02 | The Dead Body
Maya Lipschen disappeared a week ago, so when her cold body was found in the girls' locker and changing room it didn't come as much of a shock, apart from to the poor soul who found her.
The often-open doorway was sealed off with yellow police tape. Officers surrounded the outside, filing in and out with faces looking more perplexed and stressed than the last group. They moved students away, dismissing curious questions whilst trying to look inconspicuous amongst the horde of high schoolers dawdling to their next lessons in the hallways. It only made them stand out more.
I waited until lunchtime when the halls were empty. The police cleared up for a well-earned break, their busy day likely causing their bellies to rumble as much as us trying to learn. Their job of chasing everyone away was mostly done, only I wasn't stupid enough to ask before sneaking past the tape. The trick was to act uninterested, no matter how much it pained me to find out what happened.
I entered the familiar changing rooms with the wooden benches and rows upon rows of lockers. Carefully, I stepped past medical equipment and forensic suits, expertly placing my feet down onto the little space on the floor, until I came to the crime scene.
Folded on the floor by her open locker was the pale, blue-lipped body of Maya. Her stormy eyes looked blankly up at the ceiling, unseeing. She wore the same clothes I'd last seen her in—a casual t-shirt and skirt combo radiating boho chic, only with a bloody, gaping hole resting in her chest now. Her dirty blonde hair splintered around her, dulled by the clumps of blood stuck to her hair from the chunk taken from her neck.
I recoiled, turning away to find Buffy Summers staring over my shoulder at her. I gulped down the bile rising from the pit of my throat.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes watering as she took a few steps closer to kneel by the body.
I shook my head. "It's fine," I murmured numbly. "I don't understand what could have done this to her."
Buffy didn't look at me, her gaze fixed on the bite marks. "Neither do I, but whatever it was didn't want her coming back."
The words made little sense to my racing mind. All I could think about was leaving her on the field the other day to practice for a little longer. Libby needed to get home before curfew. I had to quickly get changed before meeting for the drama club. We never intended on this after our quick goodbyes and promises to walk together to school the next day. Only, Maya never showed up.
I ran a hand through my hair, tearing it out of the hairclips. "It was a mistake coming here. I need to go," I choked as I raced out of the room, tearing through the tape without caring.
I didn't stop sprinting down the hallways. Doors opened in my wake, but by the time heads popped out I was already around the corner. A part of me wasn't sure where I was headed. It wasn't until I burst through the double doors to the library that I skidded to a halt, blinking uncomprehendingly.
"Oh, hello," a voice said from beside me, the British accent thick and familiar.
I turned around to find the man I'd run into earlier behind the desk, large volumes of books open on the table. I blinked back the water clouding my vision. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.
"Hi," I said slowly, my voice cracking. I clenched my eyes closed, trying to regain some strength or even just a shred of composure. "I just—" The idea came to me suddenly and I swung my backpack around to take a couple of books out. "I want to return these."
He sprang into action, wandering around until he was in front of me. He held his hands out for the books, and I gladly gave them up. His fingers grazed mine, a fizzling feeling running up my hand. I jolted away, holding them close to my chest. He raised an eyebrow, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"We really need to stop bumping into each other," I commented with a wavering laugh.
His lip quirked up slightly. "Yes, I suppose so," he responded.
Compared to the last time I'd seen him, I wasn't in a rush to get anywhere. It occurred to me that I could pick his brain for what he knew. Maybe I needed a welcome distraction after seeing Maya— I pushed it from my mind, not wanting to imagine the gnarly details.
Instead, I thought about his slender fingers running along the spines of the books I'd handed him. I focused on those lovely eyes hidden behind round glasses wandering over the table in the middle of the room where he set the books down with the gentleness of a caring father. I followed him, enamoured by his every movement whilst I silently hoped he had something for me as he promised.
On cue, he searched the table, lifting scrolls, leather-bound chests and cloth covers until he found a small pile on the edge. An 'aha' exclamation slipped out. Meeting me where I stood, he placed them into my hands. He held them there—the soft touch was deliberate this time. His gaze locked me in place, trapping me where I stood.
"I found these for you. I thought they might be of interest considering your current 'obsession', as you called it," he murmured down to me.
I noticed he was a few inches taller than me, his chin almost resting on top of my head thanks to his stiff, straight-backed posture. From this angle, he was also kind of cute. The soft smile helped.
I glimpsed down for a moment and grinned at the title on top. "Thank you."
His brow furrowed. "I apologise if I am overstepping, but when you came in here you seemed upset."
My heart jumped to my feet, almost stopping at his words. I'd hoped it wasn't so obvious. But as I stared with watery eyes, all I could see was the blood, the puncture wound, the teeth marks. I could hardly breathe.
Inhaling, he instantly backtracked, "I can see I have overstepped. I'm sorry."
"No," I blurted. "It's just— You know the dead body they found in the locker room? The reason the police are all here?" He nodded gravely, his eyebrows narrowing. "She was my friend."
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
I shrugged. "It's okay. You didn't know."
The palms of his warm hands were steady against the back of mine. It was comforting in a way I'd never felt before with anyone. Not any ex-boyfriends, not my friends. They never made me feel safe.
"I saw the body," I said quietly, unable to hold back a stray tear from falling down my face. "I saw—"
His focus was intently on me, a slight flicker of interest hidden there. "Did you see any wounds?"
I nodded, biting my lip. "Whatever did that to her took a chunk out of her neck. They pierced her heart. What person deserves that?" I wondered aloud, my voice wavering.
Seeing my distress, he guided me to a seat at the table. Nimbly, he flicked from one volume to another, searching for something quietly. During his frantic search, his attention drifted to me for a split moment before returning to whatever he was looking for.
"You are British?" he asked with a hint of uncertainty, even though I was sure he meant it as more of a statement.
"Yes," I squeaked. "I'm an exchange student."
His eyebrows rose momentarily. "You're a student?" There was a note of incredulity in his tone.
"Did you think I was something else?" I asked, almost amused by his evident shock.
Before he could answer, Mr. Giles entered the room from the small office. He stared between us for a moment, the man not relenting in his search despite the interruption.
"Ah, Megan," he said. "How can I help you today?"
I looked at the guy and he paused as he looked at me, those eyes suddenly glistening at knowing my name.
"Oh, I was just speaking to..." I trailed off, remembering I didn't know his name. Heat travelled through my cheeks as the silence lasted longer than I'd expected—or maybe that was my imagination.
He cleared his throat. "Wesley," he said at the same time Mr Giles answered, "Mr Wyndam-Pryce."
I glanced between them both and chuckled to myself. I felt a little lighter despite everything as I wiped the remaining tears from my face.
"Well, thanks for helping me find these books," I said, winking at Wesley with the eye Mr Giles couldn't see.
Wesley fixed his glasses. "It was my pleasure. I hope you will stop by more often."
I gave him a smirk. "I'm almost always here. You'll be sure to see me again," I said as I walked out, books in hand.
I tried to hold my head high until I exited the doors when I pulled them close to my chest, whistling. Though the aching sadness crept in again as lunchtime passed and the afternoon lessons commenced, I thought about Wesley and how his hands rested on mine. I recalled his image like a photograph, crisp and clean and a little uptight. Then, I thought about when we bumped into each other and how he made me feel like electricity was running through me. Those small, golden moments filled the hollowness and made me smile.
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