Some photos were dated on the back. Some even had notations, listing the students pictured. Those were few and far between. I was already floundering, trying to find Gail’s dad. I had no idea what he looked like. If a given photograph had no names, I was at a loss.
“Hang on,” Gail muttered, looking at one of the candid photos from ’86, “I think…” She trailed off, turning over the photo to read the caption on the back. Her face lit up, then it dropped as quickly.
“What’s up, Gail?” I asked.
“Oh, Biba. I can’t believe … does this make sense to you?”
She handed me the photo, which I quickly scanned. It showed six guys leaning against the same wall the Kings frequented today. I was blown away by how four of them looked identical to Zephyr, Sol, Arvo, and Theo. There was no doubt these were the current Kings’ fathers. But right in there with them, laughing and roughhousing, were two others. One must have been Gail’s dad and the other—
I knew those eyes; even in a black-and-white photo from thirty-five years ago, he was someone I immediately recognized. Someone I’d seen every morning for years. Someone who made me who I am.
Turning over the photo, I read the caption:
3 May 86—West Courtyard
Pictured:
Peter Williams
Dimitri Stamos
Edward Hurley
Rafael Scamarcio
Douglas Monfort
Then, sure enough…
Harold Quinn
I gasped for air as I searched for the stairs.
“Biba, dear,” Gail called after me, “be careful! It’s dark there.”
What did it mean? My father had gone to Stormcloud Academy and never told me? He knew the father of the boy who had made my life a living hell, who had defiled me, who had taken hold of my soul? He also knew the father of my best friend? A man who might have been—
“Biba, what’s the matter?”
“Murdered…”
I was standing in the darkness, shaking. Gail felt her way toward me.
“What are you saying?”
“Gail, if your father was murdered … so was mine.”
I felt her hand clutch mine in the darkness. I hugged her close and said the words so I could hear them myself. “They knew each other, your dad and mine. I think … they might have all been Kings. Along with Zephyr’s dad, the one who’s supposed to have more money and power than God. Arvo and Sol’s dads, too.”
My head was spinning. Who was the other boy? Rafael Scamarcio?
“I don’t know what to do with this,” Gail said as she held each other.
“Me neither. But we have to find out what your father did to the Kings. If we can figure that out, we can figure out … if they could have killed him. And maybe my father, too.”
Slowly, deliberately, we descended from the archives. We didn’t talk. There was nothing else to say, at least not until we pulled back the velvet curtain at the bottom of the stairs and were surprised by tall, sturdy Avro Hurley waiting for us, chewing gum with his big, long swimmer’s arms crossed.
“Jesus!” I squeaked, nearly peeing my pants.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Arvo asked.
“None of your business,” Gail shot back.
“Shut up, slut. I got no business with you. Get your ass back to your room.”
“I don’t even know you,” she shouted as I tried to hold her back. “Don’t tell me to do anything.”
“Quinn, you better shut your friend’s mouth, or I’ll stop it with my fist.”
I pulled Gail aside and tried to calm her down to the extent that was possible. “It’s okay,” I promised her. “Let me talk with Arvo alone. He could be one of the keys to this thing.”
Gail sneered at the dimple-cheeked jock, then got hold of her emotions. She left without saying another word. Probably because anything she said would have started the shouting match all over again.
I took a deep breath and turned back to the lesser King, who was giving me a once-over with his creepy blue eyes. “What do you want, Hurley?”
“Zeph wants to talk.”
“I’m sure I’ll see him in the halls.”
“Now, no negotiation. He’s in the teachers’ lounge.”
“Fine,” I groaned, “show me the way.”
We left Miss Amelia’s anteroom and turned down one of Stormcloud’s lightless corridors. Of all the Kings, Arvo seemed the most … off to me. He wasn’t the brightest guy, and he didn’t talk much. When he did, though, the shit that came out of his mouth was vile.
Then, right on cue, he said the exact thing he knew would most make my skin crawl:
“Zeph and I are close, you know,” he said, not looking at me. “He’ll share you with me soon enough.”
Chapter 18
Biba
There sat Zephyr Williams in the empty teacher’s lounge like the whole damn school belonged to him. He sat in one of the red leather wingback chairs, slumped down in a pair of button-leg track pants and a wrinkled white T-shirt. His dark-brown curls were covered with a Yankee cap.