CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FREUD

( — austrian psychiatrist; originator of psychoanalysis, based on free association of ideas and analysis of dreams. )

— ♡ —

          "YOU KNOW, THEY'RE NOT PAYING YOU EXTRA CASH JUST FOR BEING HERE ALL THE TIME," Roman states, standing somewhere behind Rhiannon, and she jumps right where she is, spilling droplets of her coffee to the floor of the kitchen. The lighting there is dim, as the early morning light is more than enough for her, and this is one of the rare times she sees him without his sunglasses on. "I heard you humming."

          Rhiannon sets her mug of coffee over a counter and grabs a paper towel to clean the previously immaculate floor. While he has a point, she only remembers there's money involved whenever she checks her bank account (and never to pay her tuition, since Jude's parents are still in charge of it), even though money was the main reason why she signed up for this experiment in the first place.

          She's not sure why she still hasn't given up. Maybe it's to taunt her parents, or maybe it's to remind herself she can be in control of her own life without needing constant surveillance (the cameras scattered around the house cease to exist whenever she thinks about the latter reason, obviously). Maybe, maybe, maybe; there aren't many things Rhiannon has ever been certain of during her whole life and this isn't one of them.

          "Cat got your tongue?" Roman asks, and, when she looks up, his hazel eyes seem to see through her. With a pang of guilt striking her through the heart, she simply sighs, throwing out the ball of wet paper. "If this isn't Rhiannon, I might have embarrassed myself enough to last me for the rest of the month."

          "It's me," she finally replies. "I'm sorry. It just hasn't been my week."

          Or her month. Or her year.

          "Yeah," he sighs. "I think we all can relate. It really hasn't been easy for anyone." He carefully makes his way inside the kitchen, never giving Rhiannon the opportunity of offering her help; to make it a bit better, she pours some freshly brewed coffee into another mug and douses an apple with water to give to him. "Oh? Thanks. No sugar, no milk?"

          "That's how I take mine," Rhiannon confesses, as he sits on one of the high stools.

          The house is eerily silent, quieter than she had ever found it, and, though some people might consider it quite comforting, it only reminds her they're never really alone; Beatrice and Frances must be watching them, wherever they are. That knowledge doesn't ease anyone's concerns, as if they ever thought they'd be safer knowing someone's controlling what's going on in this house, and, if anything, dread creeps its way up Rhiannon's spine even quicker.

          The conversation she overheard in Frances' office days ago is still horribly fresh in her head. She hasn't had the courage to open her mouth to anyone other than Isla, seeing as her father might be involved in this conspiracy as well, even though she knows she should. By knowing what they're doing and choosing to stay quiet about it, she's being almost as bad, dirty and rotten as Frances and Beatrice are.

          Who would believe her, anyway? The only reason why Isla did it, besides their relationship, was her father's involvement, and she wasted no time before running off to let Rowan know he might be being pulled even deeper into this mess. Other than her, there's no one Rhiannon can tell the truth to, not even Matteo, the self-designated major conspiracy theorist in the campus.

          Not even Jude, as the distance between them grows colder and bigger each day, even when they're together. Rhiannon doesn't know what to do anymore, with these events being so new to her she has no repertoire of actions to choose from.

          The main problem with this situation is that, the last time it happened, she nearly lost him. It was back around that time he was more lost than ever, with his own parents thinking he was already gone while being physically present, back when he was breaking hearts, including his own. Their friendship only survived it thanks to a spark of luck, but things are different now.

          Back then, she knew what was going on and they certainly weren't linked romantically. Somehow, it makes it all a lot worse.

          "Are you going to class today?" Rhiannon questions, feeling like the silence has dragged on for too long. Roman has a way of sensing negative emotions on other people, mostly through their silences, and she really doesn't want to open her big mouth and say something she shouldn't. It can get so many people in trouble, especially Laura.

          "Nah," he retorts, sipping his coffee. "I think I've ignored the pile of things I have to study for way too long; the sooner I get rid of it, the quicker I can stop skipping class to catch up. With finals next week . . ."

          "Don't remind me."

          He doesn't. Instead, he lets her go after she says she really can't be late for her first lecture of the day, and doesn't laugh when he hears her slip and nearly fall outside. She's certain he can hear it, as the porch is unbelievably slippery thanks to the melted snow that she slams a shoulder against one of the poles, but pulls herself back together at the very last moment.

          Granted, he technically wouldn't be able to know exactly what had happened, but Rhiannon decides to think positive.

          Jude is standing outside, waiting for her, and steps forward as soon as she almost falls, but both of them know he'd never get to her in time to pull her up. She does it just fine by herself, even though her knees wobble and her feet are unsure whether they're set on steady ground or not.

          It's really hypocritical of her to be so angry over him being secretive when she has been doing exactly the same thing. Both of them can use the exact same arguments as to why their keeping their mouths shut regarding what's going on in their lives; they can say they're only trying to protect each other from dangerous situations, but they'll also use the same counterarguments.

          They don't need to be protected—they need to know the truth.

          Even with that knowledge, she still finds herself feeling slightly repulsed when she stops in front of him and lets him slide his fingers into her hair as he cups her face between his hands. She knows it shouldn't happen, much like she's certain he feels her hesitation when their lips are no longer touching; doubt strikes him in the eyes and he knits his brows together, forcing her to look away.

           "Are you okay?" Jude questions, dropping his hands to hold her by the shoulders. She doesn't dare to move an inch. "Is that . . . is that my shirt?"

           "Probably," Rhiannon replies, in a murmur. The dark-gray shirt she's wearing under her long coat, tucked into her black jeans, does, in fact, belong to him; nevertheless, it's not something she has made a habit out of, preferring to use her own clothes simply because they fit her better. "I can go change."

          "You look good in it." He fixes the collar of said shirt. "As for my other question . . ."

          "It's nothing," she retorts, too quickly for it to be believable in the slightest. "Nothing worth worrying about."

          "Are you sure? You can talk to me."

          Rhiannon has to bite her tongue to avoid reminding him of the exact same thing, because she's not stupid and can clearly tell he's not in his right mind; fortunately, she manages to stay quiet and simply nods, slipping her fingers through his to drag him behind her towards the campus.

          This will take its toll on their relationship and both of them know it. Not just the lying and hiding stuff from each other, no; it's the whole experiment and the constant vigilance, coming from the researchers and from all of them. The former watch their behavior, both in and out of the house (though this might not be exactly ethical), while the latter watch their surroundings.

           You can never be too safe, even with those surveillance cameras surrounding you—especially with them. 

          She doesn't know why in the world Hailey is sitting in their auditorium or why Frances is there, standing by the professor's desk at the bottom. The whiteboard behind him is clear, meaning he's not here to make an announcement, and Rhiannon doubts Hailey would be looking this furious if that was the case.

          This can't be a coincidence. Rhiannon has gotten used to doubting every single one she's faced with thanks to Northrop and McCall himself, especially after the reveal of their selection process. No one knows who participant zero was, as it's hard to find ties between certain people, so they're slowly giving up on trying to figure it out.

          Hailey is not one of those quitters.

          It turns out he's here to replace their usual professor, who has fallen ill thanks to the cold weather, and Hailey grits her teeth, keeping her arms firmly crossed in front of her chest. She's sitting next to Rhiannon and Jude's usual seats, exactly in the middle of the auditorium, meaning Frances can see her perfectly clear from where he's standing; Rhiannon suspects that was exactly her goal when she sat down, though it doesn't explain why she's here.

          Rhiannon fails to properly focus on the lecture for multiple reasons. For starters, Frances sounds frankly bored as he speaks, as if he was simply reading a script instead of trying to teach college students. Secondly, Hailey still hasn't shut up, talking in angry whispers. Thirdly, she's talking to Jude and Zelda.

          Knowing Hailey and Taylor used to be friends before the latter's disappearance and death explains plenty. It explains why she's getting so involved in Beatrice and Frances' shady business and why she was the first to accuse them of knowing something about it . . . and of having been part of it as well. It turns out they're indirectly involved, it seems, choosing to protect whoever killed Taylor, but Rhiannon doesn't know why.

          As far as she knows, no students are directly related to them, so, technically, they're not under any moral obligation to be doing this. They're almost as guilty as whoever they're protecting.

          Rhiannon understands Hailey wants and needs closure, but dragging Jude into the middle of her conspiracy theories really isn't the best way of doing it. Everyone knows he puts his heart and soul into everything he does when he's committed to it, which might end up being his downfall—not just emotional or mentally. It might get them all into serious trouble; after all, Taylor herself might have been killed because she knew too much regarding something she should have never found out about in the first place.

          It was bad enough having to pull Isla to the middle of this, when it's clearly not her fault her father turned out to be dirty as well. He should have told the police, both about the student (or students) and the professors who are covering for them instead of trying to play God—it will never work out in his favor, not in the long-run.

          Rhiannon sighs. There's no possible way out of this, meaning they'll have to pull through the remainder of the experiment and pretend they know nothing regarding the researchers' shady business . . . and Laura's, since she seems to know more than she should.

          "Miss Hobbes, is the lecture boring you?" Frances questions, startling the four of them, but Hailey quickly regains control of herself. "Please, by all means—"

          "I have a question," she announces, raising her voice to be heard by everyone in the auditorium. Rhiannon sinks into her seat, knowing pretty darn well any trouble she gets in will, inevitably, reach her parents and make it even messier. "You said smaller samples are harder to generalize for the populations they're supposed to represent, but that contradicts what you told us a few days ago about the experiment."

          "Conversations regarding the experiment should be held in my or Professor Northrop's offices," he dryly replies, "or in the house. Unless that's a general question."

          "I understand." She raises her hands next to her shoulders, defeated. "Should I ask Laura about it, then? She seems to have had plenty of . . . private sessions with you and Professor Northrop."

          Frances scowls as someone in the audience whistles. "I'm not sure how that's a proper thing to say."

          "It's not"—Hailey drops her hands—"but, again, I understand you're not allowed to reveal certain parts of the experiment; I just didn't think you'd be lying to all of us regarding almost everything."

          "Miss Hobbes—"

          "Considering secrets are what got one of my best friends killed and everyone in that experiment knows you know something about it, hence why you put me, Dimitri and Brooklyn in your group of participants, forgive me for wanting to know exactly what said experiment entails." She quickly gathers her stuff and jumps out of her seat, while Jude discreetly shakes his head. "If neither of you planned to be honest with us from the start, then I'm almost certain we don't have to reciprocate it."

— ♡ —

          "MISS FORD," Beatrice greets, returning to the chair behind her desk. "How can I help you? Is everything alright?"

          Rhiannon, standing by the door, clutches her laptop close to her chest. Truthfully, she doesn't know what possessed her to come here in the first place, but it was either that or talking to Frances, whom she has already decided she definitely cannot trust. It's not like Beatrice has proven herself to be more trustworthy, but that conversation they exchanged in this same office, back when Rhiannon was giving her first interview, has to count for something.

          It was one of the rare times someone was willing to put themselves in her shoes, realizing she has spent her entire life living in the shadow of her parents and, especially, of her sister; the one time she decided to do something for her was also the one time she got in serious trouble.

          Well, that and accepting to be a part of this experiment, but, just like it happened two years ago, she brought it upon herself.

          Nevertheless, she's not willing to be turned into a sob story or even a tragedy. She wants to be remembered for having been brave—reckless, even—and for having cared.

          "I have some questions," she eventually confesses, "about the experiment." Rhiannon gulps when Beatrice sits down and interlaces her fingers over her desk. It's such a simple gesture, yet it sends her heartbeat into erratic rhythms. "I'm sure you've heard about what happened today during Professor McCall's lecture with Hailey." Beatrice simply nods, and Rhiannon takes that as an opportunity to sit in front of her. "I've . . . been having some doubts. I'm not going to lie and say I know all about Psychology experiments, but what she said and what Matteo said is true. That much I know."

          "And how do you think I'll be able to help?"

          Rhiannon straightens herself. "Were you saying the truth when you explained why our group is so small?"

          "We're planning on replicating this experiment with a larger group if our hypothesis is confirmed." Beatrice always speaks in such a robotic manner when it comes to the experiment Rhiannon is unsure whether she does it because she's so familiar with it and with what she's doing or if she's hiding something. Both options seem to be equally plausible. "We're testing the waters, if that makes sense. It was safer to start with a small sample and move on from there if all goes well."

          Rhiannon exhales. "And who's participant zero? You said you had chosen one of us at random and . . ."

          ". . . based the rest of the sample around them. Yes. We're not allowed to disclose that"—Rhiannon grits her teeth, because of course they aren't—"but I can tell you we chose participant zero completely at random and chose the second participant through them. The third one was chosen through the second participant's relationships and so on. Perhaps it wasn't quite as ethical as we had hoped we'd make this, but it seems to have worked. Is that all?"

          No. Not at all.

          Rhiannon has a full list of questions she wants to ask, including why Laura is so involved in this (and she certainly doesn't want to think she has had anything to do with what happened to Taylor), but most of them wouldn't bring positive consequences for her.

          "Is it working?" Rhiannon continues. "The experiment, I mean."

          "You're strengthening the ties with each other, that's for certain, and, if anything, what happened to Taylor seems to have brought you closer. That's a secondary part of our research, but we thought it wouldn't happen so quickly."

          "Which is?"

          "Confidential. For now, at least." Rhiannon scowls. "I apologize, Miss Ford, but there are things we can't tell any of you, as we'd be running the risk of contaminating the results. All participants must have the exact amount of knowledge regarding the experiment and its purposes; besides, if we told you the exact purposes of this experiment, there would be no way of finding out what had caused the final results. As you might know, we're studying behavioral patterns and behavior is extremely vulnerable to external variables, hence why we're trying to control any confounders that might pop up."

          "Are you being honest with us? With all of us, not just with a select few?"

          Beatrice's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "Of course. No reason why we wouldn't be."