CHAPTER TWENTY

BYSTANDER EFFECT

( — the way people will wait for someone else to offer assistance when they see something happen. )

— ♡ —

          JUDE IS LAUGHING.

          Granted, he's also smashed drunk and smiles at anything that moves, so, technically, it shouldn't count that much for most people, but Rhiannon is just glad she gets to witness it, regardless of the underlying motives. She's curled up on a couch, watching him exit the kitchen with two red plastic cups on his hands, held high up above his head, and he laughs at something Zelda says.

          After handing Rhiannon her cup, he immediately loses his balance and falls to Matteo's lap, who's sitting on the opposite end of her couch. It's more than enough to send him into a fit of laughter, face buried in the crook of Matteo's neck and his free arm swung around his shoulders. Rhiannon merely sips her beer, the bitter taste scratching the walls of her esophagus as it goes down.

          Maybe throwing an exclusive New Year's Eve party for the participants of the experiment wasn't the best idea they could have had, but they're bonding, strengthening the ties between them, and influencing their own behavior, which is exactly what Frances and Beatrice wanted.

          The means justify the ends, and they've certainly never specified which means they were looking for.

          She has had enough beer to last her for a lifetime, but Jude can hold his liquor, so no one is batting an eye, not even her. They think it's frankly entertaining and it certainly beats watching TV and feeling sorry for themselves, so they let him do whatever he wants . . . partially because no one is entirely sober either.

          Rhiannon isn't having fun, regardless. It's been weeks since the Frances Incident during her Calculus exam and the bruises have since vanished from her arm, but the memories remain . . . and so do the feelings of uneasiness. Since she and Jude returned to Crowcrest after Christmas, she's lucky to not have run into Frances that often, but, on the rare times they happened to be in the same room, her heart instantly plummeted down to her feet.

          He's hiding something, that's for certain, but Rhiannon isn't sure she wants to know what it is. With so many people insisting he's dangerous and the knowledge of how he (along with Beatrice) is covering for whoever killed Taylor, all she wants to do is keep a safe distance from him, but it's her presence in his experiment that has been helping her get her life back on track.

          She's also not sure whether Laura can be trusted or not. She might be friends with Gabriella, Sutton and Hailey, but she's also having private meetings with Frances and Beatrice to talk about Taylor; part of her thinks the secret meeting she eavesdropped wasn't a one-time occurrence, but Hailey is the one who's been pointing fingers at everyone. Friends don't betray each other like this and, if Laura knows anything about what happened to Taylor, perhaps she should speak up instead of keeping everyone in the dark to protect two professors.

          Taylor might have been friends with Hailey, but who's to say she wasn't also friends with the rest of the group? Though Sutton has been keeping a distance from them and Gabriella tends to stand on the sidelines, letting Hailey handle things, Taylor could have easily been a part of their clique at some point, with there having been some kind of a fallout.

          Some fallouts certainly aren't pretty. Perhaps theirs was bad enough to have devastating consequences, and not just the splitting of a group of friends. Gabriella wouldn't hurt a fly and was genuinely shocked when Taylor's body was found, much like Hailey absolutely lost it, but Rhiannon somehow managed to repress most memories from that night—including Sutton and Laura's reactions and their presence.

          She and Isla are currently not speaking and she understands why, but she knows nothing would be as wrecking to force them to ever hurt each other. They can argue, but they're still sisters. They're still constants in each other's lives.

          Taylor, on the other hand . . . Laura and Frances certainly didn't have nice things to say about her that day.

          "Rhea," Matteo calls, interrupting her inner monologue, and Rhiannon is suddenly awfully aware of the layer of sweat covering the nape of her neck and getting woven into her hair. He keeps an arm loosely wrapped around Jude, who's still busy giggling. "Do you mind?"

          "Have him sit on my lap?" she questions, setting her cup aside.

          "Pay attention to him," Matteo corrects, giving Jude a gentle push to the left so he slides to the empty spot between them. He lightly bounces on the pillow when he falls, like a small child having the greatest time ever, and, surprisingly, manages to not spill the cup's contents. "Jude, I love you, but you've drooled all over my shoulder."

          Jude ignores him, scooting closer to her, and even turns to face her, with an elbow set on the pillows of the couch. After a few moments of silence, he rests his head against his arm, but his hazel eyes never dart away from hers, examining every inch of her facial expression.

          Even in the middle of a drunken haze, there's still that spark of innocence in his eyes, wide open, and Rhiannon is determined to keep things that way, even if this experiment and Northrop and McCall's lies threaten to ruin it.

          "You okay?" he questions, briefly leaning forward to set his cup on the coffee table before returning to his previous, more comfortable position. Rhiannon shrugs, fixing the flaps of her cardigan, and pulls her knees close to her chest. "You seem . . . off."

          "Nice to know your analytical skills don't mysteriously vanish even when you're drunk." Jude shifts in his seat and Rhiannon has to lower one of her legs, with the fabric of her jeans digging into her skin in the crook of her knee. That gives him an opportunity to set a hand on said knee, leaning forward almost imperceptibly, and she lets her head loll back until it's resting on the pillows. "I don't know. I'm tired. Totally not in a party mood."

          Rhiannon's body is tense, with stiff muscles and a tingling gnawing at the base of her head, but the steady, gentle pressure of Jude's hand on her leg almost makes it disappear. Almost.

          "Do you want a glass of water?" Jude asks, his thumb drawing tiny lines over her jeans. She risks a small nod, doubting his movements are steady enough to let him head back into the kitchen without knocking down a vase, but he's surprisingly swift. That gives her enough time to catch Matteo's attention.

          "'Teo," she calls, leaning across the couch towards him. "Can I ask you something?"

          "I cannot believe you kicked Jude out of the couch just for some gossip," he replies, but also helps shorten the distance between them. Even so, he has to slightly raise his voice to be heard over the music blasting from the speakers, and Rhiannon can't help but wonder what Beatrice and Frances must be thinking as they sit in the control room. "What's up?"

          "How close are you and Sutton?"

          He knits his brows together. "Close enough. Why?"

          Her stomach tightens, and it's not just due to the alcohol bubbling in her stomach, distorting her perception. If there's one thing she can detect in someone's speech, it's avoidance—she knows all about avoiding uncomfortable conversations and dodging important questions. "Then I'm sure you know Hailey and Taylor used to be friends, right?" Matteo hesitantly nods. "Do you happen to know if Taylor was friends with the rest of the girls? I assumed she was friends with Gabby too, but I'm not close to Sutton . . . or Laura."

          Matteo massages the side of his neck. "Sutton never really mentions her. She used to, back when she first went missing and then after she was found, but it was mostly because of Dimitri. He was friends with them, I believe. She . . . doesn't like talking about Taylor, okay? Can't say I blame her, especially with Hailey pointing fingers at everything that moves."

          "Hailey's just trying to figure out what happened to her friend," Rhiannon points out, straightening herself when Jude returns, holding a crystal glass. "I can't blame her."

          Matteo exhales, standing up. "Yeah. I suppose you can't. But if you have any questions about their group, you should ask them, not me. I know better than to get involved in girl drama." Rhiannon knows he's dying to make some snarky comment to power up his dramatic exit. She just knows it. "With that being said, talk to Isla, will you? We're all tired of serving as messengers because you two randomly decided you weren't speaking to each other."

          Rhiannon barely resists the urge of rolling her eyes at him, but he disappears before she actually gets a chance to do it and Jude uses that opportunity to fall back to his seat. She could tell him about her theory, but it's so rough, so stupid she fears how he'd react, especially when he knows a lot more about this situation than she does; plus, the last time she opened her mouth, he flipped out, not to mention Isla's previous reaction.

          Yes, she should talk to Isla. The problem is that she doesn't know what to say and it's been ages since they last saw each other, being busy with finals and their own personal lives, but Rhiannon can't hold it against her.

          Hailey would hold this against Rhiannon if she even suspected she has a theory she's choosing to keep to herself. She'd never forgive her if she knew what Rhiannon heard Frances, Beatrice and Laura discuss—the professors are covering for someone, with Gabriel Guerreiro serving as a safety net, but even those can snap. There will come a time when everyone involved in this mess will get caught up in their own web of lies and the truth will come out, but Rhiannon fears even more people will get hurt.

          She might have walked past the person (or people) who did it. Maybe she has talked to them.

          Whatever happened to Taylor could happen to anyone. They're using the urban legends surrounding Vofield to cover it up, but there's no one in this entire town who knows those legends as well as Gabriel does, and she knows him. She knows he preaches for honesty and companionship, not competition and covering up each other's tracks.

          You cover up for your friends when they copy on an exam. You don't cover for them when they might have done something illegal.

          "Do you want to lie down?"

          Rhiannon blinks. "What?"

          Jude raises a hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Do you want to lie down? You're turning green."

          "And miss midnight? Besides, with the music . . . the screaming . . . the fireworks . . . I'm not sure I'd be able to rest."

          "No, I know, but I really think you need a bed. In a totally innocent way," he quickly adds, with a gentle pink flush covering his cheeks, and dimples show up when he throws her an embarrassed smile. "I hope I'm not sounding like a total jerk right now. I'll let people know you're not feeling too well."

          Rhiannon, being a lot sober than he currently is, jumps from the couch and reaches out a hand towards him, pulling him up when he takes it. He trips over his own feet, nearly falling on top of her, but she laughs it off, with arms surprisingly strong enough to support his weight.

          He slides a hand into her hair, holding the back of her head to pull her close, and she swears she can hear him whisper 'I love you' against her mouth right before their lips meet. She had always assumed every 'I love you' uttered up until that afternoon in the library were almost purely platonic, so his words, his touch crawl under her skin, find their way into her bloodstream and get lodged in the cavities between her ribs.

          There's something not quite right upstairs. For starters, Dimitri and Brooklyn are there, standing by the door leading to the room he shares with Jude, and hold a whispered conversation. Secondly, there are no flashing red dots on the cameras and this might be the first time Rhiannon has ever seen these things turned off.

          Jude disappears into the bedroom to go grab a warmer sweater, while she waits in the hallway. Things didn't work out in her favor the last time she decided to stay and eavesdrop on a conversation, but she's hidden in the shadows and Brooklyn and Dimitri don't acknowledge her presence.

          ". . . texting her," Dimitri says. "We never found out who it was, but it was getting worse as the days went by. I told her she should tell the police before it got dangerous, but she said she could handle a threat or two. Except it wasn't just a threat or two."

          "What did those texts say?" Brooklyn questions, and Rhiannon tightens the hold on the door handle.

          "They were always super . . . cryptic, I think. Then they started sounding a lot more serious, saying they'd end her if she opened her mouth, whoever they are; Taylor shrugged it off, thinking they were bluffing, but she knew who they were. She knew something those people didn't want her to know."

          "Have you told the police?"

          "Obviously," Dimitri protests. "They have her phone as evidence. They'll find the texts and, hopefully, they'll be able to track down the number if the texts didn't come from a blocked number. I'm pretty sure they'll figure it out anyway even if it was." A pregnant pause, appropriately timed to never allow Rhiannon's heartbeat return to regular rhythms in anticipation. "They've . . . they've been texting me now. Telling me to keep my nose out of it because they know a lot more about me that I know about them—they know how to hurt me. They know how to hurt people I care about."

          Rhiannon doesn't get to listen to anything else, as Jude exits his room in that exact moment and she's forced to rush inside hers, being careful enough to let him see her and not make any sounds simultaneously. The lone camera in her bedroom is also turned off and she knits her brows together, staring up at it and finding her minuscule reflection in the lens.

          Jude stays, falling asleep shortly after crashing on her bed, and sleeps through the music and the fireworks. Rhiannon can't afford such luxuries, wondering how convenient it has been that she has managed to listen to the most important parts of the two conversations she has eavesdropped lately.

          It can't be a coincidence. There's no space for that.

— ♡ —

          THE ANONYMOUS TEXTS ARRIVE A WEEK LATER. They're not threatening in the slightest, feeling like they're giving out advice Rhiannon didn't really ask for; the anonymous person on the other side says they think she should tell Hailey the truth, that she should trust the rest of the participants with the real reason why she got disowned and that she should talk to Dimitri.

          She ignores them all. Whoever they are, they don't know nearly enough about the current circumstances; if they did, they'd realize opening her mouth is one of the worst decisions she could possibly make.

          Treating herself to a tiny bowl of frozen yogurt on January 14 isn't one of them. Even though it's a chilly morning and Crowcrest is, as usual, covered in a thick, heavy layer of fog, much like the rest of Vofield, Rhiannon is finally convincing herself she's deserving of nice things every once in a while.

          Everything is fine until she sees her.

          Isla is not alone, but that's not surprising; with the number of people she knows, both in and out of Crowcrest, it'd be a lot more shocking if she hadn't found a new group to hang out with. She shoots them a brief glance, ultimately standing on her toes to press a quick kiss to Rowan's lips before letting him walk away towards the offices. Isla, on the other hand, walks towards them, and Rhiannon nearly drops her frozen yogurt, sitting cross-legged on a concrete block.

          She doesn't stop. She walks right past the group, throwing Jude and Matteo a quick nod and ignoring Rhiannon's presence . . . which is a considerable feat, since Rhiannon's height is always hard to miss, even while sitting down, even while having a small, willowy frame. Without a word, she swallows what's left of her breakfast, with it tasting like cardboard, and waltzes away towards the auditorium.

          Isla's silence hurts, especially when Rhiannon remembers Isla agreed with her theory, regardless of how far-fetched it could be at the time. Now that more evidence has surfaced thanks to the experiment (which doesn't mean it has been released to the public, since Rhiannon is great at keeping secrets), it seems more plausible than ever. She's hurt, of course she is, since Gabriel is still her father and everyone likes the man, but Rhiannon meant no harm.

          Her phone buzzes when she's already sitting in her usual seat, halfway through pulling her notebook out of her bag. Jude cranes his neck when she jumps with a start, staring down at the screen, but she rushes to ignore the text and shove the blocked device back inside a pouch.

          BLOCKED NUMBER, 8:13 AM:  She needs to know. Preferably from you.

          "Who's that?" Jude questions, with a heavy textbook set on his lap. The massive whiteboard covering the wall behind the professor's desk reads 'NEUROGENETICS'.

          "I have no idea," Rhiannon confesses. "I wish they'd stop texting me. If this is someone's idea of a prank, I really fear for their sense of humor." She pauses, playing with a loose string of her knit sweater. "On New Year's Eve, I heard Dimitri talking to Brooklyn. He said . . . someone had been texting Taylor before she went missing, and the texts seemed harmless at first, but then they turned into full-blown threats and warnings to keep her mouth shut about whatever she knew."

          Jude's eyes widen. "Rhea . . ."

          "He thinks the police will find out who these people were now that they have her phone, but I think this is someone messing with me. They think I should tell Hailey about what I heard. They think I should update Isla." She chews down on her bottom lip. "It's really not like what happened to Taylor. I'm not being threatened."

          "Neither was she, until she was." He sets a gentle hand on her wrist. "Don't you think that's too similar to her situation? They thought she knew too much and maybe they think the same about you."

          "Jude," she insists. "This is someone trying to dictate how I should live my life, but I've had enough of letting other people be in charge of it. It's my turn."

          "What if it's not an innocent benefactor, though? What if . . . what if it's the same person?" He briefly looks away, as the rest of the class begins to fill the auditorium. "I don't want you to get hurt."

          She covers his hand with her free one. "It's not. Trust me. They wouldn't be stupid to the point of even thinking about turning to me." She thinks she tries to smile, but the hesitation never leaves his eyes, with his fingers twitching under hers. "After all, I'm the one who threw my parents' entire business under the bus for personal gain. That's the type of person I am."

          "That's not what happened."

          "Yes, but they don't know that. As far as they know, I acted alone and my parents took the blame as a last favor; the last part is true, but they don't have to know I also got screwed over. All they need to know is that I can screw them over too."

          Her phone is silent during the rest of the morning, the entire afternoon and the early evening. That's when she drags herself to bed, shortly after dinner, not feeling like socializing; she could return to her dorm room, since it's Monday and it's not the day when they all have to be in the experiment house, but Isla still scares her a bit.

          Avoiding her problems until they pile up doesn't frighten her nearly as much, so it's what she chooses to do.

          Jude stops by around thirty minutes later, when she still hasn't drifted to sleep, and she scoots closer to the wall to give him more space. He sighs when she curls into a ball, with an arm loosely wrapped around his waist, and one of his surrounds her shoulders, fingers threading through her hair. His heartbeat, slow and steady under her ear, serves as the perfect lullaby.

          "Jude," she murmurs, after what seemed like an eternity.

          "Mhmm?"

          "I love you."

          He shifts on the bed to press a quick kiss to her forehead. "I love you too. More than anything."

          She's alone when she wakes up, with the cold breeze of the night entering the room through the open window. The branches of the trees surrounding the experiment residence slam against the glass as she props herself up on an elbow, reaching out for her phone to check the time, but she's greeted by something much worse.

          BLOCKED NUMBER, 11:21 PM: Time's up.

          Rhiannon is fully awake when she jumps out of bed, grabbing a cardigan and sliding her arms inside the sleeves. The wood floors are gelid beneath her feet, even when she puts on a pair of Converse sneakers, and she tightens the hold on her phone as she exits the room, barely even noticing the return of the flashing red light on the surveillance camera.

          It must have been turned on at some point, even though Rhiannon had gotten used to seeing it not working. The ones downstairs went back to their usual state right after New Year's Eve, meaning the experiment is still up and running, and Beatrice and Frances simply didn't want to watch a bunch of college students nearly blow up their livers. Hell, perhaps they weren't even in the control room that night.

          Stepping out of her room instantly sends shivers down her spine, with fear slowly creeping up her nerves, and heart thumps furiously against her chest. There are whispers coming from downstairs, even though she can't identify the individual voices, and it's not usual for the group to stay up for late-night conversations.

          She only realizes how wrong everything is when she begins to walk down the stairs, with her free hand holding the railing. The lights in the hallway are off, with the only source of luminosity being located in the living room itself, but it's enough for her to understand just how screwed they all are.

          The outline of a body, sprawled at the bottom of the staircase, is still easily distinguishable, with legs and arms twisted into angles that wouldn't be natural for someone who simply passed out there. Her breathing is shallow, unbelievably loud at the same time, and her stomach tightens with every step she takes, feeling like the way down is infinite.

          The cameras downstairs are off. There's not a single red light to be seen.

          "Rhea," Matteo calls, somewhere in the middle of the darkness, when she's close enough to identify the immobile person. The crimson stain flowing into their hair, oozing down their right temple, glistens under the silver lighting cast by the moonlight. Matteo himself is livid, bottom lip trembling. "Rhea, you need to be quiet."

          Gabriella's voice echoes in her ears. Someone could break their neck if they fell from this staircase.

          Rhiannon slowly crouches on the staircase, only stopping when she's sitting on one of the steps, and her fingers are curled so tightly around one of the wooden balusters it hurts. Her knuckles are scarily white, even in the middle of the dimly lit living room, almost like a beacon.

          Her voice doesn't even sound like it belongs to her. When she opens her mouth, her whisper, more similar to a gasp than to anything else, almost sounds robotic.

          "Jude?"

END OF PART ONE