43. Vani
43
VANI
T he girls left about twenty minutes ago, and truthfully, I was kind of happy to see them go. I like my own space, and I didn’t like all the bitchy comments that seemed to be flying between them. I hate that shit. Women should support women, especially in a man’s world, like this one. We should be building each other up, not trying to tear one another down.
The presence of Reagan’s folder is really bothering me now. It’s as if I can hear it screaming from the drawer where I’ve hidden it. It’s become a loud, glaring thing in my room that I need gone.
Recently, I’ve been way too distracted by the Vipers to give it—and shamefully, even my sister—much thought, but after it was almost discovered again, all I want to do is get it out of my room. I feel like it’s got a flashing light above it, signaling it to everyone. I know I won’t be able to sleep with it still in my room. I need it gone now.
Maybe it’s the small glass of wine I’ve had, too, but my impulses are less easy to resist. I tell myself it’s a good time to do it—it’s late and the secretary won’t be at her desk. Yes, there are cameras, but I don’t have the time or energy to try to deal with them as well. I can just pretend I’m leaving a note for Dean Rossi and use my body to block the camera’s view while I slip the folder onto the desk.
Mind made up, I grab the file from where I have it hidden inside another folder in my desk and slip it under my shirt. I check the outline isn’t too obvious, and then shove my feet in my sneakers and leave my room.
Everything seems quiet, so I make my way through the building, toward the dean’s office.
I always find this place so creepy at this time of night. If I ever came across a building that was haunted, this would be it. The eyes of all the paintings follow me as I go, but this time, instead of allowing myself to be freaked out, I find my mind wandering to the painting Saint did of me. I hated that it had caused a fight between him and Lex, but I also loved that painting. That they cared enough about it to fight also gave me reason to pause. Do men who are just thinking of a woman as something to fuck really fight like that over an image of her? Yes, Saint put a lot of work into it, but why had it made Lex so angry? I’m sure I heard him say something about Saint painting his version of me, but I still don’t really understand what that means. I’ll have to talk to him about it sometime.
Saint has promised he’ll paint me again one day, with me sitting for him. I wonder if he’s going to expect me to get naked for the picture. I find myself smiling at the thought. I can just imagine how that’s going to end.
I reach the hallway that leads to Dean Rossi’s office and check that I’m alone.
I am.
Stopping at the alcove that contains the secretary’s desk, I scan the surface for a pen and a pad of sticky notes. Sure enough, I find what I need and pick them up. What the hell am I going to write? I need an excuse for being here. I tap the pen against my lips as I think. I’ll have to request a meeting with the dean about one of my classes. I don’t want to say that I’m struggling with anything in the curriculum—because I’m not—so maybe I’ll have to say that I’m finding it too easy. I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ve got time to think of something.
I work quickly, writing down my name and cell phone number, together with a request to arrange a meeting.
I keep my back to the camera and reach under my shirt to pull out the file. I don’t want to risk leaving it directly on top of the desk, in case they think to marry the note with the mysteriously appeared folder, so carefully, I ease open the nearest drawer. I can shove it right to the bottom of all the paperwork, so hopefully it’ll be quite a few days before it’s even noticed, and by that time my note will long be forgotten.
I ease the file out from under my shirt and use my other hand to lift up the paperwork inside the drawer.
“Can I help you with something?”
The deep male voice cuts the air. I let out a squeak of surprise and jump, and in doing so drop the file. It scatters, pieces of paper flying in all directions.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I spin around to find Dean Rossi standing directly behind me.
My mind ping-pongs between dropping to my knees and gathering all the papers back up, trying to think of an excuse for me having them, and pushing past him and just high-tailing it out of there. But I do none of those things. Instead, I just stand there, frozen in my indecision.
“What’s this?” he asks with a frown, moving past me to pick up what I’ve dropped.
I find my voice. “Oh, sorry. I was just leaving you a note to request a meeting sometime about my English class, and I knocked the file off your secretary’s desk.”
“If you knocked it off her desk, why was her drawer open?”
“I-I don’t know. I just found it like that.” My face is burning up. I might as well have a sign flashing above my head that reads ‘liar.’
Dean Rossi bends to pick up the scattered file. He lifts a couple of sheets of paper, and then freezes.
I hold my breath.
“Where did you get this?” he asks, his voice becoming different—as cold as ice and as sharp as a blade.
“I…umm…like I said, it was on your secretary’s desk.”
He stands and takes a step closer. “Don’t lie to me. Get in my office. Now .”
I want to cry. Could this have gone any more badly? I should have just left the fucking file in my room or chucked it in the industrial trash cans around the back of the kitchen. Stupid, stupid, stupid .
I don’t have any choice. I must go with him.
We enter his office, and he shuts the door behind me. “Sit,” he orders.
I don’t dare refuse. I sink down into the chair on the opposite side of the desk and try to make myself as small as possible. I’m shaking all over, and my heart feels like it’s trying to crawl out of my mouth via my throat.
“Why do you have Reagan Olsen’s file? Tell me the truth this time, Ivani. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
I blink and bite my lower lip. I’m breaking my promise to Mom by telling him, but what choice do I have?
“I lost my mom six months ago,” I say, hoping he’ll at least go a little easier on me if he pities me, “and on her deathbed she told me I have a sister. Reagan’s that sister, and I’m trying to find her.”
His expression changes, and I can’t quite pinpoint what it means.
“You haven’t heard?” he says. His face is tight, and he looks utterly incredulous.
Confusion bounces around inside me, my insides fluttering with anxiety. “Heard what?”
“Ivani … Reagan is dead.” He reaches forward as if to touch my shoulder and comfort me but then drops his hand. “She died a couple of years ago.”
It’s like he’s just punched all the air out of my lungs. “What?”
No, this can’t be right. He’s made a mistake. I’d considered the possibility that she was no longer at Verona Falls—of course I had—but dead? No, I would have heard. I would have known. I would have goddamned felt it.
He continues, “I’m sorry, and I know this must be hard to hear, but it was suicide. She jumped from the tower.”
I fold in two, knotting my hands in my hair as I shake my head. “She can’t be dead. She just can’t be.”
All the future moments I had imagined, the dreams of having my sister in my life, all crumble to dust. No, they weren’t even real enough to create dust. They were just a figment of my imagination. Even while I was learning about her from my mom, she was already dead.
I burst into tears, but I’m not only crying for myself, I’m crying for my mom. My poor mom who had already gone through so much and had lost the daughter who was taken from her twice and hadn’t even known it. Was it a blessing that Mom had never learned that her eldest daughter had died? Had it been better that Mom had gone to her grave believing Reagan was happy and living her life? I think it probably was.
I hope, wherever they are now, they’ll have found each other again.
Dean Rossi seems uncomfortable at my tears. He finds a packet of tissues and tries to offer them to me. I shake my head and push back my chair. I don’t want to be here right now. I need some privacy to process what I’ve just learned, and to grieve in private.
A huge part of me wants to call my dad and tell him to come get me, but I can’t even do that. If he finds out about Reagan, he’ll find out about what happened to Mom, and he’ll go after Reagan’s dad. This was the opposite of what Mom wanted.
“Please,” I manage to say through my tears, “don’t tell my dad. He didn’t know about the baby.”
I haven’t been punished for my crimes yet, but I expect it’s still to come. The dean will wait until I’m more stable, and then give me my marching orders. I’ll have to think of an excuse to tell my dad about why I’m no longer allowed to attend Verona Falls, but I can’t go there right now. My head is just full of thoughts of my sister being dead. All that time wasted while we’d been apart, time we now can never get back. I’m utterly heartbroken over a person I’ve never even met. And to lose her by suicide, too. What was going on in her life that was so bad that she’d wanted to end it? Could I have helped? I feel the deep pain of guilt as it slams into me. I wasn’t there when she needed me the most.
“I’ll consider it,” Rossi says. “But I’m not making any promises. And Ivani, I understand you’re upset, but it’s for the best you don’t talk about this.”
I nod, knowing I’m out of here anyway once he figures out a way to do it. I just hope he doesn’t tell my father about Mom’s secret. I guess it’s the best I can expect.
With tears streaming down my face, I flee the office. I keep going, still moving at a run, keeping my head bent, so the dark curtain of my hair shields my face and my tears. I don’t want to be out in public right now, though luckily not many people are around at this time. I can’t stand for anyone to see me like this.
But when I reach my door, I find Angelica standing outside of it.
“Hey, I forgot my char—” she starts, but her words fade as she sees the state I’m in.
She stares at my tear-streaked face in horror. “Vani, what’s wrong?”
I gulp a sob, my chest hitching, and I burst into a fresh round of tears. “Reagan is dead.” I forget all about Mr. Rossi’s warning as the need to tell someone overrides all my common sense.
Her eyes widen. “What? Do you mean Reagan Olsen?”
I sniff and nod, and Angelica glances either side of her and lowers her voice. “We’re not supposed to talk about her. If Dean Rossi overhears you, it’s an instant expulsion.”
I almost laugh. “I think I’m probably expelled anyway.”
“What? Why?”
I close my eyes briefly and shake my head. “It’s a long story.” I think of something she’s just said. “Why would you be expelled for talking about her?”
She keeps her voice down. “Because of all the shit that went on around it. Word is that Rossi had to pay off the family to stop him blowing this place up and killing the guys responsible.”
I blink. “Guys responsible? What are you talking about? I thought she killed herself. That’s what Rossi said.”
“Yeah, but that’s just the cover story. None of us really knows what went on.”
“But who are the guys?”
Her expression crumples with concern. “Babe, we did try to warn you, remember. It’s the Vipers.”
I thought it was bad enough learning about Reagan dying, but now this? How many blows to my heart is it possible to take before it stops beating?
I shake my head. “No.”
But even as I say the word, I remember Reagan’s room. I remember finding the carving of the word ‘snakes’ right beside the one of the evil eye. I remember how empty the room had been and how I’d thought she must have moved. I even remember asking the guy in the corridor outside about her, and the strange look he’d given me. No wonder—I’d been asking about the location of a dead girl.
“They’re the ones responsible for Reagan killing herself, or so everyone says. They were screwing with her right before she jumped off that tower. She even landed on one of the twin’s Maseratis. Not that he gave a shit. He was too busy worrying about the dent and how to get the blood off to care about the fact a girl was dead.”
The world is spinning. The floor seems to be tilting under my feet and the walls are closing in.
This place is a fucking cesspit. I want to wash the filth of the Vipers’ touch from my body, but more than anything I want out of these walls with their disgusting secrets and lies.
I need to get out of here. I don’t care that it’s late and it’s dark outside. I just want to get on my bike and put as many miles between me and Verona Falls and the fucking Vipers as possible.
I spin on my heel and run.
“Babe, what about my charger?” Angelica’s voice chases me down the hallway.
I ignore her.
I run through the corridors, down the elegant staircase, through the grand entrance hall, and burst out into the night. I head to the side parking lot and straight for my bike. The key is hidden behind the rear wheel. I wasn’t too worried about it being stolen with all the security they have at Verona Falls. I don’t have my helmet, but I’m too emotional to care. All I want is to put distance between me and this place and the men kept within its walls.
I locate the key, swing my leg over the seat, and bring the bike to life. The growl of the engine vibrates up through my core.
Immediately, I feel better. This is where I belong—on the back of a bike, not trapped within those four stuffy walls and with the assholes who live there.
I flick on the headlight, and it illuminates the other vehicles around me. I glance up at the tall tower looming over me. Is this where Reagan jumped? Am I in the exact same spot where her body hit?
The thought brings on a fresh bout of tears. I angrily wipe them away and get moving, guiding the bike down the long driveway to the gates.
“Bit late to be heading out,” the security guard says. He knows me. I’ve even said hello to him before, and I bet half the stuck-up shits here don’t bother.
I offer him a trembling smile. “Had a bit of shitty news. Want a ride. I won’t be long,” I lie.
Right now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be back. I hit the roads of the Adirondacks and finally feel as if I can breathe. I keep my speed low at first, absorbing the comfort of the engine and the wind against my skin, and then push it higher.
I want the roar of the bike to drown out my thoughts, to stop me from thinking, if only for a minute, but they’re crowding inside my head.
I think of what Angelica said about Dean Rossi having paid off Jarl Olsen. Isn’t that an admission of guilt that something more went on than a simple suicide? No wonder he didn’t want anyone talking about it. How would it look to the outside world if three young men were suspected of having something to do with a girl’s death? I only convinced my father to let me come here because I thought women were safe here.
I realize how wrong I’ve been.
I also hate Jarl Olsen even more than I did before. I’ve never met the man, but what kind of person not only steals a child from its mother, but then, years later, takes payment for her life? What a nasty son of a bitch he really is. I hope I never have to meet him, but if I do, I plan on telling him exactly what I think of him.
My fingers tighten on the handlebars, my knuckles turning opaque. I pick up speed, and the wind tears through my hair, whipping the strands back from my face and drying my tears. How can I ever bring myself to go back there? If I do, will I just be sent away again?
I shake the thought from my head. I should just keep riding until I get back home. Who cares if I’m sent away? I don’t want anything to do with the place.
But then it dawns on me that if I leave, I’ll never truly find out what happened to Reagan. Did she jump, or did one of the Vipers push her, or even throw her? I picture her screaming in one of their arms as she sees the huge drop and tries her best to struggle. Who would have done it? Saint? Zane? Even Lex?
My heart is breaking. Could they really have been behind my sister’s death? I need to ask them, face to face. I need to see the look in their eyes when they find out who I am, and exactly why I’m at Verona Falls.
A flash of movement suddenly darts out on the road in front of me, my headlights reflecting a set of wide, yellow eyes.
Purely out of instinct, I yank the handlebars to the right, trying to swerve so I don’t hit the creature, whatever it may be—a raccoon or squirrel, or maybe even a cat. But my front tire catches on something, maybe a patch of wet leaves or a rock, and in a split second the bike is out of control.
It slides sideways, and I try to straighten it, but I already know it’s not going to work. I’m fighting the bike with all my strength, and everything slows. I can’t win against the momentum of the heavy machine. The side of the road is lined by trees, and now I’m heading straight at them. A head-on collision will be fatal.
I force myself to let go of the handlebars and throw myself to one side. The bike lets out a roar, as though it knows I’m abandoning it, but a split second later, I hit the road. The faces of all the people I love flash into my mind in a slideshow—my dad, Mom, even Reagan. Though I never really knew what she looked like, I always pictured her as a slightly older version of me.
All I know is a moment of white-hot agony sheering down one side of my body, and then I lose all consciousness.