Chapter 28 Avery
Avery
There was a moment, after everything fell apart at the debate competition, when the reality of Ms. Dorman’s disappointment settled over me.
I could feel the tears coming on, understood we had lost, knew there was no coming back from my silence and my standing there, mouth opening and closing like some tragic dying fish.
But I didn’t know for certain until I’d stepped off the stage and walked over to the team and seen her eyes, filled with confusion, frustration, and shame.
It was unbearable.
Looking back, I wish I’d gone to her instead of Mr. Jay.
I wish I’d taken her stern disappointment instead of his…
well, what I expected to be Jay’s pep talk.
After all, ever since he’d joined the team, Mr. Jay had showered me with praise and told me often how he appreciated my efforts.
I wasn’t too much to him, it seemed like.
He didn’t mind my color-coded spreadsheets or my notes.
In fact, he told me they’d come in handy in college.
So instead of going to Ms. Dorman and letting her tear me apart and tell me exactly where I went wrong, I ran away the second I could, to find Mr. Jay.
I’d thought he would tell me it was a minor mistake. Maybe he’d even say it was really Caulder’s fault for not signaling my time early enough so I knew when to wrap up. He’d tell me even captains slip up sometimes.
How could I have known what he would actually say would be so much worse?
Still, I’d promised myself there wouldn’t be any more mistakes.
I’d sent Ms. Dorman an email apologizing and promised her the same thing, and I’d asked her not to speak to me about it further until I’d had time to process.
I didn’t tell her what Mr. Jay had said.
I let it just be the promise: the promise to do better, to not slip up again, to be the co-captain she’d chosen and deserved.
But I never could’ve imagined that twenty-four hours later I’d be stabbing her with a letter opener.
On the one hand, I’m glad she’s here. That we won’t have to make these decisions alone anymore. Maybe she’ll know how to fix the phone. Maybe she’ll be able to help Lucas, who I realize is still on the floor of the bathroom. There’s so much to tell her, but I don’t even really know where to begin.
Caulder’s gone to get the first aid kit for her arm, which leaves us alone and her eyes fixed on me. She’s still waiting for me to explain, which I guess I do owe her. Since I, you know. Stabbed her.
“We thought you were an intruder,” I say. “We thought—”
“Why in the world would you think that?”
She’s got that teacher voice, even all the way out here, miles from the classroom. Disappointment mixed with bewilderment.
“We thought you were dead,” I say. “We thought—”
Caulder’s back now, with a clean towel that he must’ve grabbed from the linen closet and the first aid kit, which he must’ve retrieved from the bathroom where Lucas is still lying on the ground. I open my mouth to ask if he’s okay, but Ms. Dorman starts speaking before I can.
“Again: Why would you think that?” Ms. Dorman asks. “I know you kids can be imaginative, and those true crime documentaries are something else entirely, but—”
“Things have happened,” Caulder says simply as he wipes the blood off her skinny arm with the towel, red streaking the white cotton.
Things have happened. That’s an understatement.
“What things?” Ms. Dorman asks. “What’re you talking about?”
Caulder tosses the towel aside and pulls out the gauze, winding it around Ms. Dorman’s arm. I can see that he’s measuring his words, weighing what to say.
“Kids, you’re starting to scare me,” she says, and I hear it then, the worry in her voice, the concern fraying the edges. “What’s going on?”
“Before we tell you everything, you need to tell us something first,” Caulder says, keeping his voice steady in a way that shocks me. “Where were you? Didn’t you hear us yelling?”
Ms. Dorman blinks, the question taking her off guard. She glances from Caulder to me.
“And what about Mr. McCullough?” I ask urgently. “Did he come back with you? Where is he?”
Again, Ms. Dorman looks between us, her brow knitting together in worry.
“Where’s everyone else?” she asks. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”
“You’ve been gone for hours, and we thought you might’ve been dead,” Caulder says. “Now you show up, and you’re avoiding my question about where you were. I told you: Things have happened. Prove to me that I can trust you before I tell you what’s been going on.”
And I get it now. Why he’s not telling her everything. Because as much as I don’t want to believe that my cardigan-wearing, slang-misusing teacher would hurt any of us, people have been hurt tonight…And as of now, we don’t know why she was gone or where she was.
“Well, I was trying to go to bed, and I thought I’d see if I could get cell reception if I walked away from the house, so that I could call Triple A and schedule them for the morning,” she says.
“Mr. McCullough went with me, and then he realized he left something in the van and went to retrieve it while I came back.”
She sits up straighter, then winces and adjusts her arm before continuing. “Is that sufficient? Now will you tell me what’s going on?”
She glances at both of us, waiting for a response. Instead, I look at Caulder. Suddenly, the words are gummy in my mouth, unwilling and unable to be pushed past my teeth.
“Kaitlyn, Marlene, and Javi went to get help,” Caulder says.
“Help for what?”
“Like Caulder said,” I say slowly, fighting back tears, “something horrible’s happened. We don’t know exactly what’s going on, but Emerson’s gone. Lucas was hurt. And Mr. Jay…”
Ms. Dorman’s forehead knits together. “You’re saying the others left? And Mr. Jay went with them?”
“No,” I say, trying to keep my own voice steady. “I mean, yes, the others left, but Mr. Jay…He’s dead.”
It takes Ms. Dorman several seconds to compute what I’ve said. She stares at me, and even after I look away, I feel the impossibility of her gaze, her shock. It’s like she’s waiting for me to yank the words back or add a “Just kidding!” But when none comes, I hear her shift on the couch.
“That’s not…Are you joking, Avery?” Ms. Dorman asks. “Because this isn’t funny.”
I sniff and shake my head.
“We’re all in danger,” Caulder says. “That’s why Avery attacked you. She thought you were the killer. This place…We think someone’s trying to kill us. Emerson said he fought the attacker off when they came in through the window, and then they stabbed Lucas—”
“Someone stabbed Lucas?” Ms. Dorman echoes, jumping to her feet. “Where is he?”
My voice cracks as I answer. “He’s in the bathroom down the hall. He—”
Ms. Dorman doesn’t wait for us to finish. She bolts from the couch, cradling her bandaged arm, and flies out of the room. We hear her heavy footfall as she runs past the entryway and around the corner.
Caulder looks at me, and without a word, we follow her. But we don’t run. We know what we’re going to find.
When we get to the bathroom, though, Ms. Dorman’s standing next to the bathtub, looking around. Lucas is gone.
“Lucas?” Caulder says, eyes widening before he turns and starts shouting, “Lucas, man? Where the hell are you?” He takes off down the hall, yelling for Lucas, and Ms. Dorman takes my arm and pulls me around to face her.
“Avery,” she says. “Please tell me you’re joking. Please.”
“Not a joke,” I say, my breath hitching. I want desperately for the answer here to be that Lucas just woke up, that he’s wandering the house, looking for us. But judging by Caulder’s continued shouts, I’d guess he isn’t here. He’s done another disappearing act, just like Emerson.
Then I suddenly realize that there’s something I can show her without leaving the house. “Upstairs,” I say, tugging at her sleeve. “Follow me.”
I take off out of the bathroom and start up the stairs to the hallway that lines the second-floor rooms. My breathing’s threatening to turn ragged again, and I force myself to inhale and exhale with each step.
At the top, Lucas’s blood is still easy to see, long streaks of crimson in the carpet.
The hallway lamp’s shattered, bits of glass dusting the floor.
At the sight, Ms. Dorman’s mouth drops open.
I point down the hall, to her room, and watch her walk toward it.
I hear her gasp when she sees her bathroom, splattered crimson.
When she turns to me, her face is white with shock that I believe in my heart she couldn’t fake.
“Who did this?” she says, voice choked with fear.
“We don’t know,” Caulder says, appearing from the hallway behind me. “But like we said, Mr. Jay’s outside. Or…his body is.”
“O-outside,” she stammers, shaking her head. “Mr. Jay’s…outside.”
She looks like she might pass out. I reach over, touching her shoulder, but she jerks away.
“No,” she says, eyes shining as her head whips toward the front of the house. “Gerard…I need to go find him.”
She turns and hurtles back through the hall and down the stairs, and we follow her to where she stops at the front door.
She goes to reach for the doorknob, her hand pausing before she touches the metal.
Outside, the rain’s not as heavy as before, but I still feel the sting of it in the air. Her hand hovers there, shaking.
My stomach twists. Is she going to leave us again? Or stay?
The wind howls, bringing with it the sound of what I could swear is a scream. Am I imagining this?
But Ms. Dorman must hear it, too, because her breathing hitches and she pulls back her still-shaking hand.
“Are all the doors locked?” she asks.
Caulder reaches over, flipping the deadbolt.
“Now they are,” he says.
She stares straight ahead, eyes never moving. The only sounds are the wind and my blood rushing in my ears.
“Jay,” she says quietly. “You say he’s dead?”
We nod.
“I checked his pulse,” Caulder says. “He’s gone.”
Something unreadable flashes across her features. A tightness seizes her jaw. And when she looks at me and speaks, my heart begins to hammer.
“Tell me again. Where exactly are the others?”