by Abigail Boyd
I turned to Hugh, expecting him to be ready to go as well. But instead, he was stalking in the direction of Phillip Rhodes. I gulped and followed him.
Both Cliff Ford and Phillip Rhodes were standing around Ambrose's father. A bear of a man, I recognized him from the commercials of his car dealerships. The deals keep getting better! I heard him bark in my head.
He kept wiping his face with his hands, like his cheeks were hot. His meaty jaw was strained. He kept getting up and pacing back in forth in one spot, as if he didn't know which direction to travel in.
"What are you doing here?" Ford asked Hugh roughly as we joined them. I stood behind Hugh, feeling embarrassed, like I was relieving Hell Day up close. Ford stepped in front of Ambrose's father.
"I have every right to be here," Hugh said, standing his ground. "I'm worried this has to do with Robert Warwick, with the murders last year."
"It's possible," Phillip Rhodes said dismissively. I wondered if the man owned anything other than thousand dollar suits and wingtips.
"Possible? Hugh repeated sarcastically. "How can you say that? I would think you would be just as concerned as I am, considering how your son was almost shot by him last year, just like my daughter."
"I never said I wasn't concerned," Phillip said.
"Aren't you the troublemaker from Hell Day?" Cliff asked suspiciously, peering more closely into Hugh's face.
"He was the one who spoke at Hell Day, yes," Phillip said. This caused Ford to back down, just as certainly as if Phillip had told him "sit, dog". "He's also Ariel here's father."
Just then, I noticed Henry ambling up to our group. He was wearing glasses with shoegazer frames, which I'd never seen him in, and a casual sweatshirt and pants. The sweatshirt had holes in the sleeves for his thumbs. We exchanged a loaded glance, but didn't say a word.
"You said you only think it's possible that Warwick was behind this crime," Hugh said. "But who else could it have been?"
"They're saying that Ambrose was in an altercation with another boy," Phillip said, more gently so that Ambrose's still-weeping father couldn't hear. "The problem is, there don't seem to be any witnesses."
"My daughter says that he left the dance floor around 10:40," Ford butted in, hands in his pockets. Suddenly the tragedy was turning everyone into comrades. It was unsettling; as much as Lainey crying at my dining room table.
"Did you see anything?" I asked Henry.
"I was home all night. I didn't go to the dance," Henry said bluntly. I felt relief, even though I didn't realize that I'd been thinking he was involved.
"I think the best thing to do is lock our doors, and report anything out of the ordinary," Phillip said. "Apart from that, what else can we do?"
We stood together, not speaking then. The only one making noise was Ambrose's father, who couldn't stop sobbing, his harsh cries echoing in the night.
CHAPTER 29
I FIGURED I should pack my bags when I got home. And I was so frightened at that point, it didn't sound like that bad of an idea this time. When we arrived home, with no more new information than when we'd left, Claire was sitting at the dining room table, sipping coffee. She'd made a fresh pot recently.
She half-stood up from her chair when we entered. "Well?"
"Well, nothing." Hugh said. He chucked his keys in a bowl on the counter. His eyes were rimmed with pink from being tired. It was nearly two in the morning. "But I want every door and window in this house locked. Ariel, you're sleeping upstairs in the guest room. And if you hear any noises, any at all, tell one of us immediately."
"Should I be packing my suitcase?" I asked wearily.
Claire looked expectantly at Hugh.
"Let's just get through tonight, and see where we are in the morning," Hugh said. "You just got back, I'm not sending you off again immediately."
I settled myself into the guest room for the night, not even bothering to go down to my room to get anything. I could hear my parents talking quietly through the wall, but I couldn't make out their words. Laying on my back, I stared at the blue ceiling.
Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined Ambrose's throat cut, blood running down his shoulders and collarbone and pooling on the ground around him. Like someone had laid him down on a blanket of blood.
I wished Theo's mom hadn't picked this particular weekend to go out of town. But I knew it was selfish to rely on her being my security blanket all the time. She'd be back soon.
Jenna didn't follow me upstairs, since she was still giving me the cold shoulder. Thinking about her, I realized that connection — Jenna and Ambrose had something going, even if it was a mild flirtation. And Warwick killed Jenna...but I couldn't connect the dots any further. I didn't know how Nancy Drew made it without peacing out.
The night passed without incident. Neither of my parents looked like they'd gotten any sleep in the morning. Claire went off to do overtime at work. Hugh had me accompany him to Erasmus when he went in the afternoon. I figured soon I'd have to go around in a carrier strapped to one of their backs at all time.
Gwen had gone up north to visit relatives that weekend, so it was just him and me. When I complained of there being nothing to do, he put me to work cleaning up the break room and his makeshift office.
Theo had given me a stack of sketches to drop off, to fill up the spaces in the wall of works that had sold. After I'd tidied up, I set about putting them in frames. Normally Hugh was picky about how the work in his gallery was matted and framed, but I got a pass this time. I knew if it was really bad, he'd just take them down and redo them.
I'd been framing them in the break room, sketches all over the table. I went back out to the main part of the gallery to pick up some more glue.
When I walked in, I had a shock. Nurse Callie was there, engaged in conversation with Hugh. Both of them were laughing brightly. Red lipstick made a bow of her lips, and she was wearing a low-cut red and black shirt. I hadn't seen Hugh acting so boyish and blatantly flirtasious in a long time, when he'd chat up the waitresses at the restaurant and leave Claire fuming.
"It's something, that's for sure," Callie said. Her hand was on Hugh's forearm, and he wasn't making any move to take it off.
"Hey, Hugh. What's up?" I asked, making my presence known.
Both of them jumped, and turned their heads towards me. I could read guilt all over their faces.
"Hi, Ariel. Done with the framing already?" Hugh asked, taking a telling step away from Callie. She dropped her hand from his arm, and rubbed her neck self-consciously.
"Yeah, I'm done. What are you doing here, Callie?"
"Oh, I was just telling your dad, I bought some new living room furniture and I wanted to get a painting to hang behind the couch. Give it some color in there."
I got the distinct feeling I had walked in on something private. I thought of all those hushed phone calls, all the secrecy. I wouldn't think of my father as someone to cheat.
"And then we got to talking about the murder of that boy at your school," Hugh explained.
"It's awful," Callie said. "There's been so much drama in our little town this past year. It just needs to go back to being quiet."
"Yeah, I can see why you would laugh about that," I observed dryly.
Both of them looked shocked, which pleased me.
"Oh, no, Ariel," Callie said, too innocently. "I was just telling Hugh...your dad...about McPherson's new anti-bullying policy. Like Ambrose was a bully."
I opened my mouth to speak again, although I didn't know what to say. My phone vibrated in my pocket, saving me from having to come up with something.
Ariel can we meet up? Henry had sent.
I excused myself into one of the rooms of paintings. I could hear Callie and Hugh talking, but I tuned them out. I didn't want to deal with this new knowledge now, on top of everything else. There was only so much my brain could take before it exploded.
Where? I texted Henry back.
Ballrom found out sum more to tell u. im waiting the
re, in the back room
I wondered if his keypad was sticking. He normally spelled everything perfectly, or at least utilized his autocorrect. I cleared my throat, trying to prepare an excuse for Hugh.
"I need to run to the corner store," I told him.
"Ariel, I don't want you going on your own..." Hugh said.
"It's bright and sunny out there, Hugh. I'm sure Ariel will be okay," Callie said.
I was prepared to blackmail him with knowledge of his tryst, whether real or imaginary. If it had been my mother, she would have never let me go. Hugh looked conflicted, but then he nodded. "Do you need any money?"
"No, I'm fine. I'll be back in a few minutes."
It felt like I became an accomplice to whatever they were doing by leaving them alone together. But I was curious as to what Henry had to say. I wondered if he'd found out more about Ambrose's murder.
I rushed down the sidewalk with my hands in my pockets. What on earth was Hugh doing? I understood that there had been a lot of stress in our house the last year, but did he really need to take up and start having an affair?
Of course, I could be jumping to conclusions. But the whole thing looked really suspicious. The way Callie had been touching his arm, the way she used his first name so casually. It was intimate. From my knowledge, they only knew each other from the rare occasions they'd spoken at my school. I would definitely be quizzing him when I got home.
I expected the ballroom to be buzzing with activity like usual, which is why it surprised me that he would want to meet there. But the workmen had apparently gone home for the day. No cars were parked along the curb. From the outside, it looked totally deserted. A perfect place to keep our interactions a secret.
I knocked on the door, but it swung open at my touch.
"Henry? Are you in here?" I called. I knocked on the open door again. It was very dark inside, since there was still canvas covering the front windows. I couldn't see anyone or anything farther into the ballroom.
Cars rumbled past on the street, traffic picking up as people came home from work. Remembering Henry's words about not wanting to be seen by Thornhill, I shut the door behind me. I fumbled for a light switch on the wall, but came up empty. It was so dark I could barely see my hands, and goosebumps prickled on my arms.
Making my way towards what I thought was the back, I pushed through another, slimmer door. It was still so dark that I could only make out the vague shapes of things.
There were numerous signs, telling me that something was wrong. Why I was foolish and ignored those signs, I didn't know. Maybe I still had some immature idea that I was invincible in the day. That he would only come for me at night.
"Henry, if this is your idea of joke..." I warned.
The lights came on in a blinding flash. I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus. A figure was standing up on an orchestra stage at the back of the room. Sets of heavy mustard yellow drapes ran down the sides of the walls, but I realized that they were just for show; there were no windows.
"Hi, Ariel. How have you been?" Mr. Warwick asked brightly from his perch on the stage. He hopped down and landed with a thud. "Me, I haven't been so hot."
He stood ten yards away from me. The room was long, with parquet square wood floors and freshly painted beige walls. The garish yellow curtains looked like a holdover from the dancing days, but there had apparently been no attempt to get rid of them.
He was watching me, waiting patiently for the answer to his question.
"I've been fine," I said, my voice warbling. I took a step backwards, in the direction of the door.
"That's just super to hear." He had been right; he didn't look at all well. He'd dropped a lot of weight, and his graying skin hung from gaunt cheekbones. His arms were like twigs. He wore a scraggly brown t-shirt drooping over jeans that looked far too big for him.
"How did you get Henry's phone?" I asked, my voice warbling.
"Oh, I didn't think he'd need it anymore," Warwick said, bobbing his head to the left. I looked over and noticed with horror that Henry was knocked out, slumping against the wall like a sack of potatoes. His hands were behind his back, a piece of duct tape slapped tightly across his mouth. His head was flopped to the side, and I worried he might be dead.
I swiftly spun around, reaching for the door handle. Grabbing it, I yanked at the door in vain, but it was shut tightly. The doorknob was smooth, no space for a key.
"If you're looking for a way to unlock it, good luck. I have the only key," he said, dangling it from between his fingertips.
"I'll scream," I said, coming out pathetically as a whisper.
"I'm sure you will," Warwick said in amusement, grinning like a skull. "But these walls are soundproof, an old renovation from the dancing days. The old phonograph music was too loud for the neighbors. No one will hear you. But please, go ahead and try."
I sucked in a lungful of air and let it out in a screech. Henry stirred, moving his head against the wall, but then it flopped back down again. At least he was alive. I just didn't know how long I would be.
Warwick hopped off of the stage, and started slowly advancing towards me. I pressed my back up against the door, praying that someone had heard my scream, but knowing he was probably right.
I had forgotten the phone in my hand. I held it up to my face, eager to text Hugh. I had no service at all, 0 bars.
"Lead-lined walls, remember?" Warwick said. "I had to go out back to text you."
He was walking agonizingly slowly, at a snail's pace.
"Did you kill Ambrose?" I asked.
"Of course I did," he said, rolling his eyes. "He was a loose canon, he had to be dealt with. I just regret it was so damn messy. I wish I had something other than a hunter's knife, but you make do with what you have, y'know?"
"But why?" I asked. "Why?"
He paused, hands suspiciously behind his back. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions. Here's the part where the villain explains his dastardly plan. Normally, I would think that's so cliche, but I know you're a seeker of knowledge, and it's just eating you up inside not knowing. So let me tell you a little story. Pretend we're in class."
"Ambrose sent a message to your friend to meet us at the gas station last year. She trusted me, since I was friends with your dad, and she trusted him. Didn't sense any harm. She just thought I was the cool guy who palled around with teenagers. Actually I think you're a bunch of bratty little shits, who completely disregard those who came before them. But that's not the point.
"She got into our van, willingly. Only we drove in the opposite direction than the party, to the Dexter Orphanage. Remember that silly old place? And then we took her downstairs, and bled her."
He brought out one hand to make a stabbing motion. I winced. Even though I knew the truth, it still made me feel sick.
"I knew it was hard for Ambrose, because he had a schoolboy crush on her. But his family wanted it as much as me. I killed him because I didn't want him to tell. And while I was here, I thought I'd torch the orphanage, too."
"It was you?" I asked in shock. I had never suspected him in that.
"I have a little problem with fire," he said. He brought out his other hand. Instead of the weapon I was expecting, he was clutching Jenna's lighter, the one her ghost form had been playing with for the past few months. "That pissed them off. I set the ones at the school last year, too. They always leave me to clean up their dirty work. I'm so sick of doing cleaning. But I love how destructive and hungry fire is. It makes short work of all my chores, makes them something beautiful. If I'd had the chance, I would've burned those girls, too."
I remembered the incinerator in the basement of the school.
"Why did you set fire to the orphanage?"
"Because they betrayed me," Warwick said bitterly. He was caressing the lighter in a very creepy way. "And it's so important to them."
He was babbling again. I couldn't make sense of his words.
"Oh, how is the new history teacher treating you?"
he asked jovially, like we had been having a normal conversation up until now.
"He's boring," I admitted, the nerves of my arms tingling as goosebumps erupted there. "No interesting tales, no embellishments about Macedonia and wild parties."
If I could just keep him talking...talking him down...just to give me time. I just needed a little bit of time...
He'd gotten much closer. I'd shifted off to my right, and we were circling each other now, although he was keeping a bit of distance. I think he was enjoying the game, like a spider wrapping up his prey.
"I've missed your dad. Is he doing okay?"
"I think you wrecked his life," I said softly.
"Sorry to hear that," he said, and it was the only time that I saw the person that he used to be, the man I'd grown up with as practically an uncle.
"Now here's my question for you. And it's about to get esoteric up in here. They know you are aware of some things. That you might even have Sight. But how much do you see?"
I felt brave in my impeding danger, brave enough to admit things I wouldn't otherwise. "You mean Jenna? I've seen her and all the girls you killed."
"Now, now. I didn't kill them all, just your friend. The other two, like I said, were only a clean up job. I was left with the smelly, squishy aftermath."
"Why do I see Jenna's ghost? Do you know?"
"You must have destroyed the symbol," he said simply. "Their spirits are bound to the symbol when the bloodfeeding ritual is performed, part of absorbing the energy. They remain locked there, in Dark, until the symbol is destroyed. But how did you get beneath the shed?"
"I have ways," I said cryptically. It all made sense now. It felt incredibly strange to hear him use the terminology from Other Worlds like it was normal, everyday speech.
"Just like when I scrubbed off those symbols in the basement at Hawthorne," he said. "Those other two brats were released into Limbo, too."
"You're going to kill me too, aren't you?" I asked, my voice shaking. Henry had stirred again, but he was still passed out, and I new there was no way he could help.
We were facing in opposite directions now, me with my back to the orchestra stage, him with his back to the door. He pulled the huge hunter's knife out of his waistband.
