her. But she doesn’t make sense. She mumbles and laughs like a maniac about being powerless and weak. Losing her strength. She says they’re stuck here—lingering, that’s the word she uses—and she wants out.”
I didn’t feel powerless or weak. Not exactly. I mean, I felt different—and there were clearly different rules and constraints—but at least I was able to talk to Gabe.
“Who did it, Liv? Why were you out there? What were you doing?”
I hesitated, and Gabe immediately knew. “You were with him. I
told
you about him! I warned you.”
“I was with him. But it
wasn’t
him.” Of course it wasn’t him.
By now we were approaching the cemetery. He lookedaround cautiously. “There’s another one who lingers here, so let’s hurry.”
I moved quickly, again getting that floating feeling. With little effort, I got several paces ahead of him.
He looked up, amazed.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re coming and going as you cross the graves. Appearing and disappearing.”
I couldn’t feel a thing. Nothing looked different to me; I could always see myself.
“It’s magical,” he mused, sounding almost unafraid for the first time since he saw me. “Or really creepy. I’m not sure which.”
“So you could see me in that nook, you could see me at the well where I died, and now here.” I was trying to make sense of it all. “You can see me where there’s death.”
He nodded. “I guess. Wait, stay there. So I can see you.”
I paused on a grave. He slumped down beside a headstone nearby.
“Tell me what happened last night,” he demanded. “You snuck out?”
I nodded.
“You met him?”
“In the woods near the well. Then we heard something. We ran in opposite directions. He was
protecting
me, distracting whoever it was so
he’d
get in trouble, not me.”
Gabe didn’t buy it. “And then what?”
“I paused at the well, to catch my breath. And I guess I was hit from behind.”
“By Malcolm.”
“No. It
wasn’t
him.” I wanted to tell him what Malcolm had said—that he
loved
me—but I couldn’t. It was too private. I scrolled through my memory trying to think about who might want to kill me and why. Suddenly I saw flashes of a face—glowering at me as I arrived on the steps late to the tour, a look of disgust as I danced with Malcolm, laughing at me in Old Homestead, hiding in the shadows as Malcolm and I arrived back at my dorm or ate in the Tuck Shop. It was so obvious.
“Abigail Steers!” I knew it was her. “She’s hated me since the moment I interrupted her tour. And then Malcolm’s interest just made it worse. There’s something seriously wrong with her. I
knew
it.”
Gabe waved a hand dismissively. “She doesn’t have it in her. Getting her hands dirty like …” He stopped abruptly when he saw something past me. I looked over. It was Headmaster Thorton, leading a team of police officers with sniffing dogs.
The headmaster scowled. He’d just seen Gabe talking—talking to nobody. “Mr. Nichols, do you not have a shift you should be working at present?” he called.
“I do, but …” He shook his head, dangling his long hair over his face.
One of the dogs started to growl, perhaps sensing me. Sensing
something.
“Tell them to check Abigail! Tell them!” I yelled.
Gabe ignored me, but I needed them to know. At that moment, I didn’t care if they all thought he was crazy. They
had
to know. “Tell them to look in the well and that it was Abigail Steers! You have to tell them!
Now
!”
Then I turned and saw a girl had appeared, standing on a gravestone silently beside me. It was the same girl I’d seen here that Headmaster Holiday night, the one like Warhol’s
Jackie O
. I was certain of it. Only now she didn’t look alive at all. She looked faint and translucent like the others. But her wrists were still cut open, and her skirt and jacket were now covered in dried blood. She recognized me.
“You,” she said as she started toward me. I
I didn’t feel powerless or weak. Not exactly. I mean, I felt different—and there were clearly different rules and constraints—but at least I was able to talk to Gabe.
“Who did it, Liv? Why were you out there? What were you doing?”
I hesitated, and Gabe immediately knew. “You were with him. I
told
you about him! I warned you.”
“I was with him. But it
wasn’t
him.” Of course it wasn’t him.
By now we were approaching the cemetery. He lookedaround cautiously. “There’s another one who lingers here, so let’s hurry.”
I moved quickly, again getting that floating feeling. With little effort, I got several paces ahead of him.
He looked up, amazed.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re coming and going as you cross the graves. Appearing and disappearing.”
I couldn’t feel a thing. Nothing looked different to me; I could always see myself.
“It’s magical,” he mused, sounding almost unafraid for the first time since he saw me. “Or really creepy. I’m not sure which.”
“So you could see me in that nook, you could see me at the well where I died, and now here.” I was trying to make sense of it all. “You can see me where there’s death.”
He nodded. “I guess. Wait, stay there. So I can see you.”
I paused on a grave. He slumped down beside a headstone nearby.
“Tell me what happened last night,” he demanded. “You snuck out?”
I nodded.
“You met him?”
“In the woods near the well. Then we heard something. We ran in opposite directions. He was
protecting
me, distracting whoever it was so
he’d
get in trouble, not me.”
Gabe didn’t buy it. “And then what?”
“I paused at the well, to catch my breath. And I guess I was hit from behind.”
“By Malcolm.”
“No. It
wasn’t
him.” I wanted to tell him what Malcolm had said—that he
loved
me—but I couldn’t. It was too private. I scrolled through my memory trying to think about who might want to kill me and why. Suddenly I saw flashes of a face—glowering at me as I arrived on the steps late to the tour, a look of disgust as I danced with Malcolm, laughing at me in Old Homestead, hiding in the shadows as Malcolm and I arrived back at my dorm or ate in the Tuck Shop. It was so obvious.
“Abigail Steers!” I knew it was her. “She’s hated me since the moment I interrupted her tour. And then Malcolm’s interest just made it worse. There’s something seriously wrong with her. I
knew
it.”
Gabe waved a hand dismissively. “She doesn’t have it in her. Getting her hands dirty like …” He stopped abruptly when he saw something past me. I looked over. It was Headmaster Thorton, leading a team of police officers with sniffing dogs.
The headmaster scowled. He’d just seen Gabe talking—talking to nobody. “Mr. Nichols, do you not have a shift you should be working at present?” he called.
“I do, but …” He shook his head, dangling his long hair over his face.
One of the dogs started to growl, perhaps sensing me. Sensing
something.
“Tell them to check Abigail! Tell them!” I yelled.
Gabe ignored me, but I needed them to know. At that moment, I didn’t care if they all thought he was crazy. They
had
to know. “Tell them to look in the well and that it was Abigail Steers! You have to tell them!
Now
!”
Then I turned and saw a girl had appeared, standing on a gravestone silently beside me. It was the same girl I’d seen here that Headmaster Holiday night, the one like Warhol’s
Jackie O
. I was certain of it. Only now she didn’t look alive at all. She looked faint and translucent like the others. But her wrists were still cut open, and her skirt and jacket were now covered in dried blood. She recognized me.
“You,” she said as she started toward me. I
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