Page 21 of Merciless Prince
“Take a seat,” he said, motioning toward a chair in front of his desk. “And tell me everything.”
He listened to my story without interrupting. Every so often he nodded and made a note on a pad in front of him. When I was finished, he leaned forward. “The guard who took down the incident report noted that this email you received has vanished from your inbox. Is that true?”
I nodded and repeated the explanation about the self-destructing emails.
Dean Blackwell nodded. “Yes, Tom mentioned that in the report,” he said. “What about the video call you mentioned? There must be a log that shows it.”
I nodded and pulled my phone out. “It’s right he—” I cut myself off midsentence and shook my head with confusion. My call log showed that my last phone call was with Cori yesterday afternoon.
“Shay?” Dean Blackwell raised his brows.
“It’s gone,” I said in a small voice. “I don’t know how. But it isn’t here.”
He folded his hands together in front of him. “So there’s no record of the emailorthe phone call?”
“I guess not.”
Dean Blackwell sighed. “Let me tell you something, Shay. Almost every single year, a few students in the film and performing arts department decide to pull something like this.”
“Something like what?” I asked, brows dipping in a quizzical expression. “Do you think someone is pranking me?”
“Not exactly.” He leaned back and glanced down at an open manila folder. “You’ve been asked by some fellow students to participate in a found footage horror movie, haven’t you? I believe the working title is Cruel Summer.”
“That’s right.”
He knitted his hands together again. “Like I said before, the film students try something like this nearly every year. Two or three of them will come to my office—or the security office—on separate occasions with wild claims about a terrifying incident that has supposedly occurred here at Bellingham. Rumors will start to spread after that. It’s designed to build an atmosphere of fear around campus; one that helps the students’ film projects gain hype and popularity. Last year, it was zombies. The year before that, it was a haunting.” He glanced at the folder again. “Judging by the synopsis of Cruel Summer, the main horror subject this year is stalkers.”
I stared at him blankly. “Wait… you think I’m making everything up to hype a movie project?”
His lips turned up in a small smile. “You can tell me the truth, Shay,” he said. “To be honest, part of me actually looks forward to hearing these crazy stories every year. It’s a lot more fun than my usual duties. You wouldn’t believe how much paperwork I have to do every week.”
“I’m not making this up.”
He lifted his brows. “So it’s just a coincidence that you’re involved in a found footage movie about a stalker?”
“Yes.” My cheeks flared with indignant heat. “Cruel Summer doesn’t even start filming until next semester. They haven’t even finished writing the script yet!”
“I see.” The dean pressed his lips into a thin line. He clearly didn’t believe me.
“Look, this stuff really happened to me, and from what I understand, it’s your job to care about that,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You can’t just dismiss it all as a stupid student prank.”
“There’s no proof that itisn’ta prank, Shay.” Dean Blackwell’s expression was filled with suspicion now, and his tone had turned chilly. “You said you received a mysterious email with a video attachment along with an anonymous phone call, but you can’t produce any evidence for either of those things happening. It’s almost word for word the same story that the film students gave me last year, only theirs was about zombies. On top of that, the security guards have found absolutely no evidence of a break-in at your dorm.”
“I know what it looks like. But I know what I saw.” My eyes were brimming with tears now, and my hands were trembling on my lap. “Please. You have to believe me. I swear, I’m not making this up!”
His face softened as he saw a tear slip down my cheek. “This really isn’t a prank?”
“No! It’s not!”
“So all of the things you described actually happened to you?”
My voice was so choked with emotion that I could barely answer him. “Yes.”
“Well, then. Please accept my apology. I didn’t mean to sound like I don’t care about the wellbeing of my students. It’s just that we get a number of these horror story prank reports every year, as I was saying earlier.” He went quiet for a few seconds. Then he opened a drawer and retrieved a pamphlet. “A lot of our students experience high amounts of stress,” he said in a much gentler tone than before. He passed the pamphlet over to me. “This school is very competitive, and that kind of pressure can really do a number on a person’s emotional and mental health. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I can assure you, the counseling services we have on campus are excellent. It’s all free, too.”
My gut clenched with irritation. “Look, Dean Blackwell, I’m really not trying to be rude here, but I don’t think you’re understanding me properly. I’m notstressed, and I didn’t hallucinate this thing,” I said. I leaned forward. “It happened. Seriously. I have a stalker.”
The dean lifted a skeptical brow. “You aren’t experiencing any stress at all?”
