The Graduation (19 page)

“We have to wait for them!” Jessica protested. Michael sat down across from her and shook his head.

“We can’t wait this close,” he said.

The lifeboat came equipped with two oars. Nick and Russ took them out fifty yards off the stern. No other lifeboats were visible through the fog. They could hardly see the ship. Without her glasses, Jessica was particularly handicapped. Yet five minutes later even she saw enough to know when
Haven
’s tail suddenly dropped.

“No!” she cried.

It happened unbelievably fast. The nose rose up like a great white whale readying to launch toward the heavens. Only this whale had a grievous wound. As they watched in horror, it began to slide backward, bellowing loud blasts of spray as if it, too, felt the pain of drowning.

Then it was gone, and they were alone on the water.

They drifted aimlessly through the strange night. They could have been trapped in the center of an underground lagoon. The water was
flat
, and the fog seemed a thing risen from below, possessed of an evil purpose. It would unfold far enough to tempt their eye, and then suddenly close over, as if it were playing a game of hide-and-seek that only it could win. Yet the hint of dawn continued to gather strength in the mist. It was now no longer completely dark. Far away, Jessica could hear the faint sounds of people shouting to one another. She hoped most of the class had had a chance to get clear. It was Bubba who spoke first.

“Those were pretty powerful smoke bombs you had there,” he said to Kats.

“My stuff didn’t blow open that hole. Mine only made smoke,” Kats said defensively, casting a worried eye on Michael.

“I suppose.” Bubba said, frowning, perplexed at the cause of the explosion.

“Could either of them have escaped?” Michael asked Bubba.

“Don’t ask me to quote odds.”

Jessica was sick with grief, cold, and pain. The Rock and Bill both gone—she couldn’t grasp it. She couldn’t stop shivering. The lifeboat didn’t come equipped with blankets. Her arm hung limply on top of her trembling knees. It was no longer straight. Looking at it made her nauseated.

“What the hell
did
you do?” Michael asked Kats.

“It was just a prank, like Bubba said,” Kats replied uncertainly. “I just wanted to scare everybody off the ship.”

“Why?” Michael demanded.

“I thought it would be funny,” Kats said with a trace of bitterness.

Michael scowled, before turning to Jessica. “How’s your arm, Jessie?” he asked.

“It’s all right,” she lied.

“It looks like it could be broken,” he said.

“I’m all right. Don’t worry.”

“How many life jackets do we have?” he asked the group.

They had four. They were stored in small compartments spaced around the inside of the lifeboat. Clair, Maria, and Sara each put one on. Michael tried to get Jessica into a jacket but she just shook her head; she wasn’t sticking her arm through any strap for anything. Michael then tried Polly; she ignored him altogether. She didn’t appear completely recovered from whatever blow she had received when the bomb had gone off. Nick took the last life jacket. Apparently he couldn’t swim either. Nick still had his big question.

“Since when can you walk?” he asked Maria.

“Since my back healed,” she said.

“But you were paralyzed,” Jessica said.

“I was, yes, but it was temporary. The fall didn’t cut my spinal cord. It merely bruised it. There was a lot of swelling and pressure near where the vertebrae broke. The feeling did not begin to return to my legs until I got to the rehabilitation clinic.” She put her hand on Nick’s knee. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

“Why couldn’t you?” Nick asked, hurt.

She glanced at Michael. “I wanted what Mike did. That’s why I called the meeting.”

“How could you be sure the person who killed Alice was the same person who tampered with the float?” Michael asked.

“What were the chances Tabb High had two psychotics?” she asked.

“That’s logical,” Michael said.

“How did you know—how
do
you know someone killed Alice?” Sara asked.

“I knew her for only a short time,” Maria said. “But I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t have taken her life.”

“What was your plan?” Michael asked.

“I wouldn’t actually call it a plan,” Maria said. “I thought I’d have you all together in a room, and then I would stand and walk across the room. I would be watching all your faces, and in one of them, I knew, I would see the disappointment, maybe even the guilt. But only if I took you completely by surprise.” She spoke to Nick. “You see why I kept silent. I was afraid the truth of my injury would leak out, and then I could never have my surprise, and catch the person who hurt me.”

“I would have kept your secret,” Nick said.

“I’m sorry,” Maria repealed. “I felt I would only have the one chance. And I must apologize to you also, Jessie, for what I said the morning after the dance. I have no excuse—except I couldn’t feel anything below my waist. The doctors hadn’t explained to me yet that the paralysis might pass. I was scared. I just needed someone to blame, I guess.”

“I understand,” Jessica said. “But why didn’t you write me later?”

It was hard for Maria—who had always been as proud as she was kind—to answer the question. “I was too ashamed,” she said miserably.

“But now you’ve lost that one chance you wanted.”

Maria looked at Polly, who sat with her head bowed at the end of the raft, holding on to her wrist, silent and unmoving. “Maybe not,” Maria said.

“But what about Clark?” Sara asked, confused. She wasn’t alone in her confusion.
Haven
had sunk. It may have taken some of them with it. But they had unfinished business to complete. They looked to Michael, thinking he would take them back to the party to finish the investigation. But he went back further, to many years earlier.

“Polly,” he said. “We need to talk some more.”

She pulled her jacket tighter and did not look up. “I’m cold.”

“I want to talk about your parents,” Michael said.

Now he had her attention. Polly slouched deeper. “You have the same name,” she said.

“That’s right,” Sara said. “Michael McCoy.”

“Does that matter?” Michael asked.

“No,” Polly said.

Jessica understood. Polly had idolized her father. She—and not Alice—had been the light of her father’s life. Polly was trying to tell Michael to help her, not hurt her. Jessica doubted that Michael cared. It was clear who he thought was responsible for Alice’s death.

“You were in the car with your parents when they crashed,” he said. “Tell us what happened?”

Polly fingered her cut wrist nervously. “They died.”

“Why did the car go off the road?” he insisted.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you start an argument in the car and distract your dad?”

How could he know that?

Michael was probably using simple deduction. He

“I just wanted another soda from the cooler. That’s all I wanted.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jessica said quickly.

“They burned,” Polly said, distraught. “And I got away. I didn’t even get scratched.”

“Then why did the doctors keep you in the hospital?” Michael asked.

Polly’s head snapped up angrily. “To hurt me! They taped me up with wires. They gave me shots. They tried to make me go to sleep and forget. But I didn’t go to sleep. I remember everything that happened!”

Michael apparently had her where he wanted. He pounced hard. “Was Clark in the room with you and Alice?”

“Yes.”

“There was a ladder in the room. There were Christmas lights hanging out the closet. Alice told me you wanted her to find some paper cups. Was she up on the ladder getting the cups from the closet?”

“Yes.”

“Were the wires in her way?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?” Michael asked.

“Clark pushed her! She fell! She landed on her nose!” Polly stopped, horrified with what she had just said, or maybe at the memory of what had happened. Tears filled her eyes. “It made this terrible cracking sound.”

“So that’s what happened,” Sara gasped. “That bastard.”

“Wait a second,” Clair said. “Who shot Alice?”

“Clark did!” Polly said.

“What else did Clark do?” Michael asked in a mocking tone.

“He took Sara’s money!”

“Huh?” Sara said.

“He took it. He hated you and Jessie. He blamed you for making me have the party. He tried to kill Jessie! He tampered with the float!”

“Did he chop down the tree?” Russ asked, interested.

“Yes! Then he went home and smothered Aunty!”

“That’s gross,” Sara said. “How did he get my money?”

“He can do anything! He’s a sorcerer! He has the spirits of dead Indians do whatever he wants!”

“I’ve got to meet this guy,” Bubba said.

“You’ve already met him,” Michael said. He leaned toward Polly, obviously unimpressed with her outburst of information. “Let’s go back to the bedroom, Polly. Before Clark shoved Alice off the ladder, was he arguing with her?”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“She wanted him to come to the party, but he came—No, she
didn’t
want him to come, but he came anyway.” She nodded to herself. “That’s it.”

“Did you want him to come?”

Polly regarded him suspiciously. “No.”

“Polly?”

“Well, he was mine at first. She took him away from me, you know.” She added softly, “I just wanted to see him again.”

“Did Clark take the form I wanted your aunt to sign?”

Polly hesitated. “I told you he did.”

“Did Clark set the bomb on the ship?”

“Yes.”

Michael reached into his back pocket and removed a soggy piece of paper. He handed it to Polly. She would not look at it. A strange light had entered Michael’s eyes. Jessica didn’t like it. He was a hunter closing in on his prey.

“That’s the form Polly.” he said. “I found it in your backyard yesterday.’”

Polly winced, putting her hand to her head as if it hurt. “He must have dropped it.”

“Michael got to his knees, rocking the lifeboat, moving close to Polly. “No, Polly. You didn’t give it to him.”

“Yes, I did.” She swallowed painfully. “I did.”

“He didn’t push Alice off the ladder.”

“He must have!”

“Where is he, Polly? Where’s Clark?”

“He’s there!” she cried, pointing desperately into the fog. “He’s there on the ship!”

Michael grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “The ship’s gone. Clark’s gone. He’s been gone all along. He never came to the party. He never came to see you after the party. He didn’t push Alice off the ladder. It was you, Polly, it was you who pushed her!”

He’s been gone all along?

Jessica’s brain did a double take. What Michael was saying was preposterous; it made no sense. It was insane… yet he was talking about insanity. Something inside Jessica suddenly clicked. Polly had been going on about all the evil things Clark had done, and yet not one person had seen him at the party. No one had seen him at the homecoming dance. And yet Clark had to exist. He had to be real. Michael had said Clark was the one who had hit him on the head.

He is saying there are two Clarks: the real one, and the one Polly talks to—an imaginary Clark.

He was saying Polly was insane.

“No,” Polly moaned, collapsing in his arms. He would have nothing to do with her. He threw her back into the side of the lifeboat, almost throwing her overboard. A year of pain and bitterness twisted his face and voice.

“She was up on the ladder,” Michael said. “You were arguing about Clark. She was trying to get the paper cups down for you. There were the Christmas lights, a bunch of wires. Her hands must have been tangled up in them. She wouldn’t call Clark and ask him to come. You were mad. You shoved her. She wasn’t able to get her hands out in front of her to brace her fall. She hit the floor with her nose, the hard wooden floor. She died, Polly, and you snapped. You couldn’t take it. You had to make it look like she had killed herself. Or maybe you thought you would make it look like Clark had killed her since he was the one that had made you lose your temper. You went to the garage and got your father’s shotgun and hid it around the side of the house. But you needed another gun. You knew where to get it. You knew Kats. You used to get gas at his station. You knew he always carried a gun. You went out to his car and stole the gun from his glove compartment. You turned up the music in the living room. You went back to the bedroom. You put on gloves and you stuck the gun in Alice’s mouth. You wrapped Alice’s fingers around the trigger. But you made a mistake there. You put the gun in her right hand. You should have put it in her left. It didn’t stop you, though, that mistake. You got a couple of pillows or something and held them around the gun to smother the noise. Then you pulled the trigger, Polly. You blew a hole in your sister’s head. But you weren’t half done. You hid the pillows or whatever in the first upstairs bedroom. They probably had gunpowder stains on them. You locked the first bedroom door. Then you came downstairs and turned off the stereo. You wanted to be sure we heard the shotgun. Then you went around to the side of the house after checking the pool and fired it off. I noticed on the boat the shotgun had dried mud on it. You must have thrown it into the garden where no one could find it, and left it there. You’re pretty clever. When you ran inside, you had the whole house fooled. Is this what happened?
Do you remember, Polly?
”

Polly had listened to Michael’s speech with her face buried in the side of the lifeboat. But now she sat up and brushed her dark hair from her green eyes. The gesture seemed symbolic: it was as if her inner vision had just cleared. She looked at Michael.

“I remember,” she said calmly. “You’re right.”

The admission took the wind out of Michael’s sails. He was right—it was over. There was no mystery left to drive him on, Jessica saw, and also, perhaps, no reason to be bitter over what had befallen his Alice. He sat back on his ankles and touched his head much the way Polly had a minute earlier. It was still bleeding. He was in worse shape than any of them.

Jessica also knew that he was wrong.

“Why?” he asked.

“I have no excuse,” Polly said, unzipping the front of her bulky navy-blue jacket. She had something hidden inside in a clear plastic bag. “I’m a bad girl.”

You can’t have a soda, you’re a bad girl.

He had been so quick to condemn her a moment ago, but now Michael appeared no longer interested in confessions or revenge. He glanced at Jessica, and she believed he was remembering back to the day of the funeral when he had yelled at her in Alice’s studio. He had been looking for someone to blame then. He had been through a lot since then. He was wiser. “It was the light bulb,” he said to Polly. “The electrical shock. It was—a mistake.”

He was referring to the doctors who had treated Polly years ago. Polly heard him, but wasn’t listening. Too late Jessica realized what was in the plastic bag: red and black wires, a timer, a lump of orange dough, a detonator. Another bomb. Polly pulled it out and flipped a switch. “I was a mistake,” she said.