Finally the perfect, fail-safe solution came to her. There was a can of gasoline for the lawn mower in the garage. There were matches in the kitchen. She thought of the inn going up in flames, her father trapped within. Fire-a family tradition. It seemed so right.
As she went downstairs a flash of fear shot through her, but she smothered it with the certainty of duty. She hadn’t died in the fire that had taken her father’s life. She should have. This would set things straight.
In the kitchen she scribbled a note. She wanted it clear she was dead, and why. She didn’t want Esmé searching uselessly for her, deluded by false hope. The quicker Esmé accepted her daughter’s death, the quicker she could get on with her life. This new lover seemed like he might stick around. That would help.
I am the killer. I don’t remember doing it but it had to be me. I don’t know what made me go crazy. It wasn’t your fault. Now I’m killing myself to make you safe. I’m sorry. I love you.
Vivian felt funny writing “I love you”-they didn’t talk to each other that way-but this was her last chance. She put the note on the table under Esmé’s favorite mug.
Vivian collected the gas and matches and left by the back door. She walked through the woods to the river mechanically, the can banging against her thigh. Twigs snapped, crickets scuttled from her tread, and a night bird gave an occasional soft cry. The noises were crisp but unreal, like the sound track of a movie. She felt as if a stranger stalked through the trees in her body.
She followed the river in the direction of the city. She didn’t want to give the police a clue to who she was or where she lived. She didn’t stop until she came to a spur of woods that grew far out into the river meadow. Within was a small ruined building, part of some Sanitary Commission station at one time.
She climbed inside the shell of stone and looked around. Beer cans and trash littered the place, and a soiled red baseball cap lay crumpled in a corner. There was an odor of urine. She guessed people would steer clear of this place for a while after tonight. A small grim smile twitched her lips. Maybe they’d even think it haunted.
Get it over with, she told herself, and ignored the cold tingle of dread the words evoked. First she kicked what she could of the trash into a pile in the middle of the room and placed the matches out of the way, on a tumble of bricks, to keep them dry. When she tried to unscrew the cap of the gas can, however, she found she had no strength.
This is stupid, so stupid, she thought as she groped and strained with trembling hands. She clenched her teeth and forced her fingers to grip. The cap turned with a crunch and an acrid smell laced the night.
Vivian raised the can to douse her front and gasped with the sudden cold. The fumes she inhaled made her sneeze again and again. She wanted to throw the can to the ground and run, but she forced herself to stay. When her eyes cleared she tipped the can over her back and lifted it high to wet her hair. She poured the remainder of the gas into the trash at her feet.
This won’t hurt for long, she told herself as she reached for the matches, and hoped like hell she told herself the truth. She thought of a Viking funeral: a dragon ship blazing in glory drifting to sea. It helped a little. “I’m sorry, everyone,” she whispered. “But you’re better off without me.”
The sulfur head crumbled against the strike plate; the match wouldn’t light.
“Can’t I do anything right?” she cried. She threw the match aside, and fumbled for another with fingers grown thick and useless.
“Vivian!”
She looked up to see a boy and a dog come over the wall.
Not a dog. The shape bubbled and stretched and turned into Willem. “Shit man!” He held his nose.
“Vivian,” Ulf cried again. “It wasn’t you.” His face was streaked with tears.
She stared at him stupidly long enough for Willem to snatch the matches from her.
Gregory stepped over one of the lower walls.
“Is he coming?” Willem asked.
“Yeah,” Gregory said.
Then Gabriel was there.
“Oh, baby,” Gabriel said gently, wiping the sodden hair back from her face. “You need a bath.”
Vivian’s knees gave way, but Gabriel caught her before she fell and swept her into his arms. “It’s all right now, it’s all right,” he whispered against her bedraggled hair as he carried her down to the river. She crushed herself against his chest to stop the trembling, and when he lowered her gently into the river she was reluctant to let go. But she slid from his grasp to strip off her ruined clothes, then submerged herself in the tepid water.
“What does Ulf mean, it wasn’t me?” she asked as she emerged dripping from the river.
Greg handed her his T-shirt. It came to her knees.
“Tell them,” Willem ordered, his hand on Ulf’s shoulder.
Ulf lowered his eyes and bit his lip. “Astrid came home with a meat-boy tonight,” he said in his quiet, high-pitched voice. “Her and Rafe. They thought I was out but I went back for my sleeping bag and some comic books, and got sidetracked reading an old Sandman. Then I heard Mom come home with Rafe making a bunch of noise. I thought they were drunk and I ignored them until I heard a cry. I looked out my door and saw them kill him.”
Gabriel cursed, and Ulf backed up the riverbank. “It’s okay, little brother,” Gabriel said. “I’ll not bite.”
Oh, sweet Moon, Vivian thought.
I almost killed myself for nothing.
“They didn’t see me,” Ulf continued, watching Gabriel warily. “I left while they were rolling him up in the carpet they’d done him on. I climbed out the window and went over to Willem’s.”
“He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong at first,” Willem said. “But you know Ulf, it was obvious something was.”
“How could I turn in my mother?” Ulf wailed.
Willem put his arm around the smaller boy. “I brought him to you, Vivian. I thought you’d know what to do. But then I found your note.”
“He called me,” Gabriel continued impatiently. “I left Finn in charge and came with Greg as fast as I could. Willem had already followed your trail. I followed his.”
Sweet Moon, did he think her a coward?
She couldn’t let him think that. “I was doing it for the pack,” she said. “To protect them from me.”
Gabriel’s dark brows knit into a frown. “But why did you think the killer was you?” he asked. He folded his arms and waited for some sense out of her.
It was Rafe who had said she’d been heading for Tooley’s that night, and Rafe had given her the booze-Rafe who despised her and now consorted with Astrid, who hated her, too. “Ulf,” she said. “Did they say anything about setting me up?”
Ulf swallowed. “No. They just went through his pockets. Mom found some letter on him. When she read it she laughed.”
Dread buzzed in Vivian’s chest like an evil black fly. “What did it say?” she demanded.
Ulf flinched. “I don’t know. But after Rafe read it he said, ‘I’d rather be there at two o’clock.’”
“Quince,” Vivian squeaked, and covered her mouth.
Gabriel took her arm. “Was he your boyfriend? The one you wanted to make jealous?”
“No. His friend.” Tears blinded her. “He brought me a message from Aiden. Astrid and Rafe were across the street when we talked. They must have followed him.” Sudden panic gripped Vivian. “What time is it?”
Gregory looked at his watch. “One-forty-five.”
“They’re going to meet Aiden.” She turned to Gabriel. “You’ve got to stop them. Please. Go after them.”
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