Dead Politician Society

Chapter 70: Clare

 Clare’s veins felt like they were made of coffee. She shouldn’t be drinking another one but what else was there to do?

Morton had eyed her strangely when he saw her in the hall. She could guess he had a few choice words waiting for her. Like why hadn’t she obeyed her handler and stayed the hell away? She didn’t know the answer. Not really.

It was eleven a.m. If anyone had somewhere to be, they were not inclined to go. The entire Poli Real World class, with the exception of those not yet released by the cops, was gathered in this café.

When Matthew, Diane and Jessica approached together, it was clear from their slow gait and slouched postures that they were bearing bad news.

“Jonathan was arrested,” Diane said when they got within earshot. “They think he’s the Utopia Killer.”

Clare set her coffee down slowly. Cloutier was right. Her contributions were useless. She’d given them nothing on Jonathan. She’d been hanging out and making notes and her efforts had netted a sum total of zero. She wanted to stand up, pound the table, scream obscenities in everyone’s direction. Mainly her own. Instead, she took a deep breath of stale air conditioning, folded her hands on the table, and settled in to listen to her classmates.

Susannah spoke first. “Sorry, Diane. I thought it was you.”

Diane gave a tiny laugh. That’s how weird today was.

Matthew cleared his throat and put on his serious professor face. A week ago, Clare hated that face. Now she found it sexy. He said, “I think the important question here is what is our collective responsibility to Jonathan? He’s not convicted yet.”

Diane said quietly, “He went willingly. He wasn’t surprised to be arrested.”

Brian shook his head. His eyes were moist, maybe because Jonathan had been his in into the secret society? “We’ve known him for three years. I don’t see how he can be a killer.”

“Why?” Susannah ripped the wrapper from her granola bar with about twice the force that the foil required. “Because he would have killed someone by now?”

Matthew smoothed his hands down pressed chinos that had seen better days. “Four years ago, another student of mine was arrested. Am I correct that you all know who Elise Marchand is?”

No one spoke right away.

Finally, Diane said, “She’s the student you corrupted.”

Ouch. Clare watched Matthew’s face register the words. She wished she could throw her arms around him, but of course that wasn’t an option.

But after a second, Matthew said, “Yes. I inadvertently empowered Elise to believe she was doing the right thing by committing murder. Have I done the same with Jonathan?”

“No!” Jessica grabbed Susannah’s granola wrapper and started twisting it fiercely. “You empower us to believe in ourselves. If Jonathan took that one level too far, that’s his mental illness.”

Clare pivoted toward Jessica. “You’re dating him, right? Or were? Does he have a mental illness?”

“I can’t…I shouldn’t…”

“You should.” Matthew touched her shoulder. “We’d like to help him, too. At least I would.”

Jessica swallowed. “Jonathan had been prescribed antipsychotics he didn’t always take. But I totally get why not. His doctor couldn’t pinpoint any real illness. He described it as stronger than neurosis, milder than schizophrenia, and something he’ll likely grow out of as soon as he stops smoking pot. Basically he had trouble discerning reality from fantasy. But he liked the feeling—especially when he let himself get lost in the creative fugue that helped him design video games.”

Susannah grabbed the wrapper back. Clare was glad; the twisting was getting distracting. “Great. He liked the feeling so much it led him to murder.”

Matthew spread his arms on the cafeteria table. Calling his flock to order. “I have a new assignment for you. I want each of you to think about Jonathan. What he’s done—or if he’s done it. How we collectively failed him. How we can collectively be there for him. Put it in writing and bring it to Thursday’s class.”

The Clare of two weeks ago would have rolled her eyes and told Matthew not to turn his own guilt into collective guilt. Then she would have gone out and drank beer and ignored the assignment and its deadline. But the Clare of today was willing to give the exercise a try.

Brian looked horrified. “Are we throwing the curriculum out the window then? Turning this into a social studies course? I wouldn’t have signed up if I knew—”

“No,” Matthew said. “We’re turning it into Political Utopia for the Real World.”

Clare needed something in her stomach—fast, or the coffee would erode her guts. She went to the counter and picked up a yogurt cup and a bottle of juice. As she was paying, she saw a sign beside the register. Now Hiring.

“Can I get an application?” she asked the woman on the cash.

“Be my guest.” The woman reached below the counter and pulled out a sheet of paper. “The hours are long, but at least the pay is crappy.”

Clare shrugged. “It’s a job, right?”