Page 93 of Rear View
Dr. Charles Barlowe
That was followed an hour later by another.
Miss Nolan,
Please find me when you return.
Dr. Charles Barlowe
Not as bad as I’d expected, but not good either. It didn’t read like a threat, so why did it feel like one? I sighed. I couldn’t wait to be done with school. Months, that was all I had left. Months.
Another ping filled the room as a new message zoomed in. Then a second, and a third and a fourth. They came rapid-fire, window after window popping up. My throat seized as the first opened on its own, the digitized voice message auto-playing over the speakers.
“Where did you go, Ryah Jane?”
The others followed, one after the other.
“Did I say you could leave, Ryah Jane?”
“I know you’re with him, Ryah Jane.”
“DID I SAY YOU COULD FUCKING LEAVE!”
I slammed the screen shut and scrambled away until my back collided with my headrest. The ringing in my ears started, my vision going black at the edges. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe when that life-altering hope from just minutes ago crashed and burned around me.
* * *
My gaze darted from face to face as I crossed campus the next morning. I’d barely slept. Hadn’t even tried until Zoya came home and crawled into bed with me. I’d wanted to call Xavier, but without explaining what had happened, that wasn’t possible.
I’d emailed Officer Maynard that morning, my message less than my usual polite.
Dear Officer Maynard,
Find attached the voice messages received from the man stalking me—no, sorry. What were your words again? Harassing, that’s right. I’m aware from our previous conversations, you feel this matter is unworthy of your attention, but when something happens to me, I hope you’re able to sleep well in your forthcoming retirement.
Ryah Nolan
The freezing rain pelted my skin, stinging where it hit. I tugged my coat tighter, scurrying toward the psych building.
Someone stepped into my path, and I screamed.
The security guard, Stan, threw his hands up, palms out. “Apologies, Miss Nolan. Didn’t mean to startle you.I just wondered if you might have a minute to talk privately?”
Heads whipped our way, brows lowered.
My pulse thrashed in my ears as I took a lone step back. Talk? About my accident? Why the heck did we need to do that? Like hell I was going anywhere alone with him. My gaze darted to the side, my voice feverish when I said, “I’m on my way to class.”
“With Professor Barlowe?”
My shoulders tensed and I blinked rapidly, because that was just…creepy. How did he know that?Whydid he know that? Or did he? Ithadbeen a question, and I was outside the psych building. Either way, I wasn’t about to answer.
I edged back another step. “I have to go.”
He pulled something from his pocket. “I have some questions to ask that may be”—he glanced around and swiped the sleet from his brow—“sensitive in nature.” He offered me his business card. “Please, call me when you’re done, and we can set up a time to speak.”
Sensitive in nature? “What’s this about?”
Angling forward, he nudged the card toward me again. “I think that’s best discussed in private,” he said, pitching his words low.
