Twenty minutes later, and he hadn’t left his room, yet I wanted to see him more for two reasons. First, I found him intriguing and liked his company; the second reason only revealed itself thirty minutes ago, when he said he associated with the Warwicks. I could use him to get to the Warwicks, but I had to do it sneakily, without his knowledge.
I made a plan in my head to ask the metalhead, Lev —yes, Lev, that’s his name —to show me around campus, then hopefully he might reveal more about his relationship with the Warwicks. Was it him in my room yesterday? Was it him who stole my gun?
I grabbed my shoulder bag and packed it with my keycard, phone, and money to buy snacks and water from one of the cafes. Then, if Lev comes with me, we’ll take the bus around campus. Frustration bubbled up in my stomach at the thought of leaving my room, knowing that masked men could get in. The only weapon I had was my knife, and it was with me 24/7, so there was no chance the masked men could steal it.
I left my room and walked down the hall to Lev’s door, knocked, and listened. I heard coughing, distant tinny music, and expected footsteps, and the door opened, but nothing happened. I knocked again and got silence, so it seemed I was exploring Castlehill alone, and I was completely fine with that.
I stepped out into the sunshine and adjusted the visor on my baseball cap to block out the bright light, then walked for about ten minutes along the path to Ashthorn Castle and through the walkway under the creepy fawn statue, past the elaborate stained-glass windows, and glanced up at the treacle-colored staircase curving up the main library, remembering my father’s request to find information on my stepmother. There was plenty of time before her birthday, so I’ll look for old school photos of her another day, when I'm in the mood.
The first café I entered on Dingle Street was crowded with police, working hard, drinking coffee, and looking at paper maps instead of being at the scene of the crime and ending this charade. My initial reaction was to leave and try the next café, but I was tempted to eavesdrop on their conversations and snoop at the notes they were taking.
It was odd because I thought the alleged crime was confined to the train carriages, so why did they need to invade student spaces with their authority? There’s not a single student in here because they’ve been scared off, probably, so that made me stubbornly forced my way in.
One plain-clothed officer was talking on the phone while others were quietly chatting. When I approached the counter and ordered bottled water, a turkey sandwich, a packet of potato chips, and an apple.
The girl behind the counter looked the same age as me and possibly a student, and woreJesson a name badge. As she added up my purchase on the register, I leaned in and quietly asked, “Why are they in here?”
She scanned the room of cops first before quietly answering, “They’re waiting for the Forensic team to finish inspecting the body in the carriages.”
“Oh, okay, thanks, Jess,” I smiled, then paid her with a twenty-dollar note, and left, stuffing my goods into my shoulder bag. I crossed the road on high alert as this was when the Warwick prick confronted me, but I managed to fight him off.
Unfortunately, my baseball cap and sunglasses were knocked off my head, which was another thing I had to retrieve from him along with my gun. Luckily, I had a spare cap and an old pair of sunglasses that sat a little crooked on my nose. Gosh, I really needed to place an order in an online hardware store.
With my class schedule in my hand, I walked to the Business School to map out where my classes were as other students were doing the same. It was much larger and spread out than I first thought, but I didn’t get the chance to explore last time I was here because of that Ezrah shithead.
Anyway, three of my classes are in the Elm Building, which is three stories tall, and I was eager to go to the top level to enjoy the view. There was an elevator, but I chose to run up for exercise, avoiding students coming down in groups because, unlike me, they had friends here. I could tell I wasn't in shape when I reached the second level, panting, and I had to stop to catch my breath.
As I held onto the side rail, a pair of shiny black shoes confidently trotted down to the landing, and I pretended to look at the student artwork on the walls so it didn’t seem like I was just catching my breath.
“Are you okay there?” a smooth, deep voice asked, and I glanced up to see a handsome, square-jawed older man with dark brown hair, going a little silver, which suited his distinguished features.
“Yes,” I smiled as my breath felt like lead in my chest. “Just admiring the art.”
His blue eyes glanced at them as if he hadn’t noticed them before, and then it occurred to me who this man was. The Finance tutor that Prick Warwick warned me to stay away from. I couldn’t quite remember the specifics because I was seething, focused on scratching his eyes out.
“Do you have classes here?” he asked in that simmering hot voice.
I swallowed over my nerves, dashing about in my chest, “Yes. Um, three classes. I think one is on the top floor.”
“Finance,” he pointed out, “is on the top floor.”
“Yes, that’s what my class schedule states,” I replied, pretending that I didn’t know he was a tutor as his cologne met my nose, and I had to turn away as my cheeks burned.
“That’s my class,” he smiled with perfect teeth, and I almost died at how beautiful he was. He held out his hand for me to shake, “Dean. Just call me Dean.”
“Hi,” I took his hand, trying hard to seem mature, but he’d know how old I was anyway if I was in his class. “Adina. Addie. People just call me Addie.”
“Okay, Addie,” he said cheerfully as he swept past me. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Hopefully,” I breathed, then patted my hot cheeks, before remembering something and calling down to him as he descended the stairs. “Ah, sir, Dean.”
He stopped to gaze up at me, looking like a scene from a movie.Pull your shit together, Addie.“Yes?” he asked in that friendly, but authoritarian tone to remind me that he was older and wiser.
“I don’t know where I could locate…um, like hardware supplies around here?” I asked hopefully.
“What sort of supplies?” he pressed curiously.
“Well, I have a mouse problem, so a mouse trap and fishing nylon, and maybe string and p,” I stopped myself at the word, ‘poison’. “Fish hooks.”
