Jon_KREX: Ivy On The Roof. Clever.

Obviously, not clever enough.

IOTR: Thx for the link about the zombie run.

Being an emoji addict, I have to stop myself from including a smiley-face.

Jon_KREX: NP

I’m not sure whether to head down to the laundry room now or continue the conversation. Maybe that’s all he intended to say.

IOTR: Good show tonight. Good music.

Jon_KREX: Thx

I wait for a moment, but he doesn’t type anything more. Okay then. I can take a hint.

IOTR: Talk to you later.

Jon_KREX: Going out?

Wow, that was a fast reply.

IOTR: Nope. C is gone so I’m studying for a test on Monday. And doing laundry.

I want to ask what he’s been up to. Tell him that I miss him and wish he could come over. When he doesn’t answer right away, I decide not to wait.

The extraordinarily beautiful laundry room (I’m saying that facetiously, because the cement walls are painted this really gross green color and it’s got a low, claustrophobic ceiling) is located in the basement, along with some storage rooms where the housing department keeps extra furniture. Bike storage is down here, too.

A couple of the washers and dryers are in use, but there are plenty of empty ones. Two is my lucky number, so I lift the lid of the second one from the door and dump in my whites. In the next one go my darks. A detergent pod in each and I’m good to go. I like that we don’t have to pay. Guess they include the cost of doing laundry in the housing bill each quarter.

As I exit the laundry room and head for the stairs, an out-of-place sound draws my attention. I hesitate. It’s a scuffling, scratching sound, like an animal. Rats? Or could it be something banging around in one of the dryers?

I jump onto the first stair and look into all the corners. The room at the bottom of the stairs is glaringly bright, but I don’t see anything that could’ve made that noise.

Then I hear it again. Definitely not the dryers, but it could be an animal.

I glance down the long hallway toward the basement door where people bring their bikes in and out. There are several doorways leading into various storage spaces. None of them have actual doors. One of the lights is burned out, so much of the hallway is in shadow. In fact, the brightness here makes the darkness down there seem really dark.

If it’s not an animal, is it a couple hooking up?

“If anyone’s there and you’re just messing around, tell me you’re okay and I’ll leave you alone.” The silence is deafening. Running up to the first landing, I call down. “Okay, I’m going upstairs to get the RA.”

I wasn’t really expecting to hear anything. But there’s another scuffle and then a small cry. Oh my God, is someone in trouble? I’m so pissed off at myself that I left my phone in the room. There is no way in hell I’m going down that hallway unless I know someone’s with me. I take three giant steps up to the next landing and open the door to the first floor residence hall.

“Help! I need help downstairs.” A few people stick their heads out of their rooms. “Hurry! I think someone’s hurt.” I motion for them to follow me but I don’t wait for them.

With my hand on the railing, I practically jump to the first landing again. That’s when I hear the slamming of the basement door. Three more giant steps and I’m back in the basement. Just as I round the corner, a girl stumbles out of one of the storage rooms, her shirt torn, her hair messy. I recognize her—I think she lives on the second floor—but I don’t know her name.

“Please...help me.” She looks like she’s ready to topple over.

I run to her, wrap my arm around her shoulder and usher her toward the stairs. “What happened?”

Multiple sets of footsteps echo in the stairwell, and three students, breathing hard, join us.

“I…I…someone attacked me. Back there. When I was bringing my bike in.” Then she breaks down into gasping sobs.

“What did he look like?” one of the guys says. The girl with them is dialing 9-1-1.

“Um…I…About this tall—” She holds her hand an inch or two over her head.

“Old? Young?”

“I don’t know. A…a student, I think.”

The two guys charge down the hallway and out the door.

Someone must’ve told Bryce, because when we get to the first floor, he and Holly are running toward us.

“Oh my God, Maddy!” Holly runs up to us and flings her arms around her friend, helping her onto a nearby bench.

I step away just as several police cars with flashing lights pull up outside the dorm. Hardly any time passes before a policewoman is interviewing Maddy, and I’m giving my statement. Various security officials spread out to search the campus, including at least one officer with a German Shepherd on a long leash.

By the time I get back to my room, it’s after midnight. Maddy was taken to the hospital to make sure she was okay. Holly and a few other friends went with her. Bryce and the other RAs went room to room to make sure we keep our doors locked, and Campus Security has an officer stationed in our foyer.

Even though I’m dead tired and should really go to bed, I know I’ll never be able to sleep. The events of the night keep replaying in my head in a continuous fast-forward loop. My head throbs. I can tell I’m on the verge of a massive headache. I should’ve gone to the doctor for a refill on my medication. At least I don’t have to work tomorrow.

I slump down on the bed and that’s when my hands start to shake. I held myself together earlier but can feel myself unraveling now. My teeth are chattering. I’m freezing cold. As I lie there wrapped in my quilt with my knees pulled to my chest, I hear a dinging sound. It takes me a moment to realize it’s my computer. The chat window with Jon is still open.

Jon_KREX: Ivy? Are you back?

The time stamp indicates he typed that over an hour ago. He’s probably not still at the station, but I try anyway.

IOTR: Jon? U there?

A few minutes pass and he doesn’t reply. He must’ve gone home. I grab my phone and debate whether to text him or not. I want to talk to someone, so I take my chances.

Hey, Jon, are you there?

Yes. And then, Thanks for coming to the KREX chat room tonight. That was fun.

A knot forms in my stomach. It sounds like he’s talking to one of his Parishioners.

Jon?

Yeah?

My hands are really shaking now. I’m not sure I can type.

Ivy?

I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been able to hold myself together until now. Tears are stinging the backs of my eyes.

Ivy? Everything all right?

Not really.

What’s wrong?

Someone was attacked. The police came.

When? Where?

Before I can text back, my phone rings.

“What the fuck, Ivy. Who? When? In the dorm?” Something crashes in the background.

I feel an odd weightlessness. Like I’m outside my body looking down at myself. “What was that noise?”

“Just my guitar. Goddamn it, Ivy, what happened?”

I need to stay focused. Jon is asking me a question. “A girl. In my dorm. I found her. Down in the laundry room. She’ll be okay. I…I got to her before he…”

My hands are shaking even more. I almost drop my phone.

“Where are you?” His voice is strong and commanding. A door slams on his end of the line.

“In my room.”

“Is Cassidy home yet?”

How does he…? Then I remember telling him earlier that she wasn’t here. “No, she went home for the weekend.”

He curses under his breath. By the way he’s breathing, I can tell he’s running. “Get your shit together. I’m coming for you.”

“What? No, Jon. I’m…I’m fine. I just…wanted to talk to someone. I came back to my room and—”

“You can talk to me in person in five minutes.”

“No, you totally don’t need to come. I’m fine. They have Campus Security stationed downstairs. They’ve got everything under control.”

“I’m serious, Ivy. You’d better be ready or I’ll pack your shit for you.”

* * *

Jon


I pull up to her building less than five minutes later and spot her through the glass doors. She’s with a guy and a girl in the lobby.

I kill the bike’s engine and sprint to the entrance. She comes out to meet me and waves goodbye to her friends. She’s wearing pajama bottoms and a PSU sweatshirt, and she’s holding a pillow and her backpack. I leap up the steps, crashing into her at the top and pulling her into my arms.

“Jon,” she gasps, dropping the backpack and pillow.

For a split second, as the momentum propels us against the glass, I recall her panicked reaction back at the bar when we were in a similar position. I don’t want to scare her or hurt her, like someone else has obviously done to her in the past. I’d die a thousand deaths if I ever hurt her.

She clings desperately, like I’m a life raft. The only one who can help her.

Her reaction shatters something inside me that I’ve been trying for weeks to ignore. Something I’ve been denying even exists. I want to be here for her. To be her rock, her support. I want to be everything she needs.

When I heard what happened, I couldn’t get here fast enough. And now, with her in my arms, I think about what might have been. What if it was her and not some other girl who was attacked? And then my head goes into a really dark place. What if I lost her?

“God, Ivy.” The words stick to the back of my throat. I can hardly speak as the gravity of the situation hits me hard.