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“We all change,” he turns towards me with an insistent look. “You’ve changed since you came here. I’ve changed. All we ever do is change.”
We stand there quietly for a long time before I finally say goodbye and leave him alone to think. I decide to skip the gathering afterward, assuming I wouldn’t be invited anyway since it’s at the Henderson Estate. But as I’m driving out of the cemetery, I see a long black dress blowing in the wind up ahead. It’s Bridgett. What is she doing walking out here all alone?
“Hey, need a ride?” I ask as I roll my window down, checking to make sure no one is watching.
“Yeah, thanks.” She jumps in, looking happy to see me. “I was going to call a cab when I got back to the main road. My family was driving me crazy. I couldn’t stand the thought of being locked up in a car with them.”
“I’m sorry. You’d think they’d chill out for at least a little while…considering the circumstances.”
“No way. They’re too paranoid about what happened to Malcolm,” she says.
“Paranoid?” I repeat. “So they suspect foul play?”
“Of course. As you would with any death around here, I guess,” she replies. “But an accidental car crash? They’re not buying it. They’re convinced someone did this to him.”
“No one told me it was a car crash,” I blink, feeling certain their suspicions are right. “Where did it happen?”
As Bridgett describes the area of the crash, I realize it was the exact same spot where my car went spiraling over the edge.
“Wh
at was he doing before that?” I ask frantically. “When did it happen?”
“He was leaving school after some kind of study group,” she looks at me with curiosity. “Why?”
“Did the cops happen to fish my car out of there while they were pulling him out?” I ask bitterly. “I’d say your family is right. If the brakes had been tampered with on the car, that’d be about the spot he’d lose control at. I know from experience. Which means…” I trail off as my mind races.
“What?”
“I assumed the Elites were responsible for all these threats to my life,” I explain. “But if they were…Malcolm would be the main one behind it all, right?”
“Probably so,” she nods. “But if the same thing happened to Malcolm, then…”
“You don’t think one of the other Elites would have tried to take him, do you? Like some kind of weird power struggle or…I don’t know.”
“I guess it’s possible,” she looks out her window, thinking it all over. “But,” her eyes cut over to me in hesitation. “Never mind.”
“Tell me,” I insist. “What is it?”
“Just…what I said before,” she stares down at her feet. “You don’t think Emmett would do this?”
I want to say he would never try to kill me or anyone. But that’s not true. He did play a hand in his own father’s death. And when he was told to by his father or the other Elites, he was capable of hurting me many times. If it had come down to it and they asked him to kill me, would he? And as for Malcolm, we all know he has plenty of motive for wanting to do something like that.
Then the words of Marissa’s diary ring through my brain, and I’m filled with even more doubt. Is Emmett inherently fucked-up because of his upbringing and genetics? Does he have this dark side always lingering beneath the surface now that he’s claiming to be a changed man?
“I can’t believe he’d do any of these things,” I proclaim, trying to convince myself just as much as Bridgett. “It’d be easier to believe that Theo would.”
Once again, Theo has reasons for wanting to harm the Hendersons. They stepped up to fill the shoes of the former Elites he managed to erase. I never did find it easy to accept that he’d stop there. I always thought he’d just keep going and going, power-hungry and aimlessly stomping out whatever new figure popped up in Thomas’s place. And what about his deal with Emmett? They both wanted Thomas dead, but is Emmett indebted to him now?
“Well whoever did it,” she continues, snapping me out of my rising mental panic. “If the same thing was done to your car that was done to Malcolm’s, I’d say whoever killed Malcolm is probably behind your death threats. Which means your number one suspect is dead and the real culprit is still out there. And obviously thirsty for blood.”
“I really am sorry about Malcolm,” I tell her. “I know he wasn’t your favorite person, but…”
“There was always something off about him,” her eyes darken. “I could never put my finger on it when we were younger, but then he turned into a complete monster as we got older. I think he’s a sociopath.”
“Emmett would agree with you,” I sigh, remembering his opinions of Malcolm and their friendship. But does that mean Emmett is just as messed up? Maybe that’s why the two got along so well. And why he gets along with Theo. Could he be a sociopath too?
We’re quiet the rest of the way, playing detective in our minds. But mostly we’re both just exhausted. I feel bad for Bridgett. I want to go home and crawl into bed, but she still has hours of socializing to do among the grieving Elites and the rest of the school.
