Pale Immortal (9 page)

"Okay. Okay."

Graham didn't know if it really was okay. He was exhausted. The only sleep he'd gotten was the one night/day he'd spent at Stroud's. And the deal about the DNA, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Stroud would believe him once and for all. Maybe the guy would step forward and take some responsibility.

Graham sat at the table studying Stroud. When he turned around, Graham quickly looked down, watching as the guy slid two fried eggs from the spatula to the plate in front of him. Next came toast and orange juice.

Stroud took a seat. "Gotta have a good breakfast before you go to school."

Would a vampire say something about a good breakfast? Would a vampire even/z'x breakfast?

Graham picked up his fork. Keeping his chin low, he glanced through the hair that curled across his forehead. Stroud looked pretty normal except for being so pale.

Graham took a bite. Then another. And suddenly he was embarrassed by his own stupid thoughts.

The old guy from the police station picked him up.

They hadn't even given him a chance to get some decent sleep. Stroud had driven him to his place, where Graham got what seemed like five minutes before Stroud was standing over his bed, waking him, telling him the chief would be there soon to take him to school.

Maybe it was some kind of strategy to break him down with sleep deprivation.

Move along, son. Just move along Nothing to think about here.

The car was old and big and kind of floated over the streets, the chief leaning back in his seat and steering with one finger. The ashtray was overflowing with butts. He must have put out a cigarette before Graham got in, because it was still hazy inside.

It took maybe five minutes to get to school. It was close enough that Graham could have walked, but they wanted to keep an eye on him. They wanted to make sure he didn't take a detour to Arizona along the way.

The boat of a car docked at the curb. A wide sidewalk led past a flagpole, up a set of steps to double doors.

Graham's stomach lurched.

He was sick of being the new kid. His mother never stayed in one place for more than a year at a time. He didn't even know how it felt not to be new, not to always be on the outside, not to be defined by being from somewhere else.

The building was brick. Sprawling, with a flat roof. Classes must have already started, because nobody was around.

The chief hacked away, holding a fist to his mouth. When he was done, he said, "They're expecting you." He talked fast and breathlessly, as if wanting to get the words out before his next coughing spell. Graham's mother smoked, so he knew all about the morning coughing fits smokers had. "I talked to Principal Bonner this morning and explained the situation. She said she'd have everything ready when we got here. Want me to come in with you? I can."

"No." Graham opened the door and slid across the seat. "I can handle it."

"I've made arrangements for my daughter to pick you up. Right here, at exactly three fifteen. She'll be driving a white van You'll be here, won't you, Graham?"

Ordinarily he would have said yes while silently saying no. But he liked this old guy. Why'd he have to be so nice?

"Yeah. I'll be here."

"Good." The old guy smiled and gave him a wave. "Take a right once you step inside."

He didn't pull away Instead he waited for Graham to walk up the sidewalk, past the flag, and through the double doors.

The school smelled of books and bodies and whatever they used to clean the floors; it made Graham's stomach drop again.

The old guy had been right: They were waiting for him in the office. A secretary greeted him with a tight, phony smile that meant she'd been there too many years and now hated every kid ever born, but was trying to hide it because deep down she knew it was wrong to hate so indiscriminately.

She gave him his schedule. She gave him a map. She gave him his locker combination and lunch tickets.

"Who paid for this?" Graham asked.

"Mr. Stroud."

'Bout fucking time.

"Your first class is English, with Mr. Richards. Room 102. Down the hall and take a left."

Graham took the printed schedule and looked at it. What was he doing here? "Thanks."

"On second thought, I'd better come with you." She left the safety of the counter, and side by side they walked down the hallway.

Strips of kraft paper had been taped to the walls and were covered with handwriting from colored Magic Markers. It wasn't until they passed a locker with a cluster of flowers and stuffed animals on the floor that he realized the display was a tribute to the dead girl.

They stopped in front of room 102. It was probably a good thing the secretary had come along. At this point he would have taken off.

She reached around him and opened the door. "Go on."

He stepped inside the doorway and halted. She followed. "I have a new student for you, Mr. Richards."

A million eyes turned to stare.

The teacher was in the front of the room, one leg dangling over the corner of his desk. "Take any empty seat."

Everything was a blur of embarrassment and self-consciousness. Graham hated being the new kid. Fucking
hated
it.

Frantic, he spotted an empty seat and shot straight for it, quickly sitting down. The kid in front of him gave him a half smile and slid back around. A sound of mass movement—and the class was once again facing forward.

Graham sat there and waited for his heart to quit pounding.

It took a long time.

He had no idea what the teacher was talking about. He didn't care, but vaguely came to attention when the man showed up beside him. Just as suddenly a book appeared on his desk.

Why did schoolbooks always smell like puke? Could anybody explain that? Was it because someone had puked in them? Or was it the ink? The paper? Or did he just associate it with puke? He'd never been able to figure that out, and anytime he ever mentioned it, nobody seemed to have the answer.

Something soft hit him in the back of the head, and a crumpled piece of paper landed on the floor. He ignored it. Another one hit him. He slid around in his seat, ready to throw somebody the finger, when he spotted Isobel sitting in the back of the class. She gave him a little wave, pointed to him, pointed to the floor, then lifted both hands, palms up, in the pantomime question of,
What the hell are
you doing here?

But she was smiling. Looking kind of happy and surprised at the same time.

He smiled back and shrugged his shoulders.
Beats
me. Just fell out of the sky

Someone cleared his throat—a sound meant to get Graham's attention. It took him a second to realize the teacher, Mr. Richards, was politely trying to get him to turn back around and listen.

Didn't want to chew out the new kid.

Graham faced front, but spent the rest of class intensely aware of Isobel sitting several seats behind him.

She was waiting for him in the hall after the bell rang. "What are you doing here?" She was dressed in another black skirt, pink tights, and a pink sweater. Her hair had a couple of yellow plastic bar-rettes in it that almost went with the messenger bag over her shoulder.

Standing next to her, he remembered he was wearing the clothes he'd slept in last night. He hadn't taken a shower; he wasn't even sure when he'd last brushed his teeth.

That self-awareness was like a rug being pulled out from under him. It was hard enough talking to a cute girl when you didn't stink.

He looked down at the floor. "It would take a long time to explain." His words sounded curt and impatient, as if she bored him and he wanted to get away. He hadn't meant to sound like that.

"Oh." Her smile faded and she took a step back. From her expression it was obvious she was trying to figure out what had just happened. "Okay."

"Graham!"

He turned to see the hard kids from Peaches lumbering toward him. Travis, the one with the soul patch, who'd told him about the pervert, held out his hand. Graham reached to shake and Travis smacked his palm. Graham hated that shit. "What are you doin' here, man?" Travis asked.

"Decided to stick around for a while."

"Cool. You should come with us after school."

"I can't."

"Then later. Tonight."

"Ah ..." Graham looked over his shoulder. Iso-bel was gone. He spotted her in the distance, her blond hair standing out in the mob of kids moving down the hall, away from him. "I don't have any money." It was true, and better than having to admit he couldn't leave the house.

"You don't need money," Travis said. "We cruise looking for shit to do, or we just hang out at Peaches."

Today was Graham's birthday. A guy should be able to do what he wanted to on his birthday.

Rachel pulled her van to the curb across from Tuonela High School and cut the engine. It wasn't the same high school she and Evan had attended. This was the "new" school, having been built ten years ago.

Kids poured through the double doors, and she kept her eyes open for someone with curly blond hair. Tall. Kinda lanky, her dad had said. And kind of a smart-ass.

Pretty soon she spotted a kid with wildly curly hair striding toward the van. He looked a little lost as he eyed her vehicle. With a jolt of recognition, she realized he
was
the boy she'd seen downtown near the library.

She waved through the windshield.

He crossed in front of the van to climb in the passenger door. "He said a white van. He failed to mention that it would say 'County Medical Examiner' on the side."

Yep. Smart-ass.

She pulled away from the curb. "My dad likes to keep people guessing."

The smart-ass was nervous, long, thin fingers tapping against a spiral notebook. But he was trying to appear calm, cool, bored.

She gave him a quick glance. Her dad was right: He didn't look like Evan. Nothing that stood out, anyway. He was almost pretty, with that head of hair, clear skin, nice cheekbones. Like an angel. But then, Lydia had been so beautiful people had stopped to stare at her on the street.

"Are you the medical examiner?" Graham asked. "Or do you just work for him?"

Not only was she female, but she'd never dressed the part of medical examiner, preferring jeans and T-shirts. "I'm him."

"So, you do autopsies?"

What about his voice? Was it anything like Evan's? Graham's voice was deep and young, with a little bit of a drawl and a slow delivery that were indicative of the South. But he didn't have what she'd call a Southern accent.

"I'm the coroner
and
the medical examiner," she told him.

He nodded. "That's cool."

Kids were into blood and guts now. Not like when she was in high school, when girls fainted over dissected frogs. She'd always suspected the fainting was an act, put on for the sake of the boys, who loved it.

Graham looked over his shoulder. "And you carry the bodies around in here?"

"It's not
nearly
as glamorous as it seems."

What would Evan do if Graham ended up being his child? What then? When he'd denied his existence his entire life? "How was school?"

It didn't escape her that she'd been dropped into the version of the life she'd daydreamed of having with Evan years ago—sans the death mobile and vampire lifestyle.

"It's a school." He shrugged. "They're all the same."

"Do you need anything before we head to Evan's?"

He thought a moment. "I'm kinda hungry."

She hadn't been talking about food; she'd been talking about school supplies. "How about stopping at a cafe?" She could use a cup of coffee. It occurred to her that he was stalling, that maybe he wasn't looking forward to seeing Evan.

She braked for a red light and took the opportunity to inspect her passenger again. He might have been beautiful, but he also looked delicate, as if he needed a week of good meals and decent sleep. His eyes beneath the curls had dark circles under them.

Thrown away.

How did it feel to be thrown away? Passed off to a stranger? And what if Evan wasn't his father? That might be the bigger question here. What would happen to this child?

She spotted a poster on a nearby wooden electrical pole. A missing poster with a photo of a young woman. Rachel made a right turn and pulled to the curb to get a closer look.

Karen Franklin. Twenty-six years old. Rachel vaguely remembered hearing about the girl's disappearance on the news. Last seen at a bar in a town about a hundred miles north of Tuonela She'd been missing for three weeks.

Any similarity between this missing-persons case and Chelsea Gerber's murder? Not really, other than the fact that both victims were female. Still, she'd run it past her dad. He was waiting on lab results, and seemed to be putting too much faith in DNA. Understandable. He wasn't used to dealing with homicides, and she hated to tell him that DNA evidence wasn't all it was portrayed to be on television. Some people, even law professionals, were under the impression that DNA could solve anything.

And if DNA was found in the samples from the Gerber case? Then what? Collect DNA from every person in town? It had been done before in smaller communities. You couldn't force people to participate, but peer pressure was a big factor in a place like Tuonela.

Her dad needed to look into this. Make sure his suspects hadn't been in Summit Lake, Wisconsin, on the date the woman vanished.

Evan slipped on a pair of dark glasses. With one finger he parted the heavy living room drapes a crack. They should have been here by now. School had let out twenty minutes ago.

He dropped the curtain and regarded the portable phone in his hand. Should he call Rachel? See if everything was okay?

Wait a little longer. Maybe Graham had to talk to a teacher or the principal. Maybe there was a traffic jam at the school.

The portable phone rang. He jumped and answered it.

"We stopped to get something to eat," Rachel said. "We'll be there in fifteen minutes."