Chapter 6 Cooper
Cooper
The student union clamors with anger and worry, the chatter echoing off the vaulted ceilings, while hundreds of phones light up their flashlights in solidarity with the latest development.
“A fourth student is missing, Bridget Hayes!” the student president bellows into the microphone. “We need answers from this administration. What are they doing to protect us?”
The crowd answers with a flood of noise, a mix of boos and desperate questions asking if it’s safe to go out after dark.
“God, this stalker is hungry,” Ava whispers into my ear, amusement tangled with her sense of dark humor.
“Yeah, a ravenous son of a bitch,” I murmur back, biting my upper lip. “Do you think he’s this starving in the sheets?”
Ava snorts. “Cooper… I fucking swear, if you don’t get your head out of your cock, I’m going to castrate you.”
“You say that like you would enjoy it,” I tease back.
Ava elbows me in the ribcage. “Keep your head in your body, Coop. This is not the time to be auditioning for the fifth victim.”
I let out a sigh of defeat.
The noise of the crowd swells around us, voices laced with panic, students recording videos of the students in tears. I stare past the podium, at the memorials for the victims, hundreds of candles burning.
All of these victims will be forgotten by finals, only to be remembered by their families.
Would it really be that bad to meet your maker? To be at peace, while everyone else is convincing themselves that their lives are important.
Maybe it would be easier to let go. To stop pretending that I care about patient exams, futures, or whatever grand purpose supposedly lies ahead for me. Maybe the stalker wouldn’t chase me again—maybe he would take one look and realize that I’ve already been eaten alive by my own apathy.
Ava looks at me. “Don’t get sulky now, I’m not letting you die. Then I wouldn’t have any friends to suffer with.”
I grin, her sarcasm kindling my flame back to a flicker. “Touching, really, dear friend. Nothing says friendship like shared misery.”
Ava rolls her eyes. “Please. You’d haunt me just to put oat milk in my coffee.”
“Only on odd-numbered days,” I say lifting both brows, “and on the thirteenth of the month I would rearrange your closet just enough to make you start an anti-psychotic.”
She groans. “You would be the most passive-aggressive ghost in existence.”
“I prefer malevolent poltergeist as my title. Thank you very much.”
She smirks and shakes her head, hair bobbing. “If you’re that determined to haunt me, as least die interestingly. Don’t let it be choking down a piece of kale or getting dicked down.”
I snort as the student union begins to clear out.
“Relax, I would never die in a boring manner. A heart attack during sex is way too cliché.” I pause for the theatrical effect.
“It will be cinematic, an experience to behold. The splatter of crimson painting a beautiful mirage of desperation and passion. Critics of the documentary will call it visceral, yet heartfelt.”
“Are you seriously going to romanticize your own murder?”
“Is it working?” I ask with a grin.
She stares at me, completely unimpressed as we begin to venture out in the darkness of campus, pierced only by the streetlights. “What if you were to be murdered by your best friend?”
“Oh yes, that would be a great hook. You could really speak to my personality then from prison.”
She huffs out a chuckle. “Please, Coop, I wouldn’t survive a week in prison. I would end up crocheting shanks out of ramen noodles and crying for help during my forced labor.”
“That’s exactly why it would be a striking story,” I say as I move my hands in a bombastic series of motions. “Tragic backstory. The loyal best friend who couldn’t stand his unrelenting wit. The audience would eat it up.”
“You really think you are that interesting?”
“Oh absolutely. With looks like these?” I say, lifting my cheeks in the air, allowing the breeze to catch my hair. “I would be the obsession of the internet for a couple of weeks at the very least. Short social clips with sad piano music. A striking, hot actor to star as my misunderstood corpse.”
“Okay, Coop, I’ve had enough for one night. Promise me you’ll be safe?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“Of course. I’ll let you know when I kiss my star-crossed stalker.”
“Christ, text me when you get home. Okay?”
“Yeah, I will.” I promise as we part our ways, Ava entering her apartment building while I head back to the bungalow, itching for another run.
Murderers on the loose aren’t going to stop me from getting my thrill. The best part of my day is running through the woods and hopefully leaving with a few scars whether it's from branches or whatever else the universe decides to throw my way.
I make it to my bedroom, plopping my bag on the bed and strip down to my boxers, the air goose-pimpling my skin. I throw on a pair of running shorts and a light sweater to combat the breeze. Gotta be swift and agile—just in case things turn south.
The shorts crinkle against my skin as I grin in the mirror. “You look hot enough to die for,” I mutter, before pausing. “Okay, maybe not the best night to be flirting with the reaper.”
I eye the pepper spray sitting on my nightstand, sitting there like my parents' disappointment.
“Should I?” I ask the empty room.
Nah, I’ll be fine. I didn’t make it state in cross country for nothing. Besides if the murderer is out there, maybe he’s just a lonely fitness enthusiast with boundary issues.
I throw my earbuds in and before I know it, I am in stride. One foot after another. My lungs find their rhythm with the cool dark air. I bend the corner of an oak tree and swerve onto the riverside path.
The darkness in front of me beckons me in, the light of the full moon guiding my feet. The trees shake like an omen to stop, or maybe it’s just the breeze. Either way, I need the fresh air. My pace steadies to keep my reserves adequate—it’s never bad to have some backup energy.
While my feet strike the pavement, my mind wanders, wondering how my parents are doing. It’s nearing the ten-year anniversary of the car accident, the one that spared my life and took my brother’s.
He didn’t deserve to die.
I should have been the one.
He would have done so much more with his life. He would have done something extraordinary. Built a family. Made my parents proud without any effort.
Look at me. Here I am running in the dark, chasing the rush of endorphins, maybe a murderer, just to feel alive. It’s pathetic and exhilarating at the same time.
At least the trees don’t judge me. They never ask what I’m running from or why I keep tempting fate. They just sway back and forth in quiet observation.
They accept me for who I am. A passerby with a pulse and a poorly disguised death wish. The sort of idiot who thinks he can outrun grief if his feet run fast enough. Maybe they know better. Maybe that’s why they lean in close tonight, whispering amongst themselves.
Keep going, boy. We’ve seen more desperate things attempt to live.
My feet come to a standstill without intention. The trees break apart ahead, opening into a small clearing basked in moonlight. The air feels dense, charged with electricity and adrenaline.
I glance around the clearing, at the brush and then back to the trail. The pale celestial light drips through the branches, painting everything in hues of silver and black. I turn off the music from earbuds, it’s dead silent except for the rush of the river.
Then that feeling accentuates—eyes. On me. I can feel the burn of them against my whitening cheeks, tracing every inch of exposed skin. My heart races in my chest so fast that it’s painful. I hold my breath to hear the rustle of some leaves in the brush at twelve o’clock.
I caution a step forward, as delicate as a ballerina pending slaughter.
I know I should flee.
I can feel the impending doom closing in around me.
But I savor the feeling of my heart racing, that it all could end. Right here. Right now.
It’s a masochistically beautiful thought to embrace.
Whoever signed me up as an adult, capable of making my own judgements should reconsider their credentials. A sane individual would gallop away, like a horse that senses the wolf inches from gashing its throat.
But I would let the wolf rip open my jugular if it means that I get to feel this alive for a second longer. There’s a sick romanticism to it, the sharp edge of death, and the heat of terror. My veins rush with a vengeance, every heartbeat a euphoric countdown.
My entire body flutters as I pick up the scent of devilish lust. A dizzying blend of sweat and pine.
The moment I’ve been waiting for. My mouth is dry. My legs forget the instinct of flight. The air is drumming with anticipation and somewhere in the brush ahead of me, something exhales—a sound too human to be the swaying trees.
Every hair on my body stands at attention. My heart claws at my ribs like it’s trying to escape before the rest of me can. I can taste his sweat in the air.
My cock sputters at the thought of the first night. The way adrenaline flirted with arousal until I couldn’t tell the difference.
My man prowling in the forest, weathering the frost—just for me. My own personal predator. I wonder if he brought me a gift tonight. I wouldn’t mind a box of Belgian chocolates to snack on after this.
Why don’t they just get it over with? Why toy with me like this? Can’t he chase me already?
“Come on then,” I whisper into the darkness, pulse fluttering. “Don’t make me beg for it.”
The words tumble free before my brain can remind me I’m flirting with homicide.
Instant regret.
Like actual, heart stopping regret. My body tightens, while I bring my arms in close to my torso. The silence tortures me for a few seconds until I hear pounding thuds across the ground from my left.
Wait. What?