The dance was cut short. All the boys were hauled into the dining hall, where the dean went ape-shit looking for the culprit. His beady eyes drilled into each of us as he paced up and down the tables, trying to peel back lies and see who really did it.
No one said a word.
No one admitted to anything.
“I’ll be conducting further interviews in the morning.” His voice resonated across the room. “Now everyone is to go to their rooms, and no one is allowed off campus until I’ve sorted out this mess!”
There was a collective groan.
“The ban will lift as soon as the truth is revealed. Think about your fellow students and do the right thing.”
With that, the dean spun out of the hall and we all trudged back to our dorm rooms. I filled Riley and Kade in as we walked but they still wanted to peek their heads in and have a look. The cleaning crew barked us out of there. Their shouts were muffled by facemasks. They looked pretty pissed and I didn’t blame them.
The smell took a few hours to dissipate. If I inhale deeply, I can still detect a faint whiff of manure.
Assholes.
It had to be Ivan and his crew of idiots.
They’re gonna pay. Screw the third strike. I seriously want to smash heads.
Thumping the mattress, I let out a soft growl and roll on my side. I stare into the darkness, consumed by thoughts of Chris having to sleep next to Ivan’s room. She’ll get no shut-eye worrying about that creep. What if he tries to sneak in? Was that his plan? Make her room unlivable so she’d be forced down next to him?
I bolt upright, my breath catching in my throat as the idea nearly blinds me.
My heart’s thundering. I whip the covers back and shove my shoes on. Snatching my sweater, I creep past Kade’s snoring body and ease the door open.
The hall is dark and quiet. I didn’t check my watch, so I have no idea what time it is. Holding my breath, I sneak to the stairwell and gently make my way down. Ivan’s room is on the first corridor to the left. The downstairs door whines when I open it. I wince and go still, counting to ten while listening for feet.
Silence.
I stealth walk against the wall until I reach Chris’s new room, then gently tap the wooden panel.
“Chris,” I whisper. “It’s Trey.”
Turning the handle, I slip in and shut the door behind me.
Something’s not right.
It’s dark and I can’t see shit, but I know something’s not right.
Without thinking twice, I flick on the light and find her bed empty. The covers are flipped back like she got out of bed in a hurry. The flashlight I returned to her is missing, which means she’s probably gone to the showers. I tell myself it’s that simple as I switch the light back off and creep outside.
I’m not as careful as I run to the hockey rink.
I don’t know why I’m in such a rush. Something is driving me forward. A fear I can’t explain is eating my insides hollow.
As I climb through the window, I tell myself it’s nothing. I’m about to find the little hottie in the shower again. Heck, maybe I could join her.
I grin, but it dies on my lips the second my feet touch the floor.
The shower’s not running.
There’s a slow drip, but I can’t hear the movement of a body drying off or anything that would resemble Chris getting dressed.
Pushing the toilet door back, I walk down to the showers, looking for evidence of Chris in the murky light.
A shadowy pile near one stall catches my eye and I leap towards it. A damp towel, nothing too exciting. I pick it up with a huff and throw it towards the laundry basket. That’s when I notice the slick dampness left behind on my fingers.
Rubbing my thumb and middle digit together, I walk towards the window, hoping the moonlight can help me out. I gaze at the dark smudge on my fingers and my unsettled stomach bursts into flames.
My eyes bulge and I risk all, scrambling for the light and flicking it on so I can confirm my darkest fear.
Blood.
My hand is red with blood.
Running for the towel, I yank it out of the laundry basket and stretch it wide so I can get a better look. There’s a huge smudge on the middle of the towel, a red warning that’s making my knees buckle.
“Shit,” I whisper, spinning back around to look at the showers.
With the light on, I can see red droplets in the stall. The water in the bottom of the shower dilutes them. Weak red trails run towards the drain.
I grip the tiles and fight for air.
Chris’s sweater is crumpled on the floor. I snatch it up. A small piece of card flicks out from the fabric and sticks to the damp tiles. With a wrinkled frown, I scrape it up and flip it over.
It’s a photo.
A gorgeous girl with luscious locks of hair is grinning at the camera. She’s stunning—big hoops in her ears, multiple rings on her fingers, designer shirt. Her face is made up like a beauty queen, and her smile’s enough to power a city. The guy beside her is making a face at the camera, his tongue sticking out, his eyes crossed. His arm’s around her shoulders, holding her like she matters.
I frown at the image, confused by what the photo has to do with anything…until it hits me.
Those eyes, that nose…that mouth.