“I only just met her, dude, the fuck you on about?” I shouted back, then caught a glimmer of movement between the castlewalls and the building next to it, the sun reflecting off metal and glass.
The train.
“Bro,” I dropped my tone, “the train is here.”
“This early? It’s only midday. Fuck, it doesn’t normally arrive until late afternoon,” he sounded a little rattled. “Cops?”
“Haven’t seen them yet, but this was an early train to get them here ASAP,” I assumed and glanced down the end of Dingle Street to see if there was any movement inside the campus cop shop, who were basically a glorified security guards.
As expected, two cops appeared, pulling their pants up by their belts to look presentable. They must have received a message and were stepping out to greet them and escort the detective and forensic pathologists around the train carriages where the body was found, further up the tracks behind cordons with security guarding the scene around the clock.
I was going to explore it last night when I was locked outside, but I couldn’t be bothered walking all the way down the valley on the tracks. Maybe I’ll do it tonight.
“Do you know where she is?” Ez asked after a few moments of silence, as I watched the cops walk toward the castle entrance to cross to the other side, where the train tracks are.
“I last saw her in Morgana,” I replied, “she was pretty upset about the other person cutting themselves on her cupcake. You don’t think? Nah, she’s too sweet for that.”
“What?” he pressed, then read my mind. “Do you think she planted the razorblade for the other person to cut themselves on?”
“Yeah, well, she is a fucking Boleyn, ain’t she, so anything is possible,” I replied, going along with the story, even though I didn’t think she did it because she seemed in shock that the other person ate the cupcake that was meant for her. Honestly,this was starting to sound like one of those murder mystery books, Death by Cupcake. Fuck, I needed to smoke a joint.
“True dat,” he agreed, then made a sound like he was smacking his gums. Then I heard Sickle’s voice in the background ask, “The fuck that?” “Lev,” Ez answered Sickle, before adding to me, “The product of her fucked-up daddy, who I think hates her, or else he wouldn’t have sent her here.”
Sickle in the background, “Her fucked up daddy should be ten feet under.”
“Unless he didn’t know,” I argued as the cops vanished into the blanket of shadow inside the castle, as students watched them so, knowing something was brewing. If they read the email from the faculty, they’d know exactly what was coming.
My eyes were fixed on the first-floor window where someone moved across my view, indicating that the library was open.
“She’s pretty, bro,” Ez spoke quietly so Sickle couldn’t hear, then fell quiet waiting for me to agree, but I refused to.
“Hadn’t noticed,” I lied to keep up the pretense.
Nice ass. Pretty, freckled cheeks. Intelligent, humor-filled eyes. I mean, she wasn’t a knockout, but pretty—like she had to be right in front of you to notice her. Covering her face and head with large shades and a baseball cap didn’t help her cause, but then hiding seemed to be her point. Nice hair, an unusual raven black that I wondered was out of a bottle, but suited her nonetheless.
“I need to speak to her about the train,” he said sullenly, telling me what I already knew.
“You said you tried,” I pressed, smiling because he got done by the girl and it was funny as fuck.
“Yeah, but…she…bit me,” he confessed, amused, and I sniggered.
“Bro, the cops are here, so you better get on with it, while I continue to scare the shit out of her,” I urged as I crossed the road to the back entrance of the castle.
“Alright, I’ll chase her up later on today or tonight. Message me when you know she’s def home and I’ll come down,” he requested, sounding distant.
“Yup. Anyway, I’m gonna watch the cops for a bit,” I stated as I came to the foot of the stairs leading up to the first floor of the library.
“Gimme an update if you notice anything interesting,” he said, chomping in my ear.
“The fuck you eating?” I blurted.
“Cake,” he replied. “Carbo loading, bro, for hockey season.”
I rolled my eyes because hockey doesn’t start for months, and he just ate Sickle’s slice earlier. Fuck, the dude is a bottomless pit, always shoveling back whatever is in front of him. “Sure, bro.”
He then chuckled snidely, “Not cupcake with an incriminating piece of metal in it, proper cake.”
“Bad joke,” I hit back because it wasn’t something to laugh about.
