Chapter 3
For three blissful days, I had a torrid love affair with my bed while my assigned reading gathered dust on the table.
If I could have stopped time the night before classes resumed Thursday morning, I would have smashed that button into oblivion.
It took insurmountable effort to drag myself from the warm cocoon of my comforter and put my feet on solid ground.
Dawn brought mist and gloom-drenched skies, and a soft pattering of rain on the windows.
A quick, scalding shower helped wake me, but the promise of the coffee I knew was brewing from the automated machine in the kitchen kept me on the move.
Dressed in high-waisted tan-brown trousers and a maroon sweater tucked into the front, I combed the blonde fringe over my forehead and left the rest of my hair to hang down my spine to air dry.
Once I had a to-go cup of steaming coffee waiting for me, I slipped on my umber, heeled oxfords and grabbed my leather shoulder bag.
I left my phone on the kitchen counter, not quite ready to listen to all the voicemails building up. If I thought about them, I might not have the stomach to drink my much-needed brew.
A brisk wind tickled my cheeks when I opened the front door for the first time since I’d arrived and promptly burrowed in bed.
Shivering, I circled back to grab a pea coat from the foyer closet before stepping back out and locking the door.
Drowsiness dampened my nerves during the drive until the imposing, sharp architecture of the school burst through the trees.
The skeleton of a forgotten time clawing up from the past, slowed by clinging ivy and crawling splotches of moss, but reaching, reaching, reaching into the present to remain relevant.
I parked, and my stomach dropped as I watched other students with early morning classes huddled against the chill, scurrying from building to building.
The mist grew into a careless drizzle, chasing everyone from one overhang to the next.
My hand shook as I gripped my coffee tight to my chest and exited my car, finally succumbing to the knot of nerves in my guts.
I made it halfway across the quad before I remembered to double-check the location of my first class.
And of course, it would be my luck that the History Hall sat adjacent to the West Belltower.
I gave it a wide berth, utterly disinterested in seeing any lingering stains on the concrete.
I’d also avoided all emails and notices sent out about the dead girl over the past few days.
Authorities made statements to placate the locals and confirm that the school remained safe for attendance.
Otherwise, little to no information had come out about the incident.
All the better for me to ignore it and stay focused, as callous as it seemed.
“Hey, blondie,” an amused masculine voice called out, “you lost?”
I knew at once he was calling me. A muscle in my temple jumped at the interruption, but I gritted away my annoyance.
I wasn’t the best at making friends and only had a handful I’d fought to make in England.
They were long distance now. Being friendly was in my best interest, especially when, yes, I was a bit on the lost side. What could it hurt?
Obscured as they were in shadow and mist, I turned and almost missed a rickety old picnic table nestled between two red brick buildings.
I thought I saw four figures at the table at first, but as I walked closer, the fog shifted.
I stepped into the weak amber glow of a light nearby, making out three students around my age claiming the table as their territory.
The guy sitting on the wooden surface with his boots on the bench winked at me, confirming he was the one who shouted.
His clothes hung baggily on his lean, muscled frame, with artfully placed rips as if the material was well worn and not purposefully dappled with holes.
He had dyed-blond braids along his scalp, and a charming smile that had appeal.
“Oh no, I just figured I’d take the scenic route,” I said, summoning a smile I was too tired to mean.
His was genuine as he gave me a long once-over. “Right, and how’s the view?”
I shrugged, feigning disinterest. Which wasn’t hard with only half my coffee in my system. My mouth opened to reply when a girl next to him cut in.
“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see,” she said, fluttering her lashes at him.
Her green hair hung to her shoulders in a shaggy wolf-cut, and she was pale as if she spent most of her life underground.
She had eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man, and I appreciated the skill it took to hone that impressive wing and smokey eye.
“Thoreau?” He raised a brow and grinned at her.
She shrugged, smirking haughtily before leaning on the edge of the table. Then her gaze cut to me, dark eyes with an even darker expression. Her brow flicked as if to say, your move.
“That’s not Thoreau,” I said.
Her face fell as her two friends snickered behind their hands.
She huffed, cheeks tinting.
“That’s a misquote from his journal. The correct line is ‘The question is not what you look at, but what you see.’ It’s a slight difference with nearly the same intention, but the language matters when it comes down to his voice.
And fans of Thoreau are usually sticklers for accuracy.
” My voice faded out, weakened under their stares.
It was enough to make me sigh internally as I recognized the expressions of people disinterested in my ramblings about accuracy.
Exactly how I lost the interest of potential friends’ time and time again.
“Fan of Thoreau, are you?” the third person chimed in. They tipped their head, showing off their shaved scalp and long neck adorned in gold chains and strings of pearls.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, feeling a sudden chill drip like ice water down my spine. “Um, I just took a class where he was one of the major focal points of our discussions.”
A tense beat passed.
“I’m sorry, how rude of me, I didn’t even get your name,” the one with blond braids asked. His features were open, friendly, if a bit curious. He flowed from the table, his lean body moving with a fluid grace that spoke of easy poise. “I’m Moth.”
I accepted his handshake, enjoying the warmth of his skin against the bite of the breeze and drizzle. He had the same practiced grip as most of the rich kids lurking in the hallowed halls of knowledge.
“Moth?” A chuckle escaped me.
“Timothy, but that’s not a very cool name in my circles.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Ah, I see. Well, I’m Ophelia Ashcroft.” We broke apart, and I hugged my travel mug to my chest, clinging to the remaining heat. The chill seeped through my coat, regardless.
“Nice to meet you, Blondie. History major, then?”
“History and Literature.” I almost grimaced at being read so easily, but kept the smile plastered on. “And you?”
“Sociology,” Moth answered. Then he gestured at the green-haired girl. “And that’s Niffy; Psychological Sciences.” Finally, he pointed to their third. “And that’s Talon; Computer Sciences.”
They didn’t look like they would be popular. More like the grunge outcasts smoking laced cigarettes during gym class. Yet there was an air about them that spoke of understated magnetism.
Talon rose from the table, piercing me with gunmetal blue eyes. “Ashcroft? Why is that name familiar?”
Oh God, I was going to hurl.
“Yeah,” Niffy perked up, “I’ve heard that recently.”
“I think it’s a popular surname,” I tried.
“I don’t think so.” She shot me down. Her up and down glance cut me to the quick. No longer curious but dangerously keen. “Isn’t that the name of the CEO who got caught publicly having an affair?”
Fucking shit.
My skin constricted around my bones, and my heart leapt into the base of my throat.
I tried to swallow it down before it choked me, but their stares only aided in the suffocation.
My homecoming to Kilbride had been nothing like I’d imagined.
Nothing like what I, naively, might have wished for.
An uncontrollable and unrestrained wave of anxiety washed over me.
Now, part of me wished I had a bell tower to jump from.
I braced for the incoming questions as they put the puzzle pieces together.
“Oh, shit. Was he your dad?” Talon chirped.
If I could disown my father, I would have a more satisfying answer.
Niffy gasped, using her hand to poorly hide a smirk. “Rumor has it that his wife took him for millions then ran off with the gardener.”
“Pool boy,” I huffed, rolling my eyes. “If the news outlets are going to report on it, they should at least be accurate.”
Moth’s barking laughter startled me. Head thrown back, body shaking with mirth. I hadn’t meant to be funny, but I’d take the victory of a laugh. And it felt like he hadn’t meant to, like I had stolen it from him. He pretended to wipe tears from his eyes.
“No, that’s not what I recognize the name from,” Talon grumbled. “There was an Ashcroft who worked here years ago. Some super smart professor who knew like a dozen languages.”
“Not as exciting as an affair.” Niffy shrugged as if meeting university legacies was old news. Though with a town full of important posh people and their spoiled rotten children, I wouldn’t be surprised.
“My grandfather,” I confirmed, smiling tightly. “Yeah, he was a language professor here a long time ago. That's why we have a house in town.”
“Is that where you’re staying?” Moth asked. And I didn’t know why, but it made me shift from foot to foot. His gaze was penetrating, increasing the sense of nervousness gripping my throat and throttling me.
They were being kind and friendly, I assured myself.
These were normal questions people asked when getting to know one another.
Polite conversation that could potentially lead to building true connections.
Friendships, or at the very least cordial acquaintances, for my final year of university.
It wasn’t a situation that required my flight or fight to kick in, but no one told my skipping heart that.
“For now. I don’t plan on sticking around after graduation.
” I dared a glance toward the West Belltower jutting up from the fog like a ghoul towering over us, watching us.
Coils of mist twisted around the peak, curling as ghostly as a spirit’s caress.
The proximity of death mingled with my rising social anxiety, rapidly brewing a noxious concoction that seeped like poison into my veins.
Niffy caught the direction of my stare. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Students don’t get pushed off the roof frequently around here.”
“Pushed?” My voice eked out as a squeak, eyes going as wide as dinner plates. I hadn’t diligently read the articles, but nothing about potential foul play stood out. The thought made my heart sink into the nauseating stew bubbling in my stomach.
Talon rolled their neck and groaned. “Oh my god Niffy, you know that’s just a rumor. No one here would do that.”
Moth shook his head with exasperation as Niffy and Talon fell into a silent, fast-paced squabble, like long-time friends arguing the same way siblings did. Then he acknowledged me again. “Ignore those two. Gossip hounds, the both of them.”
I shrugged. “Gossip is often frowned upon by society, but it’s actually an important way to share news between groups and communities.
It’s usually demonized by men since women would use it as an opportunity to inform one another about dangerous men and places to stay away from.
orally exchanging stories has also been a part of human nature for centuries”
“Huh.” Moth blinked, sticking his tongue in his cheek as he assessed me. Then he nodded as if coming to a decision. “I like you, Blondie. You should hang with us.”
“Like, right now?”
Moth cough-laughed at that, seemingly caught off guard by the seriousness of my question. “No, uh,” he glanced at his friends. “Personally, we’re more night owls ourselves. We generally go out after studying.”
At that, Niffy and Talon looked up again, watching the interaction.
I felt vulnerable and exposed under the scalpel-sharp edge of their interest. It was closing in on too much people interaction for my embarrassingly low social battery to handle.
I still had hours of classes to endure, and I was still partially lost.
“Show me where my first class is, and I’ll consider it,” I offered, willing to bargain during the conception of a possible new friendship.
“Done and done.” Moth grinned like the cat who got the cream. “Welcome to Kilbride, Blondie.”