Chapter 4 Kieran
Kieran
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing…” Edgar Allan Poe
The stack of papers in front of me blur together; the words are an indecipherable mess of ink and wasted effort.
I try to focus, try to make sense of the student’s analysis of Annabel Lee, but the sentences may as well be in another language.
My red pen hovers over the page, my mind is thousands of miles from the essay, from my office, from this goddamn university.
Seven days.
Seven days since I found her crumpled on the cold tile, lifeless and broken.
Seven days since I had breathed for her, willed her back to me.
Since then, I haven’t eaten much. I haven’t slept at all.
The hospital wouldn’t let me stay past visiting hours, but I remained nearby, just in case.
Just in case she woke up. Just in case she didn’t.
Claire has been a godsend. She hasn’t left Deirdre’s side since the night it happened unless I’m there.
I exhale through my nose, gripping the pen tighter. I force my eyes back to the page, but my focus wavers. All I can see is the image of her burned into my mind. Deirdre, limp in my arms, blood darkening her pale skin. The sound of my own voice screaming for help, the cold fear clawing at my chest.
My office door creaks open.
I don’t look up immediately, the irritation already curling in my gut. I am not in the mood for students asking about their grades or colleagues looking to exchange empty pleasantries. I would rather be left alone with my grief and my rage.
Then a voice cuts through the air, smooth and calculated.
“Professor McKnight.”
My grip on the pen tightens. Sheridan.
Slowly, I lift my head, forcing my features into something neutral, though my jaw locks the moment I meet his gaze.
He stands in the doorway, his expression cool, and his hands are clasped behind his back like some self-important monarch surveying his kingdom.
“President Sheridan,” I say, keeping my voice even.
Without invitation, he steps inside and shuts the door behind him. The office feels smaller with him in it, almost suffocating. He moves toward my desk with an air of casual authority, fingers brushing along the edges of the bookshelves as if he owns the space.
I guess in a way he does.
I’ve been waiting for this conversation since the incident. Rumors started swirling after that student found Deirdre cradled in my arms with sobs wracking through me.
“I won’t take up too much of your time,” he says, though he didn’t seem in a hurry.
I set my pen down and lean back in my chair, exhaling through my nose. “What can I do for you?”
Sheridan smiles, a thin and tight smirk. “I wanted to check in on how the mini session is going, how you are holding together, given the…incident last week.”
My body goes rigid.
He leans against my desk, completely unbothered by my obvious tension, and tilts his head. “You know, I’ve been curious, Professor. Why did you just happen to be at the dormitory of Miss Ravencroft?” His gaze cuts like a razor, almost predatory. “First the fraternity party, now there?”
I purse my lips together, though my fingers curl against the armrests.
“I was passing through the courtyard on my way to my car and heard the commotion coming from the stairwell.”
A blatant lie, but one I told with ease. “Naturally, I intervened.”
I could only hope he didn’t question why I parked near the dorms versus the faculty parking, but something inside me tells me he can see right through my lie.
“Of course.” Sheridan nods, the mock agreement in his tone grates against my nerves. His expression darkens slightly, the calculated shift of a man who enjoys having the upper hand. “You know, there is just something off about it all.”
He slits his eyes in my direction. “Professor McKnight, I really would hate to think that my university’s most valuable and distinguished professor is engaging in inappropriate relations with a student.”
A slow, creeping burn spreads through my chest.
I will myself to remain composed, though my jaw clenches so tightly it aches.
But he continues, “That wouldn’t be what’s happening here, right? Surely, this feeling I have is wrong. You wouldn’t dare drown your past grief by screwing a student, now would you?”
My will snaps.
“Careful, Sheridan,” I murmur, my voice dangerously low.
A sneer crawls across his face. “I’m simply pointing out the obvious, Professor McKnight. The rumors...” He lets the words settle between us before adding, “Surely, you’ve heard them. What do you think would happen to her? To you?”
The last strand of my patience frays.
I slam my hand against the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. Sheridan’s coy look falters, just slightly, but he holds his ground. I stand with my shoulders squared, towering over him now, my voice steady and lethal.
“I would hate to think you’re threatening me, Sheridan,” I say, my gaze locking onto his. “Because you forget, I know more about your actions within the walls of this university than you’d like anyone else to know. Secrets that would burn this place to the ground.”
A flicker of annoyance crosses his expression, but it vanishes as quickly as it came.
He adjusts his tie, then leans in just enough to lower his voice before cautiously continuing.
“And I would hate to think that Miss Ravencroft’s name might find itself tangled in scandal.
People might start asking uncomfortable questions. ”
Heat rushes through my veins, my hands fisting at my sides.
I lean closer, lowering my voice to something cold and cutting. “If she wakes up”—my throat tightened at the if—“and you so much as jeopardize her career, or in any way try to harm her reputation, you will not like the man I become.”
A slow, knowing smile curls at Sheridan’s lips.
“Well,” he muses, straightening his tie. “I pray she does wake up. It would be a shame for a brain like hers to go to waste.”
The bomb inside me nearly explodes.
My nails dig into my palms, but before I can respond, Sheridan turns toward the door. He pauses just before stepping out, glancing back with one final parting shot.
“Well, since there is nothing between you two, I assume you’ll be wanting her to fill the TA position, then?“ His smirk deepens. “That is, if she wakes up.”
And then he swiftly turns on his heel, and he’s gone.
The second the door clicks shut behind him, I exhale deeply, pressing the palms of my hands against my desk. My entire body vibrates with barely contained fury. My breaths are ragged, and my vision is tunneled.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, jolting me from my thoughts. I fish it out, my pulse kicking up when I see Claire’s name on the screen.
Claire: You need to get here. Now.
That one word sends ice through my veins.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I grab my coat and burst through the door, my heart slamming against my ribs as I tear down the steps of the walkway.
The moment I step out of Scholar’s Auditorium, the cold Connecticut air slaps against my face, but I barely feel it. My pulse is hammering against my ribs, my breath is shallow as I shove my arms through the sleeves of my coat. The weight of Claire’s text burned in my mind.
You need to get here. Now.
Now. Now. Not when you can, not soon. Not asking me to come, demanding me. Now.
My fingers fumble with my keys as I reach my car, yanking the door open with more force than necessary.
I slide into the driver’s seat and jam the key into the ignition; the engine roars to life.
My hands tighten around the wheel, and before I can think, I’m pulling out of the parking lot too fast, the tires skidding slightly against the pavement.
I don’t care.
The roads are mostly empty. The dark asphalt glistens under the dim glow of the streetlights. The city blurs past me in streaks of muted gold and red, and my foot presses harder against the gas pedal than it should.
A thousand scenarios flood my mind, each one is more horrifying than the last.
Did she…?
No. No. Claire wouldn’t have texted. She wouldn’t have given me the chance to get there if…
Don’t think like that.
I grind my teeth. My grip on the steering wheel is so tight my knuckles ache.
Maybe she’s awake. Maybe something has happened with her condition, a complication, a setback.
The doctors have been saying she’s stabilizing, but stable didn’t mean safe.
Stable doesn’t mean she is out of the woods.
Stable didn’t erase the bruises on her skin.
The machines were still helping to keep her alive, to help her breathe.
I can’t lose her.
I can still taste the bile from seven nights ago.
When they whisked her away in the ambulance, every emotion roared to the surface, and I was physically ill for hours at the hospital waiting for news.
As I drive down the road, the sound of the way her breath rattled in her throat haunts me yet again.
They were too shallow, too weak to sustain her.
My hands still felt the weight of her, limp and lifeless in my arms.
The moment that haunts me is the sight of her lying on the cold ground. There were only two words that could barely escape my lips as I ran down the steps. I didn’t recognize the sound of my own voice, raw, jagged, breaking apart in the empty stairwell.
“No…”
“Deirdre!”
The words tore from my throat, violent and desperate, bouncing off the cold walls and disappearing into the silence.
My hands were shaking, but I didn’t feel the tremors.
I couldn’t feel anything. My body was ice.
Numb. Everything inside me was shutting down except for one single, unshakable thought.
I’ve lost her.
I didn’t think, I couldn’t. I dropped to my knees beside her, my world narrowing to the broken, crumpled form lying motionless on the cold tile.
She wasn’t moving.