Authors: Jennifer Walkup
“There’s no time to wait. We’ll see him at the end. Come on!”
Up ahead, I see a platinum blond figure turn into an alley. I blink, not sure if it’s the same guy from the barber shop or if my mind is playing tricks on me. I look behind me for Vaughn. He’s not there either.
How could Hank kill Ginny?
How how how?
He loved her. They had plans. They had a future. They were in love.
Like us. Like us. Like us
.
“Summer nights and summer days, every flavor, sixty-two ways.” Kelly reads from her paper.
“What are you talking about?” I snap.
She gives me a quizzical look. “The next clue?”
Deep breath. Deep breath.
“Which is obviously Scoops ice cream. Another easy one.” She takes big strides, turning the corner toward Scoops, and I follow her, looking everywhere for Vaughn. And unable to shake the feeling of being watched.
Inside Scoops, we find blood everywhere. I gag, unable to look.
“Shhh,” Kelly gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s fake, Lange.”
But it doesn’t feel fake. None of this does. The ice cream cases are smeared with red and the place is completely dark, lit only by the moon and the streetlights outside. It’s enough light to see by, but it’s eerie as hell. The back door is open, the aprons on the back hooks flapping in the breeze.
“The alley!” Kelly dashes for the door.
Outside, a huge crowd of students gathers in a circle. A body lies in the middle, and although I know it’s just a dummy and it’s all fake, it’s too much. I can’t look. I can’t stand it. Kelly pushes her way through to the center, but I hang back. I can’t be a part of this. I should have stayed home. Slowly, I back away from the crowd.
“Lange!” Vaughn is here and he’s out of breath, but he grabs my hand and squeezes. “I couldn’t find you,” he says.
It’s all happening so fast. The dead body with the black pants and rubber soled shoes and the people milling around it, making guesses right on top of the fake and splattered blood and Vaughn is here, just holding onto my hand, and then me, and my mind is flashing to the pictures I saw of Hank and the words Ginny wrote. And never got to write. I see our hands, held over and over through lifetimes and I see those candlesticks at Mrs. McDermott’s. Ginny’s candlesticks. And I’m just wondering over and over and over again how Hank could have killed her. How could he have done it?
“You’re dangerous,” I say. I don’t mean it to come out the way it does, but there it is.
He grabs my other hand, swinging them between us, playful. His eyes dance. “Am I now?” He says.
I drop his hands and take a step back. He must see something in my expression because the humor leeches out of him like a drain has been opened inside.
His eyes flash. Angry, then confused. Then hurt.
“Dangerous?” He says, voice rising on the last syllable. “I’ve been running around like crazy, looking all over for you and when I find you, this is what you say?”
“Wait!” I say. This isn’t how I wanted this to go. “This is all too much. Today… and Ginny, and this,” I wave around the scene. “The bodies and blood and… I found another letter.” I can barely get the words out.
Vaughn moves in to hear me, his head so close I can smell his sweat and musky shampoo.
“Hank,” I say, cautiously releasing the word like I’m unwrapping something explosive.
Vaughn’s eyes narrow.
“You,” I say. “Hank. Hank was Beau. Beau
was
Hank. He’s the one that killed her!”
Vaughn’s jaw clenches. “What are you talking about?”
“They were one and the same. Hank and Beau! She meant
her
beau, not Beau like a name. And if you are him, which obviously you are, then you’re Hank too. And if Hank killed Ginny … ” I swallow the boulder of a lump in my throat, watching the dark clouds that have moved into his expression. My fingers tremble against my leg, mirroring the way my insides feel like they’re rattling to pieces.
He grabs my hand roughly, his fingernails digging into the fleshy part of my palm. “There’s no way you really believe that. About me?” he pulls me away from the crowd. “Let’s go talk. Alone, where we can hear each other.”
But I can’t. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m terrified of him right now. I pull my hand away from his and plant my feet.
“No,” I say.
“No?” His eyes are wild with emotion, anger and hurt at war there.
“I—I can’t.” I take another step backward. I need to be alone. To think this through. “I’m sorry. I don’t think that about you. I don’t. I just need to digest all this.” I stutter.
His eyes are cold and dark, like marbles.
“Digest
it? You can’t be serious. Well go on then, save yourself from me.” He bites his lip and looks at the ground.
“Vaughn stop, this isn’t like you.”
“Really? Are you sure? You suddenly don’t know who I am, do you?” He spits the words as he leans in. His breath is warm on my cheek. He’s so right here and right now. He
can’t
be like Hank, can he?
“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out softly and I can’t make myself look up at him. “I
do
know who you are. Just give me a little time … to think … ” I have to work hard to keep my voice from crumbling.
He shakes his head, that quick flash of anger surfacing again. His mouth twists into a scowl. “That really stings, Lange. This is unbelievable.” And then he’s gone again. And I’m alone.
Tears burn behind my eyes. My heart sinks with the possibilities of loving Vaughn and fearing him at once. But I have to be careful.
I search the crowd anxiously until I see Kelly’s head bobbing way up ahead. I run after her, pushing frantically through people.
Someone solved it, I guess, when I realize I’m in the middle of the mob and we’re all running back to the community center, and I’m running along, listening to Kelly breathlessly explain it all. The dead barber, the missing shears. The spilled ice cream. Mugged by someone at the ice cream store.
I barely listen because twice on the way back, I swear I see the shady blond guy ducking into doorways, turning quickly away.
We push our way through the side doors of the community center, the roar of people moving like water through a broken dam.
Once we’re inside, the crowd disperses a bit, everyone rushing this way and that. I’m completely confused and don’t even understand how and where we’re supposed to report solving the crime. I slink toward the back of the room, watching everyone rush around in their excitement about The Hunt findings. The back doors are open too and within minutes it seems like all of Preston Academy is stuffed into the room. On stage, Purgatory warms up for the next set, guitar riffs blaring through the speakers. I can’t help it; I scan the stage, looking for Vaughn. Everything about tonight feels so wrong. It’s like I’m completely disconnected from everything in this room. I decide to find Kelly and tell her I’m going home. There’s really no reason to stick around.
But as soon as I turn, I run smack into Vaughn. He backs away quickly, not meeting my eyes. The crowd roars with excitement and I can barely hear myself think. I’m jostled by people moving toward the stage.
“Vaughn.” Despite my common sense, I reach out for him but he takes another step back before my fingers can touch his sleeve. His eyes are flooded with the same darkness as before, emotion radiating off of him. His gaze darts to the floor, the door, the walls. Everywhere but me.
Feedback screeches through the speakers and Vaughn shoots a look over his shoulder. “That’s my cue. Sound check time.”
I just nod as he walks away, feeling relief? Pissed? I don’t even know, but the fact that we’re not having a conversation right now feels like a very good thing.
I have to get out of here.
I look for Kelly. I just want this night to be over already.
A minute passes. Two. Who knows how many more.
It comes out of nowhere, really. The band is singing, Kelly’s finally coming toward me, she’s right by the back door. And then the room goes dark. Pitch black.
The music’s out too, the band singing for a few seconds before realizing they’ve lost power.
I wrap my arms around myself, inching backward, into the throngs of people. There’s laughter in the air, hoots and yells.
“What the hell?”
“We want music!”
“Come on, is this another murder!”
Bile rises in my throat.
I cover my mouth with my hand, shouldering into the person behind me, looking for some light.
A blood-curdling scream rings out, freezing time.
It’s five days after the rabbits, just like Ginny. Five days of clues. Five days later. If the timeline is right, this is the day of her murder. Murder
.
Shut up shut up shut up, keep moving.
Her killer is here
.
No, he’s not! Vaughn didn’t kill anyone.
He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t.
The screaming is nearby. It’s loud and getting louder. And I’m nearly trampled with people pushing all around me. I can’t figure out if they’re running to or from whatever is going on.
But I’m planted now. Planted to the floor in shock, listening to the wails.
Please make this be part of the charade. Part of The Hunt
.
But the shiver running up and down my spine tells me I know better.
The lights flicker on and off again. They’re dim, but bright as the noon sun to my unaccustomed eyes. Students press against the walls, confusion on their faces as they look at the scene in front of them, trying to figure out what it means.
“Someone call 9-1-1!”
Slowly, the faces in the room change. Confusion turns to fear as everyone realizes this isn’t part of the game. This isn’t fake.
And then I see her on the floor. Kelly. A bright red stain on her shirt. I move toward her, but someone pushes me back. It takes me a minute to realize it’s Mr. Murphy. Horror has turned his face into a scared mask.
“Lange, you don’t need to see this.” He tries to turn me around.
But I can’t just leave her there. That stain – my God, it’s blood.
I break free from his arms, and run toward her, slipping at the last second and nearly falling. Her hand trembles in mine as I search her vacant gaze. When she sees me, she forces herself to focus. I can actually see the effort it takes for her to bring her eyes to mine.
“Vaughn,” she whispers.
Then she closes her eyes and it’s only me that screams.
I
DON’T REMEMBER
driving home, but here I am, forcing a shaky key in the back door.
After the ambulance rushed Kelly to the hospital, the police questioned everyone for what felt like days. Even though I had almost nothing helpful to add, they talked to me forever, and by the time I was done, I couldn’t find Vaughn anywhere.
I tiptoe up the stairs, wondering if they got to question him before he disappeared.
In my room, moonlight provides the only light and I examine the things it touches—photographs, posters, my art supply box, a bottle of pear-scented lotion—as though I’m a stranger in my own house.
Something crackles beneath my feet and I reach for the light switch. The rug’s been moved and my sheets of clues are torn down the middle, flapping with the air that stirs up as I glide across the floor.
Someone’s been in here.
Was it him? Before the show? He was missing for quite a while …
I run through it in my mind but the timelines don’t jibe. Is someone else involved?
Stunned, I sit on the edge of my bed. It’s silent. No creaking footsteps upstairs. No hissing radiators. No lights in the hall. No shadows.
Mom!
Must find Mom.
Gathering the energy to stand is not easy. Pulling together enough courage to go looking through my house is even harder, but I grab an old tennis racket from the back of my closet and leave my room behind.
“Mom?” I call into the hallway. No answer. Not a single sound. When I flip on the hall light, a buzz and pop signals the end of the bulb’s life. Sure enough, it burns out. Great.
She has to be here. I had her car tonight. My mind argues that she’s probably in the attic, but I hear nothing.
What did he do to her? Whoever
he
is.
It’s Vaughn
. A voice inside me whispers. Kelly said his name.
Vaughn
.
Hank killed Ginny.
It’s Vaughn
.
Moving slowly through the second floor, I peer into all the dark bedrooms, then tiptoe quietly up the stairs, pausing for a breath on the landing.
The third floor has three bedrooms besides Mom’s, all of which have been shut up since we moved in. I can’t imagine the noise opening them will make, so I don’t. With my back to the wall, I continue down the hall. At least the light up here works, though it’s dim and fades in and out with the wind.
Mom’s door looms like a shut-up tomb. My bracelet rattles against it as I push it open.
“Mom?” My voice is tiny, the word like hardened gum on my tongue.
I click on the side lamp, which throws light across this corner of the room. Everything looks normal. Her bed is made, her lavender cardigan hanging on the closet doorknob. My feet whisper on the rug as I cross the room, my moonlit reflection barely recognizable in the dresser mirror.
The door to her studio is closed. A tornado churns through my intestines as I press my ear to the door. Silence.
The churning nags at me, and I knock softly. “Mom?”
Oh God, where is she? What’s happened to her?
I try the knob.
Locked.
In the glass bowl on her dresser, I find a bobby pin. Straightening it with my teeth, I kneel, digging it in the keyhole until the lock pops back. I straighten and take a huge, steadying breath before pulling the door open.
M
E.
V
AUGHN.
V
AUGHN.
Me. Vaughn and me. Me and Vaughn. In the barn, kissing. In my room. At the circle of ash that was Mrs. McDermott’s house. Him cradling me on the city steps, after I saw the rabbits.
And more. Nearly every moment we’ve spent together, captured on film. The pictures hang like accusations, clipped side by side on the wire she’s strung from one corner of the room to the other. I’ve been in here dozens of times, looking at her prints of still lifes. But now, it’s all … me. And Vaughn. I pluck them down one by one and fall onto a stool, flipping through them in the light of the dim desk lamp.