Page 76 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

“Jesus Christ, Gerard,” Ms. Dorman says, her voice a hoarse rattle as she struggles to sit up. “Just tell them the truth.”

His head whips around, and the rest of us look, too. She has one hand on her forehead, wincing, but her eyes are open. She looks at each of us, then closes her eyes again.

“Fucking hell,” she says.

It pisses me off, honestly, to hear this woman swear. Ms. Dorman, who’s up my ass whenever I curse. Dorman, the woman who never saw a turtleneck or a cardigan that she didn’t immediately purchase.

“But, Christine, we said—”

“They’re accusing you of murder and possibly statutory rape, Gerard,” she says, eyes finally opening completely and staying fixed on him. “I think the truth is preferable.”

But he doesn’t answer. His mouth just opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Ms. Dorman says, and looks in our direction. “The condoms are for me. We were…together, out in the woods.”

I look at Avery and shake my head. Of course that’s where they were. Meanwhile, Marlene looks horrified as she walks toward the door, shaking her head in disbelief. And Caulder…Well, Caulder just looks uncomfortable.

“There was a literal murderer chopping up your students,” I say, every syllable coated in disdain. “And you two were fucking in the woods?”

“Of course not,” Ms. Dorman says, running a hand through her tangled hair. “We didn’t get that far with the storm. But I assure you, Mr. McCullough couldn’t have harmed Marlene or Jay or anyone else. I was with him the entire time until we got back here and he went to look for you all. And he was only gone for a short time, right around the property—”

“Really?” Marlene asks, her voice cold. “Then you knew he had this?”

We turn to her, to where she’s stopped by the door and is standing next to the jacket Mr. McCullough hung up. She’s pulling something from inside the folds of the fabric. A knife sheath, I realize. And in that sheath…

Marlene pulls the knife free, long and sharp.

And covered in blood.

Chapter 42

Caulder

October 17

3:22 a.m.

Have I been taught by—and coached by—a murderer for the past three years? Have I laughed with this guy, listened to him, learned from him, all while he’s been a murderer? Or maybe not a murderer yet, but has he been harboring murder-y tendencies this entire time?

It’s all I can think as I walk Mr. McCullough into the seven-minutes room, listening to him assure me that this is a mistake, that he’s never seen that knife in his life, that I need to just hear him.

“Caulder,” Mr. McCullough says, grabbing me by the wrist. “You have to believe me. I wouldn’t hurt any of you. Not Javi. Not Lucas. None of you. You know that.”

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. People are capable of hiding terrible things. There are guys I’ve played baseball against who will look me in the face and smile and then shout bigoted shit about my dads the second I turn my back.

I don’t have to believe anything Mr. McCullough says. This night’s shown me to reject it all, that no one can be trusted.

“We’re just going to lock you two in here,” I tell him. “You’ll be safe, and we’ll be sure it’s not you. It’s a precaution.”

“But you know the truth,” he says, voice desperate. “Marlene’s story doesn’t make any sense. You know that. She clearly planted that knife. Where would I have gotten it?”

I don’t know where he got it, but all I know is that he did have it. And that, combined with his behavior all night, is plenty of evidence to lock his ass up.

“This is your fault for acting so weird all night,” I tell him. “Innocent people don’t do that. You left us to…”

I can’t even say the words. While people were dying, he was making out—or worse—with Ms. Dorman. I shake the image from my head.

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” he insists. “You know I wouldn’t.”