Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“…you to hear this,” Emilio’s saying. “In case there was any ambiguity.”
“I told you the last time, Emilio—”
“Just shut your mouth and listen before you make things worse. I’m not here to threaten anymore, Walt. I’m here to remind.”
Emilio uses the dean’s first name?
A shadow moves and it sounds like a recording’s playing from his phone.
It’s rough. At first, it’s mostly static noise. It takes me a second to understand it’s the sound of waves rolling against surf. I keep myself pressed against the wall, heart racing. I swear they’re going to hear me breathing. My heart must be louder than a thousand drums right now and air sucks into my lungs like it’s moving through a cheese grater. I close my eyes and force myself to calm down as I concentrate on listening.
In the recording, some voices come in and out of focus. It’s hard to understand what they’re saying, but I recognize both Emilio and the dean.
The dean sounds terrified. It’s like he’s been crying, like he’s pleading with Emilio. I screw up my face and inch closer, straining to parse the voices from the waves.
Emilio says, “I believe you, Dean Wotherspoon. I saw what happened.”
“She was screaming. Shouting. Attacking you.”
“I know that. She hit me. She tried to wrap her hands around my neck.”
“I just acted. I thought you were—” The dean’s voice fades as the waves smash. When he’s audible again, he’s clearly crying. “—to help, that’s all, and it was a mistake.”
“It was an accident,” Emilio agrees. “A horrible accident. We came down here to help her, but it’s too late.”
“I’ll be ruined of this gets out. My god, Saint Parras will be ruined. A student, Emilio. I never should’ve intervened. I never should’ve come out here today.”
“Nobody needs to know you were here.”
I can practically hear the dean thinking as the wave sound increases again. My head’s buzzing and it’s like there are crickets in my skull. A student, an accident.
Ruined if this gets out…
Her hands around his throat…
“Of course, there would be some strings,” Emilio’s saying like he’s answering a question. “I can hide this for you. I can make sure nobody finds out what happened. But you have to help me in return. It’ll be a partnership.”
“Help you? How am I supposed to—” The waves crash again, loud this time. “I can’t get involved in your activities.”
“Not involved. All you need to do is deflect.”
“Emilio, please, I can’t.”
“You killed her, Dean Wotherspoon. I watched it happen.”
Killed her. Killed her…
“It was an accident.” The dean’s voice is choked with emotion. “I grabbed her, pulled her away, and she tripped. She tripped and fell, I didn’t mean to, I tried to pull her back, but she fell, and now—”
“From my perspective, Dean Wotherspoon, it looked a lot like you pushed her.”
The waves crashed loudly.
I sink down to my knees, my stomach twisting. I think I might be sick. But if I throw up now, they’ll know I’m here, and what will they do to me to keep their secret?
They covered up one murder.
They’ll do it again.
Slowly, I shove myself from my knees and get back to my feet. I’m shaking, sweating. I start to back away, but I hear one more exchange in the recording.
“You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t tell people that, would you?”
“Not if you help me. Now admit it, you’re the one that let her fall.”
“I didn’t mean to. I tried to save the girl—”
“Say her name, Dean. The girl you killed.”
“I didn’t. She fell.”
“I tried to save her. You let her drop.”
“No. I wouldn’t.”
“You did. Say her name.”
“Lucy Drake. God, I killed her, didn’t I?” The dean begins to sob.
“That’s right, Dean Wotherspoon. You killed her. And now you’re going to help me.”
I turn and run. I throw the door open, sweat prickling all over my skin, and sprint into the underbrush. I’m mindless, panicking. I hear someone shout my name, but I can’t respond, can’t form a coherent thought. It’s like the world’s pulsing all around me, like it’s one big lung. I run and run, legs pounding, and I feel brushes and bushes rip at my skin as I burst through them. I welcome the pain. Isn’t that what Emilio taught me? Pain can be good.
Emilio was there when my sister died. She was attacking him—I don’t know why—Dean Wotherspoon was somehow there too—he pushed her over the edge—
Dean Wotherspoon killed my sister.
And Emilio’s been covering it up.
They’ve been lying to everyone about what happened to Lucy.
Lying to me.
Fucking me and lying to me, and I think my head might break, and I’m afraid my chest might crack to pieces, but I keep running and running and running, and I can’t turn around or else he might catch me and I might be next.
Chapter 22
Emilio
I stand on the dean’s back porch and stare at Kaye as she crashes through the underbrush. I feel sick, like my hands and feet are hollow.