“Nothing. I was trying to talk to her, but she wriggled like a lizard,” I said, pulling out a chair and winced when I sat down, holding my balls.
The waitress arrived and placed a large slice of chocolate cake and two coffees. “Give it to him,” Sickle ordered the waitress, pointing toward me. “I think he needs the extra calories.”
7
I didn’t stop running until I was safely inside my room. But because my room had been shut up, the stink of the dead thing hit me quick, and I almost vomited. Opening the window and breathing in fresh air to calm my racing heart and nausea stirring in my stomach. I gazed across the green park, noticing the neatly pruned hedges at the far end, and made a mental note to consult the map to see what lay beyond.
I grabbed my orange trolley bag, checked the outside pockets, and found nothing. Then, I opened it and ran my hand along the lining, feeling no lump. Ripping the black lining, I discovered a false panel and slid my fingernails into the edges, pulling it back.A Glock handgun with a box of bullets and a knife in a scabbard were heavily taped to the shell of the bag.
The first thing I did was take the knife out of the scabbard and go into the bathroom where the smell was, then crouch down at the vanity cabinet and slide the blade into the wooden seam of the base. I remembered earlier that it was a little loose, and the seam was wider than it should be.
The base panel popped open, revealing the source of the stink— a large rat in the process of decomposing, which explained why it smelled so bad. I covered my nose and mouth to avoid inhaling too much of the stench, as it would probably linger with me for days, even after the rat was long gone.
I used the flat of the blade to lift it out and then paused to consider what to do with it. It was a mystery as to how the poor rat got into that space in the first place because there was no way in, and obviously no way out, because the poor thing would’ve escaped.
Which meant it was placed there when it was already dead, and the only people I could think of who would do that were the Warwicks. So, did that mean they had a key to my room? Or did they persuade the dorm’s maintenance to do it? And who was our assigned hall director? Do we have one here at Morgana?
Now that I was armed, perhaps I should confront them if they know anything about a dead rat. I wonder where their dorm is? No, they’re likely to have a frat house with all their drug-induced fucktards that party all night and prise their eyelids open with toothpicks all day.
Luckily, for that camel piss jock, I won’t be gifting them the rat on this fine day, as I need to get rid of it immediately, and I don’t want it hanging around while I try and find out where they live.
So, I did what any sane girl would do: I flung it out of my bedroom window, and it landed on the grass just as two students were walking past. Fortunately, I missed them, but they let outa horrifying squeal once they realized what it was that landed by their feet.
Focusing back on the gifts left hidden in my trolley bag, I swiped for my father’s number and sent him athank you for the gift.
Several moments later, he messaged back with:Use them wisely. Did you find the instructions?
Me: lol. I don’t need instructions to use them?
Dad had taken me to the shooting range since I was sixteen because he thought it was wise for me to know how to defend myself, so his comment was quite odd. But we were the kind of family that attracted people who pretended to be your friend while stabbing you in the back.
I haven’t needed to defend myself yet because I was good at staying under the radar, but an opportunity had now arisen since I was stuck here on Warwick territory. I ripped the tape off the handgun, checked that the gun was clean and working, then loaded the cartridge with bullets before putting the safety cap on.
I slipped the gun under the mattress of my bed, while the knife could be strapped to my upper arm or thigh, or in my bag. After Ezrah Warwick roughed me up earlier, I needed to be prepared for fear that he would do it again. And what the hell was he on about when he told me to stay away from our Finance lecturer?
Ourfinance lecturer? It looks like I’ll be sharing a class with a Warwick. No worries. I will become an expert at pretending that he didn’t exist to his face, but plot his demise behind his back. Not that I would actually kill him, but if he dared try to pin me against the wall again, the Warwick will receive a short, sharp shock.
A notification from Dad came through on my phone, and I opened it just as footsteps echoed along the hallways from thestairs. I couldn’t resist checking to see if it was a new resident, only to find a man wearing a blue hooded sweatshirt. His hood was pulled over his head, and all I could see was his nose poking out. When he turned slightly toward me, his facial features looked exaggerated and grotesque.
An extra-large, warty, bulb-shaped nose, narrowed, empty eyes, and it took me a few seconds to realize it was a rubber mask. I stepped back quickly and quietly closed the door, snorting with laughter at the guy’s strange sense of humor. He was probably at a costume party last night and didn’t bother to remove the mask.
Anyway, whoever he was lived upstairs, not on my floor, and I expected to see the trickle of more students filling the halls as the days went on. Retreating into my room, which smelled cleaner now that I’d removed the rat, I opened my father’s message.
Dad: Check again.
Opening the trolley bag again, I ran my hand over the inside and discovered a small folded piece of paper. Immediately, I unfolded it because it was so out of character for Dad to do this, so it must be important. It was highly unlikely to be an affectionate note from a father to his only daughter, as that was not his style.
I want to surprise Leslie for her birthday. Can you find old school photos of her while you’re there, take pictures with your phone, and save them for when you come home? Also, look for anything else you might find about her. Please keep this a secret. Thank you.
Weird. Why did he feel the need to write a note and hide it in my bag rather than tell me in person, out of her earshot, if he wanted to keep it a surprise?
Me: Sure. If I have time.
Dad: Thank you, Addie.
Me: Why write a note? Instead of phoning or messaging me?
Dad: No reason.
