Page 62 of An Academy for Liars

“He won’t finish his classes?” Lennon asked.

“Does he look like he’s in a condition to do that?” Emerson tossed a hand at Claude, chained to his bed by cloth shackles. “Be serious. He’s too sick.”

“I’ve never seen anyone grieve like this,” said Lennon softly, worrying about her part in all of this. She’d subdued rats into catatonia before, but never a person. And it felt strange to have cast such a dark spell over Claude, to have dragged him into lifeless slumber against his will, even if it was necessary in the moment. “It’s terrible.”

“He’ll come around,” said Emerson, and she stood up. WhenLennon didn’t rise with her, she half turned. “You’re not coming? There are nurses on staff twenty-four hours. You don’t need to babysit him anymore.”

“I want to sit with him for a while,” said Lennon, nodding to Claude asleep on the bed. “I feel shitty about what I did earlier. If he wakes, I want to apologize. Especially if, you know, he’s going to be leaving. Who knows when or if we’ll even see him again?”

Emerson gave a small nod and left. No sooner was she gone than Claude opened his eyes, staring blearily up at Lennon, his cheek pressed firmly against the pillow.

“You don’t want to apologize,” he said. “Even if you did, you wouldn’t mean it, and I wouldn’t forgive you either.”

Lennon leaned forward, her voice low. “What did you mean when you said Dante said terrible things to Benedict? What did he say?”

Claude rolled away from her so that all she could see was his back, his once-glossy curls now tangled and matted at the nape. “He said he was going to kill him,” Claude whispered. “Dante said to Benedict that one day, someday soon, he was going to fucking kill him. He said it would be August all over again.”

“August? What happened in August?”

Claude didn’t answer.

The next evening,Lennon went to Dante’s office, only to find it empty.

“I’m afraid Dr. Lowe isn’t in right now,” the secretary said when Lennon inquired about his whereabouts. He was the same peculiar man who’d delivered their sandwiches, months ago, during her first meeting with Dante. Looking at him, Lennon realized she couldn’t guess his age. He might’ve been sixteen, or he might’ve been fifty-six. So many of his features contradicted themselves—the lines that bracketed his mouth contrasting with the baby-smooth alabaster of his skin; his eyes, large and blue, seeming at once to hold all of the innocence of a child and the gravity of an old man. “Would you like to leave a message with me?”

“No need,” said Lennon. “I’ll come back.”

She was turning to leave when she spotted Nadine by the door. Lennon was surprised to see her. She’d assumed that she’d left campus for Thanksgiving like the majority of those at Drayton did.

“Are you looking for Professor Lowe?” she asked.

“Yeah, actually. Have you seen him?”

“Every day,” said Nadine. “He spends what seems like half his nights in the chapel and most of his mornings. He’s probably there now.”

Lennon wasn’t even aware that the campus had its own chapel. She’d known there was a chaplain, but only because Nadine spoke so highly of her. Apparently, she was slated to become the woman’s apprentice—all but securing the position during the early weeks of her first semester at Drayton. But Lennon had always assumed the chaplain occupied a room in Irvine, like the ones you’d find in an airport or a hospital.

“I’ll walk you there,” said Nadine, clutching her books close to her chest.

Lennon found the offer strange. She liked Nadine well enough, but she wouldn’t have called them friends. And the distance between them—which wasn’t small to begin with—had only widened since Lennon had been inducted into Logos and Nadine had not. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“I don’t mind,” said Nadine, starting to walk. “Follow me.”

For a long time, they walked without speaking, Lennon staring at her feet and Nadine humming something that sounded like a hymn. They were halfway across campus when Nadine finally broke the silence. “I saw Claude this morning.”

“You were at the infirmary?”

Nadine nodded. “I go to pray with patients once a week. Claude included.”

“And how did that go?”

Nadine flashed a smile. “About as well as you’d expect. He’s the most deeply sacrilegious southerner I think I’ve ever met.”

Lennon laughed. “He’s something else. I’m worried about him.”

“Me too,” said Nadine. “Is it true what they’re saying? About Benedict?”

“Depends. What are they saying?”

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