Page 13 of You Belong Here

BEFORE: THE INTERVIEW

It was routine, the message claimed. An invitation to come back in. A chance to clear up a few lingering questions that had come up in the witness statements.

The initial statements had also been routine, requested of each Wyatt College student who had been out in the woods that night. Campus security had taken down the statements, one by one, in their building:

Where did you last see Adalyn Vale? When we left our dorm room that evening.

Did you see the victims at all that night? No.

Do you know what she was planning? Not at all.

Now I sat in an interview room at the Wyatt Valley Police Department, alone. I’d walked to the station from home, where I’d been staying ever since Adalyn had been named the prime suspect and our dorm room suddenly teemed with potential evidence or clues.

A young officer named Fred Mayhew entered the small room. He had nothing in his hands; no list of questions or pen to take notes. Just a camera set up on the corner of the table, with a red blinking light.

“Thanks for coming back in,” he said, pulling out the metal chair across from me.

He glanced toward the door, then leaned forward.

“Everyone talks about you as a pair, you know. BeckettAndAdalyn.” He slurred our names together until they sounded like a single word.

A single entity. “So I was surprised to see your statement that you weren’t with her.

That you”—he raised his hands to form air quotes—“went your separate ways that night.”

I waited for the question. He grinned.

“I grew up here, too, you know,” he continued. “I know what happens during the first howling of the year.” He ran his hand through his jet black hair. “And you’re a senior now, right? Strange to imagine you wouldn’t be together out there.”

“It’s a competition,” I said, shaking my head. If he’d ever been part of it, he would know this.

He drummed his fingers on the table. I could feel his energy crackling. “How many?” he asked.

The question hung in the air. “Excuse me?”

He rested his arms on the table, leaning forward. “How many people did you catch? That’s the game, right?”

I swallowed, felt unexpectedly parched. “None,” I whispered.

He leaned back, crossed his arms. “And here, from someone who knows these woods so well.”

“I saw the fire,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I knew something was wrong. I ran straight there.”

He nodded. “Now, that I heard. Heard that you were the one yelling for people to call 911.”

“The building was on fire, and everyone was just staring at it.” My hands started to shake from the memory.

Just like they’d done when I saw the wooden barn fully ablaze.

The lick of orange flames, the sound of wood splintering, and everyone dazzled by it, like they were standing around nothing more than a bonfire—

“The other students said you were screaming for Adalyn,” he said.

“Because there was a fire and I didn’t know where she was,” I snapped. I took a slow breath before continuing. “I didn’t know she was the one who started the fire until later. I was just trying to find her.”

“So you were looking for her,” he said. “Where?”

“Anywhere I could think. In the woods. At the school.” I glanced at the camera. “Back at our dorm.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And did you find her?”

I knew this was already clear in my statement. “No,” I reiterated for the official record.

Officer Mayhew took a deep breath, opened his hands, palms up, on the table. “So here’s the thing. It was snowing and she had no car. She’s not from the area. How did she get out of town with no witnesses, Beckett?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Or,” he began, drawing out the word, “maybe she didn’t.”

My eyes locked on his. This was something I hadn’t heard. Hadn’t even considered.

“I think maybe someone’s protecting her.” He stared at me hard, unblinking. I felt my eyes burning. “Maybe she’s still here.”

I blinked twice, just as the door to the room swung open. Another officer started to enter the room, then froze, frowning.

“Be right out,” Mayhew said, quickly turning off the camera. It occurred to me then that it was possible no one else knew we were in here.

He stood abruptly, metal chair legs scratching against the concrete floor. Then he leaned down, hands pressed into the table, so I could see his fingertips blanch white.

“Someone saw you, Beckett,” he said, voice low.

“Saw me where?” I asked. It wasn’t possible.

But I understood then: He was running out of time, and he was desperate.

“They saw you together,” he added.

The room felt charged. I’d made a mistake, coming here. I shouldn’t have trusted his request. Or him.

But I knew that he shouldn’t be in here with me, either. Fred Mayhew was too close to the case. Too close to the victims. He shouldn’t have been the one interviewing me, all alone.

“No,” I said. “They didn’t.”

Later that night, after my parents had gotten ready for bed, I was sure I heard something out front. An engine idling in the silence. I turned off the lights and stared out the living room window, searching the darkness.

A hand dropped onto my shoulder, and I jumped. But it was just my father. “What are you doing standing here in the dark?” he asked.

“I thought I heard something,” I said, eyes wide, voice low.

He frowned, eyes drifting from me to the night. “The press are like vultures around campus right now.” Then he stepped back from the window. “Okay, come on. You need to sleep, Beckett.”

I hadn’t been sleeping much at all since the fire. He must’ve been able to read it in the hollows under my eyes.

My father thought the media was the biggest concern, but I couldn’t shake the thought that the police were out there now, watching for Adalyn to emerge in the night. As if they believed I was keeping her hidden.

The interview with Fred Mayhew had messed with my head. For a brief moment, I wondered if it was Adalyn herself out there, keeping an eye on things. Keeping track of those she left behind.

Deep down I knew that couldn’t be true. She’d never come back; never risk being caught. She was too smart for that. She knew you couldn’t return to the scene of a crime.