by Jayce, Aven
“Excuse me?” I throw her an astonished look and she gives me the finger.
“Hannah,” Richard shakes his head. “We’re in a place of worship.”
Richard and I turn to face the pulpit in silence, until I become so aggravated by his response that I have to speak my mind. “You know, this has to stop. You could’ve stood up for me.”
“I thought I did,” he moves closer so our conversation’s unheard.
“Your response came across to those students, who just witnessed her nonsense, as something that was okay, just not inside a chapel. You didn’t say it was disrespectful to a faculty member, and you should’ve.”
“Murderer.”
It’s spoken louder this time and then repeated by another student, and another, until the entire sorority’s whispering that word.
“Enough!” Richard calls out as the Trustees turn and gasp. He lowers his voice but keeps a stern face as he speaks. “We’re here to celebrate the life of Luke and Professor Cole and this insolent behavior ends now.” He points his finger at the group and Hannah leans forward with a tear rolling down her cheek.
“She killed my boyfriend.”
“What?” I’m furious. “That’s complete nonsense. Now, knock it off.”
The entire sorority takes out their cells and holds them up like lighters waving in the air at the end of a concert; only the screens all have a photo of Dan, and not a flame.
“That’s your boyfriend isn’t it? I know it is, because Bridgette said you two were screwing.”
“Hannah! Outside now!” Richard fumes and points toward the door.
The photo shows Dan with his hands behind his back, obviously in handcuffs, with an officer to either side of him.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
“Oh, poor Professor Hallowell. That’s what you want everyone to believe, don’t you? That this is some surprise and you had no part in killing Luke?” Hannah says.
“What happened?” I reach for a phone, but the students move away.
“Murderer,” one utters. “Murderer,” they start to chant.
Richard takes Hannah by the arm and leads her to the door.
“You were with him!” she yells. “I know you were in his car when he hit Luke that night. Margaret said you hated Luke, she said you hate all of us! I bet you told Bridgette’s brother to do it!”
Oh fuck. I cover my eyes and sit on the pew in tears. This isn’t happening. It’s impossible. Dan wouldn’t. He didn’t.
The guy has a foot in his closet and wrote a book about a serial killer. You don’t know anything about him.
No. I feel like I know everything about him. He’s been very open and kind, unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. I can’t believe this, any of it, it doesn’t make any sense.
Luke attacked Dan’s sister. This is payback.
A boy who wanted to be a priest isn’t going to grow up to become a murderer. It had to have been an accident.
A boy who was struck by lightning, as punishment from God for masturbating, could turn out just a wee bit crazy in the head, don’t ya think?
A chapel full of stares is upon me when I open my eyes. It’s silent and I immediately feel chilled to the bone. I need to get the fuck out of here.
I politely excuse myself and head for my truck. This is complete and absolute bullshit.
“Divine! Where are you going? The service is about to begin.” I hear Richard’s voice calling from behind. “Don’t leave, it looks bad.”
I turn to him with both my fists and ass clenched in anger. My dim-witted-pear-shaped Chair. “To who?” I yell. “You’re worried that it looks bad for you, not me, right? You don’t want the Trustees to know the students have complete control of this department. Get stuffed, Richard! You’re a wussy boy. Deal with it!”
Fuckin’ A, that will get me fired for sure. I can’t believe I was that rude to another person, that I actually said those things out loud. In a few hours I’ll weep once it sinks in that I just destroyed my entire career with those few words, but only after my anxiety subsides.
“Ahhh. Damn it! What the... you bitch!”
“Go to Hell, Professor Hallowell!” Hannah shouts as she kicks in the taillight on my truck.
“Stop!” Isn’t there anyone in charge at this fucking school? Security? I know it’s the weekend, but where the fuck’s security? I take out my cell and get a photo of her before she runs off.
“Divine, wait.” Richard catches up to me then bends over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Wait,” he wheezes. “I saw what happened. File a report and I’ll be a witness.”
I get into my truck and start the engine, but he taps on my window before I have a chance to drive away.
“What?” I ask in a fuming voice after rolling down my window.
He sets his hand on my door as if he’s holding my truck in place, not wanting me to take off just yet. “Div, are you really dating Daniel Keller?”
“I have things to do. I need to go.”
He stares across the quiet campus; everyone at the service or still asleep, and then his eyes turn down to the ground.
“You sound like you know him,” I whisper.
He nods. “He was in some of my classes years ago. Good student. Quiet. Kept to himself most of the time.”
“That’s the same description people give the police when they find out a neighbor is a serial killer.”
Richard’s quiet for a moment until I rev my engine and knock him back to our conversation. Come on, hurry up, and say what’s on your mind.
“I don’t know if he had anything to do with Luke’s death, but if it turns out that he did, and the two of you are a couple... this could be bad for the university. You know how rumors spread. We can’t have a faculty member on this campus who was involved with someone who...”
“Don’t say another word.” I cut him off. Uh, now I’m really perturbed. “You seem to care more about the department than the people in it. Do you give two-shits about what’s happening in my life outside of my classroom?” I seethe.
“Of course I do. And I know everything you just said was because you’re upset. Take a breath.”
“I don’t have it in me to breathe anymore.” I roll up my window and pull away.
Get shit on - When you hook up with a guy that you believe to be an angel from heaven, but it turns out he’s actually the devil in disguise. That’s what it means to get shit on, Div.
I disagree with you. There’s no way he did this.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Div Hallowell
My boyfriend got arrested!
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Charlie Lehmann Do I know you? Your posts keep appearing on my news feed.
Violet Cuddlecock
The guy I’m fucking may have killed someone! (Sorry, not book related).
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I read the news article on my cell, the same article the sorority girls displayed in the chapel. It states the owner of a body shop called the police after the Cherokee was brought in for repairs. The damage matched those of a possible hit to a bicycle.
Dan was released on bail after seeing a judge late yesterday and must’ve gone to his parents after that. Fuck, he looks terrible. The photo of him online was shot on his way into the courtroom, with his head down and his hands behind his back, definitely appearing morose.
And now I’m almost home after filing a report about the little doofus damaging my truck. Something I’m sure her rich lawyer father will either make disappear, or pay for out of his own pocket. Spoiled brat.
What happened the night Luke died? It was an accident and unintentional, right?
Are you asking me?
I’m thinking.
What moron would take his car in to be repaired if he was responsible? Of course he didn’t do it.
That’s exactly why he DID take it in. He’s smart. He can use that reasoning as his defense. It makes him look innocent!
Yeah, t
hen why did he act so upset about the damage when we got back from the overnight trip?
Are you listening to me?
No, he didn’t set this up in such a way. God, I’m so confused! If whatever happened was unintentional, why didn’t he stay at the scene or come forward sooner? That could mean years in prison. And what if someone tries to make a case that it wasn’t an accident, but murder because of Luke’s attack on Bridgette?
What do I do? I have no one to talk to about any of this. I can’t even process whether I’m supposed to be supportive and try to speak to him, or back away.
What about being afraid of the guy?
I’m not. He doesn’t scare me.
Umm, no? Hello McFly? I’m here deep down inside of you and he scares me!
If anything, I feel sorry for him and his family.
And Luke too.
And me.
Feeling sorry for yourself is a sign of weakness.
“I’m sure having a voice that stirs constantly in my head is too,” I mumble, toss my messenger bag on the floor, and lock my front door. His car’s still not out front. My home is still dark. And my parents are still absent from my life.
I lean against the front door with my hands behind my back and my head down, mirroring Dan’s online court photo.
“He couldn’t have done this, we went out to dinner the night Luke Barnes died. It was our first date,” I whisper.
I’m sure this happened after the date.
But that night I couldn’t sleep and I walked around and looked in Dan’s bedroom window. Remember? The room was dark and quiet. No movement. Did he go out? I never noticed if the Cherokee was missing.
And wouldn’t I have seen the damage on his car?
I think back to the mall trip, the ride up the dirt road, catering at the party, meeting his parents, the drive to the hotel, everything we did was around nightfall. I may not have noticed any damage on those evenings because it had been dark. Plus we were both in a state of romantic gawking at one another, not looking over his car. A dent and scratches could have easily been missed.
I feel like running away from this place. I couldn’t stand being in Pittsburgh after college. Everything was a constant reminder of my parents and instead of facing the world around me; I took off and landed here. I may end up doing that again. I’ll resign and start over. I need to get the fuck out of here.
And move to where?
Anywhere.
Dream on. Who do you think you are? Miss Money Bags? You’re acting like a kid.
Said the kid inside me.
I flip the light switch and look into my parents’ faces. The photographs remind me of my colleagues when they comment that their parents are getting old, and they wish their children would stay young forever. My parents, on the other hand, never age. Someday, I’ll be a sixty-year-old woman who holds their pictures in my hands as if they’re my children. They’ll always be stuck in their early forties until the day I die.
My living room is dead silent. I don’t ‘meh’ or ‘bah’ or speak to the photos in any way, keeping the miss you guys and I’m sorry words deep inside. I pull four storage boxes from my closet and take as many photographs as I can from my wall.
Packing? Just like that?
“No, I’m changing,” I whisper.
Oh, you said people hate change!
Yes, but it’s inevitable.
After fifty photos are down and packed away into my closet... I get a beer... I get two beers from my fridge and head upstairs to change my clothes.
Fucking birds are still chirping out back. They’ve invaded my place just like Dan has plagued my mind. A bunch of unwanted guests that need to get their next meal down the road from Burger Castle, not here.
You led Dan and the birds to your home with a trail of breadcrumbs. They didn’t just appear out of thin air.
A line of birds have taken over my deck railing. There’s shit everywhere too. Birds are filthy things.
They’re disgusting!
I strip, put on a pair of old jeans, roll the bottom cuffs, pull on a t-shirt, and step outside. The birds screech, then fly off. Oh lovely, I stepped in bird shit. Isn’t this a wonderful fucking day? Time to get out the garden hose and clean the poop.
And who knew, bird shit doesn’t wash away easily.
I get a bucket, add some dish soap, then grab a bristle brush and proceed to scrub. After twenty minutes and a hose-down, it’s clean enough for the night. But I’m sure tomorrow they’ll be back, shitting and chirping. Damn it, I thought this bird thing would be some fantastical new adventure in my life. Maybe I’ll feel differently when I’m not in a gloomy mood.
“Stay away, dirtballs!” I call out.
“Blue jays.” I hear a voice below.
Dan.
Run!
He’s walking up the steps.
Run!
I drop the hose and run inside, screaming my ass off while locking my back door. He’s on the deck, walking toward me.
“Go away!” I shout, pulling down the window shade so he can’t see inside. There’s a hard knock and I scream again.
Didn’t you say he couldn’t have done this and that you weren’t afraid of him?
“Div, don’t be scared. Let me explain. Open the door.” He knocks again.
“Stop knocking! I’m not letting you in!” My blood’s pumping through my veins in quick bursts.
“Just give me a chance.”
He looked terrible coming up those steps. A stubbly face, tired eyes, haggard expression, and a slow walk. The guy’s hurting or in shock, or both.
You’re beginning to feel sorry for him, but don’t open that door.
“Blue jays,” he repeats. “Aggressive fuckers who attack and kill smaller birds.”
“And what about you?” I ask.
“I had nothing to do with Luke’s death.”
“Dan, you’re scaring me. I want you to leave.”
“Just like that, it’s over?”
“I didn’t say that! Give me some time to think, would you? Your books are about some psychopath who kidnaps and cuts women to bits! And then he fucks them after they’re dead! And now all this stuff with Luke. If you were a woman, you’d run too!”
I can hear him sigh and take few steps away from my door, but he’s not gone just yet.
“So you’ve finished the trilogy, that’s just great,” he says sarcastically. “That was bad timing, wasn’t it? If you hadn’t read those books how would you feel about the charges against me? I bet it’d be a whole different story.”
I peek out my window and luckily he has his back turned and is looking in the direction of the demolished feeders. I don’t want to give him any inkling that I might open this door. Nope, not gonna happen right now.
“Your heart tells you what?” he continues. “What’s hidden inside of you? I need to hear it. Do you think Luke died because of me?”
He doesn’t use the words killed or murdered, only that Luke died. My gut reaction when I first saw him was to run, but I still don’t believe he could’ve done this.
His muffled voice seeps through my door when I don’t respond.
“My books are about religion, nothing more. The women symbolize my relationship with God and how I felt disemboweled every time I got off thinking about them. But I doubt, just like you, if anyone will ever take the time to analyze it. The story couldn’t possibly have a deeper meaning, right? There could never be any symbolism in a story found in that particular genre.”
I hear footfalls down the steps and quickly open my door.
“Dan, call me on the phone, but don’t show up in my backyard after being arrested, okay? And just so you know, deep down in my heart, I believe you’re innocent, but I’m worried I won’t be able to help you,” I pause and take a deep breath. “And I’m terrified of losing myself in the process.”
I step back inside and lock my door.
There’s no warm embrace. No kiss. No, thank God you’re alright. I hav
e deep feelings for him, but to hell with running into his arms, pulling him into my bed, and screwing his brains out just like that. We’ve got some serious shit to discuss.
He’s pretty fucked up, isn’t he? I’ll give him an Oscar if he’s faking all of this. And don’t you feel a little bad for not letting him inside?
You were the one who told me to run.
Uh-huh. So, tell me again why you listen to me?
“I need to turn off the garden hose,” I mumble, heading to the sliding glass door next to my kitchen.
“What the hell?” I gasp.
Is he still here?
No.
A small robin is lying on the back patio. It’s one of the few birds I can recognize because they’re so common to this area. The poor thing must’ve flown into the door and now it’s barely breathing. This is tragic. I should’ve never built those houses.
I step outside and kneel next to it. Its tiny heart is thumping against its chest a mile a minute. Please fly away. Open your eyes and get up!
Damn it. I hate when animals suffer.
“Listen, little thing, you’re not going to die in my backyard. You were meant to fly, now fly!” I poke it with my finger and a wing flaps. Then in a sudden rush it’s upright and off the ground, over my head, and inside my home.
“No!” I shout. “Get out!”
Fuck. Another home invasion. Dan’s coming for you... the birds are coming for you... Alfred Hitchcock’s coming for...
It flaps around like a drunken hooligan, hardly able to get past the stuff in my dining area. Then it flies through my living room, right smack into my front window with a loud thud.
He’s dead. Talk about symbolism.
No, he’s not. There he goes, upstairs!
I race to my bedroom where I find the dirty thing perched in my master bathroom, shitting on the counter.
“You have a big surprise coming to you,” I say in my best Jack Nicholson voice.
It’s like having Hannah and Bridgette in here all over again, especially given the mess it’s leaving.
