“There was another murder; out of respect for our loss, Carpentry was cancelled,” he tells us as he and Mateo start shoving each other like a couple of schoolboys before pulling a folded newspaper out of his back pocket and sliding it across to us.
“So the victim took Carpentry?” I ask, confused as I scan the articles on the front page, the passport-size snapshot of the latest victim hidden at the bottom beside a coupon for cocktails. She’s wearing a cheerleading uniform; hardly strikes me as the woodwork type.
“No, but death is very triggering for me.” His face is sullen as his lip wobbles as he says it. Another strike from Mateo across the back of his head seems to drag him out of his bereft state almost instantly.
“So, you faked latent trauma to get out of class?” I deadpan, already knowing the answer.‘Back-alley Brandon,’ nicknamed as such for the hours he spends trading, smoking, and selling weed between lessons, setting up shop just beyond the out-of-bounds forest’s edge, is creative with his ways of dodging his classes. If I remember rightly, I’m pretty sure he had a brain bleed last week and that got him out of social studies.
“Got me out of class and a pop quiz,” he retorts proudly, as though that is reason enough to manipulate the system.
The clattering of ladders has us all turning to the end of the dining hall towards the exit where Mr. Crane and Mrs. Kasinksky are adding another framed photo to theline of others amongst the candles, flowers, and memorial cards. Another addition to the shrine of victims that only adds another layer of sombre energy to the cafeteria.
“Hold onto your heads, the Horseman might be coming for you,” Brandon wails theatrically, making me jump.
“Insensitive, Brandon. Dick move,” Megan rebukes as she wraps her arms around her waist a little tighter.
“The papers are saying he likes them dark-haired, in their early twenties with light eyes and fair skin. Hate to point out the obvious, ladies.”
Megan and I share a glance, the unspoken truth between us clear, we’re the horseman’s ideal prey. The tabloid-style reporting and catchy title feels intentionally insensitive, but what should I expect from a small-town rag trying to profit off the senseless deaths of young girls? The killer has certainly upped his game in the last year, but with a track record spanning three years, it wouldn’t make sense to close the university. Vigilance and awareness—that’s the advice I was given when I had approached the help desk when I officially signed up for my preferred courses, the receptionist looking tired as she reeled off the same spiel she had likely been forced to repeat to every new attendee here at Hells Haven.
“Three girls in as many weeks, he’s escalating. I was sure the girl who got taken before summer break ended would be the last while he regrouped. Her body had been so badly brutalised a formal identification still hasn’t been announced.”
Without missing a beat, Mateo adds gravely, “He’s abandoning his pattern.”
“All while these bottom-feeders are profiting. Makes me sick,” Megan grits out, stabbing her finger at the newspaper.
I look at the pictures of the young women, and a jolt of unease skitters up my spine.
“I’m surprised your parents didn’t haul you home.”
Megan belly laughs at my remark. “My parents barely know I exist. And besides, I have Mateo looking out for me,” she coos, snuggling into his embrace.
“That you do, baby.” These two are clueless if they think this isn’t what a relationship looks like.
“You guys are too freaking cute,” I say wistfully, the acidic tang of jealously lingering on my tongue. My smile small but genuine.
The rubbing noses is a step too far, and I return to reading the article. Murder, mayhem, and mystery—those are things I can get on board with right now.
“Mimi Winthorp, Emma Penelope Walker, Stella Faye Waters,” I read off the victims’ names, their photos grainy enough I could imagine my face in their place. “You know, I heard they never retrieved their heads, their bodies beaten blue and bloody with a crop before they were drained.”
“Enough,” Megan bellows, garnering the attention of the students and teachers around us. I reach across the table for her hand and squeeze it, understanding that talking about the murders is upsetting her.
I don’t reveal the ugly truth that the killer has likely cut off his victims’ heads to keep as trophies because the mental image alone of these poor girls’ heads sat on some dusty shelf somewhere is sickening to the average person.
‘And you’re not an average person?’that little voice in my head asks.
I’ve seen the depravity a person can do to another human being up close and personal; there’s nothing average about me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CALEB
I’ve been saddling Cooper with ‘watch Ebony duty’since we found her, but today he insisted I play my part—it would be good for me to see how far we can push her, apparently.
I’ve seen her on the recordings he’s made. I’ve watched that shit on a loop every night since Ezra told us she had returned to Hells Haven. My growing obsession with the grainy footage of my Dove has had me fucking my fist to the point I’m concerned for my health. I often remind myself I hate her, that everything we are doing right now is to teach her a lesson for her betrayal. But the anger is masking something deeper—something I won’t let the prying eyes of the world witness. I can’t even let Cooper in on my thoughts.
To say we were less than happy about her decision to become the lecturer’s TA was an understatement. There were too many incidents where they would have to be alone, where she would be unprotected if she needed us.
You hate her though, right?I shove away the reminder that I swore to punish her and not protect her, but it feels like the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself as I sit here and watch as the lines around her eyes crinkle sweetly, as she laughs at something her roommate has just whispered in her ear.
