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I’d also waited on a call from Rook or Oliver to tell me everything was fine, but that never came.
And it’s taken me this long to realize they’re playing me for an idiot. No one else would be looking for me, stalking me, orfollowing me. No one else would make me feel watched like them. There’s no other possible culprit for me being on edge and feeling off whenever I’m out, and I’m stupid to think that he wasn’t lying to me in his office just to get me to leave.
Admittedly, I’m not thrilled with myself for how I reacted to being given a shittier grade than I feel like I’d earned, but it’s not like I’ll ever be in a class with him again. And honestly, he’s now made ‘proving’ that I don’t want to be around them really easy.
So fuck you, Rook, I think to myself as I hit the sidewalk and walk toward the small shops I like. I’m not planning to buy anything, though a petty part of me wants to blow as much of Rook’s money as I can on something that I know he won’t like. I haven’t, because money is money and I really am trying to save, but the compulsion to do it is there.
All I want is to walk and grab something for dinner. I’m not asking for much, especially since I’m equal parts embarrassed and hurt. Sure, Rook is a dick. He’s literally the worst person I’ve probably ever met, but Oliver?
I hadn’t expected this from Oliver. Even if he is a serial killer, I thought he really liked me. His absence hurts more than it has a right to, and tears burn at the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t going to stay for them. For either or both of them. I’m well on my way to proving I want nothing to do with them no matter what. But I’d thought Oliver would keep trying until the very end to change my mind.
Not agree to humiliate and lie to me with our professor.
I’m too worked up to even window-shop. I’d planned to pace around a few shops, look for Christmas gifts I don’t need, and finally go home with food. I’d thought I could calm my nerves that way, but every time I try to settle down enough to go into a store for something, I can’t do it. I just need towalk. To try to outpace my problems, and walking around this part of St. Augustine is the best way to do so.
The sun falls beneath the buildings before I realize it, until I’m eventually relying on the street lamps to light my way. I shudder, glad I’d put on a purple hoodie over my tee and running shorts before coming out tonight. It’s not cold enough for me to freeze by any means. It’s nothing like Indiana. But there’s enough of a chill that I’m grateful for the warmth and the ability to curl my fingers into the sleeves of my hoodie and pick at any loose threads.
I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself as I walk. I need to figure out what I’m doing before it gets too late, but all I can do is just walk around the block yet again. The door to the coffee shop catches my eye, and I snort at the notion of a sandwich and coffee for dinner. It wouldn’t be the first time, but I amtryingto eat a little better and consume less than a gallon of caffeine a day. It’s a work in progress. Early progress.
My steps take me along the street, and I can’t help but glance up at the same place I did the day I’d found the body of Mikaela Hayes.
This isn’t something I should be thinking about. The warning to myself rings loud and clear in my head, but I still find myself following the path toward the less-populated street, until I’m standing where I’d found her purse and her plastic cup, ice splattered and crushed all over the ground.
This is where Oliver killed her. Where he’d looked for a person that had a similar appearance to my best friend, dragged her into an alley, and murdered her. And where I’d found her.
My feet drag, but I feel almost like I’m being pulled down the alleyway by invisible magnets, until finally I’m standing almost exactly where I’d found her.
It’s then that I realize why I’ve been rubbing the goosebumps on my arms for the past few minutes, and why the hair on the back of my neck has been standing up as my body tried to warn me of what I’ve been aware of for at least ten minutes.
Someone has been following me.
I turn to face the street, my heart jumping into my throat when I see someone standing at the end of the alley, the light at their back obscuring the details of their face from me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, loudly enough that they have to hear me. The body shape is unfamiliar, but it has to be Oliver or Rook. There’s no one else that would bother trailing me around my neighborhood, or over here. Is it Oliver, come to relive his crime? Or Rook, to lecture me about not doing exactly what he says.
Arguments for both bubble to my lips, and I’m prepared to let loose with either option as the person stalks closer. As they do, they push their hood back from their face so I can see their features in the dim light from the lamp against the wall behind me.
It’s neither of them. I search the face, confused by the strange man who stands there looking expectant. I’ve never met him…have I? My eyes narrow, and I finally realize Ihaveseen this man before.
He’s the one who scared me when I’d been walking around before.
Coldness inks into my bones, and I can’t help but pause and search my mind for any reason he might be following me now. He looks out of place here, somehow. Like he doesn’t belong in St. Augustine at all. “Do I know you?” I ask, turning to face him and scrubbing my clammy hands against my shorts. “I’ve seen you before, when—”
“When I came up behind you by those shops,” the man agrees expectantly. He looks excited, like I’m about to announce that I do remember him as some childhood friend. But really, I don’t know him. He’s not someone whose face I recognize from any aspect of my life.
“Okay. Umm.” I curl my hands into fists at my sides, still utterly confused. “But I’ve never met you before that.”
“We talk all the time,” he refutes, shaking his head. “I thought you’d recognize me.”
I stare at him, perplexed, and wrack my brain yet again for something that will give me any clue as to who he is. “Could you give me a hint?” I request finally. “I’m stupid, maybe? Are we in a class together?” I swear we aren’t, but still. I could be mistaken. Sometimes I don’t pay attention that well. “Do you work in the arts department?”
He rolls his eyes, frowning as he does. He looks irritated with me, exasperation tinging his expression. It’s as though he really doesn’t understand why I don’t know him, and I reallydon’thave any idea who he is. “No,” he says at last, shaking his head. “I’m not associated with your school.”
The man stares at me, as if he’s giving me one more chance to recognize him. Like the knowledge is going to just strike me like a bolt of lightning.
Unfortunately today, there are no thunderstorms in the St. Augustine area.
At last he shifts, moving his weight from foot to foot as he looks down enough for the bald spot of his head to look shiny in the bad lighting. “I’m Rob,” he says at last, slowly and condescendingly.
