A picture loads.
My parents’ murder scene.
My mother’s lifeless eyes. The gigantic hole in my father’s head. It looks like something straight out of a horror movie.
My eyes burn. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. Bile rises in the back of my throat, but I swallow it down.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket, grab my book bag, and rush out of the hospital.
Inside the auditorium, the lights flicker on.
It’s empty. Bare. Just rows of empty desks.
My vision blurs. Heat drains from my face.
The projection screen drops.
A video starts playing—Irvin beating up a guy.
My heart drops. I blink. Hard. I clutch my chest.
Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
This video isn’t real.
Irvin’s silver hair shines. The footage is blurry, but I can’t tell if it’s actually him. He punches the guy until all I see is dark hair mixed with blood.
Irvin slits his throat next and tosses him onto a couch. His back faces the camera. The image blurs further.
I step back as another clip plays.
I recognize the guy.
He’s on the football team.
Irek Williams.
Another picture flashes onto the screen—his obituary. He’s part of the American Billionaire Club. The one who was murdered a week ago.
Is Irvin the killer on campus?
No. It can’t be.
He told me he doesn’t kill anyone unless they are a threat.
I can’t confront him; he won’t admit it. I asked him if he killed Elena, and he told me no. What reason would he have to kill her?Why would Irvin target these people? The person who’s behind this knows I’m hiding my identity.
The video plays again.
I rush to the projection room and yank open the door.
No one’s there.
The screen goes black.
Like nothing ever happened.
Did I imagine it all?
