We Know It Was You (21 page)

“Sshhhhh . . . ,” Zaire whispered into the microphone. “They're sleeping.”

Something about Zaire's voice made Virginia shiver. She felt goose bumps go down her arms.

“Now, when you wake up, you won't be cheerleaders anymore. You'll be witches. You'll be evil witches from hell. When I count to five, you'll wake up and stand up, and you won't be cheerleaders anymore. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
five
.”

Instantly all the girls opened their eyes and got to their feet. Virginia searched their faces. They looked strange. None of them were smiling.

“Can I talk to you, Angie?” Zaire asked, beckoning her with a finger. “I want to ask you a question.”

Angie came forward. Her face was mean and blank.

“Angie, what's your favorite after-school activity?” Zaire asked.

“Eating rats,” Angie said. It might have been funny, but her voice was so cold and rough. Nobody laughed.

“Interesting,” Zaire said. “And if someone makes you mad, what do you do about it?”

“I put a curse on them until they die.”

Someone behind Virginia whispered, “She's faking. She's so faking.”

Zaire said into the microphone, “Thanks, Angie. Can I talk to Brittany now?”

Angie skulked back into the group of cheerleaders, swapping places with her twin. Their faces were identical masks of stony hate. The sight was deeply unsettling, but Virginia couldn't look away.

“Hi, Brittany,” Zaire said. “Can I ask you a question?”

Brittany nodded lifelessly.

“Who do you love more, Jesus or Satan?”

“Satan.”

The uproar was instantaneous. Everyone started talking and booing and yelling. Someone shouted “bitch” at Zaire, and someone else was yelling, “This isn't right! This isn't right!” And it
wasn't
right, Virginia knew. Brittany was the president of Winship's FCA chapter. She said “Oh my gosh” instead of taking the Lord's name in vain. She passed out
WWJD
bracelets every year on her and Angie's birthday. She would
never
say she loved Satan more than Jesus, not even as a joke.

The principal was on the stage in seconds. “That's enough,” Virginia could hear him saying. “That's quite enough.”

Zaire stared up at him defiantly.

“Unhypnotize them,” the principal hissed.
“Now.”
Virginia could barely hear him above the cacophony all around her. “She didn't mean it, Jesus!” someone shouted.

“When I snap my fingers, you'll be your mindless, vapid selves again,” Zaire said flatly. Then she snapped her fingers. The microphone dropped from her hand with a deafening boom. She left the stage as the sound echoed off the walls. The cheerleaders were confused and glazed looking. They eyed one another like bewildered strangers.

“I've seen her do that before,” Benny said.

“Hm?” It was so loud Virginia could barely hear.

“I've seen her do that before. I've seen her do it to people who didn't even know she was there.” And then, without explaining himself, Benny got up and began squeezing his way out of the crowd.

Am I supposed to follow him?
Virginia thought, annoyed. Not that she didn't know the answer. She was always supposed to follow him.

The library, 2:15 p.m.

Benny's head was pounding, the revelation pulsing like a heartbeat:
It was her, it was her, it was her
. It was her. It was Zaire Bollo, the girl you'd least expect to find at the
center of anything related to their school. She was always at Winship's outermost edge, making everyone feel awkward with her pointedly foreign attitude. But it was her on the bridge in the video, and Brittany was the person she was trying to kill.

Benny wasn't surprised that someone like Zaire was capable of murder. She seemed to enjoy making people uncomfortable. She never relaxed the act; everyone, at all times, needed to understand that she didn't belong at Winship, that the entire school was beneath her. The spectacle with the mascot made sense. Zaire hated Winship and made no secret of her contempt for the distinctly American pageant of football and cheerleaders. What better way to exhibit her hatred than to literally kill the mascot? To drown the very embodiment of school spirit.

But it hadn't worked. Brittany wasn't in the suit that night; it was Choi. So rather than crushing Winship's spirit, Zaire's thwarted murder attempt had actually made Winship a better, safer place. The irony was incredible.
Zaire must be seething,
Benny thought. He felt agitated. Would she try to kill Brittany again? What exactly had been her plan? Was she hypnotizing people right and left? And how did that actually work? This was what the library was for: It was time to think. It was time to read. Virginia was going to freak out. Benny could just imagine her hyper reaction, and he didn't want to deal with it. He didn't want to face her barrage of questions until he had some actual
answers. Probably his least favorite thing to say in the entire English language was “I don't know.”

Across the heavy wood table Virginia couldn't even see Benny's face anymore. It was obscured by a huge stack of books with titles like
Mesmerism in History
and
Hypnotism in the Twentieth Century
. Benny was tearing through them one by one. This was the really boring part of Mystery Club, watching him speed-read like a robot in total silence. It was pointless to try to help him, Virginia knew. He'd let her do some research just to keep her busy, but then he'd reread everything himself to make sure she hadn't missed anything. He hadn't even bothered to explain what they were researching. Apparently Virginia was expected to read Benny's mind.

“You know, torture is a form of hypnotism,” Benny announced with the authority of an expert and not someone who had just read it in a book five seconds ago. “Fundamentally, hypnosis is the act of manipulating the patterns of the mind to induce a state of highly suggestible consciousness. The same effect can be achieved with violence. You can torture someone into doing something they would never normally do.”

He flipped through the pages. “It's amazing that hypnotism isn't illegal. It's amazing that its power is mostly used for, like, entertaining people at birthday parties.”

Virginia wasn't paying attention. “Look at Margaret over there.”

One of the cheerleaders, Margaret Inman, was leaning against the wall, holding an SAT practice book upside down, reading in a daze.

“These words sure look funny!” Virginia said in a ditzy voice.

Benny looked back at his books. “She does it to people who annoy her.”

“Who, Margaret?”

“Zaire. She messes with people. I've seen her do it to Winn Davis twice. I just didn't realize it at the time. Winn didn't even know she was there.”

“I didn't know you could hypnotize people from afar,” Virginia said.

“Well, you can't. But what you can do is set up a signal in their minds that activates later. . . .” He flipped through one of the books called
True Mesmerism
. “There's a documented case of a guy who was hypnotized to jump into traffic if he ever heard the words ‘the end is nigh.' Three years later he did it. Some homeless guy said the words randomly, and the man jumped into traffic and died.”

Virginia wasn't listening. “Oh my God, look at Margaret.”

Benny looked. Margaret had curled up in a ball on the floor and was using the thick SAT book as a pillow.

Benny snapped his fingers. “Virginia. Concentrate. This is the most important part of our work.”

“Sitting in the library?”

“Expanding our intelligence.”

“About hypnotism? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Hi, guys. Study date?”

Benny slammed his book shut, and Virginia looked up. It was Zaire. All around them, people were glaring at her, including the librarian. Zaire seemed to feel it, but held her nose in the air like she didn't give a shit. Virginia gave her a long look. Zaire had always been a little out of orbit, socially, but now she was just
gone
. There was no rebounding from that spirit show stunt. Making sweet, cherished Brittany say she loved Satan? Virginia couldn't think of a better way to get 99 percent of the school to hate you forever.

“Y'all are so cute together,” Zaire said.

Virginia rolled her eyes. It was so annoying when Zaire said “y'all” in her snotty half-British accent.

“I've read that book,” Zaire said to Benny.

Benny pretended to adjust his glasses. “Did you find it edifying?”

“I did! On an introductory level, at least.”

For a second Zaire and Benny just stared at each other. Virginia didn't like it. It made her feel left out.

“So how long have you been into hypnotism, Zaire?” Virginia asked loudly.

“Oh, not long,” Zaire said breezily. “About a year.”

“Actually, at our age a year is quite long,” Benny said. “Six point six percent of your life so far.”

“Wow, I never thought of it that way!” Zaire exclaimed, fluttering her eyelids.

Is she flirting with him?
Virginia thought.
Slut.

“So, going to the big game tonight?” Zaire asked, with a mocking “hoorah” gesture.

“Maybe,” Benny said. “Are you?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“You are known for your school spirit,” Virginia said, wanting to be in on the banter.

“And for my halftime show,” Zaire added, giving Benny a wink—an actual wink.

Virginia glanced at him. He was half smiling, like he wanted to laugh but was too astounded.

Zaire glanced around and said, “Well I better get out of here. I'm feeling a few daggers in my back, if you know what I mean.”

You should feel a few in your front, too,
Virginia thought. Without meaning to, she eyed Zaire's chest, suddenly remembering how she looked naked. The image was so vivid in her mind, it was like she could see right through Zaire's clothes.

“You know, Benny, there's a much better book if you're interested in hypnotism. It's called
Field Hypnosis
. Virginia, will you go get it? It's on the same shelf.”

“Um,
excusez-moi
?” Virginia balked at her. As if she would ever be Zaire's errand girl in a million years.

Benny gave her a harsh look.
Do it,
his face clearly said.

Virginia stared at him, daring him to make her.

“I'm very interested in reading that book,
Virginia
, if you would be so kind as to get it for me,” Benny spelled out between gritted teeth.

“Fine,” she said, and stood up so quickly her chair almost fell over.

“And put this one back while you're at it,” Zaire said, picking up
True Mesmerism
. Virginia took it and headed to the nonfiction area, stepping over the still-napping Margaret. Margaret's cheerleading skirt was flopped up so anyone could see her pink underwear and half a butt cheek. Virginia considered covering her up, but then decided she didn't care enough to bother.

The nonfiction area had a disorganized “psychology” shelf containing a mishmash of college-level psychiatry texts, a slew of memoirs about anorexia, and a bunch of trashy true-crime books. But Benny had managed to find a few books about hypnotism hidden among the weird miscellany. Virginia scanned the titles for
Field Hypnosis
but couldn't find it.
Where is this damn book?
She couldn't go back empty-handed like a clueless helper who couldn't carry out the simplest chore. Zaire would love it too much.

Then there was a weird sound, like someone being punched in the stomach. Virginia peered around the shelf. At first she couldn't find Benny and thought he was gone. Then she saw that he was bent over in his chair, his hands on his knees. He was throwing up on the floor.

“What the hell?” Virginia said loudly.

Zaire whipped around and saw her. All the sly calm was gone from Zaire's face—she looked panicked and freaked out. Virginia turned from her to Benny, who was vomiting again, his barely digested lunch splattering onto the already vomit-colored carpet.

“What's happening to him?” Virginia demanded.

“I don't . . . I don't . . . ,” Zaire said, looking slightly green. Then she started walking away.

“Hey!” Virginia shouted. But Zaire ignored her and pushed through the library doors.

The matronly librarian had scurried to Benny's side and was asking if he was all right, averting her eyes from the mess on the floor.

“I'm so sorry,” Benny breathed. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't you worry. It happens! Will you take him to the nurse, sweetheart?”

“Sure,” Virginia said, wrinkling her nose at the smell. “Can you walk?”

Benny nodded. He was clearly mortified, but he let Virginia take his arm. They walked slowly into the hall. Behind them, the librarian was calling the janitor.

“I don't know what happened,” Benny said weakly.

“Don't worry about it,” Virginia said. “Talking to Zaire makes me want to throw up sometimes too.”

She'd meant it as a joke, but somehow it didn't seem very funny.

The parking garage, 3:00 p.m.

Fuck you, Trevor.

Winn stabbed the bayonet into the tire, then yanked it out with a grunt. Air hissed from the hole, and Winn felt a little calmer. He clutched the rifle in his arms, almost hugging it. Like all old guns, it was heavier than it looked. The brass was rusted in a few places, but otherwise was in good shape, thanks to generations of immaculate care by the Davis family. It even had a name, Bory, after General P. G. T. Beauregard, who defended the Confederate capital of Richmond from Union assault. The rifle was more than a prized possession—sometimes Winn felt like it was his best friend. Supposedly Trevor Cheek was his best friend, but best friends didn't wag their dicks in your girlfriend's face, did they? Best friends helped you castrate people who wagged their dicks in your girlfriend's face. Or at least castrate their cars.