Page 139 of Victorious

“Office hours are on Tuesday.”

It was Friday afternoon, and all she wanted was a hot bath and a tall glass of wine and some shitty reality TV, three components that formed the stable structure of her disassociation.

“I know,” said the student, “but it won’t take a long and—”

“There’s a sign-up sheet online.”

She turned the corner, hoping to shake them off. Thankfully, it worked.

Dani rubbed her temples, and unlocked her office door, and stopped abruptly when she saw that the room wasn’t empty.

A man sat waiting at her desk, not on the student side, but on her own, his back to the cabinets and his gaze on the door. On her. He was a study in contrasts, from his black attire to the shock of white-blond hair that curled along his temples, to his eyes, two chips of icy blue.

“Professor Dean, I presume?”

Dani tensed. She might not know her students’ names, but she knew their faces well enough to know she’d never seen this man before. If he was another professor, he wasn’t one in her department.

“The name’s on the door,” she said, too tired to beat around the bush. “How did you get in?”

The man seemed unbothered by the question, but he didn’t answer.

Nor did he show any signs of leaving. As she neared the desk, she saw one hand was fidgeting with a small round object. It took her a moment to recognize the disc for what it was: an inhaler. The cartridge was clear glass, the liquid inside a blue so bright it almost looked like it was glowing.

She should probably have called security then and there. But her curiosity was piqued.

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “Can I help you?”

The stranger’s mouth twitched, a smile without any of the warmth. “For both our sakes,” he said, “I certainly hope so.”

IINOW. THEN.

IT was a strange sensation, being back at Lockland.

It had been a lifetime, but his body remembered the route between the science buildings, legs carrying him as if to class while his mind was tugged between the present, and the past.

He was startled by how little the school had changed, compared to him. And yet, how young the students looked. They buzzed like fireflies, bodies lit with energy.

They burned so bright, the way he had, when he was here. With Angie. With Eli. Back when all three of them had been alive.

Instead of only Victor.

“Let me get this straight,” said Daniela—Dani, she’d corrected him—eyeing the formula he’d written out. “You want me to recreate this compound. But you won’t tell me what it does. Or what you plan to use it for.”

Victor rolled the inhaler between his fingers. “I can assure you,” he said, “it’s not harmful to the public. And I intend to use it only on myself.”

A shadow danced at the edge of his vision. He knew that if he turned his head, he’d see a blond-haired girl, or a black-furred dog, a cellmate, or a dead best friend. The hallucinations were almost constant now.

The setting didn’t help, haunted as it was.

He kept his attention fixed on the professor as she tapped the paper on her desk. “This isn’t a pharmacy.”

“No,” said Victor, sitting forward. “It’s a chemistry department. One of the best. At one of the best schools. And you’d be well compensated.”

“I’m teaching orgo to undergrads,” said Dani. “If I was in this for the money, I’d be working in a lab.”

“You should be, given your résumé. And the caliber of your research. So why aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “Pissed off the wrong dean by calling his work sloppy and his ideas derivative. Turns out, the truth doesn’t always set you free.”