My theory: The world sheds its layers, life springs anew—but you do not. Or you do, and you don’t like what you find.
So this story, the suicide epidemic at the university, the human-interest piece with the guts of a train wreck—the horror, the allure—it was perfect for me.
It was even more perfect because the school once was mine as well. I had insight into the inner workings, the finer details. We went to school in the dark in the winter, navigating linked halls underground, never seeing daylight. The buzzing of the lights and the air of Matter Hall made a constant white noise, and voices faded while we retreated further into ourselves, as if there were something physical separating us.
I stopped so many students those first few days—everyone who made eye contact, even those who hadn’t—before moving on to the more personal connections, so I’d have something to present first. There were so many students who said they’d talk as long I didn’t mention their names. So, so many—until eventually, I could recall a statement and wonder if it was ever really spoken to me at all.
We talked about Bridget the most, because her death was the most recent, and because she had been the better known. Her acquaintances were all still shell-shocked, emotionally drained, repeating the We didn’t know, we didn’t know refrain that I had come to expect, and yet it left me unsettled.
What I will remember: the red creeping up my boss’s neck, his words dropped down to a whisper.
My God, Leah, what did you do?
The buzzing in my ears when it all went south, when I was called into his sterile, empty office, the echo of his warning: Libel. Culpable. Lawsuit. Arrest.
I knew, then, it was Noah who had turned me in to my boss. That his preemptive warning had not been just in regard to my reputation. After the fallout, I could imagine him whispering in Logan’s ear: She was going after him, that professor; she had no proof, and yet she framed it around him.
I was so sure. I still am.
* * *
I WAS ALONE WHEN the alarm went off on my phone the next morning for school. The sky was dark, the rain dripping down the gutters.
There was no Emmy, and no sign she’d been here.
I went through the cabinets in the bathroom we shared. Her toothbrush, drugstore-brand deodorant, comb, all lined up in a row on the plastic shelf of the medicine cabinet. She hadn’t planned to be gone for long.
I left her a new note beside the gnome: Emmy, call me as soon as you get in. And I left her my number, in case she’d forgotten it.
* * *
I THOUGHT ABOUT GOING in the side entrance again at school, mostly to avoid Mitch’s questions about the police interview, but I was probably pushing it after yesterday.
Because of the rain, there was a cluster of students already gathered in the lobby. Usually, they waited out front or in the parking lot, not venturing inside until the first bell. But now they were huddled in corners, the low hum even lower than usual. Down to whispers. And then I saw the reason.
Kyle Donovan, the detective from yesterday, was just inside the glass cage of the front office. He was talking to the secretary, but she nodded in my direction just before I passed the windows. He caught my eye, and I paused. I felt the students watching. I felt their eyes. I felt, worse than that, the story taking shape—and realized I was a part of it.
“Ms. Stevens,” he called, and I halted. His voice echoed in the quiet of the atrium. He started to speak, then seemed to think better of it. “Is there someplace we could talk privately?” he asked.
“How’s my classroom?” I asked. Because that had a time limit. Fifteen minutes until the first bell, when the students would start milling the halls. And I wanted an easy out. I didn’t know what he knew, what he’d learned. I knew how these investigations worked, how a cop might decide to call up some “old friend” in Boston just to run a name by you.
He held out his arm, as if to say, After you. Our steps echoed through the halls, and I tried to keep my movements steady and practiced as I fumbled for the classroom key and beckoned him inside.
The empty room always felt unfamiliar at first—stale and cold—until the lights went on and the students filled it up with their citrus shampoo, that teen cologne. I dropped my bags at my desk on the side of the room, stood in front of it, waiting. He looked around the room—there was nowhere he could sit other than at a student desk. He scooted on top of one, going for casual. Great. I leaned back against my own. Slipped one of my feet from my shoe, scratched an itch on the back of my other leg.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” I asked, heart racing.
“Kyle,” he said.
“Kyle,” I said. Kyle alone in my room looked different from Detective Donovan yesterday: He had a white scar on his forehead, near the hairline. Deep brown eyes. Hair that matched. He needed a shave. I wondered if he’d been home.
“I wanted to tell you in person,” he began, but he didn’t need to finish.
I looked at the clock. It had been over twenty-four hours. “You didn’t charge him,” I said.
“Not enough evidence to hold him on,” he said, and with the way he said it, I thought he might’ve been blaming me.
I dropped my foot back to the floor. “The woman—Bethany—she said it was him?” I asked.
He grimaced. “She hasn’t said much. She’s being kept in a coma for now. They’re trying to control the swelling.” He gestured to his skull. I pictured the blood in the grass.
Oh. “How about you, then,” I said, my voice lower, making him lean forward. “You’re sure it’s him?” I knew they’d need good cause to decide to bring him in and hold him. The element of surprise works only once. Davis Cobb would be on guard after this. He’d be sure to cover his tracks, if there were any remaining.
Kyle hopped off the desktop, took a step closer, kept his voice lower. “You know where his business is located?”
I shook my head.
“Backs to the gas station on State Street.” He spoke to me like he assumed I was familiar with the ins and outs of town, as if the names meant anything to me at all.
“Sorry, I haven’t lived here that long.”
“Ah. It’s one block in from the main road wrapping around the lake. We have several people who swear his car was there all night. Then there’s a witness who puts him down at the lake itself. Heard him arguing with a woman.”
“The witness isn’t enough?” I asked.