“It was Abigail,” I choke out, looking up at him. He’s beautiful. Light brown hair lays neatly over his head. Baby blues like the Caribbean peer down at me.
“Someone killed Abigail.” I blink. He doesn’t look shocked. This isn’t news to him.
“It’s probably an accident. Nothing happens here, so people get over-excited when something does,” he says to appease me, squeezing my shoulder.
This was no accident. “Did you see the picture my roommate sent me?” I screech, hysteria tingeing my tone.
A grimace mars his features. “It’s circulating the internet, Liz. A picture of her body. It was sent to everyone.”
My insides clench. “Why would people do that?” Everyone in the room gawks at me like I’m freaking crazy.
“Calm down. Grab your stuff. Let’s get out of here. You look like you’re getting hyperthermia.”
I send a scathing glare to the eyes still on me. “What the hell are you looking at?”
“Ms. West,” our Professor admonishes—like I’m the one in the wrong. Snatching my bag to my chest, I sling my wet coat over my arm, my heart skipping a beat when Abigail’s empty chair becomes a crater-sized hole in the room.
“You okay?” Stephan asks when we’re in the corridor.
No! How is anyone okay? “I’m fine,” I state defensively.
Shaking his head and raising his shoulders, he says, “Death intrigues people, Liz. They take pictures. Everyone’s desensitized these days.”
“They’re assholes. She’s a person—a freaking student they went to school with—someone’s child, sister!”
“You want me to take you home?”
Tucking a strand of unruly hair behind my ear, I exhale. “No. I want to walk. I need the air.”
“It’s still storming out.”
“I said I’m fine,” I grate out, pulling his sweater over my head and pushing it into his chest. “I’ll see you later.” Not waiting for his reply, I take off.
Abigail was my seat neighbor. We weren’t friends, but it puts me on edge knowing she was murdered. Murdered. Someone killed her, and people are looking at her naked, violated body, sharing it like its porn—and they’re looking at me like I’m the freak.
I need to get away from everyone.FourSleeping the day away has left me with a thundering headache in the back of my skull. It takes me half an hour to walk to Marley’s, my mind so preoccupied I don’t even remember the journey. I’ve been working at Marley’s for two years now. It’s close to campus and helps pay the rent. Jeff, the owner, named it Marley’s after Bob Marley with visions of turning it into a pot café like one he had visited in Amsterdam. Instead, it ended up being like every other coffee shop in America: a rip-off of Starbucks.
“Oh my god, Liz, where have you been? Did you see my text?” Charlotte hisses at me before I’ve even made it through the door. My mind has been hazy with dark thoughts—memories.
Slipping out my jacket, I hang it on the hook and grab my apron. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way, like I needed more nightmares,” I scorn her.
“The shops have been buzzing about it all day.”
She seems too hyped talking about a murder. It’s like a carnival showed up in town.
“I knew her, Char,” I tell her, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck to elevate an ache there.
Grabbing my upper arms and forcing me to face her, she barks, “What?”
“We weren’t friends.” I shrug from her grip.
“How did you know her?”
I push past her, making my way to the front of the shop, busying myself with wiping glasses over and stacking the shelf. “She’s from one of my classes,” I inform her, sensing her eyes burning into the side of my face. “We sit next to each other,” I add.
“Shit, Liz.” She blows out a breath, resting her hip on the counter. “I can’t believe you know her.”
“Knew her,” I correct.
“Do you need to talk about it?”
“No,” I snap, pushing her back through the door into the hallway. “Isn’t your shift over?”
“Yes, it is,” Jeff barks from his office.
“Fuck off, Jeff. You need to get the heat fixed or I’m not coming in tomorrow,” Charlotte shouts back. They’re like an old married couple who resented each other but knew they needed each other at the same time.
“You don’t come in, you don’t get paid,” he grunts.
Rolling her eyes, she folds her arms across her chest, making her tits spill from the top of her shirt. “So, she was in your class? That’s so creepy. Maybe you know who killed her too.” Her eyes widen with the realization.
My heart drops.
“Don’t look.”
“Killed who?” Jeff grunts, leaning his weight against the doorframe of his office.
“Nosey much?” Charlotte glares at him.
“Who killed who?” he asks again, ignoring her.
“A girl was murdered last night,” I tell him. How does he not know when everyone else seems to? Charlotte pulls out her cell phone and holds it out to him, showing the photo she sent me earlier. He squints, devouring the image.