Thorn Abbey (25 page)

“Fire!”
someone yells.

Pandemonium ensues. People scream and scramble out of their seats. I snatch my phone from Max and try to call 911, but there’s still no signal. No one else around us has service either.

“The sprinklers should go off any second,” one of the teachers shouts nearby, trying to calm us.

“Tess! This way!” Max grabs my hand and practically drags me to the exit closest to us. He and I push at the double doors. They open slightly, then jam. Through the thin crack between the doors, I can just make out an orange lock, like for a bike, dangling from a chain.

Frantic, I glance around at the three other sets of double doors. People are pushing them, pounding their fists, shouting for help.

Oh my God.
Someone has barricaded all four exits and set
the place on fire.

Becca.

I cover my eyes with my hands and squint up at the ceiling. The smoke pouring out of the lighting fixtures and air vents is thicker and heavier now. Brown stains bloom and bubble across the white acoustic tiles, and the metal frames around them sag and crumple. Becca must have started the fire in the attic or whatever’s above the drop ceiling.

“Please stay calm!”
Headmaster Henle’s voice booms over the speakers. “Starting with the first row, please form an orderly line, make your way up the center aisle, and come up to the stage. There’s an emergency exit behind these curtains.”

More pandemonium. Everyone rushes to the front of the auditorium. The smoke swells and spreads and slowly banks down. It hovers a few feet above our heads like an ominous cloud.

Max tugs on my arm. “Tess, come on. We need to go!”

“Okay, okay!”

We join the mob storming toward the stage. My eyes sting and burn. Max coughs. The smoke continues to descend.

“Are you okay?” I gasp.

“Yeah, are you?” he asks.

A piece of acoustic tile comes crashing down, spitting flame. The drop ceiling is breaking up. Through the smoke, I
can make out a light fixture dangling precariously on a wire.

More screams, more chaos, more showering debris. A small fire sizzles and spreads across the carpet.

“Tess, look out!”
Max yells.

I feel his strong arms grab me from behind. At the same moment, Becca’s face flashes in my vision. “It’s your turn to die, bitch,” she says, laughing shrilly.

And then . . . darkness.

T
HIS TIME, THE DREAM IS DIFFERENT.
M
AX AND
I
ARE TOGETHER.
He is lying next to me, and we are holding hands. I’m not sure where we are—maybe in Hunters’ Meadow, maybe on the beach. The sun is blazing down on us, and when I close my eyes, I see white. His body is warm and familiar against mine. I feel peaceful, content.

But something is obviously bothering him.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“I’m so sorry, Tess.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I would have told you before. But I was afraid you’d hate me.”

I sit up and gaze down at him serenely. “Max! I could never, ever hate you.”

He sits up too and cradles my face with his hand. “I wish that were true. But it doesn’t matter now. I need to tell you everything. Before it’s too late.”

“Tell me what? Before
what’s
too late?”

He looks away. “I killed Becca.”

I smile and trail my finger down the jagged scar on his cheek. “Uh-huh.”

“No . . .
listen!
That night, she and I took a walk. To the beach. I told her that I wanted to break up.”

I stop smiling. He isn’t joking.

This dream is getting really weird.

“At first she tried to talk me out of it. She cried and begged,” Max says. “But I told her I was sure this time.”

“And?”

“She was furious,” he goes on. “She screamed at me, practically frothing at the mouth. I’d never seen her like that. Then she laughed at me. She said I was a stupid idiot . . . that she’d been getting with Killian behind my back the entire time we were together.”

“Her cousin Killian?” I say, as if I didn’t know.

“Yes, her cousin Killian. Anyway, by then we’d reached the cliff. When she told me the thing about Killian, I called her some pretty awful names and told her I never wanted to see her face again. She grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go.
We struggled, and next thing I knew, she went over the side of the cliff.”

“Oh my God!”

“It was horrible. The thing is, I have no idea if she fell by accident or if I pushed her or what. I ran down to the water to look for her. But I couldn’t find her.”

He is talking faster and faster now; the dream is speeding up.

“I should have just gone to the police and told them the truth. But I was scared they’d throw me in jail forever. So I did the dumbest thing I ever did. I covered it up. I took her favorite sailboat from the school marina and let it float out to sea. There was a storm later that night, so everyone figured her boat capsized and she drowned.”

“Oh, Max.”

I start to cry. I can’t stand the thought of him in so much pain.

But this is just a dream.
My
dream. I can help him.

Max wipes my tears away. “You hate me now, right?”

“No, I don’t hate you. What happened is in the past. You need to forgive yourself and let it go.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“How?”

“We’ll figure it out. Together.”

He laces his fingers through mine. “I love you, Tess.”

“I love you too, Max.”

“I’ll always love you.” His voice sounds far away.

“I’ll always love you too.”

He leans over me and kisses me on the lips tenderly. So tenderly.

“Let’s wake up now,” I tell him.

But it’s too late.

He’s gone.

When I open my eyes, Max is lying next to me, clutching my hand.

“Max?” I say. But my throat burns, and my voice is a useless rasp.

I start to get up, but pain sears through my head and forces me to stay still. What happened to me?

The air is dense with smoke and unbearably hot. It smells awful, like burning plastic. It’s also insanely loud. I hear flames roaring, water gushing, chain saws grinding.

Oh, right.
There was a fire in the auditorium.

“Is anyone trapped?” a man shouts. He sounds weirdly amplified.

Something tickles my face. There is a heavy cloth over my
nose and mouth. I touch it. Max’s school blazer. He must have put it there to protect me from the smoke.

“Thank you,” I whisper, squeezing Max’s hand. It hurts to move my head.

He squeezes back.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

His hand goes slack and falls away from mine.

“Max?”

To hell with the pain. I turn toward him. His eyes are closed. Blood gushes out of his head.

“MAX!”

A figure in black and bright yellow suddenly looms over us. Over Max. “We need more manpower here,
now
!” he yells.

No.
This can’t be happening.

I close my eyes and pray.

Please let him live.

Please let him live.

Please let him live.

H
E DOESN’T LIVE.

He was one of six students who didn’t make it.

Max died saving my life. From what the firefighters and the medics could piece together, he pushed me out of the path of a falling light fixture. It landed on him instead, and he suffered massive internal and external injuries. He was conscious long enough to put his blazer over my nose and mouth. He died soon after.

Three students are still in intensive care. Including Franklin, who suffered brain damage and is in a coma.

The girls—Priscilla, Yoonie, and Elinor—all escaped with minor injuries, as did Killian.

In the hospital, Officer Phibbs asked me a bunch of questions about Devon. Or the person everyone
thinks
is Devon. She’s missing, and the police are searching for her. She’s the lead suspect in the arson.

According to Officer Phibbs, she left fingerprints on the centralized smoke detection and fire sprinkler systems when she disabled them. And she crawled through a maintenance hatch to throw gasoline-soaked rags on top of the drop ceiling. The fire grew like crazy in that confined space before anyone noticed it, at which point it was too late.

Officer Phibbs asked me if I could think of any reason my roommate tried to burn down the auditorium with all her classmates and teachers in it.

She’s not my roommate,
I wanted to say.
She’s a demon who killed my roommate, then possessed her body.

But I didn’t have it in me to explain. He wouldn’t have believed me, anyway.

I just hope she’s back in hell, where she belongs.

I’m ten minutes late for the memorial service for Max and the other fire victims. It took me forever to figure out what to wear. I wanted to look nice for Max.

When I realized that Max wouldn’t be there, and in any
case would have teased me for obsessing about an outfit, I smiled. Then laughed. Then burst into tears. I couldn’t stop sobbing for almost an hour.

I hurry toward the quad, smoothing down my navy-blue plaid skirt over my panty hose with the run in them. The service is being held there because Lanyon Hall has been closed indefinitely for renovations. Fortunately, it’s pretty warm out for March.

After the fire, Mom came and stayed with me for ten days. At first, I couldn’t eat or sleep. I couldn’t do anything but lie in bed in a fetal position. The doctor prescribed some medication for me, though. And now I’m able to function. Sort of. Barely.

Mom had planned to return for the service, but she came down with the flu and had to cancel. She’s left me half a dozen messages on my phone in her croaky flu voice, asking me if I’m okay and telling me how much she loves me.

When I get to the quad, Yoonie and her chamber group are playing that uplifting Bach piece people always play at funerals. Headmaster Henle, Dean Sanchez, a priest, and a rabbi are standing up front, their heads bent respectfully.

I look around for a place to sit. There are hundreds of people there, weeping and passing around Kleenexes. I spot Elinor and Priscilla holding hands in the back, dressed in identical black suits and sunglasses. Killian is with his lacrosse friends.

For a moment, I consider returning to Kerrith. Or walking through the woods to “The Eternal Spirit,” where Augustus and Aurora Thorn are buried . . . where Max and I first kissed. I don’t belong here. This isn’t where I want to mourn for him. I would rather be alone with my memories. My grief feels too private, too boundless to share with a crowd.

Then I spot Mr. and Mrs. De Villiers in the front row. I can’t see their faces, but I know it’s them. I recognize his big shoulders, which are so like Max’s, and her glossy auburn hair.

I take a deep breath and walk over to them.

Mr. De Villiers glances up at me. He looks ten years older than the last time I saw him. “Why, hello, Tess,” he says with a frail smile.

Mrs. De Villiers dabs at her eyes with a white silk handkerchief. Then she pats the empty seat next to her.

Surprised, I sit down. She takes my hand in hers.

“Max spoke of you often,” she says quietly. “You made him very happy.”

I start crying again.

She starts crying too. We bend our heads together, grieving.