“I got sick a lot as a child.” Quinn held out another cup of tea. “I had colic as a baby and I dunno, an upside-down immune system or something. Mom took me to a million doctors and specialists, convinced I had the bubonic plague or some rare wasting disease when really I was just a wimp. Dad found it all annoying. Before I was born, Mom went out with him every night to exclusive clubs and events, but now all she wanted to do was stay in with me. He resented it – this weak, sickly child monopolizing his perfect arm-candy wife. Damon Delacorte can’t stand weakness.”
The words tumbled out of him in a rush. Quinn clutched my empty mug in his hands, looking as surprised as I felt. He never liked to talk about his family or his feelings or the abuse – or anything serious at all. Every time I brought up his dad he’d make a joke and change the subject. Opening up like this was a big deal to him.
I didn’t expect Quinn to volunteer any more information, but he seemed to be in a chatty mood. He took a shuddering breath, and continued, “Dad had been hitting my mother ever since I could remember – a bruise or black eye for every perceived slight or imperfection. The first time he hit me, I was six years old. He’d been away on business for a month. I heard his car pull up in the drive. I ran downstairs and threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his leg because I was too small to reach up and hug him. I was so excited to see him at last, I didn’t even think that I was wearing my rumpled pajamas and wiping my snotty nose on his slacks. He’d brought the opposing counsel back to the house to intimidate him with our perfect life, and my snotty nose was ruining his carefully-crafted image. I always remember how he had this smile plastered on his face as he dragged me into a bathroom in the guest wing, where his guest couldn’t hear. Behind that smile pulsed a rage that burned so deep so it could never be sated. Dad removed his belt and whipped my back so hard I saw stars.”
As Quinn spoke, he hugged his arms across his chest, his fingers reaching to touch his back, tracing the ghosts of that first betrayal.
“Why?” I asked. Tears sprung in my eyes. How could anyone want to hurt a child, especially Quinn? “You were just a little kid.”
“Why does anyone do the things they do?” Quinn said bitterly. “It’s all part of the cycle of horror and violence, remember? Dad’s father belted him when he stepped out of line, and he’d become the most formidable criminal defense lawyer in America. If you ask him, he’d say it was to make me stronger. ‘I’m doing this for your own good,’ he loved to say. But I see the truth in his eyes, in that smile. He enjoys it. He likes having power over people. He couldn’t turn his anger inwards – that would mean admitting his own weakness. It was always directed at those beneath him – subordinates and assistants at his company, customer service staff, Mom. Me.”
Quinn tightened his arms around himself, and I thought again how lucky I’d been that I’d always been safe with my mom. She’d had some abusive boyfriends, but they left quickly when they got wind of the strange things I did with fire. I’d never had to wonder if she was having a good day or a bad day.
“The worst thing was, I was so twisted around that all I wanted was to please him. How I loved him. How I wanted to be just like him. Dad’s a charmer. When he’s happy he lights up a room, but he had this dark side his peers never saw. I saw how he commanded a courtroom or orchestrated an amazing party and I thought, ‘when I become like him, no one will be able to hurt me. I could protect Mom.’ But I could never measure up, and eventually I stopped trying, and all I cared about was protecting Mom. I’m completely fucked up, and then I met Trey and Ayaz and piled their shit on top of mine. We fed off each other’s fears and insecurities and used the lessons we’d learned from our parents to become the Kings. And then you came along and tore everything apart and showed us what true strength really means.” Quinn’s amber eyes rested on me with perfect love and trust, not knowing that soon I was going to shatter his heart. “You made me want to be better.”
“We should get to the meeting,” I croaked, in part because I saw the time on the clock behind his head, but mostly because I saw the hope lurking in his eyes, and I wanted to save him from spiraling into a place he didn’t want to go. A place where I couldn’t follow.
Quinn shoved my feet into my Docs and knotted the laces, which I usually left undone. I grabbed one of the backpacks we’d stuffed with cash and looped it over my shoulder. He held out his hand, and I took it. As he held open the door for me, I swept past him and planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You broke the cycle, Quinn. You’re nothing like your father – he could only dream of being half as strong as you are.”
Quinn’s smile could have lit the world.
Thank the cosmic god for having two notorious gossips on our side. Tillie and Greg made sure that by the end of the day, every student had the word about the meeting. When Quinn shoved open the common room door, it nearly wouldn’t open. Every spare inch of floor-space was taken up with students and maintenance staff. I inched my way through the crowd to Trey and Ayaz, who stood on the kitchen island to command the room. Trey pulled me up beside them, and I stared out over the sea of faces who all believed I could save them, and a strange mixture of pride and vomit gurgled in my stomach.
Trey opened his mouth to make a speech, but that wasn’t my style. I dropped the bag off my shoulder and dumped the contents out onto the counter. Students gasped and conversations broke off mid-sentence as wads of bills toppled out into a messy pyramid. Amber reached for a stack, but Trey patted her hand away.
“Some of you may have heard that Paul died on Saturday night. He was part of a small group who risked… more than we ever realized to get this cash. Paul didn’t die in vain. I’ve got several more bags where this one came from. This cash is for all of us,” I said. “It’s going to help you buy your freedom.”
Amber wrinkled her nose. “That’s hardly enough. How will I be able to afford an apartment in the East Village if I’m sharing that with these plebs?”
Courtney shot Amber a steel glare.
“You’re not buying an apartment in the East Village.” I shoved the cash into the backpack. “At least, not yet. What you all need to remember is that you’ve been gone for twenty years. As far as the world is concerned, you died in that fire. If you show up again using your real names and your old identities, people are going to ask questions. Questions you can’t answer – at least, not in any way that makes sense. As soon as someone in power gets wind of the fact 245 formally-dead students walked out of Miskatonic Prep without aging a day, along with 76 missing scholarship students who’ve had their tongues cut out, they’re going to lock you all in padded cells and experiment on you for the rest of your lives.” My skin crawled as memories from my time at the Dunwich Institute threatened to dislodge my resolve. My time there was a picnic compared with what the government would put the Miskatonic students through.
“We’re using this money to get IDs and passports for all of you.” Trey handed out a stack of clipboards. “Write down your preferred new names. Please don’t be stupid and call yourself Conan or President Bush or something, or I’ll rename you myself and you don’t want to know what I’ll choose. If there’s a particular country you want to flee to, let me know and we’ll try to secure a visa as well.”
“Can we keep our first names?” asked Tillie.
I sighed. “If you must.”
“This is not what we signed on for,” Amber spat. “I had a promising modeling career. Courtney was supposed to inherit her mother’s clothing label. How can she do that if the world can’t even tell they’rerelated?”
Trey loomed over her. “You haven’t grasped the enormity of this. Hazel is offering us a way out of this hell, and all you can think about is money?”
“You’re all going to have to work for everything you earn, without the benefits of your family connections or stacks of cash.” I folded my arms. “Provided we all make it to the end of this final quarter intact and you pass your exams, your Derleth diploma will at least enable you to apply for college,ifyou want to go. You’ll have to get financial aid. Or a scholarship. Or work a second job to support yourself, just like normal kids in America. Now, what’s it going to be, Amber Smith or Bimbo McSluttyPants?”
Amber scowled at me, but she grabbed the pen and scribbled something down. The room fell into silence.
“Good.” I held out the clipboard. “Who’s next?”
Chapter Thirty
What I’d said in the common room seemed to get through. When we collected the clipboards, we ended up with a list of mostly sensible new identities – Quinn had chosen ‘Attila the Hun,’ but I expected that.
“You have five seconds to pick a sensible name or I’m choosing it for you.” I thrust the clipboard at Quinn’s chest. “I think you really suit ‘Humphrey.’”
“You wouldn’t.” Quinn looked to Trey for help.
Trey opened a freezer and removed one of his fancy heat-and-eat meals, which he threw in the oven. “I was thinking Aragorn, fromLord of the Rings. Did you know that’s Quinn’s favorite book?”
