Heartless (The Heartless Series) (15 page)

The police show up. They ask lots of questions.

Who am I? "Gracen Sullivan
.
" That gets their attention since they've been wanting to question me about Danika's death. I'm so glad they've found me.

How do I know Shelley? "I don't, not exactly
.
"

What am I doing at her house?

What
am
I doing at her house?

I don't have a good answer, because I don't think they'll believe me if I tell them I saw her die in my dreams. I don't even really believe it, and I'm the one it's happening to.

The girl who walked in on me, I found out later, is Love Harrison. She has calmed down by the time the police start questioning me. She's on one side of the room talking to an officer. I'm on the other, and there are people taking pictures of Shelley. Detectives I guess. I wonder if they will connect her murder to the first girl's. I'm pretty sure they were killed by the same person, but I'm not sure who. I would blame Hart, but he isn't even real.

The short but very built officer asks me again why I'm at the apartment. My time for stalling is over, and I have to come up with something at least a little bit believable. Once my eyes catch a glimpse of it on her desk, I can't believe my luck!

"We were going to study together tonight," I say probably a little too excitedly. But heck yeah! A logical excuse for me being in her room. I couldn't have made up a better excuse if I tried.

"At this time of night?" the officer, Officer Bane, asks as he scribbles something down on a notepad. He's probably not even listening to me. Not really. The scribbles are more than likely some sort of grocery list or something equally as mundane. It's late. He's sleepy. He'd rather be home having fun with his wife or husband—whatever—instead of here with me. That's fine. I'd rather be home too.

"I got sidetracked at the library and was running late." Not a lie. I did get sidetracked at the library. I must've fallen asleep, but I don't remember doing that. It's like time just jumped. I know that's not what happened. That's how it feels, though. There's a huge chunk of time I can't place, and since I didn't see Hart or the room or whatever, I assume I didn't sleep.

Though sleep would feel so nice.

"What class?"

"Professor Mitchell's," I answer quickly, my eyes darting to the history book she has on her desk and back to the police officer. I knew that book the second I saw it. I bought the same one for History 101. I had it on my desk the day I saw Hart at school—or the guy that looks like Hart—or whatever is going on. I'm not even sure anymore.

The officer's face lights up, and he actually smiles. He looks younger when he smiles. Not so serious. "You have Mitchell? I had Mitchell about five years ago, before I decided to be a cop."

"Very cool." I relax because he believes me, and I won't have to lie anymore. Well, I can lie, but he won't ask questions about it. He'll believe me. I should probably feel bad about that, but I don't. I'm just relieved that at least one thing is going my way.

"Did you like him?" I ask just to get the spotlight off of me and back on him. If I can get him to talk, then I won't have to talk. It's how I used to deal with the therapist my parents made me go to. And she thought she was so smart. If I got her talking about Sci-Fi television, she was putty in my hands. I started watching many shows for such occasions.

Anything is better than talking. Than having to tell your deepest secrets to a lady who can, at the touch of a button, literally throw you into a mental ward.

I take a deep breath as Officer Bane rattles on about his time in Professor Mitchell's class. I have to keep calm, stay focused. Listen. Breathe. It'll all be okay. It'll… all… be… okay.

After his Mitchell story, which I really didn't listen to, the officer closed his notebook and put it in his pocket. We were almost done. Thank God. I want to go home.

Home. I need to call Sam and let him know where I am. He'll worry if I'm not home by a certain time. At least I think he will. It isn't like I've seen him today.

When Officer Bane releases me, I pull out my phone to deal with the inevitable barrage of calls and texts from Sam. The man can be a bit overprotective and overly suspicious of me. I'm not a fan of it, but what can I do? Yeah, leave him maybe, but where would I live? The library pays crap, and it's not like I can afford anything else right now. He's not bad. He's not good, but he's not bad. I can handle it for now.

No messages.

No missed calls.

My heart sinks.

I shouldn't care. I should be happy that he actually trusts me to be so late and not call him. It's progress, right?

Right?

I call him because I worry. Three people have died. I worry that something has happened to him, and he doesn't deserve that. He isn't the nicest man in the world at times, but he doesn't deserve to die. Neither did the girls. Neither did any of them.

It goes to voicemail. "Sam, hey. It's Gracen. Look, I'm sorry I'm late. I'm here talking to the police. Look. Something bad has happened. Not to me. I'm fine, but to a girl I know. If you get this, can you come and get me? I don't know if I am comfortable walking home right now. It's late and it's…"

The longer I talk the more I sound like a needy girl. I hate it. Then again, safety isn't stupid or needy or whatever. It's being safe. Safe is good. Safe keeps a person alive. I'm all for safe.

I keep talking. "If you get this, please call me back. I need to talk to you. Love you. Bye."

What possessed me to tell him I loved him? Well, I don't know exactly. I do love him. I do. In his own way. In my own way. I want him to love me, like me, be proud of me. I want it to work with him, even when I don't think it's the healthiest thing. Look at me being all smart about it.

My head hurts.

My stomach hurts.

I can't stay in that room any longer. I need out. Air would be nice. The officers dismiss me. Love, the girl whose roommate is lying in a pile of blood on the floor, glares at me as I walk by. Her eyes are red and puffy. Tears are running down her cheeks. I'm sure she still thinks I have something to do with it. I guess in a small way I do. I didn't get there in time. I couldn't save her.

I should have saved her.

Chapter Seventeen

I
HEAR SOME OF THE PEOPLE
from the coroner's office talking. Because I was stupid enough to touch the knife, the prints are gone. Well, there are prints. The girl who found the body. The stupid girl who messed everything up.

Me.

No prints on the door.

No prints on the body.

No prints anywhere.

Except mine.

Oh and her neck wasn't just broken. It was crushed.

Crushed.

Like something squeezed it too tight.

I hurry up and walk past them before anyone can stop me. I have a feeling I'll be hearing from the police again soon. "Don't leave town,"
I imagine they'll say. I really hope they take me for a harmless library worker and not someone who could kill. But it wasn't me. I wasn't there. For the first two murders, I was asleep. Safely tucked in my bed. The third, I was at the library.

Why do I feel so uneasy?

Maybe because it's after two in the morning, and I'm walking past people who keep eyeballing me like they think I know something. On the way back to my house, which I share with a guy who may or may not hate me at the moment. It's a long walk to my place.

Why won't Sam call me back?

"You okay?"

I stop when I hear his voice behind me. Low and gruff and, quite frankly, awesome. Lucien, last name unknown.

I stop and face him. My lips pull into a smile when I see him, though I really don't feel like smiling. Far from it. But there's something about Lucien, though. Something that automatically makes me feel more comfortable. Warm. Peaceful. Like everything will be okay, even though I'm fairly sure it won't be.

Probably the fact that he's an angel.

He has his hands in his jogging pants' pockets. His shoulders are rounded over, and he sort of has a lost puppy dog look about him. Maybe he isn't sure how to approach me. Or maybe this is how he looks at two every morning.

"What are you doing here?" I hope it doesn't sound harsh. I don't mean for it to. I'm genuinely surprised.

I'm also surprised that he's in clothes he'd probably slept in. His white, V-neck shirt makes his arms look five times bigger, and that's saying something.

Focus.

"I live here."

I look around the hallway of Smith Hall and raise my eyebrow very, very high, questioning. "Shouldn't you live in like…
Heaven
?" I whisper so no one in the emptying hallway can hear me.

His cheeks turn a little pink. "Yeah, normally. But I'm on a case. So I'm here. I'm the person who stays in the dorms."

"Another job?"

He shrugs. "Pays the bills." He answers with a wink. So strange that this seems like a normal conversation. Even though it's far from it. "So, you never answered me. You okay?"

No. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just… I'm fine."

I start to walk away when he speaks again. "Did you hear about Shelley?"

My feet feel like they're going to give out from under me, and I wobble, catching myself on the wall next to me. Lucien's hands are on my arms before I can even register what's going on. He steadies me, and the next thing I know, I'm staring up into his big blue eyes. "Thanks." Again with the smile. What loser smiles at a guy (even a hot guy… even a hot angel guy) not two hours after she finds a girl dead? Me… that's who.

Oh, yeah, and the boyfriend's at home.

I'm a horrible person.

Horrible.

Lucien blinks a few times at me. He looks like he can feel my pain, which is incredibly stupid because he can't see inside my head. Thank God. The peace fills me again, warmer this time, which is a nice change. Inside I'm usually so cold.

Every time I'm with Lucien, it's the same thing. The same feeling.

I like him.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Lucien asks. His hands are still on my arms, and he doesn't seem like he's taking any initiative to move them. I'm not complaining. Oh, I should be complaining. I should remember that I have a boyfriend. Except I don't. I don't even think about Sam. I focus on Lucien and how he makes me feel. How nice his hands feel on my arms, and how peaceful and calm I feel with him. If it weren't creepy to already think this, I'd love to stay with him forever. I. Sound. Weird.

"Gracen?" he asks, his big blue eyes searching mine. Lordy, I need a cold shower. In all my time with Sam, I'd never felt like this. Never. And it isn't just sexual. I'm not fighting some urge to jump his bones. It's more of a feeling. Like I said, peace. Not feeling stressed is very, very appealing.

I'm totally macking on an angel and that's NOT okay.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Deep breath. "Okay, so I went to the library to see if I could find this girl." I didn't tell him why or how. I figure we'll get to that eventually. "I needed to find her because we were supposed to meet to work on the project in Professor Mitchell's class."

His brow rose. "Professor Mitchell?"

I can't look at him. I'm such a bad liar. Ugh. "Yeah. So anyway, I needed to meet with her, but I didn't know where she lived, so I thought I'd look it up in the archives. But don't tell because I can get in huge trouble and lose my job. I need it for my scholarship."

"Don't worry about that." His voice is calming and deep. I'd listen to him read the phonebook. "What happened next?"

"I found her address, and Professor Mitchell found me."

Lucien's lip twitches. "He seems to be everywhere lately."

"I know, right? Anyway, he said he liked to leave books in locations sometimes for his students if they're willing to look for them. He had placed a bunch of books in study room M. Told me I need to go check them out."

"He told you that?" Lucien has this look on his face that I can't really place. He looks like he's confused for some reason. Then again, he does know Professor Mitchell. He works for him, so maybe this isn't his typical behavior. It's not like I know any different. I imagine Lucien can read people pretty well. It would be a handy thing for an angel to have.

"Yeah. So I went in the study room and started looking through the books. They were all about brothers in the Civil War."

"Brothers?"

"Yeah, you know. Like brother verses brother. How brothers fought each other. How some of them killed their brothers. I mean, it's so sad, ain't it? To live with someone your whole life. To play games with them and eat with them. Take care of each other, and then, BAM, just be on the battlefield and kill him. I don't understand how anybody could do that. How anybody could allow that to happen? I'd think a person would take care of his brother. Not hurt them. Not do… that. No matter the reason. Can you?"

I swear I heard Hart scoff in my ear.

Lucien's eyes look past my ear, and his lip twitches. He takes a deep breath. "People can certainly do some terrible things in the name of righteousness. When there's only one righteous person."

"Who? God?" I say it more sarcastically than I mean to. I believe in God. I mean, I pretty much have to now that I'm talking to one of his heavenly creations. I pray most every night. Actually, I don't know why I say it so sarcastically. I'm tired. That's probably it.

"In a manner of speaking." Lucien smiles. Like he just remembers, he lets my arms go. I'm not happy when the warmth goes away. "What did you do after?"

"I had plenty of time to save her."

"Save her?"

Oh God! Oh God! I'd said too much. Can I be any more of a loser? If I keep talking, he'll go tell the police, and they'll lock me away. Or better yet, they'll think I'm the one who killed Shelley when I'm not. I don't know who did, but it isn't me. But if I start acting crazy, they won't care. They'll throw the book at me, and the real murderer will go free. I feel all the blood leave my face, and I feel the incredible need to pass out.

Maybe he won't call the police. He's an angel. Maybe he'll take care of me another way… smiting?