by Roxy Gray
“I have to go…I have to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“It’s nobody; just something for a class assignment.” Violet smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I study her before speaking. “Are you okay, Violet? Did I do something to piss you off?” I ask. “You haven’t seemed like yourself all week.”
“No, you didn’t,” she says, her mouth falling into a straight line. “It’s fine. Forget I said anything. I’m just being paranoid, I guess. I just thought I saw… never mind. I’ll see you later.” Violet stuffs her things into her bag and throws it over one shoulder.
“Okay. See you later,” I echo, though she’s already headed for the door.
After she’s gone, I quietly sip my coffee, mentally scanning my interactions with Violet from the past week to see if I did anything to make her angry. I come up empty-handed. What happened to my best friend? She’s normally quiet, loving and always on board with my ideas. This paranoid, short-tempered Violet is not what I’m used to. What can I do if she won’t talk to me?
* * *
“I think writing about the incidents is a great idea, Ivy.” The head editor of the school paper says to me that afternoon in our newsroom.
“Really? Thanks, Blane.”
I meet his dark eyes, feeling excited at the prospect of having my very own article printed. Blane looks happy too: a wide smile spreads across his face, drawing my attention to his beautiful pearly-white teeth. They stand out against his deep complexion, framed by his dark brown eyes, which crinkle at the corners.
“Yeah. It’ll help raise awareness, and maybe we can use the collective knowledge from the two women to help catch the guy. Media can be a powerful thing, you know,” Blane says.
“Exactly,” I smile, pleased with myself for coming up with the idea. It must be a good one if it’s garnering Blane’s attention, who hadn’t spoken more than two words to me until today. Something about my story proposal made his face light up like a glow stick; far better than Violet’s reaction.
“Whenever you have it ready, we’ll run it. Just say the word,” he says with a sly wink. “Let me know if you need any help.”
“Will do.”
“I think it’s a great idea.” someone else chimes in from down the table. I turn at the familiar voice and see Jamie smiling at me from behind his laptop.
“Thanks,” I say, returning his smile before going back to my work.
Blane returns to his desk on my other side, leaving me to my thoughts. From the corner of my eye, I watch his fingers move in bursts across the keyboard, transfixed by how quickly he fills a page with his writings. Within a minute, he’s double my word count of an hour.
Maybe someday that could be you, I tell myself. I just have to impress Blane with my work and then I can convince him to take me under his wing. Having an experienced mentor would go a long way to helping me maintain my grades.
I begin to plan out my first article, losing myself in my work for a while. It isn’t until my phone chimes with an alarm for lunch that I decide to pack up my things and go. Outside, Jamie falls into step beside me, slightly out of breath.
“Hey, Ivy. How are you?”
“Good. I didn’t know you were on the school paper too.”
“Yeah,” he says, “I joined a little late. Figured it would be fun.”
“Cool. It’s interesting so far,” I say, feeling awkwardness bleed into the conversation. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Obviously, the first conversation after a so-so hookup is going to be uncomfortable.
“So, I had fun the other week,” Jamie says as if he can hear my thoughts. I guess the encounter was only mediocre for one of us.
“Yeah,” I say hesitantly. “So did I.”
“We should do it again sometime,” he adds. “Or maybe I could take you out or something.”
I flush at the suggestion and shake my head. “Thanks for the offer, really…but I think I want to be alone right now. Let’s just keep it as a one-time thing. Okay?”
Jamie’s face falls, but he recovers quickly.
“Sure. That sounds good.” He looks around nervously for an escape. “I, umm…I have another class now, so I’ll see you around. Bye Ivy.”
“Okay, bye Jamie.”
“See ya.”
He turns and goes in the other direction. I let out a breath, feeling guilty at how cutthroat I had been. But no matter what, I’d rather be honest and hurt someone’s feelings instead of lying. At least this way, Jamie can move on and find someone else to romance — or to fool around with.
With the rest of my afternoon free, I make it my mission to interview the victims of the incidents and get some writing material. But when I knock at the door to Bridgette’s apartment, there’s no answer. Part of me is glad. I dread the possibility of Amanda answering the door, especially with how rude I was when I last saw her. I don’t think I could look her in the eye without hearing her moans replay in my mind, all thanks to Jasper.
I’m just about to give up and go when the door swings open.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, feeling a sense of déjà vu.
“I could ask you the same question,” Jasper says as he steps past me, a sweatshirt slung over one shoulder. He winks at me before heading back down the hall.
I guess it wasn’t a one-time thing after all. I think, ignoring the sting of jealousy in my mind. I’m about to follow Jasper and go home when the door opens a few more inches, bringing me face to face with Amanda.
“Oh, hey, Ivy!” She chirps in her shrill, valley-girl voice. “Sorry, I didn’t hear the door right away.” She smiles, biting her lip. “I was a bit…indisposed.”
“That’s okay,” I say, suppressing the instinct to scrunch my nose. “Is Bridgette around? I was hoping to chat with her for a few minutes.”
“Yeah, she’s home. Come on in.” She swings the door open fully and I step inside, taking in my surroundings.
“I know, our place is the cutest, right?” Amanda gushes. I can’t help but notice how energetic she is. The human equivalent of a gerbil, minus the fur.
Their apartment is decorated in the girliest fashion possible. A furry pink rug in the living area, glittery gold throw pillows on the sofa, and posters of half-naked male models on the walls. Somehow, the light above the dining room table has been swapped out for a small, tacky chandelier. It reflects multi-coloured balls of light in all directions.
“Her room is that one,” Amanda points down the hall. She heads over to the living area and flops down on the sofa, watching a loud reality show on the television.
“Bridgette? You in here?” I knock on her door cautiously.
Silence.
“It’s Ivy, from down the hall.”
A few seconds later, the door creaks open, revealing Brigette’s freckled complexion, auburn hair, and petite build. Her green eyes shine with surprise.
“Hey, Ivy. What’s up?”
“Hi. I know we’ve only talked a couple of times, but I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about the incident in your room. I’m trying to put together an article for the school paper to help us all get some answers.” I say, trying to frame my proposition in the most delicate way possible.
Bridgette thinks for a second before answering.
“I don’t know, Ivy. I’m already scared enough as it is. With him still out there, I don’t want to put a target on my back,” she says, starting to close the door again.
“Bridgette, wait. I’m doing this to help, really. I want to make sure nothing happens to any other women in the dorm.”
She sighs. “Okay, fine. But I want my name changed for the story.”
“Sure, no problem.” She lets me in, offering me a seat at her desk.
“Can you tell me what happened exactly? I want to make sure I have my facts straight since I’ve just been hearing things from other people,” I say.
“Okay,” she s
ays, sitting across from me on her bed.
“Well, I came home from class and my room was a complete disaster. Like, I’m talking all of my stuff was thrown on the floor everywhere.” She takes a big breath before continuing, “And then I noticed the lettering on the wall. It was…weird. And Creepy.”
“What did it say?”
Bridgette drops her gaze. “It said ‘I know you’re an addict’. And when I checked through my things, I noticed a bunch of my underwear were gone.”
“Are you? A drug addict, I mean?” I ask. After the question has left my lips, I realize it may have been too direct.
“No. Of course not!” Bridgette says indignantly. “Why would you assume that?”
“I’m not assuming anything. Got it…you aren’t a drug addict. Any idea why he would take your underwear? Or is it possible you misplaced them?”
Bridgette takes another huff of air.
“No. I don’t know why he’d want my underwear, and I definitely didn’t ‘misplace’ them,” she glares at me. “In fact, I’ve only ever dated one guy, and that was before I came here. I haven’t hooked up with anybody. He must just be a pervert.”
“Right,” I say. “Wait, why do you think it’s a guy?”
“Do you know any women who would steal thongs and accuse another woman of being an addict without proof?”
I shake my head. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
“Exactly. It’s a guy…has to be.”
“Hmm,” I say, thinking on it for a moment. “Did anything else happen either before or after the incident? Anything that could indicate who this guy is?”
Bridgette shakes her head. “Sadly, no. Honestly, I was confused by the whole thing. He must just be crazy… or perverted.”
“Do you have any photos of your room or the walls? It would be really helpful for me,” I ask.
“Sure. I’ll send them over to you if you give me your number.”
I punch in my contact info on her phone and hand it back to her.
“Thanks for this, Bridgette. I really appreciate it. I hope this helps us catch him,” I say, standing up to go.
“Me too. See you around, Ivy.”
I lean against the wall in the hallway, typing up notes onto my phone while the conversation with Bridgette is still fresh in my mind. The whole situation makes me uneasy, but I’m not going to stand idly by while someone terrorizes my floormates. I head down to the other end of the hall and knock on Simone’s door. A short woman with blonde hair curled into ringlets answers it almost immediately.
“Hi, do you know if Simone is home?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s me. Do I know you?”
“Oh, I’m Ivy. I live two doors down,” I nod in the direction of my apartment. “I was hoping I could ask you a couple of questions about what happened to you the other day. If you don’t mind, that is. I’m writing an article to try to catch the guy responsible for these attacks,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back.
“Oh. Sure, I don’t mind.” She steps aside and waves me in, taking a seat in their dining area.
I pull up a chair across from her just as a kettle sounds from the direction of the stove.
“Shit. I forgot I made tea. Do you want some?” She says, rising slowly. She battles a yawn as she gets up.
“Sure, that’d be great.”
My eyes follow Simone as she goes to the kitchen and pours us both a cup of steaming liquid. I can’t help but notice Simone seems a bit on edge, but I guess I would be too if I was attacked.
“So, what do you want to know?” She asks as she sits across from me, sliding a cup in my direction.
“Can you tell me about everything that happened? I want to hear it in your words,” I say.
Simone nods. “It started with a note.” She opens her phone and slides it over. On the screen, a photo displays some handwriting on a piece of lined paper. It reads: “Don’t worry, I’m going to help you. Don’t give up. You have the power to stop.”
“That’s odd.”
“Yeah. It was even creepier because it was sitting on my bed, which means someone was able to get into our apartment and into my room.”
“So, someone broke in, then?”
“Yes, but it didn’t look like it. I think they must have had a key or something. The police said there were no signs of forced entry.”
I take a sip of tea, pondering my next question.
“What do you think the note means?”
Simone taps her foot nervously on the table leg, vibrating the surface ever so slightly.
“At first I thought it was a joke. But then I started thinking about it, and I think this guy knows about my problem.”
“What problem is that?”
She bites her lip nervously, looking away from me. “I have a problem with Adderall. Abusing it, I mean. It’s an ongoing battle,” she says. Her blue eyes well with guilt.
“Oh. So how would he know about it? Are you open about telling people?”
She pauses to sip her tea.
“I don’t go around broadcasting my problem if that’s what you’re asking, but I’m not ashamed about it. I have admitted it to a few people who were also struggling.”
“Anyone in particular come to mind?” I prod.
“I’m not going to name names. I don’t think it matters, anyway. I think this guy has done this before. I can tell by the way he came at me.”
“Right, the attack,” I say. “What happened that night?”
“I was coming back from class around nine…a fine arts lecture, I think. When I got close to the side entrance of the building, I felt someone grab me,” she shudders. “He was wearing all black clothing and a black ski mask. I couldn’t make out his face.”
“What did you do?”
“I kicked and elbowed until I knocked him over, then I ran around the other side of the building to the front desk and reported it.”
“So you didn’t get a good look at him? Did he say anything?” I say, furiously typing up notes as I speak.
“Nope. I wish I had. It freaks me out knowing he’s still out there.”
“Me too. What did the police say?”
“They said the chances of catching him are slim unless he’s dumb enough to try it again. He just didn’t leave enough evidence. They have the note though, so maybe that’ll help.”
“Maybe,” I agree, though I’m doubtful. “So, do you think this guy could be some random creep?”
“Definitely not,” she says, sipping her tea again. “I had a weird feeling that someone was watching me a few days before the attack, but I thought I was being crazy. I had dismissed the note as a weird joke…I shouldn’t have.”
“Watching you? Like outside?”
She shrugs. “Just in general… It was probably my own paranoia.”
I finish the rest of my tea, setting the mug down on the table. “Well, if you think of anything else, just let me know.” I slide a piece of paper with my number written on it across the table. “That’s me. Text me if you ever need help.”
“Thanks, Ivy. And please be careful. None of us are safe right now.”
As I walk back to our apartment, I feel the hairs on my neck stand up. I look from right to left, making sure I’m not being followed. There’s no one. Still, the feeling of unease has found me and is likely going to nest in my bones now. Simone’s words haunt me, even in the light of day. She’s been closest to the attacker, and I trust that she’s right — none of us are safe, and I don’t want to be next.
* * *
Friday eventually rolls around, and I’m ready for the week to be over. It was likely my worst one of the year. Violet was distant and short with me every time I saw her, speaking to me only during class. I’m falling behind in my homework because of the time I’m spending obsessing over the incidents. My article writing, too, is eating into my coursework. To top it off, every time I saw Jasper I had to go against my instin
cts and pretend to act normally. What I really want to do is threefold: I want to smack him for sleeping with Amanda, demand that he tell me if he was involved with the break-ins, and kiss him for, well, I’m not sure why. The latter is the most frustrating part of all — I just can’t seem to get Jasper out of my head.
When I get home from my last class of the day, I immediately change into sweats and throw my dark hair into a bun. My obsession with Jasper’s extra-curricular activities is bothering me still, so much so that I need to find out what’s been going on. It’s now or never. Jasper is usually brutally honest. Maybe if I ask him directly he’ll have a reasonable explanation for everything that’s been going on.
“What’s up?” he says when he notices me standing in the doorway to his room. He’s bent over one of his textbooks, a pencil stuck behind one ear.
“Can I ask you something?”
He turns his chair to me. “Sure?”
“I’m sorry… I just need to know. I mean, I know you’re not like that, but it’s just been bothering me and —”
“Spit it out, Ivy,” Jasper says, rolling his eyes. “What do you want to ask me?”
“Did you have anything to do with the incidents on our floor?”
He rolls his chair a few inches backwards.
“No,” he says, his face turning serious. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, you have a lock picking kit, for one. And you do spend a fair amount of time with Amanda, who is roommates with Bridgette.”
“So, what? That makes me a psycho? You own knives… does that make you a murderer?” He laughs with an undertone of vexation, leaning back in his chair.
“I didn’t say that. I just want to know the whole story, that’s all.”
“There is no story, Ivy. I barely even know those girls. Honestly, I can’t even remember their names. What business would I have vandalizing their shit?”
“I was thinking that maybe it has something to do with your upbringing. So far, both incidents have been drug-related, and I know your mom was —”
“My mom? My fucking mom? Wow, Ivy. That’s low, even for you.”
Uh-oh, I’ve struck a nerve.
Jasper gets up and comes over to the doorway, advancing until he’s in my face.
