Finally, after what seemed like hours, they came out. Bryce was first, strapped on to a stretcher and moaning, I’m sorry to say, like a bit of a baby. I’ve had plenty of broken and dislocated bones, and believe me it hurts, but not enough to lie there moaning. Usually when I get hurt, I don’t even notice. Like last night, for instance. When I’m really hurt all I can do is laugh because it hurts so much that it’s actually funny.

OK, I have to admit I sort of stopped liking Bryce so much when I saw him acting like such a baby . . .

Especially when I saw Father Dom, who the paramedics wheeled out next. He was unconscious, his white hair sort of flopped over in a sad way, a jagged cut, partially covered by gauze, over his right eye. I hadn’t eaten any breakfast in my haste to get to school, and I have to admit the sight of poor Father Dominic with his eyes closed and his glasses gone, made me feel a little woozy. In fact, I might have swayed a little on my feet, and probably would have fallen over if Doc hadn’t grabbed my hand and said confidently, ‘I know. The sight of blood makes me sick, too.’

But it wasn’t the sight of Father Dom’s blood seeping through the bandage on his head that had made me sick. It was the realization that I had failed. I had failed miserably. It was only dumb blind luck that Heather hadn’t succeeded in killing them both. It was only because of Father Dom’s quick thinking that he and Bryce were alive. It was no thanks to me. No thanks to me whatsoever.

Because if I had handled things better the night before it wouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have happened at all.

That’s when I got mad. I mean really mad.

Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I looked down at Doc. ‘Is there a computer here at school? One with Internet access?’

‘Sure,’ Doc said, looking surprised. ‘In the library. Why?’

I dropped his hand. ‘Never mind. Go back to class.’

‘Suze—’

‘Anyone who isn’t in his or her classroom in one minute,’ Sister Ernestine said, imperiously, ‘will be suspended indefinitely!’

Doc tugged on my sleeve.

‘What’s going on?’ he wanted to know. ‘Why do you need a computer?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. Behind the wrought-iron gate that led to the parking lot, the paramedics slammed the doors to the ambulances in which they’d loaded Father Dom and Bryce. A second later, they were pulling away in a whine of sirens and a flurry of flashing lights. ‘Just . . . it’s stuff you wouldn’t understand, David. It isn’t scientific.’

Doc said, with no small amount of indignation, ‘I can understand lots of stuff that isn’t scientific. Music, for instance. I’ve taught myself to play Chopin on my electronic keyboard back home. That isn’t scientific. The appreciation of music is purely emotional as is the appreciation of art. I can understand art and music. So come on, Suze,’ he said. ‘You can tell me. Does it have anything to do with . . . what we were talking about the other night?’