I don’t know what I had expected to hear, but I walked back to my locker in a daze. The hall was empty, silent except for the murmur of teachers lecturing behind closed doors. I’d missed chemistry and almost all of physics, and for once I didn’t care. I walked slowly, taking the longest route through the front hallway and staring out the windows at Reece’s empty parking space as I passed. I’d been so close to telling Romero everything, but I’d chosen to protect Reece instead. I’d just saved him again, but why? Every time I thought I knew him—thought maybe I could trust him—I learned something about Reece Whelan that made me realize I didn’t know him at all.
I laid my head against my locker. It felt too heavy to hold up anymore. We’ll talk tomorrow, he’d promised. But what was there to talk about? I had one too many evasive killers in my life already and I wasn’t any closer to knowing who I could trust.
I spun the combination. The door rattled open, and I was greeted by Teddy’s drawing of the two of us holding hands on the carousel. Unable to throw away the yellow scrap of paper, I’d taped the memento inside my locker. It lifted my mood, but only for a moment. There was a note from Anh, folded to fit through the vent.
Leigh—W T F ? You have some serious
explaining to do! Call me later. I want details! Anh
It was stapled to our chemistry homework assignment for the night.
Another folded paper drifted out. I plucked it off the floor and unfolded it. As soon as the first blue letter appeared, my skin prickled, and I peeled the rest open more carefully.
Flowers Delivered
WHC
Rm # 214
It had been written in the same blue marker, the ones we used in chem lab. The same handwriting as the message in the box with the dead cat and under the bleachers at North Hampton.
I shoved the letter in my locker and slammed it shut. I’d wanted to visit Posie, but I’d heard she’d been flown to the burn unit at Washington Hospital Center and had spent the last four days in ICU. No visitors allowed.
Flowers delivered to Room #214 . He was tipping me off. Posie must have been moved. And if she was out of intensive care and had her own room, I could talk to her. I could ask her what she remembered, if she had seen who had done this to her. I knew she would tell me if she could. I had to try.
I shook my head, split down the middle. Who was I kidding? That’s exactly what the killer wanted me to do. Exactly where he wanted me to be. This note felt like a set-up. I’d be playing into his hands again, and I hated myself for it. But I had no choice. It was time to pay Posie a visit.
? ? ?
I hopped the Red Line downtown, then took the H4/Tenley Town bus to the hospital. Once inside, I crossed the main lobby and headed straight for the elevator.
“Excuse me,” said the woman at the desk behind me. I turned to see her holding out a clipboard and a visitor’s pass. “I’ll need you to sign in, please.”
The elevator doors closed. I approached the desk and took the clipboard, hesitating before writing my name. If the note was a set-up—if someone really did want me here—then maybe I shouldn’t use my own name. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt me to use someone else’s. I wrote “Mary Jones” in the space marked Visitor. The pen hovered over the space for the patient’s name, warnings whispering in my head. If the police were keeping tabs on Posie’s visitors, something told me I shouldn’t use her name either.
“What’s the last name of the patient you’re looking for, dear?” She was a kind-looking older woman with smiling wrinkles. I felt guilty lying to her.
“Smith,” I answered.
The attendant henpecked the name into her computer and stared down her nose at the screen. “Would that be Ronald, Evelyn, or William?”
My shoulders sagged with relief. Smith had been a safe bet. “Ronald,” I said.
She handed me the pass and said, “He’s in 263. You can go ahead up.”
I clipped my pass to the hem of my shirt and darted into the first open elevator. Posie’s room was easy to find. I peeked in the small window inset in the door, relieved to find Posie alone. A jacket hung over the back of an empty chair beside her bed. I didn’t have much time. I rapped softly on her door and pushed it open a crack.
She replied in a jagged whisper, as though she were talking through broken glass. “Come in.”
I stepped quietly inside. Posie sat propped on a mountain of starched white pillows, her eyes taped shut with cotton pads. A clear tube hung below her nostrils and an IV dripped from a stand near her headboard. A clip hugged her finger, and a monitor beeped steady with the rhythm of her heart. Her other arm, the burned one, was concealed under a sleeve of bandages.
“Posie?”
She tipped her head, turning in my direction. “Leigh?” She smiled weakly. “You made it. I knew you were coming.”
I stopped halfway to her bed. A cold sensation slithered over me. “Yeah, it’s me,” I said quietly, my throat dry. “How did you know I was coming?”
She pushed a button, elevating the bed. “One of the nurses said you called.”
I didn’t answer. I hadn’t called or spoken to any nurses, but I didn’t want to scare her.
Her smile faltered. “You didn’t call?”
My mind raced. I looked at the clock. “I don’t have much time, Posie.”