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“Can’t say I care.” The alcohol warms the inside of my stomach, and I finally start to feel warm inside as well as out.
We drink in silence for a while before Penny sets her cup down and folds her arms. “Look, don’t take this as me telling you to leave, but is it really worth it, being here? I’m sure I don’t know half of what you’ve been put through, but the little I’ve seen and heard?”
“I get why Syn hates me, and hate it with a fiery burning passion, but I also get why he’s got everyone targeting me.” I cup the mug in my hands, enjoying the warmth. “I went to see my brother a few weeks ago, and I’m absolutely convinced he didn’t kill anyone. Which means, someone else did, and Cole’s taking the blame for some stupid reason I can’t even understand.”
“But anyone who was here then would have graduated last year.” Penny points out. “How can you find who did it if no one is here?”
I shrug. “That’s not changed since the beginning of the semester. I came here because if you look online and try to find out any information, there’s nothing with any sort of details. No descriptions of suspects, no location of exactly where it happened, no witness statements or interviews from others in the school at the time. Absolutely fucking nothing! I figured a murder on campus would be like an urban legend and everyone would know what happened.” I let out a dry laugh. “I’ve walked past so many people and heard them whisper—or not—about how I’m the sister, or a murderer, and yet no one seems to be able to sayanythingabout it other than that. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. Where else I can look when everything has been covered up to the point people don’t even seem to have any memory of the event happening at all.”
Pursing her lips, Penny nods. “The last few weeks, I’ve been digging too. As much as I can when most people aren’t talking to me.”
“I’d like to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. They barely say anything to me at all but are more than happy to allow me to hear their opinion on me like they can’t find anything else to talk about.”
“People don’t seem to like it when I tell them to fuck off if I hear them talking shit about you.”
Guilt floods me, and I bite my lip. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Isn’t it just the opposite side of the coin to what you were doing?” she asks. “But anyway, I was trying to find out anything, and you’re right. There’s nothing.”
“Actually, I found something,” I tell her. I get up to grab my bag, pulling out the now dog-eared newspaper. “This is the first edition.”
Before I can show it to her, there’s a knock at the door.
Penny rolls her eyes at me then marches to her door, yanking it open. “Fuck off…”
As the venom in her voice dies, I step to the side for a better view. My mouth drops open as I see Dr. Wright at her door. Over her shoulder, he stares at me. Even though I’m wearing clothes, the way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m still wrapped in my towel.
Mouth still pressed into a thin line, he drops his gaze to Penny. “Your greetings need work.”
“What are you doing here?” Penny asks him, finding her voice again.
“Someone reported a student—Ms. Anderson—had vandalized her room.”
“Vandalized? She was attacked.”
As Penny’s hands settled on her hips, squaring up to the professor towering above her, I walk over and put a hand on her shoulder. In the doorway I can see that the audience is still present in the hallway.
“If Ms. Anderson was attacked, why was security not informed?” Dr. Wright’s gaze drifts back to me and he looks me up and down.
I sigh. “Because people like you either won’t believe me, or will say I deserved it.”
“Show me your room.”
“Do you have a search warrant?” I ask.
“I don’t need one.”
As I start to turn so that I can get my key, the newspaper is taken from my hands. When I look back, Dr. Wright is reading the front page. “Give that back.” I don’t care how rude I sound, that newspaper is the only thing close to a piece of evidence that I have.
Dr. Wright looks back at me. “Your room.”
My hands are shaking as I pick up my keys. Hoping that my compliance will get the newspaper returned to me, I do as he says and go to open my door. I step inside and flick the light on. The blood—or whatever the red liquid is—is still wet and glistening.
Still holding tightly to the newspaper, the professor follows me into my room. He looks around, then down to the floor where red footprints lead around the bed to the door, their print getting fainter as they get closer to us.
Rolling up the newspaper, he looks at me. “I want you in my office at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning.” Still holding onto the newspaper, he steps out into the hallway and looks around. “This incident is now being dealt with. You can all continue with whatever you were doing.”
A few people lower their phones, but hardly anyone moves. Dr. Wright walks off, taking my newspaper with him.
