Odin's Murder (17 page)

“Your mother actually expressed her wish that you remain on campus.” His eyes search his messy office, looking for something. Nothing much seems new since the last time I was here, except possibly more dust, but he rummages on his desk, finds a light blue sticky note. “Her words were ‘Be his sister, not his parent.’”

I shake my head, irritated with the familiar phrase. My phone is full of them, texts from Julian, from my mother, from everyone.  It’s an easy insult to throw my way when no one else is around to take care of him when he loses his head on a knowledge bender.

“Call him if you like, or send him a text.” His eyes soften. “It’s only for a day or two.”

“Will you let me know if anything changes?”

“Of course, though I’m sure he will tell you himself.”

Again the bird behind Dr. Anders protests in his cage, batting his wings against the metal bars. “What happened to the other one?” I ask.

“I never keep them caged very long,” he says. “I lure them in with their own curiosity, watch them for a day or two, and then let them go.”

“What do you feed them?”

“They like apples. This one has had two today.”

“He’s massive!” I stand and move a little closer. The crow is digging at the bottom of his cage, past the paper, marking the metal with frantic scratches. “What’s he doing?”

“Some innate habit. He’s probably attracted to the shine of the metal. Maybe he’s attempting to make a nest.” Dr. Anders tests the latch on the cage.

The bird stops its scratching and stares at me with one beady eye, as though accusing me of something. “Guess he doesn’t like being observed,” I say, grinning at it. “I’ve read that a crow can memorize your face just from one encounter. If you’re nice to them, they recognize it, and if you aren’t or they find you threatening in any way they’ll avoid you at all costs.”

“A good survival instinct.”

“Yeah.” The bird looks between the two of us, making clicking noises with its beak. Guilt somersaults in my chest. I’m chatting about crows when my brother is alone at the hospital. “I should probably go call Jules.”

Dr. Anders smiles. “Good idea. And let me know if you need any assistance, now that you’re momentarily down a group member.”

“That makes two, now.” I glance away from his eyes as my thoughts stray to Faye’s tantrum in class today. “We’re having a hard time saying whole, aren’t we?”

His smile has a wry twist, and I know he knows what I’m referring to. “I think you’re all up to the challenge.”

“Do you know why Sonja didn’t come back this year?”

“Her mother didn’t say. Have a good afternoon, Miss Erikssen.”

“Thanks.” I step out of the office, my phone already in my hand.

*

I’m on my fifteenth message when Jeremy finds me. I don’t make room for him on the bench I’m using as a phone booth, but he doesn’t take the hint. “Hey,” he says, wedging in next to me until I’m forced to move over. “I heard about Julian. Is everything okay?”

“Dr. Anders says he’s fine, but I haven’t been able to reach him. It keeps going to voicemail.”

“I’m sure he’ll call when he can.” His arm wraps around my waist. “His laptop bag was in Dr. A.’s office. I dropped it off in the dorm earlier.” Despite myself I lean into his warmth. “I’m about to head down to the field. Tonight is game night, want to come?”

I shake my head. “No thanks, I think I’m going to beg out.”

“You’ll need a pass from Zoe.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” She’d met me in the hall, and walked with me back to the quad as I’d made my unanswered calls.

“Want me to come by later? I can probably duck out.” His lips are on my temple and instead of feeling good, I just feel trapped. Julian saw this coming. To be honest, I did too.

“No, that’s okay.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.” I study his face. Handsome. Athletic. Nice. A hint of rebellion with that tattoo on his chest. Everything I should want. But he’s also a little too eager, and has a bit of that jock attitude I despise, not to mention one eye is a little browner than the other. “Look, Jeremy, I think maybe we should reconsider this.”

“Reconsider what?” He’s not stupid, which means I’m coming from left field.

“This thing between us. It’s been fun and everything but I don’t want you to get in trouble and with Julian being in the hospital, and the group being down another person, well, I’m getting a little stressed out. Just seems like maybe we should end this now instead of later.”

“You were planning on ending this?” More shock. Maybe he is a little obtuse.

“Well, yeah. I’m not really into the long distance thing and I want to keep my options open as I go into college. Start off with no strings, y’know?”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“It would never work, and you know it. You’re in
graduate
school. I’ll be a freshman.” I grin at him, and wriggle my shoulders in mock horror. “That’s worse than bringing your cousin to prom.”

“It is?”

“Look, let’s just end this on a high note, and go back to how we started. Student and teacher. The way it’s supposed to be.” He doesn’t say anything. I lean over and hug him, kiss his cheek. He doesn’t move. “You’ve been awesome,” I tell him. “I’ll see you around.”

When I get to the front door of the dorm, I look back. He’s still sitting there. I give him a small wave. He returns it but doesn’t smile.

17.

Empathy

The counselors are talking about Julian in fake whispers at dinner. An allergic reaction to a bug bite, though by the end of the spaghetti with mystery meat sauce, the students are spreading the news that he’s been savaged by a rabid bat. Jeremy slinks out of the hall as soon as he hears the news, off to comfort Memory, I’m sure.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Faye asks, the first time she’s spoken since her blow-up in class. “He was fine when I saw him this morning. Maybe I should have stayed with him?”

“They said it was a bee sting. Nothing you could have done to prevent that,” Danielle offers. This doesn’t seem to pacify Faye and I’m not surprised when she excuses herself muttering something about herbs for healing. Danielle chuckles as we watch her exit the dining hall. “She’s a little pistol, isn’t she? What was that all about?”

“She’s into the holistic natural stuff. Plants and runes and junk. I don’t get it, but she believes in it.” A week ago I would have mocked her with the rest of the guys in my unit. Now I’m defending a weird chick and her witch pebbles.

“Julian’s sister is probably pretty upset.” Her blond hair falls forward, concealing her expression.

“I’m surprised she doesn’t break out into some kind of psychic rash.” Guilt snarls up my brain the second I say it. I need to get in a fight or steal something.

“Walk to the field with me?” Danielle asks, piling her trash on top of her tray.

I hesitate, thinking about going to find Memory or consoling Faye, but Cherry has Jeremy and Faye is probably knee deep in Saint John’s warts or whatever. They don’t need me. Danielle walks next to me, but when I move to slide my hand around her waist she steps away, and turns to face me.

“Look, Ethan,” she says, then stops, smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were,” I say, confused. I tug on the belt loop of her shorts, trying to pull her closer.

“Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve got something going on with Memory Erikssen.” When I start to shake my head, she calls my bullshit with a look worthy of my social worker. “There is no way I’m going to compete with that,” she says. “Not with her. And I think I’d like to walk away now, before this turns into a huge camp drama.”

“Okay.” I shove my hands in my pockets, and try to think of something to say. I’m used to girls breaking up with me, hell, a week is kind of a record, but I don’t know how to act around ones who are nice about it.

She reaches out, but not to slap my face. She untwists my camera bag strap and smoothes it across my chest. “Do me a favor?” she asks. “Send me a copy of the pictures you took the other night.”

“I can do that.”

She smiles then, for real, and nods her head up toward the hill. “They’re playing dodgeball in the upper field. Go join them.”

Yeah, she’s a smart girl, alright.

*

For the first time since I was six years old, I spend the night in a room to myself. The noises in the dorm ricochet off the walls, and I wake—if I’m ever truly asleep—with each urinal flush and slamming door.

I give up at dawn, take advantage of the privacy to jerk off, and Danielle is right, I do have a thing for Memory Erikssen. Figures I’d want the girl who kisses like a spike through the brain.
Fuck
.

I shower the thick night humidity off my skin, pack up my camera bag and head over to the art building. A security guard inside watches me punch in my student code, hands me a clipboard to sign, and buzzes the door that leads to the graphic arts lab.

The lab tech has a Mohawk and drinks black coffee straight from the carafe. I decide he is in fact, a she, after she asks if I need any help.

“Um. Can you help me figure this out?” I ask. “I need to print these.”

“Sure.” She helps me connect up to the printer network, swipes my ID card to charge the materials. She points to a picture of Memory, her face tilted into the sun, eyelashes casting long shadows on her cheek. “Nice. I like the way the sun makes her skin glow.”

The printing takes a long time and I’m late for study group, but Memory walks in after me. Her eyes are swollen under the make-up, and she’s moving like she’s half asleep, too, but she’s smiling.

“I talked to Julian today,” she says. “Well, not talked, I guess, but we texted. He says the cell service in the hospital is spotty and he had to walk down the hall before my messages came through. He was stung several times and the reaction was pretty bad, so they may make him wait another day before he can come back. The swelling and rash haven’t completely gone away yet, which I guess is making the doctors cautious, but he said he has faith in us to keep the project on track.”

“Did he hurt his head when he got stung? Since when does Julian have faith in any of us?” I joke.

I know,” she says. “I blame it on the drugs.”

“Did he say anything else?” Faye asks. “Any instructions or messages?”

“No, he said he talked to Mom and everything is fine and he’ll be back here tomorrow.” She opens her bag. “Faye, before we get started, do you want to fill us in on what you were talking about in Dr. Anders’ class?”

“Yeah, what was the other book you were talking about?” I ask Faye. “The one that relies on the book by the Vander guy?”

She looks at us, and then her gaze falls to where Julian usually sits. “Ian Anders’ dissertation on the antagonist in folktales,” she says. Her voice is almost a whisper. “Julian thinks he plagiarized Johann Vanguard.”

“What, like word for word?” I ask. “He copied the book we have?

“No, like he found an unpublished manuscript or something. He said it’s the same language, the phrasing, the way he constructs sentences, it’s all the same. Like they could have been the same person.”

“That’s crazy. Julian couldn’t know that.” I stare at his empty seat. “I mean, he’s probably been influenced by his writing, sure, but stolen his work? That’s a pretty big accusation.”

“Writing has fingerprints,” Memory says. “That’s what Jules says. Like anyone can hear a Dr. Seuss book and know who wrote it.”

“Hemingway,” Faye says. “He has short choppy sentences.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I say. “Everyone who has read a Bachman book knows it’s really Stephen King, but I just can’t see Anders as a criminal.”

The girls look at me like I’d grown a second nose.

“You like to read?” Faye asks.

“What exactly does a criminal look like?” Memory asks. I shrug, nod once to Faye. There’s not a lot else to do in lock-up, except read. And pick fights. I ignore Memory, who turns back to the other girl. “What else did he tell you?”

“I don’t know more than that. He didn’t tell me much,” she mumbles. “We, I— Did he mention me at all? When he texted to you?”

Cherry shakes her head.

“Someone dropped his bag and laptop off in our room. I saw it on his bed last night when I got in,” I tell them.

“Do you have anything to share?” Memory asks me with a sigh. “That doesn’t accuse the biggest scholar in his field of being a fraud?”

I open my own bag and pull out my portfolio. “I printed out some photos in the art lab this morning. These are most of what I’ve taken since we arrived on campus.” I extract the stack from my bag and spread them across the table.

“There aren’t isn’t as many as I expected,” Memory says. “You’ve always got that camera in your face.”

“I’ve been told I’m a pretty good shot,” I say. The photo finish paper is expensive, and I hadn’t been sure how much money Mary had put into my student account.

Memory shakes her head but sifts through the images. She skips the ones of herself and Faye, picks up the ones from Sonja’s house. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, holding up a picture.

“Nope. That’s the wallpaper in the dining room.”

“Look at all the names woven into the vines,” Faye leans over her shoulder.

“Weird. They’re handwritten. Like a giant family tree.” Memory glances at each one, moves onto the next, never lingering over any.

“It’s actually a fairly common practice, to paint your lineage on the wall. Especially in tombs, and nurseries. But this is too huge. Like it would have to be for thousands of years.”

“That whole house is weird,” Memory says. “I can’t believe Sonja grew up there, it’s so out of date and creepy. She’s always so put together.”

“Her mom is the one interested in the crows,” I tell them.

“It’s true,” Memory says. “Sonja’s room was a normal bedroom. All of the crow stuff was in the common areas.”

“Then maybe we should try to find her mother again. It seemed like she was only out for the day or something—the door was unlocked,” Faye offers.

“We could, but I don’t know, it seems like a dead end.” I’m withholding the full truth, what Constance told me about Sonja’s mother and her fascination with the birds, but everyone seems on edge and the last thing I need is for one of the girls to go off campus again while Julian is gone. I grab another stack of photos, thumb through, split the pile and pass half to each girl. “Here.”