Page 49 of The Executioners Three
She dumped the box’s contents onto the cold concrete floor. Newspaper clippings, Xeroxed articles, and dot-matrix printouts with the edges still on stared up at her.
And there it was: the poem fromThe Curse of Allard Fortin—exactly as it had looked in the book, because this was a Xeroxed copy. It was old, yellowed, and folded to the point of being crumpled, but it was definitely a copy of what Freddie currently had hidden in her bedroom.
Freddie’s hand started to shake—just a slight tremble—as she flipped the paper over. On the back of the sheet, her dad’s tiny, slanted handwriting stared up at her.
Dreams came again,it read.Always the same. The Village Historique. Ghosts hunting.Then below that:Edgar didn’t die?
Freddie sucked in sharply. She’d been having dreams too, which, in and of itself, didn’t mean much. After all, the poem had strong imagery, so it was totally natural for those images to crop up during a REM sleep cycle…
But the name Edgar?Thatwas worth digging into, since it was the same name as the author ofThe Curse of Allard Fortin.
Freddie set aside the poem and turned to the next documents. They were newspapers, all dated October 1987, the year and month during which Frank Carter had died.
In fact, the anniversary of his death was only eight days from today. October 26. A day that always coincided with final preparations for the fête—meaning a day when Mom would always throw all her focus on the task at hand.
Like mother, like daughter.
Freddie stared at the headlines of Dad’s collected articles. They were all toe-curlingly familiar: “Wild Animals Abandoning Local Forests” read one. And another: “Thick Fog Leads to Three Car Accidents.”
One headline, though, was especially gruesome and familiar: “Suicide by Hanging in County Park.” It described an unidentified corpse discovered near the beach. Other than reporting the victim’s sex (female) and approximating her age (thirty-four), there were no leads as to who the person might have been. Police were, on that day in 1987, asking for people to report any missing persons.
Please call Sheriff Frank Carter,it said at the bottom,with any leads. Anonymous tips accepted.
The Xeroxed articles and printouts Freddie studied next had similar headlines—except that they weren’t from 1987. They were all dated October 1975. Freddie’s breaths shallowed out as she skimmed each one. At some point, her mouth went dry too. She kept swallowing.
First 1975, then 1987, and now in present day, there had been intense fog, lots of roadkill…
And hangings.
Body Found in County Park
Newly elected sheriff Frank Carter was called to his first crime scene this weekend after a jogger discovered a body. Carter has released no details except to say the deceased was not local and appears to have died by self-inflicted wounds. Foul play is not suspected.
An interview with the person who discovered the body (and who has asked to remain anonymous) indicates the victim hung themself.
Three people had died by hanging since 1975. That felt way too big to be coincidence.
The house vibrated. A squeal split the basement, and Freddie’s heart lurched. The garage door was opening, which meant Mom or Steve was home. She couldnotbe caught down here.
With frantic speed, she shoved the papers back into the box and shoved the box back into its shadowy corner. She raced upstairs and slipped outthe front door without ever seeing who was home and without ever being seen.
Freddie had more work to do.
By the time Freddie finally reached school, her hair was a mess from the frantic ride. Worse, her stomach was deeply displeased from skipped cereal.
She sheepishly signed in at the front desk—this wasn’t the first time she’d been late (mornings were hard, okay?)—and slunk into second period right as the bell finished ringing. She felt slightly guilty about missing Mr. Binder’s class…
But only slightly. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to face him after what had happened on the pageant stage.
Sigh. What had Freddie been thinking? Oh yeah. She hadn’t been.
Freddie joined Divya at their usual spots in the back row of trig, and Divya gazed at Freddie with unmasked horror. Two minutes later, when Mr. Gonzalez started talking about cosigns and tangents, a note landed on Freddie’s desk. Though it lacked Divya’s usual pencil hearts and sunshines, it was still expertly folded with a little pull-tab on one side. After a quick check that Mr. Gonzalez wasn’t looking (he wasn’t), Freddie tugged. The note unfolded.
You look like death. Is Theo a vampire? Was that a hickey or a bite wound?
Freddie hastily scribbled back,Ha ha. Very funny. And NO. There was an incident last night with Mrs. Ferris. She got hurt, and we had to call 911.
OMG. Is she okay? Are you okay?
