Chapter 2

I had the strongest urge to run, to leave the man where he was, and flee to somewhere safe. I didn’t know where would be safe though. I was too new to the city, the sounds, and the smells. I looked back at the dorm. It was only a hundred yards away. I could get there quickly and hide in my room. It wasn’t home though. I wouldn’t feel safe there.

I looked down at the man again. The same thought crossed my mind again: whatever killed him could kill me. I got to my feet and stepped away, out of the shadows and into the streetlights. I had to call for help; there was no choice in it anymore. I needed actual living bodies around me. I needed to talk to someone.

The assistance call boxes on campus have a streetlight above them. I spotted one nearby and ran to it. There was a list of codes posted beside the phone for different departments on campus. I found the one for campus security and tapped it in. The person on the other end thought I was playing a prank. Several of the fraternities used the call boxes for hoaxes. I continued to insist he sends someone over right away. A man was dead. I needed an ambulance or police – I didn’t care which. He relented and sent a patrol car over.

I walked back over to the streetlight closest to the man’s body. A few minutes later, a car came down West Nedderman. I waved at it and pointed over toward the body. The car slowed down and a man got out. He held up a flashlight and pointed it at me and then at the body. I heard him mutter something under his breath and then get back into his car. I thought he was going to leave, but he pulled the car around to light up the body. He got out, checked the man for a pulse, and told me to sit tight while he called the police.

I was sitting on a bench nearby when the police arrived. One of them went over to talk to the guard who was waiting in his car. The other officer went to the body and felt for a pulse at the man’s neck. That officer’s aura was perfectly visible to me, a vibrant yellow, but the man on the ground remained motionless – and without an aura. The yellow-aura officer moved back carefully and went back to the cruiser. He pulled that yellow “Do Not Cross” tape out of the trunk. I watched him string it around a wide area to keep rubberneckers from the corpse.

The other officer finished talking to the guard and said something into the mike mounted on his shoulder. A moment later, the mike squawked with a reply and the officer said something else to the guard. The guard nodded and relaxed in his car. At least he tried to. His aura shivered with light fear. I didn’t know if it was because of the body or because he wanted to leave.

The same officer that talked to the guard walked over to me. He had an orange-tan aura. The color was weird, but the emotions flowing through them were familiar. There was a lot of suspicion and caution, some curiosity, and a little fear running through him. I didn’t know what he could have been scared of, but I wasn’t worried about that. A new problem became apparent to me.

The fear I felt previously was gone, now that other people were around, but I worried about what I would tell the officer. He was going to want to know what happened. I was perfectly happy to tell him everything, but I was just as certain he wouldn’t believe me about the man’s aura, or the other fragment of aura I saw on the wall. At the very least, he would think I was crazy. I didn’t want that. I hated my stay in the hospital. I didn’t want to be stuck in one again. I would have to keep those tidbits to myself.

He took down my name and looked over both my Student ID and my Virginia driver’s license. I told him what I saw, minus the details about the auras. I told him I tried to help and then called campus security. He nodded and seemed to be writing down everything I said, verbatim. The fear in his aura dissipated to nothing, leaving only his suspicion and curiosity. When I was done, he asked me to sit and wait.

Another police cruiser pulled up, adding its rotary red and blue lights to those of the first. The lights weren’t helping my headache any. My fears had masked the pain in my head, but it never left, and it wasn’t going to either, not until I had slept – if I could sleep.

An SUV arrived and two people carrying large cases got out. One was a tall man with short dark hair and a pale violet-red aura. The other was a woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and an aura I could only describe as lollipop purple. After a quick word with the yellow aura officer, the woman started taking pictures of the dead man and the area around him while the man studied the scene and took notes. I was sure they were forensics experts. If I hadn’t had the headache, I would have been more interested in watching them work. What I didn’t understand was why they were there in the first place. I thought forensics only showed up for - well, with a dead body - murder.

My stomach sank and a cold line of fear slid down my spine. I looked over at the man again. Did I witness a murder? If so, how? By whom? Why? I had too many questions, and too much to think about. It wasn’t my job to find out. I wasn’t responsible for this. I was only a witness if anyone could believe me about seeing auras, but I knew better than to say anything about that. No one would understand. I was convinced that no one would believe me. As such, I was no help at all.

A man in a white dress shirt, dark-colored tie, black slacks, and highly polished shoes approached the scene. I noticed he was wearing a badge on his belt rather than his breast pocket or on a chain around his neck. His aura, a pale green, flowed with several emotions, but his agitation was the most apparent - as if this was personal or insulting. I hoped he wasn’t a detective. I didn’t want to talk to him if he was angry. He spoke quietly with the officers and techs. Shortly after his arrival, a van arrived and the Coroner and his people inspected the body. Among everyone present, they appeared the least ruffled. The two younger men looked a little nervous, maybe because of the suits watching them, but otherwise, they weren’t fazed.

More and more official types showed up. There were also a couple of news vans. No one approached me; though I was certain the news cameras pointed my way more than once.

The number of people showing up was adding to my fear and confusion. The man was dead. A bunch of police and paramedics and other experts being there wasn’t going to change that. No, so many people wouldn’t bring the man back to life, but then they weren’t trying to resuscitate him either. What had I witnessed?

Finally, a man in a dark suit walked up to me. He had short dark hair and a look in his eyes as if he didn’t have good news. Otherwise, his face was smooth and neutral as he studied me. To anyone else, he looked a little grumpy, probably because of the hour, but I saw an entirely different story. His aura was a deep violet, and dense. He wasn’t angry, but not in a very good mood either. More than that, several different emotions ran through him. Suspicion and curiosity, similar to the officer I spoke to first, but there was also anger and, to my surprise, elation. What about this situation would make him happy?

“Mr. Sutton?” he asked. I nodded. “I’m Detective Stanfield. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

I was sure I looked a little spooked. The panic that had been rising in me with the arrival of everyone who worked the area over crested with his question. I blinked and swallowed, trying to relax. “Not that much to tell. I heard someone in the alley and saw a couple making out. I turned away but heard the man ... sort of ... yelped. When I looked again, he was alone and shaking, like he was in convulsions. I got closer and he collapsed right in front of me. He didn’t answer me when I asked if he was okay. I checked. He wasn’t breathing, and I couldn’t find a pulse. Therefore, I started CPR. I don’t know how long I worked, but my shoulders and arms started to ache if that’s any indicator.”

He wrote notes in a small notebook he held and asked, “How long after that did you call security?”

“Immediately,” I said.

The Detective nodded and looked around. “I understand you used one of the campus Assistance Call Boxes. Where did you call from?”

I pointed to my Left, toward South Cooper Street. “There’s one over there, at the Fine Arts building.”

He nodded, apparently taking my word for it and jotting more notes down in his little notebook. “Why didn’t you use a cell phone?”

I shook my head. “My parents didn’t give me one.”

“What do you mean?”

“My friends and I just got here yesterday. We drove from Virginia for school.”

He nodded. “Ok. I’m going to need the names and phone numbers. I’ll also need to contact your parents.”

I had both of the twins’ phones memorized and gave him that information. I mulled over the idea of him calling my parents and could imagine their shock when getting a call from the police only a day after I arrived. However, if I wanted him to believe me, he would need to talk to them. I gave that information up too.

He looked over his notes. “What brought your attention to the alley again?”

“I heard him,” I said, nodding in the direction of the man still lying where I had left him.

“And where were you when you heard him?”

This time I pointed in the other direction. “I was over there, crossing the street. I live in the dorm just around the corner.”

“In Trinity House?” he asked.

I nodded and he wrote more notes in his notebook.

“Detective Stanfield!” called the man in the white dress shirt. He was standing among several other men in suits. All of them were looking in our direction. Only the man in the dress shirt and one of the others were looking at the Detective. The rest were watching me. Their faces were grim and their auras were mixes of suspicion and agitation. I wasn’t sure any of them were police officers or detectives. All of them were older than Detective Stanfield and the man in the dress shirt. They made me just as nervous as my thoughts on the arrival of the forensics people.

Detective Stanfield’s aura rippled with frustration. He looked around at the group of men and then said to me, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

I watched him walk away, feeling more and more anxious. I didn’t understand the reactions I was seeing. Why was this incident causing so much turmoil? I watched the coroner’s people put the body in one of those black body bags. After they moved the body, one of the forensics team sprayed the area where the body had been. Then he pulled out a pair of orange-colored safety glasses and put them on. When he pulled out a light and started passing it over the area he had sprayed, I knew he was looking for something to help them figure out what had killed the man.

Panic was starting to take hold of me again and I started rocking, holding my arms, hugging myself, and fighting the urge to run again. I had to keep myself calm. I focused on the facts that the police could confirm. The man was dead. I didn’t know what killed him, who killed him, or how they killed him. If the forensics team and coroner didn’t know, I didn’t have a chance at figuring it out. I shook my head and reminded myself, figuring this out wasn’t my job. I was supposed to tell them what I saw and then go get some sleep.

My head was hurting a lot more. It wasn’t another sudden increase in pressure like earlier, but just the slow continuing build. I had to sleep soon. I couldn’t take much more.

A moment later, the Detective was back. His aura was hard around the edges and his expression was just as unhappy. Rolls of anger dominated his aura, unlike earlier when he was only slightly grumpy. I was hoping it wasn’t anything I’d said. “Mr. Sutton, could you stand up for me please?” At least he didn’t yell.