CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

SKINNER'S BOX

( — a box used in experiments in animal learning, especially in operant conditioning, equipped with a mechanism that automatically gives the animal food or other reward or permits escape, as by opening a door. )

— ♡ —

          RHIANNON AND ROWAN EXCHANGE A PANICKED LOOK.

          They're frozen into place, staring at each other, with Rhiannon still holding the pen, and that takes so much of whatever time they had to run out of the office that Natalia orders them to stay hidden and closes the door. Her dark ponytail dances behind her as she bolts out, running towards the stairs, and silence returns.

          Steps echo outside. Even though they're distant, it doesn't give them a lot of space or opportunity to run out of the office, so Rowan takes her hand and drags her towards the desk, pulling her down. The gap between the drawers on both sides is so small it can barely fit the two of them, tall and lanky, and they're uncomfortably pressed together. Luckily, the back wall of the desk fully shields them from the sight of whoever comes in through that door.

          It's only then that Rhiannon notices two things. First of all, Rowan still hasn't dropped her hand, and she's slouching so that her legs can fit, so her head could easily be resting on his shoulder. Second of all—and most importantly—she's still holding the pen. The case is empty.

          Noticing her shallow breathing only comes after Rowan pulls her back by an arm. She raises the pen, in a silent attempt of telling him exactly why they're screwed, and his face instantly grows pale, the grip on her arm tightening ever so slightly. When he eases the pressure, she sighs, and her head lolls back until it falls on his shoulder.

          The office door creaks open, and Rhiannon attempts to find some stability in the limited space she's confined to. His hand finds hers again, resting on her stomach, and she inhales, trying to keep as much oxygen in her lungs as possible if they realize they'll have to run for their lives. A cough, then some steps.

         Rhiannon risks a peek through the minimal gap between the drawers and the back of the desk. From this angle, with so many things obscuring her vision, she can't see who it is; all she finds is a pair of Converse sneakers and a pair of lean legs that could belong to virtually anyone.

          She squeezes the pen tighter, so hard it would probably cause some sort of interference or strident sounds on the other side of the bug. If there's anyone listening, they must have gone deaf by now. As she does so, she can only pray the third person in the office won't notice the missing pen.

          They wait in utter, painful silence until they hear the door open and close once more, with the person's footsteps echoing in the distance. When it happens, Rhiannon isn't sure everything around her is real, as if she was watching the events on a screen, and it's Natalia's voice that brings her back to the conscious world.

          "Are you two still alive?" she questions.

          Rowan grunts, dropping Rhiannon's hand, and slides forward. "I am. My back? Not so much." Natalia scoffs. "What? I'm not getting any younger."

          "You're twenty-five. Did you see who it was? Did you get caught? Did you find anything?"

          Rhiannon raises the pen from where she is, and accepts the hand Rowan reaches out towards her to help her stand up. "This pen is bugged. It's also the same one Frances used to write her name on the experiment diagram, and he did it after all the participants had been chosen. I think he knew the room was bugged." She takes a deep breath as Matteo joins them, standing by the doorway. "He must have . . . this must have been written down as soon as he found out, or . . . whatever his intentions were, Taylor had a reason to plant this bug here, and you'll have to find her records of the footage. Look for whatever feels relevant."

          "And then what?"

          "And then, we end this. Once and for all. It's time to know exactly what Frances took with him to the grave, and why it was worth killing him for."

          "Yeah, about that." Natalia firmly crosses her arms. "Don't you think this all sounds, I don't know, really utopic? That this is the magic solution we were all searching for, and it was randomly discovered through a scribble on a corner of a page?" She eyes them all. "I don't want to discourage you, but I'm not sure we should be getting our hopes up."

          Rhiannon steps forward. "And I don't want to discourage you, but I'm going to remind you that this man was killed two months ago by someone I was part of an experiment with, and you can't tell me this is just a coincidence. It's starting to become a pattern; you keep finding new links between Frances and Taylor, our group keeps finding new links between them, and both our groups are following convergent interests. You can call this 'getting my hopes up', but there's something in these recordings that will, most likely, be the key to discovering why these two were killed, by whom and how the cases connect."

          Natalia massages her cheeks in silence, and then huffs. "Listen, lady, if you're wrong, I'm shoving that pen down your throat myself."

          Rhiannon doesn't smile. "I'm not planning on being wrong. Not this time." She turns to Matteo. "Did you see who the person was? The one who came into the office?"

          He rubs the back of his neck. "No, I'm sorry. I only saw them as soon as they turned to this hallway, and barely had time to warn Natalia. About that thing . . ." He gestures towards the pen with his chin. "I know you want to end this and, trust me, so do I, but there's just one thing I can't get out of my head. If he knew the pen was bugged, why did he keep it? Why did he keep leaving evidence when he could have simply . . . done something about it?"

          "Taylor's been dead for four months," Rowan retorts. "Who would have he talked to?"

          "I think he was being blackmailed," Rhiannon mutters, feeling the steady pressure of his hands on her shoulders, "by whoever killed him. Whatever Taylor knew, it involved him, hence why this place was bugged; he'd rather suffer the consequences of whatever Taylor had on him being out in the open than going on covering for someone else."

          "These are all assumptions," Natalia remarks. "Until we have concrete proof, that tiny bug won't save your skins, if that's what you're hoping for. One of you killed the guy."

          "We didn't," Matteo points out, gesturing over the space between him and Rhiannon, "so let's take it down a notch. If we're trying to save our skins, it's to prove our innocence, not to get away with it, which is what the person who actually killed him did. They're getting rid of the evidence—that's why we're being threatened via text. To see which of us breaks first and confesses to a crime they didn't commit."

          "You know what they say." Natalia walks past him and exits the office without waiting for anyone. "Try not killing someone the next time."

— ♡ —

          "THIS MAKES NO SENSE," Isla complains, surrounded by so many textbooks and notebooks she's almost invisible behind the piles. In front of her, there's one of the few notebooks she still hasn't filled out yet, her prized calculator and her laptop, where her email inbox is open. "It makes no sense."

          "You tell me," Rhiannon whines, rolling up the sleeves of her white cashmere sweater. With finals season arriving, she's amazed by how she found some time and patience to study while trying not to stress too much about the bug in Frances' office and everything it has brought along with it. "What's going on?"

          Isla lets out a deep sigh, glaring at the screen, and pushes her glasses up her nose. "Remember that NASA internship I applied to a few months ago, even though I shouldn't have because graduation is still a month away and I might fail everything?" Rhiannon hums in response, even though Isla failing anything doesn't sound remotely likely. "They've just emailed me about it. I got the spot." Rhiannon swings her legs out of bed, heart all warm and fuzzy, and is ready to give her best friend a hug when the latter raises a hand. "No hugs, please. No one said this was a good thing."

          "Isla, you got your dream internship; how come that isn't a good thing?"

          Isla glares at her. "My dream is to change the world. This isn't a good thing because it starts in July, meaning I don't have enough time to prepare and everyone there will see me as nothing more than a privileged, freshly out of college Canadian who has no idea how the real world works. Not to mention it's in D.C.."

          "You're the smartest person I know, and you're great at adapting to new environments; you saw how well you did here."

          "Because my father is the chancellor, and this is a small town on the coast of Nova Scotia. Everything out there is brutal." She closes the tab and reaches out for headphones before plugging them in. "I have better things to do. Want to listen to Taylor's recordings?"

          Rhiannon really has no idea how they keep doing it, time and time again. Granted, they stole Taylor's diary right under her mother's nose, but, this time, they found a way of going through the girl's room—as they thought it hid more secrets than her dorm room—with the family's consent. She wasn't there and doesn't know how they got away with it, but they found the recordings.

          She hasn't listened to a single word. It's not that she doesn't want to, as she's dying of curiosity, but she doesn't really know how to approach the subject around someone who owns a copy of the recordings—even Isla. Besides, God knows what they'll hear; they might not hear anything relevant, or, in case it's the opposite, the truth might destroy them.

          It can also set ten innocent people free, as long as they don't get accused of omitting the truth or preventing a police investigation from moving forward by withholding information.

          So, she decides to ignore all the revising she still needs to do, at least for the time being, and snuggles next to Isla (and being immensely careful not to shove any textbooks off the bed). Isla offers her one of the earphones, and opens the folder where she stores all the recordings; they're all organized by date, but Isla hesitates, her fingers never brushing against the touchpad.

         "I have to tell you something," Isla murmurs, "before we listen to anything. I've been reading the diary and, after everything we've discovered, there's still something that doesn't make sense to me. That Mark comment, on the notes between Taylor and KJ? She said Mark had it all under control and, okay, it made sense for us to think she was talking about Dimitri and/or his father since someone got her that place in Maine, but . . ."

          "Did you find anything else?"

          Isla slowly nods and leans across the bed, reaching out for the binder where she keeps the copies. "It's a September entry, one from shortly before the school year started." She flips through the pages, until she reaches one she bookmarked with a pink marker. "Taylor wrote the following excerpt. Then, there's Fitzgerald—who we already know is Frances—and Mark; I can confess I never saw that one coming, even though I had my suspicions (hence the swarm from the beginning of September) but, then again, it had been an eternity since I last spoke to Mark, so I have no idea what's going on inside their head. I do, however, know what is inside of mine, and know I really wish I could erase the memories of that day from my mind, but there's only one thing left for me to do. Crowcrest needs to know the truth, as it wouldn't be fair for them not to." Isla sighs once more. "Mark can't be Dimitri, since I remember seeing them before she left, and this all happened in a time where they were okay and totally speaking to each other. The only person she didn't use a nickname for was KJ and that's because she barely mentioned him, but Mark is referred to so many times it's impossible for it to not be a code name. That excludes Dimitri's father."

          "Now what?"

          "Taylor only said Mark had it all under control after KJ asked her if she was certain she'd be safe, and then he said he highly doubted it, after all they had done. I think Mark . . ."

          ". . . is the anonymous texter and the person who killed her." Isla nods. "Mark is also someone Taylor had major dirt on, and Frances was involved in it, since they keep being brought up together and she bugged his office even before she was certain there was something going on."

         "That's what I think, yeah. I've been trying to figure out exactly what it was they had in common, but Taylor was so goddamn cryptic it feels like trying to understand Russian on two hours of sleep." She flips through some pages back. "Fitzgerald's is not a safe place, regardless of what they say. It's like a wolf in sheep's clothing, except the wolf is literally trying to devour you. I think this is from the day she found out about it. Wait. Mark is the angriest I've ever seen them, saying I shouldn't be prying, but what I did can't possibly classify as prying when the door was ajar and it just so happened to be so when I walked past it. She bugged the office because something happened there."

          Rhiannon leans forward, and searches for the folder from the date marked in the diary. September 10. Taking a deep breath, she presses play.

          It's not as thrilling as she thought it'd be at first, since nothing really happens for the first hours of the recording, and Isla fast-forwards through them until there's some sound. Yawning, Isla stops at the seven-hour mark, when Frances was in his office doing something other than flipping through papers or typing on his laptop.

          He's not alone when that happens.

          "Good morning," he greets, and Rhiannon freezes. She had forgotten what his voice sounded like, and there's something eerie about hearing it through a recording, almost robotic. "Can I help you?"

          "Yes," the other person replies, and Rhiannon and Isla both almost fall off the bed, instantly recognizing the voice, hearts racing in anticipation. The door closes. "I need to talk to you."

          Frances lets out an exasperated sigh. "There's nothing for us to talk about. Whatever it is, as long as it's academics-related, can wait until the end of one of my lectures; there's no reason to barge into my office at seven in the morning. Did anyone see you?"

          "No."

          "Good. That makes this a lot easier to deal with." His chair's wheels glide smoothly across the floor, and, when he speaks again, his voice sounds more distant. "You need to leave. You know you can't be in here, especially to do what you want to do; if anyone finds out, both of us will get in trouble, do you hear me?" No response. "I'm sorry if I ever gave off the impression I was interested, but, even if I was, you're still a student. I'm still a professor. I could lose my job, and you could get into serious trouble with the board. I'm not willing to give up my entire career over something that can easily be avoided, and I expect you to be able to follow the same reasoning. What are you doing?"

          "I'm not scared of the board," the other person mutters. The distinct sound of a quick peck on the lips resonates. "I don't know why—"

          "You need to leave. Now."

          "But—"

          "Did anyone follow you? Because the door isn't ajar anymore, and the windows are closed." He groans. "Damn it. Didn't I tell you this was a bad idea? Didn't I tell you to stay away? If someone saw what you did—damn it! There's someone in the hallway!"

          "Taylor." Isla covers her mouth with her hand, and Rhiannon's stomach turns. She should have known all along; something that kept being played for laughs ended up being true, and they all fell for it. Taylor, the only person who ever took it seriously, ended up dead over it. "Taylor, come back! It's not what you—"

          "Laura!" Frances snaps. "You have to convince her to stay quiet, do you hear me? Do whatever you need to do, but what she saw can't reach anyone's ears, especially Guerreiro's. You"—Rhiannon winces with the pure venom dripping from his words—"are not costing me my job, neither you nor your friend."

          "I will," Laura agrees. "I'll do everything I can."

          Isla closes the recording, and the room falls silent as they try to process what they just heard. Rhiannon's fingers close around her phone, ready to make a phone call that could quickly change everything, but everything is just so hard to properly understand.

          They already knew that, whatever Taylor had found out about, it was serious—in this case, it was serious enough to make Frances lose his job and get Laura in serious trouble with the board, her parents, and Soraya. The consequences of it were even more brutal than one could have imagined, as innocent people paid for someone else's mistakes, and that's without mentioning what happened to Frances.

          Did she push him off the stairs when he threatened to set the truth free?

          The call only beeps twice before someone picks up.

          "Rowan," Rhiannon breathes, stumbling out of the bed, and Isla looks up at the mention of his name, "we know who killed—"

          "I know," he replies, with a shuffling sound coming from his side of the line, "I was just about to call you. I'm with my parents, but I'm on my way. Don't do anything stupid."

          "I—"

          "Stay safe. I'm on my way."

          He hangs up before Rhiannon can say anything else. Her limbs feel weak and heavy, with her legs failing to hold her up for much longer, and Isla swings an arm around her to steady her movements. She remembers looking at Laura and being certain she hadn't had anything to do with it, because she was too nice, too kind, too concerned about Taylor's safety and with finding the truth.

          The betrayal burns and torches her lungs.

          Isla plays another recording. This time, it's from November 29, meaning Frances took the pen with him to Philadelphia, but it doesn't explain why he was in Maine.

          "What did you do, Laura? What did you do?"

          "I didn't mean to!" Laura cries. "It was just a way of scaring her at first, but then she ran off and I thought . . . I thought she was planning on exposing—"

          "She ran away because she didn't want this to happen! How do you even try to come up with excuses for what you did? Threats? This?"

          "I don't know!"

          The sound of plastic being unwrapped, pulled from a roll, is like nails scratching a chalkboard. Rhiannon knows exactly what happened next, and the mere thought of it leaves her sick to her stomach, seeing black everywhere she looks.

          "Rhea," Isla calls, turning off the recording once more. Rhiannon stops by the door, and Isla swiftly slides through a gap between the massive piles of books. "What are you doing?"

          "I need to talk to her."

          "I'm going with you. Whatever she says, it needs to be recorded and taken to the police for evidence in case you turn her in and she decides to turn the game against you." She slides her arms into the sleeves of a hooded jacket and hides her phone in one of the pockets. "I have your back."

          Rhiannon hesitates. Isla shouldn't be dragged into this, as it could be too dangerous, but she's stubborn enough to ignore every warning and do it anyway. So, she just pulls her best friend into a tight hug, inhaling the sweet scent of her cologne, and Isla's fingers tightly grasp the back of Rhiannon's sweater.

          "I love you," Rhiannon whispers, "no matter what."

          "I know," Isla whispers back. "You know it's mutual."

          Laura is in her room, oblivious to it all, but it has to end. People need closure—everyone does. So, when they tell her they know the truth and they need to talk to her, her posture and facial expression instantly change. Relaxed and warm shift into stiff and gelid as she stands up from her chair, and Rhiannon braces herself for any potential impact.

          It never comes. She simply tells them "not here", and agrees to talk somewhere else, preferably outside, and they agree on an alleyway between two buildings. They'll be hidden from view, which could be either an advantage or a disadvantage, but they have to do it.

          For Taylor. For Frances. For the ten innocent people in that house.

          They find Rowan outside, with his parents following him and struggling to keep up with his quick steps. He opens his mouth to say something, but something behind them catches his attention . . . and not in a good way. With eyes wide open in sheer terror, he steps forward to try to stand in front of Isla, and, when they spin on their heels to try to understand what's going on, it's one second too late.

          The gun looks so out of place in someone like Laura it almost doesn't feel real. However, Rhiannon passes the reality test by tasting the blood in her mouth after biting her tongue too hard and by feeling the chilly breeze biting against her skin.

          "You know you don't have to do this," Isla points out, stepping from behind Rowan, hands raised next to her shoulders. She's so tiny, so frail Rhiannon just wants to pull her back and force her to run away from the scene, but she understands what she's doing. She has to record it, but she's still endangering herself. "Whatever you and Frances did, it will come out. You know that, right? You know there will be consequences, but the police will go easy on you if you voluntarily tell the truth. You don't want to add any other charges to your file."

          "He was trying to protect me!" Laura hiccups. Her hand trembles, and Rowan and Rhiannon exchange a knowing look, aware they'll have to keep her talking for as long as they possibly can, with two goals in mind – to stall and get themselves more time, and to get as much information out of her. "I didn't have anyone else to turn to, so I . . . I had to call him and ask for help. He didn't want to have anything to do with it, and I saw the look of disappointment in his eyes; that was the worst—"

          "Laura, you killed someone!" Laura's eyes dart towards the cloudy skies. "Shouldn't that be the worst part of this entire situation? Taylor was your friend, and you did this; you threatened her, went after her and—"

          "It would have ruined my life! You don't know what it feels like, to be the child of parents who spend their free time pinpointing all your flaws and thriving on your failures!" Rhiannon swallows, sincerely wishing her brain wasn't finding a twisted way of relating to Laura, empathy filling the cavities between her ribs. She forces herself to focus on the betrayal, regardless of how heavy it is. "I saw their look in Frances' eyes when he found out, and I had to make him promise he'd help; if what Taylor knew got out, it'd be the end of his career, too."

          "Did you do it?" Rhiannon questions, her raspy voice getting mixed with the wind. "You had leverage over him. You used Taylor's evidence against him, even though you two were on the same boat. Did you push him, when he decided he'd rather suffer the consequences of his actions instead of enabling you and letting you get away with murder?"

          "Shut up!" Rhiannon straightens, having almost forgotten there's a gun involved, pointed straight at Isla, who's, hopefully, still recording the confrontation. "I didn't mean to—I panicked! He said he wanted to come clean, after everything I did for him—for us—and he was just throwing that all away! Taylor . . . please don't think I don't regret it. I do. Every day." She gulps. "Looking at Dimitri is the worst; I know he knows what I did, but he can't say anything because his father was the one who helped her find that apartment. He trusted me enough to believe I was worried about her and just wanted to talk."

          "And the fire?"

          "That was an accident; I think someone knocked down a candle, and there were too many flammable things around the room, but—" Sirens echo in the distant road, cutting her off, and she looks around her, frantically looking for the armed police force, and Rowan tries to step closer to his parents. Between his mother's hands, there's a cellphone. "You called the police?"

          Rowan's mother whimpers, scooting closer to her husband, and Isla uses that opportunity to dash towards Laura, wrapping her hands against the barrel of the gun and lowering it. Rhiannon can't distinguish which hands belong to whom in the middle of the struggle, as Laura fights back and it's just a mess of limbs and hair, and then it happens.

          A shot rings out. Isla shudders once, but immediately freezes right where she is.

          The rustling sound of startled birds flapping their wings as they fly away from the scene. A gasp. Then, everything is dead silent.