by Kate Anders
Reliving the first and only time I’ve ever been dodged like that, I can feel my cheeks flush even harder, the warmth leading me to believe I was now more red than pink. How in the world was I ever going to face him again?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“SOMEONE TO YOU” BY BANNERS
I wake up a few hours later in my own bed, how I managed any bit of sleep is beyond me. It must have been the embarrassment, even my brain didn’t want to remember the rejection, so instead it finally let me get some quality unconscious time. Whatever the reason, it was much-needed sleep.
I lie there on top of my bed, staring up at the ceiling in my room. I can see the little yellow specks on my ceiling, the ones that glow in the dark. I smile at the memory of how they got there.
Clara and I were talking about the moments in our childhood that made us smile. She told me about how her and her mom used to camp out in the backyard. How it was this huge adventure every time. Her mom would tell her scary stories, they would make s’mores and grill hot dogs over a fire, how they got so good at building the tent in the backyard that they used to try and race against their best times. It sounded magical. The kind of magic you can only really find when you are a child and the real world hasn’t tainted your worldview yet.
When she asked me, “What about you?” I didn’t know what to say. So much of my childhood is full of me being the adult. My dad off on another deployment. My eight-year-old self trying to keep my mom alive with my rudimentary cooking skills. How I spent the week before school started learning how to walk the route to school because I was too close for the bus but my mom barely got out of bed so I had to walk it. Using the ATM to get cash out so I could buy groceries on my way home from school. If it wasn’t for my dad paying the bills even on deployment, I don’t think we would have had power and running water. As an adult, I can look back and realize someone should have called CPS.
But I was able to come up with some memories. My favorite was when I was five. I had accidentally seen a scary movie and suddenly was afraid of the dark, I was always trying to sleep with the lights on, and my older brother used to tease me about it. It wasn’t until he realized I was really afraid that he came up with a plan. He came home one day from school and told me all about how we were going to solve this “afraid of the dark” business. He was so much bigger than me, being seven years older, that he could actually reach the ceiling whereas I couldn’t. So, he told me to lie on my bed and direct him about where I wanted my stars to go. He made me laugh the whole time.
When it was done and my ceiling full of scattered stars was complete, he told me the next part was the most important. He was going to spend the night with me that night, because the magic of the stars only worked if they were charged. And he was going to charge them. He was going to put all of his “big-brother magic” into the stars, and from then on, they would protect me from anything. No reason to be afraid of the dark if I was lying under stars full of big-brother magic.
Years later, I know it’s the kind of thing only little kids would believe in, but it’s the only thing I miss about that house. And how I sometimes still miss waking up and seeing the stars that my brother put up for me. Like it’s the smallest piece of him I still had. After she died, I never wanted to leave my room, because it was the only place where I still had him.
I cried when I told Clara the story, and so did she. The next day she had gone out and bought stars, and she told me how we weren’t going to replace the old ones but rather put new ones up to honor him. So every morning I will know my brother was still watching over me while I slept.
Just another of a million different reasons why Clara is my best friend. I can’t help but believe that she and my brother would have gotten along.
Without any warning, I start to feel guilty. Sitting here thinking about Clara, I realize I’m not doing anything to help move this investigation forward. Clara is out there with God only knows who and here I am, trying to avoid going back to the office because I’m embarrassed about some guy. Some guy who I have no business catching feelings for right now. Clara should be my only priority. She’s what is important right now.
Even though I am berating myself about this while I roll out of bed and start getting ready to get back to work, I can’t help but hear Clara’s voice in the back of my head. I know she would be cheering it on, telling me to go for it. We were always each other’s biggest cheerleaders, and I know she would have been thrilled that I finally found a guy that I was crushing on besides the giant dumbass Collin. Hell, she probably would have thrown a party that I was moving on. The thought makes me smile, and as I walk into the living room, I can just imagine her coming home with a giant bag of every flavor of Ben and Jerry’s she could find at the store. Ice cream parties are always a huge hit at our apartment. The two of us watching early 2000s rom-coms eating out of ten different pints of ice cream, who could want anything more?
Now when I look around my living room, her absence is overwhelming but her presence remains strong thanks to my lovely Wall of Crazy. No more putting things off, time to figure things out.
Obviously, there is a big bad guy behind this whole thing. But who is the million-dollar question. Every crime show I’ve ever seen flashes through my brain, especially Criminal Minds; it would be great if Reid were here to lend a hand. What was it they were always saying in every episode with a stalker? Most stalkers have some kind of interaction with their obsession, even if the target doesn’t realize it. Clara was kind of the definition of not social. She loved hanging out at our apartment, homework was actually enjoyable, and she always wanted to spend time at the computer labs on campus. The girl invested in the highest quality noise-canceling headphones she could find just so she wouldn’t have to hear other people talking around her. There were no sororities or social clubs, no boyfriends or regular parties. She barely hung out with the people who I knew, the closest thing you could say she had to friends were the people in the same program with her at school.
Sure, she was a creature of habit, she went to the same places for food on the same days, so maybe she ran into someone there. Either way, I need to make some kind of weekly timeline of what each week looked like for her: classes, food, home, lab time, all of it might be important.
While I am making a detailed timeline, I am trying to run through any possible options for the perpetrator, or unknown subject as Reid would say. I snort as I envision myself in a conference room trying to lay out all my theories. I roll my eyes at myself, how ridiculous I have become.
Okay, suspects. I need a list of suspects.
First up, Collin. Not likely. He’s in the pictures that were kind of used as blackmail for Clara. Sure, he could have arranged for someone to take those pictures, but that would mean involving someone else in his scheme, and this guy seems to cover his tracks. Plus, Collin wouldn’t know what to do with a computer if it hit him in the face.
Moving on.
Like a light bulb, I realize, of course, someone with computer skills. Someone on Clara’s level or King’s level. Clara took precautions. She put everything on a cloud server that wasn’t traced back to anything having to do with her school stuff because she must have thought someone was watching. She encrypted the files. King said it was strong encryption, not just stuff you get off a website.
Plus, the reports from campus security weren’t on their server anymore. So unless we are talking about an actual campus security officer who could have removed the reports off the server manually, it’s probably someone who removed them remotely.
But still, it could be a campus security guard.
I write campus security down underneath Collin’s name, which is scratched out. Quickly I scribble out a note about how the reports are missing, but I am still not super convinced it was a campus security guard.
Moving on, back to computer geniuses. Clara came in contact with a ton of those types. And not just the people in her classes. She had professors and TAs, guest speakers, she’s even
interviewed at more than a couple of the big tech firms here looking for an internship. The list would probably be extensive. And honestly, I wouldn’t even know how to begin cataloging each person’s area of specialty.
That was one thing Clara made perfectly clear to me. Most people have a specialty. King would qualify as security, I know that much. Some people are programmers, and not everyone uses the same language. Some people deal with hardware. Or software. Some people are more mathematicians than others.
I start trying to run through every memory of Clara talking about all the people she came in contact with the last couple of years. If there is one thing every girl on a college campus has a list of, it’s douchey guys who think they know so much more than some girl. And oh, how Clara used to encounter that.
Clara was always at the top of the class, she set the curve. And there were more than a few guys who didn’t always appreciate that a quiet bookworm girl was showing them up at every turn. There was, of course, the one guy she talked about who was going to be super pissed about Clara getting the internship.
God, what was his name? It’s one of those snobby sounding names, and I remember his first and last name started with the same letter. P I think it was. I snap my fingers as soon as his name enters my brain.
“Preston Pierce.” I exclaim.
He even talked to her more than once about how she should move on since there was no way she was ever going to get it, that he was a shoo-in. Clearly that guy has some level of computer skills, plus it wouldn’t be that hard for him to figure out Clara’s schedule since at their level, the group of students like them is small. But how would all the other girls have met him?
Timeline wise it works out. The missing girls start back three years, this guy is a senior like Clara, so he would have been in school at the same time as when the girls started to go missing. Maybe in the first two years, there was some overlap with core classes? But the latter two girls, where would they have crossed paths? Jenny wasn’t a computer science major, and it seems like he was stalking both Clara and Jenny at the same time, that had to be time consuming, so where’s the crossover?
Either way, she makes number three.
I keep thinking about what all three of these women must have had in common. Clara makes things difficult because I know how little she put herself out there.
In the end, I have my list:
1. Collin: unlikely-in photos & didn’t cover tracks
2. Campus security: nonspecific b/c of missing reports but do they have computer skills, and if they did would they really be working a campus security job?
3. Preston Pierce: Super douche. On campus the right amount of time. Probably skilled enough to do the computer stuff. Need connection to other girls.
So who else would make the list? It was like running the last few years in reverse like a movie, trying to pick up on every person who ever warranted a mention, basically impossible. There’s the creepy neighbor across the hall, but no way he knows the other girls, and I seriously doubt he has any level of computer skills. Seriously doubt.
Every student on campus has a teacher they feel are out for them, I have more than one. Clara only had one though, and it was early on, like second semester freshman year. He was a jerk. A super jerk. And I remember her telling me that he gave off that creepy vibe, one of those men who stand just a little too close or touch your shoulder under the guise of a kind gesture but really, it’s just creepy. She told me the girls never went to office hours without someone with them, no one trusted this guy. A professor teaching an intro class like that has tons of opportunity to meet students from any major. And he was definitely here for all the disappearances. I have no idea how I am even going to go about checking if he has any computer skills. But I do know how to find him.
Rate Your Profs, one of my favorite sites. Check reviews from other students about the professors. Clara and I used it a million times to decide on what teacher to take for classes. And at the end of every semester, Clara wrote a review for each of her professors, good or bad. With only a few keystrokes, I have Clara’s profile pulled up and all of her reviews. A few clicks later, I have his name. Professor Conner Lanier.
I’m pretty sure this guy is going to make number four on the list, but honestly looking over the reviews on this guy, he gives off such creeper vibes I don’t think he would be any good at covering his tracks. Plus, the more I think about it, the more I wonder why he would wait more than two years to start harassing Clara. She was in his class freshman year, we were about to graduate, why the delay? The more I think about it, the less I think he is a contender. I am missing that feeling in my gut telling me I am on to something.
That being said, I do think I am on to something about someone in a teaching position. Maybe not a professor though, someone like a TA. They would fit in on campus, could be in any number of student groups, no one would think twice about a TA being around other students. It would fit for Clara. The douche guy used to call Clara a teacher’s pet, and honestly, I get why he would call her that. She took school so seriously right from the beginning. She loves learning more than anything in the world, so she would introduce herself to every professor and TA, she would go to every extra study session, even if she didn’t need to, if there was an extra credit assignment, she would do it. I used to say she was crazy, I mean, why put in all this extra effort when you are already getting an A in the class? She used to laugh and smile and say, “for the experience,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world. By junior year, I stopped asking, she loved it, why bug her about something she clearly loves?
With her habits, a TA fits the bill. But there’s no Rate my Prof for TAs, they aren’t listed on transcripts or schedules. The bigger the class, the more of a chance it would have more than one TA. Four years of TAs feels like an impossible task. I can’t help but think it would have to be someone from last year or this year, but that’s all I got.
Ultimately, I only have three more to add to the list, and I’m only even mildly confident about one:
4. Creepy neighbor- No access to the other missing & doubtful he owns a computer
5. Handsy professor- Widely known creepy - not the kind of guy who covers up after himself
6. Teaching Assistant- Fits the best. But who? There have been so many. Good access, could be skilled, blends in
I’m out of ideas.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“YOU ARE THE REASON” BY CALUM SCOTT
It feels like a waiting game. We’ve turned over all the information that we have to the police, and now I just have to hope the ball is moving, and quickly.
I want to call Will, if only to see if he has gotten information from anyone about how things are progressing. Are the cases officially linked yet? Do they have any links between them? Any suspects to speak of?
But I can’t call Will.
My body starts to heat up as the memory of my embarrassment floods my system. I can’t believe I tried to kiss him. What was I thinking?
Oh yeah, that he’s hot. And he makes me feel safe. He’s helping me when he doesn’t have to. Hell, he comes off as the world’s biggest closed book, but instead he opened up to me about his past.
Of course, I want to kiss him. The loneliness has grabbed hold, and this guy is literally everything I didn’t know I want right now.
Plus, he has all the ins with the police department, so if there is any movement, he would probably know about it.
Nope, can’t do it. Can’t call him.
But he’s not the only one with an in at the police department, after all my in is how I found Will in the first place. A nice text to Detective Fitzpatrick sounds like the solution to all my problems right now.
Me: Hey, I just wanted to check in and see how things were going, any news?
Joe: You were actually on my list of phone calls to make today. We are bringing in anyone who might have information to the police station for formal interviews, do you have time to come in today?
/> Me: Of course
Joe: Great, can you be here around 1?
Me: Yep. I take it this means all the cases are linked now?
Joe: We are still waiting on some information to make it official for everyone, but unofficially, yes.
You did good, kid.
Me: Just did what she would do for me. See you soon.
I know I don’t need the validation, but it’s nice to have. Now I just need to find something to do until it’s time to get grilled by the police.
The woman who leads me into the interview room doesn’t say much on the way through the bullpen. Honestly, I don’t think she said a single word, more like she spoke in grunts and head motions. Not exactly oozing friendly vibes, that’s for sure. She’s already hightailing away from me the second I crossed the threshold to the interview room.
Interview room might be a little generous. It’s clearly one of those interrogation rooms you see on crime shows. No windows. Metal table with some kind of loop attached, which I assume is so they can chain people to the table. Hell, there is even a mirror on one wall. Standing there staring at the mirror, I keep trying to remember that TikTok video about how to tell if a mirror is a two-way mirror or not with your finger. I don’t get a chance to test it out before I feel someone touch the back of my arm.
“Please, have a seat,” the man says. It’s not Joe. Clearly, he’s a cop, he just gives off that vibe, I hope he doesn’t spend a lot of time doing undercover work, because there is no way in hell a criminal on the streets is not going to peg him for a cop. He’s got that high and tight haircut that’s popular in the military, but being this close to Fort Bragg, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was ex-military. I can’t really tell what shade of brown his hair is, the haircut makes it too difficult to really tell, but it’s definitely brown. Rigid posture accompanies him into the room as he gestures me farther in.
