29. Nyssa

29

NYSSA

SUGAR - GARBAGE

It feels like being born again the next time I open my eyes. I fight through the deep sleep that's held me captive for who knows how long and push my eyelids open. Both feel like they weigh a ton.

So does my body, aching and throbbing as I find myself immobile.

I'm passed out on some kind of bed, a thermal blanket thrown over me.

The room I'm in is foreign, one I've never been in before. The walls are made of limestone, like most of the campus at Castlebury, though there's a hollowness to the space. It's almost as if it isn't supposed to exist; it's been carved out of another, deeper space, and then set aside.

A draft lingers in the air that seems permanent.

As permanent as the heavy silence seems to be, the walls likely soundproof.

The blanket that covers me slides down my body as I push myself up on the bed. Bleariness fades for restored eyesight. I use the moment to scan the area.

It might as well be a bedroom .

I'm lying in one corner where the bed's been placed, and there's a desk and chair pushed up against the wall to my left. On the far wall in front of me there's a row of bookcases. Other than the books crammed on the shelves, there're items like a world globe, scales of justice, and a glass case of what looks like a anatomically correct human heart.

Where the hell am I?

My head pounds as I search my mind for the last traces of memory.

I was following Heather. She was headed to see Professor Adler and then…

A choked gasp pours out of me. I stare wide-eyed at the limestone walls, recalling how Professor Adler had grabbed me from behind and whispered into my ear.

"I know everything there is to know about you," he told me, gripping my waist. "I told Miss Eurwen about Driscoll meeting me. I knew she'd tell you. And I knew you couldn't resist."

My legs gave out at the sharp prick of something lodged into my neck. A needle of some kind?

Almost immediately, things started to fade.

"Believe me when I say, Miss Oliver… we're about to get to know each other exceptionally well."

I cover my face with both hands and let the gravity of my situation sink in.

Professor Adler has taken me captive.

This must be one of the secret rooms he had once mentioned existed on campus.

"Castlebury was built centuries ago," he said with a wondrous glance at the chain-link chandelier that hung from the ceiling. "Back when it was fashionable to have bookcases that led to other rooms and hidden dwellings underground. Many still exist today… "

I leap off the bed, arrowing straight toward the single, solitary door that's next to the row of bookcases. I step right into a glass divider that is invisible up until I collide with it. Staggering back a couple steps, I blink at the structure that's blocked my path.

A glass wall that divides the half of the room I'm trapped in with the other half of the room where the bookcases and door are.

Standing up close, I can see how the light reflects off the see-through wall. But from my bed, it was undetectable. Glass so fine and thin it's basically invisible unless you're close enough to touch it.

My hand extends toward it, fingertips tracing over its delicate surface.

There appears to be no opening. No way in or out.

How did Professor Adler put me inside here?

"Help!" I start to scream. I pound a fist against the glass. "Anyone there? Can anyone hear me? HELP!"

Frustration boils up inside me fast. I go from a pound at the glass to slamming my fists against it one after another. Pain radiates through my knuckles and up the rest of my arm. Yet I beat the other fist against the glass in hopes it'll finally be the hit that cracks the surface.

For as thin and fragile as it appears, it's nothing of the sort once I'm smashing into it. I'm making no headway whatsoever.

Not even the slightest crack.

Breath sputters out of me as fatigue sets in and I take an exhausted step back. My eyes scan the length of the glass that stretches floor-to-ceiling, then I let out a frustrated cry.

Why would he ever put me in here? Is he planning on returning? Will he kill me like he's done so many others ?

I bang my head into the glass, resting my forehead against its smooth surface.

I've worked for years at my plan. Strategized and studied every minute detail. Devised backup plans to the backup plans and alternatives in case things ever went sideways.

And yet never once did I ever plan for this .

For Theron Adler to trap me in some secret room behind a glass wall.

Is this how Mom met her end?

Had Professor Adler trapped her in here before he murdered her?

The letter I'd found in Professor Adler's closet pieced everything together.

I'd always known my mother was ruined by Castlebury.

But family secrets still hid the extent to which she had been ruined; she hadn't simply had her reputation tarnished like I'd been led to believe.

She'd been murdered.

Her death was then covered up like many of the others.

Professor Adler was the only person who made sense.

He was Valentine, a bitter man who hated the community and acted out to make them suffer; he sought my mother out to make her suffer.

He was bitter and jealous and angry.

The same man he'd been when he'd taken out Mr. Wicker and then Samson. The same man who will probably take me out next…

The door near the bookcases sweeps open. In steps none other than Professor Adler. He's as I remember him—his charcoal-gray sweater vest juxtaposes the white dress shirt he wears underneath, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar creased and neat. The watch on his wrist glints under the room's lighting, his large hand wrapped around the doorknob.

His glasses sit perched on his nose, the black frames and clear lenses offering a window to his soul. His eyes that are dark and intense as they fall on me and he snaps the door shut behind him.

My insides ripple in uncertainty. I'd be a liar if I said he doesn't look good, his hair as rumpled as ever, with the signature lock still hanging over his brow.

But with that attraction comes an unmistakable and visceral disgust. He sickens me to my stomach. It must reflect on my face, because as he starts toward the glass, his brows crease out of curiosity.

"Miss Oliver, I see you're awake," he says. "How are your accommodations treating you?"

I scoff at him from through the glass. "Accommodations? Is that what you call this?"

"I took great care to ensure you were comfortable. The bed isn't the absolute best, but if you'll notice, I brought you a thermal blanket and pillow. I've ensured you had food should you become hungry." He juts his chin at a point past my shoulder.

At the desk, where there's a domed tray on top. I hadn't even gone to look at what was inside. I was much more focused on finding an exit.

"Let me out of here, Theron."

The corner of his mouth quirks slightly. "Theron? So now I'm Theron. I can't help but think of all the times you called me professor when I told you not to."

"Let me out of here. This isn't funny. This isn't a game."

"Oh, but to the contrary, Miss Oliver— Nyssa —isn't that what you've been playing all along?" he asks in rebuttal. The quirk at his lips turns into a full grin. It shouldn't make him more handsome, yet it does. Enough to draw me in. "You've been making moves like this is some game board the entire time. I admit, I was charmed by it. Impressed by you. Until you turned those moves against me."

I lift my chin in open defiance. "That's where you're confused, Professor . The moves were against you the entire time."

"Ah, there she is. The spark of brilliance I expect out of you. But you're right. You have been making moves against me, haven't you?" he asks, scratching his stubbled jaw. "I was simply too… pussy whipped to notice."

He chuckles at his own admission, the sound sexy and dangerous all at once.

My skin heats up, air thinning out inside my lungs. I watch him through the glass barrier like I'm fascinated by him. Really, I'm studying him, trying to figure out what's to come.

He rubs his jaw and pins me with an amused look. "I spent so long watching you, Miss Oliver. Hours and hours. Not once did I catch on."

"Sounds like I was doing my job."

"But I admit, I did pick up on your need for validation. Your thirst for approval. You sought me out almost as much as I sought you out. In more subtle ways, sure, but hardly any different. You wanted me," he says, leaning closer to the glass. So close, I can make out the follicles of hair on his jaw and see myself in the reflection of his eyes. He drops his voice as if we're surrounded by others and he wants this kept between just the two of us. "You wanted me just as much as I wanted you. You wouldn't have entertained me as long as you did otherwise."

"I had a goal in mind. You were nothing more than a means to an end. "

He tuts his tongue and leans even closer until I'm sure he's about to reach straight through the glass for me. "We both know, Miss Oliver, that's a lie. I bet that delicious little cunt of yours is nice and wet thinking about us together. I bet it would love nothing more than to be wrapped around my cock right about now."

Stubbornness won't allow me to admit the truth in his accusation. I resort to silently glaring at him, practically shaking on the spot from the anger coursing through me.

…and the arousal pooling in my panties.

I'll never admit it aloud.

Ever.

"I can practically smell you," he goes on in a whisper that racks a shiver down my spine. He licks at his lips, meeting my dark eyes with even darker orbs of his own. "I can still taste you."

Shaking my head fervently side to side, I take a wide step back. I'm in need of a buffer. Some space between us to keep a clear head.

In order to do so, I voice aloud the beliefs I must have. The truth I can't lose sight of.

"I don't want you," I mutter, eyes shutting. "I don't want you because I hate you."

"Look at me, Miss Oliver."

"You ruined my life. You ruined her life!"

"Miss Oliver. Open your eyes."

"I HATE YOU!" I scream, conviction blooming in my voice. My eyes snap open to sear him with a glare that's twenty years in the making. Air puffs in and out of me erratically, my chest heaving. "You're a murderer! You killed my mother!"

He gives no reaction either way, though his inflection changes. The taunting humor vanishes. His monotone returns. "Is that what you think?"

"I don't think—I know! You're Valentine, right? It was all you!"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Josalyn Webber, my mother," I spit at him, taking several angry steps back toward the glass. "You killed her in cold blood. You killed her because she wouldn't have you. She wanted nothing to do with you!"

His jaw clenches. "That's not true."

"It is true!" I yell. "IT IS TRUE!"

"You are a lost girl," he snipes, stuffing his hands in his pockets as if in restraint. "You are more foolish than I ever thought you could be."

"Josalyn didn't want you. Isn't that true?" I ask, eager to goad him. I crack a smirk at him. "Just like I don't want you, Theron. I've never really wanted you. Josalyn wrote you to tell you to leave her alone. I read the letter. I saw it in your closet. Why couldn't you just leave her alone?"

"NO!" he booms suddenly. Rage flashes in his dark eyes. "You have no clue what the fuck you're talking about!"

"Are you angry, Professor? Why would that be? Because someone's finally calling you out? Are you really surprised I'm here? That I did what I've been doing? Guess what? You created me."

His nostrils flare as he glares at me through the glass wall.

I'm putting on a show, acting defiant and petulant. But the smirk on my face is nothing more than a disguise for the turmoil raging inside me. I'd quiver on the spot if I hadn't thrown myself into the role I have. I'd be a mess on the floor if I didn't cling to strategy.

What I want out of riling him up, I' m not sure.

Maybe if I stall long enough, some kind of opening might come…

Professor Adler lets my accusations fester in the heavy silence. He seems to be deep in his own mental calculations, drinking every part of me in.

Then he steps toward the left, walking over to the wall.

I watch in shock as he undoes a latch that's attached to the limestone. It's what connects the glass barrier. He unlocks it with a key, then nudges it aside.

It glides out of the way like a glass sliding door.

He's coming in.

I take several steps back as a precaution.

The glass door slides back into place. The enclosure suddenly feels a lot tighter.

"Ready to finish me off?" I ask, trying to sound braver than I feel.

Professor Adler remains where he is, his expression controlled. "I'm ready to make you understand how wrong you've been."

"Save it. There's nothing you can say to explain what I've discovered. Are you saying you weren't obsessed with my mother? With Josalyn Webber?"

No answer.

He inhales a deep breath, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Sit down."

"I don't take orders from you. Let's start there. Unless you're about to let me go and turn yourself in, I have no interest in anything you have to say."

"You would if you were interested in the truth."

"I know the truth! You're Valentine. Did my mother catch you in the act? Or did you kill Josalyn because she wouldn't love you?"

His temper returns in the glare that narrows his eyes from behind his glasses. He takes several steps toward me until he's within reach, though his arms remain at his sides. "I've already told you, I would never hurt her."

"But you did. You killed her. And now history's about to repeat itself, right? I'm next?"

"I would never hurt you either, Miss Oliver. Punish you? Yes. But truly hurt a hair on that beautiful head of yours? Never."

"LIAR!" I scream in his face. "You killed my mother!"

"I did not kill her…" he snarls through clenched teeth. "Stop talking about things you don't understand."

"You killed Josalyn and buried her somewhere in that forest! And if I ever get out of here, I'm going to the police. I'm going to tell them all about how Valentine's been under their noses this entire time!"

Professor Adler cuts me off with a hand to my throat. My eyes widen as he wrenches me toward him 'til my body's flush against his and he's giving me a threatening squeeze. Peering into his face, madness stares back at me.

It's in his bared teeth. His curled lip. The muscle ticking in his jaw.

His dark eyes unsettlingly stuck on me and my every move.

"I. Did. Not. Kill. Her." Anger punctuates each word, his hold on restraint fading by the second. "I would have never harmed her. I protected her. I… I loved her."

A disbelieving laugh bubbles out of me the same time tears spring to my eyes. "You expect me to believe that? You expect me to believe a word you say after everything I know, Professor?"

"It's the truth?—"

"It's a lie!"

"No… it's not a lie. It's the tru?— "

"A LIE!" I yell over him, despite how I'm subdued in his hold. "IT'S A LIE! YOU KILLED HER!"

"SILENCE!"

He slaps a hand over my mouth to shut me up, his other still cinched around my throat. His dark eyes bore into mine as he stares at me so intensely, yet another cool shiver trickles my spine. "You insist on doing things the hard way, Miss Oliver. It seems to be the only way you'll learn. Very well. I'll show you the monster you think I am."