Bellamy Rising Page 11

  I had a hard time staying upright. My forehead broke out in a sweat and it took everything I had not to sprint away. Where would I have even gone? I read the note again and then one more time. Another note, another threat, same handwriting. Mine, apparently.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I pushed away the thought that maybe I’d lost my mind and didn’t know I was writing myself terrifying notes.

  “Bellamy, are you okay?” Mason, suddenly beside me, put his arm around me and held me up. We sunk down onto the floor. He grabbed the note out of my hand. I swallowed hard to try to convince the bile rising in my throat to settle back into my stomach.

  “Holy shit, Bellamy! What is this? What’s going on?!”

  I practiced deep breathing with my eyes shut tight. People probably stopped to gape at me but I didn’t even care.

  “Are you okay, Bellamy?” a voice from above asked.

  Mr. Holland stood over me, his face awash in concern. Oh great. He would probably want me to talk to him and process my feelings.

  I stood a little shakily. “I’m fine. Just got a little blood sugary, that’s all.” I grabbed the note from Mason, stuck it in my back pocket, and dragged him down the hall. “Let’s just talk about this somewhere else.”

  “Okay,” he said, his voice unsure. I kept holding his hand. It was nice. I liked the way it felt.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “My car.” Once we were safely inside of the old Subaru and comforted by the smell of old fast food, I said, “This is the third note I’ve gotten.”

  “What? When did you get the first one?”

  “Right after Jenna disappeared.”

  “What did it say?” He tried to keep his voice even but the blood had drained from his face.

  “It said ‘Maybe you’re next.’”

  His eyes went wide. “We have to tell someone. We should just go straight to the police.”

  “We can’t!” I said.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I already did.” I stared at the note. The handwriting, the same as before, so similar to my own.

  “What did they say?” he said, a panicked edge to his voice.

  I drew in a ragged breath. “They said it was my handwriting. They said I did it.”

  Mason put his hands on his knees and focused on them.

  “It isn’t, I swear! I—”

  “But why? Why you? I don’t understand!”

  It was time to try and explain. He could decide I was crazy, but all signs already pointed to crazy.

  “I’m going to try really hard to explain everything. I hope you don’t think I’m nuts when this is over.”

  He nodded. I hesitated. I didn’t really want to tell him but part of me was bursting to tell someone. Plus, I didn’t really have a choice. If I lied, he might see through it and go the police anyway about the note.

  “I got the first note and the police just figured it was a prank—”

  “A prank?” Mason interrupted. “Did they investigate anyone at all?”

  “Not that I know of. And for a while I think I was able to pretend that I thought it was only a silly prank. But this is the weird part . . . I am kind of clairvoyant.”

  “Like . . . psychic?”

  “Yeah, kind of, I guess.”

  “How?”

  “I sort of see things.”

  He scrunched his brows. “I don’t really believe in that stuff.”

  Ouch. That stung.

  “I’m not like a fortune teller,” I said. “I just sometimes get feelings about things or I see pictures or scenes that feel kind of like a dream except I’m usually not asleep, but sometimes I have dreams too.” I let out a long sigh and waited to hear his reaction.

  “So how are the notes related to that?”

  I could have cried with relief when he didn’t get out of the car and start running. Yet, he still seemed skeptical. “I think that the person leaving them is the same person who killed Jenna. I think he or she believes I saw something the night Jenna disappeared. The thing is, I did see something. At the party, I got really sick and went to the car where I had a vision of a dirt road.”

  “A dirt road?”

  “It sounds crazy, I know. I just think that dirt road played a part in her death but I don’t know how.”

  The silence in the car was deafening.

  Mason rubbed his temple, his eyes shut tight. “So the notes. Does whoever left the notes know about the visions?”

  “No one knows except you. And Iris.” My lip trembled.

  “You don’t think the notes are a prank?” he asked. “A lot of people are suspicious of you. And me.”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t want to assume anything.”

  He was silent for what felt like about a week before he said, “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I know you, Bellamy. This seems crazy, but I guess when you are grasping at straws . . .”

  I didn’t answer.

  “So now what?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  He frowned. “I need some space to think.” His voice was quiet.

  “I understand.”

  Checking his watch, he said, “I’ve got Honor Society in a minute. Are you okay to drive?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  He got out of the car without another word and loped across the parking lot back to the school. I let my head fall back against the headrest and closed my eyes, wishing this whole thing would end.

  Chapter 22

  “Mr. Green? Eyes on the board unless you’d like to review the FOIL method with the class?” Mr. Caldwell said, offering his dry erase marker to Shane Green who had spent the better part of class texting.

  Shane hurried his phone into his pocket and turned a deep red.

  “And Mr. Caldwell needs a new phone so the next phone I see is mine. You all have nicer phones than me so I’d be more than happy to take a new iPhone off your hands.”

  The girls who had crushes on him tittered. Mr. Caldwell grinned broadly at the pack of gigglers. I glared at him with narrowed eyes. He was such a creeper.

  He turned back to the board and wrote an equation. I went back to not paying attention, doodling in the margins of my “notes.”

  A knock on the door brought me back to the classroom. Mr. J stood sadly on the other side and peered through the window for a moment before opening the door and trudging inside. He nodded a greeting at Mr. Caldwell.

  “Hello, everyone. It is with a heavy heart that I have to make this announcement. Riley Morgan has been reported missing."

  The atmosphere in the room changed immediately. All the light was sucked out of the room and replaced with heavy gloom. I blinked back tears as I remembered seeing Riley the day before. She sometimes spent her lunch period in the library like me.

  I returned my attention to Mr. J who continued once the whispers died down.

  “Please, if you have any information, report it to the police. School will be dismissed in half an hour and all after-school activities have been canceled. Mr. Holland will be available after school for anyone who needs some support. The rest of you, go straight home.”

  Mr. J left and the whole class went into shock.

  ~ ~ ~

  After the final bell, I found Mason at his locker. “Are you busy?”

  He shook his head. “What is it?”

  “You up for helping me?”

  “I guess.”

  He followed me out to the car. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Gas station,” I said. “We’re going to need a map.”

  “A map? What about Google Maps?”

  “Does Goog
le Maps show dirt roads?”

  He pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”

  “We need to highlight the routes we’ve already taken and I think dirt roads are probably better marked on an actual map. Not that I know how to read one.”

  “I do. But do you really think this will work?”

  “Maybe these visions that are tormenting me could be useful. If we can find the road and the house, maybe we can figure out who did it. If we hurry…”

  “We can find Riley?”

  “I don’t know. Hopefully!”

  “Louisa’s a big place,” he said. “Maybe it didn’t even happen in Louisa.”

  My voice came out in an urgent whisper. “I have to try. We have to try.”

  Five minutes later, we were settled in the car with a highlighter from Mason’s backpack scanning for dirt roads on a map. I don’t carry a backpack and certainly don’t have a highlighter.

  “What are we looking for exactly?”

  “I think that if we can find the road, we can find the house. After that? I have no idea.”

  “Playing it by ear then?”

  “Something like that.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “You’re sure you’ll recognize it?”

  “Of course.” I sensed that while he was making an attempt to believe me, part of him didn’t.

  “Why aren’t you more freaked out about this note?” he asked.

  “I am. I’m just trying not to focus on that.”

  “You still don’t think you should go to the police?”

  “It won’t do any good. You’ve just gotta trust me on that.” I stared down at the map trying to concentrate on the thin, squiggly lines that indicated back roads.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “They won’t believe me.” I kept my eyes on the map.

  “Bellamy.” The way he said my name made me look up.

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  I sunk back into my seat. “It won’t.”

  We decided to explore the surrounding area in sections. The map showed all roads except private dirt roads in the whole county and some of the neighboring ones too. I felt energized and nervous. It felt good to be doing something proactive. But after a while, it became clear that none of the roads we picked were the right ones.

  I sighed. “I’m a little worried that the road we’re hunting for isn’t on a map.”

  “Maybe not.” He peered at the map, tracing the road we were on to see where it led. “Where have you been going in the afternoon?”

  “Umm. This lady is helping me,” I said.

  “With what?”

  I thought for a moment of the best way to say it. “She is helping me figure out how to use my sight.”

  “Oh.” The silence between us was heavy. “Is it helping?”

  “I think so.”

  I continued down the dirt road until it turned into a paved state road. “I guess that’s not it.”

  “Nope. You done for the day?” he asked.

  “Yeah. It’s getting late. Can you get me out of here?”

  Mason, who could read a map better than me, navigated us back to civilization. We drove toward his house on familiar roads.

  “This would be so much easier if we could use Google Maps,” I complained.

  “True. Maps just give you the whole picture the way a phone can’t.”

  Of course he would say that.

  “I think it was Ethan,” he said. Every conversation led back to whodunit.

  “I know. Did you think of something new that might connect him to the murder?”

  “Not exactly. But they’d been fighting a lot. Like way more than usual.”

  I blew my bangs out of my face. “Maybe he did.” Though I knew he didn’t do it. I couldn’t say why, but I knew.

  Mason folded the map perfectly and put it back into the glove compartment. “The cops say he has a solid alibi.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “He and Jenna had a huge fight and she left. I guess she walked to the coffee shop after that.”

  “What about Riley?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe he was cheating on Jenna.”

  “With Riley? She seems sort of . . . not his type,” I said.

  He got out of the car as soon as I put it in park. “See you tomorrow.” He got out of the car.

  “Bye.”

  We found nothing next afternoon either. But it felt good to be at least trying. We planned to go out again after school and try a completely new area this time. We’d focused our search on roads situated near the highway where Jenna’s body had been found. The new plan involved starting on the other side of the county.

  The afternoon dragged on. The sun shone for the first time in months and it was one of the first warm days of spring. Staying in my seat in class instead of running outside took an incredible amount of restraint. Especially since there was a life on the line. When the bell finally rang, I jumped up, grabbed my stuff, and headed toward the door when Mrs. Nelson, my English teacher, stopped me.

  “Bellamy? Can I see you a moment?”

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  “I know this is a difficult time. We are all scared and on edge.” Her eyes misted over. She shook it off and cleared her throat. “But you are failing,” she said simply.

  “I figured,” I said.

  “If you don’t pass, you won’t get promoted to senior English and you won’t graduate.”

  I chewed on my lip while my mind raced. I couldn’t fail, I just couldn’t. “Is there anything I can do to get my grade up?” I asked. It wasn’t really news that I was failing English. I did want to graduate, though.

  “It might have helped if you’d ever done any homework,” Mrs. Nelson said.

  I didn’t answer because I didn’t think I could answer her without being a sarcastic asshole, and I recognized that this wouldn’t get me anywhere in this case.

  “Bellamy,” Nelson said, “I can’t let you make up the work you didn’t turn in but I will assign you an extra project. If you do it well and try really hard for the rest of the semester, you can still pass this class.”

  I took a deep breath and shifted my weight from one combat boot to the other. “Okay. What’s the project?”

  “Choose a poet from the list of poets we’ve been studying and do an in-depth report. Twenty pages. Include a biography, criticism of their most important work, and their legacy on literature.”

  It sounded like the worst project of all time. I tried to hide my panic. “Fine,” I said and shook my orange bangs out of my eyes. “I can do that.”

  “You absolutely can.” Mrs. Nelson nodded. “And you’ll need to make an A on the final.”

  “An A. Sure thing.” Maybe Mason would help me. He made straight A’s.

  “Let me know which poet you choose on Monday. The list is in the syllabus.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “Uh. Can I have another copy?”

  Mrs. Nelson rolled her eyes, but she walked to her desk and got one out of the bottom drawer. “Don’t lose this one.”

  I pushed my way through the crowd to my locker in a daze, staring at the syllabus, certain that I’d never heard of any of the poets on the list.

  Iris was worried. “Belly, are you sick?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

  “I’m failing English,” I said and shrugged.

  “Oh. What—” she began.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I guess I have the chance to pass if I do an extra project.”

  “Well, that’s good,” she said.

  “Yeah.” It almost wasn’t a lie. Almost.

  “Hey
, I gotta run. I’m gonna be late for practice. Call me later?” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Iris jogged down the hall toward the locker room. She ran track and was the star of the team every year.

  Mason met me by my locker. It was Friday evening. No work, two days off from school, and some kind of decent sunny weather for the first time in a long time. But before we could get out the front doors, Mr. Holland stopped me.

  “Can I talk to you a minute?” he asked me with wide eyes full of earnestness.

  Good grief. This man wanted to help me so much but I really wanted to be left alone.

  “Sure.” I followed him into his office and hoped that whatever he wanted wouldn’t take long.

  “I’ll wait here,” Mason said and leaned against the wall next to the door of the guidance office. Mr. Holland shut the door in his face.

  I sat down in the chair and it all felt very familiar.

  “Bellamy, how goes it?” There was nothing more uncool than an adult trying to be cool.

  “Um, it goes.” I hoped if I spoke back to him in his own vernacular, I might get to leave sooner.

  “Great. Bellamy, I’m just checking in with a few students to see how they are handling the stress of this situation.” Mr. Holland’s face had very quickly morphed from friendly and fun to serious and concerned.

  I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “This is a very scary time for our community, it is fine if you are feeling a bit apprehensive.” He stared me down with soft, encouraging eyes that pleaded with me to talk about my feelings.

  “I’m okay, really,” I assured him.

  “I just don’t want to see you getting too upset. What happened the other day? You seemed very worried.”

  “It was nothing.”