Dying Forever (Waking Forever Book 3) (3 page)

“I understand, but if I include an element that isn’t accurate to the period
, will you count off?” The girl persisted.

Usually Alison would give the freshman
her standard spiel about how, being in college, they were expected to set their own path and extrapolate from one experience to another in order to reach a conclusion. Instead she opted for the quick response. “No.”

Tossing her iPad into her bag, Alison took a deep breath and followed a stream of students toward the door. Bryce fell into step beside her as they exited to the hall. “Alis - Professor Bailey, can I trouble you for a minute
, please?”

Alison sighed heavily. “Quickly
, Ms. Whelan. I have a department meeting in fifteen minutes, and it’s across campus.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Bryce was either ignoring or
was oblivious to Alison’s irritation.

“Suit yourself.” The toxic mix of anger, hurt
, and embarrassment was boiling up in Alison, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to maintain her composure much longer.

“I know what happened last week was rude and I -” Before Bryce could finish, Alison stopped abruptly, looked around the crowded hallway, and walked toward an empty class room.

“Come on.” Alison waved a confused Bryce over and shut the door behind her. “First, Ms. Whelan, rude doesn’t begin to describe what you did to me. Second, given our current situation, it would appear for the best that we didn’t - well - date.” Alison clenched her jaw. “And speaking of that - what the hell are you doing in my class?”

Bryce frowned and looked down at the beige linoleum floor. “I -”

“Speak up. I can’t hear you.” The harshness in Alison’s voice surprised her, and the hurt look on Bryce’s face forced her to realize she didn’t want to be this angry person. Alison took a deep breath and tried to physically will the resentment out of her body. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”

Bryce’s green eyes shot up and a look of relief passed over her face. “I got nervous about having drinks with you - thinking I would say something stupid
. So instead I was a coward and ran away. Second, I’m auditing the class and had no idea when we met that you were the professor. You just gave me your first name, and I didn’t make the connection.”

Alison looked at Bryce for several seconds
. Her anger dissipated, but the hurt continued to grip her chest, leaving her feeling short of breath. “Okay then. So, this is – this is awkward, but let’s soldier on.” Alison was suddenly channeling her father. “I mean, there’s no reason this should interfere with your studies, and in retrospect - like I said - it’s for the best that we didn’t - didn’t -”

“Date.” Bryce timidly interjected.

“Exactly.” Alison reached for the door knob. As she opened the door, the noise from the busy hall rushed in. “So, I’ll see you in class Thursday?”

Bryce smiled. “Yes, and thank you.”

Alison managed a nod and left both the room and Bryce behind. She stopped in the hall and looked back as Bryce exited the room and walked the opposite direction. Alison’s heart was still racing as she tried to exhale the intoxicating scent of oranges and vanilla that seemed to radiate off of the beautiful redhead.

“
Is she one of your students, Alison?” A woman’s voice startled Alison out of her daydreaming.

“Jesus! Annabel
, you scared the crap out of me.” Alison nearly knocked the woman over as she spun around to face her.

Annabel
Putnam was a professor of religious studies. Because she and Alison essentially had the same boss, they ran into each other periodically at events for the College of Arts and Sciences.

“
Clearly, that was not my intention.” The woman’s cadences when she spoke verged on sing-songy, and she always seemed a little out of breath.

“Of course not, I was just-
” Alison took a step back. “I was just wrapping up.”

Brushing a loose strand of her raven colored hair off her forehead, Annabel
looked past Alison and down the hall. Her eyes narrowed. “With
that
woman?”

Alison frowned as
she followed the woman’s fixed gaze to Bryce, who stood at the farthest end of the hall talking to an older man Alison didn’t recognize. She had only spoken with her colleague a handful of times, but no matter the topic, it seemed as if the woman verged on offensive when she spoke. To make matters worse, Alison didn’t think the woman even realized it.

“
Yes. Quick conference with a student - well, she’s technically auditing the class - so -”

Looking back at the dark haired woman, Alison stopped. The woman
’s normally olive tone skin had paled, and she looked as if she might faint. “Annabel, are you okay?”

Annabel’s brown eyes suddenly looked watery.  The distracted woman blinked quickly several times, then took a deep breath and nodded, forcing a wide smile onto her face.
“The redhead is your student?”

“Ah, l
ike I said she really isn’t-” Stopping mid-sentence, Alison willed herself not to justify Bryce and hers relationship. It was ridiculous because for one thing, there was no relationship, and clearly Annabel didn’t care anyway, as she was waving her hand dismissively in front of Alison.

“Anyway, are you going to Barry’s meeting?” Annabel asked.

Barry Whitman was the Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. A stocky man in his early fifties, he insisted - in spite of the many objections of his staff - to hold faculty meetings in the middle of the day. This usually made lunch impossible, but by Barry’s reckoning, early meetings avoided potentially uncomfortable, alcohol laden exchanges if the meetings were held after hours and off campus.

“I am. Would you like to walk together?” Alison wasn’t really in the mood for company, in particular with someone who she didn’t have a great rapport with, but she didn’t want to be rude
considering the nature of departmental politics. A peer today could be a department head tomorrow.

Reaching into the front pocket of her black slacks, Annabel retrieved her cell phone, and began quickly typing as she spoke. Without looking at Alison, she walked past her, their shoulders brushing. “You go ahead. I have to grab something from my office.”

Alison shrugged. “Suit yourself.” The woman didn’t so much as look back at Alison as she quickly made her way down the hall. Looking past her rude associate, Alison was relieved to see Bryce was no longer there to witness her uncomfortable exchange with Annabel. She had reached her embarrassment quotient for the year already, and it wasn’t even lunch yet.

“An important symbol in American myth, Paul Revere derived his status less from his own achievements and more from the perceptions of the society that elevated him to hero status.” Alison paced back and forth in front of the class as she spoke. Her eyes wandered from student to student, careful not to make eye contact with Bryce. “This phenomenon is particularly interesting with regards to America - who having separated from England and its cultural icons, was left without a history of its own.”

Brian Foster’s hand shot up. This was the third time he had interrupted the lecture with a question that was less about him clarifying a point and more about him demonstrating his knowledge of the topic.

“Yes, Mr. Foster.” Alison managed not to sound annoyed.

“In your book
,
Beyond Salem - Heresy and Hysterics
, you speak to a similar occurrence around the myth of Plymouth Rock and the legacy that instilled in the original settlers of the Colonies.” The skinny, red faced young man exaggerated his hand gestures as he spoke.

“What’s your question
, Mr. Foster?” The boy was taking ass kissing and know-it-all-ism to new heights.

The student’s eyes widened
, and his usually red face glowed an even brighter crimson as several of his classmates snickered. “I was hoping you could draw the parallel for the class.”

Alison shook her head. “I
can
and I
will,
Mr. Foster. In due time.” She turned her attention back to the class at large and inadvertently made eye contact with Bryce, who was sitting at the end of the third row. It was Alison’s turn to blush as the beautiful woman smiled at her. Clearing her throat, Alison managed to finish with her lecture in spite of her voice being drowned out by the loud beating of her anxious heart.

“Great lecture.” Alison looked up as she slid her iPad into her bag.
The attractive man standing in front of her looked to be in his late forties, with dark brown hair graying around his temples. He had on a pair of dark blue jeans, a western style button-up shirt with a brown and black plaid pattern, and a pair of dark brown leather cowboy boots that peeked out from under the boot cut jeans.

“Sorry -
have we met?” Though nontraditional students - people going to college for the first time after raising a family, or returning for additional degrees later in life - were not uncommon, Alison was certain she had not seen the man in any of her classes.

“My bad.” The
stranger extended his hand. “I’m Tom Hutchinson. I’m a freelance writer for
Texas Monthly
magazine.” The skin of his hand was coarse and warm. The slow, meandering pace of his cadence when he spoke led Alison to think he was from North Texas, or possibly Oklahoma.

Alison shook the man’s hand. “Alison Bailey. Nice to meet you.”

His smile was genuine and warm. “The pleasure is entirely mine, Professor Bailey, but I admit I’ve come to you with ulterior motives.”

Her curiosity
piqued, Alison put her bag down and turned her full attention to Tom. “How’s that, Mr. Hutchinson?”

The man shook his head. “Please, call me Tom, and if you’ll have a coffee with me, I can explain.”

Alison looked at her watch. “Sadly, I only have twenty minutes until my next class, and I have to walk across campus to get there.”

Tom frowned. “Too bad. May I walk with you?”

“Sure.” Alison pulled the leather strap of her bag over her shoulder and walked toward the door. Once in the hall, Tom walked alongside of her.

“I’m a big fan
, by the way. I’ve read both your books, and I think they’re fascinatin’.” The man practically gushed.

Alison chuckled. “
Now I’m suspicious. I can’t imagine what your motives are when you’re softening me up like this.”

“Not at all.” The man’s smile was contagious
as they exited the building and wound their way along the congested sidewalk. “
A Witch’s World
and
Beyond Salem
are some of the best academic writings I’ve seen on witchcraft and witches in America.”

“Read a lot of that sort of thing?” She still wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed.

“Up until recently, only in my spare time.” His smile faded.

“Until recently?” They stopped at a crosswalk, and Alison turned to face Tom.

“Have you seen or read anything in the past two months about the murders on the south side of town?”

Alison did remember reading something about the murders, and how
they were some of the more gruesome killings the city had seen in decades. “A little, but what’s that got to do with me?”

Tom looked around as if he was about to divulge a national security secret. Leaning toward Alison, the man lowered his voice. “What’s been kept out of the news is the way the victims were dispatched. It’s akin to ritual killing.”

Alison’s brow furrowed and her stomach tightened. “That’s horrible.” 

Seeing the street was clear, Tom took Alison’s forearm and the two crossed the street. Once on the other side, Tom
released Alison’s arm and reached into the front pocket of his jeans to retrieve a pack of Winston cigarettes. “Do you mind?” He held the pack up.

Alison
shook her head. “That’s fine.” She wasn’t a fan of cigarette smoke, but since they were outside, and the man seemed nervous, she felt she should oblige him. “Sorry if I’m being a little thick, but what does any of this have to do with me?”

Taking a long drag off the cigarette, Tom waited several seconds before exhaling.
“I really should let these go. Terrible habit.” He rolled the cigarette back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. “Got hooked in my late teens when I was working on a cattle ranch in West Texas.”

“West Texas?
Given your accent, I thought you were from North Texas. The panhandle maybe.” The fact Tom hadn’t answered her question wasn’t lost on Alison, but they had another block to walk so she could bide her time.

Tom gave her a crooked smile and took another pull from the cigarette. “Good ear. Lubbock. Went to Texas Tech, but worked summers on a ranch near El Paso.”

Alison nodded as they rounded the last corner before reaching Fallor Hall. She had taken a mandatory Sociolinguistics class during her undergraduate work at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She had initially not seen the point of the course, given her American Studies degree plan, but after a couple weeks she had found the source material fascinating.