Sarah Benadine is Dead

Chapter VII, Part II

Allison was already in the library when Shannon and Caleb came through the doors. She'd skipped fifth period. Everyone, even the teachers (especially the teachers), knew. Better—or worse—yet, Allison knew everyone else knew. It was a calculated gamble: Quintus Zima, Dean Procter, and Vince Masterson were often absent whole days, and when they were present it was often wished they were not. And that was just in her grade. Allison thought perhaps an unspoken agreement could be reached, and this one indiscretion could be overlooked in attention to more pressing student matters.

A risky gamble, but one that—for the most part—paid off.

There was a heap of books and paper on the table in front of her when Shannon and Caleb found her. She'd already broken two pencils, which was steep for a single class period, even for her. The grimace on her face was menacing.

"About time you two showed up," Allison growled as they cautiously took seats next to her.

"Sorry, there was this cool new thing we went to," Caleb said. "It's called school."

"Ha ha." Allison's face did not change. Shannon swallowed, opting to look away from Allison's sour gaze. She looked down to the books scattered on the table, tracing her finger over one. Some laid open, giant messes of words and pictures peering up to look at her. Others were shut, toppled on each other and stacked up. Shannon looked at the one her hand caressed; it said simply Wisconsin.

"What are all these?" she asked, sweeping her hand out above the books.

"History," Allison said. "I've gathered every book I could find that could possibly have anything on the history of Clearwater."

"How's it going?" Caleb asked doubtfully, picking up one of the open books and taking a cursory glance.

"Nothing," Allison replied moodily, throwing the pencil she was holding onto the table. Her gaze fell over all the books. "I can't find anything. The whole damn town might as well not exist."

"It's not very big or important," Shannon ventured cautiously.

"You'd still think there'd be something. I can't find anything at all." She looked at Shannon hopefully. "Do you think there'd be anything in the Clearwater library?"

Shannon had to stop herself from wincing. "No. The library's closed. Most of the materials were damaged or destroyed. The city's having a new one built. One no one's been killed in, you know. Getting all new books and materials."

Allison deflated. Her eyes fluttered gloomily across the stacks once more before she looked up at Caleb. "I think it's time to talk to Charlie."

Shannon still did not understand Charlie's significance. She did know Charlie Mouser; she'd gotten to know everyone in her grade, at least by their name. He was the freckled face boy with the thick horn-rimmed glasses who didn't say much. He was nice, though, in what little he did say. But Shannon didn't understand what he had to do with anything; she did not know what they meant when Caleb and Allison said he knew the most.

To be fair, perhaps no one but Charlie Mouser truly understood it at that point in time. There was more behind those thick glasses and freckles than anyone realized.

Caleb rubbed the back of his neck, his face contorting in uncertainty. "Why do we have to drag him into this?"

"It's important," Allison said forcefully. All of them spoke lowly, not wanting to attract Miss Terwilliger's attention, but the intensity of Allison's words was loud. Her agitation had been rising up since before Shannon and Caleb had come in; the two broken pencils were testament.