“When the bullet was fired into her head,” said Welliver, “it resulted in what’s called diaschisis. It’s Greek for ‘shocked thought.’ At the age of eleven, her brain was still relatively plastic, so she’s been able to recover almost all function. Her language and motor skills are virtually normal, as is her memory. Except for that night in London. Prior to the attack, she was an excellent student, even gifted. But I’m afraid she’ll never be an academic star now.”
“But she can still live a normal life?” said Jane.
“Not entirely. Like many head-injury patients, she’s impulsive. She takes risks. She says things without much thought about the consequences.”
“Sounds like a typical teenager.”
Dr. Welliver gave a knowing laugh. “True. Teenage brain is a diagnosis in and of itself. But I don’t think Claire’s ever going to grow out of this. Impulse control will always be an issue for her. She loses her temper, blurts out what she thinks. It’s already caused problems. She has a feud going on with another girl here. It started with some name calling, nasty notes. Accelerated to tripping, shoving. Clothes vandalized, earthworms in the bed.”
“Sounds like me and my brothers,” said Jane.
“Except you, hopefully, grew out of it. But Claire’s always going to leap before she looks. And that’s especially dangerous, given her other neurologic issue.”
“Which is?”
“Her sleep–wake cycle has been completely disrupted. That happens to many head-injured patients, but most of them suffer from excessive drowsiness. They sleep more than normal. Claire, for some reason, had a paradoxical result. She’s restless, especially at night, when she seems to be hyperacute. She seems to need only four hours of sleep a day.”
“The night I arrived,” said Maura, “I saw her down in the garden. It was well after midnight.”
Welliver nodded. “That’s when she’s most active. She’s like a nocturnal creature. We call her our midnight rambler.”
“And you allow her to just wander around in the dark?” said Jane.
“When she was living in Ithaca, there was nothing her foster family could do to stop it. They tried medications, locked doors, threats of punishment. This is going to be Claire’s baseline behavior for the rest of her life, and she needs to learn to deal with it. She’s not a prisoner here, so we decided not to treat her as one.”
“By allowing her to run wild at night?”
“Fortunately there aren’t many things that can hurt you in the Maine woods. We have no poisonous snakes, no large predators, and our black bears are more terrified of us than we are of them. The biggest danger is that she’ll step on a porcupine, or sprain an ankle stumbling into some animal burrow. This is simply Claire’s nature, and it’s a condition she’ll have to live with. Frankly, it’s far safer for her to wander here in the woods than in any big city.”
Jane could not argue with that statement; she knew only too well where the most dangerous predators were found. “And after she graduates from Evensong? What happens to her then?”
“When that time comes, she’ll have to make her own choices. Meanwhile, we’re giving her the skills to survive. That’s our purpose here, Detective. It’s the reason this school exists, so these children can find their places in the world. A world that hasn’t been kind to them.” Welliver pointed toward the filing cabinet. “We have dozens of students like Claire, some so traumatized when they arrived that they could barely talk. Or they’d wake up every night screaming. But children are resilient. With guidance, they can bounce back.”
Jane opened Claire’s file. Like Will’s, it included an initial psychological evaluation by Dr. Welliver. She turned to a summary of the Ithaca PD investigation. “How did Claire end up living with this particular couple, the Buckleys?”
“Bob and Barbara Buckley were friends of Claire’s parents, and her designated guardians in their will. They had no children of their own. When they took in Claire, they certainly got a handful.”
Jane stared at the police report summing up the Buckleys’ deaths and looked up at Maura. “Someone plowed into their car. Shot them both in the head.”
“It certainly looked like a targeted killing,” said Dr. Welliver. “But the Buckleys had no known enemies. Which raised the possibility that Claire was the target, because she was in the car, too.”
“Then why is the girl still alive?” said Jane.
Dr. Welliver shrugged. “Divine intervention.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ask Claire, and she’ll tell you that’s exactly what happened. She was trapped inside the car. Heard the gunshots. Actually saw the killer standing right there. And then someone else showed up on the scene. An angel is how Claire described her. A woman who helped her out of the vehicle and stayed with her.”
“Did the police interview this woman? Did she see the killer?”
“Unfortunately, the woman vanished just as the police arrived. No one but Claire ever saw her.”
“Maybe she didn’t exist,” suggested Maura. “Maybe Claire imagined her.”
Dr. Welliver nodded. “The police did have doubts about this mysterious woman. But they certainly had no doubt that this was an execution. Which is why Claire was brought to Evensong.”
Jane closed the file and looked at the psychologist. “That raises another question. How, exactly, did that happen?”
“She was referred to us.”
“I’m sure the state of New York can look after its own kids. Why send her to Evensong? And how did Will Yablonski end up here, from New Hampshire?”
Dr. Welliver didn’t look at Jane; instead she focused on one of the crystals that dangled in the window. On a sunny day, that bit of quartz would scatter rainbows around the room, but on this gray morning, it hung inert, offering no light-bending magic. “Evensong has a reputation,” she said. “For many of these children, we offer tuition, room and board, at no cost to the states. Law enforcement agencies all around the country know about the work we do here.”
“Because the Mephisto Society is everywhere,” said Jane. “And so are your spies.”
Welliver’s eyes met Jane’s. “You and I are on the same side, Detective,” she said quietly. “Never doubt that.”
“It’s the conspiracy theories that bother me.”
“Can we agree, at least, that the innocent need protection? That victims need to be healed? At Evensong, we do both. Yes, we track crimes around the world. Like any scientists, we search for patterns. Because we’re victims, too, and we’ve chosen to fight back.”
Someone knocked on the door and they all turned as an Asian boy, small and wiry, popped into the room.
Dr. Welliver greeted him with a motherly smile. “Hello, Bruno. Do you need something?”
“We found something in the woods. On a tree,” the boy blurted out.
“The woods are full of trees. What’s special about this one?”
“We’re not sure what it means, and the girls, they’re all screaming …” Bruno took a deep breath to calm himself, and Jane suddenly noticed that the boy was shaking. “Mr. Roman says you need to come right now.”
Dr. Welliver rose to her feet in alarm. “Show us.”
FOURTEEN
They followed the boy down three flights of stairs in a noisy parade of footsteps. Outside the wind whipped Jane’s hair, and she regretted not bringing her jacket. The distant dark clouds that she had seen from the turret were now almost upon them, and she heard the creak and groan of the trees, smelled impending rain in the air. They tramped into the woods, led by the boy who did not seem to be following any obvious trail. With so many feet snapping twigs and crunching over dead leaves, the birds had gone silent. There was only the sound of their passage and the wind in the branches.
“Are we lost?” asked Jane.
“No, it’s just a shortcut,” Dr. Welliver answered. Despite her tent-like dress, she managed to move steadily through the woods, lumbering heavily behind the Puck-like boy who scamper
ed ahead of them.
The trees grew denser, the branches blotting out her view of the sky. Though it was only midmorning, here in the forest the day had darkened to a twilight gloom.
“Does this kid actually know where he’s going?”
“Bruno knows exactly where he’s going.” Dr. Welliver pointed at a broken branch just above their heads.
“He marked a trail?”
The psychologist glanced back at her. “Don’t underestimate our students.”
They’d lost sight of the castle. Now all Jane saw, in every direction, were trees. How far had they walked, half a mile, more? And this was supposed to be a shortcut? Her shoelace came loose and she crouched down to tie it again. When she straightened, she saw that the others were already a dozen paces ahead of her and almost out of sight. Left alone here, she might wander for days trying to find her way out. She scrambled to catch up and pushed through a curtain of brush into a small clearing where the others had come to a halt.
Beneath a magnificent willow tree stood Professor Pasquantonio and Roman, the forester. Nearby stood a group of students, huddled together against the wind.
“… haven’t touched a thing. We left ’em just as we found ’em,” Roman said to Dr. Welliver. “Damned if I know what this means.”
“A sick prank.” Pasquantonio snorted. “That’s what it is. Children do ridiculous things.”
Dr. Welliver moved beneath the willow tree and stared up into the branches. “Do we know who did this?”
“Nobody’s owning up to it,” grunted Roman.
“We all know she did it,” a dark-haired girl said. “Who else would it be?” She pointed at Claire. “She sneaked out again last night. I saw her through the window. Night Crawler.”
“I didn’t do it,” Claire said. She stood off by herself at the edge of the woods, arms crossed over her chest as though to fend off the accusations.
“You were out. Don’t lie about it.”
“Briana,” said Dr. Welliver, “we don’t accuse people without proof.”
Jane eased her way through the gathering to see what had drawn them all to this place. Dangling from a lower branch of the willow tree were three dolls made of twigs and twine, suspended like rustic Christmas ornaments. Stepping closer, Jane saw that one of the dolls had a birch-bark skirt. A female. The twig dolls slowly twisted in the wind like little hangman’s victims, all of them splattered with what looked like blood. High in the willow tree, crows cawed, and Jane looked up. Saw the source of those splatters hanging above her head, and caught a whiff of decay. In disgust she backed away, her gaze fixed on the carcass that hung from that high branch.
“Who found it?” asked Dr. Welliver.
“We all did,” said Roman. “Every few days, I take ’em down this trail, pointing out how the forest changes. Those girls were the first to spot ’em.” He pointed to Briana and the two girls who always seemed to hover around her. “Never heard such hysterical caterwauling.” He pulled out a knife and sliced the rope that suspended the carcass, and the dead rooster plopped to the ground. “You’d think they never ate chicken,” he muttered.
“It’s Herman,” one of the boys murmured. “Someone killed Herman.”
Not just killed him, thought Jane. Slit him open. Pulled out his entrails and exposed them to the crows. This was no mere juvenile prank; this turned her stomach.
Dr. Welliver looked around at the students, who stood shivering as the first raindrops began to fall. “Does anyone know anything about this?”
“I didn’t hear him crowing this morning,” said one of the girls. “Herman always wakes me up. But not this morning.”
“I came down the trail yesterday afternoon,” said Roman. “Wasn’t hanging then. Must’ve been done last night.”
Jane glanced at Claire. The midnight rambler. The girl, suddenly aware of Jane’s gaze, stared back at her in defiance. A look that dared everyone to prove she had done it.
As raindrops splattered her dress, Dr. Welliver looked around at the circle of students, her arms spread as if offering a hug to anyone who needed one. “If anyone wants to talk to me about this later, my door is always open. I promise, whatever you tell me will stay just between you and me. Now.” She sighed, looking up at the rain. “Why don’t you head back?”
As the students left the clearing, the adults remained by the willow tree. Only when the children were out of earshot did Dr. Welliver say softly: “This is very disturbing.”
Maura crouched down over the slaughtered rooster. “His neck is broken. That’s probably what killed him. But then to gut him? Leave him here, where everyone will see him?” She looked at Dr. Welliver. “There’s meaning to this.”
“It means you’ve got one sick puppy here,” said Jane. She looked up at the three twig figures. “And what does that mean? Like creepy little voodoo dolls. Why did she do this?”
“She?” said Welliver.
“Sure, Claire denied it. But kids lie all the time.”
Dr. Welliver shook her head. “That brain injury made her impulsive. But it also made her almost incapable of deception. Claire says exactly what she thinks, even though it gets her into trouble. She denied it, and I believe her.”
“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.”
“T
hey’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.
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