Strings Attached

1. Unexpected Meeting

Unexpected Meeting

A streak of sunlight hit the paper taped to the door, and as I approached, it heated my back.

A message left instructions on a new location while the professor’s office was being repaired―something about the air conditioner not working.

I couldn’t blame him; it would be impossible to work in this heat without some sort of cooling system.

But still. We had an appointment scheduled, and he could’ve warned me before I walked clear across the campus for nothing in this scorcher.

I pulled out my phone and took a quick photo of the note in case I needed it for reference later.

Plus, the phone number he’d left behind might come in handy if I ever ended up being late.

Not that he could blame me since he was the one who’d moved without a single notice.

Except for this paper taped to the door.

I put my cellphone back into my messenger bag and adjusted the straps of my sundress and bra for the hundredth time that day; it wasn’t the most comfortable piece of clothing I owned, but it was the lightest material I had.

The small agenda the university provided came in useful as I looked at the campus map, trying to find the new location of Professor Frauley’s temporary office.

“Oh, that’s fucking great,” I muttered when my finger landed on the other side of the map.

And because it was located in the old houses bought out by the university to make more offices, there was no way to get to it by walking inside the buildings.

Instead, I had to leave the cool air and walk outside through Satan’s ass crack to get there.

I could already feel the chaffing of my inner thighs despite wearing shorts; they rode up constantly, and having to stop every few minutes to yank them back down was annoying for more than a few reasons.

The obvious was they didn’t stay in place, but the other was the stares some people gave me.

Or the occasional smirk. Or even the confused look from people who never had to deal with that kind of issue.

Annoying people who couldn’t mind their own business.

And so I stepped outside again, as though I was submerged into boiling water. It wasn’t just the heat that was too much, but the humidity. Thirty degrees Celsius is doable in dry heat, but when the humidity adds an extra fifteen, and it felt like forty-five? Hell would be proud.

As I approached the building, black spots darkened the side of my vision. With my luck, I’d pass out before being able to step inside. Or worse, I’d make it in and look a mess when meeting this guest professor for the first time.

Way to make a first impression.

We’d spoken on the phone and corresponded by email for the last week, but meeting in-person was different.

Hopefully, there was a washroom somewhere in there where I could at least clean up a bit beforehand.

I checked my phone for the time, put it away, then pulled it back again when I realized I didn’t even register what time it was.

Ten minutes to spare; it was a good thing I was always anxious about being late and showed up everywhere at least thirty minutes in advance.

Not that I’d go in that early, but it gave me time to mentally relax, make sure I looked presentable, and most important of all, go in without panting like I’d run a marathon.

I entered the old house-turned-offices, and my whole body thanked me for the blast of cool air.

Even my mind seemed to stop heating my brain fluid almost instantly.

I still had a few minutes to spare, but the office number was upstairs, and with no elevators, I’d need time to catch my breath once I was up there. There was no time for a washroom check.

Grabbing the railing, I gripped it hard and began walking up the steps.

My legs shook; I’d already walked more than usual in the past few minutes, and additional stairs weren’t welcome.

As I reached the top, I wiped at the sweat pooling along my upper lip, then did my best to push my hair back from my sticky forehead.

The office in question was closed, and no lights seemed to be coming from behind the door.

Part of me wanted to cry while another wanted to scream profanities, but instead, I just stood there, deflated.

Too tired to care anymore. Why wasn’t he here?

I’d bothered to make an appointment with the man, came all the way to his office only for him to have moved without letting me know, and then walked to the new location, and still. ..

I gritted my teeth, trying my best to calm down so I didn’t burst into tears at how exhausted I was.

Another office door opened, and a young man poked his head out. “Oh, hello. Are you here to see Professor Frauley?”

“Yes,” I said, still a bit breathless. “I had an appointment with him. My name is Jill.”

He nodded, then stepped out. “The professor said you’d be coming around this time but that you might be a bit late.

” He rubbed the back of his head, ruffling his black hair.

“I’m Patrice, a teacher’s assistant. I was supposed to email you about the new location, but we’re having issues with the internet in here, and phones don’t get service either.

” His gaze traveled from my feet and back to my eyes.

“I’m sorry you walked all the way there for nothing. ”

So it was obvious; I likely looked disheveled. I debated between telling him it was okay or that he should try the trek I just did, but instead, I took out my phone again. Low and behold, I had no service in this place, so I decided to forgive him.

I shrugged. “It’s fine. Technology just doesn’t work when we want it to, right?” I said with a smile.

“Yeah, sorry again.” He motioned toward the professor’s door. “He had to go out for a last-minute meeting but said I could use Professor Corriveau’s office to start with the meeting since I’m the one who did most of the research about your questions―”

“If it’s okay, I’d rather just wait for Professor Frauley since I also needed to talk to him about something more...personal.” I fidgeted with my bag, unsure how much Patrice knew about why I was here.

“You mean about his connection to the man you’re looking for?” When I nodded, he smiled. “I actually have the professor’s notes about that as well, but as soon as he gets back, you can definitely ask him more questions about it.”

My heart skipped a couple of beats. The professor had left notes about when he was a practicing psychologist and might have seen the serial killer as a patient. This would change all my plans about how I’d go about writing my article.

“In the meantime,” Patrice’s voice brought me back to the present, “I still have that research you needed if you’re interested in looking at it over with me.”

“That sounds good, thanks.”

He waved his hand toward the office, and I stepped inside. The door closed behind with a loud click, and a tiny shiver ran down my spine. I guessed it was the drastic temperature change and pushed away my unease as I took a seat.

Patrice walked around the desk and sat in the leather chair. “So you wanted information about the last few recorded homicides and suicides in the city within the past few years, correct?”

“Yes.”

Patrice opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a thick folder. “I didn’t know how many of the deaths was a few, so I grabbed the last twenty.” He slid it toward me. “I included attempted murders as well.”

“Thanks.” My heart pounded in my chest at the thought of comparing these notes to the ones I had back at my apartment. Maybe I’d actually be able to make a connection. After putting the folder safely into my bag, I turned back to Patrice. “Have you been a TA for long?”

He shook his head. “No. Pretty new.”

The phone on the desk rang, and I jumped at the sudden noise. It would definitely make sense to have a landline if the internet and Wi-Fi didn’t connect well in this old building, but then, Patrice could’ve called me...

“I’ll be right down,” Patrice said before hanging up.

I wanted to point out he could’ve made a phone call, but before I could say anything, he got to his feet.

“Sorry, I need to run downstairs quickly. Professor Corriveau’s been waiting for this delivery since yesterday, and it needs a signature.

I don’t want him to miss it.” He grabbed a bag from the floor and dashed toward the door. “Mind staying here while I get it?”

“Sure...”

The door closed again, and I sat back, letting out a breath.

Exhaustion settled within; the day was suddenly catching up to me.

Right before my whole walking journey, I’d helped grade papers for a first-year psychology class.

Most of which read more like novels than research writing. They’d learn, though, as everyone did.

After four years, I’d completed my bachelor’s degree in journalism and had moved on to my master’s. But with only eight months left before my final report was due, time suddenly seemed to be moving too fast. It would all come to an end soon enough.

Deciding I wasn’t going to wait around any longer, I got to my feet and went to the door. I tried turning the doorknob but frowned when it didn’t budge.

“What the...” I stared at it, noticing the keyhole as my heart hammered against my chest. The doorknob was installed the other way around. He’d locked me in from the outside.

My breath came faster as I backed away. No, it just had to be a mistake. It was likely one of those doorknobs that required a key both ways, and Patrice hadn’t thought of it when he’d closed the door.

Still, I hated being locked inside an office, and soon, the walls were closing in.

I needed a distraction. I pulled out my phone, scrolling on a few pages before remembering the internet didn’t connect here, nor was there any service to call out.

More and more, the room shrunk, and I paced.

I clutched at my throat, desperate for more air, but none came.

“Calm down. Relax. Everything’s fine,” I mumbled as I stopped in front of one of the shelves.

Books stood along the wooden surfaces, filling it from top to bottom. Books were a good distraction, so I grabbed at a random one, but a plastic box that looked like six books slid out.

They were fake.

I pulled out more, but none of them were real. Even the pictures inside the frames were generic ones that came with when purchasing them. What was going on? Why was everything inside this office fake? And where was Patrice? How long did it take to sign for a package?

I couldn’t breathe anymore; it was as though someone had wrapped a rope around my neck and was cutting off the oxygen. The heavy curtains over the window helped keep the heat out, but I needed sunlight―something to show me there was a real world beyond this artificial place.

My stomach churned when I opened them, revealing nails keeping the window shut tight.

I spun, and the opened laptop caught my attention.

Or, more accurately, the video playing on the screen.

I approached the desk and leaned my trembling hands on the surface, staring at Patrice lying in a pool of blood somewhere.

With the little light coming into the room, I guessed the basement, the cement floor looking frozen as his body convulsed.

Someone else came into view and crouched next to Patrice. The knife in the stranger’s hand glistened crimson. I pressed my hands against my mouth as he pushed the blade against the young man’s throat, then sliced through in one sure motion.

It wasn’t the first time this person had done this. No hesitation. No trembling hands. Nothing.

He stood and turned toward the camera. I swallowed the bile at the back of my throat as he waved. He wore a black mask, the eyes darkened out, and a smile cut out into a slit. The serial killer I was tracking... It was him.

He stared at the ceiling, then vanished from view.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, then stared up toward the door. He was coming for me.

I grabbed the chair I’d been sitting on only moments ago and placed it at an angle so it was wedged under the doorknob. At least it would give me a few seconds before he likely bashed his way inside. No. I wouldn’t die today. It wasn’t my time. I hadn’t written my report yet.

Grabbing the second guest chair, I dragged it toward the window, then smashed it against the glass as hard as I could. It bounced back, leaving behind only a tiny crack. Why couldn’t it be easy like in the movies?

I did it again, this time using all my strength as I pictured the killer reaching the top of the stairs.

The glass shattered, and I jumped back as shards flew to the floor and outside.

I gripped one of the curtains, wrenched until it ripped off a good amount, then tied it to the professor’s leather chair.

Being on the second floor, I needed a way to climb down; I just hoped this part worked a bit better than the glass smashing.

The doorknob jingled, and I almost threw up as my stomach clenched. I took hold of the curtain and tugged. The long chair angled itself horizontally, allowing me to climb down along the brick wall of the old house. Heat burned through my sandals, but I didn’t care. I could barely feel it.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, I ran off toward the street, needing to be in view of the public as much as possible. Not because I’d be asking for help, but because if the killer came after me, he likely wouldn’t do anything in broad daylight in front of everyone.

My chest heaved as I stared toward the house from across the street.

That was too close. But it also meant I was getting closer to figuring him out.