Chapter 1

Today's my first day at Harvard. I had been at UCSD, but I'd wanted to take some time off from classroom learning so I'm going to be working with a professor at Harvard on some psychology studies he's doing.

I'm taking a few classes here in other areas I'm interested in, primarily philosophy and similar subjects, though I'm not getting credits for them. I've got all my books, found my apartment, introduced myself to the professor I'll be working with, and I should be excited about all of this, but… I'm bored.

As a voracious reader, I'm nearly constantly in fictitious worlds and I never have appreciated "real life" as much as I should. A kid who's only lived in foster homes getting as far as working at Harvard should appreciate that, right? But I just feel like I'm doing the same thing as a billion other people before me, regardless of their backgrounds. There's nothing exciting going on.

Still, I go to my first class: Mythology 101. I sit down, pull out my dingy laptop and glance around at the other students. A girl in all black clothes sits down next to me.

"Hey," I say cheerfully. I'm a friendly person, despite being a loner. I'm the type of person who's friends with everyones but at the same time friends with no one. The girl just glares in response, so I turn away and look to my other side. It's a boy in glasses, looking the part of a nerd with a pocket protector and suspenders and everything.

"Hey," I say to him.

He smiles. "Hey."

The lights flicker and we both glance up at them.

"Yeah, those have been doing that lately," he says, a little apologetically as if it's his responsibility to make sure the lights are working well. He holds out a hand for me to shake and I shake it. "I'm Robert. A junior here, mastering in science."

"Katherine. I'm working with one of the psychology professors here, just taking some extra classes on the side."

Just then the teacher walks in, and immediately steps up to the board and writes his name on it in bold, capital letters. "Mr. White," he announces once he finishes, as if we can't read.

The lights flicker again and I feel a draft of cold air. The people around me seem to notice it too, because they tense up a little bit and shiver.

"Today, I'll just be going over the course syllabus and expectations," Mr. White tells us all. "Now, take a sheet and pass them down…"

Just as he gives a stack of papers to a girl in the front, a scream echoes down the hall. Mr. White freezes. "Everyone stay here, I'll see what's going on."

He rushes out of the classroom. Everyone stays in their seats for a few seconds before an entire mob crowds to the door. I can't help it, I'm among them; I'm curious to know what's going on. Those closest to the door are peeking out, watching Mr. White run down the hall to a hysterical girl. There are a few other teachers already around her, asking what's wrong.

After a few minutes, a few phone calls, and a lot of worried looks, Mr. White comes back, looking startled.

"Class dismissed," he says, upon seeing the crowd of us near the door. "We'll go over the syllabus on Thursday."

"What happened?" someone calls.

"Um," he starts. "We're not entirely sure yet."

The entire group is still curious. When we walk out of class, I hear everyone around me speculating about what happened. A few security guards are blocking off the girls' bathroom in the hallway.

"What happened?" I ask them tentatively. Something's happening here, or happened, and it's impossible not to be incredibly curious, even though I know it's none of my business.

"Suicide," one of them says bluntly.

I'm surprised. It's the first day of school. Who would… end it, on the first day, a fresh beginning?

Still, I put the thoughts aside and go to the library to flip through my textbooks for my next few classes.

As I walk through the entrance, I see a boy a couple of years older than I am checking out a small pile of books. He's got dark brown eyes and hair, and he's wearing a jacket that looks a little warm for the late August weather. Demons, one of his books says. Another says, Revelations. The third one is Angels and Their Interactions with Human Kind.

I approach the boy, wondering if he's mastering in the same area I've just started studying. "Are you taking a religious studies course, or something?"

He stares at me for a few moments. "I guess you could say that."

I smile. "Cool. I'm studying some of that stuff too, though I'm a psychology major. Science is nice, but sometimes the fantastical is a nice break. I almost wish it was true sometimes…" The boy raises his eyebrows, with a half-smile, like he just got a joke that I missed. I continue, "Anyway, what's your thesis?"

The boy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "It's… an analysis of the relationship between heaven, hell, and earth," he says. He still has an amused look on his face.

"Thus the books," I say, gesturing at the pile of books on demons and angels.

"Yep." He smiles. "Listen, I've gotta go, but, nice to meet you, um…?"

"Katherine."

"Nice to meet you, Katherine. I'm Sam. Hope I run into you again." With a brief smile, he picks up his load and walks out of the library.

When I sit down at a table to flip through my philosophy book, I hear a girl sobbing at the table next to me. She's surrounded by friends, all murmuring softly to her.

"It's just…" I hear her say. "It's just Amy wouldn't have just killed herself… I thought… I thought she was just going to the bathroom, she didn't really seem upset before but I should've noticed something, it's my fault…"

I could give this girl a lecture on the psychological explanation of why she feels like she does and why it's really not her fault that her friend died. Lots of people kill themselves without seeming off from their usual cheery selves, but it's hardly ever somebody's fault in particular, and especially not when it's just a matter of failure of prevention.

That might be my job someday, as a shrink. Telling people things are going to be all right when it doesn't seem like they will be.

Her words do spark a bit of interest, though, since she claimed her perfectly happy friend was just stopping by a bathroom. It doesn't really seem like an ideal place to end one's life, not in the middle of a school day.

The next morning, I pick up a university paper at a coffee shop on campus. There it is, on the second page: "Girl slits wrists in bathroom."

I read the article. The girl had no history of psychological issues, depression, bipolar; no history in her family; no problems in her life that anybody knew about. A slight investigation was being held, but murder was considered unlikely. It strikes me as strange. Strange, but possible, I suppose. In all the research I'd done for all my papers, I've rarely come across something like this.

I've just about dismissed the entire thing until a week later, when I'm on my way from one of my classes to meet the professor I'm going to be working with, and it happens again. Not a scream this time. Just shouts. Desperate and panicked shouts for help.

It's on the floor below where I am, so I run down the stairs. I see a guy telling the worried teachers surrounding him something and it's evident what he's talking about. Just behind him is a boy's body, soaking in a pool of blood. His wrists are slit.

A teacher shoos everyone away before we can get a closer look. An ambulance is already pulling up outside and I see paramedics running to the building with a stretcher. I'm really curious to find out what's happened, but everyone at the scene is being hurried away and I don't have a chance to object.

I've just stepped outside the building a few minutes later when I see Sam. He's wearing a suit and tie, along with another man next to him. The first thought that runs through my mind is was he on his way to a funeral? But, because of my love of fiction, the second thought is, undercover agent. What if he was just pretending to be a student here because he was investigating these wrist-slittings because… because they're actually murder? This thought is reinforced when he and the man next to him pull out official looking badges and flash them to the security guards and police on the scene, guarding the entrance of the building. They walk into the building, to the suicide victim and out of sight.

Even if they're not undercover agents, there is definitely something up. I decide to stick around to find out. I plop down on a bench nearby and watch the building, pulling out a textbook so I can pretend to look busy.

When Sam and his friend come out of the building twenty minutes later, they're talking intently about something. I spring to my feet and walk over to meet them.

"…Probably a ghost," Sam is saying. He hasn't noticed me yet.

"Hey, Sam," I say. "What's up?"

"Oh… Uh, hi, Katherine," he says, looking startled and a little flustered.

The man next to him mutters something under his breath. I wonder who he is. He looks a little older than average college age, with short light-brown hair and green-hazel eyes.

"We're a little busy now," the guy says with a sarcastically apologetic shrug. "Talk to my partner later."

They start to walk away, Sam glancing back at me and shrugging his shoulders, his expression saying sorry.

I'm still curious. I quicken my pace and walk next to them. "Partner? Aren't you students?"

They stop again to look at me. The other guy starts to say something but Sam makes a slight motion for him to shut up. "Yeah. We're pledges. We were supposed to—" he leans in a little closer and glances around like he's worried someone will hear "—find a way to get in to look at the suicide victim."

"Oh. Well." I'm still suspicious. "When did you get those badges made? Did you…" I trail off. It's like they knew this was going to happen and made fake badges just for that. There are a few possibilities racing through my mind, but they're interrupted.

"Look, lady," Sam's 'partner' says. "We'd love to stay and chat but we really have to get back to our frat house. They'll be expecting us."

Before I can say another word, they're hurrying off again, muttering at each other furiously in whispers. I stare after them, speechless.

Something's not right. I make up my mind to follow them. But by the time I decide to do that, they're around the corner and gone.