The Becoming of Noah Shaw (The Shaw Confessions #1)(70)

Or doesn’t care.

Stella hasn’t called or texted either. “Come,” I say to Mara, reaching for her hand. “You can watch the whole thing downstairs. Jamie’s recorded it.”

“She went viral,” Mara says, shaking her head, still sitting on the floor. “Everyone will be looking for her. And she has more time, Felicity didn’t die until—”

“Stella doesn’t want more time,” I say, and the words spark something. “She’s resentful, of all of us. But you the most. She thinks you’re pulling her strings, and she’d rather cut them herself.”

I know the words are true because I understand what’s behind them. Stella’s fought, hard, to change who she is, what she can do. She tried to use her ability for good, to channel it, but it brought her nothing but the sounds of misery and destruction. I understand wanting silence, after that.

But you don’t go public if you want silence. You go public if you want to make noise.





39


OF MOTIVES

I WALK INTO THE MIDDLE OF an argument downstairs. The news at high volume in the background, Goose glued to it. Sophie’s face is tearstained; Daniel looks nauseated. Jamie is circling the flat, trying to disguise his pacing. “Who is doing this though?” he asks.

“It doesn’t matter who,” Daniel says. “We should be trying to work out why.”

Sophie’s eyes are drawn to mine, mid-stair. “Well, whatever motive’s behind this, it’s the same one that apparently aligned with destroying Noah’s dad’s research.”

“It wasn’t his father’s research,” Daniel says. “It was research his father paid for, to save Noah’s life.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“That was how he justified it to himself, and you weren’t there, Sophie.”

“And as I understand it, you were unconscious.”

“Stop it,” Mara says, standing at the foot of the stairs. It’s not just Sophie and Daniel who are silenced—it’s everyone.

“My brother’s right,” she says. “It doesn’t matter who’s doing this to Stella, at this point—she knows she isn’t dead yet, but she thinks she’s in the slaughtering pen.”

“And that you’re the butcher,” Leo says to her.

“That’s what she thinks,” Mara acknowledges. “I’m not. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is why she’s doing it. She doesn’t want to die, right?” Mara looks at me first and then at Leo.

“Not that she’s ever said.” He looks surprised to have even been asked. “I don’t understand why she’s doing this.”

“Because she wants some control back,” Mara says, looking to me for affirmation. “She knows it’s just a matter of time before whoever is doing this makes her kill herself. You heard her in the video.”

“She thinks it’s inevitable,” Jamie cuts in. “Like telling someone they’ve got a degenerative brain disease so they might as well sacrifice themselves to a volcano to save a nation of people.”

Goose looks at him, then at me. “And here I thought I had no idea what was going on before.”

“Never mind,” Jamie says. “I’m just saying Mara’s right. Stella’s still in control right now—to some extent. Something made her drive to Vermont to buy a gun and put it in her mouth,” Jamie says. “I don’t think she’d do that, even as a joke.”

“The police, everyone’s going to be looking for the same things we are,” Mara says. “Anything that identifies . . . anything . . . from where that video was taken. It looked like a cell phone—that’s probably where they’ll start?”

“We’ve been over that already, while you were doing whatever. This is New York,” Leo says. “And she has an iPhone. Can cell towers place you that specifically? Enough to find where she took the video?”

“She left her phone there,” I speak up, and everyone looks to me. “That’s what I’d do, if I wanted to lead people in the wrong direction.”

“But why the wrong direction?” Leo asks, his voice nearly pleading. “She said—you said—that you knew they didn’t want to die.”

I try and edit myself before I speak. Take a leaf from his book. “Because for her, she’s made a decision. She intends to honour it.”

“What if no one’s looking for her?” Sophie asks. “What if they think she’s just some crazy girl on the Internet—”

“They’re questioning her mental health and trying to identify her, definitely,” Daniel says. “Find out who she is and whether she’s still alive.”

“Not just that,” I say. “She mentioned Felicity by name in her video. And the number of missed calls on my mobile about confirms that people know about the fire—”

“Explosion,” Goose corrects. “They called it an explosion on the news.”

“Right, the journos’ve picked it up. She’s now a person of interest in whatever investigation’ll go on about that.”

“By that right, so are you, mate.”

That was what Daniel had been trying to say, before, why he’d thought of my phone.