Luminosity (Gravity Series #3) (The Gravity Series) (8 page)

I took a breath to rally then tried again. “I heard that you’re considering the theory that Warwick acted alone, despite the evidence that I gave you that Ambrose was involved.”

Stauner set down the collection of files he’d been holding and looked like he was considering what to say to me. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a chair beside him.

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” He crossed his arms and leaned back, speaking in a gentle, monotone voice. “Ambrose Slaughter is dead. There is no one we can arrest in that situation, no jail time, no punishment. He’s already received his just reward, so to speak. There’s his family’s reputation to consider.”

“But, his involvement could link to others,” I pleaded, frustrated and verging on desperation. “Kidnapping three girls is a huge undertaking. The deaths had ritualistic hallmarks: the cuts and the blood letting.”

He smiled at me softly, as though at a five-year-old afraid of monsters.

“Yes, there were indications of a ritual, but Warwick’s mental state was not exactly stable,” Stauner explained. “It’s not uncommon for mentally ill people to become involved in occultism. We couldn’t follow up on many of the items you presented us with. It was impossible to get into the tunnel where you said Jenna’s sweatshirt was found, so that was out. Her sweatshirt had no fingerprints.”

“But what if Warwick was part of a cult?” I asked.

“Satanic cults are largely a myth. We have no evidence that one is operating in Hell. Do you?”

I wracked my brain for something concrete. “Not exactly. But I think the Thornhill Society may have some ties to an underground organization.”

He actually snickered at me, which made me blush angrily. He had no right to treat me like a fool.

“It all comes back to the evidence,” Stauner said. “There is no direct evidence linking Ambrose Slaughter to the murder of Jenna Reed, Alyssa Chapman or Susan Wright. Certainly nothing linking Thornhill, which is an upstanding community fellowship that Ambrose’s own family is a part of. Until you have such evidence—solid, indisputable evidence—the case is closed.”

There was no reasoning with him. I clenched my fists and stormed off towards the door.

“Say hi to your dad for me,” Stauner called.

###

Anyone thinking Lainey and Madison’s fight might be a fluke was proven wrong over the next few weeks. Madison sat on the opposite side of the commons during lunch with the few brave enough to have migrated with her. Both girls started nasty rumors about each other that mutated into raging STDs and catastrophic prescription drug addictions.

Harlow more than stepped up into Madison’s place. She became like Lainey’s conjoined twin and Lainey even abandoned miniskirts and pink to start dressing like Harlow. One day, Theo and I saw the two of them walking together, with their arms linked, across the commons with their entourage behind them. Lainey and Harlow were dressed almost identically in dark skinny jeans and lacy white tops with blazers.

“Doppelgangers,” Theo muttered, shaking her head. “Watch out, the pod people are taking over.”

I knew that Lainey had always made every effort to keep Madison beneath her, but nothing could stop Harlow from rising to the top.

I hadn’t gotten the chance to call Madison, too busy with the little annoyances of life. I felt like I had to tiptoe around my parents, as if walking on cracking glass. They seemed to be arguing constantly about little things. A trip to the grocery store turned into a shouting match, complete with cans being slammed into the cart. I lingered behind my parents, pretending not to know them.

It all came back to Claire’s attempt to join Thornhill. She started going to their meetings every week, and her early hesitance was replaced by an unwavering determination to join. The more she talked about them, the more Hugh shut down. And I didn’t know exactly how to get through to him.

###

On Fridays, during the last ten minutes of Chemistry class, we would debate theories about the birds. A few interesting speculations were tossed around, about a microscopic parasite in the birds’ brains or a poison in their diets, but nothing concrete. I was personally tapped out of ideas.

After class one day, I stayed behind to talk to Mr. Golem. He was shoving things into his briefcase and shutting down his computer.

“Mr. Golem, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, Ariel.” He looked at me. “What’s up? Did you have a question about the lesson today?”

“No, I understood all of that. I was just wondering why you have such a strong interest in what killed the birds.”

He snapped his briefcase shut, his eyes darting around like he wanted a way out. I watched him bite the inside of his cheek and slide a pen behind one ear. “I thought it would be a fun project. I just don’t think the CDC’s explanation is sufficient.”

Fresh from Stauner’s push for evidence, I asked, “What makes you think that the cold front is the wrong explanation?”

He took a deep breath and shuffled around in the side pocket of his laptop case. “Birds dying without warning is not unheard of. Normally when birds are killed by a change in temperature, ice forms on their wings. But I have a friend who works in the CDC laboratory.”

He pulled out a few papers and hesitantly handed them to me. I scanned the pages quickly; they were lab test results.

“What am I looking at here?”

He pointed down to a line near the bottom.

I read aloud, “
Feathers are singed. Cause unknown.
” I looked back up at him in confusion. “So the birds’ feathers were burned, not icy?”

Golem nodded. “The crush injuries they sustained were evidence that they had been blasted back, indicative of an explosion. Yet there was no obvious sign of one. This is where it gets weird.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and put his hand on his chin. “What building was burning that night?”

“The Dexter Orphanage,” I said almost immediately. He stayed in stony silence. “You think that Dexter sent out a force that killed the birds?”

Golem bowed his head, ripping the papers back and shoving them into their hiding spot. He unzipped the case and zipped it back up jerkily, like the zipper was stuck. “I know, it sounds like the ramblings of a crazy man. That’s part of why I offered it as extra credit; I wanted someone to come up with a theory that made sense.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy,” I said. “I just didn’t connect the two before. I know I’m just a student, but I’ve seen more than your average kid. I’ve had my own brushes with Dexter; that place is evil. Those birds were possessed; one broke our sliding glass door and another beat itself to death on my aunt’s window. I thought maybe they were Dexter’s spies. Maybe when the orphanage burned, it took their power away?”

For a moment, I regretted spilling so much. But he seemed excited by my theory. “That’s what I was thinking. I just didn’t have the courage to say it out loud.”

“It’s not really courage. More like a lack of a censor on my mouth,” I said, attempting a smile.

“Don’t let anyone make you feel naive because you’re young,” Golem said. “You still want to learn. Adults are so set in their ways that they can’t see new paths.”

“Do you think Thornhill covered it up? Made the CDC ignore evidence?”

“Thornhill has a deep influence,” Golem admitted. “Not just money, but fear. Deep enough to silence anyone they don’t want to speak out.”

CHAPTER 7

“
EVEN IF DEXTER
is evil, how could it kill anything? It’s a building,” Theo said on the ride home. We were rehashing what Golem and I had spoken about after class. She’d seemed very surprised that he had taken me so seriously. Now she appeared spooked, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her face just as moon-pale.

“I don’t know. Whatever happened back when the children were housed there, whatever sacrifices John Dexter originally performed, left a scar there that’s now open and festering.”

“You’re the ghost whisperer. It all gives me the shivers. Stories are one thing, seances another. But thinking that all of this could be real is freaking me out. I mean, a dead guy with a grudge against you and an army of undead children? Sounds like one of your movies.”

I agreed. I’d never thought I would be in the middle of one.

“So, what’s the theory? How did Dexter kill those birds?” Theo asked.

“We’re thinking that when the orphanage caught on fire, either in defense or in retaliation, whatever is there sent out a sort of evil force that hit the birds and killed them,” I told her.

Theo was dead silent for a minute. Then she said, “I think you’ve watched
Evil Dead
one too many times. Put down the chainsaw, Ash. Don’t make an arm out of it.”

Her reference made me smile, since she wouldn’t have known about that movie before me.

“Well, their feathers were burnt. They all suffered crush injuries like they’d been hit. The biggest concentration of birds that day, according to the paperwork Golem showed me, was down Sanitorium Road, the one the orphanage is on.”

“That’s incredibly creepy,” Theo said. “And it’s worse because after all that’s happened since I’ve lived here, I can’t say it’s impossible.”

An unfamiliar car was taking up space in my driveway when Theo pulled in to drop me off. It was parked off to the side.

“Who’s that?” she asked. I shook my head. Instantly paranoid, I thought that maybe Thornhill had gotten wind of Golem’s theories and sent someone to question me.

I rushed in through the back door. Claire was sitting on the kitchen floor with a field of cookbooks spread out around her, her reading glasses on as she flipped through one.

“Who’s here?” I asked, craning my neck to look around.

“No one,” Claire said, frowning up at me. “Why?”

“There’s some weird car parked in the driveway.”

I heard my father walking up behind me and I turned. He reached into the fruit bowl on the counter, picked up my cupped hand and dropped a set of keys into my palm.

“What’s going on?” I asked, looking quickly between him and my mother.

“That’s your car in the driveway,” Hugh said, smiling a little. Creases lined his tired eyes.

Claire was frowning up at me over her reading glasses, like she didn’t approve. “Hugh bought it without consulting me. I still don’t think it’s entirely safe for you to be out on your own.”

Hugh shrugged. “Bruce Slaughter gave me a good deal. And I figured it was time, since you’re going to be a senior next year. Good to give you a little freedom so you know what to do with it when you have a lot.” He nodded his head in the direction of the door. “Now go, before I change my mind.”

I threw my arms around his neck in a tight hug and kissed his cheek. I couldn’t believe it. He laughed a little, a sound I hadn’t heard in a while. Then I turned and ran out the door.

“Be careful!” Claire called after me. “And call us if you’re gone longer than twenty minutes! And don’t go a mile over the speed limit!”

They used to watch me so closely I had felt like I was locked in a cage, but between Hugh’s work and Claire’s Thornhill doings, they had become distracted and allowed me more wiggle room. I had never thought it would actually extend this far, though. They seemed to think I was much safer now that Warwick was dead. If only they knew the truth. But I wasn’t about to argue it at this moment.

The car was not fancy. It was a little old Ford, the paint rusty around the wheel wells and the steering wheel and seats torn. But I didn’t care as I slid the keys in and started the engine. It hummed with promise beneath my thighs and I smiled. Witnessing my parents fight had its perks.

I set off and started driving into town. It took me a minute to adjust to the controls, but my comfort grew quickly. Traffic was light enough that I was able to stay at a steady speed, feeling the wind in my hair through the window. I couldn’t help the smile that crept across my face.

When I reached the downtown area, I pulled off and parked on the side of the road. I sent a quick text to Henry, hoping he might have the chance to go out.

Congrats on the wheels! You know I’d love to, but my dad has me stuck at the office.

I could always kidnap you.

I wish you could. He has me shredding every file in this mess.

Why?
Curiosity suddenly gnawed at me.

That detective has been ‘sniffing around’ (dad’s words). So he wants me to get rid of the back log. I’ve been trying to read over them but so far it seems like tax statements and a lot of boring ass emails.

Does this mean that we’re not going to see each other for a while?

I hope it won’t get that bad. Why don’t we meet up on Saturday at the library? Our old thing, we can go down to the conference rooms.

We’re such nerds.

That we are. Love you, dear.

I didn’t know what to send him back, so I didn’t send him anything. Instead, I started the car back up and headed on towards home.