Chapter Seventy
Sky
I check and then double check the parking lot, making sure Cade’s car is gone, and then take off into the woods. This time I’m prepared and wearing my gym shoes. It’s much easier to traverse the fallen logs, and I’m surprised by how quickly the shack comes into view.
But for all my exertion, my heart suddenly picks up double speed as I slow and tiptoe towards the rickety steps. I eye the top of the door frame for another ax. It looks clear, but I scan the sides and threshold for anything I could be missing, just in case. I don’t know where Cade’s mind is at or how far he’s willing to go to keep people out. Especially if my suspicions are correct. But they can’t be.
I remind myself that I’m only here to put my mind at ease and try to slow my breathing. I’m most likely just drawing conclusions, exacerbated by not being able to talk to him for weeks. My mind is just running wild. That’s all. It’s perfectly normal for him to have a P.O. box and to get packages at said P.O. box. Packages that I overheard his mother saying were filled with chemicals. Packages that I saw with my own two eyes, stamped with hazard labels.
No. Just no. There’s no way they have anything to do with the drawing of the bomb I saw. That would be insane, even for Cade. But then why was he so crazy when I took off with his journal? And what can the headmistress not stop him from doing?
I feel sick despite all my rationalizations, and my tendons constrict as I turn the handle to the shack. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for something to decapitate me, but also preparing myself for what I might find. After a second—when nothing impales me—I exhale and tentatively step inside, remembering I don’t have any time to waste, that I have no idea where Cade is and when he will be back.
But my shoulders sag as I take in the disaster before me. It looks nothing like the cozy hideaway I was introduced to, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to start. Packaging materials litter the floor and overturned boxes are piled in the corners. There’s hardly any room to move in the place, and even the bed is piled with empty tubs, duct tape, and teddy bears with their innards ripped out.
My chest tightens. Where has he been sleeping if this is what the shack has become? Blurry tears fill my eyes and I struggle to blink them away. I can’t get distracted. I’m just here to make sure there’s nothing sinister is going on, not to torture myself.
I shuffle forward delicately, afraid he might notice if things are moved, and start turning over some of the mess. The boxes are addressed to Cade Haven, seemingly from multiple recipients, though. Some are abbreviated, and I don’t have a clue who the shipper is, but a lot of them are from CHEMSUPPLIES, which makes my stomach knot.
But I expected that, right? I overheard as much from the headmistress. I nod and move on. I shift a few loose papers on the desk, a graded test from winter, and a packing slip. It’s from one of the abbreviated companies, and I scan the order. None of the items make any sense to me though, and I set it down, my eyes falling on a knocked over plastic tub, black powder spilling out onto the desk.
My palm sweats as I hesitantly dab my finger in the substance. It’s grainy, and I stupidly give it a sniff, as I could figure out what it is. Noxious fumes with an undertone of metal burn my nose, and I rear back, hastily wiping it on my skirt.
This is silly. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, and I gape around the shack, feeling ridiculous. I wouldn’t know bomb materials from science project materials. I may have always had to be smart, but Cade is smart of his own choice. I mean, he made Valedictorian, and if that doesn’t scream that he’s smarter than me, I don’t know what does. He’s probably the only one on campus who could tell the difference between what this stuff is actually for, anyway.
If he would just talk to me, I would feel a lot better. For more reasons than one.
My eyes start to well up again as I spot one of his hoodies, thrown over a shovel and forgotten. I know just what it would smell like, and the tempting scent gives me a twinge of embarrassment. The ones I have are already losing his smell and… if I can’t have him …
I shift to take it with me, burying how pathetic it makes me and telling myself I should at least get something out of my efforts, but my sneaker snags me in place.
A plastic tarp has wrapped around the rubber of my sole, and I kick, trying to shake it off. But I’m quick to frustrate and god, why is this place a mess?! Where has he been if he hasn’t been in class? I hate not having the answers. And Ruby’s little comments about ‘another girl’ haven’t been helping. I bend with a huff, ready to rip myself free when…
The plastic is smooth, perfectly laid over something under the desk. Oddly, it’s the only neat thing in here, and my heart picks up again as I gently tug it towards me. It crinkles loudly but easily slips away, and my breath gets stuck in my chest.
No, no, no, no.
I freeze as I take in the crates and their contents.
Bombs.
Almost a hundred of them.
Stacked on top of each other like some sort of weapons bunker.
I gulp back the ball of dread in my throat, the sound sickening in the isolated shack, and a wheeze escapes me as I thud to my knees. They look exactly like the drawing from his journal. But there’s so many. Why are there so many? Tears prick my eyes, and I grip my stomach. I sway and grasp onto the desk right before I face-plant.
But there’s no air in here. My chest tightens as I gasp, each breath coming in more shallow than the last. And too fast. My lungs are chasing oxygen they can’t get. My head spins, the room blurs, but the more I try to focus, the more I think about the bombs and the smaller the space becomes. Desperately, I crawl on my hands and knees through the mess and towards the door. It’s not until my palms hit the cool soil that I can suck in a breath, and with it, I shudder.
* * *
The dirt has become my friend. I know this dirt. I know every granule and speck and each tiny hill and valley. I studied it, committed it to memory in my desperate attempt to calm myself. Parts of it have bitten into my knees and hands, left impressions that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Because I haven’t moved. Haven’t dared to even think. There’s just been dirt, and that’s all. There’s been no me. No Cade. No Hillcrest or futures. No questions or theories. But now the world is seeping back in, slowly and in order.
Starting with that first night. The night he said he was trying to protect me. From him . When he gave me stitches and I called him sadistic, he responded that I had no idea. When he held a knife to Ruby, he said I wouldn’t have a life with him. And then later he said he would spare Ruby if I wanted. Spare her from…this? And Callie. He sounded so sure on Halloween night that Callie wouldn’t be going to university. Why wouldn’t she? That same night, he said I was unraveling everything he’s been working towards. Are the bombs what he’s been working towards? He talks about death, not like it’s inevitable, but like it’s right around the corner. And the French he used, live before we die . Are we dying? In the woods, he made me promise that I would remember that he didn’t want to hurt me. Is it because I’m included in whatever plans he has for the bombs? And Ruby. And Callie. And… he said he just needed to make it to graduation.
I shove up from the dirt, my bones aching at the fast movement, and rush back into the shack. I don’t know how long I was panicking, but I can’t have much time left. I rip apart the shack, not caring if he knows I was here, looking for the journal.
I fling the teddy bears aside, not sure I want to know why he has those , and sift through text books. Papers litter the already crowded floor. I stomp on them as I pull open the little drawers next to the bed. I’m met with a cacophony of knives—daggers, switchblades, and throwing knives. Luckily, I don’t have to reach my hand in, because right on top is the little black journal.
I grab it, shut the drawer, and quickly leave. I make a left, getting ten paces before I realize I’ve started the wrong way. Shit. I spin around, hoping I don’t bump into Cade on the way out of the woods. A nervous laugh leaves me. Funny. All this time I’ve wanted to see him, and now I desperately need to not see him. I don’t know what he would do if he caught me with the journal. Not now, not with him being on edge.
I feel like I’m on the edge too, and the ground suddenly feels too level under my shoes. I give it a quick glance, to make sure I haven’t floated away into panic territory, and realize the dirt is smooth. I turn in a circle, confused why this dirt, this dirt that I know , is compacted unlike the rest. A trail leads behind me, as if something was dragged through the soil. I grit my teeth in exasperation. I don’t have time. I really don’t. But what the hell could this be? Bigger bombs? Is there even such a thing?
With a quick check over my shoulder, I start to follow it. I have to know if there’s anything else that I’ve been blind to. I keep a brisk pace, eyes on the ground and the journal clutched to my chest, while an unease twists in my stomach. After five minutes, I want to turn back, not sure how much farther this makeshift trail goes. But as much as I start to shiver under the canopy of branches, something draws me forward. An invisible string is tugging me, urging me, whispering .
No, there actually is whispering. I stop and peer through the trees, further ahead. The marks in the soil continue around a mossy berm, and I pick my way towards it, careful not to snap any twigs as the voice gets louder.
“ She’s trying to do the right thing, but it’s too late. ”
My breath catches as I peek around the bramble and spot Cade. He’s sitting on the ground, rooting around inside the belly of a teddy bear, talking to himself. How did he—? I could have sworn his car wasn’t in the parking lot. Has he been out here the whole time?
My heart swells at the sight of him. I haven’t seen him since the day he told me to leave him alone, and whether he’s being deranged or not, he’s still achingly gorgeous. A few of his dark stands graze his jaw, accentuating the sharp cut of his features. He’s every bit as—
“ No, I’m not,” he continues. “ Do you know what it would do to her if she had to live with it? I can’t do that to her. She may have made bad choices, but she’s still my mother. ” He pauses, as if waiting for the other side of an imaginary conversation. “ No, death is a gift. We’ll all see that soon. ”
I scan the area around him to make sure he’s not actually talking to someone, when I notice the pile of dirt next to him.
“ I said I was sorry about that. ” He sighs and glances at the mound. “ I didn’t have control of what I was doing. But I won’t be far behind you, buddy. Don’t worry. Your soul won’t be here alone. I’m going to stay with you, Bobby. ”
Bobby?! I quickly clasp a hand over my mouth, choking on the gasp that wants to pour from my lips. I stare at the mound, at the grave , and let the tears blur my vision, let the reality sink in. Because I know. I can feel it.
Bobby is dead.
And Cade killed him.