THE BODY
The body is small, broken. The nearest lamppost shows this, but nothing more, not the face, not the identity, not the cause of the fall.
Blood. So much blood.
Ford is shouting, she can hear herself, shocked at how together she sounds even when the voices inside her are wailing, gnashing, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, but aloud, she’s giving instructions.
“Call 911, immediately!”
She realizes she’s screaming to the ether, to the air. No one is here but the dead girl and her headmistress. Ford looks up at the bell tower, assessing the drop. A hundred feet, more.
Wait.
A shadow, is that a shadow, lurking at the edge of the precipice?
It is gone as quickly as she thinks she’s seen it, and she turns her attention to the girl at her feet. Feels for a pulse. There is nothing.
Her phone. She has her phone. She dials, hands shaking. There is blood on the screen.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“This is Dean Westhaven at The Goode School. One of the girls has fallen, we need an ambulance.”
“Can you tell me the nature of the fall?”
Ford looks up again at the darkness above.
“From the bell tower. She fell from the bell tower.”
It doesn’t take long for the crowd to form. Girls are hanging out of the windows, rushing down the stairs, squealing in the dark.
Dr. Viridian, the chemistry teacher, hurries out of Old East Hall pulling a robe around her bony shoulders. She’s been at the school for decades, taught Ford herself.
“Dean? What’s happened? Oh, my God, who is that?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to roll her. Keep the girls away.”
“Someone needs to open the gate.” This from Dr. Medea, who is on duty in Old West. He is kneeling next to the girl now.
“Yes. Don’t touch her, Dominic. I think... I think I saw someone up in the bell tower. There may be evidence.”
Ford calls Security. Erik Peters, the head guard, answers. “I’m on my rounds, Dean. What’s the matter?”
“Open the gates.”
“It’s late, I’m—”
“Open them! Right now.” The wail of the siren brings cold comfort to her.
“Is that a siren?” Erik asks.
“Erik. Open the gates. Meet the ambulance and guide them to the back of Main.”
“Holy shit. Okay, I’m doing it right now.”
Medea and Viridian are whispering to each other, and she sees them start corralling the girls, pushing them back, instructing them to return to their rooms.
Ford tries to shield the body from the prying eyes of the students and teachers who are figuring out what’s happened, arms wide like a falcon over her prey. Small screams and yells break the night air.
Asolo appears, blinking sleep from her eyes. She rushes to Ford’s side, peers down at the lump at her feet.
“What’s happened? What’s happened? Oh, my God, is that Camille Shannon?”
Ford realizes, yes, it is Camille. Sweet little Camille, sophomore.
Ash Carlisle’s roommate.
“Fuck!”
“Ford, I don’t think that sort of language—”
“Go help Dominic and Phyllis. Get all the girls inside, immediately. We need to clear this area. Do a head count. I want everyone accounted for.” Asolo nods and turns, but Ford catches her elbow. “And find Ash Carlisle. Now.”
Asolo is wiping away tears. She casts a last glance at the crumpled form on the ground. “I will.”
Two fire trucks pull into the grounds, their massive gears grinding. A moment later, an ambulance blows past Peters’s golf cart, and the scene is suddenly packed with people.
Ford is moved to the side as the first responders work on the girl. Queries and statements begin.
“Did you see her fall?”
“Did you touch anything?”
“I can’t get a BP here...”
The sheriff arrives, two deputies on his trail. Ford sees a woman in jeans and a leather jacket, short blond hair and piercing dark eyes, looking like she rolled out of bed, with them.
Who is this? The sheriff’s latest floozy?
The EMTs cease their ministrations. A yellow sheet is placed over the body of Camille Shannon, and Ford realizes she’s going to have to make a very difficult phone call.
This can’t be happening, and yet it is.
Ford’s phone rings. It’s Asolo.
“Ash is in her room. She was asleep, sound asleep. Smells like she’s been drinking, she’s a little giggly, too. I heard some goings-on earlier, I think there was a tap tonight.”
“Ivy Bound?”
“If I had to guess, yes. It’s the right time in the term.”
“Oh, just what we need. How many of our students were out of bed tonight? Damn it all,” Ford exclaims. “Sober her up. Fast. The sheriff is going to want to talk to her and we can hardly afford to have them questioning her if she’s drunk.”
“I wonder if Camille was a part of the tap and it went wrong?”
“Don’t even say it. Get Becca Curtis, too. I don’t know if she’s running Ivy Bound, but it stands to reason she’d inherit the title. She’s my bet. Get both of them to my attic office and keep them there until I arrive. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dean. I’m on it.” The phone goes dead. Out of the corner of her eye, Ford sees Rumi, standing nearly behind a tree. The look on his face is one of horror, the blue-and-white flashing of the sheriff’s light bar washing him out. He looks like a ghost. A wraith. And then she blinks, and he is gone, disappearing back into the woods.
She feels disloyal even thinking it.
Where was he when Camille fell?