Page 19 of Ruined Vows

“After class, we’ll call them to the scene at your house and fill out another report. This bastard is escalating.”

She rubs her eyes with her palms. “I know.” Her voice is quiet, and I don’t like it.

I take a step closer to her. “It’s going to be okay, Red. I’m here now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She lets out a trembling little breath, her eyes lifting to mine. “You read the messages?”

Still holding her gaze, I nod.

“It’s always about control,” she says, then laughs a little hysterically. “It feels like everyone in my life gets to have control over my life except me. Carol. My father. My Ph.D. advisor. Now, even a stranger.”

“We’ll find them,” I say vehemently, “And stop them.”

“How?” she asks, sounding like she feels helpless. “The cops are next to useless. They won’t do anything.”

“They might find prints.”

“They didn’t last time. But maybe they’ll take it more seriously since it’s escalating?”

As much as I’d like to think the boys in blue will do anything, I’ve had enough run-ins with them in my life to know better.

“In the meantime, we stay with horror movie rules,” I say. “I stick to you like glue.”

I wince, remembering my nightmare right as I say it. This won’t end like that. I won’t let it.

SIX

KIRA

We have justenough time before class for me to scribble down a few names of the more intense students I’ve had in mind.

“Are any of them in this class?” Isaak asks right as students start to pile in for my nine-thirty lecture.

It’s bizarre. I’ve known Isaak for less than twenty-four hours, really, but already he feels like a confidant in this strange storm that’s overtaken my life. Even having someone to read the barrage of messages for me this morning so I didn’t have to… was a relief. Like maybe I don’t have to carry the burden alone. I didn’t feel that with the bodyguard Carol assigned me.

“Zachary usually sits in the front row. Phillip, center right, with kinda curly hair. Dae, in the back. Phillip and Dae are vocal, so you’ll notice them. Zach’s quiet, but he usually comes up to talk after class. The other two do sometimes, too, or during office hours.”

Isaak nods, his eyes already scanning the kids streaming in the doors and sitting down.

I know they’re only four years younger than me but they really do look like kids. It’s easier to have compassion on whoever’s doing this to me when I remember it could be one of them. That maybe they’re just some mixed-up freshman or sophomore with mommy issues experiencing transference in a screwed-up way because I’m the first woman with real intelligence and authority they’ve run into in their adult lives.

A lot of these kids were neglected in the way that a lot of Gen Z has been, abandoned by busy parents to be raised by screens. They’re better with pixelated zombies and NPCs than real-life human beings.

Even now, with rows of laptops facing me, I know I’ll have difficulty tearing many of them from their screens. Except for Phillip, already in the middle row, who’s been staring at me with uncanny eye contact from the moment he sat down.

Isaak’s taken the seat my TA sometimes takes off to the side so he can still see the student’s faces.

“Good morning, class,” I say with a big smile, trying to make up for their disinterest with manufactured enthusiasm. Usually, I like teaching. I always thought this would be the scariest part of getting my degree, but it surprised me when I was able to settle into it without much anxiety. Because it’s just the rest of my life that gives me so much anxiety, I’m regularly popping pills for it.

Talking to students about concepts I find endlessly fascinating is usually my most low-key activity. Everything else in my head becomes quiet for once, and I’m finally able to be fully present.

Before the stalker anyway, and realizing it could be one of my students.

Now, I find my heart thumping as I continue our unit on Jungian psychology. I start by asking the students what they remember from last week’s session on the mind and the subconscious. I don’t get a lot of takers, but Dae finally speaks up without raising his hand.

“That there are conscious and unconscious parts of our psyche,” he says, his answers as astute and intelligent as always, “but the unconscious can only be reached through dreams and the symbolism of archetypes.”

“Very good, Dae,” I say, and I can all but feel Isaak’s displeasure at me giving a student on the list any praise. But I won’t change my teaching style out of paranoia. For all I know, all the students in this room could be innocent.

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