Unlike Holly’s social media (which is non-existent), Aanya Kapoor’s social media is a blend of smiling faces, kissy faces, and sunsets. I have to scroll through nearly four months’ worth of nonsense — if only Holly knew the lengths I go to for her safety — before striking gold.
A picture of Holly and Aanya. The same one I stole.
I see the comments.
@_luisa: No way…rest in peace.
@hayleybailey: wishing she found peace in the end :(
@lulu4you: For anyone struggling with similar issues, please feel free to reach out to me!
Ten minutes (and a much more intense google search) later, I find an article on their college website stating that Aanya Kapoor committed suicide ten years ago after she was allegedly raped by one of her classmates. There’s a name. Nate Lawson.
Information about Nate Lawson is relatively easier to find. There are multiple articles stating that he was arrested on January 11th, 2017, and is currently serving his sentence in the Queensboro Correctional Facility.
Queensboro. That’s just a few miles away from here.
I quickly log on to the correctional facility's website and enter his name in the search bar. It takes exactly two seconds and a single word under the ‘current status’ column for my suspicions to be confirmed.
Released.
The date says October 26th of this year. That’s two days before Holly received her first message.
Well, fuck.
I look back up at the decrepit building and my heart squeezes tighter at the thought of this psychotic asshole trying to take advantage of Holly.No. It’s fine. It’s why I’m here. To protect her. I will never let anything bad happen to her. Never.
I have two options.
Option one: I could follow her inside and find out myself. But the text clearly asked her to come alone with the threat of turning her in to the police. What if I go inside and ruin everything? What if Holly ends up behind bars because of me? I’d never forgive myself. Never. The mere thought of not being able to watch Holly as and when I please makes my muscles twitch.
Option two: I could stay right here in my car and just…keep watching. Even if someonewereplanning on attackingher, Holly is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She has a scalpel tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. A garrotte too. She’ll kill and consume anyone who tries to sneak up on her. Iknowthat. But I can’t shake this nagging sensation that something is wrong. That she’s not safe. That it is more than just about physical harm. Frustration climbs my nerves.
Scraping my fingers through my dishevelled hair, I decide that this might just be a trap. It sure feels like one. But also like an opportunity. Does Holly need my help? Or is it already too late? Should I stay or should I go? I’ve never been so torn.
A few more minutes pass, and my gaze roams the building’s first floor, filtering through the snowy haze, trying to get a glimpse of Holly.
Nothing.
I wait for an additional minute. Still nothing.
Fuck it.
I put aside my binoculars and slip my arms into my coat. It’s new. I just bought it.
Quietly, I get out of my car and make my way towards the building. I pick up my pace, head down and hands in my pockets. I slip through the front door, closing it behind me, the soft snick of the lock settling into place silent as a sigh.
There’s nothing but pitch darkness inside the building. Without making a sound, I take a step forward, blinking once, then twice, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. There’s a crumbling staircase to my left. Along with piles of old construction materials and mounds of shredded paper at the base. There’s a putrid smell everywhere too. It’s going to get all over my new coat.
I hear something.
Drip, drip, drip.
It’s coming from upstairs. Water? Or maybe something else? Something worse.
Adrenaline floods through my system as I make my way upstairs, careful not to displace even a single pebble. The sound grows louder.
Drip, drip, drip.
