Chapter 58
“Abs?”
“Ivy, what the fuck? I went to your place and there were cops everywhere! They wouldn’t tell me anything! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. That student—” Ivy choked up. “Can you come get me? Please? My car is at my place.”
“Of course. Where are you?”
“Princeton PD.”
“I’m on my way.”
Even though she was standing outside now, Ivy could still hear the yelling from within the building. Suspected that the main culprit was Devon Godfrey.
She couldn’t get over what Vaughn’s drunk partner had said.
Why didn’t she call the cops?
Because of Dr. Moorehead. Because he’d told her that he’d take care of it. And now Rebecca Quinn was dead because of his inaction.
Ivy clenched her jaw so hard that it began to ache.
Abby arrived moments later and immediately jumped out of her car. Ran over and hugged Ivy, who leaned into it.
What a fucking day.
They stayed this way for several moments, only separating when someone bellowed behind them.
Devon again.
“Let’s go.”
They started to drive.
Abby didn’t ask questions, knew Ivy needed time.
All that blood, all this death.
They arrived at her house.
The black CSU van was still there, as were several squad cars.
“I’m over there.”
Abby parked beside her car. Thankfully, it was far enough away that the cops didn’t notice them.
“You want to go to my place?” Abby offered.
“Yes—but there’s something I need to do first.”
“I hate when you say that. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I’ll swing by after. I gotta go.”
“I’m coming with you.”
No fucking way.
“No,” Ivy said forcefully.
Abby’s manicured eyebrows rose up her pale forehead. “Ivy, I’m scared.”
“Me, too.”
Now it was Ivy who hugged her friend.
“Thank you, Abs. I’ll come by as soon as I’m done.”
Dr. Moorehead—if anyone other than Zeke was to blame, it was him. If the asshole had only called the cops like she’d told him to, Rebecca would still be alive.
Fuck him.
Ivy knew that doing anything now was a bad idea. She was paradoxically exhausted and energized at the same time. She should just go to Abby’s house. Finally get some rest, let this simmer. Figure things out in the morning.
Bold decisions made during times of stress never ended well.
Instead, Ivy stormed into Dr. Moorehead’s office, surprised when there was no secretary there to stop her.
More surprised to not find the bald man behind his desk.
Ivy felt her anger dissipate a little. She was about to leave when she spotted a crisp, clean envelope on the desk. Ivy strode forward.
Her name was scrawled across the front in big, bold, capital letters: “IVY.”
An apology? A resignation?
Did Dr. Moorehead hear about what Zeke had done already?
Ivy didn’t know. Thought it was best to just leave it.
But fuck Dr. Moorehead.
Ivy picked it up. It wasn’t sealed, and she flipped the flap back. Teased out a folded piece of paper. Unfolded it.
At first, Ivy wasn’t sure what she was looking at. A piece of paper with printed words on it. She’d been expecting an apology, but this wasn’t that.
It was . . . a poem?
At the top, in bold, was the number, “8001.”
Then,
Not quite perfect, but close to right,
Add the missing number, reveal the site.
You have 27 minutes—so don’t be late,
Fail, and a life meets its final, sulfurous fate.
This was followed by two numbers: 40.3299 and -74.6510.
Ivy read the note three times.
It made less sense after each reading. But the poem and the numbers seemed somehow familiar to her.
Where have I seen this before? Ivy wasn’t sure.
She nervously looked around the room.
Spotted a camera in the corner, up high. Similar, if not identical to the one she recalled seeing in the barn in which the prisoner’s dilemma had been played.
Her heart rate spiked again, and she reread the note a fourth time.
One word stood out to her: “sulfurous.”
As in, hydrogen sulfide gas.
She fumbled with her phone.
“Vaughn, I think we’ve got another one . . . I think there’s going to be another attack.” Her voice cracked. “I think there’s going to be another murder.”