Chapter 73 - Bastian #2
He chuckles again, a sound I now loathe. “No offense. It’s just that I remember covering schadenfreude in my high school psych class. Did you know the Japanese have a saying, ‘The misfortunes of others taste like honey’?”
His disarming laugh is anything but.
What, suddenly we’re friends?
“What am I saying? A professor with a master’s in philosophy, psychology, and anthropology knows a hell of a lot more than I do.
” He waves a dismissive hand toward the board and then shrugs.
“I’m just surprised it’s part of your curriculum.
Then again, Cinderhart High is a prep school in everything but name. ”
I shove my laptop harder into its slot in my satchel than is strictly required, turning to face Thatcher with a stony face. Which is surely a better than a scowl.
“Was there something you needed from me, Off—” I swallow down a growl of irritation. “Deputy?”
He’s back to staring at the board with a bemused frown.
“Mm? Oh, yes. I was actually hoping to find Miss Lee in your class today.”
You and me both, pal.
“And?” I prompt. Icily. As I glance at my watch. Because Christ, don’t they teach cops how to read the fucking room?
“Do you know where she is?”
“I don’t keep tabs on my students.”
“No, of course. I just thought—” Thatcher purses his lips, like he’s reluctant to admit it “—since you’re almost single-handedly responsible for Miss Lee’s scholarship, you’d be keeping a close eye on her. Surely her attendance is…important?”
The beat of silence that follows turns the air to lead.
“You seem very interested in Miss Lee,” I mutter, when I can’t think of a single fucking thing to say. “Am I missing something?”
Thatcher looks away, mouth twitching, then back with something approaching resignation. “I don’t make a habit of leaking information, but since you’ll be reading about it in the papers tomorrow anyway…” He bows his head. “A body was discovered yesterday evening.”
He’s still looking at me.
Watching oh-so very closely.
“That’s unfortunate,” I say. “Someone Miss Lee knew?”
Thatcher nods. “I’d have preferred to notify her in person before she reads it in the paper, but the Sheriff’s department can only keep a crime of this magnitude out of the public eye for a day or two at the most.”
“My God,” I whisper, shaking my head. “That poor, poor girl. As if she hasn’t suffered enough in this goddamn life.” I slide a hand over my mouth to hide the smirk threatening to show up.
Thatcher says nothing. He’s reserving all his energy for catching the tiniest hint of something he doesn’t like on my face.
It’s my turn to look away, suddenly reticent about what I’m about to share.
“Look…it’s really not my place…”
I expect Thatcher to grovel for whatever sliver of information I have, but he just waits.
Calm. Impassive.
Fucking infuriating.
“My T.A. Kai—” I cut my eyes to the empty desk “—has been AWOL the entire week. Turns out he’s been kicked out of his frat.”
It felt like desperation, knocking on NEX’s frat house door Tuesday afternoon, asking if anyone had seen my T.A. Thankfully, the kid who’d answered the door and told me about Kai’s predicament seemed as nonplussed as I was pretending to be.
Thatcher frowns. “What does that have to do with Miss Lee?”
I frown right back. “You didn’t know they were in a relationship?”
Thatcher blinks. Not surprised, but as if something just clicked into place in his head.
Good man.
Now run off and play detective somewhere else, and for fuck’s sake, leave me out of it.
“You find Kai, I’m pretty sure you’ll find Haven, too.” I slide the strap of my satchel over my shoulder, and gesture toward the door with a wave of my hand, like I’m shooing a horse. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—“
“Actually—” Thatcher begins, cutting off when my cellphone vibrates in my satchel. “I’ll let you get that.”
While you eavesdrop, of course. I glance at the screen.
The Eden House?
Jesus fucking Christ, what now? Did my mother forget what year it is again? I thought she paid these people to remind her.
“This is important,” I snap, knocking shoulders with him in my rush to leave. I don’t even plan on answering the call, but it’s a long way to the door, and my phone just keeps vibrating in my hand.
I glance back to catch Thatcher’s frown. It’s not the cutesy ‘aw shucks, is this a bad time’ expression he normally wears. There’s a sharp, calculating light in his eyes. I like it even less than the tic in his jaw when he clenches his teeth.
Which all disappears the instant we lock eyes. He gives me a faint smile, and a half-shrug.
Watchya gonna do, huh?
Movement forces me to look away from him, to where Parker is still packing up her things. And just like that, Thatcher is walking over to her.
Christ. Now I’m wondering if I’ve ever said or done anything inappropriate around the girl.
What about Haven?
They’re friends.
She must have spoken to Melissa about me.
That dress I sent Haven? Parker could have been there when she opened it.
What if she told the girl about our visit to Laramie?
Did that lead to a conversation about all the other times we spent together?
Haven seems to be a private person, but what about after a few drinks?
Some molly? What if that tongue of hers—
“This had better be good,” I snap into the phone as I answer, if only to pluck my mind out of its catastrophizing spiral.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Roo—“
“Professor,” I cut in. “Cut the bullshit. I told you not to call me unless it was urgent. So what’s it this time?”
There’s a stunned silence. “I, uh…it’s Evelyn. She…she passed.”
I stop in the middle of the hallway so abruptly that a student veers out behind me with a muffled curse. When they glance back at me, though, contrition quickly replaces annoyance before they scuttle away.
“What? When?”
“It happened so quickly, Mr.—Professor—” She cuts off. “About half an hour ago. The paramedics—”
She cuts off as if she’s expecting me to say something. To burst out sobbing. To wail and gnash my teeth.
When I don’t, she adds a mumbled, “Are you still there, Professor Rooke?” like I might have gone into shock.
It’s not shock.
I’m just…waiting.
Waiting to feel something.
Pain. Guilt. Remorse. Any fucking thing.
But there’s nothing there.
“I am so sorry, Professor Rooke. I know how close you were to Evelyn.”
We both know it’s a lie.
I struggle to keep the mirth out of my voice, because I know how poorly that will be received.
“I’m not sure why you called. Is there paperwork for me to sign?”
She makes a choked sound. “No, uh, I mean, yes. If you could let me know when it would be convenient for you to come through so we can make the necessary arrangements—”
“Thought that was all part of her package. Food, diapers, her decaying corpse?”
I know I’ve gone too far, but I can’t help it.
I’m finally feeling something.
And it’s motherfucking rage.
Aware that a few of the students streaming past me on their way to their next class are side-eyeing me, I stalk down the hall and slip into the alcove on the first floor landing next to the stairs.
The exact spot where I touched Haven for the first time, brushing that spot of ink from her lip.
Eden House’s representative is rambling now.
“—it states she wishes to be cremated, but we can schedule a wake either before or after—”
“I won’t be attending, so it’s really no business of mine,” I tell her coldly. “As to her body? Burn her, throw her in a wood chipper, turn her into a pinata, I could care less.”
I end the call, slipping the phone back into my pocket as Parker comes into view. She’s headed for the stairs, a small frown on her face.
“Parker.”
She glances left, right.
“Parker!”
When she turns and sees me in the alcove, she hesitates, her lips working like she’s biting the inside. “Professor?” she says, standing at least three feet away from me.
“That was a smart observation back there.” I keep my eyes fixed on hers.
Not intent, just focused.
Her gaze darts away a second before returning, locking on. “Not everyone who takes your class is an idiot.”
“You think only idiots take my class?” I keep my tone light, but spots of pink appear on her throat and cheeks.
She doesn’t defend herself, or take the bait, and I don’t know whether to be impressed or irritated. “I think most of the kids in this place are only here because it’s expected of them,” she says.
“It’s not expected of you?”
“It is. But I’m also here to learn.”
“And take drugs.”
Those pink spots turn crimson as she throws a harried look over her shoulder, as if to check if there’s anyone in earshot. When she turns back, I’m surprised at the anger in her eyes. Did I look like that a few minutes ago?
“Loosen up. If I report you, I’d have to report everyone, then I wouldn’t have anyone left to teach.”
I should let her leave. Instead, I glance out the alcove’s window, frowning.
The Witch is dead.
I should be relieved, but I’m just fucking pissed.
A career that’s circling the drain. A deputy who smiles like he knows where the bodies are buried. And the two people who understood the darkness inside me—gone.
After everything I gave them.
Everything I taught them.
Everything I made them feel.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches.
There are so many things I should be doing with my time this weekend. Planning a new class, getting my car detailed, hiring someone to fix my fucking doors—the glass one, and the wood one where Haven’s bullet is still lodged.
But I feel too malicious and empty to care.
I could try filling the hole with liquor. With coke. With sex.
From experience, I know there’s only one cure for this particular void.
I need to break something pretty again, and soon.
Need to hold it down as it struggles, my ears ringing with its desperate moans and pleas.
Need to watch it bleed.
Could have been us, Haven.
Could have been us, Kai.
Now I guess it’ll have to be Parker.
Parker shifts uncomfortably when my gaze lands on her again. Clearly wanting to leave but too polite to just walk away.
Such a good slut.
“I’m holding a small, invitation-only study group this weekend.”
“How many people are going to be there?”
“Only those I find worthy of my time.”
When she says nothing, just watching me warily, I add an annoyed, “Five, maybe six.”
“At school?”
“On a Sunday?” I scoff. “At a coffee shop, most likely.”
When she still says nothing, I exhale loudly and head for the stairs, our shoulders brushing when she doesn’t get out of the way in time. The halls are empty now, only a handful of stragglers on the first floor dashing for their classes.
“Have your secretary call me to confirm after you’ve checked your schedule,” I mutter.
I don’t even get halfway down the stairs.
“Professor!”
I pretend I don’t hear her.
Even when she appears at my side, I keep staring ahead. It takes a tug on my sleeve before I turn to her. But when our gazes lock, I give her all my attention, like the world ceased to exist. And when I see her flinch, reeling from the intensity of it, I know she’s mine.
“I can squeeze you in for an hour. Two at the most,” she says, trying to sound glib, but her voice is too unsteady to pull it off.
“Two hours won’t be enough for what I have planned. Then again, most students don’t have the stamina.”
Her eyes go wide.
“For longer study groups,” I add, smiling ruefully. “Mind out of the gutter, Parker.”