It seemed like time stopped, or was moving very, very slowly. The world seemed black and white. A clear distinction between the people. Half of them innocent. And the other half guilty of something. And I was apart of the guilty party. I blinked, and this one minute fantasy cleared.
Mrs. Vanderbrook and Mr. Parker calmed everyone down, explaining the events of the evening. A bus for the funeral would be leaving at 6:45. Whoever was willing to pay their condolences was invited. I gradually walked back to the dorm room. Stacey was there, on the computer. She didn't look up to see who it was.
"Stacey," I said, "you ok? Are you still mad at me?"
She looked up, her eyes filled with anger and pain.
"I'm not mad," she said, quietly, "I'm completely pissed."
I watched a single tear roll down her cheek.
I barely let that word fall between my slightly parted lips. It barely came out. Not even a whisper.
"Did Dexter give you something?" I asked, my voice cracking.
"Yes," she said, "this explains a lot."
She got up, closing her laptop. And she stormed out of the room. She wouldn't let me explain. She wouldn't even let me try. She didn't leave me a sliver of chance. She just gave up. Left me. She would never talk to me again. And it just occured to me that Dexter made copies. Who knows how many? I fell onto my knees and curled up on the floor. I cried, feeling the tears slide down my skin. Someone knocked on the door. When I didn't answer, they opened it. The police.
"Miss," they said, "we're going to have to question you and your friends."
"Yeah," I said, wiping my eyes.
I got up, grabbing my purse. I walked out with the police man, heading to police office with Grace, Anne Marie, and Stacey all shoved into the same car.