"The Eight" Apartment Complex, 8:30AM

EPISODE I.

The following morning, the incident that has imprinted itself on the back of my eyelids comes out in a report no more than a paragraph long in the school paper. I almost feel insulted at the lack of details, so I can only imagine how Sara Marshall's parents are feeling. The cause of death has been halfheartedly excused as some form of new street drug some kids concocted, and her body has been collected by the parents, who did not state whether they wanted a funeral or cremation service.

"This might sound a bit insensitive, but snap out of it," Kat eases in the living room, reaching over and closing my laptop. She sets a cold cup of coffee net to me at the table. "You've been staring at that thing for hours, now. There can't be more than three-hundred words…"

Sighing, I lean back in my chair and sip the cup. Mournfully, I look out back door windows and towards the patio, which leads right to the apartment complex's pool. The view is nice, but all I can see is Sara, shaking on the ground, and that empty bottle sitting prettily on the desk. "Something just seems…fishy. The police department barely even bat an eye at this."

"Because they figured it out," Kat assures, dusting her hands off. "Easy-peasy."

"Sara wasn't the type to try out new drugs," I defer, shrugging off Kat's nonchalance.

"No, but she cared a lot about how she looked. Perhaps her cheer outfit was feeling a bit snug, so she tried it out because she thought it would help her lose weight."

"You should be a screenwriter," I smugly snipe.

"If anything, you should. I'm just saying normal stuff – kids our age do reckless things like that. What else could it be?"

Hopelessly, I shrug. I don't quite know either, but it's just…off to me. "Maybe I just watched one too many mystery dramas," I offer, not believing what I'm saying, but not in the mood to put up a fight, either. "On the brighter side of things…how was your date?"

Lighting up like I just flipped her switch, Kat heaves a massive exhale and collapses on the couch. She's lucky our 2-by-2 apartment is on the first floor. "Wonderful. It's like a dream come true."

"He must be really sweet," I figure, glad to talk about something that isn't depressing.

"I guess," Kat slights, sitting back up. "He's crazy. But he's my kind of crazy."

"You've only had one date with him."

Wagging a finger at me, she clicks her tongue. "I have a good eye for these things."

"Right," I unsurely coo, before remembering I'm in no place to judge her. Here I am, sitting at the table, mulling over nothing but a gut feeling. "When do I get to meet him?"

"Slow down there, tiger. Like you said, we only had one date. Bringing a guy home to you is like bringing one home to my mom." Being that she's an out-of-state resident from Oregon, her family is halfway across the country, and rarely make visits. Naturally, she attaches familial titles to those around her.

"Then can I at least know his name?"

"Hmm…maybe a letter a day," she teases. "First one: P."

"I'm going to research all the students here whose name starts with P; you know that, right?"

Confidently, she nods. "I'd expect nothing less."

Flipping my laptop back open, I close out of Sara Marshall's report and start searching the student directory. What if he isn't a student here, or a student at all? Maybe he's a teacher…how scandalous, but not unlike her. As I become invested in the search, the focus on Sara Marshall's death melts from my immediate attention. The idea that Kat is playing this game solely to distract me from the incident crosses my mind, though if it's true or not, I don't mind.

Thousands of results pop up with just the letter "P," as expected. As searching through the first couple of plausible Facebooks and Instagrams, I relinquish my search until I acquire a second letter. But for now, it's time for me to catch a bus to campus. Classes will resume, with the auditorium already being cleaned up, and because Sara Marshall's death wasn't caused by murder, there's no threat on campus.

I catch bus 118, finding it only half-full. This is a popular route around this part of town, but I guess Sara's death has the population in too much of a slump to muster up going to class. Towards the back, I find a pair of empty seats. Sitting at the window, I place my backpack in my lap and put some headphones in my ears. Once everyone is seated, or almost so, we move on. Passing dozens of Chick-Fil-A's, banks, and clubs, I somehow picture Sara Marshall at every single one.

I need to knock it off. I'm starting to become obsessed…

Turning my music up to try and plug my flowing thoughts, I look around the make sure nobody is close enough to hear my tunes. But the back of the bus is mainly vacant, so I can rest my head on the window and close my eyes, not having to worry about some stranger sitting by me before I reach my destination. I don't know if it's common curtesy or just human habit, but like Hund's Rule of electronic configuration, we tend to file into empty rows before being forced to sit next to someone.

Smoothly, the bus rolls to a stop. In three more stations, I get off. A burst of wind floods the vehicle as the doors swing open to let off passengers and take on new ones. Slightly, it shakes as the occupants – mostly students – shuffle about. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember how I never saw Sara Marshall take the bus, and question if the reason for that is related to her death.

At this point, a gnat could buzz by and I'd connect it to Sara's death.

Aggravated at my incessant self, I sit up and open my eyes, just in time to see someone sitting next to me, despite all the empty seats. Who…? I turn my music down in case they talk. A lean figure files in next to me, placing his black bag between his legs on the ground as his knee brushes against mine. He adjusts his black hat, backwards but serving the purpose of keeping his hair out of his face. Also putting in headphones, he glances at me, chocolate eyes orbs of uncertainty as to why I'm staring at him. And I'm sure my own eyes are light hazel orbs of uncertainty as to why Izayah Parker is sitting here. I don't ever remember him taking this bus before today and it isn't that I missed him in the past, either – he isn't someone you don't notice. Especially when you have crazy good memory.

Emotionlessly, he looks away and crosses his arms. As the bus starts to roll along the road again, I contemplate shifting closer to the window. Or would that be too noticeable…and rude? Settling in place, I turn my neck so far to the window that the bus's slightest lurch might give me whiplash. As the feeling in my neck starts to dissipate, something hits my shoulder. I assume it's Izayah bumping into me as the bus turns, until whatever smacked my shoulder stays put there.

Glancing at the cause, it seems that Izayah has dozed off, his head accidentally lolling to the side and resting on me. Lightly, I push him back by his forehead until his closed lids face the roof. Considering he's asleep, I don't break my neck to ensure that communication isn't necessary, and stare ahead.

As the bus makes its next stop, Izayah's head rolls back in place on my shoulder. Sighing, I move my hand to push him back, when he mumbles, "It's not going to kill you, just bear it for a little while longer."

Watching his black earbuds, I lean my head next to them to see if he's listening to music. It's absolutely silent. "You could've sat anywhere else to sleep," I utter.

Inconvenienced, he sighs. "The windows are too hard and they shake too much."

Equally as inconvenienced, I shake his head off me. "Then you should've slept in."

"And miss class? I'd never…" he mocks, covering his gaping mouth in faux shock.

Raising a brow at him, I'm not sure how to respond. This almost-stranger is acting as if we grew up together, despite our first 0.2 second conversation just being yesterday…if you even call that a conversation. In my silence, Izayah resumes his attempts at claiming my shoulder.

"Are you kidding me?" I snap.

Knitting his thick brows together, he moans, "I'll buy you lunch."

I open my mouth to protest, but he pulled the food-card. As a college student, it's hard to pass up free food. But if this rando is using me for the rest of the bus ride, then I need to be picky. "…from where?" I precariously inquire.

"Anywhere, as long as you let me nap in peace starting now."

Unsure if he's actually one to keep his promise, I internally agree to his conditions, hoping I can squeeze a big order from Chick-Fil-A out of him later on. And you can bet I'm ordering dozens of packets of Polynesian sauce to bring home later.

Despite the rickety path of the bus, my body is as stiff as a board. I'm worried that moving too much will disturb the sleeping beauty and void our agreement. Nevertheless, by the time my destination is up next, Izayah is also getting off without a complaint escaping his lips. Unfortunately, the rest of the passengers are also getting off, and I somehow lose one of the tallest people I know in the crowd. Eventually, I make it out of the mob, but by the time I do, Izayah Parker is nowhere in sight. Now how can I ensure that he'll hold up his end of the deal? We don't have each other's contact information, I don't think he even knows my name, and the only class we have together is effective communication tomorrow. Guess I'll have to wait until then.

As I weave through the campus buildings, I catch sight of the central fountain in the center of our massive courtyard. Flower petals dot the tiers of water that gently cascade into a large pool. A woman with red hair like Sara's tearfully hands out fliers, making sure everyone in sight takes one. We meet eyes. "You!" she beckons, waving me closer. Looking around, there's nobody else she'd be talking to, but I point to myself and raise my brows in a question, anyways. "Yes, you, sweetie. Come here."

Hesitantly, I adjust my backpack and meet the woman by the fountain. The fliers advertise an extensively public funeral for Sara Marshall, the calligraphic writing delicate on the cherry-blossom pink paper. "Everyone is welcome," the woman, who must be Mrs. Marshall, promises.

Taking the flier, I inform her that, "Thank you, but Sara and I weren't very close, so…"

"It doesn't matter…it's just that…I think the more, the merrier." Sniffling, Mrs. Marshall swipes at her glassy eyes. "I really need everyone to go. I don't want us to be alone."

Glancing at the date, I see it's tonight, and the gravesite isn't more than a 15-minute drive from campus. Though attending a funeral isn't how I figured I'd spend my Wednesday night, I figure I should go…for Sara's family, at the least. And out of respect, I'll do my best to tame the crazy thoughts about Sara's peculiar death that are bound to come out. "I'll be there."

"Bless you," Mrs. Marshall sighs. Then, she sets her sights on her next target. "You, you!"

I slip into my trigonometry class, and though the teacher does her best to ebb the dreary atmosphere, it doesn't work. In the back of the class, whispers about Sara doing drugs start to circulate. By the time the gossip reaches the front, the drug story has turned into a story about how Sara had a stalker that poisoned her because, "If he couldn't have her, then no one could." It's crazy how twisted rumors get when they flow through the grapevine.

But I have to admit, I do feel a bit guilty. The rumors could be a way for others to cope with the sudden and gruesome death, but to me, it means that others don't entirely buy the "new drug" story, either.

At the end of class, I've listened to student chatter more than the lecture. And my chemistry class after that is no different.

I need to get a grip.

Maybe going to Sara Marshall's funeral is really a bad idea for me. I need to be focusing more on classes instead of a closed case. Then again, perhaps seeing Sara lowered into the ground will finally drive the point home that she's dead, the police deduced why, and that should be the end of all of this.

By the time I get back to the apartment, talk Kat into going, then get ready, we catch an Uber that gets us to the funeral service just in time.

Though despite my hopes, this event does everything but put my wild thoughts to rest. In fact, it sends the entirety of Lancaster county into mass panic.