Heartless (The Heartless Series) (14 page)

Seeing a freakin' demon kill you every night is one thing. When the freakin' demon isn't controlling all the crazy, well, it's a problem. I don't want a problem.

Oh Lord.

Focus.

I go into the library at around seven, and Madison waves at me from the desk. "You are here early."

"I don't work today." I shove my bag on my shoulder and try to not sound suspicious, because I so feel suspicious. "I'm just here doing research."

"For class?"

Well, for what else? "Yeah. Professor Mitchell is brutal. A few classes in, and he already has us doing assignments." I think he was. Truthfully, I hadn't even remembered him that much until right this moment. Much less that assignment. We were supposed to do a paper on brothers in the Civil War. I can't even think about it. I'll get to it. Maybe. Yeah, okay. I should get to it. Right after I find out if Shelley is real and where I might find her.

Madison's sweet little face lights up at Professor Mitchell's name. A lot of co-eds have that effect when hearing his name. He's not a bad looking man for a guy in his thirties. Long brown hair. Big brown eyes. Still, not my type. I prefer men from my own decade. Still, I know other people love to look at ole Seth. Madison seems to be one of them.

"Professor Mitchell is here if you want to check him out."

Uh. Huh.

"I mean, check. Go see what he's doing, and maybe ask him about whatever the assignment is." She slides some hair behind her ear. "I'll shut up now."

I can't help but smirk. Despite everything going on, I shouldn't be the least bit happy about anything. But Madison swooning over the professor seems funny to me. Kinda nice for something to seem funny actually. Normal.

"Anyway." She sighs and sits up straighter. Her cheeks are tinged slightly pink, and I swear her pupils have dilated.

Oh yeah. She has it bad. Madison, in my opinion, has always been a bit of a nerdy loner. I can relate in the fangirl obsessions and late night TV binge watching. She's never had a boyfriend as far as I know. Not that having a boyfriend is all that grand or awesome. Exhibit A: Sam.

"You can go on back. No need to see your ID."

I thank her and move through the turnstiles. Ever since the school shooting ten years ago, security has been extra beefy here. Not that I mind. I like feeling safe, even though I so don't in my own mind. Still, it would be nice to go into a library or somewhere without having to swipe a card. I figure if someone wants in, they'll get in no matter what.

Morbid? Maybe. But it's just how I feel.

"You working tonight?" Madison asks when I almost make it to the stairs.

"Not tonight. I'm scheduled for tomorrow morning, but something might come up."

She blinked a couple of times. "Something like what?"

"Like, something." Vague much? "See you later."

I don't wait to get a reply from her. I just go on my merry way, and once I get to the second landing, I stop, lean my head against the wall, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I can do this. I'm okay. I'm…

"Hey, don't I know you?"

I don't have to open my eyes to know who is about two steps above me and speaking to me. What I can't figure out is why he would even think he knew me?

I mean, I know him. I just don't know why he'd remember me, except for that one outburst—or two—in his class. I'm not memorable or remarkable. Not in the least. I'm the most ordinary person in the world.

I swear I hear him snort.

My cheeks burn red. I force my eyes open and look up to Professor Mitchell staring down at me. Yep, puppy dog brown eyes. "I'm… fine."

"I didn't ask you how you were. I asked if you were in one of my classes." He didn't sound short or snarky, though his words could be taken that way. He seems… kind, maybe? More kind than snarky anyway.

I nod and have to force my eyes to stay locked on his. I absolutely hate talking to people face to face. I get all flushed and upset because life, real life, has no backspace or delete button if you say something stupid. I. Need. A. Backspace.

I don't think Professor Mitchell will give me a backspace.

"I thought I remembered you. The girl who had the mini mental breakdown."

I want to die.

"Come here to work on your research project?"

"Yes?" I don't even say it convincingly to my own ears. But it isn't a lie. Not really. I am researching something. I'm researching if Shelley is real, how to find her, and other things I don't want to talk about.

He smirks. The laugh reaches his eyes. I can't tell if he's making fun of me or thinks I'm a silly girl. Guess it doesn't matter.

"If you're interested, I've laid out some books in study room M to help out."

I just sort of stared at him for a bit. I hear the words, but I don't think they fully register.

I think I'm becoming a bit too childish for him, because he rolls his eyes and walks down to the step I'm on. Holy Hannah, I've never stood next to him, and wow, he's tall. Like giant tall. And now that I can actually see the man, his eyes aren't completely brown. They have light blue rings around the brown. Very pretty. Very… weird. Not that I can say anything about strange. I talk to a demon. In my head. I think a blue ring around his eyes is pretty less weird.

"Just so you know, I've been known to leave little bread crumbs for my students from time to time if they take the initiative to look for them. I'm giving you a chance to get ahead in my class, Ms. Sullivan. Seems your stress level would indicate you need it. Don't ignore it. Trust me. You'll thank me for it later." He stands there with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and glares down at me like he's making his point incredibly clear.

Strange, like I said, I hate looking in people's eyes. But Professor Mitchell, he seems calm. His eyes are ones I can actually look into and not feel intimidated. They are calming. Very, very calming. Sort of like how I feel when I'm looking into Lucien's eyes.

"Room M, Miss Sullivan. I expect a grand report from you. Big plans, my dear. I have big plans for you." With that, he starts down the stairs to the first floor.

I stare at him like a big idiot. Okay, so yeah, I finally see what the other girls, and probably some of the guys, see in him. He's… wow. And his eyes…

I'm a moron.

I blink a few times as the warmth Professor Mitchell caused eases out of me. I hate it when it leaves, just like I hated it when the same thing happened with Lucien. Except Lucien said he was an angel, and Professor Mitchell obviously isn't.

I lean my head back against the wall and laugh. It echoes through the stairwell, and I cover my mouth to keep it from getting louder. This is crazy. I'm crazy.

I know I have limited time to find Shelley, and I need to get a move on. I go up the stairs and head to the computers. The only one I can find that isn't out of order—were they out of order yesterday because I so don't think so—is next to study room M. Of course. Because my life isn't weird enough as it is.

I try to ignore the intense urge I have to go into the room and look at whatever the professor has left for us. It's like a pull, a need, a burden I have inside myself, and it's very difficult to fight it. I wanna know, darn it.

Focus.

I have time to do the work later. Shelley can't wait.

The easiest way to find her is to look through the records. The easiest way to do that would've been downstairs with Madison. But she'd ask questions, I wouldn't have sane answers, and we'd end up in a mess. So, this was plan B. I hate plan B.

I wanna see inside room M.

Stop that!

It takes a few minutes, but I finally connect to the server and bypass the security system. Good thing I know all the codes. Small favors and all.

It would be very helpful to actually know Shelley's last name, but her first name will have to do.

Except when I type it, there's no one by the name of Shelley enrolled in UT Crimson Ridge.

None.

Not one.

I fall over and hit my head on the desk. I close my eyes and pray. Funny how when things start falling apart, you just sort of find yourself begging the Almighty for one stinkin' clue. Just one little break. Just one--something--would be incredibly nice.

Okay, let's try something else.

What names would make the nickname Shelley?

Michelle?
Three hits. None of the pictures look like the girl in my dream.

Shellene?
Holy cow. There is one! And except for the color of her hair, which I know can be dyed, she looks exactly like my Shelley. She lives on campus. I can get to her in ten minutes.

This is the first bit of happiness I've felt in weeks. But it's short lived. What in the heck am I going to tell her? I don't know her from Adam. I can't just go into her dorm and say, "Hey, friend. You're going to die at 11:59 tonight. Let me get you out of harm's way."

Glory.

I write down her address and shove it in my pocket. I'm careful to put all the firewalls back up and leave the computer exactly like I'd found it. I'm nice like that.

As I start to leave, that stupid room M won't let me. It keeps taunting me, drawing me in. Now, I have no idea why this is happening to me. I need to be going. I have things to do and people to save, but darn if I'm not just curious enough to turn around and go in that stupid room. Sure enough, lots of books are lying on the table. Lots of things on Civil War history from the looks of it. I mean, it makes sense. Professor Mitchell is a history teacher after all, and he assigned a project on the Civil War.

Personally, I've never really cared about Civil War history. I mean, I don't hate it. I find the stories interesting, but I'm not one who just reads about it for fun. Still, I find myself sitting down at the table, an open book in front of me.

Siblings of the War
by S.M. Murdock.

A whole book devoted to pictures of siblings on different sides of the war. Cains and Abels as it were. How many of these brothers killed each other? How many of them had to go home after the war and face their families because of what they'd done? How could a mother forgive one son for killing another? A tear slides down my face, and I have to laugh. And Hart says I don't have a heart.

I don't go through the whole book. I shut it and start to leave. When I get to the door, I stop. Professor Mitchell has given me this bit of a heads up on the paper. I mean, it isn't like I get many chances at this. So I go back, grab
Siblings of the War,
and leave.

By the time I get to the first floor, everything is dark. Not inside. Inside the lights are on, but I don't see anybody. Not even Madison is there. I look at the big clock on the wall behind the front desk. It says 11:48. What in the world! I couldn't have been up there for over sixteen hours!

Did I slip into a freakin' coma?

I don't stop to think about it. I run out the doors and toward Smith Hall. That's where Shelley is. I don't have a lot of time. I have to make her leave. I have to save her.

I have to save myself.

Chapter Sixteen

I
NEVER SHOULD'VE TOUCHED THE KNIFE
. That's my first mistake. I make many, many more after that. Some the cops mention. Some Lucien is so helpful to bring up. Some my mind scream at me when it's all over. I shouldn't have touched the knife. I shouldn't have touched the crime scene.

I never should have touched the body.

12:09.

That was the time on the clock when I opened Shelley Hailey's already unlocked door. Not knocked down. Not kicked in. Unlocked. The police thought that was weird. People didn't leave their doors unlocked nowadays, or they shouldn't. Someone could come in and rip out their hearts.

That's how I found Shelley. I walked in. Her lights were on. She was lying on the floor behind the bed. I saw her foot first. Bare feet like she was just getting ready for bed. I saw her pink pajamas, which rode up nearly to her knees. I saw her black shirt. Then I saw the red. Lots of red. It was still oozing from her chest. Still pooling under her.

Her neck was turned at an unnatural angle. A little overkill to break her neck and tear her heart out, but who was I to judge?

Her eyes were open.

Looking right at me.

I saw it. The blade. The glint caught my eye and, I don't know why, I reached down and picked it up.

The knife had very little blood on it especially for the amount of blood all over the room. I peered over the bed and look at Shelley's chest. She wasn't stabbed. No way. It was ripped open.

Just like my dream.

So why the knife?

Then there was a scream behind me. A skinny girl in pajamas and a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth stood in the doorway. The toothbrush fell and bounced over to me. The girl pulled out her phone and called for help before I could say anything.

Not that I could say anything.

I never should've touched the knife.

I
TRY TO TELL
her it wasn't me. I didn't do it. I mean, obviously I didn't do it. I found her like this. But she just keeps screaming, and I just keep holding the knife. Hart's laughing in my head.