For a second, I was tempted—I just wanted to spill the entire thing, start to end. But no. Mr. Thorpe was right. I couldn’t do that, ever.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I would have thought the same thing about me.”

“Classes are still canceled,” Jerome said. “But we were stuck there until they chased the news people away. It’s a circus. Wexford, site of the final Ripper attack . . .”

“Charlotte,” I said suddenly. “I forgot Charlotte. Is she okay?”

“Yes,” Jerome said. “She needed some stitches.”

“She’s acting like she was as hurt as you,” Jazza said in disgust.

Charlotte had been beaten over the head with a lamp by an invisible man. I was prepared to give her a pass.

“You’re famous,” Jerome said. “When you get back . . .”

Something in my expression made him stop.

“You’re not, are you?” he asked. “They’re taking you out of school, aren’t they?”

“Is Bristol nice?” I asked them.

Jerome exhaled in relief.

“It’s better than Louisiana,” he said. “That’s what I thought you were going to say. Bristol is reachable by train.”

Jazza had remained quiet through all of this. She took my hand, and she didn’t have to say a word. I knew exactly what she was thinking. It wouldn’t be the same, but I was safe. We were all safe. We’d survived the Ripper, all of us, and whatever happened now could be dealt with.

“There’s just one thing I wish,” Jazza said after a moment. “I wish I could have seen her get hit with that lamp.”

Chapter 38

38

SO MY UNCLE WILL HAS THESE EIGHT FREEZERS UP IN his spare bedroom. It took a lot of effort to get those freezers up the steps, and I think he had to reinforce the floor. He keeps them filled with every kind of provision you can imagine. One is filled with meat. Another with vegetables and frozen dinners. I know one has things like milk and butter and yogurt. I think he even has frozen peanut butter in plastic jars, and frozen dried beans, and frozen batteries because he read somewhere that freezing them makes them last longer.

I don’t know if you’re supposed to freeze things like peanut butter and batteries, and I know for certain that I don’t want to drink three-year-old frozen milk, but I know why he does it. He does it because he’s lived through a dozen or more major hurricanes. His house was destroyed in Hurricane Katrina. He barely made it out alive. He escaped out of one of the windows in an inflatable raft and was picked up in a helicopter. He lost his dog in the flooding. So he moved closer to the rest of us and bought a little house and filled it with freezers.