Sweet Deadly Lies (A Dark Academia Mystery) Watty Winner ✔️

Thirty-Three

It's been three hours since I handed over my cell and my ass feels like it's molding to the seat. I shift, hoping to relieve my sore muscles, but it doesn't stop the pins and needles from prickling along my nerves.

Wind whips against the windows and rattles the panes. It's only after eight, but beyond the glass a dull shade of black takes over the sky, making it look more like midnight.

Mr. McKenzie relaxes in his throne with a book, the soft track lights washing over him like golden rays of sun. The gun is on his desk, the muzzle pointing in my direction. It's a Ruger, similar to my father's, the brand and model engraved along the barrel.

My blood chills every time I think of what he might do with it.

Judging from her breakdown earlier, Jessa's thinking about it too, but at least she's stopped sniffling. Now, she sits in a trance, her unseeing eyes fixed on the corner of the desk. Every once in a while, a delicate mewl squeezes past her lips.

Sitting here has given me time to go over everything in my head. Still, there's so much that doesn't make sense. I still don't know why we're here. After Mr. McKenzie pulled out his revolver, he told us to sit tight until it's time to leave, but he never said where we were going or why. My brain whirls, trying to think of a way out of this. I read somewhere that if someone tries to kidnap you, you're not likely to survive being taken to a second location. But how do you escape with a loaded gun staring you in the face?

If shit hits the fan, I don't want to be left without a form of defense. I need something—anything—that can do some damage. My gaze travels around the office, searching for a makeshift weapon, then pauses at something on the floor. Halfway beneath the headmaster's desk is a pen, its shiny steel tip glinting against the burgundy carpet.

I glance back at Mr. McKenzie who's still absorbed in his book, then turn to Jessa and will her to look my way. But it's no use. She's lost in her head, her pupils dilated and unresponsive as she stares into the void. I need to get her attention. I cross one leg over my knee and casually bounce my foot, and after what feels like forever, her eyes finally meet mine, the light behind them gone. I blink wildly, trying to communicate, and all at once she snaps out of her funk, a crinkle of confusion appearing between her brows.

My lungs shudder with relief. I shoot another look at Mr. McKenzie before tilting my head toward the toes of her Sperrys. If she stretched her leg just a little, she could grab the pen with her shoe and drag it closer. But when she realizes what I'm suggesting, she discreetly shakes her head, her eyes giant saucers of disbelief.

A string of curse words unleash in my brain. Between the two of us, we have nothing. No way to protect ourselves if we need to. And something tells me our futures are uncertain at best. If a pen is all we can have, I'll take it over nothing.

I give Jessa a sharp nod, trying to assert an authority I clearly don't have, but all she does is narrow her eyes in refusal.

"There's no point in conspiring. Whatever you're planning won't work." Mr. McKenzie's voice floats up from behind the novel.

His comment slices through the silence, and some of the tension leaches from the room like air from a punctured balloon. Before I can stop myself, one of the questions I've been holding on to barges past my lips. "Why didn't you give her a chance?"

"Who—Ava?" Mr. McKenzie sets down his book with a stare. "What makes you think I didn't?

"So, you did?"

A puff of air blows out his nose. "Of course, I did. I'm not a monster."

"Only a monster would purposely end an innocent girl's life."