Page 49 of You Belong Here

I sat on a bench in the middle of the academic quad, waiting.

I was able to pick Delilah out easily as she emerged from the half-sphere theater entrance. She was met by another young woman who seemed to have been waiting for her outside. I wondered if this was Gen for Genevieve.

She was back in her own clothes—jeans frayed at the knees, a deep maroon T-shirt, black Vans. Khaki bag strapped to her back. As they walked this way, they appeared deep in a comfortable conversation.

Our eyes locked, and I lifted a hand in a half wave. Like my heart wasn’t pounding; like my head wasn’t full of questions. What were you doing in Beckett Hall at midnight? Why was your phone hidden in the dumbwaiter?

What aren’t you telling me?

My eyes slid to the person beside Delilah as I stood from the bench. I felt my smile fracture. Dark hair, wavy like Delilah’s. Jeans, T-shirt, a badge clipped to her waistband. She was older than she looked from a distance.

It was Amanda, from the campus police department.

“Hi,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand. “Amanda Christianson,” she reminded me.

“I remember,” I said, eyes sliding to Delilah, trying to get a read on the situation.

“We’re so happy to see her back safely,” Amanda said. She smiled at Delilah, pink lip gloss shimmering, which seemed garish given the death that had occurred on the other side of campus. “We’ll chat more later, okay?” She squeezed Delilah’s elbow once before leaving.

I watched Amanda go, waiting until she was out of earshot. “What did she want?” I asked.

Delilah blinked rapidly, hitching her backpack more firmly on her shoulders with both hands. “Um, to make sure I was okay?”

But I knew better. “They’re taking statements, Delilah. Someone’s dead, and they’re talking to everyone.”

Delilah had covered the scratch on her face with a thick layer of makeup, but I could still see a faint pink line underneath.

“They think she fell,” Delilah said, shifting on her feet, eyes trailing the students who were milling around us between classes.

“No,” I said. “They don’t.” I shook my head.

“You can’t talk to them alone.” I was furious that they were talking to students without their guardians present, but they were all presumably eighteen and over.

We had no right to their conversations. The campus police could talk to Delilah all they wanted, pick at her story, tear the foundation to shreds.

Delilah rolled her eyes. “She was just seeing if I needed anything, Mom. Really, that’s it.”

I was aware, then, of the cameras on the buildings around the quad. And the fact that Dill in security and Amanda in the campus police had already noticed me here. I was very careful with my choice of words. “No one asked you about what happened?”

“No,” she said, readjusting her posture. “Is this why you needed to see me in person in the middle of the school day?”

I shut my eyes, shook my head. “Delilah, we need to talk to you. In private.”

“What about?”

“It’s really better if we do this at home.”

“Mom,” she said, voice loud and definitive, “I get why you and Dad came. I do. But I don’t need a babysitter. You can’t stay at the house forever and expect me to be there, too.”

“Someone’s dead,” I said, louder than intended. Her eyes widened, and she looked around like I was embarrassing her. “It’s about the phone.”

She tilted her head to the side very slowly. “What about the phone? Because I didn’t text you before coming to school? You were busy, whispering in the office with Dad.” She shot it at me like an accusation. A secret for a secret.

“No. I’m talking about the phone in the basement.”

We stared at each other, a stalemate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom.”

“Delilah, please. I found it, okay?”

But she was shaking her head, stepping back. Looking around the quad like something here could save her. Maybe Trevor was right—that this wasn’t the way to approach it. There was a better way. A quieter way. A way that wouldn’t create this chasm of distance between us.

“I have lunch plans,” she said, backing away. “And I’m not going to skip a half day of classes. Do you know how that looks? Everyone already knows I was so lost that the cops were looking for me, which is mortifying enough.”

“You can’t stay here tonight,” I said. She was being unreasonable. Stubborn at the worst possible moment.

“Mom, really. How is this not the safest place to be right now?”

Because at home, I could keep watch.

“Delilah, it’s really important that we talk before you say anything else to anyone.”

That seemed to get her attention. A tiny line formed between her eyes. She looked over her shoulder once. “I’ll come after classes,” she said.

“Okay, I can pick you up—”

“I’ll walk,” she said, like I had crossed the line. But with consolation. She was coming.

I drifted back to the parking lot in a daze.

They were questioning the students, and these kids had no idea the webs they could get caught in.

The lies that would haunt them. They’d been out in the howling, and they would lie about it because the school had banned it.

And they would trap themselves in their lies, unable to find a way out.

I waited until I was safely in my car, with the engine running, to call Violet.

The phone rang for so long I thought her voicemail wasn’t set up, but she eventually answered.

“Violet, it’s Beckett, I’m at the school. Listen, it looks like the campus police are interviewing the kids.”

“Geez,” she said, blowing out a long breath. “They sure move fast when the college is involved, don’t they.”

“Are you going to let your son give a statement?” I asked.

A brief pause, like she hadn’t considered that. “Well, he’s nineteen. He doesn’t really need my approval to answer a few questions.”

She might think differently if she knew her son had been out there in the howling, too.

“I think they should have a lawyer present, at the very least. Do you happen to know any local folks? Would your husband have any connections?”

She let out a high-pitched laugh. “Joseph has a business lawyer, sure. But a criminal attorney, Beckett? I really don’t think that’s necessary here.”

“He lied to you, Violet.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Better that she hear it from me than the police. “Excuse me?” she said.

“Bryce. He lied about being in all night when we called him. I saw him that morning.”

She cleared her throat, and it sounded like she was moving. Like she wanted to keep this conversation away from whoever was nearby, listening. “You saw him where?” she finally asked.

“Coming out of the woods. I think they were all out in the howling.”

There was a long pause before she responded. “No one does that anymore.”

But I’d seen the mask at Cryer’s Quarry.

Just because the old tradition was banned by the school didn’t mean the students listened.

If anything, it probably increased the allure.

“They do, Violet. They’re doing it again.

” Maybe not at the same place, with a fire marking home base, but they’d been out there in the woods.

I’d seen evidence of it. I’d ask Delilah to confirm it tonight.

“Where?” she asked. “Where exactly were you?”

“I was on campus, by the dorms. I followed the path—it leads straight to the Low Bar. I think he was out at Cryer’s Quarry. I think they all were.” I paused. “I think that’s the new location of the game.”

She sighed. “Thanks, Beckett. I’ll talk to him. These kids. They’re going to be the death of us.”

“One more thing,” I said. My heart was thrumming. “I’m not sure if you heard. The person who died, they say it’s Adalyn—”

A knock on my car window made me jump. Cliff Simmons stood just outside. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there.

“What?” I heard through the phone, before I mumbled a quick, “Sorry, I have to go.”

I ended the call and lowered the window an inch. “Can I get a lift?” he asked.

I gestured to the passenger side. I knew he’d seen me inside Beckett Hall. I guessed he’d watched me on the cameras, heading this way.

In the enclosed space, Cliff reeked of cigarettes and peppermint, like he was trying to cover the former with the latter. There was a nervous twitch to his hand.

“Where to?” I asked as I backed out of the parking spot.

“The deli. I’ve got an order waiting.”

“While I’m happy to do you this favor, can we cut to the chase? It’s not really that long a drive.”

He twisted in his seat. I could feel his eyes searching my face. “I talked to Dill, who you met up with in the archives. What were you doing up there, Beckett?”

Like he knew what I was looking for. Maybe he’d checked himself, wondering if the key was missing. Remembering how I’d led him through those tunnels long ago. Looking for proof that I’d been involved.

“I spent half my childhood up there in those halls,” I said.

“Yeah, I remember. You let us all know it growing up.”

I let his comment slide. “I hadn’t been up to my father’s office in twenty years, believe it or not. Call it nostalgia.”

He snorted in response. “Sure, let’s call it that. You know, nothing was really keeping you away all this time. Other than your parents, of course.”

I paused at a four-way stop sign. “Ha. My parents would’ve loved if I moved back, trust me. They wanted me to, you know. When I was pregnant with Delilah.”

He narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe me. “The school keeps good records, Beckett. I checked, you know. They didn’t put you on any leave of absence. You initiated a transfer request.”

I shook my head. “ No . We decided to do that after the letter arrived…” But the words died in my throat. I felt the wind knocked from my lungs as I pictured my father up in the archives, afraid and checking for the tunnel key.

He would have had access to the school’s letterhead.