that I had his attention. But we never crossed that line. Whenever we talked, it would always be in reference to my husband or his wife. He’d never tell me things he wanted to do to me, or me him. But that night, everything changed.”
“What happened?”
I can already tell this guy is bad news. Londyn admitted she felt inadequate and insecure in her marriage. Instead of giving her solid advice, he preyed on a young woman. He manipulated her, stalked her, then God knows what else. I’m not sure I want to know. But I’ll listen. For Londyn’s sake.
“I was twenty-two, so the champagne was flowing. It didn’t help I’d never been a big drinker, at least compared to some of my fellow students. After three or four glasses, I was feeling pretty damn good. When the party ended at midnight, I was wavering a little. At least I’d had the forethought not to drive. So I started walking back to my apartment.”
“How far away was it?”
“Not too far. Five or six blocks maybe. But before I could get far, Jay pulled up in his car and offered to drive me. I didn’t immediately agree, unsure what people would think if they saw us together.”
“Weren’t you just at a party with him, though?”
“Not with him. Was he at the ball? Yes. But we didn’t really talk. We never did when we saw each other on campus. We kept that line drawn. At the coffee shop, we could debate the meaning of life from our separate tables, but on campus, he was a professor, and I was a student.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, still processing this fucked-up relationship she’s describing, doing everything to keep my anger in check, something that’s becoming increasingly difficult with every second, with every tiny detail I learn about this waste of space.
“Did you get into the car?”
She pauses, then sighs. “I did. He pulled out of the lot and began driving toward my place. Then he asked if I wanted to have our own little afterparty. I was hesitant, for good reason. I mean, this was the first time we were alone together. Everything about it felt different. That should have been enough for the warning bells to go off in my head. Instead, I asked what he had in mind. He revealed a set of keys, told me they were to the Allen House.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “The Allen House?”
“It was this historic landmark on campus. A house built in the early 1800s where the founder of what would eventually go on to be the university held his first classes back in 1835. I’d always wanted to see inside, but only a few faculty members had access. I saw this as my one and only opportunity, so I had no qualms about agreeing, although I shouldn’t have, considering he must have stolen the keys from the dean’s house earlier.
“During the short drive, I could barely contain my excitement. It sounds stupid now, but it was the first nice thing anyone had done for me. Sawyer hardly listened to a word I said. When I’d share my excitement about a piece of art or an amazing old house or a new archaeological find, he wouldn’t even look up from his notebook where he was preparing his next sermon. Most of the time, I felt like I was talking to a wall. But Jay… I’d mentioned the Allen House to him once. Once,” she emphasizes. “And it was months prior. Yet he remembered. He listened when I spoke. At the time, I convinced myself that was all the proof I needed to assure myself he was just a nice guy. But now I know the truth.”
“What’s that?”
“The reason he took note of those little things about me was so I’d feel comfortable. So I’d be too blind to see the darkness within him.”
She takes a minute, closing her eyes as she basks in the wind kicking up around us. The setting sun casts a glow over her, and I see the pain she’s been carrying in the lines of her face. What I wouldn’t give to know what’s going through her mind right now. If she’s trying to come to terms with the guilt I sense still plagues her.
“Everything was pitch black when he led me inside,” she begins, her voice shaky. She stares into the distance, as if watching a movie of the night and is simply reporting back as a disinterested observer, not