Bianca Torre Is Afraid of Everything, page 18
“I found it.” I keep my voice low, but it definitely is more of a whisper-yell. “The evil lair is here in the bowels of the Jamba.”
Anderson blinks, looking up at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
My experience spills out of me, a rush of words trampling over each other. I take out my phone and show them the pictures. Anderson nearly spits his whey protein shake in my face.
“They have a secret entryway in the bathroom?”
I nod.
“I’m a little confused,” Elaine says between sips of her own smoothie. “What do plague doctor masks have to do with anything?”
“The killer had one on.” I rub my hands on my knees.
“We should go down there then,” Elaine says.
“No, we shouldn’t!” I blurted that too quickly. I don’t want to seem scared in front of her, so I add a quick, “It’s evening. Any of them could be there. And what if they have weapons?”
“Fair points.”
“Yeah, I’m not really in the mood to take on a weird cult today,” Anderson says. “I didn’t even finish my drink.”
It’s hard to hide my relief. “Maybe we should head back to the car? Someone involved could be anywhere, and I’d rather watch the entrance through locked doors.”
Anderson and Elaine nod, and we grab our smoothies and exit. I try not to walk too suspiciously fast as we get to the car, but I still try to open the handle before Elaine can unlock it. Finally, we get in, the entrance of the store still in view.
“Okay,” Elaine says. “Basically, this confirms that the book and symbol are definitely connected to the person who murdered Mr. Conspiracy.” Excitement lines her voice. She ties her hair back into a loose ponytail. “We can assume the person you saw, the person who killed him, was part of the Flock.”
“The Flock?” I ask.
“It’s what they call themselves in the poetic cult handbook, might as well use it.”
“You pick up on murder investigation stuff very quickly,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.
She gives me a grin. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”
It’s not like she said anything suggestive, but the way she’s looking toward me makes my lungs feel like they’re filled with helium. I want to float and flee at the same time. She still doesn’t break my gaze. I cross my legs, heart rate quickening.
“That means someone at our school might be the killer,” Anderson says with a mouthful of acai. “I bet it’s Coach Roberts. Complete dick.”
My face starts heating because for a moment I completely forgot Anderson was in the car with us. To be fair, he finally responded to Layla’s text and was keeping to himself, but it had a lot more to do with Elaine being next to me.
She’s helping out, it’s not like she’s interested in me. I have to remove the word date from my vocabulary until this is done, she gets bored of me, and we go back to occasionally saying a few words to each other on birding hikes. Otherwise, I’m going to get my own hopes up for no reason, only to be really disappointed in the end.
“I doubt it’s Coach Roberts,” I say. “It was in the office with the English and history department, so it has to be one of them, right?”
“That’s true . . .” He bites his straw as he thinks. “It’s probably not Ms. Richards or Mrs. Garcia. They don’t seem the type.”
He’s not wrong. And with the way Ms. Richards critiques my writing, I don’t think she’d let a book of mediocre poetry slide.
“Ms. Schmidt, the Euro teacher? Now, I could see her killing someone,” Anderson continues.
“I mean, someone doesn’t have to be an obvious murderer.” Elaine tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear. “They are involved in this Flock, which implies multiple people, and doesn’t mean they were the one to kill the guy. They could’ve let it happen without doing the dirty work.”
“True.” Anderson looks off like he’s trying to go through all the teachers in the English and history departments to figure out who could be the most murderer adjacent.
“But why would they leave the book out?” I ask. “Like, it was way obviously in the open.”
“Maybe they were trying to test you.” Elaine sips her smoothie before returning it to the cup holder. “To see if you’re actually still investigating the murder. They might not know how much you know, but if you took the book, it definitely seems like you’re looking into them.”
Great. This makes me feel great.
“Awesome,” I say.
“And with the bird references?” Elaine asks. “It seems like someone is targeting you directly.”
Another nice thought.
“I mean, Mr. Conspiracy used bird references before I got involved,” I say.
Anderson leans forward. “It is a possibility that a birding group is involved.”
Yeah, that probably is important to mention. Elaine’s eyebrows raise.
“It can’t be ours. But if it is, I bet it’s Mr. Wattson,” she says.
“Who’s randomly judging murderers now?” Anderson teases.
A bit of color rises in Elaine’s cheeks. “Well, we can’t rule out the possibility. If anyone was laundering from our group . . . But is there any evidence that points to GLAOE specifically?”
I shake my head. “I can’t imagine there being tons of bird clubs in the area, but no.” I sigh. “And we don’t know if that’s a real connection. All this started with Nate, who was an avid birdwatcher. It could be because of him?”
Anderson blinks like he never even considered that. I can’t blame him for focusing on the birding group possibility either. “I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe.”
“We should look into it either way,” Elaine says. “But our group isn’t meeting again until the weekend. So, what’s the plan now?”
“I think we’re looking at this from the wrong angle,” I say. “This location is a great start, but there could be something else we’re missing with Feathergate.”
“You do have to catch me up a bit more on that,” she says.
“I’ll send you pictures of the school’s budget documents. We can also look more into the sonnet book.” I brought it with me, concealed by the Pusheen cover, so I hand it to her. “We can try to figure out what they’re planning, apparently there’s something going down on the eighteenth.”
Elaine leans the book on the steering wheel and begins flipping through the various sonnets.
“Yeah, that doesn’t give us much time. It’s possible there’s more hidden in here, but this also could be one of a few things the cult members are given. That would be smarter than putting it all in one place. You know, in case someone happens to steal it.”
She looks directly at me and I feel my cheeks heating. I take a long sip of my smoothie, willing the cool drink to prevent the spreading blush from being that bad.
“What they didn’t prepare for is a Shakespeare-obsessed mom,” I say. “If the next book is based on Stanislavski or Meisner acting techniques, they better watch out.”
“No idea what that means,” Anderson says.
I’m not sure if Elaine does either, but it gets her to smile, and that’s honestly enough for me.
“Other than the address, I’m not sure what to get from this . . .” She looks at me, then twists to Anderson in the back seat. “Any ideas?”
I completely forgot the entire message, so I have to read over it a few times. It doesn’t seem to give any clearer information. Not that poetry has ever been a strong suit for me. I think I maybe tried to write a haiku for an assignment in class once and got a C on it. That’s about the extent of my knowledge.
“The ‘this life, next life’ thing is kind of unsettling,” I say. “Do you think that has something to do with killing Mr. Conspiracy? Or Nate? To, like, rebirth them or something?”
“No, they definitely killed them to silence them,” Anderson says, leaning forward to see the paper. “This makes it seem like only the cult people are reborn. Which, along with the money they’re stealing, is probably what gets people to join.”
“Great to know what we’re dealing with,” Elaine says.
Despite the sarcasm in her words, her eyes are wide and shining. I feel like she really did watch a lot of true crime or something, because this seems to be right up her alley.
I’d be happy to follow her every idea to see her face illuminate like that.
“Wait, we should show you Mr. Conspiracy’s diary,” Anderson says. “It’s mostly . . . pretty out there . . . but if there was a code in the cult book, maybe he left some kind of code for us too.”
“Did you know him?” Elaine asks.
Anderson and I share a look. “Kind of,” I say finally. “We both had connections to him, even if we weren’t super close.”
“Well, I’ll still try to help. Fresh eyes and all.” It’s like she’s trying not to sound eager. It’s not exactly working, but the excitement is a little contagious.
“We took pictures of the pages. I can share the folder with you.” I open it up on my phone and hand it over to Elaine to type in her email. “Are you sure you want to do this though? Like, they have been threatening me.”
Maybe I am being a little paranoid. But the concern seems valid enough to add
Fear #62: Cult Members Murdering the Girl I Like
“Fortunately, the threats have been limited to Bianca,” Anderson says. “It makes helping out a lot easier.”
I’m glad that’s the case, even if he is teasing and I’d much rather there be no threats at all.
“They probably won’t even know I’m involved, it’s fine.” She winks at me. “If they kill you first, then I’ll get worried.”
“Great,” I say. “Thanks.”
Elaine hands me back the poetry book. “I’ll take you two home before I get into it. I’ll text you if I can find anything, but we can also meet up soon.”
I can’t argue with that. Even if it doesn’t lead to any more information on the Flock, it’s an excuse to hang out with Elaine again.
“Sounds good.”
The drive home goes by faster, and I’m not sure if that’s because it doesn’t feel quite as awkward. Elaine parks in front of my house.
“Thanks for trusting me with this,” she says as I open the door.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks for helping.”
She gives a thumbs-up, and I exit the car along with Anderson.
“See you soon.” He waves.
“For sure.”
Once we’re both on the sidewalk, she waves back and drives off. My heart races long after her car disappears around the corner.
“You’re getting better,” Anderson says. “There is hope for you yet.”
I look over. “That’s actually reassuring.”
“Speaking of potential crushes, I’m gonna FaceTime Layla.”
“Because you’re playing it cool, right?”
“Ice cold.” He grins.
“See you.”
He pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “Text Elaine.”
I hug him back before gently shoving him away. “That’s a bad goodbye.”
Anderson laughs it off and already starts pulling up Layla’s contact info as he jogs back to his apartment. I pull out my keys and unlock the front door before stepping inside. Dad should be at work. Mom has class, and it’s tech week for Kate, so she likely won’t be home before ten a single night this week.
I send a text to our family group chat to let them know I’m home. Mom immediately likes it, but doesn’t respond otherwise. It’s part of our post-threats arrangement, along with keeping my location visible.
“Hello?” I call to the empty house.
Nobody answers, but I suppose nobody breaking in would.
I shut the door behind me quickly and lock it. I’d dead bolt it too if Mom wasn’t due to come home soon. I can’t explain this bad feeling that nestles in my chest, being home alone. My first thought is to ask Anderson if I can go over his place, or if he would want to come over and watch Your Name or Spirited Away for the twentieth time. I don’t want to interrupt his call with Layla, though, because I do like them both.
It’s probably leftover paranoia from the previous threats.
My bedroom door is slightly open, but as I approach, I hear Puck doing a weird mix of her bird chirp and a growl.
Is there a bird outside the window?
A little excitement rises in me. I could actually use some quiet birdwatching to get my mind off everything. Maybe a little people-watching too. If I can handle it. It has been a while, and it might be too much after the whole mask discovery today.
I walk inside, and instead of my telescope grabbing my attention, it’s the words on the outside of my window, written in blood.
My heart stops. My breathing comes too quickly, and my vision blurs.
Against better judgment, I walk closer.
Next to the blood, there’s a small bird hanging from a string. I recognize the little gray-vest plumage of an olive-sided flycatcher, though it’s hard to be sure with the blood staining the feathers. There’s a hole on the outside of its belly that has some of the inside peeking through. Its neck is bent at an unnatural angle, body too stiff and still.
Tears start burning my eyes.
Fear #10: Blood
Fear #56: Animal Carcasses
My heartbeat is too fast. I’m light-headed. I’m breathing way too quickly. I need to slow my breaths. Measure them.
It doesn’t work. It’s like my body is shutting down. I’m dizzy.
I glance back at the lettering next to the hanging bird. This time I know the blood isn’t fake.
I briefly register the words before my vision goes white.
NOT A PEEP.
Twenty-Four
Anderson Coleman Is Afraid of Some Things
I can’t stay here. I manage to scoop up Puck and make it out of my bedroom, shutting the door behind us. I stumble down the stairs, Puck squirming out of my arms, but not going far. I barely make it to the couch before falling over. I only feel a slight reprieve as my face presses into the cushion. I’m not sure if I narrowly avoid passing out or if I do pass out a little as I lie on the couch with my eyes squeezed shut.
Puck sits down next to me and starts to lick the hair of my forearm. I let her. If anything, the scratchy tongue is kind of soothing.
When I regain a small sense of equilibrium, I reach for my phone in my pocket. I can’t stay in the house. I’m not sure Mom or Dad have access to their phones, and I know Kate doesn’t.
I want to call Anderson. I shouldn’t be alone. I would hate to interrupt his call with Layla. Still . . .
What if the person who did this is still nearby? I at least have to make sure the Colemans are aware in case someone tries to target Anderson too.
I call Ronan.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
He must know that I’m not the type of person to call unless it was some kind of an emergency. Normally, the very idea of having to talk on the phone fills me with dread.
Fear #20: Phone Calls
But hearing a familiar voice right now is reassuring.
“Can you come get me?” I ask. It’s probably not the best way to start, but I don’t know how else to say it. “Not alone, though! Or maybe I can come over, if that’s okay? I . . . I was threatened again, and it’s a little worse this time.”
While I think murdering a bird and using its blood to write a creepy message on the second floor is a bit more than a little worse, I don’t really want to go into the details right now.
“We’ll be right over,” Ronan says.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks.”
Ronan hangs up. I hate how scared and small my voice sounds, but I’m not necessarily out of danger yet. Ronan must run over, hopefully with Mr. Coleman, because barely a few minutes pass before there’s a knock on the door.
I stand up slowly but don’t answer it immediately.
“Bianca?” Ronan’s voice calls. “We’re here.”
I unlock the door and open it up to Ronan and Anderson.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your call,” I say.
“Shut up.” Anderson puts his good arm around me and pulls me in. I’m not one for contact, but this is welcome. I can barely stand up on my own without shaking. “Where is the threat?”
“My room,” I say. “The window.”
Ronan checks his phone. “Mom is reaching out to your parents. You’re going to stay with us, so we’ll need to grab your things. Are you good to go in the room again or should Anderson and I go for you?”
As much as I don’t really want to be greeted by the sight of the bird in there, I’m not sure I could handle the embarrassment of my two male friends picking out my underwear. “I can go.” I shift on my feet. “I shouldn’t leave Puck though.”
Like she wants to make sure of it, Puck starts circling around our legs and brushing her side against them. Either way, if someone is willing to mangle a bird, I’m not sure how far they’d have to stretch to move on to pets.
“Mom loves Puck, so it shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll ask her.” Ronan already starts typing out a message. “Anderson, you can help Bianca.”
Anderson leads me to my room and walks in first. I try to look anywhere but the window. Of course, it’s the first thing he sees.
“That’s a real bird?”
I nod.
“Okay.” He rubs his forehead for a second. “Get whatever you need, I can help carry it.”
“Am I spending the night?”
“They know where your bedroom is, I think so.”
“Is that okay?”
He waves away the concern. “I think this is a special case and it’s probably better you aren’t at home, especially not by yourself.”
He’s right. I have to remind myself how easily they can get to me.
I blink back tears as I grab the one large duffel bag I have and start tossing in random articles of clothes, deodorant, and whatever other essential items I’ll need for the night. I make a note to grab my toothbrush from the shared bathroom. I try to keep it to what I actually do need, and not anything extra. Anderson doesn’t really know how to help, so he stands in the way of the window, partially to block my view and partially to take a bunch of pictures of what the Flock did.
