The Assassin Game Page 24

  “Betray you?” Carl is on his feet again. “I am protecting you, Alex!”

  “Is that what you were doing with your hands around my throat?” Alex laughs. “Anyway, it’s irrelevant. The reason I was late here is that they spotted me. Any minute now we’re going to be joined by our friends from the constabulary.”

  “What?”

  “They’re coming here?”

  “Christ, Alex!”

  Rats deserting a sinking ship. Becky, Whitney, Roger make for the exit without delay. Carl gives Alex a look and then follows them, clutching the bag. Martin flings out a hand for Alex, but he’s not moving from the floor. And then Martin leaves and there’s no one here except me, Vaughan, and Alex.

  “How far away are they, Alex?” I ask him as he finally stands and starts to move around the cave, picking up some of the photos from the altar and shaking the broken glass off them.

  “Meh. Top of the cliff. They don’t even know the cave is down here. As long as they don’t see those lemmings running out of here screaming, we should have a couple minutes at least.”

  “Look, it’s clear everyone wants to come clean,” I say. “It’s best.”

  “For you?” Alex stops and looks at me. “Seems it’s your life at stake.”

  I shake my head. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s nothing to do with the Game. For all we know, Skulk has hacked into Crypt and they’re not even a player.” I look at Vaughan. “It’s possible?”

  “It’s possible,” he says.

  “So any trap we lay for Skulk may not work. Time to let the professionals deal with it, Alex.”

  “Moving on, Cate?” Alex straightens up, looks at me. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. Let’s hand this all over to the grown-ups.” He walks past me, in his arms a bag full of things he’s gathered from the cave. “Remember that, Cate, when you’re at their mercy, won’t you?” He pushes past me, shouting back at us. “This isn’t over!”

  We watch him fade into the darkness. Vaughan moves to one of the crates, sits down.

  “Why does everything I play with always break?”

  “Oh, this is all about you, is it?” I sit down next to him. “Good-oh. I’m really bored of it all centering around me.”

  We sit there, listening to the wind and the sea outside.

  “Must be raining now,” Vaughan says.

  “Yeah.”

  “We staying here?”

  I look at him. “We are. I meant to tell you, those windows at the sick bay only open one way. When I shut them behind me I locked us out.”

  Vaughan nods. “Makes sense.”

  “I’m exhausted.” I lean over, grab the velvet curtain that Carl ripped down from the altar. “We can make ourselves at home. Wait for them to come and find us.”

  We make a nest—rugs, cushions, blankets. A single oil lamp. It’s cozy. As I settle down underneath the velvet curtain and Vaughan wraps his arm around me, I keep expecting the police to burst in or Mr. Flynn or one of the other teachers, but no one comes. We lie there, side by side, watching the entrance, the lamp flickering and casting shadows up the sides of the cave.

  “What was it like when you thought you were watching Rick die?” Vaughan whispers.

  At first I don’t answer him. I resist the memories, watching the shadows dance, breathing with them.

  “Awkward,” I say finally. “It felt…awkward. Five adults in that room—and me. And none of us knew how to react. Oh, they knew what to do—Mr. Flynn and the police—the CPR or whatever. But when it seemed like he was gone…no one knew where to look. It was like we were intruding on this…really private thing, the moment as he slipped away.” I feel a shudder move through me and try to stifle it, but Vaughan just holds me closer. “Hang on in there, Rick,” I whisper. “You’ve always been a stubborn donkey.” We lie there, breathing in time with each other, and I cry a little covertly. And then the tears slide away, and still Vaughan holds me, and I wish that life was just this. All the outside stuff can just go away, and I’ll just stay here with my old friend, feeling safe and loved and understood. But there are always things that get in the way, like conversations that have to be had, and revelations that have to be made. I wipe away my tears. “I know who the Killer is, by the way.”

  Vaughan twists around to face me. “What?”

  “Not the real one, the one in the Game. It’s Daniel.”

  “No way!” Vaughan leans up on his elbow. “Are you sure?”

  “Yep,” I say. “Found the Killer card in his violin case.”

  “Strange.” Vaughan lies down again. “I didn’t think it was him. Although now, I can sort of see the psychology of it. Female victims, he’s hopeless around girls; he bloodies them. I was right! It was a boy.”

  I frown into the gloom. “I was surprised, I’ll admit. I didn’t think he was so into the Game that he’d do all that preparation. But I suppose that’s a good cover, the apparent lack of interest. And he’s certainly clever enough to have thought it all out. I just didn’t think he was motivated.”

  “Hmm,” Vaughan says.

  “What, you don’t believe it’s him?”

  “Well,” Vaughan says. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but…I did wonder if he was the real Killer or at least if he was Skulk.” He turns to me. “You see, I found something out. Remember we thought Tesha posted that video of you two?”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “She didn’t post it. I went to her room to delete the video off her mini-cam, like you asked me, and then I searched her laptop for the video, but it wasn’t on there. That got me curious. I searched again, and eventually I did find it. But not on her machine. It was on her roommate’s laptop.”

  “Emily,” I say, sitting up. “Emily is her roommate.”

  Vaughan nods. “We already know Smee posted the video. I checked back through Crypt’s feed. Smee has been inactive since Emily’s accident, so…”

  “Smee is Emily.” I finish for him. “So, you think Daniel found out she was behind it, and he hurt her? As revenge?”

  “It would make sense,” he says.

  “But then he poisoned a cake?” I shake my head. “Daniel is a little unhinged, it’s true—he might be Skulk. He might be a troll who makes empty threats, sends me messages to give me a scare. But I just can’t see the Emily thing or the poisoning… Look, he might do some other screwed-up stuff, but he’d never really hurt me.”

  Vaughan thinks about this for a moment. “What is ‘some other screwed-up stuff’?”

  I sigh. “OK, your turn not to freak out. When we were in his study yesterday, he kind of…forced himself on me, I suppose you’d say.”

  “What!” Vaughan is sitting bolt upright now. “What did he do?”

  “It’s OK,” I say. “Nothing too bad—he didn’t hurt me. He asked me about how I felt about you, and then he went all weird and kissed me. Pushed me down on the sofa, wouldn’t let me go.”

  Vaughan gulps, his face reddening. “I’ll kill him!”

  “No you won’t, Vaughan,” I say sharply. “And you’re not to say that in front of anyone else, do you hear me?” I sigh. “I’m fine. I punched him anyway, if that makes you feel better. Really hard.”

  “It does.” Vaughan lies down again. “A little. But anyway, this isn’t about me. It’s about you—”

  “Yes, it is,” I say. “And I am going to do something about it, but I don’t know what yet. I was going to humiliate him in public, but the events of the day took over, somewhat. And it’s just as well. He needs help, and he needs to tell someone what he did.” I take a breath. “I don’t think he would have gone much further, but he has to know how to deal without ever doing that again to anyone else.”

  Vaughan is silent. It irks me slightly, mainly because I want him to agree with my plan of how to deal with this, but he obviously doesn’t, and really, I s
houldn’t care less what Vaughan thinks. This is nothing to do with him. But we lie there, and I lay my head on his chest, and he puts his arm around me, and we can agree to disagree. Eventually, he breaks the silence.

  “What did you say?”

  “Eh? When?”

  “When Daniel asked you how you feel about me?”

  I pause. “He actually asked me if I was in love with you.”

  Vaughan takes a breath. “And you replied…?”

  “I said no.” I feel him hold his breath, his arm stiffening a little around my shoulders. Oh, what the hell. You only live once. “But I lied.”

  He laughs, softly, and relaxes against me again. “I don’t love you too.”

  We lie there, lying to each other, happily. Eventually, I speak.

  “I don’t think anyone is coming.”

  The wind has died down. I think I can hear the rain falling, and the waves splashing, but the storm is passing.

  “What do you think?” I tilt my head up and look at him. He’s sleeping. Head back, lips parted a little, dark-lashed eyes closed, and eyebrows slightly raised as if he’s having a surprising dream. I shut my eyes too and let myself drift away on the retreating tide.

  When I wake the next morning, he has gone.

  I look at my watch; it’s 7:15 a.m. I get up, shivering, and look around.

  “Vaughan?”

  He must have gone outside for a pee. I pick up the oil lamp, pulling the velvet curtain around me like a cape for warmth, and walk slowly through the caves until I’m screwing my eyes up in the daylight. The wind and rain has all but gone; there’s a chilly breeze, but the sun is trying to pierce the gray. I look around me, behind the gorse bushes, expecting to catch him unawares, but he’s not there. Did he go up the path a little? Along the beach? I scan around. Doesn’t look like it.

  Then I see a dark mound on the sand a way off, not far from where the waves are lapping. At first I think it’s a rock or a seal, but then I spot what looks like a boot. Is that him lying there? The mound is moving a little. What the hell is he doing?

  I drop the lamp and start to run, my velvet cape billowing out behind me.

  “Vaughan!”

  A few yards from the mound, I slow to a stop. It’s a pile of clothes, blowing slightly in the breeze. His clothes. His boots. I spin around, looking farther along the beach, toward the cliffs, up at the promontory, and back toward the caves in case I’ve missed him. And then, inevitably, out to sea.

  “Vaughan!” I hold my hands up to my mouth, bend my knees, and holler at the waves. “Vaughan!” The breeze whips my cloak away, and it falls to the sand at my feet, joining Vaughan’s discarded clothes. I look for a head in the water, the curve of a thrashing arm, or the splash of a struggle. I run toward the rocks where he was beached after his fall from the promontory and look there. But he has gone. Vanished.

  Slowly, I walk back to the clothes, my head aching with possibilities. Is this some joke? A ruse to fool the police? But why? I bend down to move the cloak and examine his clothes. Why, Vaughan? What are you playing at now?

  My eye catches a line drawn in the sand by Vaughan’s jacket. I follow it, then see the series of lines and curls to the left of it. I step back and read the word written in the sand:

  KILLED

  “No,” I say emphatically, stepping back farther in case I’m missing something, but that’s the only word written there. Killed. Killed. Killed.

  “No!” I scream. “Vaughan, no!”

  As I fall to my knees, I see men and women in uniform running across the beach toward me.

  Chapter 24

  “And so, Cate”—the superintendent clears his throat—“having found various incriminating items in his study and bedroom, we have very good reason to suspect that Vaughan was guilty of poisoning Rick Wallington and causing injury to Emily Mullins and Marcia Alvarez.” He shifts in the chair slightly, and it squeaks inappropriately. He coughs again. “I’m sorry to say that we also have compelling evidence that leads us to believe Vaughan committed suicide by walking into the sea.”

  I rub my eyes and stare up at the pale-green ceiling of the sick bay.

  The nurse has been giving me something much stronger than cold remedy for the last forty-eight hours. Little blue pills, two at a time. I resisted at first, mainly because I knew Vaughan was still out there, and I knew he needed help—help from me. This was him pulling a trick, couldn’t they see? Either—and this was the part I wasn’t too clear on—the Killer had him, somehow, somewhere, and was holding him against his will—or Vaughan was hiding until he could expose the Killer for who he or she really was. It was so simple! Or was it? I…couldn’t entirely remember.

  “No.” I form the word carefully, deliberately. “Vaughan wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Not even himself.”

  “Cate.” The superintendent’s voice sounds tired. He rustles some papers on his lap. “Did Vaughan ever tell you why he was at Umfraville?”

  Duh. This superintendent is really not so super. “Vaughan’s too clever for Cambridge. He was having a break from the robots. Very demanding, those robots.” I start to giggle uncontrollably.

  Not-so-superintendent sighs. “Cambridge asked him to leave. He got into a fight with another student there and broke their jaw.” The papers rustle again. “Last spring, he drank so much he had to go to hospital to have his stomach pumped.”

  “No, wrong again,” I say slowly. “Vaughan never drinks. He doesn’t like it. You can ask him when you find him.” I wish the room would stop moving. The walls are wobbling intermittently, and it’s beginning to annoy me. “Anyway, I keep telling you.” I sit up drunkenly. “Are you even supposed to be doing this without my parents here? I mean, am I not a minor or something? Don’t you need them here to question me?”

  “And as I keep telling you, Cate,” he says, “your parents have given us permission to interview you, and they are on their way here. It is apparently quite a long flight from the…Maldives.” He pronounces it “dives,” not “deevs,” the idiot.

  “Nice of ’em to bother.” I flop back onto my pillow again and close my eyes.

  I wake sometime later. The cloud has lifted, but it has been replaced by the pain, and I don’t like that. The pain is lodged in my chest, like a cold steel wedge. It won’t shift. Not until Vaughan comes back.

  I get up, check the time, and pull on the dressing gown that has been brought from my dorm, shuffle slippers onto my feet. I go to the door, open it.

  “Yes, Cate?” It’s the nurse. And another policeman, a better one. The nurse doesn’t look happy; he’s not as good-looking as the last.

  “I’d like…some fresh air, please.” I begin to shuffle out of my room.

  “Er.” The nurse looks at the cop, and he back at her.

  “It’s OK,” I say. “I’ll just go into the garden.” I lean toward the policeman and wink. “You can even watch.” Yuck. I sound like I’m inviting him to visit me in the shower.

  They let me, and I step outside. Ouch, it’s chilly. Just as well I don’t care.

  The sick bay has a small garden with a wooden bench and a goldfish pond bordered by a low hedge. I sit gingerly on one end of the bench, look down toward the science labs, and wait.

  Since Vaughan disappeared, things have been a blur to say the least. They won’t tell me what evidence they have against him or why they are so sure he waded out to sea. I do know that they haven’t found a body, and of course they won’t, because he’s still out there. Alive. He has to be.

  I also know that the police searched the island and interviewed all of the Guild members, and after twenty-four hours and some full-on pressure from parents, the police sent all of the lower years home. They can’t keep the rest of the kids here indefinitely, but while they’re winding up the investigation and still interviewing us, we are stuck on the island, and clas
ses are supposed to be in session. Which means right about now, Martin should be emerging from that laboratory and making his way back toward his study.

  And there he is. Hooray for the predictability and regularity of the scientist.

  As he gets closer, I hiss at him.

  “Martin!”

  He looks up, alarmed, like I’m the frigging Killer. I beckon him over. He eyes the hedge like it’s an impenetrable wall. I roll my eyes at him.

  “Over there! There’s a gap.”

  He reluctantly squeezes through and joins me on the bench, his face full of concern and—urgh—pity.

  “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I say. “Listen, you have to get me my tablet, OK? It’s in my study, so unless they’ve bagged it as evidence for some random reason, you’ll see it on the table.”

  “Why do you need it?” he says. “They’re discouraging emails and messaging.”

  “I need to get on Crypt!” I say. “Have you seen anything on there? Anything that might suggest Vaughan’s on the mainland?”

  Martin’s eyes dart down. “Oh, Cate. Crypt is gone. Didn’t they tell you?”

  I blink. “What?”

  He nods. “Someone told the police about it—not sure who, Tesha, probably—and they tried to log in but it has disappeared. Ms. Lasillo tried and everything. We all did. Apart from the initial password box, there was no evidence it was even there in the first place.”

  A huge fireball of hope moves through me. “Oh, yes!” I punch the sky.

  “What is it?” Martin looks at me like I’ve farted.

  I laugh with joy and relief. “Don’t you see?” I yell at him; I can’t believe he’s being so thick. “If it’s gone, that proves Vaughan’s alive! Nobody else could have taken the site down! Nobody!”

  Martin shakes his head. “Not true, Cate. I wish it were. Vaughan could have nixed it the night of the Summoning, before we went to the cave. The last time any of us saw it was earlier that evening. Or Crypt could have had a kill pill.”

  I frown. “What’s that?”

  His face screws up in self-disgust. “Oh, I’m sorry, Cate. Bad expression. A ‘kill pill’ is when a site has an inbuilt code which makes it automatically disappear under certain conditions. Say, if the webmaster doesn’t log in for a period of time, enter a password, that kind of thing. Shazam! It’s gone.”