Particles of Murder (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 1)

by Charlotte Raine

  Well, considering the fact that she was tracking my phone, it wouldn’t be that hard for her to find out what texts I received either.

  “A college student named Alex told me to come down here, telling me he wasn’t the killer, but he knew who had killed those three college students.”

  I tell her everything, repeating several parts as she’s slightly annoyed that I refused to bring back-up. Her eyes narrow as I bring up the gun.

  “Did you come here, intending to kill him?” she asks.

  “I needed to be able to defend myself,” I lie.

  “How did that work out for you?”

  “I guess I need to work on my wrist strength,” I say, shrugging.

  “And now he has your gun,” she says.

  “What does it matter?” I ask. “He made it clear that he doesn’t like to use guns and he has his own way to kill that doesn’t leave a trace on anyone.”

  “I need to get a BOLO out on him.” She begins walking back toward her car. “Go back home. Stay there. If you don’t stay put this time, I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice. I know you’re grieving, but I can’t deal with you running straight into danger.”

  “Aw, does that mean you actually care about me?” I ask.

  “It means that I hate going to tech to track down your phone,” she says. “Go home. Drink. Sleep. Forget about Alex.”

  “Is that what you’ve figured out? All of it?”

  “All of it? What more is there?”

  What more is there?

  But he’s right: I didn’t figure it all out. Back in my apartment, I still can’t understand why he would be killing John’s students—his favorite ones—or why he would steal the recommendation letters. As far as I know, he never met John until Victoria had already been killed.

  What was his motive?

  There’s the chance he could have just been insane, but I can’t imagine that someone would be so crazy to go out of their way to target John’s favorite students.

  I cradle my head in my hands. I know all these thoughts are just my mind’s way of distracting me from the fact that Andre is dead and I’m indirectly responsible. I’ve heard people going down this route, destroying themselves over a murder they feel like they could have prevented, and I know I need to confront this before it devours me, but it already has its teeth in me and all I can feel is anger.

  I pace around my apartment, trying to recall good memories I had with Andre. I pick up a pen and my pad of paper. I try to write. I end up doodling my gun as no words come to me. I can remember Andre’s childlike smile and how he’d practically bounce on the balls of his feet when he was happy, but I can’t put that into words. He gave everything up for me, and I just turned him away.

  I have to find Alex.

  I have to ensure that he’s not getting rid of evidence. By confronting him, now he knows the police are onto him and his first reaction will be to get rid of anything that connects him to the murders. I can’t let that happen. At the very least, he should spend life in prison. I can’t let him walk around, alive, while four people are dead because of him.

  I put my phone on my dresser so Stolz won't be able to track it. I’m going to make all of this right.

  Stolz is likely trying to track Alex’s footsteps, but it will eventually lead back to the road and she won’t be able to figure out where he went from there. But after years of studying dead bodies, I understand people on a different level and I know when a person is scared, they return to what’s familiar and to what—or who—they trust. Alex will be looking for protection—for people who will defend him regardless of what others accuse him of.

  I stop in front of the fraternity house. It seems quiet, though there’s a few cars in the driveway. It’s possible that the police were already here or that they’re going to come soon. If he’s here, the rest of the fraternity brothers will be prepared to force anyone pursuing him out of the house. Luckily, there’s a patio with a roof right under Alex’s room and a big oak tree right next to the patio.

  With more difficulty than I expected, I climb up the oak tree and onto the patio roof. The sun is beginning to set and the glow of the sun against the tree branches casts shadows on the roof. They look like prison cell bars. I’m going to hope that’s a good sign for Alex’s future.

  I peer into his room. I don’t see him, and it doesn’t look like he’s been here. I could be wrong that this will be his destination, but in my gut, I know this is where he’ll return. He won’t be able to shake his basic instincts.

  I shimmy the window open, trying to be as quiet as possible since I don’t know where the other frat boys are. I just need to find some evidence. Then I can ensure that the police will find it as well.

  I slide into the room, legs first. It’s a bit awkward, but I manage to get in with minimal noise.

  I turn to my left where I know his bed is. It’s the first place anyone would hide their deepest secrets.

  Alex is slumped over on his bed, a bullet hole in his temple.

  In the distance, I hear sirens.

  Chapter Seven

  The Killer—one year ago

  She moved across the yard, each of her steps sinking in the mud for less than a second. Each footstep was a short delay as she made her way to the door. When she was about to knock, she noticed him through the window. He was filling a dishwasher, the shadows under his eyes seeming more pronounced than usual. She took a few steps toward him, but he closed the dishwasher and walked out of view. She felt a deep pain in her chest, writhing inside her. It felt like rejection, although he didn't even know she was there.

  But she was me.

  Sometimes, I got this feeling that I could only assume was dissociation. I could see myself from a third point-of-view. I would judge myself from a distance like everyone else had judged me. Sometimes I felt like this side of me was a character I invented in a story and now she was appearing in my life, possessing me, and leading me in directions I never thought I could go. She was the opposite of my self-consciousness--she was my self-confidence and my passion. She was everything I could ever dream to be and more.

  She knocked on the door. I held my breath. It took forever for him to answer, but I kept holding my breath. I almost felt like I was going to pass out, and finally the door opened. Fresh, new air. Dr. Zimmer peered out at her. At me.

  "Hey," he said, confusion crossing his face. "What's going on? Are you in trouble? Did your car break down or something?"

  She shook her head. I could imagine myself putting my hands on both sides of his face and getting on my tip toes to kiss him, but she didn't move. I slowly felt myself falling back into my body, and the fear of judgement settling back under my skin.

  "I, um...I just...felt like someone was following me, so I came to this house," I lied. "I didn't know you lived here."

  "Well, you should come in, then," he said. "If someone was following you, they'll have to go away at some point and I'll drive you back to campus to make sure you're safe."

  "Thank you," I murmured.

  He stepped aside and I walked into his house. It appeared rather barren, but it had pale green walls and various plants inside it.

  "I didn't picture you as a green thumb," I said.

  "I'm not," he confessed. "I just like the way they look. I can usually get them to survive for a few weeks, but then they die. I think I switch between giving them too much water and not enough. I suppose that's the way I am with relationships as well."

  "I'm sure you're great in relationships," I said.

  He gestured for me to sit on his white coach. I did, and he sat across from me in an armchair.

  "So, tell me," he said, "what did you write that your biggest fear was in the beginning of the year?"

  I flushed, but the anger I felt toward Victoria didn't come. The difference this time was that I trusted Dr. Zimmer. Over time, he had proven himself to be an ally, and now he was asking me what my biggest fear was, not snooping over my shoulder to st
eal the secret like Victoria had done.

  "I'm afraid of being obsolete," I confessed.

  He tilted his head. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Just...not being considered worthy or valuable by other people," I said. "I want...I need people to look at me and think I'm worthy of being on this planet, in this country, and breathing this air."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think that's giving other people a bit too much power?"

  I shook my head. "No. Dr. Zimmer, I don't see myself at all sometimes. I look at myself, and I can't define any of it. I'm just existing or floating through this life. I don't have ambitions, I don't have dreams. I just have this fear, and that's all that drives me."

  He nodded. "I see. I need you to understand I'm not judging you for how you feel. I just don't understand it. I don't understand the reliance on others for your self-esteem and I don't understand how you can't see your own worth. You are a good person, an incredible writer, and--even if you can't see it--I can see a beautiful, successful future for you."

  I closed my eyes, the words slipping over me like silk. "Thank you."

  "I mean it," he said. I opened my eyes as I heard him stand up. "Do you need something to drink? Or eat?"

  I shook my head.

  "I'm just going to get us both a bottle of water. Just in case." He walked past me, the faint smell of his cologne wafting over me. As I heard his refrigerator door opening, I noticed a card display on his mantle. A few of them were clearly gratitude cards. I stood up and walked over to it. I plucked one out and opened it.

  Dr. Zimmer,

  Thank you so, so much for the letter of recommendation. I can't believe I'm about to graduate and go out into the world! You are my favorite professor and I'm sure you will be for many more years to come. I'll never forget that class where Jacob kept mispronouncing genre and he thought everyone was laughing because of something on his face. I thought you were going to fall out of your chair laughing, but, still, in the end, you took him aside and reassured him that we all cared about him. You made the class a family and

  "Those are just thank you notes from people I wrote recommendation letters for," Dr. Zimmer said, standing behind me.

  "Oh, sorry," I said, putting the card back. I sat back down on the couch. "It was just such a nice looking card, I was curious who it was from."

  "Her name is Iris," he said. "That's why she chose a card with flowers all over it. She loved doing things like that. I still miss her sometimes."

  I used to hold my breath as long as possible until my throat felt like it was swelling full of carbon dioxide and my thoughts felt like they were seeping out of my head. I felt that way now. I didn’t want to feel this. I didn’t want to hear this. I wanted that other part of me to take over.

  “Do you ever go see her?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. The pressure in my chest lessened the slightest bit. “That would be inappropriate. I wonder about her sometimes, and I looked her up on social media a few months ago, but I haven’t communicated with her at all.”

  "Are all of those thank you notes from students you've written recommendation letters for?" I asked, keeping myself from asking the real question: Did you care about them as much as you make me feel cared for?

  "Well, I've written a lot more recommendation letters," he said. "I usually get at least five requests each semester, but not everyone sends a thank-you card. I actually save copies of some of my better recommendation letters. It helps when I have to write so many. Well, it's not that many, but when I'm also teaching four classes, it feels like a lot when they're all asking me."

  "Oh," I said. "Do you think they know what you write about them?"

  "They do," he said. "I give them all a copy, just so they know what it says. I don't want them to be surprised if they get asked a question about it, or have them worry that I wrote something negative in it."

  I forced a smile. "That's so nice of you."

  "If you want me to, when you're a senior, I'll write you a letter too," he said. "I'm certain you could get into some great graduate programs."

  "I don't know if I want to go on to a graduate school," I admitted.

  "What? Why not? You'd do great there," he said. "Your writing is beautiful and engaging, but by extending your education, you could expand your mind even further and get lessons from professors who could give you better advice than I ever could."

  I flushed, but a second later the heat left my body and I felt like I was watching myself again. The young woman--this other side of me--seemed to have beckoned me out. I could almost hear her voice, telling me that he gives these compliments to all of his students. I was not that special.

  But I could be.

  "Are you okay?" he asked me. The woman--the self-confident version of myself-- smiled, suddenly looking poised and lethal like the serpent that tricked Eve into biting into the fruit.

  "I'm great," she said. "I just...I think you're a great professor. You care so much about each of your students. It's really refreshing."

  He nodded, but he looked slightly puzzled. "Well, I'm sure other professors care, they just aren't good at expressing it."

  She stood up. "I should get going. I have a lot of homework to finish up."

  "What about the people who were following you?" he asked, standing up as well.

  She ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm not scared."

  As she blinked, I could feel myself moving back into her body, becoming whole again. Except now I didn't feel meek or shy. I could feel her confidence in my heartbeat, steady and strong.

  I could do what I wanted and get what I wanted. It was a simple test of how far I was willing to go to get it.

  Find out what happens to Mira in…

  Particles of Obsession (book 2)

  NOW AVAILABLE

  About the Author

  Charlotte Raine is an international bestselling romantic suspense author. She lives near Vail, Colorado with her cat Jackson. If she isn’t writing her next novel she is skiing, meditating, gardening or chatting up the locals at her favorite coffee shops.

  Join Charlotte’s VIP email list and get instant access to her first bestselling romantic suspense, be notified of new releases and get entered to win autographed paperback books from her library

  Click or tap here to sign up - www.CharlotteRaine.com

  A Trinity of Death (Romantic Suspense)

  Do You Want To Play (Prequel)

  Voice of the Spirit

  Violence of the Father

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  Devil’s Dawn

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