Page 69 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

This keeps getting more and more surprising. “Lewis, you said?”

He hands me the slip of paper where the name Harold Lewis is written in Randall’s messy scrawl, along with a phone number. “Did he say why? You don’t think it has to do with theChronicle, do you?”

Randall shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. He just said it was important you call as soon as possible.”

“Right. Well, thank you for this. And, for the record, I’m sorry for just up and quitting. That wasn’t really very professional of me.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “Honestly? I would’ve had the same reaction. Actually . . .” He stops himself. “That’s not true. I would’ve punched the fucker in the face a few times first.”

I smile at that. “That’s something I’d like to see.”

“Isabella,” he says, leaning forward. “If there’s anything you need. References, letters of recommendation, you name it—”

“Thank you, I really—actually . . .” I turn to my bag and the rolls of undeveloped film. “Do you think I could use the darkroom to develop some pictures? My friend got married and, well . . .”

He smiles. “Sure. I’ll be here for another hour at least. But”—he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a key—“if you needto stay later, just lock up behind you and drop the key off before the holidays.”

“Thanks.”

Tucking the note with Mister Lewis’s phone number into the outer pocket of my purse, I head down the hallway toward the back of the office. As I pass my old desk, I’m pleasantly surprised to see it hasn’t been filled by someone else. Although it’s more likely that they haven’t had need of it yet, part of me wishes it’s because they couldn’t bear to replace me so quickly.

Turning on the red lamps, I shut the door, then the blackout curtain. I grab the film from my purse and place it in the enlarger, methodically working my way through the roll of pictures I took in Las Vegas. Becks and James look so happy and she looks so beautiful in her feathered coat and silver heels. Considering the amount of pictures I took, there’s hardly any of Dave except for the group photo that James’s aunt took of the six of us.

I watch as the picture develops in the solution, the photo paper coming to life as it gently floats in the tray. Once it’s finished, I hold it up and hang it to dry on the line but stop. I’m surprised at how genuinely I’m smiling in this photo. I think Noreen had told us all to yell sex instead of cheese as she took it, which promptly caused me to burst out laughing. Everyone looks happy, like they’re having the time of their lives. Except Dave.

He’s at the opposite end of the group and while he’s smiling, it’s different than the rest of ours. At this point in the night I had been too annoyed with Dave to look at him, but it appears he was looking at me. Smiling at me. Like the only thing he can see isme.

I don’t think I can remember the last time he brought a girl home. Certainly not since the EP was released.

Was Becks telling the truth? Has Dave not been hooking up with anyone recently? If that’s so, what’s the reason? Surely it can’t be because of me. He told me two weeks ago that the life hewants doesn’t include getting into a relationship with me. Because he wants to fuck around with no strings attached. But he’s . . . not.

I blow a long breath out of my mouth, the breeze ruffling my fringe. No, Becks must be wrong. Maybe he’s just been more discreet about it.

“I’m surprised you came back.”

I jump and spin around, the developer solution tray nearly toppling over as my eyes focus on Simon standing across from me.

“What are you doing here?” I bite out.

Simons smirks and takes a step toward me. When I step back, he stops and puts his hands behind his back. “Little Bella, I work here. You, on the other hand, do not.”

I narrow my eyes and clear my throat. “That may be, but I have permission from Randall to be in here.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Is he aware that you use the school newspaper darkroom as your own personal print service?” he asks.

Taking a deep breath, I turn toward the photos hanging from the line and begin to pull them down, placing them in a pile to take home with me. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, besides it’s not like you’re unfamiliar with breaking the rules.”

Before I can turn, he steps right up behind me so his sour breath is in my ear.

“I’ll break any rule to get what I want, Bella,” he whispers, his fingertips grasping onto my hip tightly.

I shove off his hand and spin around, pushing into his chest with the limited strength I have. “Don’t touch me again or I’ll make sure you lose that arm.” There’s heat waves coming off my forehead and I’m sure I look like a raccoon with how furious I am that this prick thinks he can touch me. But all he does is smirk.

“Ah, nowthere’smy little hot tamale,” he goads.

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