by A J Rivers
One woman was to be mourned more heavily because of what she was wearing. Another to be spoken about with a veil of judgment because of where she was found. Down to the very words chosen to describe their deaths and the pleas to the public about remaining safe.
For some women, no such plea was needed. Look at what she was wearing, where she was, how she died. It must have been something she did. No need to be cautious.
For others, something close to desperation. She was beautiful, smart, sweet, innocent. She was stolen. It could happen to anyone.
And all the while, he’d kept her in his sights. Even she didn’t know she lived as if she was behind glass. Forever visible. Set apart and protected. And yet so tenuously close to tatters.
Thirteen years ago…
That was enough. He’d thought he couldn’t control himself. That the impulses raging inside him were too strong for him to keep down. But he’d managed it.
Again, it was the first moment of seeing a new, perfect face that changed him. When he’d seen her, the urges hadn’t mattered anymore. Watching the reactions and learning through them hadn’t mattered anymore. All that had mattered was her. She had been everything, and nothing would take her from him. Not ever.
But the temptation came back.
After so long, he gave in.
Just one.
The rush was intense like peppermint.
Now
They were saying her name again.
He’d thought that would never happen again. And there was a time when that was exactly what he’d wanted. He’d never intended for her name to be spoken or her memory to linger on. That was why he’d chosen her. He could have done anything else. But he hadn’t.
He’d seen something in her eyes that night. So many years ago, when everything he’d built was starting to show cracks. He’d thought it was perfect. That he had thought of everything. But in an instant, he’d watched as it had started to crumble, and he’d had to decide what to do.
And now they were saying her name again.
But this time it was what he wanted. One more time to see how they would react. One more time to see the shock. And one more time to prove that nothing and no one would stand in his way.
After thirteen years, the end was coming.
He walked into the empty house. Listened to the silence. It was the only place in his world where he was alone.
She used to walk these halls. But her footsteps were long a part of the silence.
He sat down and stared through the towering windows at the trees beyond.
“Sir?”
He turned toward the voice behind him.
“Oh. I didn’t even realize you’d come in.”
“Everything is done for the day. The laundry is in the bedroom. Dinner is in the oven. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No. Thank you. Go on home. I’m sure they’re waiting for you,” he said.
“If you need anything…”
“I will call. Thank you.”
“Goodnight.”
That was the only voice he ever heard within these walls now. There used to be more. The house had been lively and full. But when her family left, the silence came. He welcomed it.
It gave him the chance to think. To enjoy.
He looked forward to the snowfall. Hopefully, it would come soon. Snow kept secrets. Soon he’d have another to whisper. Then he could watch the world come alive and the mask come off.
Chapter Forty-Six
Thirteen years ago …
“What was his name?” Eleanor asked.
“Corey,” Timothy said. “I didn’t get a last name.”
“How has everyone heard about this and knows the people who talked about it, but no one actually knows this guy’s name?”
She was comparing notes, listening to the way the story was told and determining which carried more weight. Which she was going to believe. She knew what she wanted to hear.
“They know the rumors,” Timothy corrected. “She was only at the school for a short time. Not even the whole first semester. She went during the summer to get a tour of the campus and find out more about the school. Then she came back for freshman orientation. At least, that was what her family thought. The rumors go that she was seen back in the Larsonville area at least three times in between the tour and orientation, and a few different people said they saw her just kind of lurking around the buildings where Corey was taking summer classes.”
There was no mention of the incident in high school. No mention of the teaching assistant who looked so much like someone who had hurt her but somehow earned her obsession.
“Did she meet him during the campus tour?”
“Briefly. Not on a personal level. He was a tour guide and showed some of the academic buildings. Then she arrived to start the school year and almost immediately was telling people she was in a relationship.”
“With Corey?” Eleanor asked.
“She never said his name specifically. That was something she was apparently careful about. She just made innuendo and suggestions. Showed off pictures.”
“How did she get the pictures if this guy doesn’t know her?”
“She’s in school studying computers and graphic design,” Timothy said. “She can fake whatever she wants. All she has to do is find pictures of each of them and she can make one that looks like them together.”
“What else can she fake?” Eleanor asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Documents? Emails? Phone records?”
“It depends on her specific skills, but I wouldn’t put it past her. People all over campus were talking about the two of them being together; it even got to the head of his department. His job was put on the line because he was having an inappropriate relationship with a student. But he insisted he didn’t know her. That he had nothing to do with her. He was even able to show the original pictures and prove he was in other places when she said they were together,” Timothy said.
Eleanor drew in a breath and nodded.
“So, you really aren’t carrying on with her?”
“Of course not. Why would I when I have you?”
Eleanor gathered him in a hug, but the hardness of her heart hadn’t softened. If anything, it was worse. She believed him. She didn’t want to. She wanted to be right. For him to be lying to her. If he was lying to her, her heart didn’t have to be broken. She didn’t have to be betrayed.
The same story told twice. But she knew one was lying. And it answered all her questions.
Now
* * *
Eleanor recognized the face of the woman walking toward her. It wasn’t the kind of recognition that came from knowing a person. She couldn’t imagine why she was seeing that face again. It wasn’t one she ever wanted to see again. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
“Professor Murillo?” the woman asked as she approached.
“Yes,” she said, taking off the glasses she had only just started needing in the last few years. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Emma Griffin,” she said, and Eleanor gave a nod.
“Yes. I remember you. I didn’t realize you had returned to campus,” she said. “Are you doing a guest seminar?”
“No,” Emma said. “I’m actually here to talk about Julia.”
Eleanor hoped her shoulders didn’t visibly stiffen.
“Julia?” she asked.
“Julia Meyer. She was a student here thirteen years ago. She…”
“Yes,” Eleanor said again, this time stopping her words in mid-stream. “I remember her, too. Such a shame what happened to her. Have the police finally decided to look into her death?”
Emma looked stung. Her mouth opened, then closed again. “Her death? You think she was killed?”
“It has been thirteen years, and as far as I know there hasn’t been a single word from her or sign that she went off and started her own life. With the other incidents that happened in the area and nearby within just a
few years of each other, I didn’t think it was too much of a leap to think that. I apologize. I know the two of you were friends.”
“Yes. We were. And you are the only person who has considered something might have happened to her,” Emma said.
“I am?” Eleanor said.
“Yes. You must remember when it happened, and I was trying to convince the police to understand she didn’t just walk away. As of now, she still doesn’t officially have a case. Her parents don’t believe anything happened to her, and everyone I’ve spoken to so far insists she just left and started a new life,” Emma said.
“Oh,” Eleanor said. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”
“It’s fine,” Emma said. “It’s actually a relief to not be the only one who sees that Julia could have had something happen to her.”
“What is it you think I could help you with?” Eleanor asked.
“I just wanted any insight you might have into her. I know she was in your class. Did you notice anything strange? People who might have followed her? Conflicts she might have had? Any changes of behavior?” Emma asked.
Eleanor bristled, but she tried not to show it. She’d carried this for so long already. She didn’t want to lose it now.
“I don’t really think there’s anything I can tell you to help you. There’s no real secret that Julia and I didn’t always see eye to eye. She was a very headstrong student, and our personalities didn’t mesh all the time. But I didn’t witness any trouble with anyone else. I really need to be going,” she said.
As she walked out of the seminar room, Emma fell into step beside her.
“You said the two of you didn’t see eye to eye. What do you mean by that?” Emma asked.
“Just that we were two different people. That’s not so unusual. People would like to think that all professors immediately bond with their students and build meaningful relationships, but that isn’t always the case. Unfortunately, there are tensions just like there are in any other facet of life. Personalities aren’t always compatible, and that doesn’t change just because of a student-teacher relationship. I don’t hold any ill will toward her. It is, of course, a tragedy.”
As they turned a corner down a hallway, Eleanor saw a door ahead of them open.
“Professor Harris,” Emma said as he walked out of the small office and came toward them.
“Oh, hello, Emma,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were still on campus.”
“Emma is looking into the disappearance of that student from several years ago. Julia Meyer,” Eleanor said.
“Yes,” he nodded. “She spoke to me earlier. I wish there was more I could do to help. But I told her I think Julia probably just decided she was done with the life she had already made for herself and left. There were other things for her to pursue and so she did.”
“Professor Murillo thinks she’s dead,” Emma chimed in.
Eleanor’s heart sank, and she met the dark eyes staring back at her.
“Well, that’s a morbid thought,” Professor Harris said. “I didn’t realize you thought that way.”
“Honestly, I haven’t thought about that girl since she disappeared. It’s not something I ever expected to be asked to think about again,” Eleanor said. “Come on, we should go.”
He stepped up beside her and Emma glanced at their body language for a few seconds. Eleanor remembered that she was in the FBI now. That look was a lot more than it would have been coming from anyone else.
“Are the two of you...” Emma started the question, then gestured between them, like she didn’t know exactly what words to use to describe what she thought their relationship might be.
They looked at each other and Eleanor nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “We are. But as you can imagine, we like to keep it quiet and to ourselves. The university can be a very judgmental place, and we don’t want to get on the wrong side of HR. So, we would appreciate your discretion.”
“Absolutely,” Emma nodded. “Speaking of which, though, and I know this is a fairly uncomfortable question for me to ask, but I heard there were some rumors about you around the time Julia disappeared. There were some whispers you had a relationship with your teaching assistant.”
Eleanor gave a tight-lipped smile. “You’re right. That is an uncomfortable question. But I can assure you, it’s unfounded. Those rumors have no basis.”
Emma glanced back and forth between them, then gave a nod.
“Well, I’ll leave the two of you. Thank you for talking with me. If you think of anything, please let me know.”
“We will.”
Emma walked away and Eleanor watched her go. She hoped she wouldn’t have to see Emma again.
Chapter Forty-Seven
It always seems to come as a surprise when people don’t move far away from their universities and colleges. They venture away from home and go to those schools of higher education so they can experience independence and build the skills and knowledge to have careers. The assumption is they want to embark on new lives and build futures for themselves.
But inevitably, a good portion of them end up remaining right around the campuses where they went to school, rather than leaving and trying something new. That doesn’t mean they’re staying in student housing or that they haven’t fully stepped away from their colleges. They hunker down and find what opportunities wait for them close to those places.
I suppose I’m a bit of a hypocrite saying that. I didn’t leave where I was living during college, either. Dad had picked the absolute perfect little house. It was close enough to campus for me to get there conveniently, but not so close that it felt as if I was sitting right in the middle of all the chaos and lack of control.
Lynn Bartholomew, on the other hand, lives so close to campus she can probably do a Jell-O shot through her window while doing her laundry. I walk up to her apartment door and am just lifting my hand to knock when the door opens, and she nearly tumbles into me.
“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t realize anybody was out here. Hi.”
“Hi, Lynn?” I question.
She gives me a questioning look. There’s something in her eyes that makes me think she recognizes me, but she’s not sure.
“Yes,” she says.
“It’s Emma Griffin,” I explain. “From college?”
“Oh,” she says. “Yeah. Hey, Emma. Funny to run into you here.”
She takes her keys out of her pocket and locks her apartment door, then steps past me as she heads down the front steps of her porch onto the sidewalk. I follow behind her.
“Actually, I came here to talk to you.”
“You did?” she asks. “How did you find me?”
“The alumni information from the school,” I say. “You gave them your address.”
“So they could send me the newsletter,” she says. “Not so they could send people to my door. Look, I’m running late for work. I’ve really got to go.”
“I can walk with you,” I say. “The school didn’t send me. I actually came to talk about Julia.”
She pauses and looks over at me. “Julia? Did they find her? Has somebody heard from her?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Lynn starts walking again. “Then why are you here? Why do you want to bring her up again?”
“Because nobody knows what happened to her. And I want to find out,” I say.
“Everybody says she just walked away. That she decided that she didn’t want this life and wanted something else,” Lynn says.
“Do you honestly believe that?”
She stops and looks at me. There’s something in her face that tells me there’s more. There’s something she’s been holding inside her and it’s killing her to both hold it back and think about saying it.
“Did she ever tell you about the scarf?” she asks.
I remember the note in her day planner. I reach into the messenger bag on my hip and pull out the book. Opening it to that day in December, I hold it out to her.
“She left this note. ‘Return scarf.’ I have no idea what it means. What scarf?” I ask.
“Just a few days before she disappeared, I borrowed her car. She ended up having to walk home because somebody was supposed to give her a ride and didn’t show up. It was cold and she borrowed a scarf. It looked exactly like one I had seen before. And the last time I saw it, that girl ended up murdered. Look up Samantha Murray,” she says.
Lynn starts down the sidewalk again and I chase to catch up. “Do you know where she was when she borrowed the scarf?”
“No,” she says.
“Every week in her day planner there are days when she just says ‘visit’. She lied to her family about volunteering at the hospital so that she could go on these visits. You have any idea what that’s talking about?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “Look, we didn’t get along very well. We were fine. But it wasn’t like we were friends. She didn’t open up to me or anything.”
“Just because you weren’t buddy-buddy doesn’t mean she didn’t mention things to you. She didn’t say anything about who she was visiting or why she was lying about it? Where she was or even a hint? A neighborhood? How far she had to come to get back to the apartment?”
She slows down slightly like she’s thinking. “She had to ride the bus. She walked from wherever she was to the bus stop, and she was really upset about it,” she says.
I look at the day planner again. “Do the names Jeremy or Corey mean anything to you?”
She shakes her head. “No. I didn’t ever hear her mention either one of those.”
“Are you sure? She mentioned both of them very close to when she disappeared. It seemed as if she wasn’t particularly happy about seeing either one of them.”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember ever hearing her say either one of them,” she says. “And I don’t even know if the scarf means anything. It could just be a coincidence. But it really bothered me. That’s all I can tell you.”