“Multiple stab wounds are not exactly ‘natural causes,’” Alna commented as she scrolled down on her laptop. She had retrieved it from the “hiding place” her parents had been keeping it for the past few days. It surprised Marianna that Alna’s parents thought it was possible to hide anything from her. Marianna herself had all but given up on putting on any brave fronts around her girlfriend. They never fooled her.

  “Yeah,” Marianna said, her chin resting on Alna’s shoulder. “To be fair, though, they didn’t tell us how he died.” Her right hand played with the magnifying glass pendant on Alna’s necklace. Marianna had bought it as a Christmas present for Alna. It was an extension to the ongoing joke they had kept going for most of their relationship.

  “Hmm,” Alna hummed, sounding unimpressed. Marianna turned her head, pressing her mouth to Alna’s shoulder to stifle her smile. Thank God the school gave its students the option to go home if needed––in order to process the death of Mr. Corday, she supposed. Marianna felt better already.

  Although Marianna couldn’t quite understand why the teachers had been so vague as to the cause of Mr. Corday’s death. They would all find out, anyway, when it was announced in the news.

  As soon as she heard the news, Marianna was convinced Mr. Corday was murdered. There was something about the look on Ms. Read’s face when she announced it that set off alarm bells in Marianna’s head. Her eyes had shifted a bit, never settling on one place for too long. The disbelief in her face had made ice form in Marianna’s stomach, and soon she became convinced there was something more to Mr. Corday’s death than was being let on.

  “Tell me what you know of this William Corday,” Alna said after a moment. Clearly, her full attention was on the task on hand, otherwise she would speak to Marianna in a more kind manner. Not that she minded.

  “He was a science teacher. I don’t think he taught anything else.”

  “He didn’t.” Alna exited out of the police files and pulled up a search browser. “He taught general sciences and Chemistry, to be exact. Go on.”

  Marianna dropped her hand, wrapping her arm around Alna’s waist. “I don’t think many students liked him that much, except the hardcore ones. He kind of had a tendency to go off on students. Hikari once said she was surprised he didn’t get fired or something.”

  “In what manner did he ‘go off,’ as you say?”

  If it weren’t for their current position––sitting on Alna’s bed, Marianna cuddling into Alna’s side––she might have felt like a criminal. Alna could be an intense person by nature, but she rarely interrogated Marianna like this.

  “He’d yell sometimes, tell us we’re nothing special.” That hurt the first couple times before Marianna learned to let his temper wash over her. “That was mostly to the students that were acting like jerks, but he didn’t seem to care who he said it to. Sometimes his rants could last up to a half-hour,” she added, remembering that time, months before, when Hikari had complained about such a thing.

  Alna made another noncommittal noise, tapping her fingers against the keyboard when she pulled up one of his social media pages. That turned out to be an interesting experience. Seeing Mr. Corday in swim trunks was something Marianna could have lived without. It wasn’t that he was unattractive––he’d actually been a nice-looking teacher. Rather, it had more to do with Marianna’s lack of desire to see any of her teachers in such casual wear. Something about seeing Mr. Corday like this––his slim, fit body tanned from spending time in Mexico last summer––was weird to her. She felt a blush appear on her cheeks.

  “There’s nothing particularly scandalous on here,” Alna said as she scrolled through more of Mr. Corday’s pictures. Marianna brought her eyes back to the screen, removing her arms from Alna’s waist and shifting so they both had some personal space. She felt the blanket on Alna’s bed bunch up beneath her.

  “Bragging about vacations––how typical,” Alna commented. On the computer screen was another picture of Mr. Corday from last year’s vacation. In this one, Mr. Corday was sitting at a small table outside, his hand wrapped around a glass containing some kind of blue drink. He wore sunglasses, his black hair messy. He wore a simple white t-shirt, and Marianna was certain she’d never seen him smile like that in real life.

  The image itself had been reposted just days before. It was eerie, Marianna thought, seeing the actions of a man who had died not long after. Marianna shivered a bit, drawing a concerned glance from Alna.

  “I’m fine.” Marianna flashed a quick smile. “This is all kind of weird for me.”

  Alna searched her face some more, seeming to come to her own conclusion after a moment.

  “This is too close to being personal for you,” Alna observed. Marianna nodded.

  “I think so, yeah,” she answered, despite the fact that there had been no question asked. “I mean, I never liked Mr. Corday, but this is…” She made a vague gesture, her eyes flicking up to meet Alna’s piercing blue gaze.

  Alna, as always, seemed to understand with nothing further from Marianna.

  “It is brutal for a teacher,” she agreed, pulling up the police file once more. She pointed at the screen, directing Marianna’s attention to the description of Mr. Corday’s… body.

  Mr. Corday had been stabbed over a dozen times, leaving the former teacher in what Marianna knew would be a horrific condition. She bit her lip as she read on, suddenly glad that Alna hadn’t brought up any pictures yet. Marianna didn’t think she was ready for that.

  She sighed. “I’m guessing this wasn’t a robbery gone wrong.”

  “It’s possible, but unlikely,” Alna said. She typed “William Corday” into the search bar. “To stab someone multiple times––that either speaks of mental instability on behalf of the killer or blind rage. One tends not to inflict so much damage on a victim unless there is a reason for it. That or this person is either an amateur, a psychopath or a sociopath. They did not seem too concerned with covering up the fact that this was a murder.”

  Marianna shuddered as an image of Harlow Ashworth flashed through her mind. As far as Marianna was concerned, Harlow Ashworth was a psychopath, through and through. She didn’t care if the technical definition matched up or not.

  Alna was frowning at her computer screen. She had entered Mr. Corday’s name into the search bar, searching for information that originated from somewhere that wasn’t social media. What came up, from what Marianna could see, was a William Corday that had been born in the sixteen hundreds, another in the eighteen hundreds, and so on.

  “Unless we’ve entered a ghost story, I kind of doubt any of those men are who we’re looking for,” she quipped weakly. The right side of Alna’s mouth curled up in acknowledgement of her terrible humor.

  “Indeed.” Alna minimized the search browser and pulled up the police files once again. “I shall continue to look through the police files. Do you want to do some internet searches while I do so?”

  “Sure,” Marianna agreed. She extracted her phone from where she had been keeping it in her front jeans pocket.

  Just because she could, Marianna snatched one of Alna’s pillows and positioned it so she could lay on her stomach, half hugging the pillow as she turned on her phone. Alna gave her a sidelong look but didn’t comment. She returned her eyes to the laptop, although Marianna could see the edges of her lips twitch upward with amusement.

  Half an hour went by. Marianna could feel her previous relaxation disappear as agitation set in. Everything she researched seemed to lead to a deadend––as in, giving her more information on men who had been dead for centuries and who Marianna didn’t care all that much about. Although she had to admit a part of her was enjoying herself.

  Still, that didn’t ease her frustration.

  Marianna let out what must have been the third frustrated sigh in the last thirty minutes. Like the other two times before, Alna cast her another glance. However, instead of turning back to her research as she had before, Alna turned to face Marianna.

  “No results, I presume,” Alan said, studying Marianna with her borderline all-seeing eyes.

  “Nothing overly important,” Marianna admitted a bit sulkily. Pushing herself up into a kneeling position, Marianna opened the notes app on her phone and handed it over to Alna. “I found a couple of Mr. Corday’s friends who live in the city, but not much beyond that.”

  Alna studied the list Marianna had composed. Marianna had no doubt that Alna had already acquired this information herself but appreciated the fact she never tried to make Marianna feel inferior in these situations.

  “I would like to get into contact with his wife, if at all possible,” Alna commented, turning back to her laptop. She bit her pale lip and Marianna suddenly found herself distracted, wanting to kiss her. Her attention was brought back to the present when Alna continued. “However, that will prove to be difficult––perhaps even impossible.” Alna’s fingers tapped against the keyboard a couple times, an absent-minded action she did sometimes, when frustrated or deep in thought.

  “Yeah, that’s kind of what I was thinking,” Marianna admitted, frowning at her phone. She couldn’t imagine Ashley Corday would be all that pleased if some teenager started asking pressing questions about her dead husband. She couldn’t imagine herself being too forthcoming, in a similar situation.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “I do, however, have her interview with the police here.” Alna turned the computer so Marianna could see the screen better. “I’ve only read through the written version, but––”

  And that was when Marianna’s phone announced she had a text. The fact that the text tone was a brief clip from a song she enjoyed didn’t make up for the interruption at all.

  “Sorry,” Marianna apologized, glancing down at her phone. It was a text from her mother, asking her to come home for supper tonight. Apparently, they had something they wanted to talk to her about.

  Marianna fiddled with a lock of her hair. She hadn’t been planning on going home tonight. There were enough clothes in her overnight bag to last her three nights, at least, and she had already made plans to stay over at Sadie’s tonight. She had planned to ask Alna if she could stay over for at least one night this weekend, but in the chaos of finding out about Mr. Corday’s murder, it slipped her mind.

  Marianna knew that her parents wanting “talk” to her about something had a ninety-nine percent chance of resulting in an explosive argument.

  She must hate herself because, after a split-second of hesitation, Marianna texted back with a confirmation. Nibbling on the inside of her cheek, Marianna wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake. Probably.

  When Marianna looked back up, she discovered that Alna had turned her gaze away from her, likely to give Marianna some privacy. Her heart warming, Marianna reached out to grasp one of Alna’s hands, bringing the other’s eyes back to her.

  “That was my mom,” she explained, her thumb swiping across Alna’s hand a few times. “She wants me home for dinner tonight.”

  “You’re going,” Alna observed, her voice clinical and detached. And yet Marianna didn’t miss that way Alna’s eyes narrowed. Obviously, she was suspicious of Farren and Edward’s intentions. Marianna didn’t blame her for that. She was suspicious, too.

  “I am.” Marianna squeezed Alna’s hand. “It’s probably a bad idea but yeah, I’m going.”

  Alna was still staring at her, likely searching for––and finding––any signs of discomfort or tension she was giving off. Some people might have said something more, some words of encouragement––or even expressed their doubt.

  Alna did neither. Instead, she pulled up a video on her computer, saying, “If you are not leaving yet, there is a suspect the police interviewed a half an hour ago, it appears. I would like to watch the video and see how likely this suspect is.”

  Just like that, Marianna’s worry was pushed to the side.

  ****

  Marianna wouldn’t be ashamed to admit it took her a minute to gather her courage. She stood on the sidewalk where the cab had dropped her off, her backpack on her shoulders and her overnight bag gripped in her right hand.

  It was ironic, Marianna thought, being so wary of facing her parents when, for all intents and purposes, she had faced much worse than their ire.

  Eventually, the frigid weather prompted Marianna into action and she forced herself to walk forward, her steps quickening to get her away from the cold faster. In little to no time at all, Marianna was standing at the front door. She came to a stop, hesitating once more. After the fight two days ago, Marianna was even less eager to return to her so-called home. It was bad enough her parents always seemed displeased with her these days, but when the word “fag” had slipped past her mother’s lips, Marianna knew she couldn’t spend the night there.

  The fact that Farren had used that atrocious word when referring to her girlfriend––not Marianna––did not make Marianna feel even the slightest bit forgiving. Alna didn’t know, but even still, she didn’t deserve to be insulted that way.

  Marianna thought that was her limit––that she was done putting up with her parents’ prejudice. But apparently, she was a hopeless dreamer, always waiting for her parents to come around.

  With a sigh, Marianna shifted her weight from foot to foot before reaching up and twisting the doorknob. If nothing else, she needed to get out of this cold. She focused on that for the moment––and the interrogation of Mr. Pratt, yet another teacher at Marianna’s school. He and Mr. Corday had always been borderline hostile to each other. They never seemed to get along. He wasn’t quite a suspect yet, but Marianna thought (and Alna agreed) that interviewing him would be beneficial. They may learn something more about Mr. Corday if Marianna played her cards right.

  Marianna was so distracted by these thoughts––wondering if Mr. Pratt was the killer, or who else it could be––that she almost missed her mother’s silent figure. Almost, but not quite. Once she was standing on the carpet inside the house, Marianna went still, meeting Farren’s tired eyes.

  Her mother looked––well, haggard was one word for it. There were small circles under her eyes that resembled fading bruises. Her posture was slumped, although she had taken to sitting primly on the couch, hands folded in her lap. Farren’s lips were pursed, likely in disapproval over something or other. Edward and Farren seemed to disapprove of everything she did these days.

  If it weren’t for the therapy, those calming videos she liked, and Alna and her friends’ constant support, Marianna probably would have suffered a serious mental or emotional breakdown by now. And that couldn’t all be traced back to the Ashworth case, either.

  “Hi,” Marianna ventured when the silence had dragged on long enough to be awkward.

  Farren blinked, as if returning to reality, and sat up straighter. She swallowed once before saying, “Hi.”

  Seeing her mother in such a state of exhaustion sent a surge of guilt coursing through Marianna’s veins. I did that, some self-deprecating part of her thought. And then, the other, more confident part of her insisted that it wasn’t all her fault. She could admit that there were better ways for her to go about this whole situation––even if she couldn’t think of them at the moment. But that didn’t change the fact that Farren and Edward hadn’t even tried to accept her. No, instead they talked of the various ways she could be “cured” or telling her she was going through a phase.

  Sighing once more, Marianna set her backpack and overnight bag on the floor. She then hung her winter coat on the coat rack right next to the door and sat down on the chair in front of it, starting to remove her heavy boots. As she did so, Marianna felt a second pair of eyes on her and glanced up. Her father, Edward, stood inside the kitchen, an unreadable look on his face. Marianna looked back down, meticulously removing her boots as she delayed what she knew would be an awkward evening. Once that was done, Marianna set her boots on the mat, braced her hands on her knees, and stood up.

  Marianna met her father’s hazel eyes, trying to hide the discomfort she was feeling. She attempted to keep her face blank, devoid of emotion––like Alna did.

  Much like his wife, Edward looked exhausted, although the signs were subtle. He looked pale, mouth set into a hard line that could have resulted from either frustration or simple tiredness.

  Marianna repeated her earlier greeting. Edward didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stared at her with a burning intensity, one that made her want to fidget. It was different than when Alna looked at her like that. Alna’s lingering gaze either had a purpose––assessing her mood, et cetera––or had to do with her appreciation with Marianna’s appearance.

  The point was, when Alna looked at her these days, Marianna generally didn’t feel uncomfortable under her watchful gaze. Sometimes she did, but less so than at the beginning of their relationship.

  Edward’s stare made Marianna feel as if her own clothes were restricting her. She wondered if she was going to have a panic attack. Excluding nightmares, Marianna hadn’t had one in close to four weeks. It would be a major setback.

  “Supper’s ready,” Edward said, his voice curt. With that, he turned and disappeared into the kitchen. Farren followed suit, but not before casting a brief glance at her daughter.

  Dinner was, as Marianna predicted, awkward. She stared down at her plate, cutting a piece of chicken before bringing it to her mouth. Marianna chewed slowly, lifting her gaze to stare past Farren’s head. Farren tried to catch her eye, which, after a moment, Marianna allowed. She flitted her eyes away when she saw how tired and frustrated her mother was.

  This could lead to nothing good.

  Marianna entertained the thought of starting a conversation but dismissed it. Perhaps she was being petty, but Marianna still hadn’t forgiven Farren for what she’d called Alna. If her parents had something to say to her, they would have to come up with an opening themselves.

  Finally, someone broke the increasingly awkward silence.

  “Mary,” Farren said. This time her voice had a determined edge to it. “Your father and I wanted to ask you something.”

  Marianna felt the tension tightening her muscles. “What?” she asked, setting down her fork as she gave them her full attention. She pressed down on her phone, which was in her front jeans pocket, for reassurance. Edward’s jaw kept flexing and relaxing at frequent intervals.

  Farren glanced over at her husband once more, as if checking he was all right. She turned back to Marianna.

  “Are you, by any chance, free this weekend?” As Farren asked this, her voice became pained. Marianna guessed she was imagining what would keep her weekends busy. Whatever she was thinking, Marianna knew that, chances were, she was so far off the mark that her imagination and reality didn’t even exist in the same universe.

  Marianna blinked, feeling her chest expand with surprise. Of all the things she had been expecting, that wasn’t even on her list.

  “Um, nothing’s concrete yet,” she replied, rubbing her left hand up and down her leg. “Why?”

  Farren placed a hand on Edward’s arm in a comforting manner. Marianna, once again, had to resist the urge to squirm under her father’s intense gaze.

  “If you’re not busy,” Farren said, “we were hoping you would come to church with us on Sunday.”

  Marianna blinked. That was even farther down the list of things Marianna had been expecting.

  She pressed her hands together in her lap, realizing her palms were sweating. Her parents were planning something––there was no doubt about that. The question was, what? Were they hoping attending church would force her into their version of normal?

  She might have to try calling one of those helplines she’d looked up online. If things went south, the time sent with her therapist might prove to be too little.

  But Marianna couldn’t just give in like that. Not after what Farren had called Alna.

  “On one condition,” Marianna said, pleased when her voice came out firm and unyielding. She locked eyes with Farren, unwilling to show the apprehension she was feeling. “I want you to apologize for what you said the other night.”

  Farren’s lips disappeared into a thin line, but it was Edward who spoke up. “We told you to come home at a decent time, and you––”

  “I know,” Marianna cut him off, unwilling to relive their argument. She kept her gaze on Farren. “I’m not making excuses for what I did, but calling Alna a––that word was completely out of line.” God, she couldn’t even bring herself to say it.

  Farren’s lips were bloodless from being pressed together. She gazed at Marianna with a burning intensity, leading her to wonder where the mother who used to read her bedtime stories had gone.

  After an uncomfortable silence, Farren finally spoke. “I was––angry the other night and I said some things that I might not have otherwise.”

  That was not at all what Marianna had wanted. She stared at her mother, at a loss. The way Marianna saw it, she had several options: she could continue trying to wrestle an apology from Farren, which she was clearly unwilling to give––and wouldn’t mean it if she did. Marianna could also get up and leave like she had done so times when everything turned out to be too much for her. Or––and she had to admit, this was the least satisfactory––she could take what Farren had given to her and attend church with her parents. Hopefully, it would be a step in repairing the broken tatters of their relationship.

  Her optimism was going to cause her serious damage one day. Marianna knew it.

  “Okay,” she said. “Sunday, then.”

  It looked like she would have a lot to tell Pedro when she saw him next.