The Little Woods (31 page)

“They drowned? How is that possible?”

“If I could just make you understand … I saw what was happening, but I couldn’t save them.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Make me understand.”

“It wasn’t the night of the fire. They were already gone by then. It was the night before, and what a beautiful night it was,” she said, her voice trembling. “It was filled with stars and strange winds, winds that would eventually lead to the fire,” she continued. “And it was hot. None of us could sleep, it was so hot. I’d recently discovered jimsonweed, and I’d been
experimenting with dosages, purely for personal use. I took quite a lot that night. And you see, it’s hard to remember a lot of what happened. Around midnight we all gave up on sleeping because of the heat, and I told the girls to get their bathing suits on. We were going to the pond. They were thrilled, of course. How fun, you know.” She smiled brightly, her eyes even farther away. “I was always doing things like that. I was a very fun mom. We headed out, and I was reacting strangely to the herb. I’d never taken that much of it before. And when we reached the pond, I lay down on my back and watched the stars. And you know, I spoke with a goddess that night. I did. I can’t tell you which one, but she came to me and she whispered important things in my ear. Things about the world, about how it really works. Did you know that there is no such thing as a soul?” She shook her head, her brow suddenly creased with pain. “I must have dozed off. At some point I awoke, and I saw them there, bobbing in the water—that’s what happens when you drown, you know. You don’t flail about. You can’t. Your arms become fastened to your sides. It’s like the water nymphs are grasping at you, pulling you down to their depths, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them. They were probably still alive at that point, but I was powerless to save them. It was as if I were watching them in a film. There was no way of breaking through the wall. At some point, things changed. I could move, I could act, but by that point, it was too late.”

I stared on in horror. She clutched her wounded hand to her chest, smearing blood across the mint chiffon.

Her face crumpled. “I can’t explain to you what any of this
was like for me. I pulled them from the water. I wept over them. I buried them out here and then, when it was safe, brought them inside with me. I prepared them. I honored them. You have to understand.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe it. I still can’t believe what happened to me, that the gods would be so cruel.”

My mind spun. I knew I should leave it there, that pressing her further could have disastrous consequences, but I’d been waiting ten years for this. I had to know. “No. That’s not true. At least one of them was strangled,” I said. “One of them didn’t drown. She was strangled.”

Her eyes narrowed, and that horrible fire leapt into them again. “You don’t know what it was like,” she growled. “To hate your own daughter. She ruined my life. She gave me nothing in return. She was a monster, a wraith. What was I supposed to do? She was screaming in my face, saying I’d let Clare drown. What was I supposed to do? I had to stop her.”

“So you strangled her.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Fighting off tears. “They both drowned. I told you. They drowned.” In an instant she sprang to her feet and started walking, clenching and unclenching her fists, rage burning in her eyes. I sprang up too and tried to assume a casually defensive position.

“Have some respect for a mother,” she hissed. “You’re, all of you, you’re just like her—just like Iris. As if changing one grade was going to save her whole miserable existence.”

My breath caught. So that was what Iris had been blackmailing her for—a grade? Iris had risked her life for something
as trivial as a grade? That was possibly the most heartbreaking thing I’d ever heard. But of course, to Iris, the grade would have been more than a grade; it would have been assurance that she could stay at St. Bede’s, that she could be near the man she loved.

“That’s what Iris found, didn’t she? That’s what she was using as leverage, the bones you’d been hiding for ten years.”

She nodded, her eyes somewhere very far away.

“She was supposed to be helping me organize my home office. She was supposed to stay in the office. I left her for fifteen minutes, and she went to my bedroom. She found the bones. I tried to explain to her, just like I’m trying to explain to you, but Iris … she didn’t understand.”

As I watched Asta try to hold herself together, her body clenching itself in abnormal ways, I wondered if Noel had made it back to campus. I wondered if Carlos had found Cryker. Was someone going to come save me, or was I going to have to save myself?

I needed to shift the dynamic. I needed to calm her. There was something wrong with her. She’d gone over some edge—an edge she’d been walking for some time. The Asta I’d known was gone, and it didn’t look like she’d be back anytime soon. Given her fragile mental state, it was possible, if I kept my wits together, that I could manipulate the situation. It was also possible that I couldn’t. But I was uniquely equipped to handle dangerous emotional oscillation. It was as if my whole dysfunctional life had simply been in preparation for this moment.

“Asta.” I laughed, trying to keep my voice even and pleasant. “It’s okay. I believe you. It wasn’t your fault. They drowned.”

She stared at me a moment, something frightened in her eyes, and then she nodded. “They did,” she whispered.

“And I know you didn’t kill Iris.”

“I didn’t?”

“No.” I smiled and let out a huge sigh. “You couldn’t do something like that.”

“I couldn’t,” she said, and looked at her hands as if they weren’t attached to her body.

“Of course not. Now, why don’t we head back and check on Noel, okay? We’ll sort it all out, okay?”

Despite her height, she looked small and weak standing there, her bloody hand clutched to her chest, her eyes disk-like with fright. A wind kicked up and I thought I heard a rustling in the trees behind us, but I turned to find nothing. Dark clouds were rolling in now, and a chill bit at the back of my neck.

She reached out and gripped my hand, blood smearing hot and sticky between our palms.

“Cally,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

I nodded, my gut churning.

She smiled and released my hand.

I wiped the blood on my jeans, and then I heard it again, something in the bushes. I turned to see what it was, but then something happened, something I didn’t understand. I felt it slip over my head, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I reached for my throat. There was something there. A cord. The cord that had been meant for Noel had she chosen not to comply. I lurched forward, strange sparkles before my eyes, and the next thing I knew, I was pushed down with a great deal of force, my
head plunging into the water. I scrambled. I clawed. I kicked, but the world began to dissolve around me, drifting into aqueous confusion.

And then something else happened. A jolt. The cord released and I lifted my head from the water, gasping for air. It burst into my lungs, inflating them, and at first it burned, the sheer force of it. My vision was floating and filled with spots. I collapsed onto the dirt, and it was only then that I understood what was happening. Asta lay there stretched out in the sand—unconscious. Her head was opened into a crimson gash and the blood was starting to seep into the dirt. I followed a pair of Doc Martens up to Chelsea Vetiver. She was holding a large bloody rock.

“Chelsea?” I gasped.

“You okay, Inspector Wood?”

“I don’t know. I think so.” I looked at Asta. “Is she … is she dead?”

“I don’t think so. I’m no doctor, but her chest’s moving up and down there. What the hell is going on here, anyway?”

“Noel. We need to find Noel.”

“I already found Noel. That’s how I knew to come looking for you. She’s messed up, though. I left her a ways back in the woods. I called 911 and then came back here looking for you. Good thing I did, too.” She raised her eyebrows and took me in, then grimaced.

“You called 911?”

“Yeah,” she drawled, hand on her hip. “Ten minutes ago. They should be here soon.”

“How? How did you call 911?”

“With my cell.”

“You have a cell phone?”

“Yeah, I do, because I’m not a fucking Luddite like the rest of you. Come on,” she said, giving me a hand up. “Let’s go see how Noel’s doing.”

I staggered a bit, and Chelsea had to hold my arm. Just before we reached the path, I turned back to look at Asta.

“You really just hit her with a rock?”

“Yeah.”

“My God, Chelsea.”

“You should be thanking me. I saved your life.”

“Thank you. I mean, that was … that was ballsy.”

“See?” She smiled. “I told you I’m a fucking art star.”

I leaned into Chelsea, and we started onto the path. Lightning tore across the sky. A moment later, thunder replied, and the sky opened up in thick, lush drops. We stepped under the cover of the darkening woods, blanketed—protected.

THE EMTS GOT TO NOEL
before we did. She looked terrible, but they told us they’d take good care of her. I felt fine, but I had to go to the hospital too, because apparently, being half strangled, half drowned was not an ideal health state. Chelsea stayed for a few hours and kept me updated until we were sure Noel was going to be okay. She also told me that Asta was downstairs in the hospital being questioned by the police while the doctors treated her wounds. I tried not to think about it.

Kim and Danny were driving down and were due to arrive sometime in the morning. They were taking me home, and I wasn’t coming back. I didn’t want to go back to school, even for a night, so I was pleased when the attending physician decided I should stay.

“You know,” Chelsea said, handing me a cup of hot chocolate
and slumping into the chair next to my bed, “you’re much more punk rock than I thought you were.”

“I try,” I said, blushing.

The rain beat hard against the window, and I felt warm and safe in my womblike hospital room. The lighting was soft and yellow, and I found the steady beep and constant thrum of the machines tremendously comforting. I set the hot chocolate down on my little sliding tray and leaned back, closing my eyes.

“Richard Slater was messing around with Iris,” I said.

I could hear Chelsea move in her chair. She cleared her throat.

“So?”

“Look, Chelsea,” I said, eyes still closed, sinking farther into my paper-encased pillow. “I don’t know if you were serious or what that day at the pond, but I thought you should know. Just in case.”

“God, Wood.” She laughed. “You are so gullible. Even I wouldn’t do something like that.”

A moment later there was a noise from the hall. I recognized the sound of the approaching footsteps and sat up in bed. I found myself adjusting my hair and then felt stupid for doing so. Jack and Sophie came around the corner, clinging to each other like a long-married couple. There was something in the way they held each other that made me feel strange, though I couldn’t quite place why. Their faces lit up when they saw me, and they rushed to my bed, kissing my forehead, my hand, my arm. They tousled my hair, laughing and emitting cloying platitudes about friendship and health.

“God, you guys. I’m totally fine.”

“Um …” Chelsea sneered. “This is grossing me out and I have no fucking clue who you people are, so I’m gonna go see Noel now. I’ll be back, Cally, yeah?”

I nodded, and she slunk out.

“Who was that?” Sophie asked, her eyes wide.

“That was Chelsea Vetiver. She’s an art star. Thanks for coming, you guys,” I said, pulling a pillow from my side and clutching it. They beamed down at me.

“So you’re going to be okay?” Sophie asked, tears welling.

“God, yes,” I said. “I am completely fine. I can leave tomorrow. I’m going home, actually.”

“Home?” she asked. “Like, home home?”

“Yeah. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

“No, don’t go,” Jack said, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “I want you to stay.”

We stared at each other a moment, something strange and sad between us. Sophie backed away. “I’m gonna see if I can find some coffee,” she said, and then left the room.

“You should stay,” Jack said, taking my hand in his.

I shook my head. “I don’t think I can. I don’t want to stay here. I really don’t.”

He released my hand and wrapped his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry for acting like a jerk.”

“
I’m
sorry,” I said. “I acted like a jerk. My note was incredibly lame, wasn’t it?”

He ran his hand over his head a few times, then gave me a confused look. “What happened between us, Cally? I don’t really understand what happened.”

I laughed. “I don’t either.”

“I thought we were gonna go out. I thought we might be in love or something.”

I stared at him, trying to figure out why it hurt so much to look at him. If I could have loved someone, it would have been Jack Deeker, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I had a lot of work to do before I could give someone the kind of love that Jack deserved.

But I would have been lying to say that my emotional disability was the only problem with us. All along, there had been something else—something else that had stood silently between us. And then the light came flooding in, and I understood.

“Jack,” I said, words coming before I could expect them. “It’s not me.”

“What?”

“It’s not me,” I said, suddenly seeing clearly. “It’s not me. It was never me.”

“What’s not you?”

“The person you’re in love with—it’s not me.”

Images flooded my mind—Jack and Sophie entering the room, the way he held her arm, the way he looked at her each and every day no matter what mood he was in, that day in the bathroom, the way he’d freaked out at the mere thought of Sophie being with someone else. There was something there I hadn’t seen because I hadn’t wanted to.

He smiled. “I’m probably not mature enough to be in love with anyone.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You are. You definitely are. It’s just not me.”

“Okay, so who is it, then?” He laughed.