Page 110 of An Academy for Liars

“Shut up,” she snapped and thrust a pointed finger in Lennon’s face, spitting a little as she spoke. “He had a little sister. He had family. He hadme.”

“I am sorry,” said Lennon. “But I can’t bring him back.”

“I was in love with him,” said Nadine, as though she hadn’t even heard her. “I’d been in love with him. I loved him even when you used him as a good lay and then cast him aside the moment that you found a better bet with Dante. I didn’t want to let myself feel that way for anyone, but I did, despite my faith, despite everything. I sacrificed so much to feel that. And the moment I was brave enough to admit it, to let myself love him, the moment I won him over, you had to take him for yourself. If you couldn’t have him, then no one could—”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t you lie,” said Nadine, hysterical now. “I saw it that night, on the way to the chapel. I saw it in your eyes. You didn’t like the fact that I was with him. You were jealous—”

“I wasn’t—”

“—and competitive. You always have been. Even with Ian, you always had to be the best. That’s why you put that knife through his hand the night he was supposed to be initiated into Logos. We all saw you do it. I swear it looked like you were fighting a smile after you nailed his hand to the table. It was sick. You’re fucking sick, and if the school won’t hold you accountable, I will.”

With that, Nadine lunged at Lennon across the field, that knife sheathed in her clenched fist, her will a wicked thing that cleaved through the space between them and seized upon Lennon like the mouth of a snake. Lennon staggered, then hit the ground, extending her own will as she fell. Nadine crashed atop her, the blade of her knife embedded itself deep into the dirt, inches from Lennon’s head.

Nadine ripped the knife free of the dirt and raised it again, and Lennon caught her by the wrist as the blade’s tip hovered, inches from her abdomen. Nadine was stronger than she looked, much stronger, and Lennon couldn’t fend her off for very long. The knife pierced intothe soft of her belly, and blood soaked through the waistband of her trousers. Her arm spasmed. Her grip failed. The knife cut deeper, and she could feel the tip biting into her hip bone.

A sharp trill cut the silence of the night.

An elevator bell.

The ground firmed and hardened beneath her back.

Lennon managed to shove Nadine off her just as the doors of the elevator split open behind her, and she fell into the cabin, crashing against the far wall with an impact so violent she very nearly lost consciousness. The doors closed. She slid down the wall as the cabin descended.

Gritting her teeth, she peeled up her shirt to examine the stab wound. It was deep enough to need stitches, but she didn’t think the knife had punctured deep enough to do any internal damage. She clasped a hand over the wound to slow the bleeding.

The elevator jolted—stopped—but its doors didn’t open. After a few long minutes, she began to panic, beating on the doors, and frantically fitting her fingers into the crack, breaking nails in her desperate effort to pry them apart. She had just begun her first attempts to scale up the walls of the elevator and push at its paneled ceiling when the cabin began moving again. Slowly at first, grinding into motion with a sound she’d never heard before, like a can being crushed in a fist. And she could feel the walls of the elevator trembling almost, as if threatening to give under the pressure.

Again, Lennon wedged blood-slick fingers into the crack between the doors and tried to pry them apart, to no avail. The lights flickered and the elevator bells began to ring, as if in warning. But then the sound distorted as the cabin slowed. It was at this time that Lennon collected her thoughts enough to determine that someone had gotten hold of the elevator and was dragging it off course. Dante, perhaps?

Water began leaking through the elevator doors. A small trickle at first, thickening to a rivulet that washed across the floor and flooded over the tops of her loafers.

The cabin filled fast.

Up to her ankles.

Her knees.

Her hip bones.

Lennon tried to pry open the doors again. But if it was difficult before, it was impossible now, with the cold water spraying in and blinding her, making it impossible for her fingers to gain purchase between the slick metal doors.

The water climbed up to her collarbones, and she began to take deep breaths, trying to saturate her blood with as much oxygen as she could. Her feet lifted above the floor of the elevator, the water climbed higher, and her head wedged against the ceiling.

The lights flickered then died.

In the darkness, Lennon took a final breath.

She thought of Dante.

Her lungs swelled and burned.

She thought of Carly and what this would do to her.

She thought of Blaine.

The doors didn’t open. The elevator didn’t move.

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