens’s hands rest loudly on the table. “He was unavailable. He is unavailable.”
“That doesn’t sound like Alan . . .” She sighed. “That’s why you called the FBI?”
The woman spoke. “He called the FBI because you are dealing with one of the most notorious serial killers of the decade.”
Mom’s voice trembles when she speaks, “How many girls has he killed—,” She pauses to take a shallow breath, “Special Agent Owens?”
My eyes widen as I stare at Hazel. Special Agent Owens? I mouth.
He’s a real FBI man! This is far more serious than I thought. I mean, I knew the FBI would be coming, but I didn’t know that Leison is a wanted serial killer—most notorious of the decade. The freaking FBI is legitimately tracking this guy!
“Twenty four girls,” the woman says coldly, “that we know of, Mrs. Wolf.”
The three of us poke each other to express our shock.
“How long has he been doing this?” Mom clears her throat.
Awkward silence fills the space. “Twelve years,” she answers.
I can only imagine the horror that fills my mom’s face, because it’s filling mine right now. Twelve years. Twenty four girls––that they know of. Leison was dead serious when he said he’d kill Sabrina. I look at her, eyes wide, and she knows exactly why.
Special Agent Owens lets out a breath. “If it wasn’t for a few consistent habits in his MO, we’d never have a chance at catching him. He gets a job at a high school, usually in a secluded area, and preys on three high school seniors––female.” A pause. “He keeps his code; the brain, the slut, the victim. When Sabrina said that, I had a feeling we were dealing with more than a pedophile.”
“How does he get past the system?” Mom asks skeptically. “It seems you could have stopped him before.”
The woman becomes short with my mother. “We have many theories, Mrs. Wolf, as to why he’s always one step ahead of us.”
“The three girls he has kidnapped locally—who are they?”
The woman clears her throat. “Three seniors from last year’s class went missing over the summer. The last place they were reported being seen was at a party in one of the mansions up on the hill after graduation.” I could see her pursing her lips. “The local authorities know about this. They’ve supposedly been searching for them.”
Mom sounds worried. “What about Sheriff Copper?”
“I spoke with his deputy this morning––Deputy Paxson. Does this name sound familiar to you?” Owens asks. “He says his team has searched high and low for the girls.”
“He seems nice enough—he seems to really care about the community. I only met him once, and it was at the very beginning of last year when Alan gave him the position.” A soft bang sounds on the table as she rests her hands down. “Please tell me that you have agents on Leison, though. If Cecily’s right about the authorities here being corrupt, well . . .”
“I assure you that only the best of the bureau are chasing this man,” the woman promises.
Mom talks softly, though she is filled with worry. “Well, how exactly does Longhorn work? What are his methods?”
Owens responds, “He gets a job at a school that is close to a range of mountains. During the school year he picks out his victims. Usually three high school seniors that fit his criteria. Once school is over, he hides them in caves and forces them to starve to death.”
“Caves . . . ?” Sabrina barely whispers to me. She seems skeptical.
“Not the caves,” I reply, hardly audible. “What if they’re in the mines?”
I had this strange inkling that I somehow knew this already.
Apparently Sabrina agrees because her pupils dilate and her lip micro-quivers. She nods her head once. “I feel it, too. I don’t know why.”
“It’s the easiest place to hide them, duh. Especially the ones shut down and abandoned.” Hazel then puts her finger to her mouth to silence us and points toward the kitchen table.
Agitated, the woman speaks, bringing our attention back to the scene. “Mrs. Wolf—” She clears her throat. “I suggest you don’t tell the girls about this. They don’t need any ideas put in their already impressionable minds.”
“Well, if there were a chance of something horrible like this happening to you, wouldn’t you want to know?” Mom scowls—she’s not one for such actions. I can envision her narrowed eyes.
The woman clears her throat loudly, as if she is demanding respect––or hiding emotion.
“That’s as much as we can tell you for now,” Owens says. “I’m sorry, Nina.”
The chairs move and they stand up.
Hazel starts squirming and I know what’s going to happen. “Hazel, hold it!” I whisper.
Too late. She sneezes, then she sneezes again, then again.
Sabrina moans and covers her face and Hazel is bright red.
“We’re screwed,” I mutter and sit up.
Mom flips the light on and Special Agent Owens is standing above us, looking down at us sternly. “You are eavesdropping on a private conversation.”
“What?” Sabrina asks, trying to act innocent.
I give her a look. “Well, obviously.” I glance at the stern Owens and wonder if that’s what Kelly looks like when he’s mad. “It seems pertinent to our existence, don’t you think?”
Mom flashes a dagger-filled look, yet she hides a smile on her face. Now she doesn’t have to feel guilty when she tells us all the dark secrets of the case.
; I look back at Owens. This time he looks like an actual FBI Agent. The woman is clearly FBI, and she is dressed for the part as well. She said she was the lead . . .
“Mom,” I say, forcing an innocent smile on my face. “We’re home early.” I peel my eyes from the woman to look at my mother.
“I see that, Cecily. Why are you home?” she asks. Owens is clearly wondering the same thing. “And all three of you?”
I get to my feet and look at the unknown woman. “Who’s this?” I ask, forcing the attention to the woman. “And we’re skipping class. Isn’t that obvious?” an answer for my mother.
The other two hellions that accompany me get to their feet and stand around awkwardly.
Special Agent Owens steps back to be standing near the woman, who has remained by the table. “This is Special Agent Reinhardt,” Owens introduces, placing his hands over his suit coat that’s thrown on the back of a chair. With his suit, he’s wearing a nice button up shirt that matches his blue eyes . . . eyes that look like Kelly’s. I catch myself eyeing him mysteriously. Around his black leather belt is his FBI badge and a holster with a pistol in it.
My attention turns to Agent Reinhardt. Pretty, a little taller than me, and slender; she has brunette hair––died by the looks of the lighter color of growth that is peeking through her roots. It’s almost the same color as mine, but with less red. Her eyes are intense, as if she evaluates everything and anything with harshness. Her skin is covered in foundation, but I would bet she’s concealing freckles. Why do I feel like she is hiding something under that makeup. Her FBI badge is hanging around her neck on a lanyard.
“Is she your partner?” I ask Owens. He would have brought her before if she were.
He nods. “Agent Reinhardt is working the case with me.”
The agent places her hands on her hips and angles her head so that she stares down at us. She commands the attention of the room. “Hello, girls. I’m Special Agent Reinhardt with the FBI, here to investigate the sight of multiple homicides. Special Agent Owens has informed me that you’ve had personal interactions with a Mr. Leison, correct?”
