Lies We Tell ✔

The Thirty-eighth Dance

Sidika was sitting in one of the downstairs study rooms with Chris and Patrick when I joined them. I almost did a double-take. In the time I hadn't seen her, the girl must've been dragged through hell and back. She wore no makeup—not that she needed it, but in the absence of her concealer and foundation, her dark circles definitely made a statement. Her normally serene smile had been replaced by a worried frown.

"Where?" was the first question I asked the two of them, breathless from having sprinted halfway across campus to get back to West Tower. "Where'd they find her? Where is she? How is she?"

Sidika shook her head, and I realized for the first time that tear tracks and smeared mascara stained her cheeks. She didn't seem to be able to speak.

"Olivia's in the University Hospital," Patrick answered instead. His face was ashen, and he looked as though every word was costing him a grave effort. "She's alive, but in critical condition." He choked on the last word, and finally, tears began sliding down his cheeks. "They're not sure she'll make it."

I heard the words, but couldn't comprehend them. Leaned against the wall and sank to my knees, unseeing. Unthinking. Unfeeling.

Patrick's mouth was still opening and closing, forming words. Soundless words. Eventually, the white noise left my ears, and I was able to hear again. To learn what had happened to Olivia.

When they found her, she was half-starved, severely dehydrated, and covered in bruises. In places Patrick wouldn't say. According to the police report, she'd been found thirty miles north of campus, in the secluded town of Saugatuck, Michigan. Tied to a tree in the woods, a cloth stuffed in her mouth. Some lost joggers had stumbled across her and reported directly to the police, who identified her as the kidnapped Brookings student.

My heart nearly stopped. I imagined my cousin, tied up and frightened in the woods, unable to move or scream. For days.

"I'm going to kill Robert," I said, enunciating each and every word with a calm clarity that I didn't feel.

"You will do no such thing," Patrick snapped. "I can't have three residents imprisoned in one semester."

I barely heard my RA's words above the rage that was thundering in my ears. Chris brought me back to Earth by squeezing my hand and shaking his head. Slowly, with difficulty, I swallowed back the worst of the anger.

"Can we go see Olivia?" I asked instead.

Patrick shook his head, his expression grave. "Can't. She's in the intensive care unit," he said. He shrugged helplessly. "I know about as little as you do."

I took a deep, shuddering breath. Then Chris's warm, gentle hand rubbed my back, circling it soothingly, his warm body pressing closer to mine, in a protective embrace. "She's still alive," he said gruffly, his voice sounding like it was close to breaking. "As long as she's alive, we'll hold out hope."

"You're right," I said, trying to convince myself. Olivia had come all the way from China to study in the U.S. And she'd already gone through hell (a.k.a. the Brookings chemistry department). If anyone could survive this, it would be her.

Once my cousin returned to our room, alive and well, I was never, ever going to complain about her creepy porcelain dolls again. Or her snoring. Or anything else. So long as she was back, safe and sound.

"Man, I have really failed as an RA. Like, undoubtedly the worst one in the history of the universe. I might as well resign my position now." Patrick hung his head, burying it in his hands.