All Chapters of The Boy Who Died: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

MarcieI sling my backpack over my shoulder and step out of my apartment onto the sunny breezeway outside. Early September in Virginia retains most of the heat of summer, so I wipe instant sweat off my forehead before my brown curls can catch in it. This semester is going to be different. That means not showing up looking like a drowned rat, even if I doubt anyone in my photography elective is going to care.Birds sing as I lock the door then test the knob to make sure it actually locked. A voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Dana, my therapist, reminds me I’m not supposed to be indulging those instincts. I’m safe here. The only person I’ve been in danger from since setting foot on the campus of Ardent University is myself, and she’s getting out of my way this year. I unlock the door, lock it again, and walk away without testing the knob.My heavy backpack bounces against my shoulder. I don’t want to have to return to my apartment between classes, even if it’s technically o

MarcieMy heart hammers so loudly I can barely hear myself ask, “The new photographer?”“Yeah, Ben something.” Heather drops her keys on the hall table along with a small pile of envelopes, likely bills.Oh, god. Oh, fuck. My feet move without my command, dragging me closer to Heather. Her blonde hair in its usual high ponytail shines in the summer sun. I try to focus on that, to ground myself. My ribs feel like they’re caving in.“What did he say?” I manage.“Well, he thinks you’re cute.” Heather furrows her eyebrows and takes a step back. “He’s helping out in one of your classes, right?”Heather doesn’t know about my institutionalization. She wasn’t on campus yet. And, god, I’d like to keep it that way. I need one person on campus who knows me and doesn’t look at me like I’m about to crack. Deep breaths, Marcie.“Yes.” I take another step back that I hope doesn’t look robotic and drop my laptop on the table. “How did he find you?”That seems to put her a little more at ease. She sau

Marcie“I swear to god you look hot,” Heather says.I adjust the miniscule dress she insisted on loaning me, looking at my reflection in her full-body mirror, and make a tepid attempt at believing her. The dress is charcoal-colored, rather than a full, show-stopping black. The mid-thigh hem does show off my legs. They’re not nearly as good as they were during my theater days—the dancing in musicals helped, but standing up for that long was a huge contributor too. I’m taller than the average woman at 5’8, so my whole life has been filled with comments about how long my legs are. I guess they’re decent. But the way the fabric clings just shows off how little I still have in the way of curves, and my hair looks like a wreck. No, Heather’s just trying to be nice.Another screaming cavalcade of frat boys thunders by outside, and I struggle not to flinch. I should never have agreed to this party. The game finished an hour ago with our victory, apparently, and Heather has spent the whole ti

MarcieSomeone is jackhammering my skull. Not only that, they’re shining a search light right at my closed eyelids, trying to burn away my corneas before I’ve even really woken up. Someone wants me really, truly dead. I crack open an eye—fuck, it’s so goddamn bright—and make out hazy, familiar shapes. That dark brownish lump could be my desk. The dark blue underneath me could be my bed, if I passed out on top of my comforter. The searchlight takes on the distinctive rectangular shape of my window. Everything hurts.A warm, tempting smell winds through the air. Eggs. And bacon! My stomach rumbles. I grumble back at it. We’ll be staying in bed until they turn the searchlight off, thanks.My bladder also protests, and it’s in a far less negotiable mood. With a great act of will, I sit up. My stomach lurches, but last night’s drinks don’t make a reappearance. Thank god for that. I’m still wearing Heather’s dress. Achingly, eyes half-closed, I fumble through changing into sweatpants and a

MarcieNo. No, no, no. I didn’t spend a whole night talking to Ben. I didn’t spend all week texting Ben! My breath races. My heart hammers. He can’t be Ryan because…because….Ben catches my eye and smiles. He’s wearing a pair of jeans so crisp I have to assume he ironed them before leaving the house and a short-sleeved button-down with a tiny print I can’t make out from here. Oh, fuck, he’s walking over. I shove one of my hands beneath the table and squeeze it into a fist so tight, bright crescents of pain spark through my system as my nails dig in.“My dear Lancival.” He half-bows as he approaches. “I should’ve known you’d beat me here. Do you mind waiting while I get my drink?”I shake my head. He can’t be Ryan. He just can’t be. I watched Ryan die, even if I didn’t know that until his mom told me the next day. I went to his funeral. But oh, God, he looks so much like Ryan.He turns away and joins the still-short line. I stare at his back. He holds his shoulders like Ryan did. I thi