Chapter 3: Blood on the Sheets
The scream ripped from my throat before I even realized it was mine.
It was the kind of scream that tore through the air like glass shattering, loud, raw, uncontainable.
Because there, on my bed, in my immaculate room with its neatly arranged books and freshly made sheets, lay a nightmare I couldn't process.
Blood.
Dark red, soaking through the white duvet, dripping sluggishly onto the polished wood floor. The metallic stench hit me next, sharp and nauseating. My stomach twisted violently.
And it wasn't just the blood. There was a body on the bed. One I couldn't mistake at all. Rose Whitaker.
My classmate. My rival. The scholarship student who was supposed to be the only one capable of matching me for top of the class.
Her lifeless form was sprawled across my bed, her dark hair matted with blood, her arms limp at her sides. Her eyes, those sharp, determined eyes that never wavered in a debate, never backed down in a test of wits, were open, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Bloody hell," Alexander breathed beside me, all traces of his infuriating smirk gone. His usual lazy arrogance had evaporated, leaving only a stunned, tight-lipped expression.
"Calm down." He told me and just like that, the screams stopped.
He grabbed my wrist, dragging me backward so fast I stumbled into his chest. "Don't move further in."
"I…" My voice cracked. I couldn't look away from Rose, from the horror staining my sheets. My brain screamed that it couldn't be real, that this had to be some sick prank, but the stench of blood was all the proof I needed.
"Stay here." Alex's voice was sharper than I'd ever heard it.
He fished his phone out of his blazer pocket with one hand, keeping a firm grip on my arm with the other as if I might bolt straight into the room. His fingers trembled, only slightly, but enough for me to notice.
"Who…who are you calling?" I managed to whisper, still frozen.
"Security," he said curtly, thumb flying over his phone. "Stay quiet."
I wanted to argue. To scream. To ask why Rose, why in my room, why now? But my throat closed up. My knees threatened to buckle. The room spun, and I realized with sickening clarity that if Alexander weren't holding onto me, I might have collapsed right there in the doorway.
Within minutes, the corridor erupted in noise. Heavy boots pounded against the marble floor, teachers shouting for students to step back, the sharp crackle of radios buzzing. Security guards pushed through, followed quickly by teachers with pale faces, their hands wringing as they tried to herd gawking students away.
The headmaster appeared at the far end of the hall, flanked by two cops. His usually imposing figure looked even more rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed carved from stone.
"Clear this wing!" he barked, voice booming. "Everyone, out! Now!"
Students groaned, muttered, some cried. Phones were snatched from hands as guards barked orders not to record. The air was thick with confusion, with fear, with the electric thrill of gossip already sparking in whispers.
By the time the police arrived, the dormitory wing had been barricaded. Bright yellow tape stretched across the entrance like a cruel line between normal life and whatever nightmare we'd stumbled into.
I was seated on a bench in the common area, hands clasped so tightly in my lap that my knuckles ached. Blue paint still clung faintly to my skin, a mocking reminder of how stupid and petty things had been just an hour ago.
Now Rose was dead.
Across from me, Alexander sat slouched in his chair, arms crossed, but his usual smirk never surfaced. His hair was mussed, his tie hanging loose, and for once, his blue eyes weren't mocking, they were sharp and cold.
We gave our statements separately.
A stern officer with a notebook asked me when I'd last seen Rose. I told him the truth: this morning, across the courtyard. We hadn't spoken. We never ever spoke with each other. She was in my classes, my rival in everything academic, but we weren't friends. We weren't enemies either, not like Alexander and me but we also weren't cordial with each other.
"Did you invite her to your dormitory?" the officer asked.
The words cut like a blade. I recoiled, shaking my head furiously. "No! Like I just said, we were not friends. We didn't even speak to each other."
"But you were rivals."
"Yes. We were and I wouldn't even invite her to my dorm because like I said, we are not friends."
He scribbled something down, his expression unreadable.
When he was finished, he told me to wait. My pulse thudded in my ears, every second stretching into an eternity.
And then, a scream tore through the common room.
I flinched as a figure lunged at me, hands closing around my throat before I could even stand. My back hit the wall, breath stolen instantly.
"You killed her!" He screamed at me. "You killed her!"
I knew that voice. It was George, Rose's twin brother.
His face was contorted with rage, tears streaming as his fingers dug into my skin. "You hated her! You didn't want her here because she was better than you! Rich girl couldn't handle competition, could she?"
I clawed at his hands, panic flooding every nerve as black spots danced in my vision. The world tilted. My lungs screamed.
And then, suddenly, his grip was ripped away. I collapsed forward, coughing violently, clutching my throat. Strong arms steadied me, keeping me from crumpling onto the floor.
"Easy, Marquez," a voice murmured in my ear.
Alexander.
I blinked through tears, disoriented, and found him crouched beside me, his arm firm around my shoulders. His face was grim, his blue eyes icy as they locked onto George.
"She didn't do it," Alex snapped, his usual lazy tone gone, replaced by something sharp enough to cut steel. "Back off, Whitaker."
George struggled against the officers restraining him, his voice raw. "She hated Rose! Everyone knows it! She thought Rose didn't belong here just because her daddy's rich!"
"I never thought…" My voice cracked, my throat raw. I couldn't get the words out fast enough, couldn't defend myself against the weight of his fury.
"You'll pay!" George screamed as the officers dragged him back. "You'll pay for this!"
The room buzzed with whispers, every eye drilling into me, judgment heavy and suffocating.
I sat frozen, rooted in shock. My throat burned, my chest heaved, and still Alexander stayed beside me, steadying me as if he wasn't the last person I'd ever expect to help me.
For once, there was no smirk on his lips.
Only silence.
And for the first time in my life, I was afraid of what St. Augustine's College had in store for me.