PROLOGUE
Kimi
Kimi knows what the other teachers call her behind her back. She’s heard them before, although she’s pretty sure they don’t know she knows.
Here comes the mole.
It’s not like she signed some formal agreement. And it’s not like she had much of a choice. It had all started pretty innocently. Her boss befriending her and then subtly starting to pump her for information.
Then it became an unstated directive. A quick promotion to English department chair in exchange for some hints about who might be plotting behind the woman’s back. Getting her preferred chaperoning duties in exchange for a few tidbits about who might be holding up her latest initiatives.
And then it became even more complicated.
She wonders how Brooke will take the resignation letter she left in her mailbox yesterday afternoon. It’s a terrible career move to leave now, just two weeks before winter break. But Kimi feels that she doesn’t have much choice.
It’s not just the strained relationship with the other teachers, although that’s part of it. It’s that she’s pretty sure her boss doesn’t know what she overheard, and it needs to stay that way. She’ll go back to North Carolina and regroup, then come back for the rest of her belongings some other time.
As she enters the deserted Cortlandt train station and starts walking towards the tracks, she feels a chill run up her spine. It’s dead still on a frigid Saturday morning. No commuters. Not another passenger in sight. But she has a nagging sensation that she’s not alone.
Is someone following me?
She stops for a moment and turns to look behind her. Nobody’s there. She glances out the window to the parking lot, but the view is obstructed by a thin layer of ice. Then she takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and makes her way over to the staircase that leads down to the train tracks.
The hairs on the back of her neck are standing up, but she reminds herself there’s a good chance she’s overreacting—to all of it. And for a moment, she considers that she might be making the biggest mistake of her entire career.
Too late to second-guess myself now.
When she lifts her foot to start down the stairs, she freezes, reacting a split second too late to the sensation of a presence behind her. In an instant, she’s flying headfirst in the air looking down at the cold, menacing metal stairs.
She closes her eyes and braces herself, incapable of emitting the terrifying scream that’s welling up inside her.
ONE
Cassie
I accepted this position last summer, in the wake of a gut-wrenching breakup. You’d think after he broke my heart, he would at least have been gentlemanly enough to offer to move out of our apartment and let me stay put.
But that’s not how it happened. He reminded me that it was his apartment first, which is true. Then he offered me a small sum of money. And then he gave me a deadline to find a new place. It was all very businesslike.
“There’s someone else?” I asked.
“Does it really matter?” he replied. “What’s the point in doing this to yourself, Cassie?”
He tried to deny it at first, to spare me the sordid details. But I eventually got most of the story out of him. We’d been living together for over a year. Dating for over two. I thought we were “going somewhere.” Our sex life had never been electrifying, but it was satisfying and comfortable, and that was enough for me.
When things cooled off a bit, about six months before he dropped the bomb on me, I figured that was just how it was in a long-term relationship. I’d never lived with anyone before, so I had no frame of reference.
Then our silly little arguments stopped. He began to act polite—the way you interact with a relative stranger—like he didn’t care enough to fight back. I felt something was up. Something had changed, but I didn’t dare bring it up. I held my breath and waited to see if things would go back to normal.
I guess on some level a woman can sense when she’s losing a guy, I just wasn’t ready to face it. Because for me, getting involved with someone is a lot more complicated than it is for the average person. In hindsight, I suppose I can see that the relationship was never all that great. He probably did me a favor by ending it.
But it was all I had at the time, and I wasn’t ready to let go. So when he told me that, yes, there was someone else, I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I have my pride, most of the time, but it seemed to be eluding me that day.
I’d like to say I held my head high and stormed out when he fessed up, but that’s not what happened.
“You better be sure about this,” I offered. “I don’t give second chances.”
“I’m in love with another woman. I’m sorry. It’s over.”
Then he turned from me and walked out the door.
So when I went to a conference in New York City the following week and learned about a teaching position at a boarding school thousands of miles from my California home that offered faculty housing, it seemed like it was meant to be. I could pocket my payoff from Evan, regroup, start over, and live happily ever after, following a proper but brief mourning period. I had just turned thirty so I didn’t plan to pine away for too long.
Obviously, I wasn’t thinking straight. I’ve stranded myself on top of a mountain in rural upstate New York, surrounded by acres of woods. A two-hour trek to New York City on a good day.
What was I thinking? Who am I going to meet here?
One thing I’ve learned from this experience is never make a major life decision in the midst of emotional turmoil.
I moved here from San Diego, totally unprepared for the insane winter weather we’ve been having here. Falcon Ridge Academy sits near the top of a medium-high peak of the Catskill Mountains on a plateau overlooking the Hudson River far in the distance.
It all looked so beautiful when I came to interview back in June. The day was clear and breezy, the setting a bucolic wonderland. I imagined long walks in the woods surrounded by vibrant fall colors where I would clear my head and heal my heart. A respite from the rat race. I’d write. I’d think. I’d grow stronger.
Now it’s December, and the campus feels more like a minimum-security prison: isolated, creepy, and desolate. The walls of my four-hundred-square-foot apartment feel like they’re closing in on me as the bare branches of the tree outside my bedroom window scrape at it with each gust of wind. Long, craggy fingers trying to claw their way inside.
From a distance, the structure I’m housed in seems to teeter on its foundation, threatening to tumble down the steep mountainside with every gust of wind. It’s perilously close to the drop-off behind it. I was surprised that there’s no real barrier there, aside from a row of stubby, round sage green shrubs that dot the perimeter of the grounds behind my building.
Winter arrived early, with a vengeance. And although the weather warmed up a bit today, there’s still snow piled up outside from a “squall” last week. At least I’m learning some new vocabulary words. That’s a blinding snowstorm that comes out of nowhere and makes it impossible to drive, see, or basically do anything, including walk from my apartment to the dining commons. I have no sense of direction. I’m sure I’ll get lost and freeze to death or fall down the mountain before this winter is over. And it’s just getting started.
Could this possibly get any worse?
But as I stare down at the alert on my phone, I realize I shouldn’t have asked that question. They’ve called an emergency meeting of all faculty and staff that starts in twenty minutes. On a Sunday. And it’s supposed to be my weekend off.
I thought we outlawed indentured servitude, but apparently not. For nine months of the year, they own me, and they know it. I forgo the primping—there’s nobody to impress anyway—throw on some clothes, grab my jacket, and head out the door.
***
Kimi Choy is dead.
I heard our head of school say it, but it’s not registering. I feel detached, like I’m watching a movie. I’m not sure if that’s because I’m in shock or because I’m simply a terrible person. I was pretty close to her, at least until recently. Shouldn’t I be feeling something?
Other people are reacting. I see a few eyes tearing up, but I can’t seem to get my brain around it. The fact that this happened out of the blue. The fact that she was totally fine when I saw her Friday afternoon—and now she’s gone. The fact that she died from a fall down the stairs at the Cortlandt train station.
Why did she go there, one of the most deserted stations around, and one that’s at least twenty miles south of us? There are busier ones closer to our school she could have used.
And then I realize I’m probably in shock. I think back to when I arrived last August. Kimi was my department chair, and she went out of her way to make me feel welcome.
I’d never worked at a boarding school before, but she was a veteran. She was really friendly and offered some tips about where to get my hair cut and how to stay sane. She warned me that I would need to get some distance from the place on my weekends off. And she was really supportive when I told her about my break up and what a hard time I was having.
