by Eryn Scott
Suddenly, the older woman’s fingers clamped down on mine and her eyes snapped open.
“Stephanie.” The name was a gasp. “And the lecture. Someone must tell the students.” She used her free hand to snap at the rotund policeman.
Based on the way Frank’s eyebrows rose and his jaw clenched tight, he either hadn’t forgotten the slapping or was simply adding this to her rap sheet of mild offenses.
“Yeah?” he asked as he stepped closer, hooking his thumbs into his police pants pockets.
“Sir, we desperately need someone to go inform the crowd which has no doubt formed in the lecture hall that tonight’s talk is cancelled.” Her words were loud and she paused in all the most dramatic places. Each syllable of “desperately” felt like its own word and when she said, “cancelled,” her voice shook, becoming a new sob and her shoulders shook as she let her head hang.
I sent a pleading look at Frank. “His step-daughter is here, at the university, too. She’s in the Botany department. I think someone should inform her…”
I paused, remembering when I’d been pulled out of class with the news Dad had collapsed at home, was in the hospital, how it didn’t look good.
Blinking away the memory, I finished with, “Her name is Stephanie.” A sigh settled on my chest, knowing all too well what the poor girl was about to go through.
Fortunately, Frank’s annoyed jaw unclenched and his eyes softened, then he nodded and jotted down the information about where to find Stephanie and what to tell those gathering by the lecture hall before heading out of the room.
Dr. Ferguson still clutched my right hand, but she’d sat up, no longer letting her head hang near her lap. She was watching people bustle about. Her eyes held a blank expression and she seemed utterly out of words (I think a first for this loud, drama-loving lady).
Not sure there was anything better I could do for her than continue to hold her hand, I used my left hand to fish my phone out of my bag. I didn’t know how long this was going to take, but I didn’t want to take any chances when Hamburger was still learning our house routine. She wasn’t a puppy, but I’d only had her for a few days and I didn’t want to leave her for too long.
So I texted Liv.
“Hey. So I’m going to be out later than I thought. Will you make it home in time to let Hammy out? Long story, but I’m going to have to answer questions for the police. Dr. Campbell is dead.”
I licked my lips and set my phone in my lap, everything feeling surreal, especially having to type that last sentence. Liv was probably right in the middle of her mock interview, so I hoped her phone was on silent. It usually was. Both Liv and I had been scolded during our freshman year for forgetting to silence our phones, so we just kept them on vibrate all the time now. My phone buzzed in my lap as a text came through. That was fast.
“OMG. Like LITERALLY DEAD?”
My fingers hovered over the screen or a moment before typing a response.
“Literally. Dead. No figurative about it. I found him. Looks like he pulled a ‘to be, or not to be.’”
The bubble popped up on my screen, showing Liv was writing back.
“He fell off the stage?”
I chuckled, which felt good after so much sadness, but I also didn’t want to seem insensitive to those around me, so I kept it to a mild snort. Plus, what I had to write in response pushed all happy thoughts aside.
“No. He committed suicide.”
My skin washed hot and cold as I typed the words. At first, I thought I’d opted for the Hamlet reference simply to avoid having to type them, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized something didn’t quite feel right. My phone buzzed, pulling me back.
“Oh…okay. I’ll let Hammy out. Almost done here, actually. Let me know if I can help. Be safe.”
Despite the nagging feeling in the back of my mind, I smiled at Liv’s worry for me and slid my phone back into my bag, taking a chance to look around now that things seemed to be calming down.
Detective Valdez emerged from the office and looked straight at me. I wasn’t sure the man ever showed much emotion on his face, but his tight posture led me to believe he was thinking hard as he sat on the worn couch across from Fergie and myself.
He pulled out a notepad and said, “Alright. Ready to tell me what happened?”
“I told the paramedics everything when they got here.”
He nodded. “I know. We want to make sure everything matches up, that there’s nothing you missed telling us right after the trauma of finding him.”
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Asking witnesses to repeat their stories multiple times was common practice. Duh, I scolded myself. I should’ve known that.
Fergie came to during the scolding I was giving myself and she let go of my hand. When I glanced over at her, she was nodding.
“Yes, dear. Tell it again. They need to do these things.”
Taking a deep breath, I told the detective everything. Finding Dr. Campbell, touching his shoulder, seeing his open eyes, shaking him, searching for a pulse, then running to find help. At any mention of touching the body, the detective’s eyes would narrow in a flinching way for just a second.
“Sorry. I should’ve known better than to touch him — anything, for that matter. He definitely slid when I shook him. And then I moved his hand so I could read the note.” My heart was beating fast all over again as I recounted my actions.
At that last part, Detective Valdez’ eyes closed for a whole second. “What?” he asked, his accent becoming more pronounced.
My eyes shifted between him, Fergie, and the few people who stopped at his raised question. “Um… I shook him?”
The detective put his pen down. “Is that a question Miss Brooks?”
I shook my head. “No. I shook him… to see if he was sleeping. And I moved his hand. I’m so sorry.” I could picture Nancy Drew tsking at me and Bess tipping her head in a “told you it was tough” kinda way.
“Well, lucky for you, Miss Brooks, this seems to be a pretty cut and dry case.”
Fergie breathed the question, “Suicide?” next to me.
The detective only dipped his head once as an answer, but it was enough. “Please stay close in the next few days as we may have more questions for the two of you.”
We both agreed to do so and he walked to the side of the room to talk with one of the police officers. Which was when Stephanie spun into the lounge, eyes wide and frantic.
My heart stabbed with memories and I had to look away, almost wanted to cover my ears.
“Where is he?” Her fingers clutched the door frame.
A police officer pointed her toward the office, his face grim.
Dr. Ferguson patted my knee. “You head home, Pepper. I’ll sit with Stephanie.”
I nodded without a fight, glad to be released even though I felt guilty for the sense of relief thinking of leaving gave me. Not needing to grab anything, my messenger bag still slung across my shoulder, I left, winding through the halls on autopilot until I was able to swing open an exterior door and take a full breath. It was dark outside and people were everywhere, crowded as close as they could get around the police barriers. Their faces were all a blur, their voices murmurs as I sped past them.
Taking none of my usual time to smell the smoky, fall nighttime air or saunter over the pathways which would lead me across the creek, I arrived home in record time.
Hammy barked and ran to the door as I closed it behind me. Instinctively, I put my keys on the hook by the door and pulled my bag off my shoulders, dumping it onto the floor as I knelt down to pet the little black and white dog.
Liv came out of her room, her forehead creased as her dark brown eyes met mine. Without a word, she came over and pulled me into a hug.
I wasn’t normally a crier, but ever since my dad passed away, the wet reaction was — inconveniently — happening more often. Luckily, I kept it to a few drops running down my cheek before I was able to compose myself.
Liv
pulled back. “I can’t believe it.” She shook her head and sat down on the couch. “Tell me absolutely everything. I mean, if you’re not sick of talking about it, that is.”
“No, it’s okay.”
So I told her everything I’d told the solemn Detective Valdez.
“Taking your own life.” Her voice was a mere whisper as her eyes searched off somewhere past the white walls of our apartment.
I tried to breathe easier. I was at home, I was safe, Hamburger was crashed out in my lap, snoring up a storm. But there was something bugging me about the whole thing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
That night, I had a hard time getting to sleep. I kept replaying the night over and over in my mind. But it wasn’t because I was scared or scarred even. My brain couldn’t seem to let go of something.
Finally, my eyelids closed, heavy after the day’s intensities. Hammy snored at the foot of the bed as I drifted into a fitful sleep, something lurking in the back of my unconscious thoughts.
4
“Might!” I yelled, sitting up in my bed the next morning.
Hamburger barked and jumped up, her short legs flailing as she tried to find her footing in the sea of comforter. Her eyes moved about the room, wild for a moment before they landed on me.
“It said might, Hammy. That’s what was bothering me!” I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and pawed at my hair.
There was a knock at the door and Liv opened it, peaking inside. “You two okay in here?”
Hammy barked again.
Liv’s face was red and sweaty, her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail. She was the kind of disciplined person who got up earlier than she actually had to so she could “fit in a workout.” She usually started every morning with a yoga video and then went to the gym later if she could. Business-lady pants didn’t seem as forgiving as leggings, however, so I didn’t blame her.
Being a legging person — unable to ever see myself wearing one of the power pant suits Liv would have to don daily when she got a job — I was less of a workout kind of person and more of an “eat salad for two days to make up for the three scones I gobbled up while I was at the coffee house reading” person. Gyms weren’t my thing. Mornings weren’t really my thing, either.
But my eyes were wide and I felt very awake that particular morning, because I had finally figured out what had been bothering me about the whole terrible Dr. Campbell situation last night.
“Liv, the soliloquy uses the word ‘may,’ but on the note Dr. Campbell left behind, he’d written ‘might’.” I shook my head; I should’ve caught it sooner. “It’s actually, ‘What dreams may come’.”
My roommate pressed her lips together and lifted her eyebrows in a I’m-humoring-a-crazy-person way. “Okay… cool?” She wiped her sweaty forehead.
“He was a Shakespearean studies professor. He would be the last person to get that word wrong.” I chewed on my lip. “And why was his writing so rushed?” I looked to Liv as if she might have the answer. “Aren’t suicides usually planned out? Why would his handwriting be so sloppy toward the end? He didn’t even finish the line he was on. This doesn’t feel right.”
Liv, understanding more of what I was talking about now, leaned into the doorframe, losing the confused expression. “The man was probably in a bad space, Pepper. I’m sure he made a mistake. Maybe he thought he would have more time before…” She trailed off and glanced down at her bare feet.
“I suppose.” I scratched at an itch on my nose. “It’s just, you know how you always say ‘you English people are so weird’?” Liv nodded. “We are, especially about stuff like this. If he was going to go through the trouble to off himself to the tune of Hamlet’s most sulky soliloquy, a true life-long fan of The Bard wouldn’t do it halfway. Shakespeare plays are full of drama and death and betrayal and more drama.”
“Well, are you sure it’s ‘may’? I mean, like you said, the guy was an expert. Is it possible he knows of some old, original version where it said ‘might’ instead?”
My mouth dropped open and I pulled in a quick breath. “Oh my gosh. What if I am wrong? Oh no. We finished reading Hamlet last semester and I returned my copy to the library, so I’ve been using the Internet to practice the soliloquy. What if I’ve been looking at an incorrect version?” I flipped the covers off my legs and jumped out of bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked, as I ran into the Jack and Jill bathroom between our bedrooms. Hamburger ran around my feet, excited by the movement.
“To the only place which matters in times like these!” I yelled dramatically as I splashed water on my face. “To the library!” Hamburger barked — probably only because I was yelling, but I pretended she was cheering me on.
I could almost feel Liv’s eye roll through the wall. I didn’t care; I had to figure this out.
“Yeah, and I’m sure your impending visit to the library has nothing to do with a dark haired someone who happens to work in the mornings,” Liv said as she turned her yoga video back on.
Scrunching my nose, I decided to pretend I hadn’t heard that part.
Minutes later, my teeth and hair were both brushed, I’d pulled on some skinny jeans and an oatmeal-colored sweater, and then I finished the whole thing off by pulling my hair into a bun and twisting a scarf around my neck.
Liv told me she would take Hammy on her morning walk, so I grabbed my bag and then pulled it over my head and onto one shoulder. It was a chilly gray day outside and wasn’t raining as much as misting, the tiny bits of water seemed to hang stagnant in the air instead of dropping. By the time I crossed the street, the little droplets of water coated my sweater, my hair, and stuck to my eyelashes.
This was fall in Washington and I loved it. I pulled my sweater tighter and headed toward the Gretta Rosario Memorial Library. My stomach flipped excitedly as I closed in on the large, mostly glass building, surrounded by trees on the edge of campus closest to our apartment — yeah, that wasn’t an accident.
Not only had I always loved the campus library (they’d done the remodel on it when I was seventeen, making most of my bookworm fantasies come true), but for the past few months, a rather attractive guy had started to work at the front desk during the morning hours and sometimes late at night. Which — you know — didn’t hurt.
Stepping through the glass doors, I was greeted by three lovely things at once: a reprieve from the misty rain, deliciously warm air surrounding me and beckoning me forward, and the can’t-be-beat smell of books.
I stood in the foyer, closed my eyes and breathed it in, but only for a second. I was on a mission.
Walking forward, I sped through the second set of doors into the main building. The library had extremely tall, angular ceilings which met up with the great windows. I wasn’t normally a huge fan of modern architecture — preferring cozy dark wood and overstuffed chairs to clean lines — but that’s where the clean-cut, cold part of the building ended. Everything inside was meant for readers. Couches, chairs, tables, and even a few window seats made for great places to plop down with a good book or take notes for an assignment. There were overhead lights, sure, but each little nook and cranny had a completely unique lamp throwing warm light into the small space.
There were two main floors, but they didn’t reach wall to wall, so you could see them both when you entered, like the back of a dollhouse. A beautiful wooden spiral staircase led up to the second floor where they kept the fiction and classic literature. That made for three floors, including the basement where they kept the stacks.
The decor was very Northwest-y, I suppose thanks to good ole Gretta Rosario. She used to be the librarian here before she passed away about six years ago. I only remembered meeting her a few times, but she was a kind, gray-haired, fellow book lover who liked the outdoors as much as she loved reading. She was always looking for ways to bring nature inside. Her husband, the head of a local log-cabin construction company, had made and donated the grand, wooden spiral staircase along with most of th
e money for the remodel.
He wanted the place to whisper “Gretta.” The lamps were actually from their home; Gretta being a funky lamp collector, setting them up all over their expansive abode.
I’d come to know certain areas of the library by these lamps. Fringy Pink was a great place during the summer because it was light, but not too sunny on hot days due to the large red-budded Rhododendron covering up most of the window next to the floral print lounge chair. Small Dark and Red was in a shadowy corner with a two-seater table, a good date spot — if you were into taking dates to the library, which I was. Over Your Shoulder had to be my favorite year-round reading spot because it was a cushiony window seat set in a bay window on the second floor toward the back of the building. It had a view of the campus gardens, you could hide away there for hours, and it was furnished with a simple floor lamp which peeked over your shoulder, shedding just enough light on the pages. Green Accountant was the best studying place, tucked away between bookshelves in the middle of the first floor, with a large table so you could spread out your textbooks and research.
Today, I wasn’t planning on sticking around, having a nine o’clock Dramatic Literature class I needed to get to. I tried to keep my eyes averted from the cute guy sitting at the circulation desk while I skirted past and bounded up the spiral staircase to find a copy of Hamlet.
I found it quickly and flipped it open, searching around a bit until I found the soliloquy. My eyes scanned the text.
“Aha!” I said aloud, and way louder than I should’ve. My shoulders scrunched up, but a quick glance around assured me no one was nearby.
My finger landed on the page, right next to the word “may.” It was may, not might! I had been right! And I was rhyming! A smile spread across my face as my fingers clutched the play, about to return it to the shelf. But I stopped.
This was big. If he’d written only that one word wrong, it had to mean something. Maybe he made the mistake on purpose, to send a message. But what seemed even more likely was that this was proof Dr. Campbell hadn’t committed suicide, that maybe he was murdered. A shiver ran down the length of my sweater-covered arms. Chewing on my bottom lip, I realized I needed to let the police know about this. It wasn’t that I was trying to be rude in my assumption they had missed the clue, but I seriously doubted anyone other than an English buff would recognize something like this.