Meg steps in a moment later, changed into shorts and a blouse. She shoots Christianna a questioning look. Christiannashifts just enough to make room, and Meg crosses the space to sit beside her, tugging the blanket up over their laps.
I take them in. Opposite sides of the same coin. One all cascading blonde hair and blue eyes, the other dark curls and brown eyes.
I don’t understand why one of them affects me and the other doesn’t.
“I’ve been asking Ms. Daye about the history of the Dark Angel,” I say. “She mentioned you were there as well. Thought you might help us understand.”
Meg nods. “Oh. That.”
Both women seem remarkably unconcerned for something that altered the course of an entire institution.
Do they really think I didn’t run background checks?
Christianna speaks first, voice low. “I told them what I remember. It started as pranks. Then it changed. STD died. I still don’t know how it became one, a woman, and two, the killer.”
Meg snorts. “I always assumed it was a woman. My question was why it took so long.”
Christianna nods once, sharp agreement.
“What did he do?” I ask.
Meg lets out a humorless laugh. “Better question is what he didn’t do. We were all in the production. His parents bought him into directing. He controlled casting, recommendations, everything. We were taking a music appreciation course under him.”
She doesn’t soften it.
“If he cornered you, he tried to fuck you.”
Erik and I both straighten.
“He was assaulting students?” Erik asks.
"He went beyond students." Meg shrugs. "He was a 'pretty boy,' a 'popular boy.'" She makes air quotes. "The kind people followed before they knew better. He had that peaked in highschool football look. And it was a different time. Before Me Too. The school knew. They buried it."
Her jaw tightens.
“You slept with him to keep your GPA. Especially if you were on scholarship.” A pause. “Things happened.”
She looks at Christianna.
Christianna’s lips part. She looks away.
“I was a scholarship student,” she says quietly. “With distance, it sounds as if there is choice. But students that talked were no longer students. My housing and meal plan were scholarship dependent. There was no choice.”
The room shifts.
Her eyes shine. She blinks once.
I feel like an asshole.
Their hands are clasped beneath the blanket.
She looks at me. Direct. Controlled.
“Why do you need to know?” she asks. “It’s painful. And it’s private.”
I glance at Erik, weighing whether to answer.
He surprises me by stepping in.
