"What do we do now?"
Chace replies in a low voice. "We go to security."
I nod my head and take a bracing breath. "Okay."
"Campus security will know what to do before we can go to the police and officially report Sonny as missing. They might even have him on camera somewhere," he adds.
God, I hope so.
I will never forget what it was like to wait in limbo for news about my parents. When things took a turn for the worse, every second felt like an eternity. It was excruciating, and now the feeling's back.
Chace turns, tugging my arm, but I'm still rooted in place.
"Sorry," I say, and I fall in step beside him. Even holding his hand doesn't anchor me.
We head toward the student union, where campus security has its main office. A man the size of a tank greets us from behind a reception desk. His eyes are friendly, and he smiles. I recognize him. Security officers are always walking the grounds, but I've never really paid much attention to them before. I've never needed to.
"Everything all right?" the officer asks.
"No," I reply, my voice shaking, betraying how worried I am. "Our friend is missing. We haven't seen him since last night--it's totally unlike him. He never stays out. Never."
The security officer frowns. "Come inside a minute." He comes out from behind the desk and opens the door to a small conference room.
"I'm Paul," he says after he closes the door and we all sit down. He takes a notebook and a pen from his pocket. "What's your friend's name?"
"Sonny James," I reply.
"When and where were you the last time you saw him?"
"Last night, around ten thirty." Then Chace and I launch into the story of the notes.
Officer Paul frowns, the creases on his forehead rolling. "And you don't know who sent these notes?"
"Not a clue. They weren't signed," Chace says.
"Where was Sonny going last night?"
I shrug. "He decided to meet up with some girl rather than going to the after-party, so just into town I think."
Chace clears his throat. "He could have gone home with someone. He's known for that, but he never stays out all night."
The security officer nods. "Okay, let me take some more details, and I'll have a word with a friend at the police station."
My shoulders sag. I was hoping he would have a more immediate solution. "Thank you."
We give him our address and answer everything else we can for him to relay to the police.
"Okay," Paul says. "I'll have last night's footage from the theater building checked out, but if your friend went into town after, it's unlikely we'll see anything useful. Take my number and leave yours. If he comes home, let me know immediately. Meanwhile, I'll get his photo out to the rest of the team."
"Thank you so much." My breath comes a bit easier. I'm so glad he's taking over. He's probably handled situations like this before. And they've probably turned out fine.
Paul reassures us that he will do everything in his power to find Sonny. In the meantime, with me having no classes on Fridays, there is nothing I can do but wait. I hate waiting; it's always been unbearable. But it looks like we're in for a really long evening.
6
Saturday
February 3
It's 5:45 a.m. I think I got about three hours of sleep. None of my other housemates seem to have slept better, as we're all sitting in the kitchen, eyes glazed over. Our table seats six, so the empty chair for Sonny is obvious.
Around nine o'clock last night, a police officer came to take our statements. They agreed that given the circumstances, the fact that it's completely out of character for Sonny to stay out and not get in contact and to miss class, they should look into his disappearance sooner. We're all still pretty unsettled. The situation became even more real when the police talked about contacting Sonny's parents--and the university administrators. "How long before you think we'll have news?" I ask.
Chace shrugs.
Sonny wasn't caught on any of the university's cameras the last night we saw him, and we searched everywhere we could think he might go.
"Do you think we should be out there?" Sienna asks. "You know...looking for him? He could be in trouble. He could be hurt."
Isaac shakes his head. "We were told to stay here. I think we should wait to hear from the cops this morning before we do anything."
I voice the question no one wants to put out there. "What if something bad has happened to him?"
"Don't, Lylah," Chace says, averting his eyes.
"Should we not discuss what could happen? Prepare ourselves? I mean, we all know this isn't nothing," I say in a rush, my anxiety taking over.
No one says anything.
Our last hope is the police tracking him down. They're contacting his family and friends back home. It's unlikely he'll be there though.
I press my fingers against my temples and shut my eyes. When my brother and I were waiting for news on our parents, we sat in silence. It was suffocating. I felt so alone. Instead of facing reality and giving each other support, we said nothing. And when the doctor told us Mom was gone, I couldn't bear to talk. I didn't have the words. I could only wail.
Sitting there out of my mind with worry isn't helpful. "I'm going to shower." I dash out of the room before anyone can stop me, not that anyone seems to try.
My friends know that my parents died. But they don't know about my mental state and what I went through afterward. Riley is the only one who truly knows how affected I was. I'm not exactly ashamed of how much I struggled--how much I still struggle--but I don't want to talk about it. I'm stronger now, and I like who I've become. But now that Sonny is missing, I feel like I'm reliving part of that experience.
After my shower, I spend the next hour practicing deep breathing exercises in my room.
Chace comes to get me when it's time to leave for the media lab. If my grade wasn't on the line, I'd cancel. But I need to keep my mind busy, so Chace and I head back to the editing suite. We probably have two more sessions, and then I'll be finished.
I wrap my arms around my body as we walk against the cutting wind. It's even colder today, and I can't wait to be in the warm again. "When we're done with our session, let's go back to security," I tell Chace. "Maybe they'll have new updates from the police by then. Or should we stop there first?"
Chace gives me a side-glance, his lips thinning. The longer Sonny is missing, the more I can tell he's letting himself think something bad has happened. When an officer tried to get ahold of Sonny's family last night while the police were at our place, she was met with only voicemail. Apparently that wasn't an immediate cause for concern--and doesn't mean that Sonny wasn't with his family. It's concerning to me, but I really hope Sonny had to go home and simply forgot to let us know.
But that doesn't explain why he's not answering his calls or texts.
"We'll go and see what's going on as soon as you're done. More time likely means more news. Otherwise, you'll lose your session and be even more distracted. Focus on what you can control: finishing this project."
I sigh. He's right.
We turn down the hallway with the editing suites, and I push open the door to room nine. A rancid smell attacks my nose and then hits the back of my throat, making me gag. I slam my hand over my nose and mouth so hard it'll probably leave a mark. "What the hell is that?" I murmur against my palm.
Chace spits out an unintelligible reply through his covered face and flicks on the light. My world stops.
Oh, God.
Sonny.
He's slumped against a wall in the corner, mouth is open, as if he's drifted to sleep. But he's not asleep.
Dark-red blood covers his chest. There's something wrong with his shirt.
My legs give way. It's like I suddenly weigh too much and they bend until I land on the floor in a heap. I jut my hands out to brace myself and stare in shock. Sonny's shirt looks strange because it's cut open--no, his chest is cut open. The dark, c
rusted blood disguises the full horror at first glance. But now there is no mistaking the long, deep gash running down the center of his torso.
Chace backs up, and his heel bumps into my knee. Gasping, he startles and looks down, surprised that I'm on the floor. His green eyes are wide like saucers.
He lowers himself, crouching in front of me. With a shaking hand, he cups my cheek. "Lylah," he whispers. His voice is breathy, like he's hopping up and down while trying to talk.
"He's...dead." My heart stops. "He's dead," I say again. It's all I can think to say. He's dead and we're here with his body! My heart jump-starts again. I need to get out of here. "Oh, God. He's dead, Chace! He's dead!"
"Lylah." Chace tenderly grips my upper arms and hauls me to my feet. His gaze flits around wildly like he's completely unsure of what to do.
Our friend is dead!
"I can't be in here, Chace." I burst into tears. I can feel my blood pumping through my veins. The smell of Sonny's blood is so strong it burns my nose. This is all too much to take in, too much to process. We need help. "Sonny's dead."
No matter how many times I say the words, I can't quite bring myself to comprehend it. Am I asleep? Is this a nightmare?
Chace nods robotically, his eyes fixed on mine as he helps me up and backs toward the doorway. I want to look at Sonny again, to prove to myself that I'm wrong, to prove that he's not dead, but Chace is like a magnet. I can't look away from him.
In the hallway, Chace closes the door behind us. Without taking his eyes off me, he pulls his phone from his pocket.
"Right," I whisper. "We need the cops." Is this actually happening?
I lean against the wall. Chace lets me go, and I slide down until I hit the floor.
I bring my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around my legs.
Sonny is dead. Sonny's dead. And not just dead. Murdered. Sonny was murdered.
My vision starts to blur, and I feel like I'm falling. Nothing makes sense. Reality becomes fantasy. This can't be happening. Sure, Sonny wasn't always likable, but no one would want to kill him.
Around me, I hear footsteps and voices. I'm sure Chace is talking, but I'm stuck in an alternate universe trying to make sense of something so senseless.
Someone kneels in front of me, blocking the light above. The sudden darkness is enough to snap me out of my trance. I sit taller, my heart hammering.
"I'm sorry if I startled you. I'm Detective Ewelina Saunders, but you can call me Lina. I'm going to take you and your friend with me to a room down the hall. Let's get you a drink, okay?"
"You have questions," I say.
"Yes, but let's get you some water or tea first."
Chace holds out his hand. I've never been so grateful for his help before. The second we touch I feel more grounded. He helps me to my feet again and doesn't let go when I'm standing.
"You okay?" he asks.
I shake my head, practically collapsing into his arms. My feet are still planted in the same place, so I almost knock him over. Chace steadies us and holds me close. "You will be, Lylah. I promise."
I wish I could be as sure. Our friend has been murdered. Mutilated. I can never un-see the horrific image of his hacked-open chest.
My legs are moving forward now. I'm aware of that much, but I can't feel anything. I'm numb. We will have to talk about Sonny. We will have to explain what we found, even though the detective has seen him too.
I don't want to talk about it.
Lina opens the door to a room I haven't been in before. There's a small kitchen and seating area. It must be a lounge for staff, but it's empty today. Today is Saturday, I remind myself.
Chace stops in front of the bright blue sofa. "Lylah, sit down," he says softly, like I'm a baby. His forehead is wrinkled from his frown, and he looks a bit scared. Scared for me.
"Sorry," I murmur, following his instructions but still not letting go of his arm, pulling him down to the couch with me. "I'm okay. I'll snap out of it."
The corner of his mouth curls in a sympathetic smile. "It's okay. We're both in shock, I guess."
"Sorry to worry you."
"Stop apologizing."
Sorry.
"Chace, Lylah, can I get either of you a drink?" the detective asks.
"Coffee, please," Chace and I say at the same time.
I need a strong hit of caffeine to make it through this.
"I think there is only instant. Is that okay?" she asks.
We both nod. It is so strange to think about beverages when Sonny is in the editing suite with his chest cut open. Dead. Tears start to fall again. Why would someone do that? Why would someone hurt Sonny?
In the distance, I hear the electric kettle start to boil, getting louder and louder. Lina clangs around with mugs and spoons. Beside me, Chace stares at a spot on the floor. Nothing is there.
"Chace, are you okay?" I whisper.
He shrugs. "I don't really know."
Yeah, me either.
Detective Lina comes back with a white tray and puts it on the table in front of us. She picks up a mug of milky tea and sits down. I reach for my coffee. It's too hot to drink, but I need to hold something. Suddenly I feel fidgety.
Chace and I sit still, waiting for her to start. She bends down, reaching for a pen and notepad from her bag, and she pulls out something else too. It's a recorder. Of course she's going to want to record our conversation. That's what the cops have to do.
They'll replay it and listen--over and over and over--to how we found our friend dead.
She presses a button, and a tiny red light flicks on.
She asks us to state our names, then asks, "How are you two doing?" Chace shrugs his shoulders again.
"I'm not sure," I reply. "I don't understand it. How could someone kill Sonny? Why would they cut him like that?"
"Hold on," Lina says, raising her free hand. "Let's start at the beginning, and we'll work on figuring out the answers to your questions after that."
I nod.
"I'm told Sonny was reported missing late last night by security here?" she continues.
"Yeah," Chace says. "He went out Thursday night and wasn't home Friday morning. He always comes home. We spoke to security, and the guy we talked to, Paul, said he'd report it to the station. Sonny had gotten a few threatening notes before, so the police came by our house and filed a missing person report last night."
She nods. Putting down her mug, Detective Lina looks at her notepad. "Right. I have read those statements. And this morning, what happened?"
I sit up. "Chace and I were going to work on my ad project in the editing suite. When we arrived...I knew something was wrong as soon as we opened the door. There was a smell. Chace turned on the light, we walked into the room, and that's when we saw Sonny in the corner."
"Do you know anyone who would want to harm Sonny? Does he have any enemies?"
"No," Chace says. "Sonny's direct. Sometimes that pisses people off, but he doesn't have enemies. He wouldn't intentionally hurt anyone. There's nothing for anyone to hate him for."
I add, "He's a good person. Was a good person..." I pause. "I can't think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt him or send those notes."
Lina nods. "Sonny didn't use this building for class, am I correct? According to the university, he was studying engineering."
"Yeah. Of our housemates, it's only me and Lylah who come here..." Chace glances at me, and it finally clicks why she's asking that. Why leave Sonny in the editing suite Chace and I booked?
My jaw drops. "Whoever killed Sonny wanted us to find him here, didn't they?"
"Who knew you would be here?" Detective Lina asks, avoiding my question.
That's not a no.
I shake my head. "Um, we had to book the room, so it wouldn't be hard to get that information. But why was he left for us to find?"
Detective Lina doesn't have that answer, but I need it. My mind is spinning, and it is hard to catch my breath.
"We will do all we can
to find that out, Lylah. Where were you two last night?"
Does she think we could have done this? They have to eliminate the people closest to the victim first--everyone knows that. I take a quick glance at Chace; he's staring at Lina with a prominent frown.
"After reporting Sonny missing to security, we went home to wait for Sonny. The police came by to take our statements after that," I say.
"Our housemates were there too. We all stayed in all night," Chace adds, making it crystal-clear that we have an alibi. And witnesses.
The detective offers a smile. "All right."
Chace puts his elbows on his knees and rests his head in his hands. After a few moments, he looks back up and clears his throat. "Are we in danger?" His question is directed to the detective, but his eyes are trained on me.
Oh, God. I hadn't thought about that.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Chace. We should all absolutely exercise caution, but right now there is no evidence to suggest you're at risk."
"What?" Chace snaps. "Sonny was left in our editing suite!"
"He was, but it's also the room closest to the back entrance. It's the first room you see when you come in that way, and the building backs onto the street and the rear door is concealed by trees. Sonny had also received notes only for him, not any of you."
"So you think it's coincidental?" I ask, hoping for reassurance.
"I'm not saying that, but it's possible. We'll need reporting from the forensics team, but given that the blood is only around Sonny, not all over the suite, and there are no signs of a scuffle, he was likely killed elsewhere and put in the suite afterward. I don't want to create panic that this might become a series of incidents. Unless we find any evidence to the contrary, this was an isolated incident. An independent crime," Detective Lina says calmly. "Now, I'll take you through some safety precautions that would be wise for you to follow. But there are no signs the perpetrator has multiple targets."
I swallow sand. "Okay."
We listen to the detective. She's essentially telling us to continue our lives as normal. But how do you do that when you've seen what we have? I'm not sure I can do normal again.
Chace frowns, and his left eye narrows. It's what he does when he's frustrated or stressed. It's like he doesn't think Lina is taking this as seriously as he wants her to be, but what can she do? Sonny is already dead. There's no saving him. And if there's nothing to suggest whoever killed Sonny wants to hurt us, then she's stuck. What is she supposed to do? Order us all into the police's protective custody?
You Will Be Mine Page 4