The Replacement | страница 8

In another, earlier life, Gentry was a steel town, but over the span of four or five decades, it had turned into a sea of minivans and lawns and golden retrievers.

Almost everybody worked at one of the computer plants, assembling boards and packing chips, or else at the dairy farm or the junior college, depending on their level of education. There were plenty of other company towns in neighboring counties—suburbs with no city to spread out from, each with their own factory or tech plant to orbit around.

Gentry was just more self-contained than most. People were born and grew up and died without ever feeling compelled to leave. Everything you needed was already there.

The high school was built on the edge of what used to be the Gates refinery. For forty years, Gates had been the beating heart of Gentry, and a lot of local businesses and school mascots were still named after it. When Gates folded after World War II, first the machine shops and then the tech companies had come in with jobs, sponsored bridges and town squares, always deciding that Gentry was a better bet than the other eight or nine small towns in the immediate vicinity. They’d torn the refinery down before I was born.

Most people at school cut through the Gates property to get home. The residential areas were almost all on the other side of it, separated from the business district and the school by a narrow ravine. There was still all kinds of scrap and debris lying around in the grass, though, and the ground was saturated with iron. I always took a different route.

Now I walked along Benthaven, skirting the open field where the refinery had sat a lifetime ago, trying to figure out what had just happened. Someone had painted blood on my locker door. But the critical question was, Why? What had I done to make someone want to single me out? Why now?

Things always got tense around Gentry when kids died. Funerals were a bad subject, but I’d been careful. I’d been close to invisible. I’d done my part.

And Roswell and I had both known I wouldn’t be at the service, but sometimes you have to play the game, even when there’s no one else around. It puts you in the habit of pretending you believe what you’re saying. When really it’s just two people who know a secret, pretending that they don’t.

Consecrated ground wasn’t like stainless steel or blood iron. It wasn’t something I could just deal with. If I went two feet inside the churchyard, my skin blistered the way other people get a bad sunburn.