Page 22 of A Thin Line

Or so I’d thought.

“But it’s possible that she was also an accomplice—and, unlike you, she might be willing to give up the names of the four vandals.”

“Hold on,” I said, finally realizing something important. “If you have them on video, why hasn’t anyone identified them and brought them in for questioning?”

“You know exactly why.”

Shaking my head again, I said, “No, I don’t.” It was only after I’d said it that I realized my voice had become shrill.

“If we’d seen their faces, we would have known who the perpetrators were—but they all wore ski masks, making it impossible to identify who they were.”

“But there are cameras all over campus. Couldn’t anyone see what vehicle they arrived in? There aren’t nearly as many students on campus in the summer, especially later in the afternoon. Surely there—”

“Enough!” he roared, causing a shiver to pulse through my body, reminding me that not only was this man my enemy, but he was to be feared. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that even the driver hadn’t been able to ignore his outburst. “I’m not going to play this little thought exercise with you when you already know the answers.”

Afraid or not, I couldn’t help myself. “But I don’t—”

This time, his voice was controlled, a low growl, each word punctuated carefully. “I. Said. Enough.” All I could do was screw my face into a frown, and I turned my head away from him. At least I was feeling anger instead of sadness—because at least that felt like something I could act on.

As I stared out my window again, I breathed slowly, willing myself not to cry. In the meantime, I could hear the soft hum of a ringtone through a cell phone speaker. Although I wondered who he was calling, I wasn’t about to let him know I was curious or even cared.

After a voice on the other side greeted him, he said, “You need to question that insipid girl as well. Jenna, I believe her name is. She left the simulation lab open while the Miller girl was at the print shop. This other girl is probably also involved.”

This time I was able to hear Dr. Rakhimov’s muted voice. “We already came to the same conclusion, but she’s claiming forgetfulness. And I actually believe her.”

“I trust your judgment.”

Dr. Rakhimov said something I couldn’t make out, even though my ears were straining to catch every word. But I did hear the last thing she said: “We’re going to offer a reward to anyone who has information on the masked individuals.”

“Good idea. I don’t think I’ll be getting information here on my side.” After Dr. R. said something else unintelligible, he added, “I’ll be getting payment for the damages. That’s all I’m concerned about.”

I could almost feel his eyes on me, burning me with his scorn, his belief that I’d been the one to damage his precious lab. Still, I refused to turn around to face him.

How was I going to make it through ten years of this when I’d barely tolerated an hour?

In silence, we’d driven through Colorado Springs and Monument and the traffic had been light. Even though the skies should have been dark, the cities were lit up enough to make them appear far paler than they had been in Winchester or on the drive through the forested mountains leading us to the interstate that cut through Colorado from north to south along the eastern edge of the Rockies.

I had a feeling he would have no problems maintaining silence for hundreds of miles if he chose to. But my mind had been churning over all my worries since he’d ended his call with Dr. Rakhimov, and none of them had to do with my supposed involvement in the crime.

Regardless of what I thought of Sinclair Whittier or his family, I too was upset over the destruction of the simulation lab. Out of everyone involved in the unveiling of the space, I was likely the person who’d spent the most time working in there—and, despite the unsettling, even creepy, gazes of the mannequins, I marveled at the equipment and its capacity to teach students in a low-risk environment. I was vicariously excited for the health care students who were going to get to use it.

Removing me from my home was going to produce so many unintended consequences, and that was where my mind dwelled as the car continued north on I-25.

For instance, there was my stalled education. I wasn’t so much stressed that I wouldn’t be attending—but there was the question of a student loan that would come due if I were no longer in school. Although I’d received grants and a scholarship as well as work-study that paid for a good chunk of the costs, I’d needed to take a loan for the rest. It wasn’t an astronomical amount, but I couldn’t make payments if I weren’t earning any money.

Turning my head, I examined Whittier to see if he was still awake—and, of course, he was. With what little I knew about the man, I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover he slept just a few hours a night. It was the intensity about him that gave me that impression.

“Can I address a few concerns with you?”

His voice sounded almost amused. “You can try.”

I couldn’t bear his gaze—it was too much. After a few seconds, I looked down at my hands bathed in lavender lighting. “If I’m not going to school, my student loan will come due—and I’ll default on it if I don’t pay it.”

His smooth, rich voice didn’t caress my ears with the coldness of his response. “You should have thought about that before you destroyed the lab.”

I wasn’t going to engage in another volley of no-I-didn’t/ yes-you-did, so I left it at that…deciding to instead move on to my next concern. “Also, my father…I doubt you could tell, but he suffers from multiple sclerosis. Some days he does fine. Other days, he struggles. I realize you probably don’t care at all because you blame him for all the ills that have befallen your family,” I said, hoping that little jab would get him back for his last statement, “but most days, he can’t drive—and, if he can’t drive, he can’t get to doctor’s appointments or the grocery store.” I wasn’t about to tell him that my father still had one man he considered a friend, a man who had moved to Colorado Springs a few years earlier, but he would come visit my dad once every few months. Maybe I could reach out to him to ask him to keep a closer eye on my father, but I didn’t have his contact information.

Beating Whittier to the punch, I looked up at him and said, “Don’t tell me I should have thought about that before.”

---