Page 13 of White Lights
“Did you draw it?”
“No.”
“Yet you gave it to me earlier. And now you’re following me around. Why?”
“I can’t wait to tell you.” He’s smiling but there’s an unmistakable note of sarcasm in his voice. “But maybe you’d like to take this conversation somewhere more private—”
“I’m not going anywhere with you—”
“Sure about that?”
On the far side of the room, the same two cops enter the cafeteria. They haven’t seen her yet. Dez looks at the man in front of her, who tips his head toward a door behind him thatREADS ROOF ACCESS.
Dez leads the way, disappearing up the stairs. Motorcycle man grabs the coffees and follows her. When they clear the top of the stairs and press outside to the hot, still night on the roof, Dez turns on the guy in the leather jacket.
“Answers.”
He smiles. “Questions.”
“I don’t think you’re cute.”
“I disagree.”
“You think you’re cute?”
“I think you think I’m cute.”
“I also don’t think you’re funny.”
“I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Rafael de la Cruz. My fans call me Rafe.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I bring you good tidings of great joy,” he says, taking a sip of coffee.
“I swear to God, if you’re some sort of proselytizer—”
“You got in.”
Dez blinks. “I did what?”
“To Acheron.” He pauses for effect. “Not just in, I should say. They’re giving you the Total Package. Room, board, the coveted summer internship. They’ve even overlooked the fact that you don’t have a four-year degree. As a special bonus, you’ll also receive the eternal contempt of your less-rewarded cohort. Anyway, it’s all included.” He pats her cheek. “You’re looking at me like you’re about to say you don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Right, well, here’s an acceptance letter, spelling it all out. Save us both some time.” He hands her a sealed envelope with her name and address on the front. There’s a coat of arms on the top left corner featuring a tree split down the middle with a snake wrapped around the trunk like a rope holding it together. Next to the coat of arms, the wordAcheronin the same ornate type she’d seen engraved on his motorcycle. She’s never heard of the place.
“What is Acheron?”
Rafe stares at her. “The film school? Only the world’s most elite.”
“Bullshit,” she says. “I didn’t apply there.”
Rafe laughs. “No one applies to Acheron, Desdemona. One is selected.”
