Page 31 of The Executioners Three

“Why, thank you, good sir.” She bent past him, and there it was: her own sense of calm. That hunger in her belly that told her she was doing what she was meant to do. It felt good—so good she scarcely noticed Theo peeking over her shoulder while she flipped through fat green folders.

Labels winked up at her, organized by month. “October,” she mumbled to herself. Flip, flip, flip. “October, October… here.” She grinned and eased the enormous file from the cabinet. Without any concern for Theo, she hurried to the nearest desk.

Inside were all the papers she had combed only yesterday on the microfiche machine. She thumbed through them, untroubled by the black ink left on her fingertips, until finally she reached…

She checked again. “Twenty-one.” Flip. “Twenty-three. What the heck?” She frowned at Theo. Her gut was tickling. “The twenty-second isn’t in here. Just like at the library.”

Now it was his turn to frown. “That’s weird. You’re not allowed to take papers out of the collection.” He pulled the folder in front of him and counted, just under his breath, through every issue. All the way up to Halloween of 1975.

But there was still no October 22. He shook his head. “Maybe someone left it on the copier?”

“The exact date I need?” Freddie’s eyebrows lifted incredulously.

“I don’t know.” He backed away from the desk. “I’ll go look. Stay here.” In a swirl of detergent-scented air, he spun away.

And for several seconds, Freddie just stood there—completely and totally trapped within a Grave Moral Problem quite worthy of the philosophical greats.

For if ever there was a moment for Freddie to release crickets, then now was it.

Theo was away, and while no, this wasn’t where she was supposed to free them, it might be her only chance to do so.

She crept toward the duffle bag. So innocent. Then she bent around the edge of the rows and squinted to the far end of the cellar. Theo had his back to her.

Now was her moment.

Yet for some stupid, stupid reason, she wasn’t taking it. She was just watching him and chewing her lip. The copier machine banged shut; Theo turned.

And Freddie kicked the duffle. “Stay quiet,” she hissed before scampering right back to the desk. She would just have to hope another opportunity came by.

Freddie next turned her attention to the Elmore Gazette, not even bothering to remove its October file from the drawer. She searched it right there, and by the time Theo came jogging back (his cheeks deliciously pink) she had already confirmed. “It’s missing here too.”

“There’s nothing on the copier.” He came to a stop beside her, head shaking. “Check the County Weekly, and I’ll look at the Berm Observer .”

They each did exactly that, moving on to every local paper or magazine in print during 1975. And for every single one, the date of October 22 had been removed.

“Someone took them,” Theo declared from his spot beside a floor-level drawer. His thumb toyed with the stitches over his eye. “It’s the only possible explanation—except why would someone want them, Gellar? What happened on that day?”

“It’s not what happened on the twenty-second,” Freddie explained.

“It’s what happened on the twenty-first.” She slid her attention to a green folder before her—November 1975.

It would seem several dates from this month were missing, suggesting those issues must also have had information referencing the mysterious affair at the county park that got the fête moved.

“So what happened on the twenty-first, then?”

“It’s what I told you, Mr. Porter: there was an unsolved murder.” That wasn’t a total lie.

“What kind of murder?” He moved to the desk and leaned against it. A split second later, his arms folded over his chest… And a split second after that, his thumb started tapping.

So predictable.

“Why do you care?” Freddie picked through the November issues, counting how many were gone. Six in total.

“I care because I’m helping you, and you owe me a full explanation.”

Freddie supposed that was fair. “Okay, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. On October 21, 1975, someone got decapitated in the county park, and as messed up as that was, what makes it extra weird is… Wait a minute.” Freddie frowned Theo’s way. “Why did you just cough like that?”

He didn’t answer. His whole face had gone white.

Even his busted lips had paled, and his black eye looked a sickly green—which was not the reaction Freddie had expected.

Mild horror, sure. Disgust, fine. Casual disinterest, maybe.

But instead Theo looked like he might vomit.

He was even pressing the back of his hand to his lips.

“What… makes it extra weird?” he squeezed out.

“There was a hanging shortly before.” Freddie spoke these words with total detachment, gaze rooted on Theo. “And then another hanging in 1987. And another hanging now—just a few days ago, as you know.”

Yeah, he really looked like he might vomit. “Hangings?” he said, mouth still covered with his fingers. “Let’s look for those.” He shoved off the table, a jerky movement. Gone was his earlier grace.

Not his speed, though. In moments, he’d plucked out the 1987 files for the Berm Sentinel . He didn’t bother closing the drawer before striding back to the desk and tearing it wide. Seconds later, he had found the same article Freddie’s dad had cut out only a few weeks before his heart attack.

Freddie watched as Theo’s eyes raced over the headline—“Suicide By Hanging in County Park”—and then over the entirety of the article. Somehow, his face went paler.

And Freddie could tell, deep in her gut, that Theo Porter knew something. “What is it?” she asked. “Why do these deaths matter to you?”

He didn’t try to deny it. “This.” He poked at the headline. “Like you said, a hanging just happened again. And three times is… a lot.”

“And?” Freddie shook her head. “That’s not all that’s bothering you. I can tell, Mr. Porter. Is it because of the second body in the forest?”

Theo bit his lip. Then hissed with pain, as if he’d forgotten the gash was just above. “How do you know about that, Gellar? I checked the paper today. There was no beheading mentioned.”

Freddie gasped. Her whole body rocked back. “A beheading? How do you know it was a beheading?”

Theo’s face tightened, like he was remembering something he very much wanted to forget. “My aunt slipped up,” he answered eventually. “She mentioned something she shouldn’t have, about a body by the beach. No head.”

Before Freddie could press Theo with any more questions, he suddenly straightened. And just like that, his pallor was gone; the steady, determined Theo had returned. “You said the same thing happened in 1975? A decapitation on October twenty-first?”

A nod from Freddie.

“But if all the articles are missing, then how do you know that?”

“Because,” Freddie said, and in quick terms, she described the article she’d found about why the Fête du B?cheron had been temporarily moved.

About a decapitated body and the traumatized drunk guy who’d been with the victim.

“That was all the article described, though. No details about who those people were or what the police found.”

“Okay.” Theo drawled out the word as he ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s say someone came in here and removed all those articles from 1975. Why not take the ones from 1987 too?”

“I… don’t know.” Freddie didn’t know. She had come here hoping for answers, and now she only had more questions.

“Let’s check the Chicago papers.” Theo motioned to an aisle across the room. “If there was something that messed-up happening, then it would have reached the cities.” He loped away.

And Freddie scampered after him. Now her gut was really singing. “So you think someone went into the local libraries and removed all the articles about October 21, 1975—and no one noticed?”

“What other explanation could there be?” Theo slung into an identical row of cabinets with an identical desk and window. “You know it’s not just a coincidence, Gellar.”

No. It wasn’t. And as much as Freddie appreciated Theo helping her on this… She grabbed his arm and tugged him to a stop. “Why do you care?”

He paused mid stride. Then he turned to face her, beat-up and gorgeous. “Why do you care?”

“I told you—”

“A paper on unsolved murders? Yeah right.” He sniffed. “You’re investigating the weird stuff happening at the park exactly like my aunt told you not to.”

Freddie gnawed her lip. She couldn’t argue with him on that. And she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. In fact, she was starting to suspect maybe she wasn’t the only one with answer-sniffing instincts in her veins.

“I think you think something is going on,” Theo continued. “Something that connects a suicide to a water bottle… and something that got my grandmother put in the hospital.”

Freddie’s lips parted, her lungs readying to fire out: Fine. I’ll tell you what I know. But before she could utter a word, a car alarm blasted in the distance. A blaring wah-wah-wah .

Freddie’s lips clamped shut. This was not good timing, and two whole seconds passed before understanding washed over Theo’s face. “Oh my god.” He laughed, a bitter sound, and swung his attention to the nearest window. “That’s my car, isn’t it?”

There was nothing Freddie could do but nod. And cringe.

“ Dammit, Gellar. What happened to ‘the library is for something else’?”

“It is. ” She pointed to the filing cabinets. “You know I’m here for these articles.”

“And why should I believe you?” Theo tugged at his hair. “Maybe this is just another prank. Did Davis put you up to this?”

“Who?” Freddie shook her head. “Who’s Davis?”

“Did you come in here earlier and steal all the papers from 1975? Just to distract me while your freaking cronies broke into my car?”

“That,” Freddie declared, “sounds ridiculous. Listen to yourself. How could I have removed those newspapers? I didn’t even know you would come down here with me.”

Theo blinked. Then deflated, as if realizing this was, in fact, true: Freddie couldn’t have possibly known he would insist on joining her.

“And look.” Freddie marched toward her duffle bag, hands waving. “Do you see that? Do you wanna know what’s inside? It’s a crate filled with crickets. I was supposed to release them while I was in the building, but I chose not to, Theo. Surely that counts for something.”

“Crickets?” Theo stared at the duffle bag. “You and your friends came here to release crickets?”

“Yes.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “But you’re also here to break into my car.”

“They aren’t breaking into your car. Cat’s cousin is a perfectly legitimate locksmith.”

“That was your idea, though, wasn’t it?” He took a step toward Freddie. “No way they came up with that.”

“No,” Freddie admitted. “It was my idea.”

“So what if I told you the prank book isn’t in there? Your plan completely falls apart.”

“Except I wouldn’t believe you.” Freddie puffed out her chest, refusing to be intimidated by his approach.

Theo was only three steps away from her now.

“You see, if I were you, Mr. Porter, I would have moved the prank book as soon as I realized the other school knew where it was. The most obvious hiding place would be your car. Because it’s locked, of course. ”

“ Was locked.” He eased another step toward her.

“Fair enough.” She shrugged. “It was locked.”

Another step. “And what’s to keep me from running out there and stopping them?”

“Go for it,” Freddie dared.

“You mean you wouldn’t interfere?”

She rolled her eyes as hard as she could. “I told you, Mr. Porter, I’m not here to distract you.”

“And what if I said…” He paused, jaw muscle fluttering. Tongue flicking over his lips. Then he closed the final step between them. “And what if I said my life was a mess right now? What if I said that all I wanted was to be distracted?”

It took Freddie two heartbeats to understand what he was telling her. Two heartbeats filled with a car alarm and the waking whistle of impatient crickets. Then the reality of his words—of what he was implying —careened into her.

Her breath punched out. “I… I’m sure there are lots of people who would willingly distract you.”

“And maybe I don’t want lots of people, Gellar. Remember how I said I’d be impressed if you actually got the log book back? Well, here I am. Impressed.”

“Is… is this a prank?” Freddie croaked. Theo spoke like a teen movie; people didn’t say these sorts of things in Real Life. And they certainly didn’t say them to her.

“No.” He scratched the back of his neck. “If anyone from Fortin found out I was down here with you, telling you what I just said… Well, it would not be great for me.”

“So why did you tell me? And why are you still here?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But you’re still standing here too, so I figure that has to count for something.”

Yes, Freddie was still standing here too—and she supposed he was right: it did count for something.

It also counted that Theo was very close now. Close enough for her to see each of the stitches over his left eye (four of them) and also how bloodshot his black eye really was. And yes, he had been standing close to her all morning, but now it was different.

Now an energy crackled off him that was aching and exposed. That had nothing to lose and didn’t care about enemies or prank wars or Montagues at Verona Beach.

This was Theo from the old water mill. This was Theo holding out his iron heart, and suddenly—just like that—Freddie knew what to do.