Page 61 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
A crystal ball rests on the middle of his desk, surrounded by smaller crystals: a quartz and an amethyst, I think.
“This is where you lived as achild?”I ask, looking at him with lifted brows.
“Um… as a teenager.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Technically speaking, I stayed here when I was a child as well, but there were more… blocks. Picture books. That sort of thing.”
“I guess…” But it’s still too mature for a teenager. I gesture to the room. “Do you see why I thought you were a vampire? You seem like you wereborna little, old man.”
He rolls his eyes. “I was not. My mother had a fondness for design. She found unique pieces and… well, I always liked books, like her.”
“I can see that.”
Caldwell shifts as if he’s embarrassed, glancing out the window. Orange leaves rustle against the glass, and I move closer, pushing the curtain aside. Outside, the streets are quiet. The sun has finally set, and something about this little place makes me feel at peace for the first time in a long time.
“I don’t hate it.” I turn to face him.
“It would be all right if you did. Like I said, it’s nothing special.”
“Maybe not to you.” I wander to the desk, my fingers brushing against the crystals. “But, to me? It’s magical.”
We stay at his apartment until the streets are pitch black. It starts to feel like I’m frozen in place. He plays more music: slow ballads that bring me to tears and then faster songs that make his fingers fly across the keys.
I play one of the few songs I know, a reminder of failed piano lessons from my childhood. He’s kind enough not to laugh at the attempt.
He shows me books and paintings, and by the end of it all… I’ve almost forgotten who I’m with.
“Let’s take my car back to Strode,” he says. “It’s late. I leave it parked in the garage. You can’t trust the rogues on campus…”
It should be ironic, but for the evening, the thought of Caldwell being the campus horror has left my mind. It’s replaced with toothless pictures of him as a child, of ballads that are stuck in my head, and of sun-catching crystals.
I let him lead me to the car.
Avoiding the cold and a late-night walk makes his offer easy to agree to, especially once we’re inside. Warm air fills the small space. I rub my hands together and place them in front of a heating vent.
Soft, classical music fills the space as we drive. It’s a comfortable quiet, the sort that feels like it belongs to good friends rather than strangers. An intimate silence.
I have to break it. Ifeelmyself breaking down.
All the images of Caldwell come crashing together. Him leaning into the piano. His soft voice when he talks about his mother. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. Him pressing against me in the club.
And then, him draining the life from Poppy with whatever magic his mother has given him.
I hold back until we’re in the school parking lot.
My hands shake with nerves. “I have to tell you something.”
He glances at me, concerned and confused; his brows furrow. “You can tell me anything. I spent an entire evening showing you who I am, and… Tobey, what is it?”
My breath comes out in harsh puffs.
“I think…” I’ve lost my senses. I don’t know where they are. They don’t come to me as I speak in a trembling voice. “I think you’re the killer, Caldwell. I think it’s been you all along, and…”
Where am I going with this? I shouldn’t have said anything.
Fright builds in me, rendering me incapable of speaking another word. I’m frigid to the bone.
Caldwell pulls into the parking lot, just outside my dormitory, and my heart races. I can still make a run for it. My hand moves to the door, but I’m rendered immobile. Terror thrums through my body.
He turns to me slowly, jaw tense as he looks me up and down. “Did you just confront a killer alone in his car? In the middle of the night?” His expression is severe, eyes so sharp they cut to my soul. “I’ve always known you were reckless, but do you completely lack self-preservation?”
