The Oxford Inheritance

by Ann A. McDonald

  “I just don’t understand it.” She picked at a hangnail, worrying the broken skin until blood pooled. Thessaly sat behind the desk, making notes, as elegantly put-together as the last time they spoke. It was after hours on a Sunday, but still she was dressed immaculately. “She was stressed, sure, but suicidal? It’s not right. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Thessaly nodded. “It can seem that way, from the outside.”

  “No,” Cassie insisted. “You don’t see. Evie was . . . happy. She was bright and vivacious, full of energy. I know she’d been a little up and down with her moods, but if you’re having problems at school, you take some time out, you talk to your tutors or friends, you don’t just end it all.”

  Again, she saw the body hanging, lifeless and broken.

  “It’s only natural to want answers,” Thessaly soothed her. “But the sad fact is, sometimes there are none. The human mind . . . It’s a complex thing. Even I haven’t begun to understand it, and it’s been my life’s work, studying the thing.”

  Cassie inhaled deeply, then blew out her breath in a huff of frustration. “It happened so fast,” she protested. “One minute, she’s on the top of the world, out partying every night. And then . . . Something’s wrong, I know it is.”

  Thessaly frowned. “Are you saying . . . ?” She paused. “The police were clear. There was no sign of an intruder, or struggle. Evie even called her parents and left a voice mail saying good-bye.”

  “I know, I just . . .” Cassie stopped, helpless. She couldn’t explain it, how it didn’t add up. She’d been there with Evie, she’d seen her. Even in the midst of her rage and upset, Cassie had never seriously thought Evie would take her own life. Depression wasn’t the same as suicidal; stress didn’t mean somebody would go to such extremes.

  “I understand you feel guilty.” Thessaly’s voice broke through her thoughts. “I’m not saying you should,” the counselor added. “But you were her roommate, you saw her more than anyone. And you say, you saw her mental state slipping—”

  “Not this far.” Cassie vowed. “It was too soon. Two weeks, that’s it, from when he broke up with her and everything started to slide. You can’t fall apart that quickly.”

  Thessaly gave her a gentle smile. “It sounds like your friend’s troubles went much deeper than a breakup. Do you know anything about her history, her mental health?”

  Cassie paused. “I . . . No. Why?”

  “From what it sounds like, I’m guessing she may have had issues with bipolar disorder,” Thessaly explained. “The wild highs, the sudden crash. It’s typical of people with long-running problems.”

  Cassie shook her head. “Evie wasn’t like that, she was fine.”

  “Was she?” Thessaly countered. “Did you ask her parents? Do you know if she was on medication?” When Cassie slowly shook her head again, she continued, “Like you said, you only knew each other a short amount of time. You can’t hold yourself responsible for a problem that probably started long before you ever met her. It’s tragic that she couldn’t see a way through it, but sadly, it’s all too typical for girls like her. Especially here.”

  Cassie shivered, remembering the names etched on the chapel wall, the news report about Rose’s death. “Do you see a lot of suicides at Oxford?”

  Thessaly nodded. “The same characteristics that make brilliant students also can lead to mental health issues. The pressured environment, the sense of isolation many feel. . . . It’s a sad fact, we lose several students every year. It’s part of my work here, to try and work with the colleges to implement better support systems. Some respond more readily than others,” she added, with a thin-lipped look.

  Cassie sat quietly. She didn’t know if she’d been expecting answers or explanations, but she still felt anxious and lost.

  “I know this may sound trite to you,” Thessaly said. “But the best thing you can do is accept that you may never know what was going on in Evie’s mind. Her choices were just that, hers, and if you try and search for meaning, I’m afraid you might never heal. What’s done is done,” she added. “Sometimes, the only thing we can do is lay the past to rest and move on.”

  As Cassie left Thessaly’s office, she wished what the older woman had said was true. That the past could be put aside so easily, her quest for the truth simply left to gather dust. But she had nothing else but this search for her parents: no job, no life waiting for her back in America, nothing to set this fool’s errand to rest.

  Cassie had always thought it a virtue that her life was so seamless. Friends, relationships—she’d learned hard and early that people would only let her down in the end. Abuse her trust, betray her. Leave. But now she looked around at the students passing by on the street, clustered in groups and pairs, on their way back from bars and cafés. They filled the evening with laughter and chat, cloistered safely in a world that was much simpler than hers. They went to lectures, met for coffee and dates, planned their glittering futures. For the first time, Cassie felt an ache of longing. All this time, she’d told herself they had no idea what the world was really like, as if her own hardship was a badge of honor, a sign she knew so much more than they did. Now, she wished she could be like them, still innocent and naive. Even Elliot didn’t understand the forces driving Cassie: the hunger that clawed in her heart, the bitter determination fueling every waking moment. If she stopped, even for a second, then what would she have left? Who would she be?

  She walked, deep in thought, until a familiar face shocked her back to the present. Hugo was standing in the line snaking away from the kebab truck parked along the street, his dark coat collar upturned, his shock of blond hair wayward in the breeze. He looked over and saw her as she drew closer, raising his hand in a hesitant wave.

  Cassie paused. She hadn’t seen Hugo since that afternoon after the funeral. She remembered the broken, haunted look in his eyes, and the brief moment of comfort she’d found in his arms. “Hi.” She drew level with him, awkward.

  “Cassie.” Hugo looked carefully at her, as if he’d been expecting a different kind of greeting. “I . . . How are you? How have you been?”

  Cassie shrugged. “It’s your turn,” she said, deflecting the question by nodding at the man waiting behind the counter.

  Hugo stepped forward and placed his order, then turned. “What do you want?”

  “Oh, I didn’t—” Cassie began, but he shook his head.

  “Let me buy you dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

  She paused. She hadn’t eaten since a snatched sandwich at lunch, hours ago. “Thanks. Fries, with cheese and curry,” she said.

  Hugo relayed the order with a faint smile. “That was Evie’s order.”

  “She introduced me,” Cassie explained. “She swore it was delicious, and she was right.”

  Hugo paid and reached up to accept the polystyrene and brown-paper-wrapped packages. They walked away from the truck, and he passed Cassie her container, which was steaming the air with a pungent smell of spices. “You didn’t answer me, before, when I asked how you were.”

  Cassie busied herself with the wrapper, prising open the lid and digging her plastic fork into the mound of molten cheese and fries. “I’m . . . fine,” she said with another shrug. “I can’t change anything, you know? Life goes on.”

  “That’s what everyone says.” Hugo’s voice was quiet. They walked a little while longer back toward the college, but when the Raleigh gates came into view, he veered instead toward an iron bench, set back by a small café, closed after dark.

  Cassie hesitated, then took a seat beside him. “What about you?” she asked. “How are you dealing?”

  Hugo looked at her, his dark eyes glittering black in the neon streetlight. “You mean, since the last time you saw me? I want to apologize for the way I acted. Olivia was right; I was drunk, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He reached out and placed his hand on hers.

  “It’s fine.” Cassie stared at his hand, overlapping hers in the dark. His fing
ers were pale, but they burned hot against hers. She felt a shiver from the contact and quickly drew her hand away. “It was a hard day, for all of us.”

  “But especially you.” His voice had something in it, a note of careful observation that made Cassie look up again. Hugo was studying her, his gaze unwavering. She remembered her moment of weakness, confessing the truth about her mother’s death.

  “Forget I said anything.” She turned her attention to her food, scalding her lips with a quick forkful. “We were all acting out of character.” To her relief, Hugo didn’t press the issue. They sat in a companionable silence for a moment more, eating in the streetlight. When nothing was left but a congealed mess, Cassie rose to her feet. “I better get back. I have a tutorial in the morning.”

  “I’d have thought they’d be giving you a free pass.” Hugo got up and discarded their wrappers in a trash can nearby.

  “They are,” Cassie admitted. Her tutors had clearly had some kind of private meeting, because for the past few weeks her lack of essays or class participation had gone without note—even from Tremain. She showed up, sat silently through her classmates’ discussions, and left without a word when the session was up, feeling everyone’s eyes on her and the knowing looks of speculation. “But still, I can’t let it all slide. I should at least show my face.”

  “I’ll walk you.” Hugo fell into step beside her as they crossed the street. Cassie didn’t argue. But when they passed into the courtyard, instead of leaving her there, Hugo stayed with her all the way to the lower door.

  “I’m fine here,” Cassie told him, reaching to unlock the door, but it swung open without resistance. She hesitated, remembering the last time the door was left unlocked.

  Hugo saw her expression. “Does anyone else live here?” he asked, moving ahead of her into the stairwell.

  Cassie shook her head. “It’s just classrooms down here. And then our apartment.”

  Hugo began climbing the stairs, Cassie following close behind. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she protested. “The porter said he’d send someone to pick up Evie’s things. They probably just left the door unlocked.” Hugo stopped suddenly, and Cassie bumped right into his back. “What is it?” she asked, and Hugo stood aside.

  The door to the attic was swinging wide open. Cassie took a breath and stepped into the flat.

  It had been ransacked, torn apart. Chairs upended, the table swept clean. The floor was littered with broken china and books, and the taps had been left running in the kitchen, flooding the floor with a sodden gush.

  Hugo swiftly moved to turn the faucet off. “Did you keep anything valuable up here?” he asked, grabbing a clump of dish towels to try and mop up the flow.

  Cassie, stunned at the mess, picked her way through the debris, trying to process it. “Nothing. I mean, I have my laptop, but it’s barely running. There’s no jewelry or cash . . .” She looked around, before suddenly realizing. “Evie’s things!” She rushed to the bedroom, but it was a disaster zone. The boxes she’d painstakingly packed full of Evie’s clothing and belongings were torn open, the room strewn with the delicate silk dresses and pretty scarves she’d so carefully folded away.

  “They left the artwork,” Hugo called from down the hall.

  “I never even noticed it,” Cassie called back. “Is it worth anything?”

  “They didn’t think so.”

  She remembered her own valuables and quickly went to her room. It too had been upended, but when she felt her way to the back of the wardrobe, the panel there was in place, untouched. The files on her mother, the photographs and ticket, were untouched, along with her passport, tucked safely away.

  “Everything okay?” Hugo’s voice came from the doorway. Cassie quickly stuffed the files inside her bag and emerged from the closet.

  “I don’t understand it,” she said, looking again at the mess. “How did they get past the gate? What did they think they’d find?”

  “I don’t know. Cash, maybe. Laptops, iPhones.” Hugo carefully righted the desk chair that had been thrown aside. “We’ve had a bunch of break-ins since term started. I guess the thieves think all Raleigh students must be hoarding away the crown jewels, and if you left the front door unlocked . . .”

  “I didn’t,” Cassie insisted. “At least, I don’t think I did . . .” She tried to think back to the morning, but she’d rushed out so fast, she couldn’t picture herself locking up as she left. Every morning was a sprint, to get out of the damn attic before she could pay too close attention to the beam up overhead and the empty silence of the place.

  “You can’t stay here,” Hugo said. “Pack up what you need. You can crash with me.”

  Cassie opened her mouth, but he fixed her with a steely look. “You’re really going to fight me on this?” he demanded. “We can report it in the morning. It’s too late now.”

  She thought the better of protesting. She couldn’t imagine sleeping there, not in the midst of such chaos. “I don’t need anything.” She looked around again and shivered. Who had been here, picking through her things, disturbing Evie’s last possessions? The sooner she was out of the flat, the better. “Let’s just go.”

  Cassie assumed Hugo lived on the college grounds, but he walked them out of the front gates and half a block away, down a winding residential side street set on the edge of the Magdalen fields. He stopped at a sandstone-fronted town house at the end of the row and opened the front gate. Cassie followed him up the path, through an overgrown front yard, to the ornate blue front door.

  “This isn’t student housing,” she realized, stepping inside. Hugo flipped the lights on, illuminating a foyer that stood two stories high. In a stark contrast to the antiques and disheveled elegance of the Raleigh accommodations, Hugo’s home was a modern, loft-style home, all white and chrome and glass. Cassie looked around the open-plan living area, spotless save research papers and books strewn around the leather couches.

  Hugo gave a wry smile. “How did you guess? They lost patience with me, kicked me out.”

  She nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

  “Of course.” Hugo directed her up the wrought-iron spiral staircase to the mezzanine level, where there was a bed and nightstand. “There are fresh linens, extra blankets in the closet over there. Bathroom’s just behind that screen. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

  “Oh.” Cassie stopped. “I didn’t think. I can take the couch—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Hugo softened. “I’ve fallen asleep there so many times, it’s curved quite nicely to my back. Sleep well.” He gave her a crooked smile, then returned downstairs.

  Cassie sank down on the edge of the bed. Everything was white, a blank slate, not like the rooms back at Raleigh, dancing with shadows and memories, looming in the dark. She barely managed to kick off her boots and crawl into bed before falling into an exhausted sleep.

  20

  She ran.

  Through the tunnels, her feet bare on the stone floor. Torches blazed along the main pathways so she veered deeper into the labyrinth, tripping down hidden stairs and along the dark, winding corridors until the air became heavy with decay and doors groaned their protest as she heaved them open. Still, she ran.

  The chanting was getting closer, a dizzying hum that echoed off every wall, no matter how far she fled. It was all in her mind, she told herself. It had to be. A shadow suddenly reared up in the gloom and she stumbled in fear, falling hard in a bloody scrape of skin on sharp stone. But there was no time for pain, not with the knife gripped, slick in her hand, or the faint clatter of footsteps getting louder. Closer.

  She hurled herself around another corner and up another flight of stairs, almost crying out with relief when she saw a familiar carved archway. Beyond, she knew, was a side tunnel, and past that, freedom.

  He stepped out of the shadows—

  “Cassie!”

  She awoke with a scream, still caught in the terrible fear drivin
g her on through the tunnels. He was there, the dark shadow, but there was no escape. He held her, his grip biting into her arms, shaking her, relentless.

  “Cassie, look at me. Wake up!” Hugo’s voice broke through the blackness. Cassie gasped, jolting back into her skin to find she was in his bed, tangled in his sheets. Daylight flooded through the windows, illuminating the concern on Hugo’s face as he gripped her arms tightly.

  Cassie caught her breath, shaking. “I’m sorry, it was just . . . I was . . .”

  “A nightmare,” Hugo finished. “You scared me.” He slowly released her.

  Cassie swallowed. Slowly, her heart rate slowed, her blood pounding steadily in her ears.

  Hugo sat back with a rueful laugh. “Well, that’s one way of waking me before ten. What were you dreaming about?”

  “I don’t remember.” Cassie blinked as the threads of the vision dissolved away under the light. Everything around her was smooth and crisp, comforting in its stark modernism. “But it was so real . . .”

  “After Evie, I couldn’t sleep for a week. Nothing but falling dreams. Falling into an endless dark.”

  Cassie slowly shook her head. “This was different. It felt like I’d been there before.”

  “Where?”

  She frowned, trying to remember. “I . . . It’s gone.”

  There was a pause, and Cassie realized she was gripping Hugo’s hand. She released it quickly.

  Hugo rose to his feet. “It’s nearly six. I’ll go call the porters, tell them about the break-in.”

  “I can do that,” Cassie objected.

  “It’s fine. You get yourself together,” Hugo told her gently. “Take as long as you need.”

  When Cassie saw her reflection in the gleaming bathroom mirror, she understood why Hugo had looked so concerned. Her skin was pale, with dark shadows blooming under her eyes. She looked thin and gaunt, her dark hair in tangles. She’d been so distracted and anxious since Evie’s death, was it any wonder Thessaly had seemed so worried about her?