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Whether it’s one less worry off my mind, or the residual irritation from having to eat my tray of rice in front of Syn before work, as I’m clocking out after my evening shift in the dining hall, when my first idea where to look for information hits me.
One of the chefs is still in the staff room, waiting for me so he can lock up. He’s on the couch with his feet on the arm, reading a copy of the university newspaper. I rarely see anyone reading it because most people read the digital version. In fact, I didn’t even realize there was a paper version.
When my brother was arrested, I refused to look into the details. I’d be distracted by the comment section on TikTok with the awful things written about him by people who never even heard of him before.
I didn’t watch the news anyway, and I certainly didn’t read official news sites. The closest I got was articles shared on Facebook, and again, I’d always get distracted by the comments.
When I finally decided to look into the circumstances of what had happened, I was already in a new high school. It was only then that I discovered how few details had been shared anywhere, especially compared to other murder trials.
The thing is, although I didn’t really pay much attention back then, I’m almost sure I remember seeing a photograph of a room and something saying this was where JP was killed. Only, I’ve never seen it since.
Of course, I could be imagining it, but I just feel like information was deleted or hidden. Which seems absolutely insane when the world loves tragedies like this. Plus, that would take a lot of power or money to accomplish, and why would you need to cover it up when someone has already confessed?
I stare at the newspaper in the chef’s hands and the brain fog seems to clear.
The Keyingham Ledger.
If there’s still a physical copy now, then there was one back then. Their website has next to nothing on it; just a tribute to JP—which also seemed a little suspicious to me. But if there’s a physical archive…
As I hurry back to my room, the exhaustion I was feeling starts to lift. It’s Friday night, so most students have either left to go home for the weekend or travel, or they’re partying. The library will almost certainly be empty.
After rushing through a shower to wash away the smell of the kitchen, I change into a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. With my damp hair pulled back into a messy bun, I’m straight back out of my room and walking across campus to the library.
My route takes me past the student parking lot. From what I have learned, the students here come from all across the US, and a few from overseas, but there are usually a lot of really expensive parked cars with New York plates on them. Tonight, there’s more here than I expect.
If people are sticking around, it probably means there’s a party. I’ve never been to one, aside from the Freshman Welcome Mixer, but I’ve realized that the faculty turn a blind eye to anything that isn’t related to grades, and that includes the underage drinking on campus.
As I suspected, the library is empty aside from one of the librarians; an old woman called Ethel whose eyesight seems to be better than the rest of the faculty. This is the only place where the rules seem to be upheld. She looks up from the thick romance book she’s reading as I approach the desk.
“The university newspaper, The Keyingham Ledger… do you keep hard copies of previous editions?” My fingers, behind my back, are crossed.
“Hard copies?” She tilts her head back and forth like an owl. “I thought your generation was all about digital everything.”
I point at her book. “I prefer physical copies.”
Ethel nods, and then she shakes her head. “The physical copies are in the basement archives, but you need to come before seven on a weekday. I can’t leave the desk unmanned, and it’s only me.”
Feeling utterly deflated, I turn and leave. Outside, I sit on a bench, staring out across the campus.
I came here thinking finding out the truth would be easy, but we’re nearly halfway through the semester, and I’m no closer to finding any answers. Now that I don’t have plans tomorrow, I think I’ll try to visit Cole—if he’ll allow visitors. Maybe now that I’ve been here, and he sees I’ve got no intention of leaving, he’ll finally spill some secrets and tell me what happened that night.
After enjoying the peace, for a while, I head back to my room. It’s only as I’m walking back that I finally see other people.
Royal.
Even from this distance, I recognize his muscular outline. Apparently, so does my pussy. Royal has barely even looked at me since that night, and whenever he has, he’s been right beside Syn. And yet my body still remembers how his touch made me feel.
Before my mind starts to betray me and replay the memory of fucking him, I shake the memories from my head. What happened in that church basement should stay there…
Keyingham Church.
Which is the same direction Royal is heading. There’s nothing else that way…
Exactly what did I see in that church anyway?
That night, Royal distracted me. He’d done a good job. Mostly, when I remember that night, I either thought about how good it felt when he fucked me as I watched an orgy, or I would get angry at myself when I started to feel bad because he fucked me and acted like it never happened.
He’d distracted me so well that I barely even think about the orgy in a non-sexual kind of way.
