Chapter 3 #2
Finally, Charlie voiced the question that had weighed on her mind all morning. “Should we ditch? Go investigate?”
“One hundred percent we should go investigate,” Lou said with a little too much excitement, slamming her palms on the table. “I’ll drive.”
“There’s no need for us to beeline toward an active crime scene right now.” Abigail plucked an apple slice from her Tupperware. “Not when we aren’t positive it’s Norse-related.”
“Bullshit,” Lou said. “You just don’t want to miss your French quiz.”
“That’s merely a happy side effect,” Abigail said.
Lou turned to Charlie, widening her eyes hopefully. “Charles?”
“Before you two go making any idiotic, suspension-worthy decisions,” said Abigail, “I want to remind you that we’re due to help with the car wash tomorrow.”
“What car wash?” Charlie and Lou asked at the same time.
Abigail scoffed. “I can’t believe you already forgot.
I’m running a car wash to raise money for OET, and I signed both of you up to volunteer.
You should have gotten a confirmation email.
But in case you didn’t open it…” She picked her phone up, swiping it open and tapping on the screen.
She turned it around so they could see for themselves.
Lou and Charlie leaned in, squinting to read the email. There was a short message thanking them for their participation, then a list of names and assignments.
“Abigail Moore,” Lou read aloud. “Welcome Desk. Louise Fisher, Drier. Charlotte Hudson, Washer. And what’s this?” She scrolled a little farther down the email. “Mason Hudson, Drier?” Her eyes ballooned. “You signed Mason up without asking, too?”
“We need as many hands as possible,” Abigail said.
Lou cackled. “Oh, he is going to kill you.”
As if on cue, Mason’s head appeared between Abigail and Lou. “Who’s killing who?”
Abigail yelped, phone flying out of her hands and landing on her cucumber sandwich. “Oh my gods, Mason.” She snatched her phone up. “You can’t sneak up on us like that.”
Mason threw his arms over Lou’s and Abigail’s shoulders. “Of course I can. It’s my right, as your best friend’s older brother.” His face became very serious. “So, who are we killing? Because I want in. Bjorn basically said I’m a combat protégé.”
“You’re killing Abby,” Lou said to Mason, “because she signed you up for the car wash.”
Mason let his head flop backward, groaning. “You did not.”
“She did,” said Lou smugly.
“How can you even think about washing cars right now?” Mason asked, dropping his chin back down. “There’s a serial killer on the loose.”
“See?” Lou exclaimed, pointing at Mason excitedly. “He thinks it’s a serial killer, too!”
“Well, it’s certainly not the Fenrir,” Mason said, dropping his voice. “Not his style, right?”
“That’s exactly what I said,” Charlie agreed.
Mason’s eyes flicked over to her, but he said nothing in response. Instead, he looked back at Abigail. “Also, I have baseball on Tuesdays. You know that.”
Abigail waved a hand. “I already got permission from your coach for you to miss.”
“You talked to my coach?” Mason’s voice hiked several decibels.
“And anyway,” Abigail went on, ignoring Mason’s outrage, “this will be good for you. For all of you. No one here has nearly enough community service on their resume.”
“I’ll give you community service,” Mason growled. “When the judge sentences me to it as punishment for your untimely murder.”
“I don’t think murderers qualify for community service,” Lou said helpfully. “They just go straight to jail, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”
Charlie laughed. “And even if they did qualify, Mason would undoubtedly piss off the judge so badly that he’d be sent straight to maximum security.”
Lou and Abigail laughed, but Mason didn’t even smile. He only cut another sideways glare at his sister before pursing his lips and staring straight ahead. Apparently, he couldn’t even allow himself to laugh at her jokes.
“Fine.” He unhooked his arms from the girls’ shoulders and stepped back from the table. “You’re right for wanting me at the car wash, anyway. No sex-starved moms will pay to have someone wash their minivan unless my abs are on full display.”
Lou made a retching sound.
“Ciao, ladies.” He blew them a kiss, then turned around to head to his usual table, which was packed with the most popular boys in the senior class. “Try not to miss me too much.”
“We’ll do our best,” Lou said dryly.
As she and Abigail went back to discussing the Morrises, Charlie’s eyes drifted over to the announcement board that hung up on the wall beside their table—and to the flyers still pinned to its top.
The enlarged photos of Robbie Carpenter, Maisie, and the Peterson twins.
The word MISSING typed below in bold caps.
Crinkled edges and accidental rips, after so long spent stuck to that same corkboard.
But the worst part was the boys’ eyes. They were happy. Unaware of the tragedy to come.
These last few weeks had been torture, watching the families of the missing kids put together press conferences and search parties.
Torture to see Mrs. Carpenter in line at the local Starbucks, huge purple bags weighing down her eyes from lack of sleep.
Torture to walk past Maisie’s old locker, now covered in notes about how much she was missed.
Torture to look over at the empty chairs in the cafeteria normally occupied by the Petersons.
The twins’ friends never dared to sit in those chairs anymore, as if they were saving them for when the boys finally returned.
They didn’t know the truth: the twins weren’t coming home. Not now. Not ever.
Thinking about what happened to her classmates—getting kidnapped by a giant wolf, being teleported to a different planet, and dying at the hands of a fiery god—made Charlie feel sick. She wanted desperately to tell their parents what had happened to them. To give them the closure they deserved.
But she couldn’t. No one would believe her.
Charlie was so deep in her own mind that it took her several seconds to realize that her friends had stopped talking.
That the entire cafeteria had stopped talking.
No yelling. No laughing. Not even the hushed conversations about the Morrises from before.
When she looked over at Lou and Abigail, they were staring over at the cafeteria entrance, mouths agape.
What the Hel? Charlie swiveled around in her chair to follow their gaze to find—
Him.
Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Wide shoulders, long limbs. Midnight-blue jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket. Smirk like a rattlesnake curling its tail toward the sky. The boy she had promised to destroy—a promise that had propelled her through the last three weeks when nothing else could.
Elias Everhart winked at the stunned cafeteria. “Miss me?”