Hands Like Ours (Viridian Falls #1)

Chapter 1 - Jackson

After dark, when night settles over Viridian Falls, the university campus feels haunted—not by ghosts, but by shadows and secrets, as though the ivy and stone carry whispers of everyone who’s passed through.

The air grows heavy, soaked in the scent of rain and old earth, and windows glow like watchful eyes in the dorms above.

Light from the lampposts flickers against the old brick buildings, distorting their edges until they look like they belong in memories or dreams.

Beneath it all, there’s a hum, a kind of tension that never leaves this place. It clings to the arches, the library stacks, the quiet lake beyond the fields. Something about Viridian Falls has always felt alive after dark.

Alive and waiting.

It’s not the dead that haunt Viridian Falls. It’s the living. Their guilt, their obsessions, their secrets buried just beneath the ivy.

And maybe that’s exactly why I like it here at night.

Because it’s not my own shadows or secrets that haunt this place. In that borrowed quiet, the campus becomes a mirror that tilts outward instead of back at me.

That’s also why I always try to schedule at least one evening class every semester. There’s something comforting about being here when the halls are almost empty and the only light comes from the streetlamps outside.

However, right now, I’m almost regretting it.

It’s the first day of the fall semester, and I’m exhausted but not ready to drag myself home.

My girlfriend and I had another argument last night, so I’m dreading the idea of walking into our apartment, seeing her face, pretending everything’s fine.

We’re both just so stressed going into our last year as undergrads.

I’m sure if we can make it past graduation, we’ll be okay.

Instead of heading home after my last class, I’ve spent the past half hour in the library. It’s barely eight o’clock, and I’m already getting kicked out.

Sometimes I wish I had gone to a bigger university in a larger city, one where the library lights never go out.

But Viridian Falls is all I’ve ever known.

My decision was also made for me when my father said he would only pay all four years of my tuition if I went to school here, to the university where four generations of Ellises before me went.

At least that deal was firmly in place when I changed my major from political science to English literature. He didn’t appreciate my decision, and I understand since I might’ve done it partly out of an act of rebellion.

I could still follow the path he wanted for me, but I won’t.

Like hell I’m going to follow in his footsteps and be miserable for the rest of my life. I’m sure it’s just him and not all lawyers, but I’m not taking that chance.

Since I might be trying to wait as late as I can—until Molly is too tired to start yet another fight—I walk across the dark campus toward the Old Main building where most of my classes are this semester.

Any students left roaming about are heading toward their cars, leaving me alone to navigate the shadows.

When I get to the oldest building on campus, the air feels heavier, dustier, like old paper and rain-soaked mortar.

Old Main looms above me, a relic from the past. Its tall, arched windows glint from the dim lights remaining inside, and ivy crawls up the weathered, reddish brick like a spider’s web.

I walk up the steps to the big oak double doors, not really expecting them to budge.

But when I pull, the latch gives with a soft click.

The sound echoes through the empty hall beyond.

I glance over my shoulder to see no one around, just the whisper of leaves swirling across the ground of the courtyard.

Pushing the door open wider, I step into the dark hallway.

The building breathes out the familiar scent of wet stone and aged wood as my footsteps echo off its walls. The eyes of past students and faculty trapped within sepia photos inside display cases follow me, judging me for being here this late.

When I reach the closest lecture hall, I try the door, finding it unlocked too. I choose one of the three light switches beside the door, and the overhead lights at the front of the room flicker on, keeping the rest of the lecture hall lingering in the dark.

Quiet. Empty. The perfect place to disappear for a while.

Settling into a chair in the top row of the stadium seating at the back of the room, I take out my folder of syllabuses from my bag that I got today.

I already went through one, but I have two more.

During the first couple days of classes, I always go through them carefully and write down all the due dates in my planner.

I like school. Sue me.

My dad would probably take the case.

Pulling out a pen, I start copying things down, enjoying the silence besides the scratching of ink on paper. It’s different from the one waiting at home. Less dreadful, less suffocating. It also helps to have something to keep my hands busy.

After a few minutes, the tension in my chest starts to fade.

Then it comes rushing back at the soft click of the door behind me.

The sound is small, but in the empty room, it’s sharp and piercing. My pen freezes above the page.

Footsteps follow, slow and measured, tapping against the hardwood floor. My heart is in my throat, pounding away. It’s not until the steps get closer and then stop that I finally turn my head to peer over my shoulder.

It’s Professor Kendall.

One of the shadows of Viridian Falls University.

He stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets, wearing a suit vest that fits his slender frame perfectly.

His short, brown beard is neatly trimmed, and his hazel eyes stare at me hard as though he’s studying me.

I’ve never actually spoken to him, but I’m well aware of the dark rumors that surround him.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks, his deep, smooth voice breaking through the room’s comforting hush.

“The library’s closed,” I tell him like he doesn’t already know that for himself.

“I’m aware. It’s after hours. You’re not supposed to be in here either.”

I swallow hard, wondering if he’s going to report me.

That would just be the perfect start to the semester.

I’ve already been nervous about attending my first class of his tomorrow.

He’s the only professor who teaches world literature, and I’ve really been looking forward to taking it.

But I’ll admit he’s the reason I hesitated signing up for it a few weeks ago.

Or maybe he won’t report me at all. Maybe I’ll be the next one to go missing.

Okay, that’s not fair.

There’s no proof to the rumors that he had something to do with the student who disappeared about five years ago.

However, with him staring me down the way he is, I see why he’s one of the most intimidating professors on campus, even though he’s also one of the youngest. I doubt he’s even hit forty.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “You’re Mr. Ellis, right?”

My heart sinks as I nod.

“You’re in my class this semester.”

It’s not a question, but I nod again anyway.

Several tense, silent seconds pass, and I swear I could hear a pin drop. Or the bead of sweat that’s traveling down my spine. The look in his eyes is calculating, like he’s trying to figure out my secrets.

I’m positive he has more of those than I do.

Finally, he says, “Make sure you turn the lights off when you leave.”

He can probably hear the small puff of air that blows past my lips as relief courses through me. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath, but now I understand the cliché.

“Yes, sir.”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Ellis,” he says before he turns away.

“See you tomorrow, Professor.”

He slips back out the door, and it clicks shut behind him, leaving the room feeling different now.

No longer as empty as it was.

The next morning, the campus doesn’t feel haunted anymore. Old Main is more awake than I am, and I can feel its alert, watchful eyes.

Maybe that’s because I barely slept, and when I did, I dreamed about last night—the hollow echo of footsteps, the way Professor Kendall’s own watchful eyes stared in my direction as though he’d been expecting me.

Now I’m sitting in the same room again, but daylight has stripped it of all its mystery and foreboding. The windows glow with the soft light of early fall, dust floating lazily in the beams from the sun. Even still, the walls feel too close, like the building remembers.

I sit in the same seat I did last night as students file in, their voices low, the hum of conversation filling the air. It all jumbles into white noise, my focus elsewhere.

Every time the door opens, my pulse ticks a little faster.

I sense his presence before I see him.

Professor Kendall passes my row on his way to the front of the room with the same unhurried grace he had last night, wearing a suit vest similar to the one I last saw him in.

No stack of notes, no laptop, just a slim leather folder in his hand.

The room quiets the moment he stands behind the podium.

There’s something about him that pulls the sound out of a place.

Setting the folder down on the podium, he looks out over the class, his expression unreadable. His eyes linger on me for half a second, just long enough that I feel it more than see it.

“Welcome to World Literature,” he says the moment he looks away.

His voice is that same calm, smooth tone that could make even a reprimand sound elegant.

“This course is about obsession. Not the romantic kind or the Hollywood kind, but the kind that drives people to create, destroy, and rebuild the world around them. You’ll find that most great works of literature are written by people who were, in some way, consumed. ”

A few students chuckle nervously. I don’t.

When he glances up again, his eyes catch mine. “Mr. Ellis has already found himself consumed in this very lecture hall, isn’t that right?”

Soft laughter passes through the room. It’s a small class, maybe only forty or so other students, but my face still flames with an embarrassing heat.

He doesn’t smile. That’s not what I’d call it. There’s the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth, a knife’s edge of amusement. “Don’t worry. Curiosity is one of the better sins to have in academia.”

I’ve never gained a reputation the first day of class, and I’m not sure I like it. I’ve always been a good student. Respectful. Motivated. I have a feeling I might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with Professor Kendall.

Fortunately, he moves his attention elsewhere and starts briefly going over the syllabus.

“This class will be a survey of world literature spanning from the ancient world through the eighteenth century. As you can tell by our schedule, we’ll be jumping around a bit chronologically, starting with Goethe’s Faust.”

We were already supposed to have done some reading before the first class—of course, I did—so he jumps right into discussing the text.

As he does, his cadence is hypnotic. It’s like he’s not just teaching the story of a man who sold his soul for knowledge.

He’s warning us. Every sentence is layered with something deeper.

Halfway through the lecture, I realize I’ve stopped taking notes, too drawn in by his passionate speech. It’s the kind of lecture that makes you forget you’re sitting in a classroom but also the kind that makes you aware of every breath you take.

His gaze eventually finds mine again. “You look like you have something to say, Mr. Ellis.”

I jolt slightly, picking my pen back up off the desk. I’ve always preferred taking notes by hand instead of on a laptop like most of the other students in the room.

“Uh, no, sir.”

“You should,” he says, almost gently. “You’re going to have to if you want to pass this class. Faust only makes sense when you ask what the cost of knowing too much really is.”

My heart pounds uncomfortably in my chest, but the words come out before I can stop them. “Maybe it’s not the knowing that costs so much. Maybe it’s what it does to you. The guilt. The part where you can’t unsee what you’ve learned.”

Something flickers behind his expression. Approval. Maybe interest. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

“That’s one interpretation,” he says. “Though I’d argue that Mephistopheles doesn’t trade in guilt. He trades in desire.”

The word desire hangs differently in the air. Heavier. Sharper. Like that click of the door or the spike of my heartbeat.

“Maybe those two things aren’t all that mutually exclusive,” I respond, having to try hard to keep my voice steady. “If you want something badly enough, guilt’s just the echo that comes after.”

A murmur runs through the class, a few heads turning. A part of me already wishes I could take the words back. But Professor Kendall doesn’t look away. He studies me for a beat too long, then nods once.

“You might be surprised how often that turns out to be true.”

His eyes remain locked with mine a moment longer before he returns to teaching.

I don’t know if he means to make himself a riddle, but by the end of the class, it becomes clear that he was right about one thing.

I’m already consumed.

By his passion for literature or by the dark shroud of his mystery, I’m not quite sure yet.