But there it is, unmistakable in the middle of my desk drawer: a thick kitchen knife, covered with crusted blood.
The thought of that blade plunging into the skin and soul I loved makes me want to rip this entire room to shreds. My arms and legs begin to tingle, my vision turning hazy, and I know from past experience that this is the start of a panic attack. But I can’t afford to give in to it now. I need to think straight.
Someone clearly planted the weapon in my room. But they were a day late. If they’d done it yesterday, when Detective Kimble searched my things, I would have been arrested on the spot. I shudder in horror.
My mind races as I stare at the weapon. If I turn it in and explain that I’m being set up, maybe the cops will be able to use DNA on the knife to find out who did this to Chace.
Or…No one will believe that I was being set up. I could be arrested the second I make the call to Detective Kimble.
I grab my phone to dial Mom, but hang up as soon as it occurs to me that this is not a conversation I can afford anyone lingering outside my door to hear.
“Chace,” I whisper into the air, my throat thick with tears. “I need you so much right now. I don’t know what to do.”
But of course, there’s no answer. Why do I keep thinking Chace’s spirit will help me? I can’t get lost in these hopeful delusions; I need to figure out a plan. Now. I pace my room, hands trembling as I eye the sickening weapon in my desk. What am I going to do, what am I going to do?
Whoever planted it in my room clearly intends for me to be caught with it—and if they grow impatient waiting, all they need to do is call in a tip to Detective Kimble. I have to get it out of my room, that’s the only way to save myself from being framed. But then…isn’t moving the evidence a crime in and of itself??
I slump onto the bed, head in my hands. There’s no good solution, only one choice. I have to get the knife out of my room—but I’ll leave it someplace where the cops can find it and trace it back to the real killer. I hope.
The thought of touching the evil object turns my stomach. I need music—I need to pretend this is a performance, that it isn’t real.
I plug my earbuds into my phone and cue up a playlist. Dario Marianelli’s Atonement score couldn’t be more fitting. I exhale as the piano begins with a staccato pulse, like notes of warning, and then the frenetic strings color in the melody. I close my eyes. Yes, I’m just playing a part. This isn’t real.
I grab my winter gloves from my dresser drawer and slip them onto my hands. Just as I’m reaching for the knife, looking away so I don’t have to see myself touch it, the music in my earbuds comes to a halt—replaced with the sound of a muffled yet familiar voice.
“Find me at our spot.”
My heart leaps, daring my mind to believe.
“Chace? Is that you?”
The pulsating piano and strings of Atonement resume playing, but all I hear is the echo of his last words. “…our spot…” I want so much to trust this, but can I? Or have I entered full-blown hallucination territory? I’m all out of options.
I glance from the door to the window, but it’s not like I have a choice. The window is my only way out unseen. Thankfully, I’m only on the fourth floor.
Holding my breath, I take the knife into my gloved hands. Even through the fabric, I can feel the cruel blade burning against my palm. I drop it as fast as I can into a ziplock bag and stuff it into my backpack. Then, lifting my backpack onto my shoulders, I unlatch the window.
Cold air rushes to greet me. With a silent prayer, I squeeze my body through the opening and crawl out to the other side of the windowsill, latching onto the narrow railing that lines the building’s exterior. It’s a balancing act, and as I climb down, it occurs to me at the worst possible moment that if someone else’s window is open on this side of the building—it’ll all be over. I quicken my pace, pushing my body down the railing until I pass the third floor, then the second and the first, finally landing on my knees in the grass. As far as I can tell, no one saw me. Thank God.
I forgot to bring a flashlight in my haste, so I move through the grounds in the dark, letting the stars guide my way, and ducking behind a tree anytime I think I hear a security guard’s footsteps. Luckily, it seems Headmaster Higgins has them stationed primarily outside the campus gates and within the buildings—so the grounds are free.
The gurgle of water beneath the wooden bridge lets me know that I’m close. My pulse quickens, my mind racing, as I wonder what I’m about to find. Will it be Chace’s spirit, responding to my plea for help? Will it be another vision like the other night? Or…could it be something else entirely?
“Nicole.”
And with a gasp, I turn around.