The Return

Chapter Forty Eight

Holly

Saturday May 22nd 2021.

Holly wasn't sure of anything.

She ran her fingers over the sturdy wooden shelf. The anticipation worked her up the most. And the silence. Harry J. Kennedy Community College had a library, unlike anything Holly had ever seen before. It was a two-story building with books on every wall. Tables and chairs were spread out around the open floor plan. A desk sat by the entrance with a librarian that Holly could bet was a year older than they were.

It was a student-based institution. And Holly was intrigued.

She heard the whir of a copy machine and a cell phone ringing. The air smelled like crisp paper and dust.

Her plan was to blend in. Look as if she belonged there and wait for her target to walk right into her web.

Farida always studied on Saturday nights.

There was the possibility of something coming up and Farida changing her plans. But wouldn't she update her Instagram? The girl posted everything from her trip to Starbucks to every class she sat through that week. And her last post made reference to a prep session at the library. She was going to be there

Shifting her weight to her other leg, Holly tried to be enthralled by the books on the shelves. She gave up. Something about An Intro To Biochemistry didn't stir anything in her.

The door opened, and chatter from the hallway scurried in. Holly dared a glance at her. Farida. She was prettier in person. She had a prosthetic on and tucked it into the pocket of her school hoodie. On her other hand, she cradled textbooks, and dangling from her ears were headphones; the old wired kind.

She took the seat closest to the entrance and set her books down.

Holly walked up to her.

"Hey, I am hopeless at deciding what to major in, got any recommendations?" Holly said, her smile malleable. "It's nice to meet you by the way,"

She perked up and tugged her earplugs out. "Farida,"

"Yeah, we went to the same high school, but you were a grade higher."

"Then you must have really known me," Farida whispered. "Have a seat,"

Holly shrugged. "I heard some rumors." She took the seat opposite Farida.

"Like what?"

"I heard something about that bitch Scarlett chopping off your arm."

"Anything else?" Holly racked her brain. For once, she was thankful for her passion for invading the privacy of others. She did her research and went beyond social media when it came to Farida. It seemed after the Scarlett thing; Farida had someone clean the slate. But anything posted can be found if Holly dug hard enough. She learned Pakistani exchange student, fluent in six versatile languages and blessed with the body of a Greek goddess was more than a gullible, hormonal mess. The PR and videographer behind the notorious pranks of Lincoln Lane's once iconic throuple, Farida was charming and talented in weaving her words and actions in a way that easily came off as persuasive. "It must have been hard to carry the weight of the throuple's social media presence on your back and not get any credit,"

"Right?" Farida leaned forward excited someone else saw her for her work.

"Where did you even learn your videography?"

"Girl, I was blessed." Which meant she somehow found a way to learn it and discredit the teacher. Alright.

"Do you think you can still record? It'll be a shame if you let what Scarlett did to you hold you back." Holly paused then asked; "Can I see it?"

"The hand?" Farida looked over her shoulder. The only other person sitting next to them was a girl on her computer who let out a frustrated grunt and clicked her mouse.

Holly heard rustling then a pop. She looked over just in time to see Farida place her arm on the table.

"Oh, shit." Holly exclaimed reaching out to touch it. "And you didn't press charges?"

It was Farida's turn to shrug. "She got what was coming to her in the end."

"How did she die anyway, it was all over the news but I couldn't care less," Holly said nonchalantly.

"Bitch overdosed on some heroin. Switched out the content of her capsules with the shit."

"I thought she smoked it?"

Farida giggled. "That's what the media wants you to think, they concocted the whole story because someone paid a shit ton of money to cover up the story."

"So, it was a suicide?"

Farida popped her arm back into place and tucked it into her pocket. "I don't know and I don't care. I'm glad the bitch is dead."

She wasn't guilty.