Merlina's POV
"Yeah," Megan said casually, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "My brother mentioned it."
I froze mid-step. "And?"
Phoebe barely looked up. "I read something about it online. Took forever for my parents to stop freaking out about it."
A chill curled down my spine. My voice came out shakier than I wanted. "Did they ever… um, find out how it really happened? Who was responsible?"
Megan shrugged. "They had a suspect. Some student, apparently obsessed with her. Everyone knew about it back then."
My heart stuttered. "And? What's his name?"
Megan furrowed her brows, like she was trying to remember something from a dream. "No clue. They couldn't charge him—no solid evidence or whatever. Rich kid, junkie, kind of like Belview's little pet project."
"So, he's still here?" I asked, my voice sharp now. "Walking around campus like nothing happened?"
Megan nodded without much interest. "Yeah, I guess."
He's still here, I thought, the realization slamming into my chest.
I have a chance.
"Why do you care?" Phoebe asked, still thumbing through pages like we were talking about a dumb celebrity scandal.
My eyes darkened. "Because someone's life was stolen. And whoever did it should pay for that."
Phoebe scoffed. "You need to chill. Why are you acting like it's personal? You didn't even know her."
"Exactly," Megan chimed in with a laugh. "College is hard enough without playing detective."
Something tightened in my chest. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "How can you guys even say that?" I snapped. "Someone was possibly assaulted and murdered—here, in this school—and everyone's just okay with that?"
Phoebe let out a mocking laugh. "Please. Tell me one place where violence doesn't happen?" She rolled her eyes. "And she was a professor. I hate professors. They're like, hellspawn. If something bad happens to them? One less headache."
My stomach twisted, my face burning with disbelief. Phoebe leaned back, her smile stretching cruelly.
"Maybe she was some sex-starved slut who threw herself at the hot rich kid," she said with a laugh. "And he pushed her off, accidentally. Self-defense. Oops."
Megan laughed along. "Worst-case scenario, right?"
Something inside me snapped.
"You're both so disgusting," I choked out, my eyes stinging. Without another word, I turned and stormed toward the door.
"Merlina, what the hell?" Phoebe called after me, confused.
"Wait," Megan added, sitting up straighter. "What's going on?"
I stopped at the door. My voice trembled, but when I turned back to face them, my eyes were blazing with fury.
"That so-called sex-starved slut…" My voice cracked. "She was my mother."
I slammed the door.
Silence.
The laughter vanished like it had never existed. Megan and Phoebe stared at the closed door, the weight of what they'd said sinking in all at once.
***
The motel parking lot was dim and nearly deserted, the only sound the low hum of a flickering neon sign above. VACANCY blinked in and out like a dying heartbeat.
I walked with my arms wrapped tightly around myself, head lowered, shadows crawling along the pavement behind me with every slow step. My sneakers scraped against the concrete, echoing in the silence.
Inside the motel lobby, the air was cold and sterile. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the faint smell of cleaning bleach lingered. I approached the front desk. The motel clerk didn't bother to lift her head fully.
"Room 213. Second floor," she muttered, pushing a keycard across the counter.
I gave a slight nod, took the card without a word, and turned away.
The hallway upstairs was worse—narrow, musty, with buzzing lights that flickered like they were struggling to stay awake.
The carpet was stained in patches, and the air felt stale with secrets. I walked past door after door, each one shut tight, each one holding lives I didn't care to imagine.
When the door to my room clicked open, I stepped inside like I was entering a vacuum. Silence enveloped me. The room was bare: a plain bed covered with a dull quilt, one flickering lamp on the nightstand, a small desk against the wall. Everything about it felt temporary. Forgotten. Forgotten—like me.
Like my poor mother, and my siblings who had to go through that kinda pain without justice.
I shut the door behind me and leaned against it for a moment. My breath hitched, trembled. Then, quietly, it broke.
The tears came fast and without mercy. My shoulders shook as I collapsed onto the bed, curling into myself. The ceiling blurred above me, spinning into memory.
***'FLASHBACK ***
Muted sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of the Sanchez family living room, casting long lines across the floor. I sat stiffly on the couch between my younger siblings, Alistair and Melissa. None of us spoke. The house felt wrong, like something was missing but we couldn't name it yet.
At the dining table, our father, Aiden, gripped a coffee mug so tightly his knuckles turned white. The shrill ring of his phone pierced the stillness. He glanced at the screen, sighed, and picked it up.
"Yeah?" he said.
A pause. His expression shifted. A shadow crossed his face.
"Uh-huh… I see." His voice was flatter now, thinner. He rubbed his face with one hand, not looking at us.
Then his eyes lifted slowly, landing on the three of us.
"Your mother… she's, uh. Your mother—"
"Dad?" I asked, my voice cracking. "What is it? What's wrong with Mom?"
Alistair leaned forward, urgency in his voice. "Dad, what is it? Tell us!"
Melissa clutched the edge of the cushion beside her. "Dad, what's going on? Please, just tell us!"
Aiden's voice dropped, quiet but final. "Your mother's dead."
The word shattered something. The air went still. No one breathed.
I stumbled back like he'd struck me. "No… no, no, no, no! What?!"
Alistair looked stunned, his voice barely a whisper. "Dad? No… this can't be real…"
Melissa's eyes filled with tears as she turned to our father, clinging to hope. "Dad… please…"
But Aiden didn't soften. He looked away, voice bitter. "I knew that school would ruin her." Then, without another word, he stood and walked out, leaving us in the wreckage.
I fell to my knees. Alistair wrapped his arms around me as I sobbed. Melissa crumpled onto the carpet, broken silence all around us.
*** PRESENT DAY ****
I bolted upright in the motel bed, chest heaving. My face was damp with tears, and my breath came in short, panicked bursts. The room felt too small now, too loud with memory. I wiped my face with shaking hands.
"I can't keep doing this…" I whispered, the words cracking on my tongue.
I pulled my knees up to my chest, curling into myself like a child. The lamp flickered again, the hum of the neon sign outside pressing against the window like a ghost.
And in that tiny, suffocating room, I sat with my grief, my rage, and the truth I was still chasing.