"Daryl Grady's family history, perhaps, is the most noteworthy aspect in the case profile."

Professor Turner's voice was flat yet modulated, as she addressed the hall full of students who had their eyes glued to the bright screen right in front of them.

"His brothers— Arthur and Connor." Turner stated as an achromatic image of two little boys, one perceptibly quite a few years older than the other, appeared on the plain screen.

Tahlia sat there with the little eraser tip of her pencil playing in between her lips, her complete attention channeled towards listening to every word coming out of Turner's mouth.

Driven by the strident realization of the nearing exams, in a matter of a few weeks, Tahlia had every fibre of her body compelling her to put head back into her studies.

Any threats from a certain serial killer would have to wait.

She may have lost her place as the star student in Turner's eyes, but Tahlia refused to let her mental ruin affect her grade. Losing the scholarship would mean foolishly severing everything she'd persevered for half her entire life.

With that thought reinforced in her brain, she began making notes about the life of Daryl Grady, a 47 year old man serving life sentence at the California State Prison for first degree murder.

"Next, we'll take a look at Bonnie Grady, Daryl's mother.

It was then that one black and white photo of an elderly woman was projected onto the screen. Her dark hair was styled into an outgrown pixie cut, while her aging face held a generic photography-studio directed expression.

"Bonnie Grady's relationship with Daryl was dicey from the very beginning. She was known to be very emotionally abusive, even having humiliated him in front of his neighbors, teachers in public. Not quite mother-of-the-year material, one may say."

With her head down to her notebook, Tahlia had merely just begun to write when an odd, atypical hushed sound came from beside her.

First, her brows furrowed; second, she turned her head towards the noise, her confusion only deepening.

The lights were turned off for the presentation, but it was just luminous enough for Tahlia to be able to make out the other students busy writing or typing down Turner's key points.

Dismissing it, she picked up where she had left off writing about Bonnie Grady.

"Natalia"

This time she froze.

It was no longer just an ominous noise, but her name positively whispered in an unearthly manner.

Her head shot to her sides, her system starting to grow all jittery. Not one person seemed to be looking her way, let alone calling for her.

"On one occasion, as recalled by Grady, Bonnie called him a 'worthless twat' in front of his first girlfriend, later privately taunting him about how no girl could possibly want him."

As Tahlia refocused her gaze to the screen, she couldn't help but notice something off immediately.

The woman's hair was different. Instead of the pixie hairdo that she could have sworn she'd seen on her just a few minutes ago, now was a long length of frizzy hair that went past her shoulders.

She inclined her head in pure confusion, leaning forwards in her seat as she tried to figure out what was happening.

It was then that the facial features of the woman started to distort.

Her bulbous nose turned to a slim, pointy one, the lines and wrinkles on her face started to dissipate as her visage started to appear more youthful. The photographic fake smile was gone from her lips, in it's place, an uncanny foreboding sneer.

Tahlia watched in pure horror as the words on the screen written below the picture — Bonnie Kathleen Grady, evaporated to smoke, turning into another set of thunderous letters right in front of her eyes.

Deborah Lilith Meyers.

A shiver moved down her shoulder blades at the sight of the menacing look on her face.

She clutched the sides of the desk tightly, as she felt the ghost of merciless fists, the grating lashes of leather belts come alive on her skin once again.

She shut her eyes close desperately, balling her hands into fists, breathing in and out rapidly.

This isn't real.

This isn't real.

She then opened her eyes, her sight being met with the photo of Bonnie Grady in her view.

Everything was in it's place.

Suddenly, the lights in the room came on, the students breaking into chatter with each other.

"We'll talk more about Daryl's relationship with his siblings in detail tomorrow. Seminar is dismissed."

As others started getting up from their seats, Tahlia sat in her place harrowingly, chest heaving heavily.

Her mouth was covered with her palm, as she tried making sense of what had just happened.

But sometimes, missing pieces of a puzzle just cannot fall into place so easily.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"So, Tahlia, criminal psychology, right?"

Dean Jackson questioned, as he dug into his waffles a la mode.

Tahlia nodded, only offering a small smile to go along with the answer.

She peered at him, noticing how the sunlight that beamed inside the café, illuminated his striking face.

His dark bronze skin seemed to radiate against the afternoon glare, making him look effortlessly gorgeous, as he sat a few feet across from her.

"Is it interesting?" He enticingly took a bite of the mint chocolate ice cream scoop.

A little chuckle full of dry, dark humor left her mouth, "That's one word for it."

If only you knew.

"Well, it's gotta be better than having to read and critically analyze Lord of The Flies." He jokingly remarked. "I mean, being a literature major isn't very adventurous."

Tahlia bit her lip. They'd been there for about 40 minutes, talking about themselves. Well, he might have initiated most of the talking, she was just a bunch of nerves for the date.

Not only because Dean Jackson was painfully good looking, but because of what Jace had warned her two days ago of.

As she finished eating her pudding, she cleared her throat, gathering every last confrontational cell in her body.

"Um, Dean, I've had a great time today. You seem like an amazing guy..."

She adjusted the hem of her top, fidgeting under his gaze.

Dean must have sensed where her sentence was going, for he raised his eyebrows, "But?"

She exhaled, "I don't want to offend you, but..I just- I've heard things."

Dean motioned for her to go on.

"Uhm, that you're kind of a ladies' man."

She mentally facepalmed herself as the words left her mouth.

Ladies' man? LADIES' MAN?

WHO EVEN SAYS THAT TAHLIA, she screamed at herself.

"Okay?" He raised his brows even higher, the look on Dean's face that of pure amusement, "And where might have you heard that milady?" He added facetiously.

Tahlia shook her head nervously, "You know what, I shouldn't have–"

"Let me guess, Montgomery?"

She remained quiet, her cheeks on fire.

He snickered, "You do know he has the biggest crush on you, right?"

Tahlia's eyes widened, "No way, he's my..best friend."

"Oh come on, it's kind of cute in weird way actually, how he does this lovesick puppy eyes thing when he talks about you. I'm not surprised he's making up this stuff."

He talks about me? Her conscious voiced, starting to lose it's cool.

"That's not- He- he's on a romantic getaway with Tara Hayworth as we speak."

Dean merely just flashed her a knowing look.

"Look Tahlia, I've only met you a few times, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't drawn to you." He said earnestly, peering into her eyes.

"But if you have any doubts about this, I respect your choice. Just say the word, I'll stay out of your way."

His words were drizzled with honey, making Tahlia feel like crap for bringing that up, in turn.

She gazed up at him, "Okay." She blurted.

"Okay? As in, you want me to stay out of your way?" He teased knowingly, his tone flowing with flirtatiousness as he grinned.

"You know what I mean." She said shyly.

He drew himself forwards in his chair, "Thank God. I thought I'd have to write you, like, an old school letter or something, put those Lit skills to use."

With that he excused himself to go pay for the food.

Tahlia was still blushing. She'd had the most minimal experience with boys, yet here she was, this beautiful man joking about writing letters to her on their first date.

Wait a second.

Something tugged at the back of her brain.

Letters.

The letter.

Out of nowhere was she cruelly reminded of the very object that had perhaps started her perpetual doomsday. She may have burnt the cursed letter, but Lord knows she could never forget it. It was etched as clear as the skies in her memory,

'Meet me on friday, 11 pm.

Use the key to get in from the back entrance.

Please, whatever happens, I need to see you Natalia.

L.H.'

She bit her lip, delved deep in thought.

Before, she had been so intensely overcome with emotions thinking about this incident, that she hadn't given it a second glance.

But now, putting the pieces together, she couldn't help but realize;

If the key was what Logan needed to escape, why would he have it and not use it in the first place?

Why give it to her and use her to get it back to him? That hardly made any sense.

Unless he just wanted to fuck with your mind by dragging you into this mess for no reason, barked the voice of her conscious.

But that seemed unlikely, it was way too complicated and luck-gambling of a plan, psychopath or not.

It was then, out of the blue, that one reality dawned upon her—

What if Logan never had the key to begin with?

Suddenly she recalled how the orderlies would scan him and his room with that metal detector. She remembered Michelle saying something about how the patients were regularly checked before sleep, for foreign objects as such. It would have been near to impossible to get hold of an object like that and go unnoticed.

And, it was just like that, as the missing pieces of the puzzle began to come together.

What if that letter was not even written by Logan?

Maybe it was sent to him, and all he had to do, was make sure Tahlia spotted the letter.

It made sense, that's why he was in the Recreation Room that day, not in his own, so he didn't have to be checked, all while making sure Tahlia positively got the letter and the key.

Two birds with one stone.

"You ready to go?" Dean inquired as he returned. She absentmindedly nodded in response, getting up with weak knees.

Tahlia's head swayed as she tried to digest this revelation.

Sergeant Randall was right.

Logan Hunt had an accomplice.

✴✴✴