They Never Learn, page 19
“Okay.” I feel colder than ever, like a blanket’s been ripped off me, exposing my limbs to the cold. Did I really want him to kiss me? We’re supposed to be looking for Allison. I shouldn’t be thinking about anything else.
We walk to Wes’s dorm to get his car keys. He lives in the honors residence hall, Cooper. Unlike the dilapidated beige interior of Whitten, Cooper’s common areas are all aggressively colorful, reproductions of classical paintings all over the walls, shelves overloaded with books tucked into every corner.
We pass a small cluster of students draped over mismatched lounge chairs, passing a bowl of singed microwave popcorn back and forth as they have an impassioned discussion about the Star Wars prequels. Wes nods at them in greeting, but I’m the one who draws their curious stares, following Wes into his dorm room well after midnight.
He has a single. The walls are papered over with an overlapping riot of music and movie posters—Elliott Smith, Pulp Fiction, Garden State—but the space is otherwise neat, books stacked carefully on the desk, all his toiletries lined up along the back of the dresser.
As soon as Wes shuts the door, I’m struck with a pang of alarm. It’s way too warm in here, even with the window above the radiator cracked to let the excess heat out.
Wes grabs his messenger bag off the papasan chair in the corner and starts rooting around for his car keys. I yawn, leaning against the corner of the desk to keep myself upright. Until we stopped moving, I didn’t realize how tired I was.
“You okay?” Wes asks.
“Yeah,” I say, stifling another yawn. “You got the keys?”
He holds them up. “We can hang out here for a bit if you want, though. Get some rest.”
I want to find Allison. But I can barely keep my eyes open. If Wes is anywhere near as tired, it’s not safe for him to be behind the wheel.
Besides, there’s nothing to be afraid of. We were just out in the woods in the middle of the night, and he didn’t even try to start something. If there’s any guy in the world who’s safe to be alone with, it’s Wes.
As if he can read my thoughts, he starts stammering, “I mean, you can have the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor, we don’t have to—”
“No,” I say.
Wes flinches a little, his eyes squinting even more than usual.
“I mean, yeah, we should probably get some rest. But you don’t have to sleep on the floor, that’s stupid.”
He swallows, seeming more nervous than I am all of a sudden. “O-okay.”
I have no idea what I’m doing—no idea what I even want to do, except lie down and close my eyes and be warm. And I hope wherever Allison is, she’s doing the same.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I shuck off my coat and boots, then climb up into Wes’s lofted bed. He hesitates for a second before following suit.
I turn toward the wall, facing away from him, ’cause I figured that would be less weird, but now all I can think about is the heat of his breath on the back of my neck. Despite the narrowness of the mattress, he’s careful to leave a sliver of space between his body and mine.
It’s awkward and strange, and I’m not the least bit comfortable, but my exhaustion is so overwhelming I drop off almost immediately, falling headfirst into a dream about Allison. She’s running along the riverbank, barefoot, the branches grasping at her hair. Calling out to Wes and me on the bridge, but we can’t hear her over the rushing water.
Her foot catches on a sharp rock, and as she plunges into the current, I surface—jolting awake with a gasp, flipping over, arms thrashing out.
I almost push Wes right out of bed. He startles awake too, grabbing at me to keep himself from toppling off the edge of the mattress.
We’re so close now, heads sharing a pillow, hearts drumming in time, mouths inches away in the dark. I swallow and lick my lips, staring into his eyes.
But he just pulls the blanket up over both of us, and eventually I drift back to sleep, dreaming of cutting winds and freezing water even though I’m surrounded by warmth.
43 SCARLETT
I thought things might return to a semblance of normality after Kinnear’s funeral, but most of my colleagues are still using his death as an excuse to slack off, cancel class, even stay home. I at least hope Mina is managing to get the rest she needs; I stayed at her place last night until after she fell asleep, slumped on the sofa with her bare toes pressed into my thigh.
Dr. Stright is one of the only English faculty members other than Drew and me who bothered to show up to work today. Stright always leaves his office door slightly ajar, so we all have to hear his pretentious indie folk Spotify playlist wafting down the hall. As I pass by his office on the way to my own, I slow my pace so I can glance inside. There’s a female student in there with him again, and this time it’s not Ashleigh Lawrence.
It’s Mikayla.
Her back is to the door, but that halo of dark curls is unmistakable. She’s sitting in the chair across from Stright’s desk, but he’s not seated behind it. Instead, he’s right beside her, leaning over her shoulder.
My fingers squeeze the stack of papers I’m carrying. I knew it. That fucking creep.
“Hey, Scarlett,” Drew says, poking his head out of his own office across the hall. He looks better-rested today, back in his usual uniform of tweed jacket and dark slacks. “I was going to get some coffee—you want anything?”
I want to rip Stright’s door off the hinges and rush in there to tear him away from Mikayla. Stright leans closer to point out a line in the book on her lap, and she nods at whatever he’s just said, tilting her face up to smile at him.
Drew raises his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I say, dragging my attention away from Stright and Mikayla. “Yes, I—”
My purse vibrates, and I shuffle the papers onto my other arm so I can dig my phone out.
It’s a UK number.
Drew sees it too, and his eyes widen. “Here, here, give me those.”
I shove the papers and my purse into his waiting hands, then answer the call. “Hello, this is Dr. Scarlett Clark.”
“Dr. Clark, this is Judith Winters from the Women’s Academy.”
“Dr. Winters. Thank you for calling.”
Drew grins at me, bouncing a little on his feet, and I smile back. I can’t let too much excitement seep into my tone, though. I’m supposed to be in mourning for our murdered colleague, after all.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to speak to you at Alexander’s funeral,” I say, heading into my office. Drew follows, placing my possessions quietly on the desk. “But your eulogy was incredibly moving.”
“Thank you, dear,” she says. “It was a beautiful service. I’m afraid I’m still in shock.”
“Yes, we all are.” I glance across the hall. Kinnear’s office door is shut, but his secretary is still at her post outside, dabbing at her already-destroyed mascara with a tissue. She’s been going through more than a box of Kleenex a day. I wasn’t certain before that she and Kinnear were fucking, but her unmanageable grief seems to confirm it. “It’s so awful.”
There’s a blast of white noise on the other side of the line, as if Judith is standing outside.
“Are you still in town?” I ask. “Perhaps we could—”
“No, I’m at the airport. My flight to Heathrow leaves in an hour. But I wanted to set up a time with you once I’m back home—to discuss the fellowship further.”
I can’t prevent myself from smiling now. Drew mouths, What did I tell you?, and pumps his fist in the air. I’ve done exhaustive research on all the people in our field who might apply for the fellowship, and with Kinnear out of the way, my path should be clear. While some of my competition might have tenure at elite institutions or boast other accolades I can’t compete with, none of them have the specific expertise on Viola Vance that I do. But I can’t get overconfident. That’s how I got into the mess I’m in now.
“I’d love that,” I say to Judith. “Any time that’s convenient for you.”
“Don’t you have classes to teach?” There’s a sternness in Judith’s voice, like I’m a disobedient student she’s chastising.
“Yes, of course,” I say. “But this fellowship is my top priority right now, and I have a very capable graduate assistant.”
Or I did, anyway. I wonder if Jasper will actually show up for work today, since he showed his face at the funeral. As soon as the dust settles from Kinnear’s death, I’ll see about transferring Jasper to another professor. Maybe I can find a way to foist him on Stright. The two of them might kill each other and save me the trouble.
“All right,” Judith says. “Would next Tuesday be suitable? I’m available at three p.m. my time, which I believe is—”
“Ten a.m. Eastern. Yes, that’s perfect.”
“Wonderful. I’ll speak to you then. And I hope you’ll let me know if there are any developments.”
My mind is already whirring to life with preparations for the interview, so it takes me a second to realize she’s referring to developments in Kinnear’s murder case.
“Certainly,” I tell her. “I know we all just want answers.”
Across the hall, Kinnear’s secretary pops her head up like a startled doe, looking toward his office door. It’s swinging open.
“You must feel so fortunate,” Judith says.
The two Pittsburgh detectives emerge from the office. Flynn looks relaxed, loose-limbed, but Abbott’s jaw is set. Good cop, bad cop. They stand aside to let someone else exit the room.
Jasper.
I grip the phone harder, heart pounding. “I’m sorry?”
“Fortunate to have gotten to work with him for as long as you did,” Judith says. “I’m sure he taught you a tremendous amount.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Alexander Kinnear taught me so much. I’ll never forget his many lessons. “He was…”
Jasper smiles at the detectives, trying to act like his typical smooth self. But he’s rattled, his hands shaking so hard I can see it from here. He sticks them in the pockets of his trousers.
Then he looks right at me.
“Well, I’ll let you go.” There’s that edge in Judith’s tone again.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I— It’s a bit chaotic here.”
“I can imagine,” she says. “I’ll speak to you on Tuesday, Dr. Clark.”
“Yes, looking forward to it.”
But she’s already hung up.
“So?” Drew says. He’s been so focused on me, he hasn’t even noticed the detectives. Abbott and Flynn are lingering outside Kinnear’s office, conferring in hushed voices, but Abbott’s gaze keeps flicking toward my open office door.
“Sounds like I made it to the final round,” I tell Drew.
He whoops and scoops me up into a celebratory hug. Now Abbott and Flynn are both watching us, Abbott’s eyes narrowing with interest.
Jasper appears in the doorway, blocking my view. “What are you two so giddy about?”
Drew looks at me, still grinning, waiting for me to share my good news. Instead, I smooth my blouse back into place and turn the phone facedown on my desk.
“Nice of you to grace us with your presence today, Mr. Prior.”
“Well,” Drew says, already edging toward the exit. “I should get back to work. Congratulations again, Scarlett.”
Jasper stands aside to let Drew through the doorway. Then he steps over the threshold and, before I can protest, pulls the door shut behind him.
“Don’t worry,” Jasper says. “I covered for you.”
I’m suddenly aware of how small this space is with Jasper in it. “What do you mean?”
“The detectives were asking about you, what you were doing the night of—”
“They were asking about me?”
I assumed it was a good sign I seemed to be so low on their list of people to interview. But maybe they’re interviewing everyone else first so they can catch me in a lie.
“I told them I was with you.” His hands aren’t shaking now when he runs his fingers down my arms to grip my hips. “All night.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
Jasper scowls. “You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you? For lying to the police?”
“They’re saying the crime seems personal.” His hold on my hips tightens, fingertips digging in. “They think it’s someone who knew him, knew where he lived. Maybe even someone who works here.”
“That describes you too, you know.” I push past Jasper to get to the door. “Sounds to me like you’re trying to cover your own ass.”
“You think I killed him?” Jasper looks genuinely amused.
I turn back to face him, lifting my chin and crossing my arms. “You don’t have the balls.”
For a second I think he’s going to slap me. I wish he would; I’d love an excuse to make him bleed again.
Instead, he smiles. “I’ve missed you, Scarlett.”
My back is against the closed door now, so there’s nowhere to run when Jasper leans down and kisses me. My hands stay stiff at my sides, my mouth unyielding, but he’s not dissuaded. This is still a game to him.
His hand snakes down my leg to lift my skirt up, and I shove him away. “Stop. Not here.”
“Where, then?” He grips my thigh. “You told me not to come to your house anymore.”
“This has to stop, Jasper.” I turn around, trying to open the door, but Jasper presses against my back, pulling my hand away from the knob so he can pin it flat against the door. His breath is scorching on the back of my neck.
He wasn’t trying to protect me by concocting that fake alibi. He just wants me beholden to him. If I break things off with him now, there’s no telling what he’ll do.
Someone knocks on the door, two sharp raps. The vibration rattles my teeth.
The detectives, I think. But then a familiar voice says my name.
“Scarlett? Are you in there?”
It’s Mina. So she did come to work today.
“One second.” I manage to twist around just enough to glare at Jasper. Surely he’s not going to persist, with Mina right outside.
He holds on a few seconds longer before releasing me. I smooth my skirt and bump him back with my hips so I have enough room to open the door.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Mina says. Her eyes aren’t red anymore, but they’re unfocused, buzzing with a strange energy. She has the air of a mad scientist on the verge of a breakthrough. “I need to talk to you, I just—”
Jasper has moved in right behind me again, and he plants his hand on the edge of the door, touching mine. Mina isn’t looking at him, though. She’s staring at my lips.
I lift my fingertips to my mouth, and they come away stained with smeared lipstick.
“Mina,” I start, but something slams shut behind her eyes.
“Never mind,” she says. “I can see you’re busy.”
44 CARLY
All night, I dreamed of Allison.
She was always running. Running through the woods, through endless unrecognizable hallways. Across the gravel parking lot behind Bash’s house, barefoot, bleeding. Up the fire escape, face tilted toward the black sky.
I wake with all my muscles clenched, like I’m poised to run too. Wes is still asleep, lying on his back with his palms sandwiched between his skull and the pillow, a soft sound that’s not quite a snore escaping from his lips.
I slide off the end of the bed, extending my toes until I feel the floor. It’s freezing in his room now; the heater must have switched off sometime in the night. I push the windowpane down to close it, flinching at the screech it makes against the frame.
And that’s when I realize: I know one other place where Allison might be.
Wes didn’t stir at the sound of the window closing, so I decide to let him keep sleeping. It isn’t dark out anymore, though it’s still so early that the campus seems deserted my whole walk back to Whitten.
I take the fire escape steps fast, so I won’t have time to think about the weakness in my knees. The metal railing is so cold it stings my palms. As soon as I reach the rooftop, I call out for her, but it sounds more like a gasp than her name. My pulse is racing from the climb—and also because Allison is sitting so close to the edge.
“Allison, thank God. How long have you been up here?”
She keeps on gazing off into the gray sky, like she hasn’t heard me. She can’t have been here the whole night; it’s too cold, steely clouds threatening snowfall, and she’s just wearing that thin coat with the faux fur collar.
I edge closer, trying not to look over the edge of the roof. “Are you… are you okay?”
This time, her shoulders stiffen at my question. Her skin looks like wax paper, and her faded blue hair is lank and stringy, spreading from her skull like veins. I want to wrap my arms around her, but she looks too fragile for that. She looks like she’s on the verge of shattering.
“I’m fine,” she says finally. She’s lying to herself just as much as me.
“It’s freezing. Why don’t you come downstairs and—”
“Where were you last night?”
“I was…” I swallow. This is not at all the question I was expecting. She must have come back to our room at some point and found me gone. “Looking for you. Wes and I—we were really worried.”
Spending the night in Wes’s bed feels like a betrayal in a way I can’t quite explain. Allison clearly doesn’t want him for herself—and nothing happened between us anyway—but I don’t want to risk upsetting her more.
“Let’s go down to our room and talk,” I say.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
Allison leans forward, letting her feet dangle off the roof, and my stomach lurches.
“I told you,” she says. Her heels bump against the brick below the roof line. “I told you I didn’t want to do that. I told you there was no point.”
“I’m sorry.” I crouch down beside her. I’m trying to remember the whole speech I had prepared, the eloquent apology, but I can’t think with her legs hanging in midair like that. “I’m so sorry, Allison. I was just trying to help.”
