Reflection (The Chrysalis Series)

by Sallinger, Elene

  At a loss for words, Connor just stared at Mona, who stood and came around the desk. Stopping at his side, she squeezed his shoulder.

  ‘My offer stands, Connor. I think you need to look inside and determine if this is really about your parents or if you’ve just grown comfortable not taking the risk. It’s not easy to put your heart on display for the world to judge. I know.’

  She left him there, quietly closing the door behind her.

  How long he sat there, he didn’t know. It was if someone had just opened the door to a closet that had been stuffed full and abandoned. Opening the door results in an avalanche and all you can do is endure the fall until it’s finally empty.

  Memories tumbled through his brain, taking on new shape and perspective. That long-ago night replayed itself in vivid detail until finally Connor understood. And, in that understanding, he forgave himself.

  A single, hot tear trailed down his cheek. He still missed them. He wished they could be here to see him now. Swiping away the moisture, Connor picked up a notepad and pen from Mona’s desk and jotted down what he wanted to say.

  Leaving her office, he passed her on the way out and pressed the note into her hand before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  ‘What’s that for?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘For kicking my ass.’ He smiled at her and, leaving the café, he headed home to plan.

  Completely bewildered, Mona watched Connor leave. It ate her alive that those two hadn’t made it. She’d never seen Bridget so happy.

  ‘What can you do?’ she sighed under her breath.

  Unfolding Connor’s note, a grin broke out across her face. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.

  In a barely legible scrawl, Connor had written, “You pick the date and time. We’ll call the show New Dimensions.” Along with his email address and phone number.

  Mona tucked the note into her pocket and headed back to her office. There was planning to do.

  Bridget gripped the steering wheel of her rented Taurus and willed her lungs to work. Her chest felt as if it had turned to stone. She forced air into her lungs and, closing her eyes, visualised all her tension as a big, red balloon floating into the sky. Rising. Rising. Rising and finally popping.

  Opening her eyes, Bridget felt no change. So much for the visualisation exercises her rape crisis centre advocate had recommended. Clearly, will alone was not enough in this case.

  After Connor had left, Bridget had truly felt as if she would die. The grief of losing him had been a crushing weight. She hadn’t been able to eat. She hadn’t slept. She could hardly function.

  Skyler had threatened to have her committed to a psych ward. Ultimately, it had been Skyler’s obvious fear that had pulled her out of bed, but she’d still been only going through the motions.

  Connor’s words echoed in her brain relentlessly. No matter how often she argued with his phantom, she couldn’t escape the realisation he’d been right.

  She had grown complacent in her self-imposed prison. It provided her the excuse she desired to avoid confronting the shame and confusion she carried as a result of being raped. Especially how she’d responded during her rape.

  She desired things she simply didn’t know how to process in the aftermath. Finally, she’d found the courage to call her local rape crisis centre and request counselling. Cathy, the advocate she’d begun seeing, had been wonderful. As compassionate as she was, she still called a spade a spade. Her brash, matter-of-fact attitude was exactly what Bridget needed.

  She’d only had two sessions so far, but she already felt she had a better perspective on what happened. In particular, her misplaced shame over her reactions while drugged.

  Ironically, Dean Whittier’s attack had served as a catalyst. The pain he’d inflicted on her had been just that – pain. There’d been nothing sexual about it and she’d responded the way anyone would have under the circumstances.

  She’d also been in her right mind, not drugged as she had been with Trent.

  Once she’d realised that, she’d been able to start the process of facing herself and recognising her urges for what they were. A desire for sexual and sensual exploration. A need for pain in a sexual context that heightened pleasure.

  She couldn’t say why she was wired this way. But, in the end, she’d accepted the why didn’t really matter. So long as no one was harmed, there was no reason not to explore this aspect of her sexuality. Like Connor had said, consent was key. Both parties needed to agree, and Trent had removed her ability to consent.

  Connor had also been right that she hadn’t even really tried. She’d been content to let him make all the sacrifices. And, through her resistance, she’d lost him.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. Now was not the time for that. She had a purpose and she was going to see it through.

  With a deep, fortifying breath, Bridget stepped out of the rental and, for the first time in almost two decades, she gazed upon her alma mater.

  Corinthian University was everything Pinewood was not. Where Pinewood was stately and traditional, Corinthian had grown up within the urban sprawl of Chicago. The buildings were glass and steel and the only greenery was the carefully cultivated park area near the campus’ administrative building. The dorms were really a ring of converted apartment buildings that lined the outer edges of the small campus. The only real similarity between the two was the students. Grouped in clusters, they had laptops and iPads and were the picture of youth and potential.

  That outer ring of dorms was where Bridget stood facing not just her former school, but the ghost of her past.

  She adjusted her grip on her keys, being certain to unlock the pepper spray that now hung from the ring. Seeking closure didn’t mean being reckless and she had no idea what she was walking into.

  It didn’t take long for Bridget to come to Pritchard Hall. Over the years, the building had been upgraded and the exterior had been whitewashed. The cosmetic enhancements did nothing to erase the crime scene aura radiating from it.

  For her, it was tainted, and no coat of paint would change that.

  Once inside, she was startled to see the number of young women occupying the lobby. From the heavily decorated doors lining the walls, it was clear to see that Pratt Hall had been integrated. Some of Bridget’s tension released at the realisation she wasn’t facing a legion of hormone-ridden college boys in her quest to reclaim her past.

  She stepped onto the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The elevator beeped as it passed each floor; by the fifth, all of Bridget’s nerves had returned. Her palm ached from clutching the pepper spray. Some part of her expected to run into Trent. To be forced to relive the single worst event of her life.

  The elevator doors opened. Instead of Trent’s gorgeous, lying face, she saw a petite, female student bedecked in all her rebellious glory. Bright purple hair hung past her shoulders and various studs and barbells poked out of her face. Nevertheless, the girl gave Bridget a friendly smile and stepped past her to enter the elevator.

  Heart racing, Bridget moved down the hall. With each decorated door, her sense of déjà vu dissipated. She found the one she was looking for. Rather than the plain, wooden door it had been, it now sported a jaunty message board with various notes for Courtney and Trish. The muted strains of pop music floated from behind it.

  With a trembling hand, Bridget knocked on the door and willed herself to relax.

  ‘Just a sec!’ a soft voice called out moments before the door flew open.

  Bridget bit back a lecture on always checking before opening a door.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Her high-pitched, babyish voice in no way matched the tall, lean young woman in front of her. Briefly, Bridget wondered if this were Courtney or Trish.

  ‘I hope so.’ She forced a smile. ‘This is probably a very odd request, but I was hoping you’d let me come in briefly just to see your room.’

  The woman scowled and seemed ready to shut the doo
r in her face. Bridget stepped into the doorway to prevent that just in case.

  ‘Please,’ she implored, ‘I realise this sounds crazy, but I used to be a student at Corinthian and something happened to me here in this room. Something I’ve come to put to rest.’ She met the woman’s eyes. ‘If you’ll let me, that is.’

  The young woman peered at Bridget for several moments, clearly weighing her words.

  Finally, much to Bridget’s relief, she stepped aside and let her enter the room. Again, Bridget had a split second of disorientation as she expected to see Trent’s bed and clothes strewn around. Instead, there were two neatly made loft beds with brightly coloured bedding lining the walls. The space under them was being used as workspaces and simple desks were adorned with laptops and all the other accoutrements students these days seemed unable to live without. Artistic posters covered the painted cinderblock walls and a grass-green, shag rug dominated the floor.

  Every trace of what had been was gone.

  Bridget turned a full circle, allowing the present to overtake the past. With each passing moment, the edges of those memories softened. They would never fully leave her, but perhaps now they could fade.

  ‘What happened?’ the girl was leaning against the doorframe, watching Bridget with open curiosity.

  She debated telling her, but didn’t think it was fair to saddle her with the knowledge when she still had to live here.

  ‘Someone I trusted hurt me.’ It was the essence of the story. It would suffice.

  The girl didn’t say anything, but there was a knowing look in her eyes.

  With a final look around, Bridget felt herself relax for the first time since she’d gotten on the plane to come here. Life had moved on and now so could she.

  She smiled and thanked the girl, never once looking back as she left the building.

  It was time to go home. She had a dean to take down.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  ‘One more time,’ Bridget said as she vainly tried to unlock her fingers from around the steering wheel.

  If they screwed this up, both she and Skyler would be ruined.

  ‘Professor, I know what I have to do.’ Skyler’s words were clipped and her jaw tight. Her own hands were clenched into fists in her lap.

  Bridget’s heart squeezed for her student. Skyler was about to let herself be publicly shamed in order to ensure Whittier was exposed once and for all. Bridget just hoped nothing went wrong. She might have leverage over Whittier, but her instincts said it would be foolish to trust him. She was risking her career, but she’d recover. The one who had the most on the table here was Skyler. They couldn’t screw this up.

  She let off the brake and inched forward in the line of cars for valet parking. The year-end mixer was always well attended. It was the time where everyone got to meet the up-and-coming talent at the university. It was also the worst kept secret around that more than one star student had been poached from under someone as a result of this party. Nevertheless, no one missed the opportunity to show off the tangible proof of their teaching skills.

  During his tenure, Whittier had always chosen to host the mixer at his home. She always suspected it was to show off his wealth.

  The two-storey Colonial in River Rock’s historic district was massive. For this particular event, Dean Whittier always opened the music room and ensured some celebrity or another was there to play. Last year it had been Yo Yo Ma, the famous cellist. Bridget couldn’t remember who was supposed to be playing this year. Her mind had been too preoccupied with planning Whittier’s exposure.

  ‘Skyler,’ she said, doing her best to rein in her fear. She needed to stay strong for them both. ‘Humour me, OK? Let’s go through it again.’

  Skyler bit her lip and choked off whatever she’d been about to say. Instead, taking a deep breath, she recounted all the steps she needed to take to ensure they exposed Whittier. When she finished, Bridget reciprocated, adding a silent prayer they’d succeed.

  If her knees shook any harder she was going to fall. Professor Ross seemed so calm and collected and she was a mess. The dress she was wearing felt too tight and she felt on display. As if everyone in the room could tell exactly what was going on.

  It didn’t help that being in this house brought back all too many memories of her shame and humiliation at Whittier’s hands. She snorted as she remembered the first time Dale had brought her here. She’d been so overwhelmed by the sheer wealth he surrounded himself with.

  Funny, how it could be exactly the same and yet appear so different now. The foyer they stood in was the first clue that she hadn’t been in Kansas any more. Marble floors and a huge glass table topped with flowers she couldn’t identify had greeted her that first time, just like now. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a flurry of rainbows on ivory coloured walls and the steps flanking the entryway.

  She’d felt like she’d walked right into a movie set. Like Scarlett O’Hara should have been gliding down the steps, ready to enter the ball. Tonight, she just felt like she’d walked back into a prison. Fear choked her and she wanted to vomit at the memory of her last night in this house. She’d never been so close to snapping in her life.

  Thank God for Bridget. The professor had truly been the miracle she’d needed. She’d been serious in everything she’d said. Just yesterday, Skyler had come home to find her putting together a crib for the baby. She’d cried then. All the tears that she hadn’t been able to shed had flowed unchecked at the sight of the crib.

  She was going to have a baby. That was becoming more and more real for her every day. And even though it would never know its father – she would make sure of that – she wasn’t going to be alone. She still hadn’t told her parents. She knew they loved her, but they were going to be so disappointed when they found out. She honestly didn’t know what it would do to their relationship. She also knew she didn’t want to leave school. It would do no good for her baby to have a single mom working a menial job. She needed her education.

  Right now, though, she just wished all this were over. The risk was so high and she really wasn’t looking forward to being put on display the way she was about to be.

  ‘Skyler?’ Bridget was touching her arm.

  ‘Hmm?’ she pulled herself out of her head and faced the professor, who was walking back to her from the doorway leading to the party.

  ‘I’ve spotted Whittier. He’s at the back with the president and some of his cronies. I don’t think we’ll get a better opportunity so I’m going to go ahead and get started. Stay out of sight for at least ten minutes to give me some time, OK?’ She checked her watch and added, ‘I’ll text you as soon as I’m done.’

  ‘OK.’ She took a deep breath and nodded. ‘That shouldn’t be hard. I need the bathroom anyway. I think I’m going to puke.’

  Bridget narrowed her eyes at her and scanned her face, ‘Are you OK? Is it the baby?’

  Skyler nodded. ‘Morning sickness. Well, evening sickness. I just need to catch my breath and splash some water on my face.’

  ‘OK.’ She didn’t seem sure. ‘We can call this off right now, Skyler.’

  Skyler shook her head so hard she felt her hair swing. ‘No! We’re doing this. I’ll be fine.’

  Bridget wrapped her in a hug. She smelled flowery and soft, but she had a spine of steel when she needed it. Skyler was more grateful than ever. She never could have done this on her own.

  Pulling out of the professor’s embrace, she put on her best smile. ‘OK. Go on, Inspector Gadget, I’ll be fine.’

  Bridget chuckled. ‘You watch too much cable, you know that?’

  Nevertheless, the joke had the effect Skyler hoped for. Bridget turned and left, heading off in the direction that Skyler had detailed for her while Skyler went to empty the contents of her stomach before she embarrassed herself.

  As quietly as possible, Bridget closed the door to the dean’s study behind her. The room was as impressive as the rest of the house. Spacious and airy,
it was a library to fuel her own dreams. Books of all kinds lined the walls in glass-enclosed shelves.

  It took a few seconds for that fact to sink in.

  Oh hell, no!

  She needed open shelves, not glass-covered ones. Frantically, she scanned the room, her panic rising. This didn’t work if she couldn’t get line of sight for the camera. For several heart-stopping moments, Bridget saw all of her carefully prepared plans falling apart. She wanted to cry; they hadn’t come this far for it all to blow up now.

  Just as she was about to throw in the towel, she spotted a shelf on the back wall by the large window. Elation filled her.

  Yes, that would work. Better, in fact.

  She hurried to the back of the room; she was wasting time. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the ultra-slim video camera she’d purchased from Nico. At the same time, she powered on her portable hotspot to ensure it was ready when she needed it.

  The shelf held several awards that the dean had received as well as a clock. She set up the camera, being sure to switch it to motion activated. Pulling out her iPad, she logged into the remote website account she’d set up and accessed the live feed from the camera. A few adjustments to angle, and she was ready to go.

  Now, let’s just hope Skyler is able to do her part, she thought.

  Bridget began putting the hotspot and iPad back in her bag, only to whip around as the door to the library opened. Adrenaline shot through her veins and she went cold from head to toe. She couldn’t get caught.

  With no time to think, she dove under the desk and thanked her lucky stars she was wearing a pant suit and not a dress. She also thanked the dean for being the conceited, self-important man he was or else he’d have some other desk than this ancient monstrosity that had a cavernous opening where she currently huddled.

  ‘How dare you bring him here!’ A shrill, feminine voice that Bridget recognised as belonging to Jean Cartwright, one of the physics professors, rang out in the still of the study.