20. It’s not trauma, it’s character development
It’s not trauma, it’s character development
Subject: Meeting Request—Office of the Dean
Please meet Dean Collins in his office at noon. Thank you.
Getting called into the dean’s office is never good.
That, coupled with Amelia's death, which is still fresh in everyone's mind, is raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
I make my way to Ashford Hall and am guided back to his office.
When I step inside, Dean Collins is behind his desk.
Two others stand off to the side, one male, one female—both blank-faced.
The same ones who stood by when he told everyone about her passing.
“Good afternoon, Lyra. Please take a seat.” I nod stiffly and perch on the edge of the chair, eyeing the detectives.
“You wanted to see me?” I force my hands to stay still in my lap.
“Hello, Lyra. I’m Detective Wright, and this is Detective Lesser.” The woman steps forward to shake my hand. She’s young with kind eyes. The man, mid-forties if I had to guess, stays back.
“What’s going on?”
“You’re aware, I’m sure, of the passing of Amelia English.”
“Yes,” I reply hesitantly. I had a feeling this was coming. It was no secret around campus that Amelia and I had history, but something about this feels wrong.
Wright’s expression softens. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“About Amelia?” I cross my legs beneath the table.
“About your whereabouts the night of September 2nd, around two a.m.”
My mouth parts. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“Do you?” the male detective asks. My skin gets hot.
Good cop, bad cop. Cute. I square my shoulders. My dad’s a lawyer. I know this routine. “I was in my room. Sleeping. My friend Roxy was with me. We fell asleep around midnight.”
Roxy wasn’t with me, but she was in her room talking to my brother all night. If I told her to cover, she would.
“And Roxy’s last name?” Wright asks.
“Roxy Gates.”
“Okay.” She jots it down.
“There was a report over a year ago regarding your alleged kidnapping,” Lesser says.
I stiffen. “It wasn’t alleged,” I say through my teeth. “What does that have to do with this? If I recall, there is no formal report. After finding no proof of what happened.” My jaw aches from clenching it.
I swear I see Detective Lesser’s eyes twitch. “You said you believed she and her friends were possibly involved. Do you still think that?”
“Yes.” I hold his gaze. “I’m going to ask again: do I need a lawyer? You’re asking questions I don’t understand the basis for. Is there more to what happened?”
For a moment, neither answer, and that’s all the confirmation I need. “We are still gathering statements,” Wright answers in a reassuring tone.
Silence stretches. “Lyra, we’re all worried,” Dean Collins adds. “We haven’t had a death on campus since the fire, and we want to make sure it’s handled properly.”
Like mine was handled so properly? Like me getting taken from campus for hours was handled? I clamp my mouth shut.
“It was reported you got into an altercation with Ms. English earlier that day,” Lesser says.
There it is. The real reason I’m here. “Altercation is a stretch. We had a conversation. I removed myself from it.” I stand. “I think I’m done here.”
“One more question.” Lesser’s voice is smug. “Jade Hamilton is missing. Her car was found on the far end of the island, parked near the bluff.” My brain stalls. “And it was empty,” he adds.
My mouth opens even though my brain feels stuck. The chair catches me as I fall back. “Empty? Like she ran away?”
“Or she jumped.” Lesser is studying me.
“No. That can’t be.” Why would she jump?
Wright’s hand touches my knee, but I barely register it. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Uhm.” I blink, trying to think back. “The vigil.”
Lesser keeps going. God, I hate this fucking egotistical, power-hungry dick. “Officers are searching the cliff right now. Weird though, two people accused of kidnapping you end up dead or missing.”
The words play on a loop. Is he fucking kidding?
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, weird.” He’s watching me and how I react, and although I had nothing to do with either of them, they are fishing. Well, keep fucking looking. I try again. “I…I hope she’s okay.” I give my best sad expression. “I hope you find her.”
Wright nods once, then pulls her hand back. “We do too.” She looks at Lesser. “You can go, Lyra,” Wright says gently.
Everyone rises with me. “Thank you for your time,” Wright says, sounding genuine. Lesser closes his notebook with a nod.
“Thank you, Lyra,” Dean Collins says, guiding me to the door.
“If you need anything else, you know where to find me, but I had nothing to do with Amelia's death.” I close the door with a snick and get the hell out of there.
After being pulled into the Dean’s office and questioned, my feelings shift. I walked in feeling confused and walked out even more confused, with a healthy dose of “what the actual fuck is going on?" They think I had something to do with it. I can see it in Detective Lesser’s eyes.
Right after leaving, I got on the phone with my dad, who said it was most likely routine and that if it happened again, I needed to call him, which put me at ease. That was until I told him Jade was missing. My dad has never been speechless in his life, but this time all I hear is silence.
“What do you mean by missing?” My mom’s voice cuts in, and I picture her taking the phone right out of his hand.
“They said her car was found, but she wasn’t. They think she might’ve…jumped.”
A sharp breath comes from the other end. “What the fuck is going on at that school?” My mom sounds like she’s trying not to panic and failing. “I know you wanted to finish out the year, but, Beam, I think you should come home. I’m worried.”
“No, Mom.” I sit up straighter on the bed, even though they can’t see me. “I need to stay. What would I do back home? I need my degree.”
I don’t say the rest out loud. I haven’t received any unknown messages since the vigil. And with Jade missing, it makes too much sense. Maybe it’s over, and I can put that behind me, too. If only Oliver were that easy to dismiss.
“She’s right, Jess.” Dad’s voice is calm again.
“I know she’s right,” my mom hisses. “I just miss my baby. And people are missing, dying…What’s next? A drug raid?”
“Um,” I say, trying not to laugh, “I don’t think Willow Hill is going to have a drug raid.”
“Don’t get smart with me. You never know,” she mutters. “Just keep us updated, Beam. I want to know what’s going on up there.”
“I will,” A lump forms before I can swallow it down. “I love you both.” To make sure they are extra reassured, I add, “And I started carrying pepper spray.”
“Thank God,” my mom breathes out.
My dad’s voice comes through again. “And you call me if anything feels off. Anything.”
“I will,” I promise.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
I roll over and blink the sleep from my eyes. The knocking comes again.
I push up onto my elbows, dragging my brain out of the dark. My room is still pitch black, and unless someone has died, there should be no reason I’m getting a visitor. “I just want one…one full night’s sleep.”
I’m about to ignore it when Callan’s voice comes through the door. “Lyra, get up and unlock—”
Before I can move, the lock clicks. The door swings open as hallway light pours into my room. Reflex takes over. I sit up too fast, making my head spin.
“Lyra, wh—” Callan freezes where he stands, eyes going wide. “Oh fuck. Cover up.” Callan throws a hand over his eyes and spins away so quickly he nearly smacks the doorframe. “I didn’t see anything! I swear to God I didn’t see!”
My gaze snaps to Oliver. He’s standing behind him, still as a statue. His face doesn’t change, yet he takes me in. One long, steady look, and something tight flickers in his jaw.
Then his eyes move straight to Callan. The air in the room drops a few degrees. A low sound rumbles out of Oliver’s chest.
“Did you just…growl?” I blurt. Then all at once, my sleep-addled mind catches up. “Oh shit.” I yank the sheet up over my chest.
Oliver doesn’t look at Callan again. He keeps his gaze on me. “Get dressed.”
“What—why?” I cling to the sheet. “Why are you in my room? It’s like three in the morning.” I gesture with one hand, the other keeping the cover tight. “You barged in here. Sue me. I sleep naked.”
“Lyra.” I clamp my mouth shut. “Shirt. And. Pants.”
Callan clears his throat. “I’m gonna wait in the hallway.”
“Good idea,” Oliver grits out.
The room goes quiet as he shuts the door, but the tension is tangible. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and grab my pajamas from the floor. I shove my arms into the shirt, then yank my sweats up over my hips. When I look up, Oliver’s eyes are on me. “Don’t look at me,” I snap.
“Why not?” he asks, like he’s genuinely curious. It’s infuriating how put-together he looks in the middle of the night. Stupid hair styled back, shirt and jeans on. He doesn’t even look tired.
Does he ever sleep? Probably not.
“Because I’m still not over it, Oliver.” I’m raw, and having him here in my space is doing nothing for my resolve. When I’m around him, I crumble like a sandcastle when the tide rolls in. I tie my hair up into a messy bun. “Why are you here? Why are any of you here?”
Oliver exhales through his nose. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t think we do.” I turn to face him fully. “I don’t particularly want to talk to you ever again.”
He drags a hand through his hair, then drops it, clenching it into a fist at his side. “Then don’t talk to me, just listen,” he says tightly. “Don't push me, Lyra. Callan just saw you naked, and I’m trying not to stab his eyes out.”
I scoff. “Oh, be for real. He isn’t the only guy on campus who’s seen my boobs.” Wrong thing to say. Oliver moves so fast I barely register it. One second, he’s near the door, the next, he’s crowding me into the wall, his hand at my throat.
“Don’t say that.” Every word is controlled, breath tickling my lips. My chest rises against his with every shaky breath as my arms instinctively find his hips, fingers curling into his shirt.