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“And social connections,” he thought aloud, eyeing Roberto Ortega’s file. The Ortega name was synonymous with a chain of fast-food restaurants stretching from El Paso, Texas, to Seattle, Washington.
“Lynch would never want anyone to make these connections, at least not easily. I’m sure the authorities would be able to put it all together, just like Lynch did, but it would be a helluva lot more difficult with these files destroyed.”
“And he wouldn’t want his private notes about the students’ mental conditions made public.”
Jules rubbed the back of her neck, trying to work out the knots of tension that had developed as she’d pored over files that had survived the fire. “It makes sense for the parents in a perverse way. Enrolling the problem kids here at Blue Rock into the college programs would be a way to keep them out of trouble and jail.”
“And their names out of the papers. Less media attention, less scandal,” he said.
“It’s a win-win situation. The parents believe their twisted little darlings are safe and”—she made air quotes with her fingers—” ‘getting help.’ Their kids can graduate from college and appear ‘normal.’”
“Sick, that’s what it is.”
Jules agreed. But there was still a lot to learn. All of the puzzle pieces weren’t dropping neatly into place; there were lots of holes she couldn’t quite fill. “I’m just wondering if these ‘red-taped’ kids are placed in that elite force you told me about, the one run by Bert Flannagan.”
He considered. “It’s possible, I suppose. Hell, after what you’ve shown me, anything is.”
She was already thinking hard. “It only gets worse, I think.”
“How could it possibly get any worse?”
“I already told you that Shay suspects there’s a secret cult on campus. What if it’s not just TAs? What if members of the staff are involved? Probably Lynch. Maybe others.”
“Wait a second.” He tossed her a look that accused her of finally going around the bend.
“Just hear me out. I know it sounds really out there, kinda insane, but think about it. The cult would need a leader.”
“Come on, Jules. These are qualified educators with degrees and awards and years of experience. Just because you might not like any of them doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”
She felt as if the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders, but she was certain she was on the right track. “Hey. I’m not making this up. Look for yourself.” She scooted another slim stack of blackened pages his way and pointed to the top file, where the name Flannagan, Bert was visible. Near his name was a piece of singed red tape. “Some of the faculty files are marked, too.”
“You’re right. It’s worse.” He shoved his chair back and stood. “Lynch sure knows how to pick ‘em.”
“That he does.” She reached over the table for a stack of files, suddenly conscious of her arm brushing his, the rising heat in the room, the clean smell coming off his skin, a mixture of soap and sweat. “I’d be willing to bet my cat’s nine lives that they were recruited for just that purpose.”
“Then he’s as sick as the rest of ‘em.”
“Sicker,” she said, “if that’s possible.”
“A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing …”
Maeve’s voice was the barest of whispers as she sang a song from her youth group and trod steadily through the snow. It seemed as if she’d been walking for hours, but the truth of the matter was she’d chosen to plod along at a slow pace. She had to be wary. Already she’d dealt with Mr. Taggert, convincing him and Tim Takasumi that she was returning to her room, when, really, once they were out of sight, she’d left the dorm again.
Did they really think they could stop her? No one could stop love.
She knew that Ethan would have trouble getting away. He was on security detail, so she’d had to kill time, walking in the snow, thinking about what she’d say to him, how she’d confront him, how she’d make him love her again.
He does, he does, he does love you. You just have to show him, prove it.
Now she was at the stable, and she let herself into the building that smelled of horses and hay. This hadn’t been her choice. Why would she want to meet where Nona and Drew had been killed? Or maybe it was fate to be here, where they had made love for the last time.
There was something romantic about that, right?
It wasn’t creepy or weird.
Dimmed security lights gave off an eerie blue glow, illuminating the aisle between the stalls like runway lights. It was warmer inside, but darker without the snow’s white reflection. Rakes, harnesses, brushes, brooms, buckets, and feed bags became dark figures, fuzzy in the umbra of the unlit corners. She saw embodiments of evil in the shadows. The bit of a bridle reflecting the blue light, the tines of a pitchfork glinting evilly as Lucifer’s weapon.
For a second, she thought she heard the mocking refrain of “A Mighty Fortress” in the creak of the floorboards overhead, from a chorus of lost souls who had died before her.
