23. Nim
Chapter 23
Nim
I breathe an audible sigh of relief when I step into the girls’ dorms. Accounting was worse than I thought it would be. I’m no closer to understanding what the hell’s going on in my textbook, and the teacher keeps calling on me to answer questions he knows I don’t know the answer to.
But that’s not the main reason why I’m in such a shitty mood. I’m disappointed in myself. More than I ever realized I could be, actually.
I had a chance to stand up to the Serpents, to reveal what arrogant, criminal assholes they were…and I backed out like the coward I am.
The dean made it clear what I was up against. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m being smart about this—that I won’t show my hand until I’m sure that my cards are good enough to win. But all I keep thinking is how many times I’ve chickened out.
Halfway down the hallway, I stop.
Proof. The dean was pretty insistent I have proof. For the bullying, yeah, I have several eye-witness accounts. But I already know no one—not even Romi—will testify. They have too much to lose, and nothing to win. I’m a nobody. Who’d stick their neck out for the new girl when that would make those three vengeful pricks notice them…target them.
So instead of going back to my room and studying, I turn and head back the way I just came.
I know this isn’t just about proof. I’ve always been too damn curious for my own good. That’s why I hightail it back to the library instead of withdrawing into the safety of my dorm room.
On the way there, I realize I’m being followed again. I spot my stalker in the reflection of a glass door. It’s not Mason this time, it’s his friend, Silas.
Oh my God, have they started stalking me in shifts?
Fuck them. If they want to waste time keeping tabs on me, let them.
Ms. Carling looks pleased that I’ve returned. I didn’t get to finish speaking to her yesterday—Eliza totally threw me off my game when she told me to back off. She seems to think Mason is her boyfriend, but I don’t think he’s on the same page. He doesn’t seem to have an issue getting a hand job from another girl. But why would Eliza lie to me?
It’s not like I want to be her friend or anything, but I have a feeling I’d rather be in Eliza’s good graces than on her bad side. Should I tell her what happened yesterday in the courtyard, that I had no choice? Or would I just be digging my own grave?
I shove the thoughts away. They’re not in the least constructive, anyway.
“Sorry about leaving yesterday,” I tell the librarian.
“Don’t worry about it.” Ms. Carling turns around, hunting through a pile of books on her table. “It gave me enough time to find that book we were talking about.” She pulls out a thick volume that looks like an encyclopedia. “This has a really good section on Cinderhart’s history. It’s a bit sparse, but it’ll give you a good foundational knowledge for your history project.”
“This is perfect!” My arms almost give way when I take the thick volume from her. I’m groaning internally, seeing my youth evaporating as I pore through these musty pages. Why the hell doesn’t this town have a Wikipedia entry?
“Do you save old newspapers here? Or have them, like, on microfiche or something?”Back in the city, I used to love going through old newspapers on the library’s microfilm archives. It started as some school project for my history class, and I loved it so much I’d go back once a month.
Ms. Carling shakes her head. “I’m afraid not dear. You could try the public library in Cinderhart Square. They have an extensive archive section.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
“Or you could check online.”
“Your newspaper is online?”
That earns me a condescending glance over her half-moon spectacles. “You can browse The Littlerock Gazette’s website in the computer room upstairs.” She hunts around behind her desk and hands me a key with a toy keyboard as a keyring.
“You keep it locked?”
She rolls her eyes. “We have to. Someone keeps hacking our firewall to watch—” she clears her throat “—pornography.”
I almost laugh. I almost ask her how they know...because a student that good would cover their tracks, unless they wanted to be found out, but I’m too excited. The sooner I can figure out what happened in the woods the day I met the Serpents, the sooner I can get a good night’s rest again.
How did Knox know it keeps me up at night? Or was he just taking an educated guess? Unless…maybe it keeps him up to.
Silas is waiting for me outside the library, leaning against a nearby wall. How he knew I was coming out this exit, I don’t know. We lock eyes for a second before I turn and walk away.
There’s no point in running. After all, it’s not like there’s anywhere for me to go. Despite the Academy’s massive grounds, past the university buildings it’s just forest and mountains. The only way out of here is Academy Road.
Once I’m inside the computer room, I can lock him out. But I wouldn’t put it past him to get another key from the librarian...so I’ll wait until later tonight before sneaking back there.
I’ll go right after dinner when everyone’s back in their rooms. Hopefully, by then, the Serpents have grown tired of watching me.
I eat my sandwich in my room as I page through the book Ms. Carling gave me. She’s right—it’s not exactly an extensive history of Cinderhart, but it covers the basics.
When the Harts realized just how extensive the coal seam in the Littlerock Mountains was, they founded the town of Cinderhart to cater for the miners and their families. As the mines grew, so did the town. Soon families were moving in from all over, drawn by the promise of a budding town with little to no competing businesses. At the time, there was one general store, and it sold everything... and at ridiculous prices.
Thankfully, the Harts didn’t close off the town to new opportunities. I guess they were entrepreneurs at heart, because they never turned down new families.
But even in the few pages this tome dedicates to Cinderhart, the inequality is blatant. Three of the First Five—the Jacksons, the Capellas and the Wrens—were miners, but as soon as they had enough money to start exploiting workers instead of working themselves, the tables turned.
There are three very distinct suburbs sprawled through the Littlerock valley. Blackstone Heights is reserved for the highest echelon of society. Jackleg Valley is comprised of lower class or unemployed families, industry, and warehouses. Then there’s Pyrite Glen, a middle-class neighborhood far removed from the two warring factions. Cinderhart Square—the center of town—sits neatly in the middle. If the Square is the town’s heart, then Jackleg Valley is its coal-blackened lungs, Pyrite its weary arms and legs, and Blackstone Heights its sick brain.
Half an hour into dinner, I throw on a pair of yoga pants and a hoody and sneak downstairs. Some of the girls in the common room watch me as I walk past but none of them are interested enough to ask me where I’m going or what I’m doing. If any of them notice the computer room key in my hand, they don’t say anything about it.
I still have a feeling I’m being followed. I’d hoped Knox, Mason, and Silas would have given up on me.I check both sides of the hall where the computer room is, making sure that I’m alone before I unlock the door. Then I hurry inside and slam it closed behind me, locking it just as quickly.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I go and sit at the closest desk. There’s no log on required—I can go straight to Google and start searching.
I visit the Littlerock Gazette’s website first, searching by keyword.
MURDER
KILLING
KILLER
DEATH
DEAD
There are surprisingly few entries for the keywords, except “dead” which brings up obituaries dating back twenty years.
Obviously there were crimes in Cinderhart. A wife murdered her husband when she found out he was having an affair. A man shot his business partner over a dispute. A handful of home invasions ended with someone—usually the criminals involved—being gunned down in a police shoot-out.
But a gruesome murder in the woods?
No hits.
I start searching articles around the date I first came to Cinderhart. That’s when I find the article about my parents.
There’s nothing in there I didn’t already know, but I wasn’t prepared for the full-color photo that accompanies the article—Vicky’s pearl-white Bentley crushed beneath massive boulders, barely recognizable. What the hell did my parents look like when they were cut out of the wreck.
No wonder Detective Thatcher didn’t ask me to identify the bodies. Judging from this photo, they probably used dental records to make sure who had died in the crash.
I glance away from the screen. What if they left the party ten minutes sooner than they did? What if I’d told them about what had happened to me in the woods? I could have stopped them going to the party in the first place. They would have been nowhere near Bug Ash Pass.
They would still be alive.
I don’t know how I feel about that. At the moment, nothing. But the therapist told me this empty feeling inside was just how my mind was handling the trauma. It blocks out everything, feeding me only what I can handle without regurgitating. Maybe that’s why I’m still functioning, why I haven’t had a complete and total fucking break down yet.
I search through more articles, but there’s no article about a body discovered in the woods, and the only mention of a missing person was an article about the seventeen-year-old “Darling” of Cinderhart, Amy McAdams, who was still missing after two years.
Does that mean the man they killed was an outsider? Was he just here to hunt for the weekend? Where would someone like that stay—a motel, maybe? When I go into town I could find out if they had any visitors go missing around about that date.
I sit back, nibbling on my thumbnail as I stare at the computer screen.
When did I decide to go all Nancy fucking Drew on this shit? This is the most excited I’ve been a while. I mean, yeah, coming to Cinderhart Academy was a high in its own rights, but this?
What if I uncovered a murder no one even knew had taken place? What if I alerted the authorities to three dangerous criminals who were coasting under the radar, just waiting to strike again?Because without a body, I was just accusing the Serpents of a crime I couldn’t prove even took place.
No one would take me seriously after all this time.
I know I won’t make a good accountant, but maybe I can make a living as a private investigator.
Only one way to find out.