Seer

Chapter 6

"I miss her so much."

My voice cracks on the recording, and I cringe for what feels like the billionth time since Mathias pushed play on the conversation I had with Kade. Why is he making me listen? The headmaster glances at me—again—as if looking for some kind of reaction. My stomach is knotted so tight I feel like I might throw up.

"What happened?" The shuffling sound of Kade reaching out to touch my hand.

"Sometimes I feel like it's my fault. I wanted take-out from a place that didn't deliver, and she wanted to stay in. But she went for me. And—"

Oh, somebody please kill me so I don't have to listen to this anymore.

"It's okay. You can tell me."

A pause where our eyes met.

"And she never came back."

Having to listen to myself is like nails on a chalkboard. Why did I tell Kade any of that? I don't know him at all, and yet there I went, spilling my guts to him when he's so clearly in line with Mathias and the rest of these psychos.

In fact, he's standing by the door, leaning against it with crossed arms, probably congratulating himself for being such a good little narc.

The whole thing makes me sick.

I glare at Kade, making sure he gets a good look at how much I loathe him. This is his fault. That was meant to be private. He raises an eyebrow but says nothing. I shift in my seat, turning away to look at the draped window.

A few more painful minutes of conversation pass before the recording rustles to an end. The following silence presses in. I clench and twist the hem of my blue sweater where Mathias can't see. He speaks first.

"You're a bit of a problem for me, Miss Palmer." He sets the black recorder down on the desk. "You see, both of your parents went to school here, so I can't turn you away without a good reason. However, the fact of the matter is I don't truly know, nor can I verify, the events of your past, and I don't like that. Others aren't going to like it either."

The front of the sweater ripples from the slight tremble of my hands, but I don't know what else to do with them. "What else could you possibly want to know about me? Haven't you got enough already?"

His eyes narrow. He takes out a fancy, blue-edged paper from a manila envelope and places it on the desk, tapping the page twice until I look.

My mind blanks.

CERTIFICATE OF DEATH is typed in bold black letters at the very top.

I glance at Mathias, who is watching more intently than ever, before focusing on the paper again. Is he serious? Is this real? It looks official enough with the watermarked paper and stamps. I scan the certificate again and again, but no matter how many times I do, my name is still there—it's right there—next to the part labeled Decedent. The upper right side says I died in the month of April. Only two months before I turned a year old. The exact same age I was when Mom left Chris. My gaze travels over to the bottom left side. The Cause of Death says Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

Mathias yanks the paper away before I can read anything else.

"You're supposed to be dead."

A chill edges down my spine. At first, I can't say anything. I don't even know what to think. He just told me I'm supposed to be dead. Does that mean I used to be dead? Well, sort of. Legally? I put an elbow on the desk and lean my head against my hand. What does this mean?