CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CONFORMITY

( — change in one's behavior or belief in the direction shown by others. )

— ♡ —

          RHIANNON IS PRETTY SURE SHE'S SECONDS AWAY FROM THROWING UP. With her phone now being stuffed in her cardigan's pocket, since she lacks the courage to do the right thing and call an ambulance, she's able to cover her mouth with her free hand. It also helps her to not scream, like Matteo advised she should do, but that's hard to do considering what's right at the bottom of the stairs.

          It wasn't here when she went to bed and, though she doesn't dare to touch it, it must still be warm. That means nothing when she can already feel the putrid smell emanating from it, even if it's all just in her head and her sympathetic nervous system is simply playing tricks on her; it wants her to run away from this, which would be the smart thing to do, but she's frozen.

          A sob escapes from her throat, fleeing through the spaces between her fingers, and Matteo takes a hesitant step forward, as if anything he could do could make this any bit better. He even reaches out a hand towards her to help her jump over the body, but she cowers against the wall.

          "Don't touch me," she whispers. "Don't touch me."

          "I have no idea who did this," he admits, never drawing back his hand, and she whimpers, unable to look away, as if there were flashing neon arrows surrounding it. Look at me! Look at me! "We're . . . we're in the living room. We—"

          "Someone's dead, Matteo!" she snaps, hesitantly pulling herself up with the help of the railing, and Matteo's dark eyes glisten like the starry night sky. "I—you—I can't—how can you be so calm? This—"

          "Rhea, please—"

          She swings her legs over the railing, one at the time, and her foot slips when she hits the ground, even with the friction of the soles of her sneakers. Matteo tries to steady her fall, but she does it herself. When she looks up at him, someone who easily towers over everyone else, she can barely distinguish his facial features, with tears clouding her vision.

          "Jude," Rhiannon blurts out.

          "Rhiannon—"

          "Where is he?"

          "In the kitchen," Matteo quickly reveals, holding her shoulders with trembling hands when she tries to walk past him. "You need to be careful."

          "Is he hurt? 'Teo, is he hurt?"

          "Yes."

          As if things tonight weren't already messy enough, this makes it even worse. Her heart instantly sinks, dropping down to her stomach, and she tries to break free from his hold to run her shaky fingers through her hair. Said heart, which can't possibly take more beating, is barely unable to keep pumping blood, covered in sheer terror and worry, and Rhiannon knows exactly how she could have prevented this from happening.

          "I found him," Matteo continues, and Rhiannon can't pretend to not be crying for one second longer. "Jude, I mean. I was in my room, and I . . . I found him there. Unconscious. It took so long I almost thought . . . God." He rubs his cheek with his hand. "He'll be fine, Rhea. He told me he was just looking for a pulse when someone knocked him out. He was with you the whole time, so there's no way he . . . besides, he had no motive. He'd never hurt anyone."

          Rhiannon knows that. Of course she does. She didn't think, not even for a split second, Jude had anything to do with the body resting a few inches away from them; what worries her the most is how they'll be able to prove it once the police start collecting statements. The camera in her room is still on, along with the one upstairs, and she can only hope some in the living room managed to catch Jude getting knocked out.

          "McCall is dead," she states, in a raspy voice, and Matteo nods. "God. What—what are we supposed to do? I'm pretty sure Beatrice is minutes away from barging inside the house, not to mention Connor!"

          "Pretty sure we can handle Connor."

          "Yeah, well, I can't! There's a dead professor in our living room, the cameras are conveniently turned off, Jude is probably suffering from a concussion wherever the hell you've chosen to hide him and I don't see anyone calling 911 because you probably think this will solve itself!"

          Matteo huffs. "Look, go check on Jude, okay? And, for the love of God, don't touch anything. Most importantly, don't touch the body. People are freaked out enough as it is."

          As they should be, she mentally adds, as she finally walks past him with wobbly legs. After all, one of them killed Frances and we have no idea of knowing who it was.

          In order to get to the kitchen, Rhiannon has to cross the living room and face the rest of the participants. Everything about it feels sketchy, especially considering Frances is dead and they're a few minutes away from it being Tuesday, meaning they shouldn't all be here. Some of them might have come to the house after being called or texted by the others, but Rhiannon's walls are rebuilding themselves on their own.

          These people cannot possibly be trusted. One of them killed Frances. One of them knocked out Jude. It might even have been the same person.

          There, the first person she acknowledges is Roman, weeping quietly on an armchair. It snaps her heart in even more pieces, if that's possible at this point, and she almost wants to stop in her tracks to talk to him, as this must be incredibly frightening for him, but her words get stuck in her throat.

          Hailey, standing by the fireplace, looks away from the fire when she hears Rhiannon's footsteps, looking like a small child who has found herself in the middle of something much, much bigger than her. Gabriella, tall and elegant, stands next to her, not uttering a word.

          Jude, like Matteo said, is in the kitchen, with a bag of ice pressed against the back of his head, but still finds the energy to turn to the entrance when he hears her enter the room. He's not alone, with Zelda standing next to him, and she keeps the bag of ice in place when he drops his hand.

          "When did you get here?" Rhiannon questions, as if it was the most important question she could be asking at the moment. Besides Jude and Matteo, there are only two other people in this house she knows she can trust, while others remain in the gray area of ambivalence. Zelda belongs there. "I'll do that."

          "I just did," she confesses, without blinking, and lets Rhiannon be in charge of the ice. "I was out with my parents the whole night. My sister's pregnant, so we . . . we went to her house to celebrate. What's going on? Who did that to McCall?"

          "Most likely the same person who knocked me out," Jude grumbles, through gritted teeth, and Rhiannon's chest tightens as she sets a hand on his back, right over his spine. He relaxes significantly with her touch. "Wish I knew, but I didn't have time to react. I got up to go to the bathroom and saw . . . I saw him lying there. It freaked me out and no one was around, so I thought I should check for a pulse before doing anything. Then, someone hit me in the head. When I woke up, the cameras in the living room were off."

          Rhiannon gasps. "The cameras were on before that?"

          "Yeah"—he winces when she accidentally presses the bag too hard—"but those things are always flickering on and off. I'm guessing whoever killed Frances made sure to turn them off before it happened and then back on so as to not raise any suspicions."

          He doesn't avoid her eyes as he speaks, and Rhiannon knows him well enough to know exactly when he's lying or hiding something. This isn't one of those times, but there has to be evidence to confirm his word (and hers), as they'll find his fingertips on Frances' body, as he checked for a pulse.

          There are many ways this can go wrong, and it's all finally starting to kick in.

          Her free hand, hanging limply at her side, is shaking so badly she would have easily dropped her phone if she hadn't set it on the counter. There's something wild, feral in her chest, barely being held back by her rib-cage, and the startle makes her drop the bag.

          Someone died in the same house where she was while she was sound asleep, oblivious to everything. Whoever killed that person might have also knocked Jude out and might be sitting in the living room right now and she has no way of knowing who they are; it means they're still in danger and it gets worse the longer they stay here.

          "I'm packing up," she reveals, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her bones chatter and crack. "We're going to the hospital."

          "Rhea," Jude mutters.

          "No," she insists, and it comes out as a strange sound, an actual word mixed with a prototype of a sob. "No. You and I are leaving this house right now. You might have a concussion, or something, and this situation is bad—this is really, really bad, Jude."

          He looks up at her with tear-filled eyes, which instantly breaks whichever armor she was wearing, and nods once, as it's all his sore head can take at the moment. Rhiannon excuses herself, sprinting across the living room and not giving anyone an opportunity to call or grab her, and catches the quickest glimpse of all the candles resting on a coffee table.

          It turns out stuffing personal belongings into bags is hard to do when you're crying and Rhiannon finds it out through personal experience. Her blurry vision turns it into a harder, slower task than it should be, but it gets done eventually.

          Roman decides to tag along, and she mentally curses herself for even thinking about leaving him behind. He's lost, confused about what the hell happened and what will happen next, and Rhiannon feels terrible, with a revolving stomach, even, as she slips her arm through his and drags him without any courtesy towards his room to gather his stuff.

          The cold air of the evening bites into their skin like vampire fangs as soon as they step outside and Rhiannon can't even think of it as a fresh breath. Matteo chose to stay, Hailey is not leaving, Frances is dead, Beatrice may or may not know about what happened and the candles are burning. The anonymous person who has been texting her has stayed silent after the time's up text and it feels bittersweet, as they could know something. Hell, they might know Frances is dead.

          Roman insists he'll stay in the campus, with Rhiannon offering to walk him to his dorm room and making Jude promise he'll stay right where he is, right next to the security guards watching the parking lot. It pains her to leave him like this, especially after he complained about how lightheaded he feels, but it serves as motivation to hurry up.

          "He's dead," Roman murmurs, outside of his room, "isn't he? Frances?"

          "Yeah," she confirms. "He is."

          "Do you know who did it?"

          "No." His fingers gently wave in the space between them before taking her arm, fingers pressing against her wrist. "What are you doing?"

          "Checking your pulse. To see if you're lying." Rhiannon instantly tenses up, suddenly aware of the effects it'll have on her heart rate. "I didn't mean to spook you, but I can't exactly look you in the eyes."

          "I'm sorry. I'm . . . pretty freaked out about all of this. I don't want to get involved; all I need is . . . is to take Jude to the hospital." He nods, dropping her arm. "Will you be okay?"

          "Eventually." He swings back and forth on his heels, as if there was something else he wanted to say. "Listen . . . you take care, yes?"

          She hums, watching him hide inside his room, and bolts off, wishing there was a possible way of running at the speed of sound. Jude hands her his car keys as soon as she meets up with him, out of breath thanks to having crossed the entire campus twice and having seen a dead body, and everything is fine until they step inside his car.

          He holds his breath, as it's a small space, even if it's one of the few small spaces he doesn't feel totally uncomfortable in, and she inserts the keys into the ignition. Then, she leans forward, firmly holding the steering wheel, rests her forehead against it, and breaks into sobs.

          Jude leaves her be, with a hand set on her leg, and it's the most he can afford to do right now—it's also all she could be asking for, as he's even more affected by this than she is and is still putting her comfort and well-being in the first place. They stay like that and time passes slowly until she gathers enough courage to pick up her phone.

          There are no texts, but that's not why she did it. Instead, she scrolls through her contact list, gasping for air like a fish out of water, and tries to not think about how she's forcing Jude to waste precious time—time that can prove to be critical.

          The person picks up after four rings. "Rhiannon? It's past midnight—"

          "I need you," she blurts out, and Jude leans forward almost imperceptibly. "Can you . . . can you meet me at the hospital? Something bad happened and I . . . I don't know what to do."

          "What's going on? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

          "Jude. It's Jude." Jude tightens the hold on her knee at the mention of his name, even though he doesn't know who Rhiannon is talking to. Frankly, she doesn't even know why she's talking to them. "Meet me there? Please?"

          "Look—"

          "Please."

          "Fine. But, Rhiannon—"

          The conversation is cut short by the distant, yet distinct sound of an explosion, and Rhiannon lifts her head so quickly she gets whiplash, turning off the call by reflex. Even though they're still in the parking lot, they see the orange hues cast in the night sky . . . right where the experiment house is located.

          She doesn't think twice before starting the car, ready to get out of this place as quickly as possible. The engine rumbles like a thunderstorm and Jude almost gets thrown against his seat when she presses her foot against the accelerator pedal. Since they'll have to drive past the house anyway on their way to the hospital, she breathes through her mouth in a pathetic attempt of bracing herself for it.

          The house has turned into a flaming fortress, emanating smoke and embers. There's screaming and panicking everywhere Rhiannon looks and, when they stop at a red light, far away enough so they won't be affected by the fire, she and Jude don't dare to utter a word. The vehicle is dead silent, with their erratic breathing being the only audible sound, and she knows they're both thinking about the same things.

          Matteo. Getting rid of evidence. Frances.

          Jude tells her to drive. When she hesitates, he firmly insists.

          Everything after that is close to a blur. Arriving at the hospital, navigating through the traffic inside, texting Jude's parents and letting nurses take care of him—it all happens too quickly for Rhiannon's mind to properly process it. She follows them into an observation room, praying Jude won't lose consciousness, and worries about when she'll have to let go of his hand.

          Sean and Samantha Sargent arrive shortly after, breaking into the room, but Jude is already under the white sheets of a bed, connected to a heart rate monitor. He has a concussion, but it's not too serious, so he's only staying at the hospital for monitoring (and, most likely, to be questioned by the police, but Rhiannon doesn't say that out loud).

          "Honey, you can go rest," Samantha assures her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "We'll be here and we'll call you if anything happens, okay? Don't worry."

          Rhiannon is certain everyone in the room feels her ambivalence, but she still leans down to press a gentle kiss to Jude's forehead and decides to let him rest as well. The worst has already passed and no one can hurt him here, especially when his parents are around. Outside, however, there's utter chaos.

          Hailey stumbles across the hallway, barely finding the strength to stand upright on her feet, and collapses into Beatrice's arms, sending an instant stab of guilt into Rhiannon's chest as Hailey's hysterical sobs echo around them. She struggles to break free, even though she and Beatrice have slid down a wall and are now sitting on the floor, and demands to know where Gabriella is.

          They must have gotten separated with the panic and rush to run away from the fire, but Rhiannon wants to believe Gabriella's safe, even if her whereabouts are currently unknown, at least to Hailey. Beatrice's words have no comforting effect on her and it takes two nurses to pull her up from the floor and drag her to an observation room, ignoring all her protests.

          Beatrice slowly stands up, supporting herself on the wall, and her eyes finally meet Rhiannon's. The latter instantly straightens herself.

          "Rhiannon," Beatrice greets. "My goodness. Are you . . . are you alright?"

          "I suppose," she replies, rubbing her arms and falling to a plastic chair in the waiting room. "Jude, Roman and I, we . . . we got out way before the fire broke out. Is Gabriella—"

          "I have no idea. I just got here." She runs her fingers through her hair and Rhiannon glances at the bag she's carrying, seeing the side of her silver laptop peeking out. "Is—"

          "The footage of the surveillance cameras," Rhiannon chimes in. "What do you do with it?"

          Beatrice quirks an eyebrow, sitting down next to her. "It gets automatically copied in the control room, just to ensure we won't lose it, even if something happens to the cameras later. Thankfully, it might save some of you." She purses her lips together. "I went there after the fire to get a second copy. What's going on?"

          "The cameras went down on New Year's Eve, but it was strangely convenient that they've been on and off throughout the evening." Rhiannon sighs, with trembling shoulders. "The one in the hallway upstairs was on, but I'm willing to assume it was turned off right before Frances died."

          "The cameras downstairs are connected to a main one," Beatrice explains, pulling her laptop out of her bag, "and, if that one goes down, the remaining all shut down. If it's turned on, the others do the same. The ones in the upstairs hallway and in the bedrooms are independent. It can be done manually, but we can also do it from the control room."

          Rhiannon swallows. "Did you turn them off?"

          Beatrice shakes her head. "I left the control room around nine, and they were on. Frances . . . he left before I did." She plugs a flash drive into the side of the laptop. "What do you want me to check?"

          "What Jude told me . . ." She takes a deep breath, staring down at her hands. "He told me he spent the night in my bedroom, got up to go to the bathroom and saw the body. He was checking for a pulse when someone hit him in the head. I trust him and I believe him, but . . . I just want to make sure there's concrete evidence of that once the police come to get his statement."

          Beatrice opens a folder and clicks on a video file, while Rhiannon holds her breath, watching her skip forward. She sees herself and Jude, sound asleep for nearly two hours straight, and there are no skips in the footage, meaning that camera certainly wasn't tampered with; Jude gets up shortly before eleven, and Beatrice pauses the video to open another folder, presumably the one containing the footage from the hallway camera. There, Jude is crossing the hallway towards the bathrooms, as it's the only thing in that direction, but stops abruptly, staring at the staircase.

          She's not sure she wants to see it, but she keeps watching it. Jude sprints down the stairs, nearly tripping over his feet, and Beatrice switches the camera to one downstairs. It was conveniently turned on at some point, but they both gasp in shock as they notice all the skips when Beatrice moves the timer back to ten-thirty.

          The camera is on when Frances is downstairs, and it feels like watching a ghost being caught on camera. He's walking up the stairs, firmly holding the railing, and the frame skips; Beatrice nearly drops the laptop when it happens, with the time marking ten-forty-six, and Frances is lying in the exact same position Rhiannon found him, immobile.

          There are sixteen minutes of missing footage, but that's exactly when Jude takes the final step down the stairs, falling on his knees next to Frances. Rhiannon has to bite down on her bottom lip to prevent herself from screaming or crying, and watches him place his index and middle finger on the side of Frances' neck, trying to find a pulse.

          That's when someone hits him and he falls to the side, unconscious, and it's as if a puppet's strings were cut off. It's as easy as blowing out a candle, except he was infinitely luckier than Frances, who fell from a much greater height. Matteo shows up quickly after, running down the stairs as well, and immediately tries to check for any signs of life left in Jude.

          There's no remaining footage after ten-forty-eight, and whoever hit Jude was careful enough to not get caught by any cameras (Beatrice checks the others, but the angles are super helpful as far as that person is concerned).

          Not only that, but the camera upstairs, in the hallway, was also off for a few minutes, only being turned back on shortly before Jude woke up. It's no coincidence that said time span matches the period during which the cameras in the living room were unavailable almost perfectly.

          "There's the alibi you were looking for," Beatrice weakly murmurs, and Rhiannon wants to say something minimally comforting, as Frances was her friend, regardless of how despicable the participants found him to be, and she just saw him dead. "You're safe. Jude's safe. I'm pretty sure other participants are also safe if we check the footage from the bedroom cameras. I'll . . . I'll keep this somewhere safe and back it all up to send to the police. You don't have to worry."

          Rhiannon nods. "Thank you." Beatrice mimics her nod, closing her laptop and stuffing it back into her bag before standing up. Rhiannon, with a sore throat as if she had inhaled any smoke, feels about to collapse. "And I'm sorry. About Frances. I know you two were friends."

          Beatrice sighs, fingers clenched around her bag's fake leather strap. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry too. Sorry for him, sorry that you kids had to go through something like this—finding him, the fire . . . I don't care how mature you think you are. You're still just kids."

          Once she leaves, Rhiannon stands up, ready to leave this place, but something small and warm, like a lap dog, runs into her and she's almost knocked back with the impact. Isla, throwing her arms around her neck, has to stand on her toes to make up for the height difference between the two of them, but holds on to the back of Rhiannon's cardigan for dear life.

          Isla eventually steps back, hands set on her shoulders. "Dude. Dude. Are you—are you okay? Are you hurt? I drove here as soon as I—"

          "I'm fine. Isla, I'm fine," Rhiannon repeats, noticing just how close her best friend is to turning into a sobbing mess, and she doesn't know if she'd be able to take it. "I'm fine. Jude and I weren't there when the fire started."

          "Still." Isla sniffles. "I was so scared. I thought . . . I thought something bad had happened to you and the last thing I ever told you was—"

          "It's okay. Really."

          Isla inhales. "Your sister—I saw her. She's outside, looking for—"

          "I know. I called her."

— ♡ —

as if i'd EVER do that to jude lmao he's my baby

anyway heeeeey i promise following chapters won't be as long (unless you want them to be; this one, like chapter 20, was 4.1k words long) because i don't want it to drag on buuuuut it had to be done and i didn't think it'd be a good idea to split this particular chapter into two