14

I had no idea what I hoped to find upstairs. If anything, I just wanted a closer look. For some reason, Blevins had called the dead man’s phone and written him a letter, and I would be damned if I could let that go. They were literally the only two things I had to go on—other than the bookmark—and I meant to look into them as exhaustively as possible.

The second floor was made up of classrooms. There seemed to be only one class in session. An elderly man wearing a sweater vest sat perched on a stool in front of eight boys—all dressed in the same blue jeans and blue shirts—mumbling something about a proof. The boys looked extremely bored, but they didn’t look particularly troubled. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. They all looked troubled, but they didn’t look like troublemakers. Maybe it was because they were all dressed the same, but none of them looked the least bit threatening.

I wandered into one of the empty classrooms. Based on the writing on the chalkboard, I assumed it was Blevins’s. The chalkboard read Check your facts … Climate Change is a THEORY not proven science.

Yep, I was still in Coulee County.

I looked at his desk, the computer sitting there. The screen saver said Let boys be boys today and they will be men tomorrow.

I wiggled the mouse and his desktop came up. Maybe I could find some record of Joe’s attendance at the school. I had to assume that he’d once been a student. Otherwise, why the connection with Dr. Blevins? I made a quick scan of the files on the desktop. There were only four, one labeled junk and three labeled untitled. I clicked on one of the untitled folders and found it filled with documents. I skimmed the list. Each document was titled with an initial and a name. I clicked one of them at random.

Doug Knowles

11/3/00

Age: 17

Status: Floor three

Parents: Marjorie Knowles

Status: Supportive

Complaints: One call, 3/6/18. Asked about rumors with Josh H.

Response: H. returned call. Discussed how we are aware of said rumors but are handling it with therapy.

Below this were two photos of Doug. One showed a happy kid, his hair dyed green, laughing at a football game with some of his friends. The second showed him dressed all in blue, not smiling, standing erect, his head shaved, his eyes filled with a sadness that jumped through the computer screen and gripped me somehow. Jesus, what were they doing to these kids?

I heard someone coming down the hallway. Hopefully it would be someone who hadn’t seen me yet. If it was Blevins or Harden, I was screwed. Worst case scenario, I could hide under the desk, fight my way out if necessary.

I closed the file, scanning the rest of the names. One near the bottom caught my eye.

E. Walsh

My mouth fell open. Surely not. It couldn’t be. I opened the file and saw it was much more expansive than Doug’s. That was all I had time to see before the footsteps drew even closer.

I fumbled with the mouse, trying to close the window and get under the desk, but I was too late.

“Who are you?”

It was a kid, dressed like the others I’d seen except for one difference. The collar on his shirt was white. He seemed a little older than the other boys I’d seen, too, which led me to believe he was some sort of prefect, or maybe an RA.

“Tech support,” I said, reaching for the front of my shirt where an ID badge might have been hanging. “Oh, forgot my badge.”

“We’ve never had any tech support here before.”

“Well, Dr. Blevins asked me to come up and look at his computer. He’s downstairs if you want to talk to him.”

The kid eyed me suspiciously. “What’s your name?”

“Preston Argent,” I said, without missing a beat.

He nodded. “I’m going to go check with him right now.”

“Go ahead. I wanted to ask him something about his computer anyway. So send him on up, if you don’t mind.”

The kid walked out, moving purposefully down the hall. I opened the Walsh file and read from the top.

Edward Walsh

1/3/03

Age: 15

Status: Floor four

Parents: Jeb Walsh / Eleanor Walsh—divorced

Status: Father supportive / mother combative

Complaints: Multiple calls, log below

Response: See log

I scrolled down past paragraphs that were simply labeled Notes. I found a chart listing the date of each of his mother’s calls and visits and how they had been handled. Most of them had been handled in the same way—contacted Jeb.

Only two were different, and they’d come recently, just last month. Referred her to Sheriff Argent.

I tried to see what the complaint was, but the section of the chart under Complaint said the same thing all the way down— General.

I knew my time was limited, so I closed the file and headed out into the hallway. Just then the elevator at the end of the hall dinged. I ducked back into the classroom and jogged over to the bank of windows on the far wall. I opened the first one I came too and pushed the screen out. It fell into the garden below.

And what a garden it was. Every manner of plant and flower grew below, each contained within a planter or its own little walled-off section. There were fishponds, benches, stone pillars, and brick walkways that formed a labyrinthlike pattern among the plants.

Leaning out the window, I saw I was looking at about a twenty-foot drop into one of the fishponds. It was hard to tell how deep it was, but I didn’t have time to worry about it. The footsteps were drawing closer.

Swinging my feet up through the open window, I held onto the window frame with both hands as I eased myself down as far as I could before letting go.

When I did let go, the speed of the fall took my breath away. I had just enough time to look down and see I was indeed going to hit the water before I was there, stabbing through the dark pond, feetfirst. I braced myself for impact, and it came, but the water was deep, deep enough to slow my descent. My boots hit the bottom, and the impact rocked my knees and my hips, but nothing felt broken or too badly injured. I swam up, toward the sun, and reached for the pond’s edge. I pulled myself out and began to run toward the back of the garden. I ran through the gate and kept going onto a broad expanse of green lawn. Several boys stood to my left in straight rows while a young man spoke to them. I kept running. Only the boys saw me, as the man’s back was to me.

A line of trees lay in front of me, and I didn’t stop running until I’d broken through the tree line and lost myself in the woods.

I walked for a while, just trying to listen. I figured if anyone was pursuing me, I’d hear them coming. But the more I walked, the more a new sound filled my ears. It sounded like a roar, a droning and endless roar.

Five or ten minutes later, I emerged from the trees to a spectacular scene. The waterfall I’d glimpsed earlier was just a few feet away now, looming over a tower of flat rocks. The waterfall and the river below cut a path through the land, creating a deep ravine that stretched as far as the eye could see. I walked to the edge for a better look at the river hundreds of feet below. The distance to the other side of the ravine was surprisingly close, almost close enough to cause a man think he could make the leap across, but he’d have to be a fool to try. To my left some rocks had somehow landed atop each other in a stair-like structure that led up to the waterfall. I followed them, feeling the heat of the sunbaked rocks as I climbed. The heat was so intense my clothes were almost dry already. At the top was a single flat rock, nearly fifteen feet wide and just as long, that was the perfect spot to view the waterfall and the ravine below. From here, I was mere feet from the waterfall, and its sun-colored spray cooled me as I stood, taking it in. It was loud. So loud it was nearly impossible to hear anything except the droning roar of the falls. I moved to the edge of the flat rock and looked down. A narrow ledge lay directly below me, about ten feet or so away. It couldn’t have been more than three feet wide. I wondered if it would be enough to break someone’s fall or if the force of the impact would just carry a person on over, toward the bottom of the ravine and an almost certain death.

A wind blew from behind me, strong enough to make me fear that I might be about to find out.

Enough of this. I needed to call Ronnie and figure out how we were going to get out of here.