The Guardians by Andrew Pyper Read Free Book Online Page B

said.
        "It's
what I heard."
        "Carl's
right," I said. "Brad Wickenheiser ? No way. He's a
moron."
        "She's
not screwing his brain, Trev."
        "Still.
I'm not buying it."
        "Neither
am I. And I'll tell you why," Carl said, jabbing a finger into Randy's
chest. "It's bullshit because it's my bullshit. Told Andy Pucinik in gym.
Born-again Jesus Saves wanker. I knew he'd like it."
        Then
Carl told his own story, a more fanciful version of my father's dinner-table
suggestion that Miss Langham had simply left town. But this time it wasn't her
tiring of Grimshaw that prompted her to take off without warning—it was an
identical twin sister. A Langham girl just as beautiful as Heather, but without
the winning manners. The bad Heather.
        "Aha!"
Randy said. "Maybe it's the twin who's banging Brad Wickenheiser at
the Swiss Cottage."
        And
then came the horror story. All the more horrific for being the most believable.
And for me being the one to tell it.
        An
anonymous tip had been called in to the police. Male, gravel-voiced. Telling
the cops he'd had "some kinda fun" the night before, taunting them to
go see "where that bitch used to sleep." When they got to the nurses'
residence the police found sticky boot prints on the carpet outside Heather's
room. They kicked the door down. Inside, walls sprayed with blood. Obscene
messages fingerpainted in gore over her Leonard Bernstein and Mozart posters.
But no body. Only a necklace laid over her pillow, the heart-shaped locket we
had seen her wear in class some days, and wondered whose image might be
contained within, impossibly wishing it might be ours.
        According
to this version, her murderer was a mysterious lover-turned-stalker, an
attractive sociopath who gave her the locket (he gave all his
girlfriends lockets). She had come to Grimshaw after he started to show signs
of being unstable. But he'd found her.
        It
was only when I finished that we noticed the snow. The first squall of the
season dropping heavy flakes over town, whitening and silencing.
        "That's
not it."
        Ben's
voice surprised us. For the past while, it seemed like he wasn't even
listening, and we had come to nearly forget he was here. But now we were all
looking at him. Watching his head slowly shake from side to side.
        "It
didn't happen that way," he said. "Or not exactly that way."
        "How
would you know?"
        "Because
when I saw her, she was alive."
        That's
when we all went ape shit. Demanding to know why he hadn't told us this sooner,
how he could know anything from a dream.
        "You
never said it was Heather when you told me in music class," I said.
        "I
didn't know then."
        "When
I know something, I know it."
        "I'm
happy for you, Trev."
        "Okay.
Back up. This monster—"
        "I
never called it that."
        "Fine.
This not-a-tree-but-looks-like-one has someone in its arms. Heather. And she's
trying to get away."
        "I
just said I could tell she was alive."
        "For
fuck's sake," Carl said.
        "I'll
second that," Randy said.
        "Ben? Ben ?" I moved from where I was sitting to stick my face in his line of
sight. "Just tell us what you saw."
        Ben's
nasty feet. The toes curled up, trying to hide.
        "A
man—what I suppose could only be a man—had Miss Langham in his arms last
night," Ben said. "Her eyes were open. Like she couldn't believe
whatever was happening was actually happening."
        He
took in a breath, and we thought he was readying for more. But he just exhaled it
all wordlessly out again.
        "That
it?"
        "Pretty
much."
        "Is
it or isn't it?"
        "None
of this matters."
        "Why
not?"
        "Because
if she's still alive, I'm not sure how much longer she's going to be."
        I
came in even closer to him. "Where is she?"
        Ben
pointed out the window. Not up into the sky