Page 52 of Rear View

Ryah

I shuffled my way across the U of E campus, the wind biting at my cheeks. Zoya walked beside me, her hair whipping wildly around. My feet scuffed the ground, legs heavy and body too tired to lift them.

“Do we need to put sugar in his father’s tank?” Zoya asked. “Slash his tires? Cut his brakes?” She punched the air for emphasis. “Whatever you need, Ry. I’m ready to go.”

The garbled, choking sound that escaped me was part sob, part laugh.

The footage of what’d happened was already everywhere. Peter’s previous convictions were displayed, and the media had run with Xavier’s story. “Fallen Hero?” they’d asked. “A quick rise and an even quicker fall?”

Please, God, he can’t lose everything.

He needed to tell the WRC what had really happened. The truth. They had to know who he was. Had to understand and see. My heart shattered for him, because I knew what that felt like, to have your world stripped from you. Have one moment define you. Define everything.

I’d barely been gone an hour, and I already missed him so damn much, I could barely breathe. I wanted to be there, to kiss him, let him bury himself inside of me and tell him I loved him until I stripped that pain away.

“What’re we thinking?” Zoya asked.

“I just wanna get whatever the hell this meeting is over with so I get back to Xavier.”

She squeezed my wrist and nodded.

We closed in on the psych building, and I took a steadying breath. Pulling the entrance wide, I stepped inside, Zoya tight behind me. The halls were empty, the sound of our footsteps echoing loudly off the open space. A chill chased down my spine.

“Miss Nolan!” someone called.

Head snapping to the right, I found Stan, keys at his hip clanking as he strode quickly toward Zoya and me.

His expression was even. “Thank you both for coming.”

My eyes narrowed as I glanced around on high alert. “Where’s the dean?”

“She’s on her way. Please.” He pivoted away. “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Zoya demanded.

“Not far.”

My spine stiffened. We didn’t move.

Peering over his shoulder, he eyed us. “This is important, Miss Nolan.”

An empty feeling grew in the pit of my stomach, sinking further and further and further.

His stare flicked around. “I need you to come with me, now ,” he said, dropping his voice low.

My head drew back, because the insistence in his voice… “Why?”

“Please,” Stan said, then pointed to a familiar office down the hall. “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”

When I turned to Z, she raised her hands, palms forward in a “this is your call” gesture.

I didn’t want to talk to him, but the man was relentless. My gut told me he wouldn’t stop until I did. Besides, safety in numbers, because Zoya was with me.

Swallowing hard, I took the unsteady steps toward the room. Unclipping that unnecessarily large ring of keys, he unlocked Professor Barlowe’s office, then held the door for us as we crossed over. Closing us in, he aimed for the desk and propped his hip on the corner.

My gaze darted toward that exit. “What’s going on?”

“I really do need to wait for Dean—”

“You were the one who insisted I come. I have somewhere else I should be right now, but I’m here. So, either start talking, or we’re gone.”

“Alright.” He raised his hands in surrender. Clearing his throat, he faced me fully. “It’s my job to pay attention around here. I’ve noticed you’re with Professor Barlowe often, generally at odd hours. I’d been hoping to ask you about him.”

“Yes. I’m his TA and he’s my thesis adviser.” I exchanged a “What the hell?” look with Zoya before returning my attention to Stan.

“We’ve had complaints regarding his behavior from yourself and three others.

Some quite serious. All young women. It was enough that I started digging.

” He gestured to Barlowe’s computer. “The equipment supplied to staff is property of the university, which means they have the right to access it at any time. With the dean’s permission, I came in this morning with one of our IT specialists to complete an audit on Professor Barlowe’s networks and found some troubling things, Miss Nolan. Several involving you.”

Zoya sucked in a sharp breath.

The world spun as I grew dizzy. “Me?”

His stare flicked toward the door. Rising, he strode around the desk and turned the computer on. “Emails and voice recordings and”—shifting like he was uncomfortable, he clicked several buttons, then swiveled the screen my way—“images.”

My lungs refused to work. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My stomach rolled with a wave of nausea.

Images. So many images. Images of me on campus. In class. In the Parc Ferme at Emerald Cove. In a pub. Dancing with Xavier. In my room, undressing.

Zoya gasped. “Oh my God!”

My hands flew to my mouth. Barlowe. It was Barlowe ! The truth clicked like the cock of a gun and the explosion of relief and terror that hit me stole my breath. Relief because I had a name. Terror because he was close. Entirely too close.

He’d had access to me. Controlled our meetings.

Controlled me. Counseled me. Got information.

It’s why he’d hidden his face, disguised his voice, because he knew I’d recognize him.

It’s why he’d gotten so strange when I’d started seeing Xavier, when I’d started speaking up, because he was losing access. Losing power.

“I wanted to take my findings to the police right away, but Dean Ansell requested we wait and see how you’d like to proceed first.”

Zoya scoffed. “To see if she could convince Ryah to forgo the cops and save the university the embarrassment, you mean?”

Stan’s mouth thinned, but, notably, he didn’t deny it.

He eyed the door again before he found me. “With or without her approval, I intend to present this to the EPD. But in good conscience, I couldn’t allow you to continue being near him unaware. At the conclusion of this meeting, I suggest you leave school property until Barlowe’s been removed.”

My gaze grew distant as I tried to focus.

“Are you alright, Miss Nolan?”

No. I wasn’t. Not even close. Xavier. I wanted Xavier. “I need to—”

The door pushed open. Barlowe stood in the entrance, his glare skimming our group before it locked on me and he stepped deeper inside.

Zoya went rigid.

I couldn’t think. The walls were closing in. The walls are closing in!

Stan edged around the desk and turned to face Barlowe fully. “This is a private meeting, Professor.”

“A private meeting in my office without me?” Barlowe tsked. “I think not.” He pulled something from his pocket. Something small and metal.

Stan’s hand dropped to the radio at his hip. “I can deal with this, ladies. You two should go on out, now.”

Leave. Yes. Leaving was good. We’d call for help. Figure everything out. Pulse thrashing in my ears, I grabbed Zoya’s trembling hand and took a shaky step toward the door.

Barlowe’s head cut our way. He snapped a gun out, its silver reflecting the fluorescent lights above when he pointed it straight at my head. “Did I say you could leave, Ryah Jane?”

My blood ran cold, blackness creeping around the edge of my vision. The words. The cadence. If I’d doubted it before, that had been enough. It was him. Oh, God! It was him!

That familiar ringing started, growing louder and louder in my mind.

Barlowe’s stare dropped to my phone. “Give that to me.” Then to Zoya, “Yours too.”

My chest heaved, my breaths too short. Too shallow. Air. I needed air.

Hands tremoring, I extended my arm. Z followed suit. Barlowe snatched the devices away and stuffed them into his pocket. I tried not to let the panic take over, because we’d planned for this. No. Xavier had. Xavier had protected me. Would protect me. Xavier. I needed him.

Stan edged toward me, drawing Barlowe’s eye. “Be reasonable, Professor. We can figure this out.”

We needed help. I needed to send a message. Squeezing Zoya’s hand, I reached into my pocket. She inclined her head and shimmied closer, blocking my arm from view. My fingers grazed the flip phone. Subtly, I slipped it free.

Barlowe shook his head. “You didn’t think I’d know you’d gone snooping, Stanley? That I wouldn’t have an alert on my system?”

I toggled until I hit a name in my contacts but couldn’t look down long enough to know which. My hand shook, fingers tracking erratically over the keypad as I typed, praying the words made sense. Message. I need to send a goddamn message!

I clicked a button. Sent. At least, I hoped. If I could’ve just stopped shaking, I could tell.

Stan’s hand shot to the radio on his hip. He hit the call button. It beeped. Barlowe pulled the trigger. The boom that rang out was deafening. Stan jumped back, but not before the bullet pierced his stomach. He grunted, his shirt and skin tearing wide.

Zoya and I screamed, scurrying back. The flip phone slipped from my grasp. Landing on my boot, it skimmed quietly across the floor. Out of reach. Too far to go without pulling Barlowe’s attention. My heart seized.

Blood poured from Stan’s gash, spilling to the floor.

Barlowe advanced, looming over him. Taking aim, he fired three more shots into Stan’s chest. Stan rasped a breath, more blood spurting. Air hissed through the wound. He jolted, and kicked, then stopped moving.

My adrenaline spiked, eyes flying wide. Dead. He was dead. Barlowe killed him!

Run, Ryah. You need to run.

“Go!” I said as I shoved Z and bolted for the exit.

Barlowe exploded across the room, his bloodstained hand latching on to her hair before he jerked her to a halt. Zoya grunted, her legs skidding as her boots shrieked across the floor and he set the sizzling muzzle to her throat. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

I froze when a sheer level of terror I’d never felt before turned my blood cold.

“You didn’t listen, Ryah Jane.” He pressed the gun deeper until it bit into Z’s skin, and she winced. “And now you’ve backed me into a corner. You should have just listened .”

A lone tear slithered down Zoya’s cheek. “Screw you, asshole.”

The metal trigger tinked when he tapped his finger over it.

She whimpered.

I needed to do something, to placate him. Fast. I raised my hands, palms out. “I’m sorry,” I uttered. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt her, please!”

“You will be sorry.” He dragged her toward the door. “The three of us are leaving now. You’re both going to go quietly, or what I did to Stanley will be nothing compared to what I do to your friend here, do you understand?”

Tears brimmed my eyes. That ringing in my ears grew louder. “Yes.”

Lowering the gun, he set it against Zoya’s ribs. “Now, walk quickly and do what you’re told, Ryah Jane.” He gave her shoulder a shove. “Both of you, go!”

I wanted to scream. But who would hear? Campus was empty. No one would come.

Willing every ounce of concentration into my next move, I took one step, then another, until I closed in on the door. Barlowe’s grip dug into Z’s elbow as he steered her forward. His pace was rapid, and she stumbled, trying to keep her feet as he barreled her toward the exit.

I had to do something. Help her. Stop him. I couldn’t lose Z, but if he left with both of us, every instinct in me told me I would.

My gaze met hers for a fraction of a second, offering a warning. One I hoped she understood.

Barlowe crossed into the hall. Planting my foot, I pushed off, and charged, my shoulder dipping as I slammed into him from behind. His grip on her slipped as he ambled forward but he caught himself quick.

Zoya ran.

“You stupid little bitch!” he snarled, then whipped his arm out, backhanding me across the cheek.

My vision flashed white as I staggered to the side, and fell, colliding with the floor, hard.

Z was almost at the exit. Close. She was so close. Barlowe raised the gun.

“NO!” I cried.

He fired.

Boom.

She jerked, her spine going rigid before she collapsed, falling face-first to the floor. Blood pooled around her body. She didn’t move.

My world stopped. No. NoNo Nononono ! “ZOYA!” I sobbed, reaching for her.

Barlowe drew his leg back and kicked, his boot connecting with my stomach. The air exploded from my lungs, and I curled in on myself, gasping as I fought my ever-blurring vision to hold on to consciousness.

“That was stupid, Ryah Jane. She’s dead now and you have no one to blame but yourself.” He kicked again, and I groaned while he tugged his jacket straight.

Taking me under the arm, he dragged me to my feet, past Zoya’s unmoving body, and outside. My eyes rolled in and out of focus, the cold biting at my skin as my boots scuffed over the snow and ice.

“It didn’t need to come to this,” he seethed, like I was some poorly behaved child.

“No,” I said, words slurred. “It didn’t.”

Something moved in my periphery.

Barlowe pitched his voice menacingly low as he pressed the gun to my back. “Keep your mouth shut or I’ll kill them too, do you understand?”

“R.J. Holy shit!” Christian said, running up to us from my right, Chloe holding a stack of books by his side. “You’re bleeding! Jesus! Are you alright?”

Bleeding. Not my blood. Not my blood!

Barlowe’s grip on my arm dug in painfully as he moved flush to my side. “Miss Nolan slipped on the ice and hit her head.”

Christian winced. “She looks pretty rough. Should we maybe call an ambulance?”

I tried to nod, but when my head fell, it was too heavy to lift again. Forcing my pleading gaze to his, I prayed to all things holy he could see the panic there. HELP! PLEASE!

“Miss Nolan assures me she’s fine, but I’m taking her to the ER just in case.” Barlowe nudged me. “We should get going, though.”

Chloe’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh. Yeah,” Christian stepped aside, his expression gaunt as he watched us go.

My chest constricted. No. No. No!

“Faster now,” Barlowe ordered as we closed in on his car. Popping the passenger-side door open, he shoved hard. “Get in.”

I tripped, catching myself on the frame, and hesitated.

Through his coat, he pressed the muzzle into my side. “Get. In.”

I shuddered an exhale, because lowering myself into that seat was like climbing into a coffin. Certain death.

His eyes darted around the lot. “Hold tight now, Ryah Jane.” His jaw was clenched, and his nostrils flared. “It’s time to have a little fun.”

My world imploded when he offered me a dark smile, then slammed the door and sealed me in.