Page 35 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
His eyes light up—likely excited for another way to annoy me—and he hands me his phone.
There’s a sour look on my face as I add myself to his contacts. “I saved myself as ‘Baneof my Existence.’”
I hold the phone out, and he takes it, setting it down.
“That is not how I would describe you, but… it certainly is memorable.”
I fish the book from my bag—Frankenstein—flipping through the pages. It’s one I’ve read before, time and time again, words seared into my skull.
“What do you like about Frankenstein’s monster?” I ask, trying to pry anything from him.
“Well…” He sighs. “I fear it’s a bit obvious, but I think there’s something poetic about the lengths we go to avoid loneliness. It isn’t always a pretty reality, but the story weaves a beautiful and horrifying tale.”
I hold onto his every word, leaning in as he speaks. He’s not only answering the question of Frankenstein’s monster, he is giving me a look into his mind. I have to find glimmers in his words, hints that I’m heading down the right path.
Caldwell may have answers, after all, if his view of the book is anything to go by.
“That was your takeaway?” I give him a saccharine smile. “I’ve always seen it as a story of responsibility for one’s actions.”
And whoever killed Poppy should be ready to take responsibility for theirs. Justice is coming for them.
“It can be both,” he says—either unaware of the intention behind my words, or very good at pretending. He reaches to take the book from me, tenderly brushing his fingers against mine, and opening to a page. It’s a well-loved section, the words underlined in pen. ‘Satan had his companions,” he reads, “fellow devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and abhorred.’”
Our eyes meet. He looks to me, begging for understanding. Instead of giving it, I turn my attention to thefood in front of me. Picking up a piece of cheddar, I contemplate the topics of isolation and loneliness.
How can they relate to the murders on campus? Each tale I come up with is more morbid than the next. Souls, to follow the murderer? Souls to wait for them in hell? I press my lips together.
There is probably no connection at all.
“Which loneliness do you relate to?” My gaze lifts to meet his. “The monster or the man?”
He smiles sadly. “To me, they are the same.”
“Ah…”
He admits he relates to the monster. It’s something I would have more sympathy with under different circumstances.
“Am I scaring you away so soon?” he asks.
“No!” I jump, worried I’ve pushed too far. Nervous laughter comes out as a choked sound. It tears through my lips. “I’m just not used to all this. I’ve never had a first date quite like this one.” That can be complimentary, right?
He presses his lips together, scrutiny reflecting in his eyes. “One more glass of wine,” he says. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
There’s a chance I’ve messed this up. He’s already offering to take me home—no trying to make out under the stars and no suggestion of going to his dormitory.
I’m relieved and worried this was all for nothing. I didn’t get anything from him. Not really. The watch is still my biggest clue.
“I can agree to that.” My hand trembles as I hold out my glass, waiting for him to fill it. “Margaux will be jealous of such a feast. Wine is her favorite.”
A reminder of my scary vampire roommate can’t hurt.
He hums thoughtfully. “You’re close with yourroommate already?”
“We bonded quickly,” I say as an explanation. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know our history.
“How lucky she is.”
I roll my eyes. “You think you’re quite the smooth talker, don’t you?”
