by Hannah Haze
"Sounds like something happened."
Rose nods. "Yeah. The staff were acting differently too. Even Jack the porter looked worried. He wasn’t his usual chirpy self at all."
"I guess we’ll hear about it on the grapevine soon enough," Zach says, helping himself to more chocolate.
It’s Wednesday Cora finds out.
She turns up for her shift at the cafe and sees. Someone's left the local newspaper on a table.
University assault
She picks the paper up and slides it under the counter. In her ten minute break, she takes it out back and sits on the fold-up chair in the office, scanning the article. An Omega was attacked walking home; two Alphas jumping her from behind. Luckily some passersby intervened before they could cause her any further damage but she's still in the hospital with a cracked skull.
The words swim before Cora's eyes and she feels sick. An Omega attacked? She recognises the name of the girl. Some sweet, quiet scientist who sometimes comes along to the talks on Omega rights. She never contributes much, but she's always willing to sign any petition going. Cora heard she had a Beta boyfriend. Is that why the Alphas targeted her? There are some militant types who don't believe in inter-designation relationships like that. Or more likely, they are your usual Alpha predators.
The article says that no arrests have been made, although the police are talking to some Alpha students. Anybody with information has been asked to come forward.
There's also a column written by one of the girl's friends. It's a continuation of the stuff spouted after the nightclub incident between Noah and Zach. According to the author, this incident was a tragedy waiting to happen. Alphas are a menace; their actions should be better scrutinised and greater safety controls put in place for the protection of others. Controls like the new-to-the-market drugs that help to fiercely suppress an Alpha's instincts and behaviours. She fails to mention the side effects that are associated with this type of medication, the ones that make it very unpopular with Alphas.
Cora doesn't agree with it. She is definitely for increasing and protecting the rights of Omegas, but not at the price of restricting the rights of Alphas.
Folding up the paper and placing it in the recycling bin, she returns to work and only later when she picks up her rucksack at the end of her shift does she consider catching the bus home instead of walking.
Chapter Seventeen
He doesn't think anything of it when the police officers arrive at his student house the first day of term and ask him to come to the station for a chat. He assumes they're talking to all the Alphas, searching for leads, finding out what people know.
They arrive when he’s fresh out of the shower and sit waiting in the filthy communal kitchen while he dresses. Then they take him away in an unmarked car; the two police officers riding in the front while he hunches in the back. The car is small for his frame and his neck aches as they move slowly through the city, the traffic dense with morning commuters. Students swarm on the pavements as they pass the university, and fat raindrops begin to hit the windscreen.
The police station is familiar.The smell of lemon cleaning fluids and alcohol still hang on the walls and the floor. He'd spent hours here, locked in a cell after that first fight.
Yet, despite that previous experience, it never occurs to him to ask for a lawyer. It's only when he's sat on an uncomfortably small chair in a plain box room on one side of a plastic table that a creeping sensation skims along his skin and he begins to sweat.
He’s got nothing to worry about, has he? Kyle told him about the assault, although he'd heard a brief mention of it on the national news the week before. He'd groaned, knowing it would be more ammunition for the anti-Alpha brigade, and an instinctual concern for his Omega, Cora, had spiralled through his nervous system. (Not his Omega, he reminded himself with sorrow). But after that he hadn't given it much consideration; he'd been more concerned about last minute revision.
So how has he ended up here, opposite two grimly dressed police inspectors? They are both Betas — one a middle aged woman with her bleached hair scraped into a bun at the base of her head, and the other a squat younger man who frowns so severely Noah is sure he must be giving himself a headache.
The woman does most of the questioning while her colleague alternates between taking notes and glaring. Between them, a recording machine blinks a red light ominously.
The questions and the tone of their talk started off friendly, as if he was doing them a big favour by volunteering to come and chat with them and help solve this crime. But now he's pretty sure he's in a whole heap of shit. If only he'd stop sweating. Innocent people don't sweat, he's making himself look guilty and he's not. The only problem is he has no alibi — not one he can use, anyway. He was in the city when the assault took place, with his phone switched off, and he won’t tell them why.
He squirms on the seat, hitting his knees on the table when the woman, Inspector Browne, asks him if he can account for his movements on 23rd April and can explain why his mobile was turned off for the duration of that afternoon and the next three days. For the third time, he stares at the inspector blankly.
What should he say? He’d promised Cora he wouldn't tell anyone about their time together. Surely, he can break that promise in this circumstance? But the prospect of doing that has his chest aching. The information would spread like wildfire, and he can't bring himself to betray her like that. Even if it hurts him, even if it feels like a dagger in his heart. The thought of being his disgusts her so much she can't bear for others to know.
So what does he do? Lie? The clock on the far wall ticks loudly, the second hand whizzing alarmingly quickly around the clock face. Both inspectors wait. The man taps his pen on the tabletop.
Noah swallows.
"I'd like to speak to a lawyer, please," he says.
"You're just helping us with our enquiries. It's really not necessary," the older inspector says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
Noah crosses his arms and stares straight ahead.
"It won't look good for you, if you don't cooperate. You got something to hide, Noah?" the young man sneers. It almost sounds like a threat. Noah concentrates on the small piece of blue tack he can see stuck to the wall behind the inspectors. It's lost its bright blue colour, now so faint it’s almost translucent. He won't lose his temper. He won't think about the colour blue and Cora's eyes either. How they'd be filled with disappointment.
He rings his mother when they finally let him have his phone call. There had been some further wrangling, some persuasion that he didn't need one and then some talk that veered close to bullying, but he stood firm, refusing to say anything more.
His mother is, of course, the last person he wants to call but also the only person he can. She is a very, very good lawyer after all and would scare the shit out of the lot of them here.
"Hi Mum," he says.
"Noah, hi, I'm in the middle of something here, darling. Can we talk later?"
"No. This is urgent."
She sighs. "Darling, I am very busy—"
"I've been arrested."
He hears her shift in her chair and can picture her face, her forehead creased with concern.
"Tell me."
So he does and she listens, not speaking until he gets to the end.
"Don't speak to anyone again. I'm on my way, darling. I'm leaving now." Then she hangs up.
He wonders if she thinks he did it. She never asked.
Turns out the cell at the police station is just as he remembers, too. A white tiled room, a stainless-steel toilet in the corner and a hard bench. He can't believe he's back here. The last time, he'd sworn with everything he had that he'd never end up in a mess like that again. He'd work solidly on his control and his anger. He was never coming back.
And, shit, he has worked hard. He's walked away from so many goddamn fights, trained seriously, studied loads; he's even been in something closely resembling a steady relationship. But wha
t for? Here he is again.
Outside his cell, he hears a mixture of heavy booted footsteps, hushed tones and pained shouting. The man in the cell next to him seems high, pacing backward and forward, rattling the door, screaming obscenities. It's not only the noise that attacks his senses, the stench is noxious: urine, sweat, bleach — the powerfully industrial kind that seems to burn the fine hairs in his nasal passages.
Bunching over his lap, he tries to breathe through his mouth and count calmly like they'd taught him, concentrating all his focus on each number, the way it sounds and looks in his head. At two hundred he realises with a jolt that it's not his own voice he hears, but Cora's — soothing, comforting — he desperately clings to that, not letting the other feelings overtake him.
Chapter Eighteen
On her way into the students’ union's communal kitchen, Cora finds Zach studying at one of the tables near the entrance.
"Hey lovely," he says, grinning, although he looks tired. "How’re you?"
"Fine," she says, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek. "How’s the hand?
"The hand’s fine. It’s my head that’s killing me today." As she steps away, he kneads his temples.
"Too much revision? You want me to make you a cuppa?" Cora asks, heading for the kettle. He doesn’t answer and she turns back to find him observing her. "Do you want a cup of tea?"
"No, no... I mean, yes, actually I would."
Cora laughs. "You sound frazzled."
"No… it’s… they've made some arrests for the assault."
"Shit, really?" Cora halts with the box of tea bags in her hands. "That is a relief." She places the box next to the bubbling kettle and reaches up into the cupboard for two mugs.
"It's university students."
"What?"
"I feel… responsible."
"Responsible? Why?"
"I could’ve stopped it from happening."
"You? How?"
"I should’ve let them kick him out of the university."
Cora freezes. The mug in her right hand slips from her fingers and plummets to the floor. The china smashes into pieces.
"Noah?" she whispers.
"What?"
"You mean, Noah?"
"Yes, they’ve arrested Noah." Zach shakes his head. "I should never have defended him. The dude is clearly a sicko, a psychopath."
Cora's legs tremble and she leans against the counter for support.
Words form in her mind, but somehow they don't make it to her mouth. Noah? Why have they arrested Noah?
"Everyone's in uproar," Zach says, gesturing to his laptop.
Cora drops to the floor, gathering up the pieces of the broken cup along with her thoughts.
"But... but I don't understand," she says.
"What do you mean?" Zach asks, passing her some sheets of old newspaper from among his books.
She takes it and wraps the shards of china. "Didn't the assault take place that first Sunday of the holidays?"
"Yes, why?"
"I...." She lifts the bin lid with a snap of her foot and throws the bundle inside.
Zach passes her a dustpan and brush, and Cora crouches down and sweeps the fragments of the broken cup into the pan. Her hands tremble and she’s lightheaded, her vision blurring so that she's forced to focus hard on her actions. She stands, opening the bin again and angling the pan so the pieces slide into the bag. Then she spins around and walks out, vaguely aware of Zach calling her. She hurries along the corridor and down the staircase, only realising the pan and brush remain in her hands as she steps into the bright sunshine. She drops them by her feet.
Above her there is not a wisp of a cloud in the sky nor a breath of wind in the air, the morning's rain clouds and the earlier puddles vanquished. It seems wrong. It is a day when good things should happen. Happy, joyful things. Instead, the heat from the sun beats down on her head like a spotlight, watching her, waiting to see what she'll do.
She looks down at her feet and her toes wriggle independently. They could turn left and take her home. Noah didn't do it. There is no need for her to get involved. They'll let him go, she can stay out of it.
But that's not her. She believes in doing the right thing. She takes a step forward and then another. The police station is not somewhere she's ever wanted to go or to be. But she can go and talk to them and nobody else need ever know. Her feet keep moving.
The old Victorian police station is built of red brickwork and squat dimensions. As she arrives at the doors they slide open automatically and the unsavoury smells from within assault her nose. She holds her breath and steps inside the darkness. There's a counter, but it isn't manned, and there's no buzzer or bell. Nobody else is there, and she waits impatiently, chewing on her bottom lip. Finally, a man in uniform emerges from a room behind. He sees her but he doesn't come over straight away, first straightening up some paperwork.
"Can I help?" he asks after several minutes.
"Is Noah Wood here? They said he'd been arrested for the Omega assault."
The policeman is losing his hair and he's cut what remains very short. The sharp bristles catch the electric light as he lowers his chin to eye her.
"You a journalist?" he says.
"What? No, I —"
"I can't disclose information about an ongoing investigation."
"I have information about the case. Noah didn't do it — he was with me."
The man's grey eyes narrow. "You're an Omega, aren't you? Are you his Omega?"
Cora straightens. "Excuse me?"
"We get Omegas in here all the time, giving us fake alibis and wasting our time. You understand wasting police time is an offence?"
"I'm not wasting your time. I'm telling the truth!" She tries to say it firmly, but she can hear the note of desperation in her voice.
The police officer smirks at her. Behind him, the red beam of a video camera blinks.
"I want to talk to the investigating officers," Cora hisses through her teeth.
"They're busy."
"How about your supervisor then," she glances at the man's badge, "Constable Lock."
"She's at lunch," he says flatly. Then picks up a pen and clicks the point down. "Look, I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll take down your name and phone number and that gives you a bit of time to think about whether you actually want to do this."
Cora pauses. "No."
The man nods and places down his pen.
"I'll come back." The police officer goes to say something, but she doesn't let him. "With a lawyer."
She turns and strides away, out into the street. Yes, she needs a lawyer. A lawyer she can trust. She needs Rose.
Cora sprints the whole way home, sweaty and red faced by the time she rushes through the front door. She pauses, hunching forward and heaving deep breaths. She's been so desperate to get here, she hasn't planned what she's going to say. How will she explain everything to Rose? And will she even help? Rose hates Noah.
Running her arm across her damp brow, she takes one last deep swallow and heads to Rose's room, knocking lightly and then entering.
"Hi Cora," Rose says, spinning around to face the doorway. Classical music plays quietly in the background and, above her desk, a pin board has been fixed to the wall covered in revision notes and diagrams. On the floor there are neatly arranged piles of textbooks and A4 bind folders. Rose cocks her head. "You okay, sweetie?"
"No. I'm not, Rose." She steps inside, her friend's sweet scent strong in the room. Behind her back, she twists her hands. Where to start?
"Is it the news? You heard, right? about them arresting those guys?"
Cora nods.
"It's hard to believe that someone we actually know would do—"
"Rose," she says sternly, "Noah didn't do it."
She looks straight at her friend, eyes not wavering from hers. Rose peers at her with curiosity.
"How do you know?"
Cora's head spins. There's a lot of ringing in her ears and Ros
e's face swims in front of her.
"Because he was with me."
"With you? What? Did you see him that night or something?"
"No. He was with me, with me. We were sharing a heat."
Rose's mouth opens, but she says nothing.
If only Rose were an Omega or an Alpha, she could read her scent better, understand what she thinks, what she feels. She closes her eyes, she has a headache building.
"You shared your heat with Noah, Noah Wood?"
"Yes," Cora says.
"Noah? Did he bully you into it, Cora? Alphas can't do stuff like that anymore."
"It was a hundred percent consensual."
"Oh." Rose collapses back against her chair. "So like a mutual heat arrangement thing."
Cora takes a deep gulp of air and turns to close the door, unable to face Rose when she replies. "Actually, it's more than just that. We've been seeing each other."
"What the!" Rose gasps. "For how long?"
"I... I don't know. We've been sharing my heat for a while, but I guess it developed into something more than that after Christmas."
"But you never told me."
"No." Cora twists round towards Rose. Her friend's eyes are full of hurt and confusion, and a sudden sickness surges through Cora’s body.
"It was a secret?" Rose says. "Was that his idea?"
"No, mine."
"But why?"
"I dont know." She slides down the door, crumpling onto the floor and burying her face in her hands. "I guess I was worried what people would think."
"Really? I didn't take you for someone who cared about that, Cora."
She leans in harder to her hands, letting that shame and guilt swallow her up. "I do," she says quietly.
"But I don’t understand, is it like a sex thing or more than that?"
The realisation creeps in. She's known it for a long time in the depths of her mind, but she's not allowed herself to truly acknowledge it until now. But now she knows for certain that her feelings for Noah are a lot stronger than sex, than some physical thing between them. It goes much deeper than that, as if he's touched something sacred and hidden within her and kicked it into being.
