Sarah Benadine is Dead

Chapter IV, Part III

That Labor Day, 1955, after all the students had gone home or up to their dorms, William Kenfield stood in the Headmistress's office. Patience Lea's hawkish eyes were upon him, peering inside his soul, perhaps, and seeing what there was to see. He waited, letting her take her time. Letting her begin the beguine. This was her show, after all.

"You saw it," she said. It was not a question. Kenfield affirmed it anyway, crossing his arms.

"The mark of early decease," he said. His words were clipped, analytical. A British accent still lingered after all those years. "Never seen one in the flesh before."

"That's less than encouraging," Lea said dryly.

"It's not exactly common anymore, is it?" he asked rhetorically. "I thought the Followers were all wiped out decades ago."

"You're not the only one." A shadow passed over Lea's face. "But it appears not. Someone's already been killed."

"I know, I know. The Benadine girl."

Lea nodded slightly. Deeply, she sighed, running a fist over the top of her desk absently. Kenfield wondered if she'd gotten grayer since the last time he'd seen her—a truly ridiculous idea, and yet...

"You got rid of it, then?" Lea asked.

"Of course I got rid of it," Kenfield said, his voice lacking true defensiveness. "She'll be fine—as long as whoever marked her doesn't get back at her."

"Hopefully we'll have figured out who they are by then."

"I can't see why someone would want to mark two normal girls." The word 'normal' was weighted.

Lea shook her head but was quiet.

"Let me know if there's ever anything more I can do to help," Kenfield said.

Lea's mouth curved in a ghastly, empty smile. "I have a rather terrible feeling you're going to want to stay close for a very long time, Dr. Kenfield."

Though he did not say it, William Kenfield felt the exact same thing.