Erased

Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When I make it back to the dorm, the room is too still. I step inside and shut the door, looking around, my skin crawling with the wrongness of the air.

It’s quiet. Painfully so. It takes me a moment to realize the fan is off. I’m nearly positive I left it on.

Goose bumps line my skin. My heart picks up speed as I scan the small space, the key still in my hand.

Something catches my eye.

My head goes fuzzy, vision pixelating.

What the…

Under my bed, I spot a silver triangle. I take a slow, deliberate breath, processing the impossible.

I’m staring at the corner of my laptop.

I rush forward, head spinning, and pull it out. Open it.

The screen flashes, then comes to life. My wallpaper is there.

My documents.

The AR—TRUTH folder.

I scan it all a million times, searching for what must be different. Searching for what she must’ve changed or deleted.

But, no…everything is the same. Nothing has been altered in any way.

More than an hour goes by, and I’m still searching in disbelief, my reality shaken. Is it possible I imagined the missing laptop? That in my exhaustion, I just forgot to check under the bed? I’m almost positive I did, but maybe…

Maybe, I…

The screen glitches, goes black, but returns almost at once. I shake my head, rubbing my eyes.

I’m seeing things.

I’m exhausted.

I need to get out of this room.

I need answers.

I need to know.

This time, when I leave the room, I take my laptop with me as I head to the housing office.

The same student worker from when I checked in is there, and I don’t wait for him to greet me as I approach the desk and drop my key on the countertop. “Hi. I think someone has been coming into my dorm room.”

He jerks his head up, pulling an earbud from his ear and standing to face me. “Sorry?”

“Someone broke into my dorm and stole my laptop.”

His eyes find the laptop at my side.

“And then they brought it back. Don’t look at me like that. I know how it sounds.”

“You…probably just misplaced it.”

“Would someone else have had access to a key? Anyone else?”

He squints his eyes at me, as if I’m not making any sense, then turns away with a drawn-out breath, scratching his head. “Umm…” He clicks his tongue. “What hall are you in, and what’s your room number?”

“Addison,” I tell him. “Two twelve.”

He shakes the mouse to wake his screen and types something into the computer. After a few moments, he shakes his head. “We only have one key checked out. That one.”

“How many keys are there total?”

He scratches his head with one finger as he talks. “All the rooms have three. A backup and an office copy, in case we need to get in for an emergency or maintenance.”

“Can you see if the other two are still here?”

He looks at me for a long moment, like I might change my mind, but eventually seems to decide it’s not worth the argument. Slowly, he stands and crosses the room to a key box with a combination lock. He puts in a code in no hurry at all, then opens the box, staring inside.

A second later, he retrieves the two keys, dangling them between us. “Both here.”

“Who else would’ve had access to them?”

“Only office staff.” He turns back, returning the keys and closing the box. “Look, if you really think someone was in your dorm, you may want to talk to campus security.”

“Who’s on staff here? Besides you.”

He scratches his temple, a brow drawn down, clearly itching to return to his podcast or audiobook. “There are a handful of us. But trust me, none of us are trying to steal your laptop. No offense, but that thing looks, like, really old.”

I open my mouth to argue, to demand answers, but just as I do, I catch the schedule on the wall next to his head.

JARED

NICO

ALICE

ZARA

MILAN

DANI

CARLOS

My heart stalls. “Dani. Is that… Does Dani Comer work here?”

“Um. Yes.” His face wrinkles with confusion, matching the horror in my own. “Look, is this some kind of prank? I really need to get back to work.”

I take a breath, stepping away. I don’t even know what to say, what to ask. So, I don’t say anything. He doesn’t care anyway.

With that, I’m gone. Out of the office and back to my dorm. I knew it was Dani. I knew it had to be. She must’ve told Ralston what I accused her of at the teach-in. That I had proof Ralston copied me.

She got the key and took my laptop because Ralston asked her to.

But…

Why?

They didn’t remove any of the documents—including the blog post she stole from for Dani’s work—so what would they have been doing? What would they have needed with my things? Were they just going through them? Looking to see what evidence I have?

My heart pounds as I climb the stairs of Addison Hall, mind racing. Whatever my next move may be, I need to act quickly.

Back in my dorm, I prepare the emails. I write them one by one, personal but direct.

A little warmth, hopefully, so as not to scare them, but not enough to let them get away with ignoring me.

And not urgent enough to sound desperate, though I am.

It’s a fine line to walk. Not unhinged, but imperative.

Each message sounds nearly the same.

Hi,

I know this might bring up things you don’t want to revisit, but I wouldn’t reach out if it wasn’t important.

We share something important—a pain brought to us by Althea Ralston. Maybe our wounds look different, but they are there. And they matter.

I understand you might not want to come forward. I get the fear that comes with speaking out, probably more than you know. But your voice matters to this narrative.

I’m reaching out to others too. You are not alone. It was never just you, never just me. Our silence empowers her. It gives her strength and a stage. It makes her seem invincible.

I refuse to let it continue.

I don’t need you to speak out publicly or to do anything formal.

I just want to talk. Just us.

Her victims. Her puppets.

All of us, hopefully. Because bravery comes with numbers, and we don’t have to be brave alone. The sisterhood she always promised us exists even without her. Especially without her.

Please just meet me. Hear me out. We’ll decide what to do together.

I send the emails to Jade, Professor Bell, Naya, Dani, Hayden, and Priya. Some who have already turned me down, some I haven’t yet heard back from.

It’s my last attempt, and everything is riding on this. My voice alone will never be enough. It will take others. It will take us being so loud no one can ignore us.

After I send them, I sit in silence, the laptop warm against my legs, and I wait. I’ve just thrown six bottles into the ocean, and now all I can do is hope for rescue.

The first response comes in fifteen minutes, from Priya. It’s the first I’ve heard from her, just one line, and my heart sinks reading it.

Please do not contact me again.

There’s no warmth or greeting. No goodbye. It’s a boundary written in concrete.

I stare at the screen like it might soften, blur. Like she might email again to say she’s sorry, that she doesn’t know why she said that, and of course she’ll meet. That she’s been dying to talk about this.

We’re supposed to be in this fight together. That’s how I’ve always seen it going, when I imagined the eventual ending. All of us—arm in arm—standing up for what’s right. Speaking the truth. Demanding justice.

But no such email arrives, no matter how many times I refresh my inbox.

Eventually, I close the laptop. I stand in silence while everything in me begs to scream.

I leave the dorm because if I stay here, staring at my laptop, I’m going to lose my mind. It’s not late enough for the campus to be empty, but it feels empty anyway. The air is heavy with cold mist and the kind of silence that makes every footstep, every breath, sound suspicious.

I walk without any sense of where I’m going. I’m just moving, just breathing, just trying to hold it together while it feels like the walls are crashing down around me.

It’s only one rejection. Only one voice. The others might come through for me. I just have to hold onto hope.

I have no idea where I’m going until I’m already there—on the lawn outside the Solace Garden where Ralston’s fireside chat was held two nights ago. It’s empty now. Quiet. Like it’s meant to be.

This place is designed for reflection. Meditation. Peaceful thoughts. Once, they held poetry readings here on Friday nights, silent book clubs throughout the week, and a gardening club on the weekends.

That was back before Ralston’s name became more important than the women who came before her. The women whose work used to be read here.

The air tastes like metal. Rust.

I take a seat on one of the concrete benches and barely feel the cold soaking into my skin. I’m tired. Not just from today, but from years of carrying this weight. This anger, with no place for it to go. This grief.

I’m tired of fighting, of begging, of whispering when all I want to do is scream.

I’m tired of the person she turned me into, this shadow of myself with my eyes trained only on revenge.

On justice. I miss who I used to be, the girl who walked this path before me.

Who came to this campus full of hope, who believed in happy endings and dreams coming true.

I’m tired of watching the same old machine devouring women who try to say no and spitting them out as warnings. Cautionary tales.

That’s all I am now. And I had no say in it. Fight back, and I look insane. Stay silent, and I fade away as nothing more than a warning.

A footnote.

The jealous girl who couldn’t let it go.

I don’t hear the footsteps until they’re too close to ignore. “Ms. Parks.”

The voice slices through the dark, stabbing me in my weakest points. Polished. Measured. Male.

I look over to find Dean Carlyle staring at me, both hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. He doesn’t sit. “I understand you disrupted today’s mentorship roundtables.”

I don’t say anything. What is there to say? I know what’s coming.

“I’ve already warned you about this. What is it you want? You’re walking a dangerous line, and I’m trying to help you.”

Hope as thin as thread weaves its way into my chest. He’s not asking me to leave. Not yet.

My voice is low. “That’s what I want. To help. Why is that so hard?”

His smile is stiff. “But don’t you see? That’s what events like these are for.

If that’s your goal, we want the same thing.

To help us all build a better future. Together.

” He scrubs a hand over his face, then shakes his head with a faraway look.

“But that’s not what you’re doing. You’re making people uncomfortable.

You’re damaging the reputation of this institution—and its most decorated scholar. ”

“Don’t you even care what she’s done?” I stare at him, looking for an ounce of empathy, a willingness to listen.

“Don’t make this your legacy.” He looks away, shifting in place.

His tone is firm now. Not angry, but final.

I won’t get another warning. “There are some here on campus who would rather I sent you away now, and I considered it. I did. But, taking into account the opinion of a select few, I’ve agreed to give you another chance.

Don’t mistake my kindness for foolishness, Lila.

This will be the last time I talk to you about this before action is taken.

Do you understand?” He turns his head just slightly, enough to see me nod.

And then he’s gone. Quiet violence wrapped in university protocol. The old guard in a tailored suit.

I wonder who the select few might be? I can’t imagine anyone on campus would vouch for me.

Professor Bell’s face flashes in my mind, but it feels impossible. I don’t move from the bench even as it starts to mist rain.

Later, on my way back to my room, I check my phone—though it’s more out of habit than any form of hope.

My heart drops when I notice the icon on the screen.

One new email.

As quickly as I can, I open it.

It’s from Professor Bell, the message short and not-so-sweet.

Come by my office. I’m here for the next few hours.

I stare at the message for several minutes—until the screen fades to black, taking her words with it. I don’t know what to make of it. There’s no hope in my bones, but maybe this recognition is enough to reignite the spark that was there.

Or…maybe she’s going to tell me to leave Havenport. Either way, I change course, in the direction of Piper Hall.