17 Sophie #3
They’re quiet for a long time. Sophie watches the small bird swoop above them with startling speed.
It beelines for a giant hawk that is circling a treetop.
The sudden change of direction must take the hawk by surprise because it rears up.
But the little bird does not relent. Fearlessly, it goes straight for the eyes. The hawk swoops away just in time.
They’re getting carried away with all this.
Quinn went out for a hike and slipped. She fell.
No one followed her. No one pushed her. It has nothing to do with the book.
Sophie does not believe Joey heard Quinn whispering her killer’s name fifteen years after the fact.
They grew up with impossible things happening, but that is beyond the scope of even her imagination.
Joey wanted some kind of sign that Quinn was killed, and so her subconscious invented one.
Although Sophie has to admit that the book disappearing right around the time Quinn died is really odd.
She remembers thinking about that coincidence back then, but Elena left town the very next day, and Sophie herself decided to push through summer classes so she could graduate early.
Neither she nor Joey had any desire to even step foot in the spell circle after Quinn and Elena were gone.
In front of them, the hawk is back, reassessing its approach, thinking it has a clear shot.
But the small bird comes out of nowhere and speeds toward it with exacting precision, clawing at its face again.
The hawk flaps and changes direction, but the bird doesn’t relent.
It goes for the eyes again. At long last, the hawk gives up, its broad dark wings carrying it slowly away.
Having diminished the predator’s power through desperation and grit alone, the tiny bird, understandably exhausted, returns to the tree, disappearing into the cover of needled branches.
The little nest it was protecting isn’t visible, but Sophie knows it’s there.
“I want to go talk to Tom,” says Joey. She tightens her ponytail in one self-assured tug.
“Terrible idea,” says Elena. “What could you possibly have to say?”
“For one, I could get a sense of what he and Quinn might have fought about. And two, maybe he knows where the book is. Maybe he even has it.”
“I agree about the book,” says Sophie. “It’s been missing a really long time, and I think we should find it. But Joey, Barbara warned us not to bug Tom. He’s not well. I don’t know if we should push him over the edge.”
Joey folds her arms over her chest and glares at her.
“You know what I mean,” Sophie says.
“Sounds like a huge waste of time,” Elena says with a sigh.
“But what if we did find the book?” says Joey. “We could do a summoning spell. Maybe there are clues out there that could tell us exactly what happened that night.”
“I’m sorry, Joey.” Sophie tries to be as gentle as she can. “It’s just…what proof could there be that they didn’t uncover back then?”
“Could be anything,” says Joey, obviously undeterred. “A fiber, a hair, a fingerprint.”
There was a formal investigation, of course.
Sophie recalls the burly frame of Mr. Berg, Marissa’s dad, in his police uniform.
He was the one who moved them away from Quinn, ushering them into their new bleak existence.
He and Jim Hunstad, River’s dad, strung up yellow police tape, the kind she thought was only in movies.
At the time, they still had the illusion spell cast over the spell circle, and thank god for that because it served as a sort of secret hiding place.
They stood mere feet from the two police officers, whose heads were bent against the drizzle, holding notebooks and rubber gloves inside windbreakers, poised for evidence collection.
But ultimately, they found nothing, no trace that anyone else had been with Quinn.
There are dozens of hiking-related deaths every year in Colorado, and this is a slippery rock with a treacherous drop. It was cut-and-dried.
“I think instead of going to talk to Tom, we just take a breath,” says Sophie. “Two days ago, it was the anniversary of Quinn’s death. There are bound to be emotions wound up in that. Let’s work through it instead of obsessing over clues.”
As she says the word clues, the pale pink journal sitting in her closet with Quinn’s name in it slithers into her thoughts. She feels a flutter of nerves.
“How about this,” Joey says. “You guys come with me to Tom’s. We’ll just see what he has to say about that night and ask about the book. Maybe he’ll let us check through any of Quinn’s old stuff he might have. If it’s a dead end, I’ll drop it.”
Elena looks up at the sky. “Still a terrible idea.”
Sophie takes Joey’s hand. It’s warm. She wishes it would bring back good memories from back then, and it does, but they are fleeting.
“We’ll come.” She stares at Elena, and Elena glares back until, finally, she sighs dramatically.
A concession. “But please,” Sophie says, turning back to Joey, “after this, promise me you’ll seriously consider talking to someone. ”
“Deal,” says Joey.
Sophie sees the hawk again, this time diving into the trees with a ferocity and speed it didn’t have before. Something about this decision doesn’t feel quite right, but she can’t go back on it now.