Page 91 of Make Me Scream

“But it didn’t work out,” I say, trying to put myself in her shoes. It would have been hard being here on her own, no family back at home. She didn’t have to worry about losing a scholarship, but if she wasn’t really qualified to be here, she’d find out quickly. Then what? How much pressure was she under to stick it out and prove she belonged? Did people laugh at her, pity her, resent her? Did they know about her parents, or her finances?

“Was she in Lane’s classes?” I ask.

“Oh yes. He made sure of that. I agreed to accept her application on the condition that he get her up to speed. He gave her all the personal instruction he could, which obviously led to them growing close. He charmed her with his outgoing personality and good looks, but her art wasn’t improving. I think she knew it, too. I considered dismissing her from the academy, but how could I? She had nowhere to go. Lane said he’d gently broach the subject of her finding another vocation. The next day she dropped out. Apparently she left the city too. I assumed Lane handled the situation… indelicately. He got what he wanted from her, I guess, because he didn’t chase her.”

I think I’ve heard enough.

“You’re wrong, Professor. Lane cared about Chloe. He’s still upset about how things ended with her.”

“I’m sure he gave you that impression,” Mundell says. “I’ve known him a lot longer than you, Gwen, but even I’m often at a loss with him. We only get to see the version of Lane Porter he wants us to see.”

“I know him,” I say, forcing my eyes not to tear.

I can’t tell him about Alistair Rat, but if I did, maybe he’s understand. I know Lane. I know him better than anyone. He said so himself.

“He didn’t tell you about Anne, did he?”

The centipede unfurls its length, worming its way through my intestine.

“Who?”

The sympathy evaporates from Mundell’s tired eyes, replaced by a hard edge.

“Ask him, Ms. Carpenter. See if he can bring himself to tell you what he did to her. I should have fired him then and there. It would have been better for him and the school. If you want to remain a student here, stay away from him. I won’t warn you again. You’re dismissed.”

Arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere, so I grab my purse and go. I hate to believe a single thing he said, but I have another name. How bad must it be if Lane wouldn’t even mention her?

The centipede wriggles its legs all at once, setting my insides on fire. I nearly vomit when I reach the street. My world feels upended. Could everything I’ve experienced with Lane be a lie?

My aching gut tells me I shouldn’t listen to Mundell… but what if he’s telling the truth? All he’s really done to me is threaten my scholarship, which was a real dick move, but not a crime. Everything else I’ve believed about him has come from Lane. Is it possible Lane took that one ember of malice and fanned it into a flame of hatred?

How do I know who’s telling the truth? If it’s Mundell, and Lane used Chloe only to throw her away… And now there’s Anne. Who was she? What happened to her?

How will Lane react when I ask him? And what will I do if what he tells me is too terrible to bear? Would I leave him, knowing this was the lowest point in his career? How could I stay? If he really is some kind of monster…

Lane told me his biggest secret. What if he decides I can’t be trusted to keep it?

Chapter 22

I need time to think, so I walk back to my apartment instead of taking the subway. I text Lane that I’ll come to the studio later, but I don’t mean it. We’re going to talk in public.

It kills me to be planning as though Lane might try to hurt me, but I have to be careful until I know more. Who was Anne? Is it possible to find her, or Chloe? That would be the way to find out who is really telling me the truth. Except, I have no idea how. I’m no private investigator. Could I go to the police? Would they accept a missing person report from someone who has never even met that person, and doesn’t know if they’re actually missing? Even if they did investigate, it would take time, and I need answers right now.

My mind races still after the walk; I’m ready to lie down and try to put the pieces together, but Lane’s standing outside my apartment building. He sees me before my brain registers that it’s him, he’s here.

“Where were you?” he says, startling me out of my train of thought.

I’m caught so off-guard I reply with, “You punched him?”

Fuck. I should have texted him back.

Lane’s scowl makes me look away.

“You saw Rush? In person?”

“He told me to meet him. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Right. Okay. And he told you I punched him?”

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