Over the next two days there were a few knocks at the door that made me jump. I held my breath until I heard the footsteps depart. On the third afternoon there was a knock, and a different sounding bump on the door before the footsteps walked away. I peered out all the windows to make sure no one was there, then opened the door to see a plate of biscuits and a note.

Mr Hatter is wondering where you are. Are you OK?

C.

I knew I needed to get back to my studies so I could stay at the university, but I was not sure how to do that with Mr Bishop still out there. I took a bite of one of Clarrie’s biscuits and immediately felt it envelope me in a field of warmth. I could breathe easier now, and knew exactly what to do.

The following morning I went to class. I kept looking over my shoulder, constantly feeling like I was being watched.

“Good morning Arcadia,” Mr Hatter said.

“Morning Mr Hatter,” I nodded.

I sat next to Clarrie.

“Where have you been?” she whispered.

“I’ll tell you at lunch.” I did not know how much to tell her, but I knew I had to say something.

As class finished, I arranged a meeting with Mr Hatter later that afternoon. I owed him an explanation, and I might need his support.

“Lunch here or at Good Vibrations?” Clarrie asked as we walked outside.

“Let’s go to The Republic. I need to see Mr Hatter later, so it’s easier to stay here.”

Clarrie and I sat down at the back of The Republic and ordered lunch.

“What’s going on Arcadia?” Clarrie asked.

I looked around my shoulders. “I was attacked.”

“What? When? Where?”

“Shhhh. I think he works here.”

“Here? In The Republic?”

I nodded.

We both looked around.

“Have you reported this?” Clarrie asked.

“No. I’ve met this man before,” I said.

“You know him?”

“Kind of,” I looked around, “He’s old. He’s senile.”

“What did he look like?”

As we were looking around for an old grey man, our food arrived. Clarrie had spicy bean fritters, and I had pea soup with bread.

“Were you hurt?” Clarrie asked, “And how are you feeling?”

“I was more frightened than anything else. I’ve been hiding at home. I don’t want him to find out where I’m living. Clarrie, can I ask you a favour?”

“Of course.”

“I can’t walk around here by myself anymore. Can you please stick with me between class and library study?”

“Of course, Arca. Let me know if you need anything. Have you told Josh?”

“I haven’t seen him yet. Can we meet him later?”

“Sure,” Clarrie said. “But what are you doing to do?”

“I don’t know, but this man – he’s a danger to everyone here. He definitely isn’t all there, if you know what I mean.”

Clarrie nodded.

We ate quietly, looking around to see if we could see him.

Shortly after finishing, a gruff voice from behind me spoke. “Finished?” he said.

I gasped.

Mr Bishop took our plates to the kitchen.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.

We rushed out and into the library.

“That was him,” I said. “He collected our plates. I knew he must be working there.”

“You need to report him,” Clarrie said.

“Yes, I’m seeing Mr Hatter soon. Clarrie, can you please come with me and wait outside his office? I am really scared of this man. He’s going to follow me.”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

I explained to Mr Hatter why I had been absent – that I had been attacked by a man who works in The Republic, that he is old and senile, and that he should really be hospitalised.

Mr Hatter was understanding, and told me to report him to the dean of the university. An unusual case, in a land where crime and evil have no place, my complaint would either be ignored, or escalated. He said if anyone else has complaints against Mr Bishop, then it would be taken very seriously. Mr Hatter also told me I needed to keep up with class and my studies, or there would be no place for me here.

I gratefully thanked him, and assured him I would not be wasting any time, and would be straight back to serious study.

“What did he say?” Clarrie asked.

“I have to report it to the dean. They might not do anything, but if anyone else comes forward, then they’ll have to pay attention.”

“Want to do that now?”

“Yes,” I said.

We walked to the administration building. I felt incredibly fortunate that the dean was available right away. I knocked on his office door, which was simply labelled The Dean. My legs were shaking.

“Come in,” he said, as he opened the door.

The dean was a tall skinny man, with short brown hair and a moustache that rendered him ageless.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

I told him of the attack by the old man at The Republic. I said I went there often and noticed he was senile. I was seriously hurt and frightened, and for the safety of students and staff, he should be treated in hospital.

The dean seemed sympathetic enough, and told me he would look into it.