Chapter 31 Olivia
“Fun party?” Wade asks, through a mouthful of ice cream, as Simon and I enter the dorm room.
He lounges on the couch with his shirt off, exposing his tanned and toned body. Damn. Who knew the dude who wore three shirts at a time could be so buff? Maybe the volunteer life is good for the body and soul.
I shake my head, focusing on the delicious ice cream entering his mouth. My mouth waters. My cramps intensify. Fuck. He's got the right idea. Ice cream. Shirt off. Man-spreading on the couch.
I'm sold.
I peek at the freezer. My ice cream beckons me. Come to me, Olivia. Eat me! You don't have to ask me twice. I’m itching to get my fingers on the cold, delicious treat I’ve been salivating for since I bought it.
I grimace when a twinge of pain burrows further into my stomach. I swear my damn ovaries are shouting in pain. Add ibuprofen to the list of needs before I go to bed and curl up with my heating pad.
But first on the list? Rocky Road ice cream.
“You guys look like you had fun,” Wade comments with a euphoric smile, pulling at his ice-cream-stained lips.
There's something about him. Something lighter floating around him, giving him a joyful aura.
“Funnnn!” Simon sings, spreading his arms wide. “You missed out. Where were youuuu?” He puffs out his bottom lip. “Did you work too much again, Wadey? You have to stoppppp.”
I cover my mouth with my hand at Simon's antics.
Wade shakes his head with a laugh. “I can see that. Yeah, I had too much to do at the shelter before I could leave.” He sighs heavily, but it doesn't match the energy wafting off him.
“Too tired to socialize at a big party.” He shoves another bite into his mouth, noticing me practically salivating at the ice cream.
I'm in need. “I got more in there, if you want some.” He points toward the kitchen as I narrow my eyes at the ice cream.
“Picked up some extra after I got off work. Thought you might want some more.”
I cock my head. “Thanks, man,” I say, clearing my throat. “I still have some I got.”
Is this typical of dudes? Sitting around and eating ice cream together with their shirts off? I mean, I can't participate in the taking off your clothes part, but I’m down for sitting around and eating until I can’t feel my period anymore.
Simon sighs, plopping next to Wade, and leans his head back.
“It was a fun, fun night. Lots of booze and girls and guys and ohhh, I got a number. He was hot with a capital T!” He fumbles for his phone in his pocket, but gives up with a huff when he can't slide it out.
“F-fuck I drank too much,” he groans, rubbing his forehead and, lifts his head.
“You know their dog likes Oli. Like… came-came up to him and let him pet him!” He hiccups slightly, collapsing back into the couch with a grin. “It's impressive,” he slurs.
Lord. He's drunker than I thought. How much did he have in the short time we were there mingling? Seriously, he's like a toddler. I can't take my eyes off Simon for a second or he'll suck down an entire keg of whatever they're offering.
Wade momentarily stops eating, and his brows furrow. “Their dog? Waffles? Likes you? That's weird. That dog doesn't like anyone. I swear he growls at me every time he sees me.”
If I'm going to make it through the rest of the night without slipping up, I need my crutch. My cold, delicious crutch of goodness that will help me bite my tongue on the subject of Waffles and why he likes me. And then after I’ve had my fill, this binder is on the chopping block.
Sweatpants will be mandatory. Ice cream in my face.
Comforter tucked around my body, and the TV on with nothing but Buffy or Dexter, with plans of not moving for two days.
I can’t fucking wait.
But for now, I have to keep up pretenses as Oli. A dude. Who doesn’t get periods or pains from it.
I roll my eyes and grab a carton of ice cream from the freezer, pop the lid, grab a spoon, and sit on the couch next to Simon.
Fuck bowls. Tonight is a—eat straight out of the carton—kind of night.
“Why is everyone surprised by that?” I quip, taking a large bite of my favorite ice cream and humming my approval.
“Because their dog doesn't like anyone,” Wade says, taking another large bite of ice cream. “Especially since…” Wade trails off, swallowing his bite. “Well, you know.” He gestures toward the window overlooking the graveyard, and my spidey-senses tingle.
“Don't leave us in suspense,” Simon whines, nudging his shoulder into Wade. “We know nothing…”
Wade snorts, putting the lid back on his ice cream and licking the spoon clean. “Something happened before the kings ruled Greenwood U. Something tragic back when they were in high school or something. I don't know the whole story.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and awaken, standing on end when Wade’s gaze surveys our small shared space.
Simon peeks an eye open, looking at Wade. “You're shit at gossip,” he quips. “What was the tragic event? Did they eat pizza and mess up their perfect abs?” Simon laughs, waggling his brows.
Wade chuckles softly, but a sobering expression tightens his features.
“It was a house fire on their property. They lost someone or something.” His gaze sweeps over the two of us.
“Or at least, that's what I've heard. The remnants of that house is still there.
Somewhere. Some big mystery in town. I remember my mom talking about it, but she didn't know either. Their dad kept everything tight-lipped. But what do I know? That happened before I came to town.” He shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly.
A home on their property. My house. The small prison my father kept us in. We were his birds in a cage. Whenever he saw fit, he'd take us out and torture us.
We were never free. Only in death. But Raphael Viotto is still at large.
And I’m not fucking dead or free.
Sweat glistens on my skin when I shove more ice cream into my mouth, swallowing not only the cold substance, but forcing my emotions back in.
My home is still there. The remnants, anyway. After five years, Franco hasn't bothered to tear it down. I wonder why? Why keep such a piece of history around? Maybe to look at whenever he’s feeling sentimental with the guys.
Maybe it's time I face my demons. I could traipse through those woods and find it easily. Do I want to? That's the question of the hour.
Maybe when I'm brave enough, I will.
The last time I glanced at my home, it was engulfed in flames with me lying on the floor, bleeding uncontrollably. Good memories rest in the ashes, probably blown to sea by the breeze.
What remains? The structure? Our burnt-up possessions? Memories of days past.
“Whoa! Wait! You're tell-telling me the gods of Greenwood have baggage and a past?” Simon mock gasps. “A fire? Losing someone? Tell me more.” He bats his eyelashes at Wade, who snorts.
“It's all rumors, bro. I don't even know if that shit is real. What do you think, Oli?” Wade’s gaze connects with mine, sparkling with mischief.
“No idea,” I blurt. “I don't know much about this place.” I shrug it off, tamping down the panic growing inside me at the mention of my past. Especially by someone I don't know.
“Everyone's got a past. What they do with it matters to the future. Those assholes are crypts of secrets and bullshit.” Wade rolls his eyes, disdain flowing through every word. “One day, their past and shit will come back to haunt them.”
I lick my lips before shoving more ice cream into my face again. It's the only defense I have right now, so I don't end up saying–oh, hi. Hello. It's me. Their past! Nice to meet you.
“Facts!” Simon says with a groan as his phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket. “SlamApp must be popping off.”
“You have alerts for SlamApp?” Wade snorts, sitting back on the couch and rubbing his temples.
“Daily gossip, duh,” Simon slurs. His tongue pokes out when he finally fetches his phone from his pocket. “Let's see the drama. The…” Simon turns rigid, sitting up straight. All the color drains from his face, and his lips pop open.
“What's happening?” Wade asks as we both lean over and look at Simon's phone.
Alert! Death on Campus. Again!
*Graphic Pictures included*
“Jesus,” Simon croaks, shaking his head. Wade takes the phone from him with a twisted expression, scrolling through the many images of the body lying on the forest floor.
Bloodied.
Bruised.
Pleading with his eyes for help, reaching with bloodied fingers, aching to be saved. Darkness seeps into the photo.
My breaths kick up at the sight of him. Dane. In one picture, he's alive and pleading. Next, he's dead. Alone. Not breathing.
A snake coils at your feet but smiles like a friend.
I swallow hard at the caption sitting below the pictures. A snake? A friend? My breaths shudder. What the fuck does that mean? Who took the pictures of Dane hurting and didn't help?
“How the fuck ...” Wade shakily says with nostrils flaring. “How does this get online? Dane…” He tosses the phone back to Simon, getting up from the couch. “Dane is dead?” he breathes, barely audible in shock. “Dane….” He longingly looks off toward our shared room, swallowing hard.
“Dane…” Simon breathes rapidly, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“What the fuck is happening?” He whines, getting up from the couch and dumping his phone.
He paces the room, running his hands through his jet-black hair and pulling at the ends.
Wade and Simon exchange a few murmured words of grief, embracing each other in a tight hug.
I swallow hard, taking in the pictures with a critical eye. Blood haunts me. The look in his glazed-over eyes reaches through the screen, clutches my heart, and shudders my breaths.
My roommate is dead. He was an asshole, sure. Rude as fuck. But no one deserves to die with a camera in their face.
Now, the question stands–who the hell did this? And why? From what I've come to understand, scholarship students are the ones in danger. Not Dane.
I continue scrolling through the thirty or so photos of the crime scene, looking for anything remotely suspicious. Fuck. I'll have to save all those photos and examine them on my Veritas laptop. Maybe have Carter help me. He's bored all the time right now.
Setting Simon's phone down, I get mine out, save the pictures, and open secure texting with Jonathan. This isn't something that can wait. Dane’s death is too suspicious to sleep on.
Oli
There's been a major issue. **Pictures attached** My roommate is dead. It's suspicious. I want to meet and debrief about similar cases to his.
Jonathan
Wednesday. 2pm. 1212 Hubbard Rd. Warehouse 9.
Oli
I'll be there.
I stare at my screen until it goes black. He never responds. Maybe he's been too busy with new recruits and solving more cases. Veritas has slowly been upping its agents in the past year, recruiting more ghosts like me.
I take a bite of my ice cream, centering myself in the present. Something super fucky is happening at Greenwood. Kids are dying.
And I don't know why.
“I need to go talk to my mom,” Wade says, wiping his cheeks. “I need to find out what the fuck is happening.”
“The police are canvassing the woods…” Simon’s brows furrow.
Wade blows out a breath. “I'll find out shit, okay?” Wade quickly gets dressed, grabs his keys, and hightails it out of our dorm.
“Si?” I question, moving toward him and putting a hand on his shoulder.
“He was an asshole, Oli. But he had a good heart.” Simon runs a hand over his blotchy skin.
“I know,” I say soothingly, running a hand over his back, trying to soothe the heartache of losing a roommate.
They were friends for years. Roommates for the same amount of time. No one would have suspected them to be friends with their vastly different personalities.
“Do you want to have a movie marathon? Eat ice cream?”
Simon licks his lips. “Order pizza, too?”
“Of course,” I softly say, leading him into my bedroom and shutting the door. “You think Wade will find anything out?”
Simon plops onto my bed and lies back. “If anyone can find out anything, it'll be him. His mom always tells him what's going on.”
I can only hope he’s right. It’s too fucking suspicious that Dane is gone. Shit. My eyes slide over Dane’s belongings. He hadn’t fully moved in, but he had at least put his things away into his dresser. I swallow hard.
It’s so strange when someone passes. All their belongings stay behind while their soul departs and they’re no longer a part of this world. But their things are. They’ll stay here and fall into another’s hands, becoming theirs.
My fingers run over the blood drive shirt Dane has on his dresser. Greenwood University Blood Drive.
“It happens every year,” Simon says mournfully, coming to my side. “All students usually participate.”
Right. My advisor had said as much. In fact, she encouraged me to go, stating I’d get a credit from my professors for participating.
“Have you?”
Simon cringes. “I hate needles. Dane did it last year to get an A in one of his classes. Wade did, too. But me? I can’t even walk into that room without puking and passing out.
Me and needles? No, thank you.” He waves his hands around.
“But if you can take it, you totally should. We even have a competition with another college. Whoever collects the most blood gets a prize.”
“Interesting,” I mumble, reading over the shirt.
There’s a gut feeling there. On what? I have no fucking clue. But I think I need to check out the blood drive in a few weeks when it comes to town to glimpse why it’s such a big deal here.