Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

This dream seems to be going on for ever. It's changed suddenly, the way dreams do; they're not logical at all. I'm not at the field any more, with the dead girl who looks like me. Now I'm at home with my mother. She's sitting in the living room, weeping, while police and people in white coveralls move around our house. It's so strange, like watching a TV show. I'm here, but I'm not part of it.

I'm worried about my mother. She looks so wretched it almost scares me, like seeing the girl in the field did. I reach out to touch her shoulder. ‘Mom, I'm right here.'

But she ignores me. She doesn't see me, she doesn't hear me, she just keeps crying. I sit down beside her for a minute and try to get her attention. It doesn't work. I can't comfort her. I give up and start to follow people from room to room, curious. Obviously, they think I've been murdered. That's what all this is about. I wonder what it means when you dream about your own murder? I want to scream: It's just a dream! I do scream then, wordlessly, to get someone, anyone , to notice me. But no one seems to hear me. It's like there's a perfectly clean sheet of glass between me and them. I reach out, but there's nothing there.

I'm frightened now, starting to panic, the dream spilling into nightmare. I shout at them all – Nothing has happened to me! I'm fine. I'm right here! But they carry on with their tasks, ignoring me. They're dusting everywhere for fingerprints, making a mess of everything with their dark powder. They bend their heads over their work, undisturbed. I'm in my bedroom now, watching them lift up the carpet. I don't want them in here, snooping where they don't belong. It's such an invasion of privacy. I don't like any of this. I'm a private person; I don't share everything. Nobody does. We all have secrets, things we keep to ourselves, that we would never want anyone to know.

There's something tickling at the back of my mind, something I feel I should remember, something important. But it's just out of reach. I tell myself it doesn't matter. I'll wake up soon, and I probably won't remember any of this anyway. I don't usually remember my dreams.

Paula Acosta has returned to her empty classroom. She couldn't stand being in the staff room any longer, everyone in shock, talking about Diana in hushed tones. She's trying to deal with the news on her own, trying to recover her composure before she goes home and sees Taylor. School for the upper years has already been cancelled for the rest of the day; the lower grades will be dismissed for the afternoon. She will go home then to be with her daughter.

Paula thinks about Diana, how lovely she was, so full of promise, and the horrible, frightening way she must have died. They are a little short on the details, but she knows that she was strangled, left naked in a farmer's field. Who would do that to her? The police will question Cameron. She hopes they aren't too hard on him. He's just a boy, and he clearly doted on Diana. This will utterly derail him. She thinks of everyone else who will be affected by Diana's death, how many lives will be irreversibly changed for the worse. Her mother, her friends, the community – and all the people she would have touched in her life. She was such a positive girl – she would have done good in the world, and God knows the world needs more like her. Why did she have to die? It's so incredibly unjust.

Paula's thoughts grow more agitated as she thinks about who might have done it. Maybe it was a drifter, passing through, someone on parole? A stranger. But what if he wasn't just passing through? What if he's still here? She has a young daughter. The thought of a predator out there makes her afraid.

And what if it wasn't a stranger? She doesn't know if that's better or worse. What if it was someone Diana knew? She sucks in a sudden breath. She's remembered something that makes her heart seize. It's … disturbing. She leans back in her chair, feeling a little ill. She waits for the feeling to pass, decides what to do.

She knows she is more and more apt to dwell on the awful aspects of the world these days, to assume the worst. It's all going to hell in a handbasket, as far as she can tell. But she must pull herself together now; she can't have her daughter and her students knowing that's what she really thinks. She must maintain some sort of optimism for them.

Riley is in her bedroom in the early afternoon when her mother taps on her door and opens it. ‘Riley? Evan is here. Do you want to talk to him?'

Riley looks up at her mother from where she's sitting on the bed with her laptop. Her mom has been supportive, holding her for a long time while she cried. But then when Riley wanted to be alone, her mother gave her some space. Riley considers dully – does she want to see Evan? She doesn't really want to talk to anyone; she wants to be alone with her grief, but he's a good friend and she knows it would be unkind not to see him. He's hurting too. She gets up off the bed. ‘Sure.' She follows her mom downstairs.

She and Evan hug the way people do when something terrible has happened, then she leads him into the TV room and closes the door behind them. Evan looks awful. She's sure she doesn't look any better. They stand and stare at each other for a moment.

Finally Riley says, ‘I can't believe she's gone. I don't know how we'll go on without her.'

‘Me neither,' Evan says.

They sit down in heavy silence. ‘What did you tell the police?' Riley asks at last.

He shrugs. ‘Nothing much. I don't know anyone who would want to hurt her.' He asks, ‘What about you?'

She tries to think. She can hardly remember what she told them. She was in shock. ‘Same. I told them I don't know anyone who would want to hurt Diana.' She pauses. ‘But I left some things out.'

‘What things?'

She looks at him then and asks, ‘What did you say about Cameron?'

‘What did you say about him?' Evan counters.

‘I think I said everything was fine between them.'

‘That's what I said.'

They look at each other uneasily. ‘But they weren't completely fine,' Riley admits now.

‘No,' Evan agrees. ‘But we know there's no way Cameron killed her, so we don't have to say anything, right?'

But now Riley hesitates. She knows that things weren't that great lately between Diana and Cameron. Cameron had become more and more possessive of Diana, even a bit controlling. Diana had been smiling less, and she'd been quieter. Evan must have noticed it too. Diana had finally confided in Riley last week. She told her that Cameron was getting too serious about her, and she was beginning to pull back. He didn't like it. He was pushing her for more of a commitment.

‘I'm seventeen years old,' Diana had complained to Riley. ‘How can he want more of a commitment? I'm not going to be a teenage bride. I'm going to be a vet. I'm going away to school.'

‘Right,' Riley had agreed. ‘He knows that. He's always known that.'

‘Yeah. But now he wants us to go to the same college next year. He's insisting.'

‘Oh,' Riley had said.

‘Exactly. I'm not going to narrow my options to accommodate him. I mean, I love him, but I don't think it's a forever kind of thing for me.' She'd looked troubled. ‘I don't want to go to the same college. I'm not ready to settle down. But how do I tell him that? He's so sweet, and he adores me. We're so happy together. And I don't want to hurt him.'

‘But you have to tell him, somehow,' Riley had said. ‘And maybe the sooner the better.' This was said partly out of selfishness; she didn't really like it that Diana had started spending so much time with Cameron and spending less time with her.

‘I don't know. College is still almost a year away,' Diana had said. Then she'd added, her brow furrowing, ‘But the longer I let it go on, the harder it's going to be.'

Riley thinks now about the advice she'd given Diana and suddenly feels sick to her stomach. She blurts out, ‘Diana was thinking about breaking up with him.'

‘What?' Evan looks shocked. ‘Why do you think that?'

‘Because he was insisting they go to the same college next year, and she didn't want to.' She tells him, ‘Diana went out with him last night, after her mother left for work – I told the police that. I showed them her text to me about it. He was going to pick her up. Should I have told them she was thinking of breaking up with him?' She suddenly feels her face go bloodless. ‘Maybe she broke up with him last night.'

Evan looks back at her, his expression appalled at what she's implying. ‘Cameron wouldn't hurt her.'

‘But – should they know? Should I tell them?'

He looks at her, uncertain.

She remembers the card the officer at the school gave her, nestled in the pocket of her jeans.

‘What are you going to do?' Evan asks her now.

‘I don't know.'