Page 10 of Someone Knows

“Can I see you again?”

“I doubt it. But thank you. I had a good time.”

The guy shakes his head. Though at least he doesn’t argue. Aiden or Caydenor whatever the heck his name isgrabs his jacket from the chair and heads for the door. “Take care, Emily.”

I don’t bother to correct him. Once he’s gone, I latch the chain on the top lock and fill the kettle with tap water. My insomnia is back. It’s been years since I hadtrouble sleeping, but I still remember all the remedies I used to try. I’ve been drinking lavender relaxation tea every night for the last week. It didn’t work half as well as my Tinder date to relieve the stress knots in my neck, but maybe the combination will finally allow me a good night’s rest. Sleep has eluded me since that mysterious chapter arrived ten long days ago. It doesn’t help that I still haven’t heard from the student who turned it in.

While I wait for the water to boil, I pluck more petals from the roses. Three flowers are completely dismantled now, and I leave their barren sticks in the vase and the petals strewn all over the kitchen counter. The look is more interesting than the original.

Once the kettle sings, I steep the tea bag and decide I’m not tired enough for bed yet. So I grab my laptop and a stack of English 101 exams I’ve already marked and sit down on the couch to enter the grades into Pace’s system. My computer fires up to the last page I’ve visited—the one I’ve stalked all week—my email. Nothing new has arrived since the last time I checked a few hours ago. At least that’s how it looks until my email syncs, and then suddenly it shows a new message on the screen.

It’s from her—Hannah Greer.

My heart pounds so hard that I have to shut my eyes and take a few deep breaths before I’m calm enough to read. When I click to open the message, I think I stop breathing altogether.

Professor Davis,

I apologize for taking so long to respond. I hadn’t checked this email until now. I assumed any correspondence would come from the school email students are instructed to use, not my private one. Attached please find the originalfile that was submitted. Please let me know if you have any difficulties opening this one.

Thank you,

Hannah Greer

The message is innocuous enough, a typical response arealstudent might send upon receiving an email from a teacher. But the response isn’t really what I’m after. I’ve already memorized the steps required to determine the location of the sender of an email, so I go right to the header, click to the received line, hit reply, and select show original to open full details on the origin. Once I find the IP address, I copy it and open a new window with the IP-lookup tool I’ve bookmarked. Instantly, a map pops up with a red dot planted on the United States. I can easily tell the sender is not in New York—the mark is too far south—though I have to zoom in to see exactly where the email has been sent from. When I do, my heart stops.

Saint James, Louisiana.

There’s a scream building in my lungs, and I swallow hard to keep it down.

Saint James is not far from Minton Parish. I click on the map’s plus sign to zoom in closer, see exactly how far it is. There isn’t a scale, but knowing the roads and surrounding cities, I’m certain it’s not more than a ten-minute drive. My eyes trace the journey, lingering on the small town I’d hoped never to think about again. But then they catch on something else—a city an equal distance from Saint James, but in the opposite direction.Clarion.Where Ivy’s bio said she lives. I gnaw on my lip, considering . . .

An advertisement on the IP-locator page snags my attention. It’s for a VPN service—virtual private network. I read about them recently, too. For eight bucks a month, anyone could have sent the email I just receivedfrom anywhere in the world and made it look like it came from Louisiana. A VPN establishes a digital connection between a computer and a remote server, masking the true IP address. Disguising your location can be as simple as clicking a box and picking a city. For all I know, the sender could be sitting in the apartment next to me.

Or in Clarion, Louisiana.

Or in the precinct a few blocks away.

Sam.

My mind keeps circling back to him. A skilled investigator would know how to hide anything. And apparently Sam has known I’m from Louisiana for months. Could he be part of some large, multistate investigation—the New York arm supporting the two-man Minton Parish police department? I think about the day we met. I was at a movie by myself—the cinema in the Village that only shows classics—watchingCitizen Kane. He struck up a conversation at the concession stand and paid for my popcorn. After the movie, he found me again and asked if I wanted to go for a drink. Could he have been following me back then? We’d been seeing each other once a week for three months now, and, come to think of it, he’s never mentioned going to see another classic. In fact, most of the movies he’s mentioned watching are the polar opposite of old-time black-and-white films. He seems to have a penchant for action movies and sci-fi.

I eye the mug in front of me—calming tea, my ass—and get up and dump the contents into the sink. This is a job for whiskey. So I pour two fingers into the still-warm mug and knock back the amber fluid like it’s medicine. It burns as it slides down my throat, but I like the way it feels.

Pain and pleasure are like darkness is to light. One precedes the other.

I remember Jocelyn mumbling that over and over the day I found her, beaten andbloodied.

It’s amazing the memories that come flooding back when you least expect them. I pour more whiskey, sit back down with my laptop, and do what I do best: talk myself down from the ledge.

That chapter is just a crazy coincidence.

I bet a teacher grooming a student is not even that uncommon, sadly. There’s probably a handbook that lays out all the steps:

Step 1.Form a bond. Find common interest and hobbies—writing perhaps.

Step 2.Strip them of all dignity and reduce them to their most vulnerable self—kneeling while reading their biggest fears aloud is a handy-dandy instrument here.

Step 3.Fill a need; provide comfort.

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