Ash stood in front of me like a presidential bodyguard. "Bridgette, bring the car around. I'll handle them."
She pushed through the reporters and cameras to get the car, while Ash blocked me from view, glaring at anyone who got too close. "Miss Travis has been through a trauma and is in need of peace and quiet to heal. She will not be answering questions. Now leave." Or else, his stare said.
One bold cameraman stepped forward, and Ash widened his stance. I imagined him knocking the guy out with one blow to the neck and mentally heard the sharp crack as bone hit pavement. But hospital security intervened, creating a path to Bridgette's car: “Party’s over, guys! Time to go home!”
I slid into the back of the car, Ash got in the passenger seat—the first time I'd ever seen him in a car and not on his bike—and Bridgette drove away, hardly slowing for the assholes trying to get pictures of us.
"If they get hit, it serves them right," she said.
Bridgette and Ash talked all the way back to the dorms, but I was too tired to join in. Sighing, I rested my head against the window, watching the sights of Boston speed by.
***
Once I was settled in my bed, Ash kissed me and stood. "I'll call you tonight. Get some rest, sweetheart."
Bridgette grabbed her keys. "I'm going to drop him off at his bike. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Seeing them leave together made my stomach hurt, and I recognized the faint stirrings of unwarranted jealousy. Don't be stupid. They're just taking care of me.
I tried to sleep, tried to read, tried to study—and finally just gave up. I was done being in bed. I needed to stretch, to breathe in fresh air and feel my body move. I also needed to check in with Professor Cavin and make sure everything was on track for next year.
My legs tired quickly as I walked through Harvard Square. The skies were grey, the rain soft, like heavy eyes trying to hold back tears and failing. The droplets trickled down Lucky's abandoned coffee kiosk, a dark shell calling forth even darker memories, weeping for the past. My thoughts had no place for Lucky and pushed those memories away, locking them in chains. But I wept for the girl who took a life.
"They say he was a murderer."
I turned to the voice at my side and hit a cloud of smoke. A man, taller than Ash and bigger, a cigarette on his lips, stared at the kiosk like it held answers to questions that kept him up at night. He was bald, muscular, in his forties. A tattoo peeked out from under his collar and ran up his neck—roses on a vine of thorns.
"You heard about that?" His voice had gravel in it.
I turned back to the kiosk, hiding my face, hoping he hadn't recognized me. I didn't want to be that girl again, blood on her hands. "Something about midnight."
The man sucked down on his lips, so loud you could hear it. "The Midnight Murderer. He stalked this girl for years. Sent her letters, set up this kiosk just so he could be near her. I wondered, what's so special about her, huh? And then they showed a photo of this pretty thing. Eyes like chocolate. Lips like red wine. Enough to drive a man crazy."
"She didn't drive him anything."
He grunted. "You ever loved someone so much you'd kill for them?"
"Maybe."
"Then you've been driven crazy, too. Love makes us beasts, hungry for connection. The Midnight Murderer craved this girl. She filled some hole in his ravenous heart."
I chuckled. "So he kidnapped her for the honeymoon?"
The man shrugged. "We all show love in different ways. Love is as love does."
"He hated her."
"I never said he didn't." He turned to walk away.
"Are you a student here?" Trying to finish your degree after prison?
"A student of history." He disappeared in the growing mist, like a ghost swallowed up by white.
Shivering, my clothes soaked through, I tried to walk, but my knees buckled. The bitter taste filled my mouth again. My ears buzzed. My head spun.
"Catelyn? Catelyn?"
A hand rested on my shoulder, and I jumped.
"It's me, Catelyn. Let me help you."
I looked into the kind eyes of Professor Cavin and gave him my hand. He helped me stand and walked me back to his office. I sat across from his desk, rubbing my head as he made us tea on his illegal hot plate. The peppermint drink gave me focus, warmed me up, and made me think of Ash.
"What were you doing out there, Catelyn? Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I needed to stretch, and I wanted to see how the scholarships were going."
He frowned as I stirred my tea and sipped it. "Catelyn, I'm afraid things aren't going well in that department. You didn't complete your final paper last semester, and that has affected some of the scholarship opportunities."
I set the tea down. "But you gave me an extension."