Page 1 of Fallen Angel

Chapter One

H-a-n-n-a-h…

As Hannah Fenwick walked by the historic Bellcliff University Library, she heard a voice whisper her name. It was beautiful and soft, like the warm, amber sunset over campus, yet unsettling. Even a little eerie. Her skin chilled. She stopped, searching for its origin, but there were only excited students ready to start a new semester. A group of boys flying a frisbee back and forth. Some girls gathered around the library railing, cooing over one of their phones. All unaware of the voice whispering on the breeze.

H-a-n-n-a-h…

Goosebumps crept on the back of her neck, beneath her mass of curly, chestnut hair. She knew this wasn’t real; the wind didn’t whisper. Despite the cool weather, tiny beads of sweat gathered along her hairline and dampened her neck. Hannah squinted her eyes shut, hoping that not seeing might equate to not hearing. This had worked sometimes when she experienced memories of her past. And even though Hannah could recognize an oncoming anxiety attack, it didn’t make her distress any less real.

She reminded herself to breathe in for a count ofone, two, three, four, five…She held her breath for another second, and then exhaled.Five, four, three, two, one…She paused, inhaled again, decelerating her racing heart. As her breath steadied, she touched her thumbs to her fingertips, over and over. She subtly looked over her shoulders, trying to gauge whether other students were taking notice of her symptoms—something she desperately didn’t want. That was all she needed…to be the freak here too.

A silent breeze refreshed her clammy skin, and Hannah slowed each tap of her fingers. The grass was littered with red and yellow leaves. It was all so normal. The commonality of it all reminded Hannah of her resolution: This year would be different.

It wasn’t a coincidence that Bellcliff University was on the opposite coast from California—3,000 miles away from the people who looked at her like she was about to break.

She was no longer going to blame herself for what happened to her parents or search for some explanation of what really transpired that night. She vowed to leave all that behind and live an ordinary college life.

She would try, at the very least.

And because of this resolution, she did her best to act like nothing was wrong. She pinned a smile on her face and continued to walk, tapping her fingers less and less. She knew there was no voice. Everything was fine.

Thankfully, the farther she walked away from the library, the more normal she felt. Crisis averted, moving on. Crisp air brushed up the autumn leaves. Distant waves were loud, but pleasant. The cold was sharper here. It cut a little deeper.

Hannah clutched at the sleeves of her blue-knit sweater and quickened her pace on the cobblestone pathway.

The students she passed on the short journey back to her dorm building were smiling, waving, and full of energy as they reunited with old friends or faced the prospect of new friends and newfound independence. Uncle Paul said that college was where you could redefine yourself or discover who you truly are. Or uncover who you’ve always been.

Hannah arrived at her dorm building: dark red brick, white stone trim, and a black shingled roof that oozed collegiate charm. The inside of the building was equally aged with grey stone and dark wood.

When she walked into her dorm room, she was greeted with all the boxes she had yet to unpack. The room was already small for two people. She didn’t need all her baggage clogging up the limited space. Thankfully, the high ceilings with dark wood beams kept it from feeling too claustrophobic.

Amelia entered the room, wrapped in a towel with her perfectly arranged shower tote, the bottles lined up in order of height. As soon as she closed the door, the smell of her lavender shampoo wafted in with her.

“Hannah, hi!” she said, cheerful and refreshed.

“Hey, Amelia,” Hannah said. She sat on her bed, mismatched with a beige comforter and navy-blue pillowcases, and attempted to tame some of her flyaway curls.

Amelia looked Hannah over. “Why aren’t you getting ready?” she asked, high-pitched and energetic. She shimmied her underwear up her legs under her towel and struggled to put on her bra with the towel clenched beneath her arms.

“Ready for what?”

“You said you’d go to the party with me. Fisher Hall? That boy from my orientation group invited me.” Amelia hung her towel on the back of the door. She sauntered back to her bed, confident in her tall, slender, physique, making Hannah feel frumpy in comparison. Amelia combed through her long blonde hair and smiled to herself.

Hannah didn’t remember agreeing to a dorm party. Maybe the invitation got lost in the rapid flurry of words Amelia spewed when they first met. But she did remember the promise she made to herself. “I’ll go for a little while,” Hannah said, hoping it sufficed. “I’m supposed to arrive at my first anthropology class on Monday with a research topic picked out, so I’m planning on an early start at the library tomorrow.”

“You know there’s this thing calledthe internet?” Amelia took her tote and placed it neatly under her bed. Everything on Amelia’s side of the room had been neatly unpacked and arranged in a color scheme of blush pink and white with accents of rose gold. While Hannah’s side of the wall was blank, Amelia’s was filled with photos of loved ones and strategically placed twinkle lights. It looked like a dorm room straight off Pinterest.

“I know, but there’s something about libraries that the internet can’t replicate.” The wooden desk at the end of her bed was piled with books she had come to cherish over the years.

“Ugh, homework already.” Amelia cut Hannah off. “Remind me never to major in anthropology.”

“Oh, that’s not my major,” Hannah said. “I’m actually undecided.” After two years of therapy and mourning, Hannah wasn’t quite sure what interested her. How was she supposed to decide what she wanted to do for the rest of her life when she just got back on her feet?

“Something else we have in common,” Amelia smiled. “This must be the building where they toss the kids who can’t make up their minds.”

“So, what’s this boy’s name again?” Hannah asked, challenging herself to keep up the social interaction.

“Bryce.” Amelia swooned. Hannah, on the other hand, grimaced. “What’s with the face? Did you meet him? Oh no. What’s wrong with him?”

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