“They need someone to blame. All signs point to Bram.” He nibbles his lower lip. “I should tell them it’s me in the video with Kennedy. It’s all my fault anyway.”
“No, Henry. Then they’ll pin it onyou.”
He shrugs. “I deserve it. If I’d gone to the cops about Kennedy rather than confronting her, none of this would’ve happened.”
“I understand why you didn’t,” I say, trying with everything in me not to cry. “Kennedy was a town darling, and her dad has a lot of influence. You needed proof. But I think we have to tell them about Kennedy and Mariana now. It’s our only—”
“It will give Bram an even bigger motive,” Henry cuts in, his eyes wide. “We cannevertell the cops that Kennedy killed Bram’s girlfriend.”
A wave of nausea hits me. He’s right. It could look like Bram was seeking revenge—that he found out the truth behind who stole the love of his life. That it sparked a hatred so intense that hemurdered Kennedy in a crime of passion.
I must look as ill as I feel, because Henry moves up the steps to place a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get you some water.”
“No, you don’t have to…I’m going home.” He shouldn’t be wasting time worrying about me when his brother has just been hauled off to jail.
“You are?” he asks, and when I look up, there’s disappointment in his face.
I nod. “Your parents and lawyer will be here soon. I’m in the way.”
“Can I call you later?” he asks, his voice meek, sounding less like the man he’s become and more like the boy I used to play pirates with. “I could really use my best friend.”
“Of course,” I say as he tugs me up by the hand. When he wraps me into a hug, I hug him back, desperately wanting to believe he’s the boy who sat and held me while I cried over my mom. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Thanks,” he says, forcing a smile for my benefit. It’s almost impossible to believe he’s the same person whose anger less than an hour ago incited true fear in me. That he’s the one who violently erupted toward Adam last year.
But he is, and that’s why I’m not sure I believe his story. That’s why a single question keeps turning over in my mind: If Henry didn’t kill Kennedy, who did?
22
I can tell the moment our car pulls up in front of the school that this is going to be the Monday morning from hell. “Wow,” Dad says, staring out at the scene.
The first days after Kennedy’s murder, a few reporters from local stations parked outside, trying to get students to comment on the case. Now, there are dozens, many from big-city news stations, all here asking people who don’t even know Bram Abbott to talk about him.
Henry and Adam are staying home, but I send off a quick warning text just to make sure.Don’t come near school today
Of course, Lydia Costas is speaking to a reporter when my dad drops me off at the curb. “Kennedy was my best friend, so obviously I knew she was seeing Bram Abbott,” she says, “even though she didn’t tell anyone else. And now that she’s gone, it all makes sense. He always seemed like the quiet serial killer type.”
I push myself into the frame, startling Lydia. “Bram Abbott is not a killer,” I spit. “The police need to let him go and find the person who actually did this.”
“What’s your name, hon?” the reporter asks.
“Hayden Phillips, and Bram is my…” I freeze, getting absurdly hung up on Bram’s words from the other night.You and I arenotjust friends. “Bram is someone I trust with my life,” I say. “And he deserves better than what the cops and everyone at this school aresaying about him.”
When the reporter thanks me, I turn to find Lydia eyeing me icily, her arms crossed. “You’re delusional,” she says. “And you’ll probably end up being the next dead girl.”
An unsettling sensation crawls up my spine. Was that a threat?
I should get out of here. I didn’t even want to come today, but the only other option was sitting around at home, worrying about Bram’s arrest.
Last night, Henry called me. And even though I’d promised to be there for him, I couldn’t answer. I was too upset. He said he’s the reason Bram is in jail, and deep down, I can’t help but agree. I know he wanted to tell the police it was him on the surveillance video, andI’mthe one who stopped him. At the same time, I resent him for protecting himself, essentially surrendering his brother in the process. For not being the person I thought he was.
Since I still needed an update on Bram, I called Adam. He said his parents had returned home and that Mr. Swanson was working tirelessly to get Bram out. If he fails, they’ll have to wait until his hearing to try getting him out on bail. With their fortune and his parents’ travel habits, though, Adam said bail wasn’t a guarantee. The judge could easily label Bram a flight risk.
After I got off the phone with Adam, I sobbed into my pillow. Bram had instructed me to be strong, and so far, I’ve failed miserably. Everything seems hopeless.
I stop at my locker, next to two baby-faced freshmen. “Bram Abbott isn’t the first serial killer in his family,” one of them whispersto the other. “His ancestors were poor until they killed the family who used to live in the castle. The Abbotts tortured the family first and then buried the bodies in the gardens. Bram has been using the same torture devices they left behind in the dungeon.”
That’s it. I slam my locker door, startling them both. There’s no way I’m going to last the day. Though it serves Bram right for doing absolutely nothing to quell that dungeon rumor.
