Chapter 5
Detective Brooks did not want me returning to campus.
I insisted.
Not recklessly.
Not alone.
But I knew the places Jordan had talked about.
I knew how his mind worked.
More importantly, I knew the mural.
So the next morning, Dad drove while Detective Brooks followed in an unmarked car.
Uncle Raymond came too.
Mom wanted to join us.
Grandma convinced her to stay home.
“Too many frightened people become noise,” she said.
Mom hugged me tightly before I left.
“Come back.”
“I will.”
She held my face.
“No matter what you find, come back.”
Those words stayed with me during the entire two-hour drive.
The campus looked exactly the same.
That felt wrong.
Students crossed the lawn.
Someone laughed outside the library.
A group of freshmen posed for pictures near the fountain.
My entire life had collapsed here.
Yet everything kept moving.
Dad parked near the arts building.
Detective Brooks met us beside the car.
“No separating.”
“Agreed,” I said.
She studied me.
“If you see Jordan, you do not approach him.”
“I won’t.”
“You let me handle it.”
“I understand.”
The mural was on the side of the old humanities building.
Bright colors.
Painted flowers.
Quotes from former students.
I found the line immediately.
HOME IS WHERE THE TRUTH WAITS.
Dad looked at it.
“What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the problem.
We searched around the wall.
Nothing.
Detective Brooks checked nearby benches.
Raymond examined the landscaping.
I stared at the words.
Home.
Truth.
Waits.
Brianna had been a nursing student.
Jordan told me her mother died when she was young.
He also said she loved poetry.
Then something clicked.
“Home isn’t a place.”
Dad looked at me.
“What?”
I stepped closer to the mural.
“It’s a name.”
I scanned the painted quotes.
Near the bottom was a tiny signature.
L. Home.
I pointed.
“Who is L. Home?”
Detective Brooks searched on her phone.
A minute later she looked up.
“Professor Lorraine Home.”
“Still here?”
“Retired.”
My pulse quickened.
“What department?”
“English.”
Dad stared at me.
“Poetry.”
We had found something.
Detective Brooks contacted Professor Home.
She lived twenty minutes from campus.
When she heard Brianna’s name, she agreed to meet immediately.
Her house was small and surrounded by flowers.
She opened the door before we reached the porch.
She was in her seventies.
The second she saw me, her eyes changed.
“You look like her.”
I stopped.
“Like Brianna?”
“Not physically.”
Professor Home looked toward Detective Brooks.
“Frightened.”
She invited us inside.
Her living room smelled like tea and old books.
We sat.
Detective Brooks explained the investigation carefully.
Professor Home listened.
Then she looked at me.
“You were with Jordan?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Those two words carried something heavy.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
Dad leaned forward.
“Then why didn’t you report him?”
Professor Home’s face tightened.
“I did.”
Silence.
“I reported concerns about Jordan Price twice.”
My father stared.
“To whom?”
“Student affairs.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She looked ashamed.
“I was told I had no direct evidence.”
Detective Brooks asked, “Did Brianna come to you?”
“Yes.”
My heart hammered.
“When?”
“About a week before she disappeared.”
Professor Home looked toward the bookshelf.
“She was terrified.”
“What did she say?”
“That Jordan and someone at the university were using student information illegally.”
“Did she mention Dr. Reed?”
Professor Home hesitated.
“Yes.”
Dad cursed quietly.
“She said she copied files from Jordan’s computer.”
Exactly like me.
“She wanted advice.”
“What did you tell her?”
“To go to the police.”
Professor Home looked down.
“She said she needed one more thing first.”
“What?”
“Proof tying Dr. Reed directly to the accounts.”
Detective Brooks asked, “Did she leave anything with you?”
Professor Home looked at me.
Then she stood.
“Wait.”
She disappeared down the hallway.
Dad reached for my hand.
I squeezed it.
Professor Home returned carrying an old hardcover book.
Emily Dickinson.
She placed it on the table.
“Brianna gave me this.”
My heart stopped.
“She told me if she ever asked for it, I should return it.”
“And she never did,” I whispered.
“No.”
Professor Home opened the book.
The center pages had been carefully cut out.
Inside was a small memory card.
Nobody moved.
Detective Brooks put on gloves.
“You kept this for two years?”
Professor Home nodded.
“I forgot about it for months after she disappeared.”
Her voice trembled.
“Then I found the book again.”
“Why didn’t you give it to police?”
“I was scared.”
My father stared at her.
Professor Home met his eyes.
“I know how terrible that sounds.”
He did not answer.
She continued.
“A week after Brianna disappeared, someone left photographs of my grandchildren on my windshield.”
Dad’s anger softened.
“No note.”
She swallowed.
“None was necessary.”
Detective Brooks took the memory card.
“We’ll need to examine this.”
Professor Home nodded.
Before we left, she touched my arm.
“Brianna tried to do this alone.”
I looked at her.
“Don’t.”
That word stayed with me.
Don’t do it alone.
Outside, Detective Brooks was placing the memory card into evidence when someone shouted my name.
“Maya!”
Every muscle in my body froze.
I knew the voice.
Jordan.
He stood across the street.
For a moment, nobody moved.
He looked exactly like he always had.
Clean white shirt.
Dark jacket.
Perfect hair.
Calm expression.
That was the strangest part.
He looked normal.
Dad stepped in front of me immediately.
Detective Brooks raised her hand.
“Jordan Price?”
Jordan smiled.
“Detective.”
She stiffened.
“You know me?”
“I’ve seen you talking to people.”
He looked past her.
At me.
“You took something from my apartment.”
Dad moved forward.
I grabbed his arm.
Jordan smiled wider.
“That’s theft.”
Detective Brooks said, “Do not approach her.”
“I’m not.”
He raised both hands.
“I only want my property returned.”
I found my voice.
“You mean my identity?”
His smile faded slightly.
“You’re confused.”
“No.”
For the first time, saying it did not hurt.
“I’m not.”
Jordan stared at me.
The street seemed to disappear.
He had used that expression before.
The one that said I would regret embarrassing him.
My heart pounded.
But I did not look away.
Detective Brooks stepped between us.
“You need to leave.”
Jordan glanced at Dad.
Then Raymond.
Then me.
“This family doesn’t know who you really are.”
Dad answered.
“We know enough.”
Jordan laughed softly.
“No, you don’t.”
Then he looked directly at me.
“Did you tell them about Chicago?”
My blood turned cold.
Dad looked at me.
“What is he talking about?”
Jordan saw my reaction.
And smiled again.
That was what he wanted.
Doubt.
One tiny crack.
He stepped backward.
“Ask Maya what happened in Chicago.”
Then he walked away.
Dad turned toward me.
I could barely breathe.
Because there was something I had not told them.
Something Jordan had made sure I would be terrified to explain.
Dad saw the fear on my face.
“Maya.”
May you like
I looked at him.
“What happened in Chicago?”
