Page 245 of Sinister

“What did my son do to deserve this? He was always the perfect child, the perfect student. He never did anything to anyone. How could he deserve to be killed in such a manner?”

I note a few classmates also crying—or forcing themselves to cry. There’s Daphne and her mother. Her clique of friends, all of them dabbing at almost nonexistent tears.

Yet even though I didn’t like François, the question his mother is asking is a valid one. Why would he be killed? And why in that vicious manner? He never did anything—except being a posh prick. To my knowledge, he never hurt anyone.

Well, not physically, anyway. He was just an arrogant twat who thought he was better than everyone else. But that’s not a crime.

As I scan the crowd, I spot the two detectives in charge of the murders. Sin was right. They were going to be here—and they’re looking carefully through the crowd for any odd behavior.

“Isn’t it weird that François is the one who died?” I lean in to whisper to Sin. “I mean, yeah, he was an asshole, but . . . why him?”

Sin shrugs. “He was an asshole, indeed. But Petra, sometimes the real crimes are committed in the privacy of one’s life. Just because you might not know what he did, that doesn’t mean he’s entirely innocent.”

“You speak as if you know something.”

“Do I?” He shrugs. “But considering the analysis you made of the previous crimes, doesn’t it raise questions that some random kids—high school students—would be killed in such violent circumstances? No one who died before was innocent. And they all deserved to die.”

I stare at him in shock—not only at the nonchalance with which he speaks, which further fans my own suspicions, but also the fact that I never told him the people on the list were bad. That they were chosen because they were bad, to be killed or sacrificed.

He wouldn’t know that unless he was the one who arranged their murders for that exact reason.

I bite my lip uneasily. Yet another piece of confirmation that he’s behind all of this.

“And yet . . . why our classmates?” I clear my throat. “Theoretically then, if only bad people are being targeted, what could François have done? I’ve never known him to be a troublemaker. For all of his big words and loud personality, he never got in trouble at school. Never had an issue with any authority figure.”

Sin’s lips curl upward. “You really don’t listen to gossip, do you, Petra?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you see the girls in our class who look apathetic?”

I look around and yes, he’s right. There are quite a few girls who stare at the coffin with blank expressions on their faces. But that’s not unusual. Grief comes in many forms. Even I, who never liked François, can feel a sadness at the loss of life without outwardly expressing it.

“What are you getting at?”

“Those are all his ex-girlfriends,” he says, pressing his lips together. “There were rumors that he was filming them without their consent. And then sharing those videos with other people.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs again. “I know everything that happens around here,” he answers with a smile.

“Did you get one of those videos?”

“No. As a matter of fact,” he leans in to whisper in my ear, “no one at school has my phone number. No one other than you, Petra.”

This is all very strange.

“So?” I ask.

He smiles. “No one could’ve sent it to me anyway. Not that I would’ve looked at it.” He trails his hand down my back, playing with the ends of my hair. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever seen in a state of undress. And I’m not interested in seeing anyone else.”

I don’t know how to reply. Mostly because . . . how did this conversation shift to this? We were talking about a tragic incident, and now he’s telling me I’m the only woman he’s ever seen naked.

Not that I don’t appreciate that piece of information, but now it’s not the time nor the place.

I slap his hand aside.

“Behave,” I say in a shushed voice. “Tell me more about those videos. He was sharing them around?”