The next hour moved by in a blur as we all gave our accounts of what had happened to both the campus security and the police department. Jack had had no record, no history of violence or psychological issues. It was just like… he’d snapped.
The year before, he’d been on the dean’s list.
The guy wasn’t the typical guy to go on a killing rampage. Nothing made sense, but Tristan said that those cases rarely did — that it’s people you least suspect.
We learned that Jack didn’t even work at the pizza place. All in all, two of the workers had been beaten senseless each time we’d ordered. Each delivery he’d used as a time to try to gain access into my room, but because Tristan had been there, he hadn’t been able to get past the door.
“You okay?” Tristan whispered into my hair once we were back at my room.
I was packing up another bag to take to his house. Shrugging, I shook my head. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
A soft knock on the door made me jump.
Tristan left me with a steadying pat and walked across the room and opened it. Gabe came through, followed closely by Wes, both of their expressions grim.
Wes spoke first. “They searched Jack’s room and found this.”
He threw a worn leather journal onto the table.
I gasped. “That’s… how did he get the journal?”
“He didn’t.” Tristan looked at the journal, his face pale. “There’s no way he got into my house. The security is too good. Besides, Taylor… he wrote about making more than one copy. I just didn’t know it was Jack who had it all along.”
A tingling chill worked its way into my knees, weakening them. I slumped onto the couch. “He knew everything about me… why? Why would he do that? He kept saying he wanted to save me. From what?”
Tristan put his arm around me. “Maybe himself? Who knows, Lisa? He was bat-shit crazy.”
“Yeah.” The knot in my stomach tightened. We were missing something. We had to be missing something. It just… it didn’t make sense. I mean, who spent half their life going after someone only to change their plans? I shivered.
“You guys ready?” Wes asked. “The car’s downstairs.”
“Yeah,” I whispered and took Tristan’s hand. “We’re ready.”
****
The week flew by. The story, unfortunately, had leaked to the media, but by the time it had, the videos weren’t of me and Tristan naked, just kissing. The damning one of me and Taylor had been taken off the website. I didn’t ask him if his father was pissed, because I knew that was probably a very firm yes. But Tristan didn’t seem to care.
If anything, he seemed happier that his dad knew what was going on… like he was finally able to be himself. I spent every night at his house — I’d never felt safer.
But something was still bothering me about the whole situation. I couldn’t explain it or put my finger on i
t. I stopped bringing it up whenever Tristan gave me the impression he was worried about me. He’d give me that look like he knew I was thinking too hard, and I’d flash a smile and pat his hand like nothing was wrong. But something was very wrong. I’d thought Jack was a friend, but clearly he’d been watching me the whole time; yet he kept hinting that he was protecting me from something. I mean, why tell me to move and then attack me that very next day? Things didn’t make sense, and when I broached the subject with Tristan one night, he said that crazy didn’t ever make sense and left it at that. I could tell that talking about it bothered him just as much as it bothered me, and maybe I would never have the answers or closure I needed.
I still hadn’t kissed Tristan since the incident. I couldn’t. I felt dirty… but more than that, I felt like if I did, I wouldn’t be able to stop, and I didn’t want my first time with him to be something I did to take away the fear or the pain. I wanted it to be something we shared because we loved each other. I had too many demons and ghosts haunting me. I knew it would turn into something different, and my heart couldn’t handle that possibility.
Tristan was a perfect gentleman. He cooked for me, made me laugh. We watched movies… I mean, it was like living with the perfect man. Except at night, I still had bad dreams. Tristan said I should talk to someone, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
On Friday, I finally returned to class.
When I walked into Tristan’s old classroom, another teacher stood behind the desk. It felt… wrong to have someone take his place. I kept my eyes averted the whole class period.
“Lisa?” the professor asked at the end of class. “I have a new partner for your end-of-the-semester project. He wasn’t able to make it to class today, but he did send me an email and say he’s available to meet you at Starbucks before your next class. He wanted to at least introduce himself.”
“Right.” Starbucks. The bane of my existence.
“Remember, Lisa, your grade depends on this.”
“Starbucks, it is,” I said, mumbling “bastard” under my breath. Since it was Friday, I had around an hour before my next class. I hightailed it to Starbucks and shivered as memories of the incident washed over me.