Liv, Forever (16 page)

We were an unlikely trio: the handsome golden boy, the conspiracy theorist of questionable mental health, and the ghost. And we had some pretty serious communication issues seeing as the golden boy couldn’t hear the ghost, leaving the conspiracy theorist to be the go-between. Not to mention, just minutes prior, the golden boy had thought the conspiracy theorist was an insane stalker and the conspiracy theorist still suspected the golden boy to be the ringleader of some kind of evil scheme. However, we needed one another. Kind of like a mini-ecosystem or a triptych painting or the premise of a wacky TV sitcom.

We retreated to the dreary stacks of the library. We had much to discuss. First of all, Abigail. We told Malcolm we thought she had killed me.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Then why did she lie about me and try to make it seem like I killed myself?!” I yelled.

Gabe repeated my question for Malcolm in a respectfully calmer tone.

Malcolm looked down, silent.

“And her friend Sloan?” I continued. “And that guy Amos … and … you.”

“Him?” Gabe asked. “You didn’t tell me that.”

I instantly regretted having said it. “But he only lied to keep from getting in trouble.”

Gabe turned to Malcolm. “She says you lied, too.”

He nodded. “The Victors … They didn’t want my name associated with what happened.”

“But why would the others—all Victors, I might add—lie?” Gabe pressed, now speaking for himself. “Why would they try to make it look like a suicide?”

Malcolm stared ahead, silent.

“What did they—
you
—have to do with Liv’s death?” Gabe demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Then why lie?!”

“Don’t you understand I am
sworn
to secrecy?”

“Let me guess.” Gabe sneered. “It’s a blood oath.”

“Exactly,” Malcolm confirmed, deadly serious.

Gabe stared at him as if he were speaking a different language. “But Liv got killed and came back as a ghost. Don’t you think that means pretty much all bets are off?”

Malcolm ran his hands through his messy hair, frustrated, then finally caved. “The Victors covered it up to protect the image of Wickham Hall. Murders can’t happen here. It’d ruin our reputation. Suicide’s different. Suicide has happened before. It’s a tragedy, but it doesn’t tarnish
the school. That’s the way the Victors see it, at least. The society forced each of us to say what we said. When you join the Victors, you take an oath that you will do
anything
in your power to protect the society, and the society only exists to protect the school.”

Gabe glared at Malcolm, his disgust palpable.

Malcolm met his stare. “I know you think I’m awful right now, but the Victors did not kill Liv.” He turned away from Gabe and now spoke to me, looking blankly into the air in my general direction. “They did not kill you, Liv. I would know if they had. It’s not what Gabe thinks. It’s not some evil empire aimed at ruling the world. It’s just a bunch of rich families who look out for each other.”

It all added up. I believed Malcolm. “But what if Abigail did it solo, knowing the Victors would cover up for her?” I asked, and Gabe repeated.

Malcolm thought it through. He buried his face in his hands. “It’s possible, I suppose.”

THE PLAN: MALCOLM WOULD
go to Abigail in her room seemingly seeking consolation. We’d pick a time when Pitchfork Lady was not in the dorm, knowing Abigail would invite him in. I’d be with him, follow him in, and look for clues while they talked.

So, Malcolm knew I was right next to him when he knocked on Abigail’s door. As he waited for her to answer, he turned toward me. “Military mission,” he quietly joked. “But this time it’s kind of for real. Good thing we got all that practice.” I smiled, not that he could see me.

Abigail’s face lit up when she opened the door and saw
it was Malcolm. He told her he “just wanted to talk.” She was clearly delighted, but remembering I’d just died and everything, she quickly shifted to melancholy. She said Mrs. Mulford was at the Science Center and, as anticipated, quickly pulled him into her room.

I followed, sweeping through the doorway.

The room was now extremely tidy. “Spring cleaning?” Malcolm asked, looking around, surprised. So, he’d been in her room before and knew, as I did, that it didn’t usually look like this. But of course he’d been in her room. They were both Victors.

“I had Mariska come up from the City and give it a once over. You know how dusty these rooms can get.”

“Mariska?”

“Mum’s live-in.”

He nodded, sitting on the edge of her bed. There was nowhere else to sit.

“You must be devastated.”

“I just wish I knew what happened,” he said, truthfully.

“What we said happened is probably what happened.”

“I don’t think so. And because we lied to the police, we’ll never know.”

“It’s for the greater good. You know that. You’re just sad.” She crossed and sat down next to him. “I’m sad, too.” She put her hand on his leg. But he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something, anything. I was looking, too. Whatever incriminating evidence may have been was now long gone. Thanks to Mariska. She was smart, this girl.

Then Abigail put her head on Malcolm’s shoulder. He
looked uncomfortable but didn’t move. She nestled her head into his neck, summoning tears. “I really liked her. I did,” she sniffled.

“Liar!” I yelled. “This was
not
part of our plan. Are you really falling for this?”

But, as if he could hear me, Malcolm said, “This is all part of the plan.”

I paused. Was he talking to me or her? He turned his head away from Abigail and glanced at the door. He’d said it to me. I calmed down.

“What plan?” Abigail asked.

“I was just saying, this is all part of the plan, the Victors’ plan.”

“I know,” she said, snuggling in even closer to him. “But I also know this is all so hard for you. You’re so sensitive and kind. I’m here for you, Malcolm.” They were face to face now.

I watched in disbelief—powerless—just praying this was, as he’d said, part of the plan. Then she leaned in to kiss him. He stopped her.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Why?” she breathed.

“I’m too confused right now,” he said, as if in a few days he might not be, as if he might actually kiss her then.

Abigail nodded, satisfied. And she nestled her head back into the crook of his neck. I couldn’t take it—I stormed right at them. Abigail shivered. I’d given her a chill, so she pulled in closer to Malcolm. I sighed. Nice. Perfect backfire.

“You understand why I’m doing this, right?” He turned his head away from her and mouthed
“for you.”

Again, he was speaking to me, but Abigail answered, “Yes.”

“Where were you that night, really?”

“At the meeting. Same as you.”

“Until eleven. But what about
after
that?”

She hesitated.

“I just
need
to know, if we’re gonna … you know, move forward at some point.” Malcolm looked down as he said that. All at once I felt mortified and blissful. He sounded like a bad actor in a worse movie, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She sighed and finally confessed. “I was in the infirmary. Lady things, you know. You can check the logs if you don’t believe me.”

He hopped up. “I think I should go.”

She walked him to the door and gave him a hug. A
lingering
hug. He pulled away and pushed open her door, careful to hold it open long enough for me to follow.

We checked the infirmary logs. And, yes, she had been there immediately after the Victors meeting, during the time I was murdered. Nurse Cobbs had administered prescription-strength Advil and let her lie down for two hours. It was all documented. And seeing as it was impossible to imagine any conspiracy involving crotchety Nurse Cobbs—even for Gabe, who thrived on such theories—the three of us agreed unanimously that Abigail was not guilty.

AT DINNER, MALCOLM SAT
with Gabe in the Pit. They both pushed their food around on their plates. Students shuffled past, rubbernecking as if Malcolm’s sitting with Gabe was a horrific car accident. Time blurred again, and in an instant, their plates were nearly empty.

As they started to get up, I noticed Malcolm’s lips twist as if he was wrestling with something. Finally, he said, “Listen, I was wondering if you’d ask Liv if she wants to go to the mountain tonight.”

“Yes!” I yelped without thinking.

But Gabe just said, “You won’t be able to hear her.”

“I know. But I want to be with her. Alone.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” I shrieked.

But Gabe completely ignored me.

“Did you hear me, Gabe?!”

He nonchalantly told Malcolm, “She said yes. She’ll meet you there.”

“Hello?! Don’t you still hear me?” I was nearly yelling as Malcolm got up and walked away. Gabe finally turned to me and whispered, “Yes, God.
Relax.
I was trying to play it cool for you.”

“Oh,” I quietly chuckled. “Thanks.”

I GOT TO THE
mountain before Malcolm and watched the sun set. I walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out. The setting sun was cold and muted. The lake was nearly covered with fog. I felt like Friedrich’s
Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog.
That intrepid wanderer atop a cliff, seen in silhouette from behind—triumphant. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t even the meager and practically incidental
Monk by the Sea.

I looked down. The fog rolled, revealing slivers of lake. I wanted to relive that moment. I wanted to know what it’d feel like. So I jumped.

Gravity did affect me but only so much as I let it. When I focused on slowing down, I slowed down. I spun around
and slowed down so much I could see every crag, every rock. Finally I landed on the water. I started to descend into it. But, as my feet dipped into the still water, they seemed to dissolve into the darkness. It suddenly reminded me of disappearing in the limousine—that horrible moment when I felt myself evaporating, losing my limbs and my thoughts. So I pulled myself out, terrified of what might happen, and tumbled unceremoniously onto the shore.

I looked down to see if I’d changed, if I’d become more faint. I hadn’t. It seemed I could jump and fly and run without even getting tired. But if I crossed with something—a person or a door or even a piece of paper—it caused that searing pain. And if I so much as tried to lift a leaf or draw in steam on a window—
affecting
the real world in any way—it didn’t just hurt, it also depleted me in the scariest possible way: I could
see
it. I was fainter now than I had been when I first died.

I climbed back up to the top of the cliff and sat down against the tree where Malcolm and I had sat together. Now I was alone. I mean, truly alone. I’d always been a bit of a loner, but this was different. I had no guide, no understanding, and most of the time no one could hear me or see me. I didn’t know why I was trapped here or where I might eventually go.

When Malcolm arrived, he came right to me as if he knew I was there and sat next to me. Silent. I looked at him. His eyes were tired and muddy. They looked out onto the landscape. As I stared at him, I replayed that day we were here together. Why hadn’t I just let him kiss me when we were in the water? If I’d let him kiss me then, maybe we
never would have made the plan to sneak out. Maybe I’d still be alive.

And why hadn’t I told him how I felt, then or later? Why hadn’t I told him that just looking at him made my stomach implode? Why hadn’t I told him I’d never been in love? That I was afraid to be in love? Why had I always acted so tough? So withdrawn and ambivalent? Why had I pretended? Because,
now
, I couldn’t tell him anything. Not a word. And it only made every word I’d faked or wasted or swallowed all the more heartbreaking.

He slid down from the tree onto his back. “Liv, if you’re here, will you lie down next to me?”

Yes! Of course I will.
And I did.

“Lie right next to me and we’ll both just look up, like that last night. Okay?”

I was already there, exactly as he requested, which of course made his plea even sadder and made me feel even more alone.

“I’m so sorry, Liv. It’s my fault you’re gone.
I
suggested we sneak out.
I
picked the place.
I
said we should run opposite ways. I don’t know what happened to you, but
I made you vulnerable.
And then I lied to the police. I’m so sorry. But please tell me you understand why.” He started to cry but then quickly pulled it back. “The Victors seem stupid to you and Gabe. And I get it. But you have no idea how this club has been inculcated in me—by my father, my grandfather, my uncles—my
entire
life. It
is
my entire life. It’s part of me. I have this sense of duty and responsibility that I now see is so skewed. So wrong. Somehow the meetings, the chants, the oaths—I got lost in them. And I’m so
sorry I lied for them. But I’ve decided I’m going to go to the police and tell them the truth, help them find your killer.”

I lay my head on his chest, which was heaving by now, and he shivered. “Is that you?”

Yes
! I proclaimed, unheard.

He wrapped himself up in his jacket. I wanted to think he heard me, but he didn’t.

“You know what I wish?” he asked.

What?

“That I could just see you one last time—hear your voice. Hold you.”

I’d give anything for that. Anything.

After a long time, he fell asleep. Not me, though. Sleep was for the living, not possible for me. No dreams. No nightmares. Only time expanding and contracting. I felt Malcolm’s chest rise and fall. I listened to his breath and heard his heartbeat. It echoed in my own empty chest.
I am hollow
, I thought. And time just slipped past. I’m not sure how many minutes or hours.

IT WAS STILL PITCH
black when I heard feet approaching. I lurched upright, afraid of being discovered, until I remembered panic was pointless. Panic was a luxury. A gift. I only
wished
I could be caught in the middle of the night at the mountain. I only
wished
I could be sent to the headmaster or even suspended or expelled.