The library was completely empty, except for the librarian falling asleep at the front desk and the janitor in the corner staring at his phone. I could hear the grunts coming from his throat, I didn't want to know what was on that phone.
I went onto the computer and put Lillian Doyle into the search engine. Plenty of options came up, 148,000 plenty. I was surprised that one option came from Ashley Madison; people were completely ridiculous. But when I put the year 1910 into the search engine, I found a newspaper article from the library's archive. I selected the link, and a PDF of the article came to view. It was a dark grey shade, it made some of the words hard to read. But reading it twice over, I got the general idea.
The London Daily
Marisol Heffner
April 10th, 1910
On the early morning of April 5th, tragedy struck the Hollingwood Campus as nineteen-year-old Lillian Doyle was discovered murdered in her bed chambers. The young woman was set to be married to James Rÿot later that day. Nobody could have foreseen the terrible murder to take place on what would have been a magical day. The family and the campus have declined to comment.
Well, they were good enough as not to pester the family for information. If only people were just as classy now.
My interest was tickled. This was way too similar to Sami's case. Maybe it was just a coincidence, or a copy cat? Or...could it be possible that the two cases were connected? Two cases connected by 100 years? According to articles, they never caught Lillian's killer, but I seriously doubt Otis Rÿot's ghost butchered Sami, and nobody from that time period would still be around today. There was simply more to this then met the eye.
Like most overworked, over-caffeinated, and over ambitious university students, I ended up taking my work home with me. I was up into the late hours of the night, going through every document and report connected to Lillian Doyle's murder. The more I searched, the more I learned about the beginning of the Riot Club. Too bad the campus let the clubs come out; they should've remained underground, then I probably never would've been in the middle of this mess.
This schmuck, Otis Rÿot, had one too many personality similarities that Harry had. That was more then enough of a coincidence. But then that's what made me scratch my chin; it was too much of a coincidence. All the signs pointed to Harry.
-
"Lucy. Lucy wake up!" I shot up from my bed, finding that I was in fact back in my room, surrounded by the books and papers from the last few days. I dreamed that Ethan in fact never did go to prison, Sami was alive, and the Riot Club didn't exist.
"You gonna sleep for the rest of the day?" Erica asked me. I rubbed the crackly dried drool from the corner of my mouth and rubbed my eyes.
"I was up late last night," I muttered.
"I could hear you typing from the covers. The essay's not due for another month, Luce," she told me. I didn't even want to think about my school work right now. If I did, I may've gotten sick.
"I wasn't working on an essay. I was doing research," I replied.
"Lucy, you can't keep hoping that whatever you're staying up for until two o'clock in the morning is going to save Ethan," she huffed, "I want Sami back just as much as you do, but stressing yourself like this isn't healthy,"
"Ethan liked Sami, he had no reason whatsoever to kill her. I'm going to prove his innocence even if I get kicked out of school for it," I said.
"Now, I don't want that. Now that Sami's gone, you're one of the few friends left I can actually stand to talk to. Don't leave me just yet," she said. I stood up and did a little stretch, I heard my back crack a bit.
"I don't plan on it," Like it or not, I still had a life outside of being a Sherlock-in-training. Erica was right, I needed to get my priorities in check.
---
The campus seemed different as I stepped into the courtyard. It was almost like a mist had loomed over the grounds and put everybody into a dark trance. Nobody was talking. It wasn't the silence that scared me though, it was the people. Every face I looked at, they showed no emotion. I have never seen so many people in one confined space that weren't bustling with exciting news about the A+ they got on their paper, or the latest gossip about which girl slept with the jock. Everybody was just like a robot; programmed to do what they had to do, never diverted from their mission.
I recognized Vincent's raven-black hair, the rest of him was covered in a beige trench coat. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, and he was clean-shaven and had combed his hair. He looked good enough to bestow and win a case in a murder trial, but his eyes were glazed over. A look of sorrow had taken hold as he looked down at the small memorial set up outside of the girl's dormitory. Pictures and posters were set up, candles were lit, flowers scattered. I hated to see my friend in this state, so I decided to talk to him. He looked like he needed a friend.
Somebody outside of the Riot Club.
"Morning stranger," I said, trying to be my cheery self. He didn't look up at me, he just continued to look down at the memorial. "Vincent?"
"She loved tulips. Her favourite colour was purple," he said. I looked down at the purple tulips, there was a garland of them that cushioned Sami's high school graduation photo. She looked so young, and her chestnut brown hair was put up and tied into a tight ponytail with curls at the end. She was smiling, she was happy.
"They're beautiful," I said.
"She was," Vincent replied. I looked up at him, I knew he wasn't just sad, he was also angry. I couldn't imagine the amount of betrayal he felt, thinking that one of his best friends did this to Sami.
"Vincent, Ethan didn't do this," I told him.
"Bullshit," he replied. There was emotion, and there was reason. And usually, emotion came out on top of reason.
"He had no reason to kill her," I said.
"Sami probably went to the bathroom, or to get a glass of water. Ethan came in, he was drunk; you weren't around but he wanted a piece of tail so he grabbed what he could. She fought back, he didn't like that. He killed her," I had never heard the throaty growl of hate and poison that emanated from his voice; it scared me.
"Deep down, you know that's not true," I said.
"I wanna believe it, Lucy," he turned to me, "I wanna believe that my best mate didn't kill my girlfriend, but the facts and the evidence trump my hope. Sami's dead, and she's not coming back, and I have that pig to blame for it," he said.
"I get that you're angry, but the insults your slurring are at my boyfriend. I'm trying prove his innocence, and I could use a little support from you guys," I told him.
"Why bother, you get him off, he'd probably kill you too," he said.
"Ethan would never hurt me. And you know he'd never hurt anybody," I said.
"Well, I feel sorry for you. Harry was right, we can never really judge books by covers," then he turned and stormed off.
Somehow, I knew he was right. And I hated that. But what bothered me more wash is choice of words. The way he said his last line:
Harry was right, we can never really judge books by covers,
I needed to look into the primary suspect.
YOU ARE READING
Hollingwood University
Novela Juvenil"Just saying...after a while you'll fall in love with me. All the ladies do, no matter how hard they fight it." "Well I assure you that I will never be one of those ladies." ...
