“You kind of have to get down on the ground and push your way through,” Gideon says, demonstrating.
The sheriff pulls out his phone. “Okay, I’m going to call my deputy and see if Pam’s had any updates from the Davenports. Then you can show me inside there.” He steps away, and I get down on my knees, scrambling after Gideon. A bundle of pine needles brushes the delicate spot on my head and I wince.
I make it through and sit in the dirt, trying to slow my breathing as Gideon paces back and forth. “You were right,” he mutters, his voice low. “I wasted all that time, and Seth really took her.”
“I told you she was in trouble!” I whisper-scream.
“It sounded insane, Cass,” he growls.
His words knock the wind out of me. I can’t catch my breath. Insane. Pyro. Killer. Fire Girl. Those are the names Melody and Laura call me. Never Gideon.
Now he sees what they see in me. If Melody’s dead, Gideon is always going to blame me.
My eyes sting as I suck in a whistling breath. “I’m sorry.”
He’s right, though. And it’s totally fitting. Because I’m already responsible for one death.
* * *
An hour later, Gideon and I are chauffeured back to school, Sheriff’s Henderson’s cards tucked into our back pockets. Gideon storms ahead of me up the front steps, and I scramble to catch up. “Giddy, wait. I’m going to fix this.”
Slowly, he turns around. “Fix it?” His dark eyes narrow. “The only way this gets fixed is if Melody turns up, unharmed.”
I want to promise that she will, but I can’t lie to him again. I hate myself too much already.
“I keep getting the feeling it’s too late,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair. “That we gave Seth all the time he needed to hide Melody and return to the log to clean up.”
“Maybe he’s not the guy.”
Gideon’s eyes dart sideways. “Not the guy?” He lets out an exasperated puff of air. “He looked like he wanted to hurt her yesterday. You saw him yourself.”
“Yeah, he seemed angry. Hours earlier. We don’t know it was him in the woods. It could’ve been anyone.” And it could’ve been. Between the sounds of the water, that demented raven, and the pounding of my heart, I couldn’t hear the other voice clearly.
But I have more than the voice from the woods to go on.
Gideon glowers at me, and it isn’t in the childish way he used to. Then he turns and paces off down the hall. I scramble to keep up until he stops at the doors to the outer courtyard. “Why did you bike up into the hills? To the abandoned mill of all places? And why did you lie to the sheriff about it?”
I twist my lips, the text message flashing in my mind. My head darts around, checking to see if Brandon is listening to my every word. The lunch bell sounds, and classroom doors fling open as students flood the hall. Gideon broods for a moment, but then he lays a hand on my arm. “Whatever you’re worried about, you can tell me. You know that, right?” His dark eyes bore into mine, and I force a smile. I lean into his shoulder, trying to hold back the tears.
After the way he looked at me yesterday, I don’t believe him.
“Come over tonight,” I say, looking up. “I have to ride the bench at our game after school, but then I’m free. We’ll figure out something. I’ll help you spy on Seth.”
“I’m not letting you anywhere near that guy.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Just come over. Maybe by then, we’ll have some news.”
He nods, but his eyes tell me he’s miles, maybe universes away. This time, it isn’t Middle-earth.
We walk back, side by side. But an eerie hum weaves through the hall. Whispering. A hundred sets of eyes stare at us.
Kids at school often whisper about me. And they whisper about Gideon. But they especially like to whisper about the two of us together. Mostly because Melody liked to spread the thought that a guy like Gideon shouldn’t be friends with a murderer like me. And when Melody graduated, her apprentice Laura carried on the tradition. We’re used to it.
Which is why it stings when Gideon mumbles, “I’ll see you after school,” and speeds off down the hall without me.
Watching him flee reminds me of the day he left me on the log in ninth grade. It’s a moment I think of often, even though the pain is still fresh.
He’d grabbed my hand in that innocent way he had a million times. Like the day we became friends on the Harris County Zoo field trip, when he stopped chasing his paper airplane long enough to take my hand and lead me away from the snickering kids and their fire jokes.
But this time, when he pulled me, it was to a seat beside him on the log.
I laughed at first. We’d overheard teenage drama unfold on the log once or twice, so I figured Gideon was staging a reenactment. At fourteen, he was about my height and stared me straight in the eyes. Eventually, his firm gaze halted my laughter. The face looking back at me was different, somehow.
Focused—on me.
“Giddy.” It had to be a joke. But before I’d finished my thought, Gideon’s lips pressed to mine.
I froze, dazed. When he pulled back, shy smiles tugged at our lips. He took my hand again, and a new feeling fluttered in my stomach. I had loved Gideon since the day of the zoo field trip, but in that innocent way best friends love each other.
As I looked into his dark eyes, my hand resting perfectly in his, I knew I would love Gideon Hollander in this new way for the rest of my days.
But a strange look washed over his face. Uncomfortable silence. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. Then he let go. He jumped off the log and strode awkwardly ahead of me through the woods.
The new feeling seized and tumbled like a baby bird too young for flight. I wanted it back—I wanted him back. But the spot beside me on the log was empty, and it stayed that way.
There was no discussion about what happened, about why Gideon never wanted to repeat our kiss. We remained as close as ever; I refused to let my confusion push him away. But we never held hands in that careless, innocent way kids do again.
We weren’t kids anymore, anyway.
I’ve wondered a lot over the last few years about what stopped Gideon from kissing me again. I’ve wondered if kissing me had been like seeing through some sort of window into my soul. If he sensed the darkness in me. The darkness that kept me from helping Melody in the woods. The darkness that had me plotting how to end her in the first place.
Now, I look up at the students still whispering. Still staring. But these aren’t the typical sneers and snickers I’m used to.
Emily rushes from one clump of classmates. “Is it true?”