Black Feathers (21 page)

Cassie, though, was wide awake, her mind churning, her body tense. The police raiding the camp kept playing in her mind, the voice of the megaphone echoing in her head.

And the voice telling her to run. Had it been Skylark’s voice? Was that the last time she had seen her? Or had she already been gone?

Whose voice had it been?

And where was Skylark? What had happened to her?

Lying in the gloom, listening to the boys breathe, Cassie knew that she wasn’t going to be able to fall back asleep. Her heart was racing, and she realized that she was waiting for the police to return, anticipating screaming, the thudding of heavy boots on the narrow pathways between the tents.

Careful not to make a sound, she crept out of the sleeping bag and into the cold morning air. She left the tent zipper partway open as she slipped into her shoes.

Ian and Jeff’s tent was close to the edge of the camp; she crept behind it and into the grey blur of the open park.

She kept low as she snuck around the outside of the camp, watching the fenceline. When the police car came into view, she shrank back, made herself even smaller, her breath coming in harsh grey pants.

The police officers weren’t in the car. They were standing on the sidewalk, two of them, resting their arms on the top of the chain-link fence.

Faint voices floated in the chill air.

She stopped in the shadow of one of the corner tents, crouching down to watch them.

The cops didn’t seem to be doing anything. They were just leaning on the fence, talking. Were they watching the camp? Were they waiting for others to arrive before they invaded?

What were they doing?

“Cassandra?”

At first, she wasn’t sure where the voice was coming from. It sounded like someone shouting while whispering.

And the voice itself—had she heard it before? She couldn’t be sure …

“Cassandra Weathers.”

This time a flash of light accompanied her name, a double flicker from the nearest cop’s shadowy silhouette.

She crouched lower, tried to force herself to blend into the dark.

The light flashed again.

“Cassandra.” The light flashed again. “Come here.”

There was no hiding; they had seen her. She could run into the camp, but they would follow her. Did she really want to be the cause of the cops coming again?

Her knees popped as she straightened up.

The grass was silver-grey, crunchy under her feet, shimmering in the faint glow of the early morning.

At first, she was almost relieved to see Harrison and his partner; at least it was someone familiar.

But as she got closer, close enough to see the flashlight cradled in his arm, one hand over the lens, close enough to see his breath, her heart clenched again in her chest.

Harrison’s face was set and hard, almost featureless. His partner stepped away from the fence.

“Cassandra.” He slipped the flashlight into a loop on his belt, across his body from his holster, from his gun.

“We need you to come with us.”

Harrison put his hand gently on the top of her head as she climbed into the back of the police car, pushing down slightly to be sure she wouldn’t hit it on the door frame.

He closed the door firmly behind her. There was no handle on the inside. A plate of Plexiglas separated the back seat from the front.

The back of the police car smelled of strong cleaner, almost overpowering, but not powerful enough to completely obscure the smells of booze, urine and vomit. The seat was little more than a plastic bench, ragged and scuffed.

Cassie leaned into the door as close as she could, clinging to it for protection.

In a way, it was a relief: no more waiting, no more worrying. She had known the police would be coming for her as soon as they realized what she had done to Sarah, once Harrison figured out what had really happened to Daddy. It was better this way. No more stress, no more hiding. And now everyone would be safe: Mommy, Heather, Skylark, Ian, Jeff, Brother Paul. With her locked away, they would all be safe.

Harrison’s partner opened the driver’s-side door, the interior light flashing almost blindingly bright as she slid in behind the wheel, slamming the door.

She didn’t look back, didn’t even glance at Cassie.

Well, of course not. Not after what she had done.

Cassie jumped as the other back door opened and Harrison slid onto the seat beside her.

He closed the door gently, then turned to her, drawing his leg up partly under himself.

Cassie pulled away farther still, the cold of the door sharp behind her.

“Cassandra—”

“I told you,” she said, unable to stop the words. “I told you.”

“Cassandra.” His voice was calm, soothing. “Cassandra, calm down, please. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

She forced herself to breathe, to consciously force the air deep into her lungs, and just as important, to not hold it, to push it out. To take another deep breath. Then another.

Harrison watched her breathe, waited.

“I’m okay,” she said. “But if you’re not—” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “If you’re not—”

He took a deep breath. “We need your help.” He glanced at his partner.

“What—”

He unzipped his heavy jacket and reached inside. “Farrow,” he said to his partner. “Could you—” He cocked his head up toward the light behind the grill in the ceiling.

Cassie snapped her eyes shut at the sudden brightness. When she opened them, Harrison was blinking rapidly. “Sorry,” he said.

He was holding something in his right hand, a small card.

“Could you take a look at this?”

It was a student card, laminated, but scuffed. She didn’t recognize the name of the school in Campbell River, but it took her only a moment to recognize the girl in the picture.

She looked younger, softer somehow, blond hair brushed out and crafted into school-picture waves, but the smile, the brightness in her eyes were unmistakable.

“We think that she might have lived in the camp, and we were wondering—”

Cassie felt all the air go out of her.

The name on the card was Laura Ensley. Division 11A.

“Did you know her?” Farrow asked from the front seat.

Lived. Did.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, gesturing toward Harrison with the card. Her hand was shaking, her mind jumbled with images.

Did. Lived.

Harrison glanced at his partner. “The morning we broke
up the camp, there were some things left behind. Your backpack.”

Cassie nodded, her fingertips clenched white around the card.

“There was another bag, close to yours. The ID card was in there.”

“Did you know her?” Farrow repeated.

Cassie nodded again, her throat beginning to swell. “Yes.”

Harrison glanced at Farrow.

“She called herself Skylark.”

Harrison nodded slowly and cleared his throat. “Cassandra—” He reached into his jacket again.

This time, he handed her a photograph.

Cassie knew, even before she had mentally processed the image. She knew, and the world began to spin out of control. She couldn’t breathe and she felt like she was going to throw up or pass out.

“Oh my God.”

It was a photo of Skylark’s face. Her eyes were closed, her skin as white as fresh snow, and as cold. She was lying against a white surface. The photograph had been taken from directly above her, close, unflinching. Her hair was pulled all the way back, her forehead long, a blank, cold plain, unwrinkled, utterly devoid of expression.

Her lips were grey.

Lived. Did.

There was nothing left of her. The brightness, the spark of her was gone. Her lips were slightly parted, but there was no trace of a smile.

“Oh my God.”

“Cassandra.” Harrison started to reach out, but stopped himself. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She shook her head, hunching over as tears gushed forth uncontrollably. Her breath came in great heaves.

After a moment, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Harrison repeated.

“Is she—is she—” She couldn’t form the words, but she needed to know. She needed to hear the answer to the question she could not ask.

“Is that your friend?” Farrow asked, in a voice gentler than Cassie had ever heard coming from her.

Cassie shuddered. “Yes. Is she—” She looked up at Harrison.

After a moment, he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Hearing it, hearing what she already knew, brought on another wave, another heaving sob.

She struggled to breathe.

“Cassandra …”

“I …” She fumbled at the door, but there was no handle, no way to get out. She tried to hold it in, but she couldn’t, and half-turning, she threw up on the floor behind the passenger seat.

Farrow said something in the distance, but Cassie’s ears were full of a roaring, sucking noise. Her throat and nose burned, and she wiped her chin.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.” Small shuddering sobs now. She just wanted to go away. She just wanted to disappear.

“It’s okay,” Harrison said, as Farrow opened the front door and climbed out of the car. “It’s not the worst thing to happen back here.” He tried a smile, but it didn’t work.

“Cassandra,” he started, as Farrow opened his door from outside. “Listen—”

“How?” she asked, barely able to speak, watching Farrow’s grey shape as she came around the back of the car. “How did
she—” She already knew what he was going to say, but she needed to hear the words.

The door behind her opened with a sharp click and a rush of cold air. She tightened, ready to bolt, but she needed to hear.

“Let’s—” Harrison mimed a getting-out-of-the-car gesture, started to move, but Cassie didn’t budge.

“How did she die?” she asked, completely flat.

He looked at her for a moment. “She was murdered,” he said slowly. “A couple of kids found her.”

“Where?” she asked.

The question seemed to surprise him.

“Where did they find her?” she asked, the vision of the alley from her dreams filling her head: brick walls, broken concrete. A metallic bin. So vivid, more a memory than anything she had imagined.

Harrison glanced down at the floor behind the passenger seat, then back at Cassie.

“Come on,” he said, climbing out of the car.

Cassie pulled herself unsteadily out of the back seat, not trusting her legs to support her, not sure the ground would even be there under her feet.

It felt like a dream, like the world was a movie she was watching, like if she walked in the wrong place she would cast a shadow on the screen, destroy the illusion completely.

But the illusion was already gone.

Shattered.

“Where?” she asked again as Harrison came around the car. The cold air scorched the rawness of her throat, her nose.

“Fernwood,” he said. “It’s a neighbourhood not far from here.” He took a deep breath. “She was found behind a building.”

“An alley.”

He looked at her. “Yes.”

Cassie laughed; she couldn’t help herself. It was all so—She laughed, covered her mouth, but she couldn’t stop.

Harrison just looked at her.

“Cassandra—” He leaned toward her, but she stepped away.

“I’m all right,” she said, the cold cutting into her. “I’m all right.”

She could have repeated the words a million times, that wouldn’t have made them true. All she wanted to do was collapse on the ground, fall asleep and never wake up. Total oblivion: that was what she wanted.

“We just have a couple of questions.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Sure,” she said. “Fine. Whatever.”

Harrison flipped open his notebook. “When was the last time you saw Laura Ensley?”

She wanted to hit him. “That night,” she said. “The night the police came to the camp.”

“That fits with the time of death,” Farrow said, coming around the car.

Harrison shot her a look as Cassandra’s legs wobbled under her.

“According to her file she had some problems with drugs. Was she involved with anything—”

“Farrow,” Harrison said. “We don’t—”

He folded his notebook closed as Cassie started crying again. “Okay,” he said.

He glanced at Farrow. She shook her head slightly, but he turned back to Cassie.

“Cassie,” he said, and the gentleness of his tone was one
of the most terrifying things she had ever heard. “I have to ask you something …”

“Oh God,” she groaned. “Oh God.”

“It’s about your father.”

A sound came out of her throat, a knife-edged sob.

Harrison glanced at Farrow again.

“Have you seen him?”

The question drove the breath from her. “What?” She gasped.

“Have you seen your father? Here?”

She just looked at him. The question didn’t make any sense. “Your mother called us,” Farrow said, stepping forward. “She said that she hadn’t seen him. That he had left a few days ago.”

Cassie looked between them, trying to make their words make sense.

“She thought he might be coming here.”

She surrendered to the sobbing, crumpling to her knees on the cold pavement. “Oh God.”

A moment later, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t know whose it was, her eyes pressed shut. Maybe when she opened them, it would all have been a dream.