The missing pages from Jenica's journal flutter to the surface of the desk, drawings in black ink, slashed through with red. That's not all of them, surely, because I counted the torn pages as best I could. Even a conservative estimate gave me two dozen missing sheets, and we're only looking at about six.
“The rest of the pages are personal,” Mr. Murphy says, looking down at the desk again. “I'd rather not share those, if you don't mind.”
“You had access to her journal,” Ranger says slowly, not yet looking at the few pages in his hand, or the ones that've fluttered down to the desk. His attention is fully focused on our kind-hearted English teacher, the one that's literally too nice to kill a fly. A literal fly. He works really hard to shoo them outside. As much as I dislike flies myself, you can't mock kindness in others, even if you feel it's too extreme. Kindness, provided it doesn't cause more harm than good, is never too extreme. “After she died.”
“Yes, after she was killed,” Mr. Murphy says, looking back up at us. “I shouldn't even be telling you any of this.”
“Yeah,” Spencer starts with a harsh laugh, “except Chuck caught you purple-handed, leaving that awful fucking note on her door. There's nowhere left to run, dude. Just fess up.”
“I only wrote the notes because I was trying to protect her,” he pleads, and the sincerity in his voice is convincing. Mr. Murphy stands up from his desk, wringing his hands, his face scrunched up in mental anguish. But I keep Church's words about psychopaths in mind, just in case.
“So you admit it then?” Church asks casually, a sharp thread of steel in his voice, well-disguised under his genteel manners.
“I admit it,” Mr. Murphy whispers back, his eyes meeting mine as a chill washes over me. “I was just trying to get Chuck to leave Adamson. I didn't know they would follow.”
“That who would follow?” Church asks as Ranger swaps one page out for the next, faster and faster, until he's back at the beginning again. His kohl lined gaze flicks up to Mr. Murphy, burning with an intensity that makes me squirm.
“A cult?” Ranger asks, his voice thick with disbelief. “You want me to believe that my sister was murdered … by a goddamn cult?”
Mr. Murphy stares right back at us, dead fucking serious.
“They've been at this school since the beginning, since it was St. Augustine’s abbey. That's where the tunnels are from.”
“And these?” Ranger asks, pulling the keys out from inside his shirt. It kills me that he wears them around his neck like that. There's something so sweet but so sad about it, like it should be his sister's arms holding him tight, not a pair of necklaces with ribbons that she carefully strung her keys from. “We know one opens her door in the girl's dorm, and that she was wearing it when she died. But what about this one, the gold one?”
“Where did you find that?” Mr. Murphy asks, biting at his lower lip and glancing in the direction of the door. The soft Enya music that's been playing this whole time—gag me with a spoon, definitely not my choice of tunes—gets turned up, like he's trying to drown out any listening ears from outside.
“In one of the posts on her bed,” I supply, and Mr. Murphy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
“I've looked everywhere for that,” he admits, this blanket of sadness making his shoulders slump. I'm still pissed about the evil notes he wrote me, but I'm not without sympathy. “That's how you got into the tunnels?”
“Somebody led us to the tunnels,” Micah says, his voice sharp and hard, with that ruthless edge I've always noticed that sets him apart from Tobias. “On purpose. The rain might've been accidental, but locking us in was not.”
Mr. Murphy sits back down at his desk and takes a careful sip of his tea as Only Time plays in the background. It doesn't quite set the right mood. We need something … ominous, scary, foreboding. I mean, did Ranger just say cult?
“I’m glad you have Jenica’s room key; that’d make her happy, I think. She spent weeks looking for just the right ribbon …” His face softens with memories, and there’s this long, awkward moment where he’s clearly in another corner of time. When he looks up, the gentleness of those memories shifts into the coldness of fear. “The gold key we found in the woods. One of them dropped it.”
“One of who?” Ranger snaps, slamming his fist down on the desk. He's shaking now, but I can't blame him. This is a lot to take in, even for someone like me who never met Jenica. “One of fucking who? Sorry if I don't just buy into this cult nonsense.”
