15
“Please—isn’t there any way I can get in to see him?”
Lucy stood in the office, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. She watched as the secretary consulted a schedule. Lucy clutched her notebook tight against her chest.
The woman looked up with a regretful smile. “I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s very important. Please. Very important.”
“What I’m trying to tell you is that Father Matt’s left for the day. But the other grief counselers are still here. Perhaps you’d like to speak with Father Paul? Or Dr. Kauffman?”
“No. No . . . I ...” Lucy stood for a moment, unsure what to do. Her mind felt blank. The notebook felt heavy in her arms. “Thanks anyway,” she mumbled.
“I can schedule you for tomorrow,” the secretary offered, but Lucy was already out in the hall.
Maybe this was a bad idea after all, showing this to Matt. Because what could Matt do about it anyway? Calm her down again? Try to convince her it was just another spiteful joke? And maybe it was, Lucy argued with herself. Maybe it was just another vicious prank. If she freaked out about it, then whoever had done this awful thing would win—again.
But what if it’s not?
And what does it mean?
Had she been right about her unknown captor following her back to Pine Ridge? Knowing where she lived? Taunting her with those things in Angela’s car? He could have found her notebook in the house last night and written his message then. And if she was right, who was going to help her? Who was going to protect her? If the police and the doctors hadn’t believed her before, they certainly weren’t going to believe her now.
How she longed for someone—anyone—to believe her.
Her resolve to keep silent had weakened with last night’s incident. Her determination to handle things on her own had become shaky. Matt had listened to her, stayed with her, offered halfway sensible explanations—and though she’d been thoroughly frustrated at the time, it had felt so wonderful to have the burden lifted and shared, if even for just an hour or so.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on like this. Recalling the real-life nightmares. Struggling to stay sane. Feeling so terrified.
Being so alone.
But if she broke down and confided in Matt, would he die, too? Like Katherine? Like Byron? And what could she tell Matt, really? What could she expect from him if she didn’t even know what she was dealing with?
Oh, Byron, I’d give anything to have you back again.
More depressed than ever, Lucy stopped at her locker. There wasn’t anything she could do about the notebook now. She’d have to deal with it later—decide in the meantime whether or not to show it to Matt. She was late for class as it was. The bell for second period had already rung, and the corridor was deserted. She threw her notebook inside and was fumbling with the combination lock, when she heard laughter and running on the stairs.
The cheerleaders were late for practice, Lucy supposed. The whole uniformed group of them, with pom-poms in hand, making a beeline for the door at the end of the hall. Lucy drew back as they passed, and her eyes immediately landed on the girl with the short-cropped hair.
Wanda Carver.
She’s going to die on Thursday.
Lucy’s heart pounded. She felt herself step forward. Lift her arm to wave. Open her mouth to speak.
On Thursday.
She stood and watched the cheerleaders head off toward the gym. Her hands were shaky as she rechecked the door of her locker, tested the lock just one more time to make certain it was secure.
What am I thinking? I must be crazy.
Trying hard to compose herself, Lucy walked slowly to class. She got a lecture for being tardy and flunked a test she’d completely forgotten to study for.
She didn’t know if she could survive school until the weekend.
And it was only Tuesday.