“So the things they said were similar to the writing you claim you saw in your bathroom?”
A heavy feeling appeared in my stomach. “It’s not just a claim,” I said. “The writing is there. You can see it for yourself.”
He sighed and leaned back. “That’s the problem, Laney. There’s nothing there.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“When the guards entered your room and checked the bathroom, the walls were sparkling white. No sign of black paint anywhere. There was a tiny black spot of something on the sink, but they determined it was dried mascara that had come out of a tube next to it.”
My throat felt like it was closing up. “That can’t be right,” I said shakily. “It’s not possible. I know it was there. I saw it!”
Sanders nodded at the security officer, who pulled out a phone and scrolled through a set of images on the screen. “These are photos my team took while they were investigating,” he said. “You see? Nothing there.”
He was right. The walls were perfectly white. No oily black letters or rivulets to be seen.
I shook my head, trying to make sense of it. “He must’ve used some sort of paint that washes off easily. Then he got into the bathroom and cleaned it all up before anyone else got there.”
Silence reigned in the room for a long, painful moment.
“How do you imagine he got into the bathroom, Laney?” Sanders finally asked. “Or your room in the first place?”
“He broke in, obviously,” I said, brows furrowing with annoyance.
“My team found no sign of forced entry,” the security guy cut in. “The doors were all intact.”
“But….” I shook my head again, trailing off. What the hell was happening here? I knew what I saw. I knew what I went through.
“The only way to get into your room is with the keycard you were assigned at the beginning of the term,” Sanders said.
I folded my arms. “How did the security team get in, then?”
He held up a palm. “They have cards that can open any door on campus.”
“So then my card isn’t the only way someone can get in,” I said, face flushing with indignant heat. “Someone could’ve stolen a card from the security office and got in that way. Also, my bathroom door has a keycard lock on it too, just like the main door. So that’s how the guy could’ve gotten into my bathroom and cleaned up before you arrived.”
“If he had keycard access to your bathroom, why didn’t he go in after you locked yourself in?” Sanders asked. “Why did he wait outside and knock?”
I went silent, shoulders slumping. That was a good point.
“Maybe he just wanted to scare me,” I finally said in a small voice.
Sanders exchanged a glance with the security guard before speaking again. This time his voice was softer, gentler. Like he was speaking to a young child. “Laney, it isn’t possible for someone to have stolen a keycard from the security team. I’ve been assured that they are all kept very close at hand by the guards. None have been reported missing or stolen, either.”
“Then someone stole mine.”
“Don’t you have it on you?”
I swallowed thickly. “Yes, but… I think it might’ve been stolen from my bag the other day. Just for an hour or so,” I said, suddenly recalling the incident in the rowing club changeroom. “They could’ve cloned it somehow, right? Or they—”
He interrupted me, lifting a palm. “Laney, do you think it’s possible that tonight’s events were just another part of the nightmare you said you had earlier?”
I folded my arms. “No. It was real.”
“Nightmares can seem very real sometimes. They can also be exacerbated by alcohol consumption,” the security officer interjected.
I cut my eyes at him. “I don’t drink.”
“You said you were at the Friday the 13th party down by the lake earlier this evening. We know students drink at parties.”