Deleted. With that, I toss my phone across the room and bury my head in my hands.
“Play.”
My head whips up. What was that?
“It’ll make you feel better,” I hear him whisper. “Even if for just a little while.”
Goose bumps rise on my arms and I feel myself shiver, even as the room grows strangely warm.
“Chace?” I blurt out, my voice wobbling. “Is that…you?”
“The song you were playing when we met.” His voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, echoing across my dorm room walls. “Play that one. It’ll quiet them all.”
My whole body trembles. I want nothing more than for this to be real, but how can it be? I’m obviously hearing things, or having some kind of post-traumatic hallucination. Still, I get up and unpack my Maggini, following the illusion even if only to give myself something to do. I cradle the violin under my chin, position my hand on the bow. And as I play “The Immigrant Theme,” I feel something new, something almost supernatural, coursing through my veins, dripping from my hands into the music. When I finish the song, my body slowly coming back down to earth, I realize he was right.
My playing really did shut everyone up.
Just before six, the hour when I’d ordinarily be going down to dinner, I hear footsteps approaching my door.
“Nicole,” a female voice calls out—a voice that is decidedly not Brianne’s. “It’s Detective Kimble and Officer Ladge.”
My stomach plummets. I make my way to the door, keeping my eyes on the ground to avoid the stares of the stragglers who have nothing better to do than spy on my bedroom door. I’ve changed out of my uniform by now and am wearing a pair of flannel pajamas, which makes the scene inside my pocket-sized dorm room even weirder—me, a cop, and a detective filling the cramped space between my bed and dresser.
“How did the pictures get out?” I demand as soon as Detective Kimble closes the door behind her. I don’t mean to sound so accusatory, I know I should be on my best behavior in front of them. But I can’t help it.
“I’m afraid there was a breach,” Officer Ladge says mildly, as if it’s some unimportant, routine occurrence. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“But—but that shouldn’t have happened,” I sputter. “Those pictures were private, and now—now I can’t even leave my room!”
“Unfortunately, the photos ceased to be private the moment they were found on the body of a murder victim,” Detective Kimble says. “We hoped to keep this under the radar, too, but with all the news coverage on the case, it would have gotten out eventually.”
“We’re installing extra security at the school in light of all the attention the case is getting, and we’ll make sure to have your door manned at all times so you can feel safe.” Officer Ladge actually has the nerve to smile at me, as though this is going to make everything better.
“Thanks, but I’m actually going to go stay with my mom for a little while,” I tell him. “Hopefully by the time I come back—”
“That won’t be possible,” Kimble interrupts.
I’m sensing a pattern here. She’s obviously taken on the Bad Cop role, while Ladge pretends to be Mr. Nice(r) Guy.
“I’ve spoken to your headmaster,” she continues. “We need you to stay put until the investigation concludes.”
“What? Why?” I swallow hard. “I’m not in any trouble, am I?”
“No—” Officer Ladge starts to assure me, but Detective Kimble interrupts.
“Not yet. But it’s our job to investigate everyone closest to the victim, so we’ll need to keep you nearby for any further questioning. And as Officer Ladge said, we’ll assign you a security detail so that you can come and go to your classes safely.”
I slump into my desk chair, leaning my head against my knees.
“Is that what you came to tell me?”
“Actually, no.” Kimble pulls a laminated paper out of her coat pocket. “We have a warrant to search your room.”
“What?” I cry. Fear jolts through me as I spin around to take in my former haven of a bedroom, filled with my most precious music, my secret writings, mementos and photographs from before the accident. They can’t go through my things, they can’t.
“It’s all very routine,” Officer Ladge says in his attempt at reassurance. “We’ve done the same with the victim’s room, and a couple others. There could be important pieces of information in your possession that you’re not even aware of.”
I watch in panic as Detective Kimble pulls a plastic bag out of her briefcase and she and Officer Ladge slip on latex gloves. What the hell are they expecting to find in here? I keep my eyes on the floor so I won’t see them empty my desk, rifle through my chest of drawers, and examine the bottles of pain medication and tubes of scar cream lining my sink. But I can hear it all. And at the sound of arms lifting my violin case, I jump back to my feet.