Chapter 65
As Sebastian had instructed, Tom was waiting for us on the steps of Ridermore.
“Evening, cousin,” Sebastian said.
“It’s night,” Tom said. He looked wary, as if he knew we’d disposed of a body since the last time he’d seen us.
“Past your bedtime?” I asked.
Tom grumbled at this, falling in beside us. The leaves were turning, and punctuated our steps with brittle crunches. “I have midterms to study for. Thomas was not impressed with me going out this late.”
“Aw, the roommate cares.” Sebastian gave Tom a mock punch on the shoulder. “Incorporating him will be a cinch.”
“He has exam-anxiety-by-proxy. Me being the proxy!”
“His nervous condition,” Sebastian said.
“Are you reading my reports?”
“He doesn’t have to,” I said. “Sebastian knows everyone, and everything about them.” He somehow knew that I’d live-streamed Crystal’s memorial service, then thrown the burner phone in the lake.
Tom sighed. “I’m learning everything I can about Thomas. But he’s so boring. That cricket sport he likes? It takes, like, five days! He quotes stats from the 1800s, then expects me to—”
He stopped, confused.
Just ahead of us on the path to Main, dressed in an ankle-length coat that appeared to be made of antique quilts, was Gertie.
“Good evening, cousins,” she called.
Tom looked at me. “Gertie leaves her dorm now? Is this some kind of…intervention?”
That set the three of us laughing, though he wasn’t entirely wrong. Tom wasn’t going to become careworn on his own.
I pulled the flask from my back pocket and handed it to him.
“Come on.” We had a schedule to keep.
“Pray tell, Tom,” Gertie said. “What might you need an intervention for?”
He took a drink, scowled. “This cocktail needs an intervention.”
“One must sip carefully from Jessica’s concoctions,” Gertie said.
“You guys don’t have to worry about me,” he said. “I’m going to ace my midterms and crack my roommate. He might not be my best friend yet, but only because he’s never been anyone’s best friend!”
As Tom went on, I remembered my seduction of Faraday—a lifetime ago. Manufacturing emotions I didn’t feel became easier with repetition: mirror her words, flatter her ego, smile.
We Mortons were old hands at seduction. Evil lives close to the heart.
But perhaps in imitation were the seeds of care.
“Nice coat, by the way,” Sebastian said to Gertie.
Each square of the quilted fabric had its own pattern, every member of the cult expressing a different flavor of devotion.
“I told the pod about Quilting Day. They wanted one.”
Tom, no fan of needlework, stared at her. “Why?”
We all ignored this heresy, Sebastian guiding us past Main, through the Shakespeare Garden, and back toward the Quad, where I’d taken Peter a year ago tonight. I’d been involved in four murders since then—five, if I counted Xavier’s Hefnd.
“What’s this called, anyway?” Tom asked, after another turn with the flask, another flinch.
“Primal,” I said. Peter had loved it, the night of his first Scream. He’d inhaled the flask and demanded more.
“It’s still the devil’s licorice to me,” Sebastian said, bringing us to a halt at the center of the Quad.
“So what’s this about?” Tom said.
Gertie and I looked at Sebastian. This reunion—the survivors of Uncle Max, and of Mary’s mors curae—had been his idea. The closer we were, the easier it would be for Gertie to guide Tom’s career.
Sebastian glanced at his watch. “I’ve invited you all here to show you a magic trick. Especially you, young Thomas.”
Tom sighed. “You have to call me just Tom now, and also—a magic trick? What the fuck?”
“Prepare to be impressed,” Sebastian said, taking the flask from Gertie.
He took a long swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and checked his watch one last time.
Then he unleashed.
Sebastian was a full minute early, but there was nothing bridled about his cry. Not so much a scream as a roar—exalted, triumphant, challenging the world to stop him. It echoed against the brick facades surrounding us, lofting and fading into the cold, mercifully clear air.
A few seconds later, it was answered by a chorus of yells, yelps, shouts, ululations, cries, and finally the flickering lights of Main.
Even Gertie joined in.
Tom put his hands over his ears, saying something I couldn’t hear. Sebastian screamed louder, his eyes on me.
Without decision, without expecting to, I opened my mouth and joined them—raw, rampant, anguished, destroyed—at last letting myself connect to the students of Helshire, that huge trembling organism of longing, fear, and effort.
I cried out for Peter and Hiromi and Crystal. I screamed at Faraday and Grandmother and Uncle Max and my mother and Veronica—everyone who’d turned me into a broken monster. I roared my hopes of becoming something else. Still broken, perhaps, but not a monster.
I don’t know how long it lasted, but at some point I realized I was the last one screaming. Tom’s appalled expression turned off the faucet in my chest. Gertie was laughing.
Dazed, I took the flask from her and had my first swig. The pine pitch burned my throat. My stomach tightened.
“Well, fuck,” Sebastian breathed. “Now that was a Primal Scream.”
“One must agree.” Gertie’s eyes glittered.
“You’re all nuts. Everyone here is.”
“Welcome to Helshire, Tom,” Sebastian said.
“I’m not sure I like it.”
“I thought the same at my first Scream.” My voice was shredded.
Sebastian nodded. “Jessica was silent. Just like you, Tom.”
“I wasn’t ready,” I said.
“I’ll never be ready,” Tom said. “I’m heading back to Thomas. We can bond over how fucked up that was.”
“I bet he loved it,” Sebastian called out at Tom’s retreating back, then took my hand. “You screamed.”
I could only nod. My throat was in tatters, on fire from the alcohol. But I was still connected to the rest of Helshire.
Gertie regarded us both. “You two aren’t much of a secret. And Tom doesn’t seem very carefree.”
“He’s just taking after his roommate,” I said. “Thomas isn’t one for screaming.”
“You’ve got two years to work on him,” Sebastian said.
“One does not look forward. But thank you for an amusing evening. Pulling that little trick on the next crop of Mortons might prove edifying. Who cares enough to scream along? Leona, perhaps. Ezekiel, certainly. Clyde, doubtful.”
She turned and walked away, muttering other younger cousins’ names. I wanted to run after her and, with my ravaged voice, plead with her not to give up on Tom.
Sebastian had never given up on me.
“It’s still early, Jess,” he said. “The workrooms? The theater? The stacks?”
“The library’s closest,” I rasped. “But our little blue dots have been together for a while.”
“Didn’t bring my phone,” he said, and we started along the diagonal toward the library. “You finally joined in. You aren’t a bystander anymore.”
“It hurt less, being a bystander.”
“Everything is less, when you’re a bystander.”
The old Jessica hadn’t screamed because she hadn’t suffered. No heartbreak, no rage. Not even Uncle Max’s visit to the woodshed had disturbed my equanimity. But she hadn’t screamed in ecstasy either.
Now I wanted to scream all the time.