In My Dreams I Hold a Knife by Ashley Winstead

Chapter 10

February, senior year

It was unseasonably warm for February, which meant all of Duquette was outside, drinking on frat porches, boom boxes blasting music, or lying on picnic blankets on Eliot Lawn, soaking up the sun.

Of courseit was warm, because it was the one day I needed the clouds out, dark and cold, keeping campus a ghost town. The only silver lining was that I hadn’t frozen on the long walk across Duquette, wearing nothing but shorts and a T-shirt.

I avoided people’s eyes as I passed them, keeping my gaze trained on my feet, like I was eight years old again and embarrassed to exist. I told myself the laughter I heard had nothing to do with me, or the oversized gym clothes I wore, and I half believed it. Finally, finally, Bishop Hall loomed into view, a sleek, modern dorm for upperclassmen, as different as possible from our old vine-covered home at East House.

Eighteen floors in the elevator, an interminably long time, and then I burst out, down the hall, turning the corner. I was so close. I’d hole up in my room and never come out—would never, ever think about the disaster of last night again. And then I saw them. A crowd of students, gathered outside the door to our suite.

A dark hole opened inside me. I scanned the crowd and found my friends rushing over. “What’s going on?”

Mint looked at me, ashen-faced. “You’re okay,” he croaked and jerked an arm around me, pulling me hard to his side, his warm turtleneck sweater soft against my cheek.

The hole yawned wider, sucking in light.

Coop gave me a dark look, and I flinched, smoothing my wet hair self-consciously, causing icy drips down the front of my shirt. I squinted at him. His arm was still in the cast he’d worn since November, but he looked freshly beat-up, an angry red scratch down the side of his face. Strange.

“It’s Heather,” Caro whispered, stepping around Mint. Her eyes were unfocused. “I came back this morning, and the cops were here. They wouldn’t let me in, but I heard them say Heather’s name. I texted everyone to come. Why didn’t you answer?”

“Traffic’s blocked on Allen,” Courtney said in a hollow voice, as if she hadn’t heard Caro. A red velour tracksuit hung loose on her, matching her bloodshot eyes. “Cop cars everywhere.”

“How’d the cops get in your suite?” Coop asked. “Someone had to have called them. Was it Heather? Maybe she got alcohol poisoning or something.”

Caro looked at me, searching. “I have no idea. Do you?”

I was shaking my head when Courtney’s vacant stare sharpened. She snapped her head to Caro. “Where were you coming back from, this morning?”

Caro’s face flamed. “I…stayed somewhere else last night. After Sweetheart.”

“With someone else? Who? A Phi Delt?”

“What does it matter?” Coop bit out. “Caro can sleep with whoever she wants. It’s not relevant.”

“At this point, you know fuck-all what’s relevant.” Courtney turned to me, her eyes narrowing. I was next.

“Where’s Jack?” I cut in. “Someone should call him.”

“I tried.” Caro gripped the cross at her neck. “He’s not picking up. Neither’s Frankie.”

Mint shifted and looked down at me, confused. “Did you just come from the gym?”

I twisted the shirt in my hands. The fabric was itchy and smelled like a mix of unfamiliar deodorant and laundry detergent. “I—”

“Where were you last night, seriously?” Mint’s grip on me tightened until it was almost painful. “I called you a million times. You never came to Sweetheart. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Last night—bruising memories, the edges blurrier and blurrier as the night went on, until they were swallowed up in darkness. Instead of trying to search them, I willed in more darkness to eat the memories whole.

“I was drunk,” I said, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “I passed out. I’m sorry.”

“Now’s not the time to talk about the fucking Sweetheart Ball,” Coop snapped. “Something’s really wrong—”

A movement down the hall caught everyone’s attention. Little Eric Shelby, all one hundred pounds of him, came barreling around the corner. When he saw the crowd staring at him in horror, he froze for a second, cowed, then pressed forward.

“Let me in!” he said, putting his arms up to push through. But the crowd fell back, parting for him. He grabbed the door handle and twisted it open—Caro gasped—but he was blocked by the thick chest of a cop.

“Stand back,” the cop barked, and Eric nearly fell backwards. “This is a police investigation.”

I took a staggering step back, pulling Mint with me. But instead of slamming the door in our faces, the cop pushed it fully open. Behind him, I could see our living room and kitchen torn asunder, cushions ripped off the couch, every drawer hanging open. A black-clad EMT worker appeared in the doorway to the room I shared with Heather, walking backwards and carrying a stretcher, draped with a white cloth. Another EMT worker clutched the other end, calling soft directions to his partner. The crowd grew hushed as they passed through the front door, into the hall.

I stared down at the white cloth. It couldn’t hide the familiar hills and valleys of a human body.

Even through the near-debilitating pain of my hangover, the nausea, the black blurriness of my memories, I knew it. A strange knowing, like déjà vu: Heather is dead.

“I need everyone to back up,” the cop ordered.

“Is it Heather?” Eric practically tripped over himself as he backed away from the stretcher. “Heather Shelby?”

The sheer desperation in his voice caused tears to spring to my eyes.

The cop squinted. “Who are you?”

“Heather’s brother.” On the last word—brother—Eric crumbled, knees giving out. Mint released me and knelt next to him, resting a steadying hand on his shoulder. But Eric didn’t notice. He was staring up at the cop, his whole world narrowed to him and how he would answer.

The cop’s glare softened. “Son, I’m going to need you to come with me.”

“No,” Eric said. He leaned over the floor, and Mint hovered, conflicted. “No, no, no,” Eric sobbed. “Not Heather.”

The cop looked at Mint. “Help him up when he’s ready, okay? I need you to bring him to the station. We’ve already called his parents.”

Mint nodded, accepting the responsibility gravely.

The cop turned to the crowd. “I’m going to need the roommates. Caroline Rodriguez and Jessica Miller.” Hearing my name caused a shock, like I’d been caught at something.

Caro took a cautious step forward. “I’m Caroline.”

The eyes of the crowd swung to me.

“Me.” I cleared my throat. “Jessica.”

The cop nodded curtly. “Come with me to answer some questions.”

Panic swelled. With every footstep, the weight of the crowd’s eyes felt like a crown of thorns, sinking deeper into my skull.

It’ll be okay, I whispered to myself. You’ll tell the truth. Just not all of it.