by Stella Hart
The knock I heard a few minutes ago also made sense now. That must’ve been when Claire let the guy in.
“Have fun with your movie. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said with a little wave.
I returned to my dorm, feeling awkward as hell. God, no wonder Claire was so cagey with me. She was trying to hook up with someone, and I’d interrupted them like an annoying, overbearing weirdo.
How embarrassing.
I climbed back into bed, internally cringing at my social ineptness. I still felt like I’d done the right thing in the end, though. Sure, I looked a bit silly, because the possible intruder I was concerned about turned out to be a guy—probably a half-naked guy, given the way he was hiding behind the door—but at least I’d gone and checked. I would never forgive myself if something terrible happened to Claire while I lay in bed doing absolutely nothing.
Besides, it wasn’t totally out of the question that something terrible could happen here. After all, even though no one had been attacked or killed on this campus for a very long time, that didn’t change what I considered to be an unassailable fact.
Whoever the real Blackthorne Butcher was… he was still out there.
5
Alexis
My first week at college was mostly uneventful. No more run-ins with Nate Lockwood. Just classes and studying.
I was taking Introduction to Contemporary Writing, Journalism and Strategic Communication, Media Studies, and Introduction to Critical Thinking. I was already learning a lot from the classes, and not just in an academic sense.
On my second day here, some loudmouthed asshole asked the journalism professor if he ever knew ‘that crazy guy who used to teach here before he sliced and diced all those people’. The professor confirmed that he knew my father when he worked here. He looked uncomfortable and irritated at the question too, which made me think he might’ve been one of my father’s friends.
Now that I knew they knew each other ten years ago, I would make an extra effort to get in the professor’s good books. Hopefully, that would prove to be helpful at some point in the future.
On top of the education I was receiving in the lecture theaters, I was also learning that Blackthorne’s reputation for snobbery was well-deserved. It was like being in high school all over again.
At least a third of the students here came directly from Arcadia Bay, and another third came from the most exclusive prep schools on the mainland. They were used to occupying the top rungs of society in every single aspect, and it showed.
By the end of the first day of classes, the vast majority of students seemed to have formed their own cliques, mostly sticking to people they already knew. Anyone who didn’t come from an elite school, super-wealthy town, or pedigreed family name was left out in the cold.
A few times, I’d tried smiling and saying ‘hey’ to people in my classes when I walked in, but my attempts at friendliness were usually met with blank stares. Sometimes sneers.
Even the students who weren’t in cliques were standoffish. Two days ago, in my Contemporary Writing class, a girl in front of me dropped a bunch of things from her bag. It all rolled over to my feet, so I leaned down, picked it up and handed it back to her. I didn’t expect a gold medal for basic human decency, but a simple acknowledgment would’ve been nice. Instead the girl snatched her stuff and turned away as if I’d annoyed her by helping.
It would be easier to get through the long days if Claire was around, but I hadn’t seen her since that night when I accidentally caught her hooking up with a Tinder date in her dorm. She was never there when I knocked to see if she wanted to have lunch or dinner with me, and she hadn’t responded to any of my texts either.
Yesterday, I asked a few people on the same floor if they’d seen her, and they all had different answers. One guy told me that she’d left the campus and wasn’t coming back anytime soon, but I was fairly certain that he was getting her confused with another girl called Clara, who’d tripped on the stairs on the second day, broken her leg in three places, and been forced to defer her studies for a few months.
Another girl told me that she’d heard Claire dropped out, but that didn’t make sense to me. Why would she drop out before attending a single class? I knew she was stressed about not knowing many people here, but she knew she had me to back her up if she ever felt anxious or lonely.
The most obvious answer was that she hadn’t left campus at all, and she simply didn’t want to hang out with me, so she ignored my texts and avoided me whenever I knocked on her door. Perhaps I freaked her out when I went to check on her at two in the morning last weekend, and she thought I was going to be clingy and weird, so she decided to nip the friendship in the bud.
Oh well. I’d make other friends eventually. At least I hoped I would.
With a yawn, I exited my Friday afternoon Critical Thinking lecture and started trudging in the direction of the residence hall. I had the rest of the day off from classes, and I planned to use the time to study in my room.
In the marble hallway around me, the sounds of lively conversation and the drumming of footsteps could be heard. When I arrived at the exit, I thought I heard Claire’s voice behind me, and I whipped my head over my shoulder to look. It was some other girl.
Before I could turn around again, a giant of a guy bumped right into me, sending my books flying from my arms.
“Oops. My bad!” he called back to me as he hurried away. Asshole.
“Shit,” I muttered as I knelt to pick up my stuff. One of the textbooks had flown all the way through the open door and into a puddle on the edge of the lawn that stretched like a green blanket from the side of this building to the one opposite.
I picked the book up and groaned as I realized it was ruined. Half the pages were soaked through with muddy water.
“That’s too bad,” a feminine voice said from somewhere near me. “I got the last copy from the bookstore a few days ago.”
I looked up to see the standoffish girl from my writing class standing a few feet away. Her dark hair was up in a messy bun, and her hands were deep in her oversized khaki coat pockets.
“Sorry, what did you say?” I asked.
“I bought the last copy of that textbook a few days ago,” she said, nodding toward my ruined copy. “I heard someone ask for it after me, and the clerk told him he’d have to order it online.”
“But we have to read two of the chapters and write a ton of notes on them by Monday,” I said. “If I order it online, it won’t arrive before then, will it?”
Avalon Island was notorious for its slow postage, especially when it came to stuff from the mainland.
The girl shrugged. “There are copies in the library. Just go and borrow one of them, if they’re still available.”
“That’s a good idea. Thanks.”
The girl walked away. Then she stopped in her tracks, let out a sigh, and turned back around. “I was actually just heading to the library to work on the assignment, so I guess you could sit with me and borrow my copy for a while.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
“Sure. Just hurry up. I want to get there before my favorite spot is taken.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, hurriedly stashing my other books in my bag. “I’m Alexis, by the way.”
“Laurel. Nice to meet you,” the dark-haired girl replied, even though her bored tone suggested it wasn’t nice to meet anyone at all.
I caught up and fell into step beside her. “I haven’t actually gone to the library yet,” I said, trying to make conversation. “Bad student, I know. I just haven’t had time to look around.”
“It’s only the first week. You’ll get used to it,” she said. “I can show you around the library, anyway. I know it pretty well.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
The interior of Blackthorne’s main library was large and Gothic with arched windows and carved cornices. A bronze plaque just inside the door announced that the building had been paid for by one of the university’
s founders—Horace Lockwood.
Ancestor of a certain asshole I knew, no doubt.
Laurel led me up to the top floor, which was a labyrinth of dark mahogany bookshelves signposted by gold lettering. I loved the smell in places like this; that timeless musty scent of ancient books and dust motes.
“I have a really good spot on this floor,” Laurel explained as we headed past the first lot of shelves, toward an open area of tables packed with students.
My eyes skimmed over the tables as we approached. When my gaze reached the last one, I felt a small kernel of dread unfurling deep in my guts. Nate was there with a group of guys, and he’d spotted me.
His face was a steel mask, giving away nothing, but the blue depths of his eyes were stormy and turbulent. I’d seen that same look before, and it was right before he shoved me up against that wall in Redstone Hall.
As Laurel and I drew closer, the steely mask morphed into a look of contempt, like I was nothing but dirt from the bottom of his shoe.
My heart skittered as adrenaline rushed through my veins. What if Nate had told all of his friends what I did six weeks ago? What if half the campus knew I was a cat-burgling criminal?
I’d never live it down. I’d never be able to explain it, either. Not without revealing my true identity and intentions for the people of this island.
I swallowed hard and looked away as Laurel explained something about the photocopiers on this level. Then my head turned, drawn back to Nate like a magnet, and my eyes locked with his from across the room.
Some primal part of me froze, recognizing him as a predator. Please don’t say anything, I silently begged. Please just forget about me.
He stood up, still staring right at me. My stomach flipped. It was like he’d telepathically heard my pleas and wanted to make my life as miserable as possible.
He started walking over to Laurel and me. Every step was as predatory as the look in his eyes.
All of a sudden, a dangerous thought floated unbidden into my mind, making my skin tingle. I pictured Nate’s hands on me again, his mouth on my ear, his hot breath whispering over my neck.
My brain went foggy. At the same time, all of my senses were heightened. I could imagine exactly what it would feel like for Nate’s tongue to dart between my legs like a pleasant electric current, and I could practically feel his hard, taut muscles against my bare skin.
A memory flashed into my mind: the night Nate caught me in his father’s study. I remembered the way he pinned me against the wall, lips twisted in a smirk, and I remembered the way one hand gently caressed my arm as he questioned me, contrasting with the fierce grip of his other hand on my shoulder. The clearest part of the memory was the sheer heat of him; the mix of anger and lust radiating off him in waves. It made me throb, shiver, and melt, all at the same time.
I hated to admit it, even in my most private thoughts, but my treacherous body seemed to love this guy just as much as my brain despised him. Every molecule in me was vibrating with sexual energy.
I suddenly recalled something I read in a psychology book a while ago, when I was researching things for my dad’s case. The human body processed certain emotions in a similar way, and fear and arousal were a prime example.
In both states, your heart would beat faster to pump more blood around the body, and your cheeks and chest might flush. For a fear response, it was to prepare you to flee or fight. For a romantic arousal response, it was to increase blood flow to sexual organs. It often felt the same, though.
That was what I was feeling right now. My body wasn’t betraying me. I was just confusing two different emotional states.
Nate was only a few feet away from me now. My stomach began to churn, and I mentally prepared myself for a confrontation. I didn’t need to worry, though, because he stepped right past me, eyes suddenly elsewhere. Thank god.
I let out a heavy sigh of relief, and Laurel turned to me with furrowed brows. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just a bit stuffy in here,” I said, wishing my body would stop trembling.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s because of all those assholes over there,” she whispered, pointing to the table Nate had just come from. “Half of them think it’s a good idea to marinate in cologne before they arrive for the day. Makes my eyes water.”
I smiled. Laurel was a little abrasive, but I liked her bluntness. “Yeah, that must be it.”
“Don’t worry. We aren’t sitting near them,” she said, ushering me all the way past the tables and into another area.
The new spot was small and quiet—a wood-trimmed octagonal space with a big wooden desk and four chairs.
“We’re in one of the turrets,” Laurel said, gesturing to the odd shape of the room. “For some reason, hardly anyone comes over here. It’s the perfect place for us to study without being bothered by anyone else.”
I smiled. “Thanks for showing it to me.”
She started pulling books and notepads out of her black bag. “Let’s get started.”
After half an hour of quiet study, with the two of us poring over the same pages of her textbook, Laurel yawned, put her pen down, and looked over at me. “Where are you from?” she asked, stretching her arms above her head.
“I moved to the island eight months ago, but I grew up in California,” I replied.
“Me too. I lived there until I was fourteen. Then my family moved to Connecticut,” she said. “Whereabouts in California did you live?”
I twisted my lips. I hated telling people specifics about my life. Even my new life with my new name. It was because I was so used to hiding everything about myself that I couldn’t stop, even when I didn’t need to.
“San Diego,” I ended up saying, even though I’d lived much farther north.
Laurel raised her brows. “Me too. Where exactly?”
Shit. I hadn’t expected her to probe any deeper than her first question.
I racked my brain for what I knew of the San Diego neighborhoods. “Mira Mesa,” I said, hoping I was pronouncing it right. I’d never even been there.
“Wow, that’s exactly where I lived before we moved!” Laurel said. “Which street?”
I didn’t know a single street in that area. I would just have to make one up. “Kingsway Place,” I said, wishing I’d said LA instead of San Diego.
Laurel’s forehead creased. “Never heard of it. But it’s a huge area, I guess,” she said. “I lived over on Westmore, near the mall.”
I nodded. “Oh, yeah, I know the place.”
She looked at me with a curious expression, and for a moment I worried that she knew I was lying about where I was from. Maybe she somehow knew everything about me—the real me—and that was the reason she’d taken me under her wing today; so she could probe me for every bit of information I had about my so-called killer father.
I tugged at my coat collar, suddenly feeling like I couldn’t breathe.
I hated feeling like this—like everything my father had been accused of had settled over me like a permanent fog, lingering over my shoulders and weighing me down. I was so young when it all happened that I became the Blackthorne Butcher’s daughter before I got to be anything else, and sometimes, even with my new identity, it felt like that was all I’d ever be.
“You said you moved here a while ago,” Laurel finally said. “Does that mean you took a gap year after school? Or did you transfer to a school here halfway through senior year?”
“I took a gap year,” I said, grateful for the change in subject. “It feels a bit weird being nineteen—almost twenty, actually—in all these classes packed with people straight out of high school. I know they’re only a year younger, but some of them look like kids to me.”
Laurel nodded. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I’m the same age as you,”
“You took a gap year too?”
She paused for a beat. “No. This is my second year here.”
“Oh. No wonder you know all the best spots in the library,” I repli
ed. I tilted my head slightly to one side. “How come you’re doing freshman classes if this is your second year?”
Laurel’s gaze dropped to the table, and I realized I’d struck a nerve. She lifted her eyes to me again a moment later, brows drawn together. “Promise you won’t tell anyone about this?” she said in a hushed tone.
“Sure. I don’t really know anyone else here anyway.”
She swallowed hard. “Well… I failed my first year. For some reason I thought it would be totally fine to party every night and barely study, but obviously, it wasn’t. I was lucky they didn’t kick me right out.”
Laurel’s earlier standoffish attitude made sense now. She was ashamed of almost flaming out of college in her first year, and that made her shy away from people in her classes so that she wouldn’t have to admit the failure to everyone.
Even though we’d just met, I felt a strong kinship with her. She understood innately why someone might choose to conceal their past.
I smiled at her. “It’s not so bad. Sometimes high school doesn’t properly prepare you for what college is like. But you know now, so you’ll do better this year.”
“I hope so.”
“If anyone ever gives you shit about being older, just tell them you took a gap year like me,” I said. “I doubt anyone will question it.”
“I’m more worried about running into people who were in my classes last year.”
I shrugged. “If they say anything nasty, just tell them to fuck off. I bet they’ve made mistakes too.”
She grinned and cocked a brow. “You know, I think I might actually like you,” she said.
I returned her grin. “That’s literally the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”
“I guess you’ve met some of the snob squad members, then?” she replied.
“Yup.”
