Or maybe I need to lie down immediately because in another breath I realize the movement isn’t an afterthought of a life once lived here, but a real, living person.
I only catch a glimpse of dark hair and black clothes before he vanishes, but it’s definitely a person... A tall, broad-chested, ominous person spying on me. My breath falters in my lungs, the shudder in the air shaking me now. Breath catches in my throat,the blur of black movement sending ripples all the way to my toes.
Idefinitelyneed to lie down.
Inhaling through my nose, I rationalize: of course I’d see someone in the window. I’m at college... there are people here.
Also, ghosts are white... and they don’t exist.
Following Melinda, we step inside the cold, main building. Another deep shudder shakes me as the echo of the enormous double doors closing resonates through the entrance hall, overpowering the soft chatter of students nearby.
The interior is as I expected: grand, open, musty, old. High ceilings, stone staircases, and polished marble under my sneakers. Modern art pieces dot the walls—a breath of new life.
Melinda’s heels click against the shiny floor as we follow her down a labyrinth of corridors. It’s a maze. Left, right, left, left. Every corridor splits, bends, turns, winds. I hope the dean has a map or I might get lost.
Finally, we reach the office. Melinda knocks three times. After hearing a faintcome in, she pushes the door open, stepping aside to let us in.
Wall-to-wall bookshelves jump out at me first. A mid-century wooden desk crowds the center, and a plush, antique rug in rich hues of brown and red covers the parquet that peeks out near the walls. The scent of dusty, old books mingles with the warmth of the burning candles lining the windowsills.
If I spot a Ouija board anywhere, I am out of here.
“Ah, Hailey Vaughn, correct?” The dean—Dr. F. Harrison according to the plaque decorating her desk—rises to her feet, her white dress suit standing out against the dark background. “I’m so glad you made it. People get lost on the way in at least once a week. Don’t ask how many times I’ve driven out to rescue stranded delivery drivers.” She moves her dark eyes to Dad, her hand extended. “And you must be Charlie, Hailey’s father.” Afirm handshake later, she beams, pointing out two leather chairs before her desk. “Please, take a seat.”
With a polite nod we sink into them as Dr. F. settles behind her desk, hands clasped on the polished surface. She’s not as uptight as Melinda, but still not friendly.
“Your arrival at Lakeside College is quite unorthodox,” she begins, her casual tone carrying a hint of an edge. “And I’m not only talking about being late for the start of the semester. Your accident...” Her eyes flick to Dad before she holds my gaze, waiting. I don’t know what to say so I keep quiet. “We’ve never had a student with amnesia attend here, but we’re ready to accommodate your recovery.”
I blink at her, trying to gauge what she wants. An apology for the inconvenience? Maybe a thank you for her concern? I decide on another simple nod, hoping that’s enough.
“Well,” she continues, “I trust you’re feeling fit enough to start your classes right away?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter, forcing a smile.
“That’s excellent. We’re excited to have you. I trust you’ll find the community supportive and accommodating. If you need anything, I’m usually here from early morning until late afternoon.”
She pushes a small handbook my way, the bold title not what I expected:Lakeside College—Rules of Conduct.
While Dad jumps in with questions about security on campus, I open the handbook, flipping to page three where therulesare listed. The dean reassures my father, cutting the interrogation short as she pivots back to me.
“As you’re aware, Hailey, Lakeside College has a reputation to uphold. This reputation hinges upon our students’ conduct. We have a set of stringent rules and regulations by which our students are expected to abide.” She casts another quick glance at my father, either looking for reassurance or ensuring he’slistening. “You’ll find them all in the handbook, but I’d like to reiterate the main ones right now.”
I nod, my throat dry. Dad didn’t mention any rules when I filled in the admission documents the other day.
“This is a closed campus and we take safety very seriously,” Dr. Harrison begins, her gaze idling between the two of us. “Some of our students have famous parents, some have received threats, some are here under witness protection programs, therefore you’re only allowed to leave the grounds during the weekends and only after obtaining a signed permission slip.”
She pins me with a pointed stare as if expecting me to protest, but I simply nod again. It’s not like I have a choice. Where will I go without a car?
I don’t exactly plan on wandering the sprawling forest.
“Academic excellence is not just expected but mandatory,” she says, eyeing the papers littering her desk. “I see you’re taking on Acting, that’s great. Our program is demanding and your performance will be closely monitored. Any significant dip in grades will require counseling or additional tutoring. Lastly, we have a strict policy against drugs and underage drinking. Any student caught in possession of drugs and any student under the age of twenty-one found under the influence will face immediate expulsion.”
I glance at Dad, but he’s not fazed. Of course he’s not. He’s a cop. He’s probably loving the rules. I find that I don’t mind, either. With a little luck, I won’t be here long.
The conversation moves forward smoothly after that. We discuss class schedules, assignments, and—yay—I get a map.
Dr. Harrison wraps up, covering everything else I need to know in a few minutes, and Melinda comes back, watching my dad hug me goodbye outside the main building.
“Call me every evening,” he tells me, breaking away to take a better look at me. “And call me if anything happens or you start remembering. And call me if you want to talk, okay?”
