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“Shhh, it’s okay now. Stop crying,” he murmured, his voice strangely soft. He cupped my face, forcing me to look up. My vision swam with tears, blurring his features.
“Viv,” he said, his tone shifting, losing its warmth. “Do you know why the killer came after you?”
A cold dread seeped into my bones. “H-how would I know?” I stammered. “He was insane… rambling about his daughter… I never hurt anyone…”
“Did you really never hurt anyone, Vivian?” Ethan’s voice dropped, low and dangerous.
I froze. Had I misheard? The air suddenly felt thick.
“Vivian,” he repeated, his voice a chilling whisper, like a ghost breathing down my neck. “Have you really never harmed anyone?”
My blood turned to ice. “I… I…” The denial choked in my throat.
A sudden, sharp sting – cold and intrusive – pierced my neck below the jaw.
Confusion washed over me. I looked down. Ethan’s hand gripped a jagged shard of glass, palm-sized. The other end was buried in my throat.
“Vivian,” his voice echoed, hollow and accusing, “have you really never harmed anyone?”
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. A red mist clouded my vision. Beyond the shattered doorway, I saw only Mr. Davies’s body. No second killer.
As the world faded, the distant, detached voice of an officer floated through the haze: “Three years without a single murder in this district… this is just horrific…”
*
A memory, sharp and unbidden, sliced through the darkness – three years ago, Fall break.
Campus was deserted late that night. I’d stayed too long at the library. Cutting through the woods back to my dorm, I heard laughter and shouting. Thinking it was some club initiation, I crept closer.
A guy and a girl stood by a large metal drum, kicking it, their voices dripping with malice.
“Dumb hick! Think you deserve that scholarship?” sneered the girl.
The guy laughed, cruel and loud. “Come on, sweetheart! Sleep with me, I’ll pay you! Forget the scholarship, I’ll hook you up with clients!”
“Yeah!” the girl jeered. “Say yes, and maybe we’ll let you out!”
My stomach lurched. There was someone inside the drum!
I wanted to run, but my feet were rooted. Muffled cries and pleas came from inside the drum.
“Please… stop…”
But the pair only got louder, more excited. They started throwing rocks, the clangs echoing horribly inside the confined space.
The racket drew the dorm supervisor, Mrs. Granger. She stormed into the clearing.
“What in God’s name is this racket? Should be ashamed! Making noise at this hour!” she yelled, flashlight beam cutting through the dark.
I sagged with relief. Authority was here. I wouldn’t have to intervene.
Mrs. Granger shone her light on the drum. “What’s this nonsense? What’s in there?”
The girl smirked. “None of your business, Mrs. G. Little tramp here tried to crawl into my boyfriend’s bed. Just teaching her a lesson.”
A weak, desperate voice filtered out from the drum: “N-no… help me… please… it’s not true…”
Mrs. Granger hesitated for a split second. Then, to my horror, she kicked the drum hard.
“Damn right! Hate a homewrecker!”
“I’m not—”
“Not? Why else’d they be after you?” Mrs. Granger kicked the drum again, twice, sending it rocking. “Just keep it down. Don’t want campus security finding this mess.” She turned and marched off.
The drum wobbled violently from her kicks and toppled over. The lid popped off and rolled away.
A figure scrambled out – Sarah Young, a quiet girl from my history class. Her face was pale, streaked with dirt and tears.
The guy lunged, grabbing her hair. “See? Nobody cares. You’re gonna give me what I want, or I’ll just take it—”
Sarah bit down hard on his wrist. He yelped, releasing her. She twisted free and bolted into the trees.
“Get her!” the girl shrieked.
They chased Sarah through the woods, towards the campus lake. Panicked, disoriented, she stumbled at the water's edge and plunged into the icy black water.
“Help! Help me!” Her terrified cries pierced the night.
I stood frozen behind a tree, hidden. I could swim. I should help.
But if I stepped out… they’d know I’d seen everything. Everything.
*
The next day, police divers pulled Sarah Young’s body from the lake. Ruled a suicide.
A week later, her father and older brother came to collect her things. They looked broken.
And me? I remembered the lesson my parents drilled into me: Be careful. Don't get involved.I buried the memory deep. I never told a soul what I saw that night. Not Ethan. Not anyone. Until this moment, bleeding out on a broken windowsill.
