Page 20 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

“I’m not trying to do a citizen’s arrest on every loser in town or anything. Sheesh.”

“Are you ladies taking a taxi?” Sven asked. Except that wasn’t exactly what he said, just the way her brain interpreted his heavy accent.

“They shut them down around campus,” Cassie said, scooping her textbook and notes into her bookbag. “After nine.”

“Seems counterintuitive to me,” Evan offered. “Cautioning women to avoid walking at night, and then removing their means of safe transport.”

“He could be transporting his victims by car,” Cassie said.

“Maybe they think it will keep us indoors,” Janice quipped. “Fat chance. I’m not scared.”

You should be, Ian scribbled on the chalkboard, the only words he’d offered all night.

Janice scoffed. “He’s only taking the pretty girls.”

Evangeline wanted to tell Janice not to sell herself short, but it was true, Janice didn’t fit the profile, which the newspaper said was between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four, physically fit, lean body type, and good-looking according to traditional societal standards. Janice carried an extra fifty pounds on her—weight that might save her life, in this case. Her face full of acne was additional armor.

“We will walk you,” Sven said. “Yes, Evan?”

Evan didn’t look at all like he had an interest in walking three girls back to their living quarters, but he agreed, managing to hide at least some of his reluctance. He was probably wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth at all.

Evangeline had no time for chivalry, especially the contrived kind, but she did have time for surviving, and if it meant feeling Evan’s poorly guarded frustration with having been volunteered until she was safe inside her apartment, she would take it.

She didn’t sleep that night. Visions of Serendipity’s silky voice, ordering the boys with her to exact their payment from Evangeline, permeated every whip of the wind outside, and every creak from the old apartment. She begged her mind not to take the memory further; she couldn’t relive her helplessness, or her inaction. Her just lying there and taking it, as if she wanted it, as if she had no tools of her own with which to defend herself. Only later she’d remember her telepathy was a tool, maybe not the best, but one which could be used to confuse and confound; to buy time. Her healing, too, in the right circumstance.

But she hadn’t defended herself. She hadn’t fought at all, only lay there, wishing there were a place her mind could go to pretend it wasn’t happening. Not a day since passed where something in her life didn’t remind her of that day, of her failures, her losses.

Nothing, though, brought it to the forefront like the events taking place in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

She should call someone. There was no reason she had to suffer these fears alone. Colleen. Cassie. Both would be there for her, if she needed them.

Evangeline imagined herself making these calls, but she was paralyzed, chained to the bed by her past, by her fears, and by the resurgence of both more swiftly than she was prepared to fight.

Elizabeth tried to skip graduation. She didn’t need the crowds, the speeches, the ugly robes, any of it to take her piece of paper and file it away until needed. She disliked the attention; the pride in her mother’s eyes, in Colleen’s, hell, even in Augustus’, made her feel like a trophy on display. It eclipsed any real accomplishment and replaced it with extreme discomfort.

But, she reminded herself, she did accomplish something. After thirteen years of school, she never had to return to one ever again. Whatever she lost by not attending college was gained through the peace of mind of knowing she’d never ever be forced to endure the pain and suffering of the masses ever again.

Connor, on the other hand, positively glowed under the shower of adorations from more Sullivans than Elizabeth knew existed—and she’d always thought of them as a massive clan. Even his mother was well enough to attend the austere event, though she clung to her husband’s for support.

Connor’s cheeks were a perpetual shade of pink as he took the compliments poorly, but eagerly, and explained no less than a hundred times what his plans were. Tulane. Then, I’ll join the firm if they’ll have me. He said the last part as a joke, but there was nothing funny to a Sullivan about being an attorney. Even the ones who did have a sense of humor had no room for anyone who didn’t take their family tradition with the highest degree of solemnity.

Connor Sullivan could fail the bar exam a hundred times, and there’d still be a place for him on the esteemed emerald carpets of Sullivan & Associates.

He took breaks from his swarm of family admirers to check on Elizabeth, which she appreciated, and also wished wasn’t necessary. She didn’t want to need him this much, but if there was one lesson a seer learned in life it was that it didn’t matter what the hell you wanted.

“You did well, Lizzy,” Augustus said. It was one of the only times she’d seen him without Ana attached, and she wondered who he trusted to take her, even temporarily.

“Thanks.”

“I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Nope.”

He squeezed her arm. “I’m proud of you. Dad would be proud.”

“Yeah?” She adjusted the uncomfortable new bra Mama bought her for the occasion. Since when does graduation require a new bra, Mother? “I don’t even remember him.”

“You don’t?” Augustus, like her other siblings when the topic came up, seemed to realize this for the first time. They all remembered August, even Maureen. They’d all been old enough to make memories with a father they now revered, like he’d been canonized by virtue of his early death. But Elizabeth was only two when he died, and while there were flashes—being held, lying in a bright room listening to the sound of a man’s voice—these were not memories. They were not a relationship, which they all got to experience. All except Elizabeth. “He adored you. You were his baby. I think he knew you were the last.”

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