Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
IRIS
‘Iris!’ I turned towards the sound of my name cutting through the low chatter in the courtyard. ‘Iris! Over here!’ I spotted Adora near the old stone fountain, her arm stretched high in the air as she waved me down. Edging my way through clusters of students, I made my way over.
Standing beside her was a boy I didn’t recognise – about our age, maybe a little taller than me. He had shaggy brown hair that fell into his eyes.
Adora beamed at my approach. ‘This is Rory,’ she said, gesturing towards him with a kind of proud excitement. ‘And Rory, this is Iris, my new roommate.’
‘Nice to meet you, Iris,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ He turned to Adora and shifted closer to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in. Adora blushed.
‘Nice to meet you, too, Rory.’ This must have been the reason she was gone so early, I realised. Good for her. I’d never had a boyfriend, and I don’t know why, but seeing the two of them together made my heart feel something it had not before.
‘Rory is in your first class, so I thought maybe he could walk you there so you don’t get lost.’
Rory leaned in and said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘Actually, I saw the “map”... and just didn’t want you wandering off the cliff on your first day. I don’t want Dora losing her roommate quite so fast.’ He laughed and Adora punched him in the arm.
‘Thank you,’ I laughed breathily. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘Good luck! I’ll catch up with you guys later,’ squealed Adora, already hurrying off in the opposite direction to the one we were headed in.
‘Let’s go,’ Rory said, already half a step ahead of me, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘We do not want to be late for Locke.’ The subtle urgency in his voice made me pick up the pace.
‘Is he really that bad?’ I asked.
Rory let out a short laugh as we turned down a narrow hallway, our footsteps echoing faintly against the high stone walls. ‘He’s a harsh man.’
‘Great,’ I mumbled sarcastically.
‘I’m not joking.’ Rory went on, lowering his voice slightly as an old man – clearly a professor of some form of faculty – walked past us, going in the opposite direction. ‘He once kicked a kid out of his class for being, like, two minutes late.’
I blinked. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope.’
‘Really? That seems extreme.’
Rory just shrugged. ‘He’s an extreme guy.’
We turned another corner, this time into a long corridor lined with tall windows. Pale light spilled across the floor in long rectangles. Ahead of us, a small cluster of students was gathered outside a closed door.
‘Ready for your first class?’ Rory asked with a smile.
I stamped down my anxiety and nodded. ‘Lead the way.’
My moral philosophy class took place in a large, semi-circular stone room. The lower platform held the teacher’s desk, while the students’ seating was tiered and rose up like a colosseum. When we entered, a few students were already seated, while more slowly filtered in.
‘You’ll need to go and let him know you’re here,’ Rory said, indicating a gathering of people by a large wooden desk. ‘And find out your assigned seat.’
‘Where is he?’ I asked.
‘That one, there.’ He pointed. ‘White hair.’
I was confused for a moment, squinting through the crowded students. ‘That one?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Right… um, yeah. Okay. Thanks, Rory.’
‘No problem, I’ll catch you later.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Uh, sure.’
The man he’d indicated was not at all what I was expecting. From the stories I’d heard, I was expecting an older man, maybe a crooked nose and frightening features. A hunch back and a cane.
Not… this.
The professor wore an immaculate jacket of deepest black, paired with fitted trousers. He had well-styled white-blonde hair, which he ran a hand through as he spoke to the group of students.
I slowly approached the desk.
His features were sharp, but still looked kind. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a jaw that looked like it had been sculpted. There was something striking about the contrast between his pale hair and darker brows – and his eyes.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ I said sheepishly.
‘What?’ he replied, without looking up from the paper he was holding. The word was clipped, almost absent-minded, as though he had already decided I was not worth the effort of turning around for.
‘I’m – um…’ My voice faltered before I could steady it. I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘My name’s Iris. I’m new here… Iris Blackthorne.’
He turned his back on me entirely to reach for a clipboard on the desk. I stood there, unsure whether to speak again or simply wait – unsure which option would make things worse. He flicked through some papers for a moment before facing me, but still not looking at me.
‘Miss Blackthorne, seat 17B,’ he read. His voice was low and gravelly, yet still melodic, somehow. ‘It says here I am also to set you extra assignments so you can “catch up”. I expect you to work hard in this class if that is the case. I don’t deal with slackers.’
Finally, his gaze lifted from the clipboard. His eyes met mine with a kind of precision that made my stomach tighten. Instantly, I had to work hard to keep my features stoic.
His grey eyes were piercing – a deep, swirling grey, almost like a thunderstorm. He stared at me, and for what felt like an age, he said nothing.
Pulling myself back to reality, I said, ‘Yes, sir. I’ll put the work in. I’m sure I can catch up.’
Again, he said nothing for a long time. Then, eventually, ‘See that you do.’
He turned back to the other students, dismissing me.
I climbed the steps almost right to the back of the room before I found my assigned seat. I sat down and pulled out my course book, paper and pen from my satchel.
I watched quietly as the final few students finished filtering in and found their seats. A low hum of chatter still filled the room, until the Professor cleared his throat and silence fell.
‘Quieten down now.’ His voice boomed across the echoing space. His long strides ate up the room as he walked to the front of his desk, leaned back against it, and folded his arms in front of him.
‘Today, we will be continuing from our previous discussion on the topic of “nature versus nurture”, meaning we shall continue to delve into why people’s psyches are the way they are.
’ I uncapped my pen, preparing to start taking notes.
He continued, ‘There has been a long-standing discussion about whether human actions and traits are determined more by genetics – meaning nature – or by the environment – meaning nurture. Today, we will be discussing whether people are born evil, or whether society and other aspects make them that way.’
‘Take Gein, for example,’ he continued, ‘the infamous serial killer from the fifties. Was he born that way? Was he always going to do the things he did? Or was he simply an innocent child, and were there other aspects?’ He paused to remove his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair.
He rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, revealing corded muscles, and I looked down at my empty parchment… ‘Discuss.’
Hands rose all across the room, and in turn, Professor Locke selected them to speak.
‘I believe he was born that way,’ one boy shouted. ‘It is all in the genes. His parents were probably whacked out too.’
‘Are you kidding?’ another voice said. ‘I bet if you had raised him in a supportive family, he would have been a completely different person.’
The conversation carried on around me while I sat quietly taking notes. After a time, I felt a prickle at the back of my neck and looked up to find Professor Locke watching me. I met his gaze, for some reason unable to look away.
‘Miss Blackthorne,’ he said in a low voice. The classroom quietened. ‘Care to participate?’
‘Oh, I… um.’ I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘I believe in this particular case, sir, it’s both.’
‘Both?’ he repeated, gaze narrowing on me. ‘Elaborate.’
‘Well…’ I started. ‘I believe there’s a cause to argue that, to a point, nature can be at fault…
By definition, nature in this context refers to genetic and biological factors inherited from one’s parents.
Now, taking that into consideration, we know mental health conditions can be passed down genetically – for example, schizophrenia or bipolar disorder.
These are all known to be hereditary. So, in the case of Gein, or any serial killers for that matter, I believe the parents, and therefore nature, are potentially at fault…
’ I swallowed. ‘However, I also believe nurture to be at fault. We live in a society that is unaccepting and judgemental. If a person is different or an outcast, they are ridiculed and shunned.’ I twined a finger around a loose lock of hair – a nervous habit.
‘I believe even the best of us can be affected by the cruel world we live in.’ I took a steady breath.
‘So, in conclusion, I believe most traits result from an intertwining of both nature and nurture.’
I waited as a few pairs of eyes darted in my direction. I felt my cheeks heat.
And then…
‘Good.’
He watched me for a moment longer – his gaze steady and unreadable.
I resisted the urge to shift under it, keeping my shoulders square, my expression neutral.
He nodded slowly, just once, and then he turned away.
He moved onto the next person, his attention sliding off me.
The tension in my chest loosened, but only slightly.
I spent the rest of the class staring down at my desk and taking as many notes as possible.
Class wrapped up and students began shoving papers and books into bags and standing to leave. I made my way down the stairs and spotted Rory waiting for me by the door. I started in his direction, but paused abruptly when I heard my name.
‘Miss Blackthorne.’ My head turned towards the voice and I saw Professor Locke leaning over his desk, arms braced on the wood, a muscle ticking in his jaw. ‘A moment.’
‘I’ll catch up,’ I called over to Rory, and he nodded, disappearing through the doorway. I slowly walked back over to Locke as the last student exited the classroom.
‘Yes, Professor?’ I asked, my fingers gripping the strap of my satchel.
His intense gaze was fixed on me, and I was surprised by how nervous I suddenly felt.
‘I have the additional assignments for you to complete, as requested by Headmaster Draven.’
‘Oh, yes.’ I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
‘Thank you.’ I stepped up to his desk and he held out a small stack of papers.
As I reached for them, our fingers brushed together briefly.
I drew in a small involuntary breath as his cold skin met mine.
Our eyes locked once again, and I could feel the intensity in those storm-grey eyes.
Up close, I could feel the heat coming from him, and I saw his throat bob as he swallowed.
He dropped his gaze first, retreating a few steps and creating space between us. I felt the warmth drain away from me like a bucket of cold water thrown over my head.
‘Complete these worksheets and bring them back to me,’ he said sharply. ‘I will mark them, and then provide more.’
I nodded. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You are dismissed.’ His tone was blunt.
For a moment, I just stood there, as though my body needed time to catch up with his words. Then I nodded once, more to myself than to him, and turned towards the door.
The floorboards creaked beneath my steps as I crossed the room, and my fingers had just brushed the cool metal of the handle when his voice called out once more. Slowly, I looked back over my shoulder.
‘Welcome to Ashcroft, Miss Blackthorne.’
I gave a small smile, then pushed the door open.
Rory had waited for me. I found him leaning against the stone wall in the corridor outside.
‘So?’ he said, straightening as I approached, an eager grin already spreading across his face. ‘How was your first class?’
I smiled. ‘Actually, it was pretty good.’
‘That’s great!’ He said. ‘Locke’s a bit intense, though, isn’t he?’
‘Definitely,’ I murmured, letting out a small breath. ‘I find the topic so interesting, though.’
‘Right?’ His grin widened. ‘Dora thinks I’m completely mad for taking Moral Philosophy on top of everything else. It is supposed to be the hardest subject here.’
‘Yeah,’ I laughed. ‘I’m starting to get that impression.’
‘Well, if you ever want to look through my notes, let me know.’
I nodded. ‘Thanks.’
We had just begun walking down the corridor when a voice called from the other end.
‘Hey, guys!’ I turned to see another student heading towards us. As he drew closer he said, ‘Hey, Rory,’ with a nod, and then his attention shifted to me. ‘Nice work in there today, new girl.’ He smiled at me. ‘I’m Dylan.’
‘Hey,’ I said, ‘I’m Iris.’
‘I know.’ His smile sharpened slightly. ‘You made an impression.’
Heat crept into my cheeks. ‘You were in there?’ I gestured back towards the classroom.
He stopped short, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence. ‘You don’t recognise me? I’m devastated.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, smiling awkwardly.
‘Relax, I’m joking.’ He grinned. ‘I sit in the front row.’
‘Ah. That explains it. Maybe I would recognise the back of your head.’
He laughed. ‘Seriously though… good job,’ he went on. ‘I have never seen Locke look that impressed.’
‘That was him impressed?’ I frowned.
Rory snorted, and Dylan nodded.
‘Yeah,’ Rory said. ‘Locke doesn’t hand out praise. Ever. And you got a “good”.’ He put a hand to his heart. ‘We are all in shock.’
‘It’s true,’ Dylan added, his smile softening. Then something in his expression shifted. He stepped a little closer and held out his hand. I took it hesitantly. ‘If you ever want to study,’ he said, ‘or talk… or just get coffee, let me know.’
My cheeks burned. ‘Okay,’ I managed, nodding.
‘Good.’ He gave my hand a small squeeze before letting go, then glanced at Rory. ‘I’ll see you.’
‘Yeah,’ Rory said.
Dylan shot me one last smile before turning and heading down the corridor.
Rory watched him go. ‘Wow.’
‘What?’ I asked.
He looked back at me, eyebrows raised. ‘Has nobody ever flirted with you before?’
I frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Because,’ he said, grinning, ‘that was painful to watch.’
I punched his shoulder, and we both laughed.