The Elementals by Francesca Lia Block

she said. “I think he’s a creep.”
    “Did he do something?” I tensed my thighs to keep my legs from shaking; the repetitive movement was making me nauseous.
    “No. And the police checked him out. There wasn’t anything. But he just gave me the creeps. I thought you should know.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked.
    “I didn’t really think about it. But I keep having these nightmares. About her.”
    I gulped down air. “Like what?”
    “He was just looking at her in this way.”
    “How did he look at her, Katie?”
    “You know, leering or whatever. There was something slightly messed up about it.”
    “In the dream or really?”
    “Both, sort of. But like I said, I told the cops. They told me he had an alibi.”
    There was a pause in which I tried unsuccessfully to straighten out the tangled threads of my thoughts. “I came to you a year ago,” I said.
    “I know. It hadn’t really sunk in yet. I was in shock I think. My mom says it’s post-traumatic stress. But when I ran into you like that I thought it was a sign, that I should at least try.”
    I didn’t blame her for reading our meeting in the mall as a sign; that was all I seemed to do lately.
    I went over to my bookshelf and found the last yearbook Jeni was in. I hadn’t opened it in a long time but now I turned to her picture—the big eyes, the sweet, sweet smile. Tears blurred the image and I batted them away. No use crying now. I had to see clearly. Then I looked up all the kids that had gone on the trip with her: Katie Leiman and also Lex Salverson, Michael Chan, Isabella Franco, Jessica Landers, J.T. Lemus. Everyone smiling, no missing girls yet. They had all come home to Los Angeles and she hadn’t. They had all been questioned, nothing found.
    I turned to the faculty page and looked up Mr. Kragen, who had chaperoned them. He wore too-large glasses and his face was pudgy and pale. As Katie said, Mr. Kragen had been questioned and nothing had tied him to Jeni’s disappearance.
    I thought, But he has never talked to me. In all this time he has never talked to me.
    *   *   *
    Mr. Kragen lived on a nice, tree-lined street not far from my house. I’d seen him out in front before, wearing polyester slacks, watering down his cement driveway.
    I knocked on the door and waited. A Ford Taurus was parked in the driveway and I could hear the television talking inside. After a while I heard the key turn in the lock and Mr. Kragen opened the door.
    He looked just like his yearbook photo except that he was smiling.
    “Hello?” he said dully.
    “Hi, Mr. Kragen. My name is Ariel Silverman.”
    He peered out into the dark. “Yes?”
    “I went to Reed.”
    “I have a lot of students,” he said. “Were you a student?”
    “I was friends with Jeni Benson?”
    He coughed and started to close the door. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”
    “I was just wondering if you would let me talk to you about Jeni,” I said.
    The hairs were standing up all over my body like antennae. Why had I waited so long to come? I must be stronger now, I told myself. I must stay strong.
    Mr. Kragen stared at me and I thought I saw something change almost imperceptibly in his myopic eyes.
    “Why don’t you come in, then. Have a cup of tea. Get warm.”
    I watched him lock the door behind me.
    The house was immaculately clean and orderly. It smelled of disinfectant. There wasn’t a live thing anywhere but that wasn’t why I felt a chill on the back of my neck as if the night had followed me inside. There weren’t any books, I noticed that, because I am always interested in people’s books. But maybe he kept his books in another room. There weren’t any photographs but that wasn’t necessarily strange, either. It wasn’t even that cold inside.
    I could feel him watching me and I turned around. His face was curiously babylike around the nose and mouth.
    “Make yourself at home,” he said. “I’ll get tea.”
    He padded into the kitchen and