Of Life and Death: [A Dark Academia Paranormal Romance]

Chapter 6

I guess history does repeat itself.

EMMA

present day

__

It's the first time the auditorium has been this quiet.

Posters and decorations still line the walls from the pep rally, happy and bright in their ambience--a large contrast to the painful swell of tension in the hall.

Groans aren't heard, snickers don't sound from the juniors, and snide remarks aren't made by the usually loud football team. They're stone silent, features lined with the weight of a dreaded suspicion. They've lost one of their own. My stomach clenches. Principal Matterson stands on the raised podium, addressing the school. She holds herself stiffly, the sharp cut of her suit offsetting her stern expression.

"As you well know, Timothy Jackson has been missing for a few weeks. But with further investigation from the authorities, his case has been ruled out as mere disappearance." Her eyes sweep through the room. "It is now a murder investigation."

The silence breaks. Breaths hitch and whispers carry around the wide hall, building with increasing terror.

She speaks over the din, "If you know something, anything, even the tiniest clue that might help them--"she motions behind--"it would be most welcome."

Heads turn. The hall quiets once more. Standing at the auditorium's wide entrance are officers from the police department. My stomach drops.

"Every student is required to go in for questioning. The school will provide adequate counseling as well, as I know Timothy was a favorite among most of us and, in turn, his death would be a painful road to navigate. I hope in the coming weeks we will be able to make peace with his untimely demise. Like he would have wanted."

With a final nod, she makes her way down the side of the platform, taking the stairs.

My legs stay rooted to the spot, unable to move. Students file out of the hall, chattering in low tones.

"...who the f*ck would do that to him?"

"...he was so nice, and sweet."

"...only a monster..."

My breaths come fast when I take my seat at homeroom the next week. Keep it together, Em. Keep it the f*ck together. People pour in. A few give me a wide berth, gazes accusing. But they can't know. It's not possible.

"Emma? Emma Richards?"

My head snaps up. "Yes?"

"Please come with me."

I follow the officer to a classroom that'd been converted into an interrogation room. The student they'd been questioning stands, striding out. I hesitate at the doorway. Mum suggested I get her lawyers involved but I refused. That would only make me look guilty--even though I plan on leaving California the moment I get the chance.

"Come forward, Emma."

Oh. I walk over to the large desk, sitting behind it to face a male officer. He has a notebook open before him. Two more people in uniforms stand close behind, a portly man and a stout, frowning woman.

"Your name's come up quite a few times," he says in way of greeting. "Reports say Timothy was last seen driving out of school with you. Shortly after that, you were reported to be"--he squints at his notebook--"driving back home in a black chevy. A few believe it was between this time Timothy died. Or was killed."

"I'm confused. Am I being questioned or accused, officer?"

"Neither. Either. You have the right to turn down these accusations."

"Well, considering it was just recently this was ruled a murder investigation, are you really going to cancel out other more plausible probabilities?"

Reluctant interest sparks his gaze. "Like what?"

"An alien abduction."

He stares at me. The woman behind deepens her scowl. The portly officer shifts his weight to the other leg, looking like he would be anywhere else.

The officer soon recovers, a frown pinching his brows. "An innocent boy has just been murdered."

Innocent? Ha!

"I would think you would take this more seriously, Miss Richards," he finishes.

"I am taking this seriously," I say earnestly, before adding just as solemnly, "So, alien abduction?"

He says nothing, leaning back in his chair. "Your records mention a...variety of mental health issues."

Worked hard for those!

"You can see how we might lean into the suspicions conceived by your fellow students." His eyes go to his notebook again. "It says you are disturbed and unstable, with a report stating you had..." His eyes widen a fraction. "Made dentures out of a student's teeth."

"Hearsay."

Never let be said I didn't do my part for the elderly community!

I was soon free to go when the officers realized they were getting nowhere with me. Once I get past the interrogation room, the flippant mask I'd put on cracks and fizzles into thin air. My earlier anxiety surfaces.

Timothy and Mathew Gurney are worlds apart. Where Mathew was merely a boy on the wrong side of town, Timothy and his filthy rich parents owned it. Mr and Mrs Jackson wouldn't stop until their sweet, innocent--psychotic son is avenged.

I walk past the halls. Students huddle close to their lockers, still discussing Timothy, the wonderful boy he'd been, the school's hearthrob that'd settled for an ogre. On the open field, I spot Caleb--my only friend in this shit hole. Not wanting him to see me, I increase my steps, cramming into my Chevy.

Pulling out of the lot, I drive home. As the car speeds down, flashes of memory tear through me. His crazed eyes, bloody knuckles, and dazed expression before a gradually fading roar of fear. Then there was me. Trembling blood-red fingers ransacking his bag for the tape.

By the time I get home, I'm all over the place. The halls stretch out before me, a foreboding air coming to rest on on the atmosphere. "Mum?" I call tentatively, cutting across the grand foyer. Glass chandeliers blink down at me.

"M--"

Growls sound behind me.

The hounds.

My blood chills. Without thinking, I tear across the hall and run up the staircase. I lose my footing on the landing and scrape the walls with my nails as I struggle for something to hold on to. A painting in my collection goes tumbling down, shattering on impact. Giorgio's bottomless eyes seem to laugh at me.

My stomach lurches and I round into my hall, pounding down the hardwood as the growls grow increasingly louder, more Reverends teeming for the hunt. My shoulder slams into my bathroom door, my salvation not far away. The untouched cabinet greets me.

It's been a year.

Just one pill. Just one. Just one. My hands shake with the promise of relief, my head warring against my baser instincts. I could run from them, participate in the hunt long enough for their time to run out and watch them disperse into the ether they came from. My eyes latch on the cabinets. Or I could take the easy way out. They are fueled by my emotions, I realized. Once I grew lax and the world turned hazy around me, they wouldn't exist.

Chilling barks sound down the hall.

My eyes fly to the cabinet.

I will not crack.

I will NOT crack.

I will NOT CRA--

With a whimper, my arm shoots out, knocking items off the cabinet in a desperate rush to grab the pills. I pop one in my mouth, then two, slinking down the stall with the ugly mixture of shame and defeat.

My fingers thread through my hair, gripping tight, but I feel nothing, the effects of the drug already working. When a sense of calm engulfs me, the usual question floats in.

Will I stop seeing them now?