“Maybe she had help.” Marissa looks at Annica and Dani.
“I’m sorry,” Annica starts, “but are you accusing the three of us of murder?”
“All right, that’s enough,” Wes cuts in.
But I’m no longer listening as I catch a glimpse of a beige checkered peacoat walking down the path leading to the southern part of campus. A coat I distinctly remember Miles having.
I shrink back into the group until I’m outside the circle, peering down the path. They’ve changed topic and are all too engaged in conversation to see me creep away after the man. I walk at a fast pace, trying to catch up as he turns the corner on the path, going through the wind tunnel that is situated between two of our large stone buildings. He’s walking fast, almost too fast for me to catch up. Another turn and I lose him as I run around the corner and find no one on the path. It’s dark now and only the sporadic lampposts provide a faint glow of light. I turn back around and run into Asher.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I turn back around, scanning the path, which splits into three. “I thought I saw him again.” When I turn back to Asher, his lips are pursed. He thinks I’m losing it. I can see it in his eyes. “He’s on this campus, I know he is.”
Asher sighs. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
In the car my eyes fill with tears threatening to spill over. “We couldn’t stop this from happening and now Bryce is dead.” He doesn’t say anything. “Why is someone doing this to me?” My voice cracks. “I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s nothing connecting you to Bryce right now. No one knows we were there, and maybe like Wes said, they’ll think it was some kind of drug-induced accident.”
“What if there was another eulogy page down there? Then Grange could somehow get word, and he’ll know it’s me. Two deaths with two eulogies is no longer a coincidence.” I wipe at the tears sliding down my cheeks.
“He works for Boston PD, which is two hours away. He would have nothing to do with this case.”
“How do you know that, though?” Asher opens his mouth to reply. “And don’t say ‘crime documentaries.’” He closes it.
“You said there are seven names in the journal. Who is the next one?”
“Graham Monterra,” I say.
“Hm, I don’t recognize the name.”
I stare blankly out the window. “He was a senior when we were sophomores. Fine art major.”
“Yikes,” Asher says. “Talk about wasting your money. Paying tuition to paint.”
“He was really good actually... Just not to me.” I sigh. “I have no idea where he is or what he’s up to now.”
“I’ll do some digging and find out.”
Asher pulls up to my apartment and I want him to stay, if only to not be alone, but I don’t ask, and he doesn’t offer. He just parks the car and waits for me to exit. He offers no words of reassurance, no comforting touches.
I get in bed and go through their names in my head, the lullaby that puts me to sleep these nights: Jonah, Ryan, Marco, and Bryce. Jonah, Ryan, Marco, and Bryce.
Wesley, Wesley, Wesley.
Asher.
It rains hard on the highway as I drive up to Ivy Gate. I have all the information from Ty about which building Holland teaches in, which office is his, and when his office hours are. I decided after the vigil last night that I would confront him and try to put an end to this mess. I pull up to the building and sit in the car for a moment, giving myself a mental pep talk. Do it for Jonah, for Ryan, for Marco, for Bryce. I fiddle nervously with my coat the whole walk up to his office. I can do this, I can do this. I’m just going to barge into his office and say... what?
The jig is up, Miles.No, no one talks like that. Maybe I’ll say something likeI know exactly what you’ve been up to, Holland.But that doesn’t feel right either. I stop short upon seeing the name plaque next to the door, which is wide open. He has office hours for another hour still so of course it’s open: He’s expecting students. He’s just not expecting me.
I take a breath and stroll in, deciding on not saying anything at all.
But he isn’t here. I let out the breath I was holding. He isn’t here, but these are his office hours—Ty confirmed it. Maybe he stepped out for a minute, maybe I should casually be in here waiting for him when he gets back. I sit at the edge of his desk, facing the door, for one minute, two, three. I imagine him walking in and the shock on his face when he sees me. Ten minutes pass and he still doesn’t come back to his office.
I decide to start snooping around, mainly looking for my journal. I go through the books on his bookshelf and the drawers in his desk. No sign of it anywhere. When I tug on the middle drawer of the desk, it’s locked.
“What are you hiding in here?” I say aloud. I feel around the bottom of the desk for a key or anything to unlock it but come up short. Frustrated, I walk over to his window to think and watch the dark clouds roll in, casting a shadow over the courtyard below. And that’s when I see him. There’s Miles Holland in the courtyard with another girl. She’s turned away from me, a student of his, perhaps. I watch him tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear as he leans in to kiss her. Then he departs, likely coming back to his office. The girl turns to watch him leave, and it’s Adrienne.
