Security?
“I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”
“No,” a familiar female voice said, but Candace couldn’t immediately place it. There was so much rage in the one word.
The light turned off, but Candace was temporarily blinded.
“You will ruin my life, you fucking bitch,” the woman said.
Fear gripped her. She turned to get away and tried to scream, but the woman behind her grabbed her by the throat and squeezed.
Candace spun her arms around and elbowed her attacker. She felt the hands loosen just a bit. She tried to take in a breath so she could scream, but the fingers dug into her neck, pushing into her trachea. She started to choke.
She flailed. Candace realized that if she didn’t break free, she’d be dead.
“Help! Tay…lor!!” Candace choked out, then couldn’t say anything else. She tried to scream for help, but she couldn’t catch her breath.
You’re an idiot, Candace.
She had never thought that one of her sorority sisters would betray her.
She’d never thought one of them would want her dead.
Candace felt herself being pulled backward. Her eyesight started to return as the temporary blindness faded and she could see shadows from the security lighting. Her head was spinning; her neck ached. All she had left to fight with were her arms and legs, but her strength was waning.
She was going to die.
With renewed vigor born from adrenaline and fear, she kicked back as hard as she could, her shoe connecting with a bony shin.
A grunt told her that her kick had hurt. Candace reached up and grabbed the hands that held her neck, squeezed the wrists as hard as she could, trying to wrench herself free from the tight grasp.
And suddenly, she was free! Candace stumbled, fell to her knees, coughing, knowing she had to get up and run again. Run away as fast as she could…but her body wasn’t responding as quickly as she wanted.
She crawled on the hard pool deck, then took a kick to her stomach, as if she were a soccer ball and her attacker was trying to drop-kick her across the field.
She fell into the pool, its shocking cold water giving her renewed energy. But she still struggled to swim away, gasping for breath, sputtering, spitting out water as it filled her mouth. Her throat hurt when she drew in a deep breath. She tried to scream, but it came out a squeak. Her throat was so bruised she could barely make a sound.
She heard the splash behind her. Candace tried to push herself through the water, but her limbs were like Jell-O, and she made little progress.
She spun her head to see how close behind her attacker was.
No.
“I can’t let you tell anyone. I have too much to lose.”
Candace recognized the woman who wanted her dead.
Her friend, her teacher.
Rachel.
As the truth hit her, that Taylor had betrayed her, that Taylor knew that Rachel had planned to kill her, Rachel shoved Candace’s head underwater. She fought back, but weakly this time as water filled her lungs. Her arms and legs kicked futilely. Candace’s vision went black. Her mind and body became numb.
Her pain disappeared.
Forty-Two
Saturday
After their morning at the library, Regan left Lucas at his apartment after asking if he would rather stay with her. He said he was fine, that Lizzy was coming over after lunch, and he wanted to prepare for Tuesday’s podcast. She reminded him to stay put, trust his instincts, and call if anything out of the ordinary happened.
Regan headed over to the hospital again, this time to check on Nicole Bergamo. She called her dad when she got there; he didn’t answer.
No one would give her information about Nicole’s status, so she tried Vicky Ryan’s number. She didn’t answer, either.
Something wasn’t right. She texted her dad and said she was in the hospital and then sat in the lobby. After thirty seconds she got up and paced, reading every plaque under the pictures of people she didn’t know—former administrators, heads of departments, benefactors.
A few minutes later, out of the corner of her eye Regan watched a group of young women enter. Four of them, carrying flowers and balloons. Two wore NAU sweatshirts, two wore the Greek letters that signaled they were members of Sigma Rho. They approached the information desk across from where Regan was standing. “We’re here to see Nicole Bergamo,” one of the girls said.
The receptionist typed. “I’m sorry, she can’t have visitors right now. You can take the flowers to the third-floor nurses’ station, and we’ll bring them to her.”
“But she’s okay, right?”