Eyes Like the Night

by Emma Accola

  “I’ll take Friday off,” Micah was saying.

  I was hardly listening. Something about Caleb having a tourist map and the students visiting tourist sites intrigued me. My little voice cried out that there was a message in that. These students were all connected to Caleb, and Harry Spice had put them in my classes to make them acquainted with me, but for what purpose? What did Harry Spice want me to see?

  I turned to Micah. “Tell me everything Caleb said about me.”

  “Why do you want to know what he said?”

  “Because he didn’t lose his objectivity about me.”

  Micah’s regard grew cool as he considered my request, as if he felt a bit of insult. “Caleb thought that Harry Spice wanted you as a trophy wife, the educated and lovely daughter of a successful wine dynasty. Caleb pointed out that you were engaged and saw him as the rapist of your friend. Harry Spice laughed at that. He called Leonardo a chump. Then he said something strange that stuck in my mind: that your family owed him a daughter.”

  My heart stumbled in its beat. I felt as if a dark shade had been raised to reveal a horrible truth. “My family owes him a daughter?” I asked, repeating the words dully. I was the daughter. Something seemed familiar about that. “Those were his exact words?”

  “Verbatim. That idea puzzled Caleb too. You have no history with Harry Spice other than his company doing the computers at the winery, right? Is there something that happened earlier, something I didn’t find?”

  My very soul revolted at the idea of Harry Spice. “There was nothing before his business set up the winery’s computer network.”

  “Maybe that was him shooting off his mouth. He never expected to spend time in prison.”

  Micah’s explanation was probably right, but I didn’t believe it. My intuition clamored like a wild animal fighting against a chain. The idea of my family owing him anything, especially a person, troubled me.

  “Was there anything else?” I asked hoarsely.

  “Caleb thought Harry Spice had an unnatural fixation on you, like you symbolized something for him. Caleb thought that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Tamra’s case.”

  But what could it be? I wondered. I hadn’t met Harry Spice until his company did the work on the winery’s computer systems. Those were the days before he’d become so rich and powerful. Only afterward did he occasionally appear on the fringes of my social circle. Back then I had attributed that to his crush on Tamra. What if it was something else?

  “Forget about him. He’s trying to manipulate your emotions,” Micah said, interrupting my thoughts. “Are you going to work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. As long as my nose doesn’t spring a leak in front of my class, it’s all good.”

  “No one would blame you for staying home.”

  “I know.”

  Micah played with a tendril of my hair. “By the way, I heard something today from my buddy at the police department. He saw the security camera images from the parking lot where Loren Hernandez was run over. He said there’s no telling who’s behind the wheel of your SUV. The closest they can come is that it’s someone with long blonde hair.”

  I frowned as I thought. “Does that mean I can get my car back?”

  “Not yet.”

  I could keep driving Caleb’s car.

  Micah tipped my face up. “Whatever happens here, I hope you never let Harry Spice crawl inside your head. He’s like a poison that takes a lie and puts just enough truth in it to make it seem believable.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I believe that you see what’s concrete, what you can wrap your logic around.”

  “Logic is easy. I understand it.”

  Micah’s expression was unyielding. “The human heart isn’t some strange beast that can be controlled by logic.”

  “Or maybe we’re all just fools.”

  “You’ve never been a fool.”

  “I was,” I began hesitantly. “Until I met you.”

  “You’ve never been a fool. You saw the truth and stopped believing in the lies.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll make us some dinner, and while we eat, I’m going to tell you how beautiful you are.”

  I had to hide a dopey smile. He had seen my ruthless, the mad, masculine part of me that my mother always warned me to hide. He stayed. For the first time in my life I thought that I could have what I wanted. I could fall asleep right then because this felt like a dream that I never wanted to end.

  *

  After word of Elina’s attack, work became a gauntlet of pitying stares or averted faces. My colleagues acted as if they were afraid of me, as if one errant word would cause me to dissolve into tears. Tiffany and a few of my neighbors from my hallway gave me long hugs and wanted to know whether Micah had expelled that student. Other faculty who had heard the rumors about me stealing Gary’s identity and plagiarizing my dissertation seemed torn, as if showing me any sympathy would taint them with my sins. None wanted to be unsupportive of the colleague who’d been attacked, nor did they want to get too close to the fire. Mostly people left me alone.

  Ray Biles didn’t. He and another campus police officer came to my office first thing in the morning to ask whether I would press charges. I said I wouldn’t as long as Elina stayed off campus. Ray told me that her parents had already been in to see him and the Dean of English.

  “She’s claiming you hit yourself with your purse,” Ray said, his stare sharp with suspicion.

  I gave a long sigh of resignation. “Is she really? Did I pound on my own door and call myself a bitch too?”

  Ray’s granite-hard face didn’t twitch. “That part you have witnesses for. But you were alone in the office when your nose was bloodied. It’s your word against hers.”

  “I guess so.”

  “One of your missing students has been found.”

  “Lucie or Mariah?” I asked, hoping against hope that he would tell me what I didn’t already know.

  “Mariah Park.” He paused, as if waiting for me to fill the silence with an incriminating statement. The air in my little office thinned. “Her body was found on the shores of Lake Tahoe.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Grief twisted my face even though I already knew what Ray was telling me. I had cried for her and her family last night when Micah had told me. Just as he had predicted, her body had been found in the morning on the beach of Emerald Bay. “How did she die?”

  “The coroner hasn’t released that information.”

  I sighed. “It’s a mercy for her parents. Now they can stop wondering.”

  “Funeral planning is a damn cold sort of comfort.”

  “Is there another kind for parents who are burying their daughter?”

  “You’ll be contacted for questioning.”

  I replied with a slow nod. Once again Ray waited for me to speak, but I held a stubborn silence.

  His voice became low with threat. “Two of your students are dead and one is still missing.”

  “Let’s pray she’s found safe and sound.”

  “Where were you the day before yesterday?” Ray asked sharply.

  My tone became cool. “At home with Micah. We never left the house.”

  Ray looked through my window into the other offices across the rooftop. “That’s a lot of glass. Some of your neighbors might have seen what happened between you and that student reporter.”

  “I hope one of them did. Why don’t you go find out?”

  Ray’s eyes flashed at the challenge before he left. None had been in his or her office when Elina paid her visit. Ray knew that. This whole visit had been a fishing trip. My intuition told me so, and I believed it. After he left, I settled in to answer some emails. A few students stopped in my office to get help with organizing their essays. After they left, I updated my online calendar, a task that irritated me, for Harry Spice was certain to be monitoring it.

  It was almost eleven o’clock when my brother Glen called and asked to meet for lunch. Just the sound
of his voice made me almost tearful with gratitude. Not wanting my colleagues to see me get so emotional, I pushed my office door shut when I took his call. My longing for my family was a dull ache that I could ignore when I was busy, but it throbbed in the still, quiet hours. Too much time had passed since I had spoken to anyone from my family. Then there were all the lies Gary had told them about my trying to steal his identity. Did Mom and Dad really believe that about me? My fingers tightened on my phone as my throat tightened with guilt at how Micah had asked me to send the text messages to test Glen’s loyalty. All that seemed so horrible now that Mariah had been found dead. Was Glen the one feeding information to Harry Spice? Logic told me that there was no proof that her death had anything to do with Harry Spice. Glen could be completely innocent.

  “Where do you want to meet?” I asked, looking up so my tears didn’t run down my cheeks and ruin my eyeliner.

  “There’s a good Mexican restaurant in that strip mall a couple blocks north of campus. Do you know it?”

  “Yes. How about twelve thirty?”

  “See you there.”

  My hands shook when I disconnected the call. Thanksgiving loomed on the horizon, and after that, Christmas and New Year’s. Recently the holidays had been an ordeal because of what happened with Faith and Damien. I had spent last Thanksgiving and Christmas with cousins in Oregon. My presence had caused some curiosity since they all suspected I had something to do with the demise of Faith’s engagement. Luckily for me, none of the cousins had liked Damien. At least this Christmas would be with my fiancé. That was something. I was thinking that Micah would love my recipe for mulled wine when someone tapped on the door. I opened the door and was surprised to see the dean.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “Come in,” I said as I gestured to a chair. “My nose hurts a little, but at least it quit bleeding.”

  He took a seat reluctantly, as if cowed by being alone with me in the empty, Spartan room. “The student who hit you has been suspended and is in the process of being expelled. She’s not to come on campus without notifying the campus police first. She also needs permission from Micah’s office.”

  “That sounds prudent.”

  “Her parents are threatening to get a lawyer to sue you and the college.”

  “You may back them off by telling them that if they pursue that course, then I will press criminal charges. An assault and battery charge won’t look good on Elina’s record. Or a restraining order. She’ll end up having to explain a TRO for the rest of her life. Hopefully you can bring her and her parents to see reason.”

  The dean squirmed, uncomfortable. “I hope I can.”

  I wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “Is there something else on your mind?”

  “She’s claiming that you hit yourself in the face with your purse.” He glanced around the office, probably looking for my purse, but it was in my desk drawer. “She says you’re the one who threw everything around in your office and that she never laid a hand on you.”

  I arranged my face into sad, disbelieving lines. “Yes, Ray Biles told me. How does she explain the witnesses who heard her beating on my door and calling me a bitch?”

  “She admits to that.” The dean gave me a long, considered look. He wasn’t anybody’s fool, and in his years of dealing with students, he’d developed a pretty good nose for lies. “An individual ruthless enough to hurt herself would be rare. I’m not so sure even Elina’s parents believe her when she says you hit yourself with your own purse.”

  “That’s settled, then.”

  The dean rallied. “About your dissertation, your alma mater is looking for the hard copy that you submitted when you graduated. The trouble is, the librarian who was supposed to archive the dissertations claims he can’t find the file box they are in.”

  “Why not?”

  “The hard copies of the dissertations are in file boxes that are arranged both alphabetically by students’ last names and year of graduation. And the box of M’s from your year is missing.”

  The fact that the box with my hard copy hadn’t been found didn’t alarm me in the least. “I’m sure they’ll find it in there somewhere. Besides, the digital copy that I sent the library must have been archived too. And the company that printed the dissertations will have the digital copy. Those digital copies can’t be lost in a dusty warehouse.”

  “You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” The dean’s face wore an exaggerated look of puzzlement. “The dissertations were archived, but in a really strange turn of events, no one at the library is able to find the password to get into those files. The librarians have tried to reset it, but the program doesn’t respond.”

  “I’m sure they’ll get it worked out.”

  “Let’s hope they do.” He cleared his throat. “About Loren Hernandez, the police have not been able to prove that you were behind the wheel of your car when he was run down. Nor have they been able to prove that he filled out or intended to file a complaint against you for sexual harassment. The paper in his home printer isn’t enough because there’s no way to prove that he wrote it. Of course, the sexual harassment case is still open.”

  “What case? Loren Hernandez is dead.”

  The dean gave me a reproving glance. “Mariah Park has been found dead.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry for that.”

  “Her family told Ray Biles that you were the last person to see her alive.”

  “Don’t forget about the other thirty-five students in her lit class.”

  The dean’s gaze became pointed. “That’s good, isn’t it? Otherwise, people would start to wonder about you.”

  “People let their imaginations run away with them.”

  The dean stood up, opened the door, and turned back. “I’ll keep you apprised about the situation with Elina and whether the librarians are having any luck finding your dissertation.”

  “Please do.”

  After he left, I shuffled my papers into manila folders and slipped them into my briefcase. It was time to leave for my lunch date with Glen. For a moment I considered Elina. I wondered if her fellow reporters were going to write up something about her attack on me. Irony could be cruel.

  As for my dissertation, that was already handled. I had no worries on its account. A friend from my and Tamra’s undergraduate days worked as a librarian at the college where I had gotten my doctorate. As a precaution, I’d asked him to kindly misplace the box with the hard copy of my dissertation for its protection. He knew Tamra had gone into hiding and had no love for Harry Spice. This time I’d gotten to something before Harry Spice did. The box would reappear when I wanted it to, probably on Monday.

  The meeting with the dean had left me pressed for time. I hurried to Caleb’s Lexus. The drive to the Mexican restaurant took less than ten minutes. Glen was already inside seated in a booth when I arrived. He didn’t get up, but I still engulfed him in a desperate sideways hug.

  “Whoa,” he said as he pulled away. “People will start to talk.”

  “They’re already talking about me,” I said as I slid into the booth. A waitress set down plates of street tacos and soft drinks. I was surprised that Glen had already ordered for both of us, but I didn’t comment. I took a long drink of my cola and picked up a taco. Suddenly I was very hungry.

  “That’s good, isn’t it? If no one is talking about you, then you’re not doing anything interesting.” He picked up one of his tacos. “You’re being interesting, aren’t you?”

  “Of course, I am,” I said, eating him up with my eyes.

  In my family it was widely believed that Glen was the best looking of all of us siblings. Lean and long, his body radiated relaxation and ease. He always moved and acted in an unhurried way, as if he’d never had to suffer the indignity of being rushed. Today he wore jeans and a red half-zip over a white tee shirt, the contrast setting off his tanned face. Diamond studs twinkled in his ears. His dark blond hair had natural highlights where it
had been kissed by the sun.

  “You haven’t said anything about the text I sent about being engaged,” I said with a coy smile. It felt wonderful to be able to talk about it with someone who loved me.

  “I thought that was a joke.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  He dropped his taco on his plate. “You had better be kidding me.”

  My smile became fixed. “No, I’m perfectly serious. I’m engaged to Micah Ekstrand.”

  Glen shoved his plate away and rubbed a paper napkin over his fingers harshly enough to shred it. “Micah Ekstrand? Micah Ekstrand? The guy who worked to free the man who raped and tortured your best friend in the world? You’re telling me that you want to marry him?”

  A tremor of anxiety rolled over in my stomach. “I have had a thing for Micah since I met him.”

  “A thing? That’s enough for you to hand over your life to someone you hardly know?” Glen leaned across the table at me. “What the hell are you thinking of?”

  His venom shocked me. “I’m thinking of my own happiness, for starters.”

  Glen harrumphed and leaned back in the booth. “If you’re thinking at all, it’s not with your brain. Don’t you understand how Micah Ekstrand is one of the most calculating and heartless men in the City? He’ll stop at nothing to get his way and that includes deluding a vulnerable girl like you.”

  “He doesn’t want anything from me.” A hard lump was growing in my throat. “He hasn’t asked me for anything, so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Glen continued his glare. “What will you do? Elope?”

  “No!”

  “You might as well elope since neither of you has any family you could invite to the wedding who would actually show up.”

  I couldn’t help but flinch. “That was a low blow.”

  “Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t look as if he really was.

  Though I had pushed aside my hurt when he didn’t hug me or offer congratulations, the pain I felt annoyed me. Had I any other relative in the world, I would have walked away. Instead I became defensive. “What’s your problem? I’m old enough to think for myself.”