Love Is A Fingerprint: The Queen of Half Truths!

By Ron O'Neal

The underlying relationship between two sisters is muttered by hidden secrets and father's pride. While the FBI deals with seemingly random and disconnected murders and acts of violence, there is a semblance of solidarity between the sorority sisters and fraternity brothers of Concord University. The fate of the many is held in the hands of an u

• Language: English
• Publisher: O'Neal Publishing Corporation
• Release date: Oct 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781953877062

Ron O'Neal

Ron O'Neal is an African-American author from Macon, Ga.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Tuesday, April 21, 1987

There is a saying about evil and peace: the two forces can never be content with each other, because neither one understands the other. Each believes the other is a catalyst for chaos. Thus, where you find peace, evil is sure to follow. Evil and peace want nothing to do with each other, but the one cannot survive without the other. An eternal misunderstanding forces evil and peace to interact with each other in a perpetual dance of existence.

Lake Winter is such a place. Peace has found contentment in the lake’s solitude. The remote area surrounding the lake sits about twenty miles outside of metropolitan Concord. Some may have forgotten its prestigious horticultural past, that it used to be a thriving sanctuary for horticulturalists to conduct research regarding rare, indigenous vegetation. The twelve-acre property is fenced off, with a single-entry point. The huge steel gate is held closed by a thick, steel chain, and a master lock. The vegetation has consumed all the roads in the area, the gate, and the encased fencing of the property. Lake Winter is surrounded by a rarified jungle belonging to a forgotten past.

Tonight, the air is eerily quiet, and the temperature is a brisk fifty-two degrees at Lake Winter. The night sky over Lake Winter is clear—as clear as it is every night. A harvest moon shines brilliantly in a cloudless sky. Stars flicker about the sky’s black background, like diamonds in a jewelry store. The moon’s light forces its shine under every bush, over every blade of grass, across every tree limb.

The water moves ever so gently: a moderate wind rustles the treetops. A thin fog hovers over the lake’s surface, which is covered with patches of algae; but the surface of the lake appears to be smooth in the darkness as smooth as black, polished marble. However, the lake seems to capture the moon’s light like lightning in a bottle. The light is brightest near the water’s edge, littered with the tiny carcasses of frogs, snakes, and turtles. An occasional fish fractures the water’s surface to feed on insects. Apart from the occasional squirrel, rabbit, or fox, few animals can be found foraging in the vegetation of Lake Winter.

Tonight, Lake Winter’s future is entangled in darkness and mystery. The darkness and mystery stem from the fact that the lake is under the stewardship of a foreign owner. One who is believed to be of royal descent, albeit not of English descent. The local newspaper, the Concord Gazette, has reported that Lake Winter is held in a European trust; but who its actual owner is remains a mystery—the newspaper has been unable to obtain documentation definitively identifying that important detail. So, while the property is owned by an entity of prestigious lineage, the details regarding that lineage are unknown. The property appears to be a deserted horticultural wasteland.

Some twelve miles away, the closest community looks to expand its incorporation of their charter to include Lake Winter. The reason is simple money. Wherever land is incorporated, tax revenues will follow. Lake Winter is a very expensive lot of land. Whether it is used or vacant, its value continues to rise.

Off in the distance, but still close by the shores of Lake Winter, stands a single weather-worn cabin, overgrown by vegetation. Its clapboards ready to concede defeat to the decay wrought by time’s silent march. Plain enough, its wooden frame is uninsulated, barely strong enough to act as a shelter. Its exposed nails and rickety, termite invested walls and floors are plain for all to see. In fact, the old cabin had seen better days; however, that was long ago.

Ironically enough, tonight Lake Winter has attracted a persistent visitor. A trespasser has found the need to deal with the deplorable conditions and overgrown vegetation of Lake Winter. Lake Winter welcomes its visitor with the peace and remoteness of a natural but capricious landscape. A landscape that has been untouched for over twenty years. The trespasser’s intention is to provide one more carcass to the edge of Lake Winter’s water.

In truth, a second visitor has joined the trespasser. Both trespassers are new to the area but are not new to the property. However, they have no plans to stay. The two seem to appear from nowhere, dragging the body of a badly wounded man. There is no way to determine where they have come from, though their intent is easy enough to determine.

YOU SEE ME, DON’T YOU? the first trespasser screams.

The man the trespassers are dragging groans unintelligibly in response.

"YOU WILL LEARN NOT TO TOUCH ME. I BELONG TO ANOTHER," the woman rages.

She stands about five feet, six inches tall and wears a dirty silk red dress, tattered and torn along the bottom edges and down the back. Her feet and ankles are clad in a pair of black military boots. Her voice is coarse, raspy, rigid. Her companion, a well-dressed businessman of middle eastern descent, stands greater than six feet tall, with quiet green eyes. His facial expression is stoic, resolute, and uncaring. He does not say a word.

Taking a couple of steps to the left of her companion, the woman turns and stands over the badly beaten man then looks down on him with contempt. His wounds are severe and life-threatening. The sight of the badly abused man does not affect the lady’s appetite for continuing to abuse him. Barely conscious, the man cannot see clearly; he reels from the pain of blood pooling in his abdomen. The other man now stands just a couple of feet away, having dropped a large rustic potato sack near the abused man. He admires the woman’s persistence.

In fact, his admiration seems to directly correlate to her cruelty. The way she handles her prey arouses him. He does not say anything or participate in any way. On his face lies a sinister smile that creeps from one jawbone to the other. His is a smile so broad the surface of his teeth begins to dry in the chill wind of the night air.

Silence overtakes the moment, and Lake Winter seems to settle in its role as the man waits for his companion to finish her deadly domination.

She pummels the other man, her victim, with her hands, her feet, her elbows, her knees. There are no words for the dying man to utter. Even if there were words, the man would certainly struggle to speak: his mouth is filled with blood and broken pieces of his teeth. His accuser, a sordid woman of formidable beauty, might as well be a siren. Although her song is coarse and jagged it ends the same death to all men that hear her sing.

Determined to finish her deed, she walks over to the large rustic potato sack, and pulls two long curved steel blades from it. The motionless man whimpers in her absence. Sounds of the man’s struggling aspiration are the only confirmation that he is still alive, and they intensely agitate the woman. The woman drags the blades behind her like claws as she walks back to the man with the prowess of a lioness. Her steps are certain, sure, and precise. Once she is directly above the man the blades she holds rise swiftly into the darkness, shimmering in the moonlight.

The woman’s swings are precise, the blades razor-sharp. Quickly the bloody blades rain speckles of blood over the garbled screams of the man as he tumbles through the grass. She continues to sever each limb, until there soon is nothing left to remove but his head. The deep thick Bermuda grass soaks up whatever is left of his life as the man’s gashed body lies there, gushing blood and bone marrow. The limbless torso ticks no more. The woman has prepared a meal for the decay of time to feast upon.

Having completed her task, she turns to the man standing across from her. He approaches her and kisses her bloody lips. Her body is covered with blood. He smiles at her and pulls the tattered clothing from the dead man’s torso. Then he walks over to the potato sack, which now acts as the man’s final memorial. First his clothes, then his severed legs and arms go in; however, the woman snatches one of the arms from out of the sack. She tosses it to the ground then raises one of the blades again and hacks the dead man’s hand off at the wrist. Quietly, she dips the hand’s index finger in the dead man’s blood. The red, thick blood covers the dead man’s fingernail like chocolate on a strawberry. She then draws the finger toward the hacked-off torso, placing a single bloody fingerprint squarely in the middle of the corpse’s chest. The two then walk off into the woods while carrying the lady’s trophies. Their shadows disappear into the darkness of the trees—the only witnesses to her deed. But the trees have kept secrets for hundreds of years.

An owl hoots just ahead of the woman and her companion; a nighthawk flies over the bloody torso. Peace returns to Lake Winter, as though it had earlier deliberately chosen to remain hidden from their evil deed.

Monique is the acting president of the entire Li Psi organization; she used to live with her undergraduate sisters in the sorority house until she graduated. She confirms that the young women are okay and that the house still in fact stands safely in its place.

Satisfied with the state of the Li Psi house, she turns to her research in a room at the sorority house.

Monique is the sorority’s acting president. She has filled the roll for her roommate, Leila Wilkerson, because the chapter’s undergraduate president was expelled for hazing. Leila took over to appease the dean, a fellow chapter alum, while she finished her graduate studies and Li Psi resolved their issues.

Leila’s graduate project is a little more technical than Monique’s, and thus she requires more time to meet certain deadlines.

Upstairs, in the corner bedroom, Monique reviews a set of reference documents—she is about to complete her research project, necessary for graduation. She spots a familiar name on the first document: Darren Marcel, the brother of Ari Marcel. Ari and Monique are close friends today…but she knows she wants more. The research she has conducted for her project delves into the sensual side of interpersonal relationships; mainly, how love is achieved.

Monique reads Darren’s paper. It highlights the relationships among three prominent psychologists.

Our beliefs about true love are often developed from unreasonable circumstances. Those circumstances evolve from childhood beliefs associated with fairytales, such as magic, wonder, or sublime mystery. On the other hand, we all know someone that has been married for 40+ years, and the moment they fell in love is like a fairytale. Conversely, we, or maybe just me, have fallen into the perils of false love, and wake up to a mistake each and every day.

Is love as simple as Cupid’s arrow? How ironic it would be, to simply fall in love from an arrow to the heart? On the other hand, we know an arrow to the heart will kill us. With this mindset, pain is a semblance of love. Do we desire to love so badly, we want love even if it kills us? However, we are not talking about fairy tales or cupid’s arrow. We are talking about truly falling in love, which is never as simple as it sounds.

I pose a simple question: Is love happiness? What we know about love is primal. Primal in the way love starts out coarse, extremely instinctive, and animalistic. However, for all that love is it is not. So, love or lack thereof, is cruel, misleading, and unforgiving. In this way, whether love is physical, with a need for more intimacy, or logical, with a need for a deeper spiritual connection, the need for love exists. Love is life.

Love might be one of the most painful, deathlike experiences you could have without actually dying. Something so simple, yet so complex burdens us by its uncertain future. On the other hand, in some places, arranged marriages still thrive. Whether love develops is irrelevant. In a study released by the Journal of Coexistence and Relationships, upwards of 80 percent of individuals in arranged marriages state they were truly in love by the fifth year of marriage, with another 15 percent in love by the seventh year of marriage, and a resounding 95 percent in love by the seventh year. It appears love does develop over time.

However, we first experience love, we can only surmise that love happens. When it does happen, we, as a society, somehow become aware that it is happening. So, what does this mean for us? This means love is, in itself, a mutual existence of experiences between two individuals.

So, what do researchers say is love? There is significant research around love. LaShay (1958) found that love is connected to the embedded emotions experienced with another individual, while Perkins (1979) simply stated that love is a matter of feeling more for one individual over another. However, Fenning (1976) found that love’s characteristics can be derived from the words used to describe feelings. Moreover, Moore (1978) built on these feelings providing categories and levels, with the assumption that two people’s romantic feelings toward each other is in fact love.

Present-day researchers Dr. Cohen Sneed, Dr. Delmar Stinson, and Dr. Victoria Blake may have revealed the most compelling characteristics surrounding the mystery of love in the past thirty years. Of the three, Dr. Blake has achieved the most success in publication of her research. However, the most compelling research has proven to revolve around Dr. Stinson’s five sensual questions of conflict to identify love through trust, while Dr. Sneed’s research has mixed periods of success.

Sentiments about the impact of their research are mixed. The question being, did it really add anything to the body of knowledge? On the other hand, their personal lives have been all the buzz around the Love Industry—if there is such a thing. Their relationships, their public battles to discredit one another, and even a couple of love triangles within the trio, have all been played out very publicly.

Nevertheless, these three have solidified their position in the latest crave within the field, that of the so-called love psychologist. A brief introduction to each researcher will serve to solidify the point. Dr. Delmar Stinson, as mentioned previously, conducted his research using five conflicting questions to identify the level of trust within a relationship. The trust questionnaire was given spontaneously while both the man and the woman involved in the relationship were sitting together in the test room. The questions were controlled by a yes or no response. Additionally, during the questioning, the man could encourage the woman only by asking the question Do you trust me? while directing the woman back to a yes/ no answer, preferably yes. If the woman never answered no, the line of questioning continued to its end. However, if the woman responded no to any question, the questioning ended immediately. Both the man and the woman were informed of these parameters before questioning began. The questions that were used for Dr. Stinson’s research are as follows:

Do you like chocolate and strawberries?

Do you like ropes?

Do you like blindfolds?

Do you like candle wax?

Do you love me?

At the end of the activity, this is the explanation that was provided to each couple: This was a trust exercise. The basis was to have love overcome fear, based on the love for the individual. Only a Yes for all questions indicates a trust level that equates with love. A No answer to any question ended the activity, as it indicated a weakness in the relationship. Love would not allow fear to overcome feelings for the individual.

Dr. Stinson found that his research stirred up a lot of emotions in women, by forcing them to accept the reality of their relationships. His research also found men were more likely to accept opportunities to improve their trust levels with their female partner, if offered the opportunity. Overall, men were able to realize women could be open to more things in the bedroom if they truly trusted them, while women realized fear kept them from being open. What Dr. Stinson did not account for was the possibility that, regardless of their trust level, women might not in fact be into the sort of sexual activities that are traditionally viewed as unorthodox, kinky, or even deviant, regardless of trust level.

Dr. Blake’s research was based on a nominal question: Is love a noun? The question itself spurred a lot of emotions, as the context of love centered around what a person identified as love; meaning, love is just not defined, it must be understood. She provided more context around the question by comparing love to a fingerprint.

Love is a fingerprint.

It never presents itself the same way.

It’s limitless and boundless.

It is God’s perfect peace.

Dr. Blake’s results revealed love lacked any consistent pattern and was hard to reproduce. However, her research proved love is unique, much like a fingerprint is unique. Moreover, her research uncovered a need for people to pay more attention to their feelings. The purpose being to identify specific feelings used to demonstrate love, rather than other societal metrics’ verbalization of the term.

Dr. Sneed’s research was based on the idea of love circling life. While his research is thought to be the weakest of the three, he achieved just as much success as his rivals Dr. Stinson and Dr. Blake. His circle-of-life factors posit the existence of love through trials, with the following survey axioms:

If love is real, it will always come back.

If love is real, it gets stronger with time.

If love is true, it will always exist.

Dr. Sneed concluded love comes from living life. Adversely, his research was performed in Australia; thus, he has not received the same press as Dr. Stinson or Dr. Blake. While the research community applauded Dr. Sneed on numerous occasions, he has not achieved the notoriety of his two colleagues. One reporter described the lack of opportunity as a well-organized travesty of social and international proportions.

In the ensuing years, Dr. Sneed worked to capitalize on the popularity of his research by scheduling numerous speaking engagements and symposiums, all of which were expected. To his detriment, Dr. Sneed expanded the ideals of his research to increase his profitability. He embellished his results and questions to relate to a wider, yet more focused, range of emotions. Using the perspective of interrogative-based questions, he pushed the battle of the sexes. The question presumed women trust men. This, along with pushing for more advertising and selling novelties, increased his popularity immensely.

Initially, comments were positive, until questions about ethics arose. Dr. Sneed experienced several personal assaults about sexism, with questions about ethics quickly following. Ethics complaints highlighted a sexist contradiction within his original research, which he embellished and repurposed for popularity.

Dr. Sneed’s response to the allegations were deflective at best. Questions are just that, questions, he stated. They do not have to be answered in a specific way. Moreover, I do not have a patent on them, nor do I condone adolescent responses and interpretations. Furthermore, my research versus my novel ventures should be understood as a business decision. However, if it is not easily understandable, I will clear the air here. Any results outside of a control test environment are purely for entertainment and should be taken with a grain of salt.

As you can imagine, this brought about a lot of discontent within the psychology community. Years following his public outburst brought about numerous lawsuits…most of which cited ethical and social responsibility issues of profiting through the destruction of relationship values. In addition to his troubles in the states, he was now drawing heat from Dr. Stinson. He was invited to a joint-panel board with Dr. Stinson, at which he failed to show. After continued rhetoric from Dr. Stinson, Dr. Sneed apologized for the booking error. However, Dr. Stinson took his colleague’s inaction as a personal insult and pure disregard for the highly praised professionalism of the psychology field.

At a recent convention, Dr. Sneed spoke out against Dr. Stinson. He attacked his research, citing several defects stemming from poor research methodology. Furthermore, he went on to elaborate that while initial reviews of Dr. Stinson’s research brought about short-term understanding, the long-term impact of his research is negligible. Dr. Stinson is a fraud. He should have simply come out with a board game about troubled relationships.

Needless to say, this started a very lengthy lawsuit between the two. Their feuds generated multiple articles exploiting them both, as well as talk show theatrics. While defaming them, Dr. Blake and the love psychology community at large have enjoyed the continued public exposure. Their very public tirades have been well documented, with the two threatening to kill each other. With this major, very public dispute between the two, it is hard to see how success could find them again.

During this time, Dr. Blake quietly continues to enjoy the success of her research. She has been invited to numerous institutions to elaborate on the premise of her question Is Love a Noun? and to expound on her axiom, Love Is a Fingerprint. Moreover, Dr. Blake was granted copyrights for the two phrases, and has enjoyed their marketability. Adversely, in an effort to stimulate his career again, Dr. Sneed reached out to Dr. Blake. He was seeking her assistance to reignite his base of influence. However, Dr. Blake has opted not to accept any of Dr. Sneed’s request, and does not comment on either male counterparts’ respective issues.

Today, Dr. Stinson is in Merci Medicinal de Torchile, after taking two gunshots to his chest a couple of days ago at a book signing in Chile. Ironically, Dr. Sneed is the primary suspect in the murder attempt. Dr. Blake has stated that she has no comment on the situation but wishes them both peace within their current circumstances.

—Darren Marcel, 1984

Sitting at her desk, Monique completes her notes. She summarizes the three researchers’ relationships and places her notebook in her satchel. She is preparing to verify whether the girls have completed their chores around the sorority house when a voice suddenly yells:

Monique, Monique!

Yes? she replies.

Do you want lunch?

Yes, I’ll be down in a few minutes. Thank you.

Okay, the anonymous sorority sister confirms. I’ll let them know. No problem.

The young girl leaves. Monique reviews the chore list again and reaches for her satchel. Once again prepared to leave, she notices that the room she is sitting in needs to be cleaned. Before she can start someone else knocks.

Monique! Girl, you alright in there?

Yes. I’m fine, Monique again replies. I’ll be down for lunch in a few minutes.

"Well, that’s not good enough, young lady. I need you to stop and come open this door. I mean open this door right now, young lady!" the voice demands.

Puzzled and pissed, Monique stares at the door.

Who in the hell is at my door? she hollers.

No response.

Monique does not hear anything else. Soon she wonders if she heard anything at all. Suddenly, someone—or something—stumbles against the door.

You little girls need to give it up! Monique shouts. Your little game is over!

She opens the door to find Leila and Chelsea sprawled out against the baseboards. At the sight of the two sisters, Monique slams the door closed. They knew their little lady comment would make her blood boil. Her Aunt Lulu raised her and used the phrase to chastise her. Even though her aunt was a nice woman, she had a mean streak.

A moment later, the door opens. Monique shakes her head at the intruder. Girl, yawl play too much. She laughs.

We meant to get you riled up. Why aren’t you at our apartment? Leila inquires.

I’ve reviewed the house task list. I planned to go there afterwards.

So, you know, I completed my task already, Chelsea replies. I worked with the newbies to complete theirs as well. So that task has already been completed.

Alright, Chelsea, Monique answers. That’s great news. I know you’ll be a great chapter president next year.

I know she will, Leila confirms. Oh, one other thing. Chelsea and I will be there after we’ve finished with the research lab for tonight.

We won’t be too late, Chelsea assures Monique.

Do I want to know? Monique asks.

Girl! Hell no! Chelsea responds, sarcastically.

What she meant is no, you wouldn’t be interested, Leila contends.

I’ll be around to help you out of the university jail! Monique jokes.

Monique watches the girls back out of the room. They bumble over each other, their eyes focused on her. They can tell she wants to assert her perspective, but she holds her peace. Instead, she wanders about the house and talks with the younger sisters.

As Leila and Chelsea seek out their undisclosed research destination, Dr. Victoria Blake watches a televised discussion among a panel of researchers. The panel includes Dr. Sneed. The panel seems to have him cornered with each question. The last question particularly tickles Dr. Blake. Where does your relationship stand with Dr. Victoria Blake? Are you two still an item?

Dr. Sneed grins, but does not answer.

Go to commercial break, you idiot! Dr. Blake yells to the moderator.

As she sits there in her home, Dr. Blake finds herself reminded of her failed relationship with Dr. Sneed. She rises from her plush purple velvet sofa and fills a fluted wine glass with Pinot. She hears the show start back up and rushes to turn the television off. As she returns to the kitchen, she grabs a piece of fruit and a chunk of Gouda cheese from the refrigerator. As she leans on the kitchen’s marble island, the cool surface calms her, and her mind revisits her relationship with Dr. Sneed….

He was a very passionate and spontaneous man, and she was very ambitious, driven, and sensual. The two came together like pollen on the wings of a bee during spring. It was a natural connection. They enjoyed their personal time together, almost as much as the research they conducted together. They worked and loved, loved, and worked, and all was well for a time. However, things changed awkwardly about eighteen months into their relationship. They had both prepared applications for the same scholarship—but it was awarded to Dr. Blake. She thought her colleague would be happy that one of them had been chosen to receive the scholarship, but he became bitter and ignorantly competitive. His emotions soured overnight and drove them apart. Although hurt, she still loved Dr. Sneed, even though he’d moved on to Rebecca de Relius, a medical doctor. Dr. Blake considered her a dumbed-down version of herself, even though they were all colleagues.

Dr. Blake was then haphazardly approached by Dr. Stinson, He was a very athletic, charismatic man, with a voracious sexual appetite. Dr. Stinson comforted her—and made love to her often. However, Dr. Blake broke off their relationship to focus on her research at the end of the summer. The breakup made her former partner very angry and depressed. Dr. Stinson believed Dr. Blake to be his soulmate. The breakup only exacerbated the bad blood between him and Dr. Sneed. Dr. Blake, however, had no idea about her colleagues’ contentious past. Her little summer tryst put her at the center of a very public and very violent fight. Dr. Sneed and Dr. Stinson were both in love with Dr. Blake, but Dr. Blake washed her hands of any relationship between them.

When they returned to school in the fall of their junior year, Dr. Stinson made it known to Dr. Sneed that he had spent his summer placing his fingerprints all over Dr. Blake’s heart. Dr. Sneed felt compelled to defend the honor of his displaced love for her. The fight was so severe both men were nearly expelled, but Dr. Blake went to the dean on their behalf. She conceded that she had played the two against each other—an admission for which Dr. Blake was roundly admonished by the dean. Although her two colleagues had treated her like a trinket, she took the blame for their actions. The two men were very grateful, but the price for her help was hate. Even though she loved them, the men understood that a boundary had been set. Their opportunities for a relationship were dead.

Dr. Blake sighs, remembering the look on Dr. Sneed’s face a moment ago, telling the moderator to go to break. He will never say our love is over, she thinks.

She enjoys her fruit, her cheese and wine, as she moves on with her day.

Hours later, her phone rings. She answers it.

Dr. Sneed.

Without a thought she hangs up then returns to her peace and quiet.

CHAPTER 2

Wednesday, April 22

We often find ourselves in the midst of life before we realize that love is just something that cannot be controlled, and deceit is just commonplace between lovers.

—D. Marcel

The Psi Phi House activities are just getting going for the day: a lot of the guys had classes until three thirty. Arnand Kelsey comes through the door, frantically and for the first time today. He seems to be acting out of sorts. He walks up to one of his brothers and without bothering to greet him with even as much as a fist bump, he demands. Have you seen Ari? The brother shakes his head. Another brother, overhearing Arnand, points out the window, where Ari stands talking with a young lady. Arnand rushes into another room and looks out a window with a missing screen.

Ari, man! he immediately calls to his fraternity brother. Over here.

Ari Marcel turns and sees Arnand. Yeah, he responds. Give me a second. Then he finishes his conversation with his close friend Monique.

Why is he always interrupting my time with you, Ari? Monique questions.

Babygirl, don’t worry about that now. You got my full attention, but I don’t believe you’re focusing on my question. Ari stares at his close friend. Can you help me or not?

You know I can help you, but you’re going to owe me.

You know I got you.

Sure, but you already can have me. Moreover, you won’t give me what I want. You know this favor is something I’m going to cash in on, don’t you?

You wouldn’t do that to your friend of over eight years. We been through undergrad together, and now we’re finishing graduate school together. Hell, I don’t know, Ari exclaims, we might even get our doctorate together. You know I love you, beautiful, but as a friend first, and let’s see what happens along the way.

Monique sighs. If you hadn’t been there for me for this last breakup, I would swear you’re using me, but then I know you’re not using me like I want to be used. Okay, she reluctantly tells Ari, I’ll wait, but you have been put on notice.

Ari smiles. Okay, I can respect that. You know I can respect that, beautiful.

Alright. Keep these hoes to a minimum, and I’ll talk to you later.

Girl, you stupid, Ari jokes.

Monique silently gives him the look: one raised eyebrow, the lips of her luscious mouth perfectly curled in the right corner. Ari realizes that Monique is serious about what she’s telling him.

Okay—hoes to a minimum, Ari confirms. Got it!

I thought so, Monique acknowledges. And, Ari—don’t make me say it, okay?

Okay—I won’t… Ari replies uncertainly.

Alright—love you, Monique reveals.

Love you too, Ari concedes, with your little crazy ass.

Monique nods firmly. You better know it— bye-bye.

She walks away but then stops short of the sidewalk and turns back. Ari is still standing on the lawn, about to speak to a couple of his brothers.

Ari, Ari! she yells.

Yeah, babygirl, Ari replies. What’s up?

Have you seen Chelsea or Leila?

Ari shakes his head. No, but I’ll let them know you’re looking for them if I do, he confirms.

Alright!

She turns and leaves again.

Ari holds his ground, watching Monique as she gets into her pearl-white Mazda RX-7 and drives away.

No sooner has Ari turned to walk back toward the house then Arnand yells out of the window above him: Man, what’s taking you so long?

Arnand, I’m coming! Ari yells back.

Alright then. Hurry up.

Ari pauses to look up at Arnand. Arnand looks back down in frustration, before responding, What? Quit playing and come on up!

Okay, go dammit, Ari retaliates. Stop calling me. Boy, you are getting on my nerves. This shit better be something too! He appears to be talking to himself; there is no one else he could be talking to.

A couple of younger fraternity brothers pass by him as he comes through the doorway. Were you talking to us? the brothers ask.

No, I was just talking, Ari tells them. "He knows who I’m talking to."

‘He’ who? the two respond.

Ari says, Young brothers, don’t worry about it. I’m going upstairs to talk to him right now.

The two fraternity brothers look at each other and shrug before going on their way. Ari continues upstairs to speak with Arnand. He finally arrives on the third floor of the fraternity house. Arnand, he says with frustration, so what is so damn important?

Ari, man, close the door, Arnand responds. He is breathing heavily.

Ari closes the door then turns to face Arnand. With his hands pulling his dreads from his face, Ari again blasts: What’s so damn important, Arnand? You know Monique don’t like your ass, and you steadily calling me while I’m talking to her.

Ari—I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to do. We were talking one minute and the next minute she was gone.

Who is ‘she’? What do you mean ‘gone’? Ari questions.

Arnand explains: I’m sitting in the bungalow with Chelsea, trying to get at her, but she wasn’t hearing it—as usual. Then she kissed me, and I opened my eyes. The next minute, I woke up, and she was lying unconscious in front of me.

Get the fuck out of here! Ari stares at his colleague. Is she dead?

Man, I don’t know. I just left when I heard the sirens.

The sirens? Hell, that could have been the ambulance, not the police.

I guess you’re right, Arnand concedes, but that’s not the whole story. Persia walked by and saw us, he explains.

You mean your girl, Persia?

Yeah.

Ari laughs. She probably knocked both your asses out. Flash! Pow! Or some old comic book shit.

I would have thought so, Arnand concedes, but she didn’t. Instead, she just kept walking.

Ari simply nods. So—what happened next?

I don’t know. Something. Maybe nothing. All I do know is Chelsea wasn’t looking good when I bounced.

Damn. Now that is some chick shit you did. He pauses a moment then says, You need to take your ass back over there.

"Man, I know! Arnand exclaims. I just didn’t want anybody to think I did something to her."

Well, you can’t worry about what people think about the situation, Ari replies. "But you will have to worry about people knowing you left her there unconscious."

After another moment Arnand inquires, So what should I do now?

What you should do now is find out if Chelsea is alright. However, how you do that is an interesting question. The police will probably lock your ass up on sight. Charge you with some type of assault, Ari speculates.

Damn! For real! Can you find out for me? Arnand requests.

Ah ha, here we go with the bullshit! Why would you want me to be involved in your mess? Hell no! Ari says, raising his voice. You ran, you run your ass back up the hill and find out. Simple as that, he explains.

Man…Ari…come on! Arnand pleads.

Ari looks at Armand and shakes his head. Moments later, he gets up and leaves the room. Shit! is the last thing Arnand hears Ari say from the hallway.

With Ari having left him to his own devices, Arnand mopes for a few minutes; then he decides to take a shower. The shower is the one place Arnand feels he can reflect and find inner peace. The hot water of the showerhead washes away the anxiety and fatigue of the day. The bathroom fills with steam. In a moment of confusion Arnand thinks, what am I going to do?

An hour later Arnand steps out of the shower, gathers his things from the hallway bathroom, and heads back to his room. As he passes some of the rooms lining the hallway, he overhears a couple of the guys talking about Chelsea and her having to be taken to the hospital. Soon he enters his room, immediately placing a couple of things on the seat of a wooden chair by the door. He then plops down on the edge of the bed, his burgundy towel still wrapped tightly around his waist and his brown, plastic shower shoes still firmly on his feet. Taking a deep breath, he stands up from the edge of the bed and reaches into the top drawer of a four-drawer chest. He retrieves some gray-and-black boxers then slides the boxers on.

He continues to put his clothes on, eventually lacing up his black-and-white tennis shoes and slapping on a little cologne. After a few moments of looking at himself in the mirror, he grabs his wallet and keys then exits the room. He closes the door behind him then makes his way up the hallway and down the stairs to the front door. Jumping off the cement front porch of the frat house, he makes his way through a couple of groups of fraternity brothers talking to women, before making his way up the sidewalk.

Starting up the hill toward the visitor’s Bungalow House on the commons, he notices a pair of police car, and numerous students congregating nearby. The Bungalow House houses 16 different bungalows, of various sizes, so it’s very busy at times. However, all he knows is Chelsea must have been found in Bungalow 12, where he left her; it faces the southeast corner of the building.

Arriving at the top of the hill, Arnand does not waste any time before walking straight up to the nearest policeman. After a brief conversation, the officer turns from Arnand and calls over a detective. The detective stops his discussion with two school administrators and makes his way over to the police officer who summoned him. The officer steps away from Arnand, directing him to stay put where he is, as he meets briefly with the detective. Arnand can hear the police officer’s words as he speaks to the detective: This young man states he was with the young lady last night and left her earlier this morning.

Really? the detective replies.

Yes, sir. His name is Arnand Kelsey.

The policeman waves Arnand over to join the discussion.

Arnand obliges, walking calmly over to join the police officer. Arnand, this is Detective Ruiz, the policeman says. He’ll take over from here.

Arnand politely responds, Yes, sir.

The detective wastes little time. Arnand, tell me what happened last night?

Well, Detective…We arrived about nine thirty. We talked for about twenty minutes in her room, and everything was going well. Chelsea had a little cooler bag with her, and she made us some drinks. I had a couple of sips of the drink before she came onto me. This shocked me because I always thought she was shy. I put the drink down, before taking off my shirt. She laid her head on my chest—and then I woke up, and she was lying there. I believed she was dead, and my mind locked up. I could have checked on her, but I ran instead. The only place I knew to go was back to the fraternity house, where I’ve been, until deciding to come up here to talk with the police, Arnand concludes.

Do you know what time it was when you left? Detective Ruiz asks.

Yes, sir. I believe it was close to two thirty in the morning.

The detective writes down Arnand’s response then thinks for a moment. He looks around the immediate vicinity and notices all the attention he and Arnand are receiving.

Well, Arnand, I can understand why you might have been afraid to stay, and I’m glad you came back. At this point, you were the last person to see Chelsea before she was assaulted. You’re our prime suspect right now, Detective Ruize frankly informs Arnand, so I’m going to arrest you and take you down to the station until we can clear this up a little more.

Yes, sir, Arnand responds firmly but quietly.

Detective Ruiz motions the police officer back over. He whispers in his ear, before he instructs him to take Arnand into custody and read him his rights. A moment later, the officer cuffs Arnand and recites his Miranda rights. Arnand feels the cold reality of steel against his wrist for the first time in his life. He feels a sense of regret: a sense of being emasculated and humiliated as the arresting officer guides him into the back seat of his police car.

As the officer drives off with Arnand, the investigation around the Bungalow House continues. The crowd buzzes with the news of Arnand’s arrest. Speculation quickly grows regarding Arnand’s role in the assault. On a corner of the lawn in front of the house, Monique walks up to Leila and a fraternity brother named Silas Saffo, who are engaged in an intense conversation.

What happened? Monique asks.

I’m not sure, Silas replies, but I hope she’s okay?

Leila turns to Silas. Do you know what happened, Silas?

No, but I did hear the police say Chelsea was assaulted.

Well, I do have a way of finding out what happened, Leila suggests slyly, as long as it happened in Bungalow Twelve.

Monique eyes her curiously. How so?

Well, Chelsea was helping me with my research, and I was helping her with her research, and now. She pauses abruptly before choosing not to finish her sentence. As Silas looks at her in confusion, Leila looks to Monique before making a silent decision. Awkwardly, she tells Monique, We’ll have to talk about this when we get back to the apartment. She seems to be agitated by the situation.

Oh—this is some type of secret? Silas discerns. This is why we’re having issues, Leila. You don’t trust me with your research.

It has nothing to do with my research, Silas, Leila tells him. It’s more than that, and you know it. Monique is my line sister—and my roommate. Of course, we’re going to discuss our sister’s situation in private, before coming out with any information. I’m sorry if you don’t understand that. Moreover, Leila says, you need to respect what I choose to do with my research. If it’s with the government then it’s just with the damn government. Monique, she suggests suddenly, turning to her roommate, let’s go.

Monique is just as confused as Silas, but she nods at Leila’s request. Oh, okay, Leila, she says. See you later, Silas. Leila stares at her as though to extract her obligation to leave right now.

As the two women walk hastily away Silas is left standing alone, wondering where his relationship with Leila is going to end up. The look Leila had given him had cut him to the bone. She and Monique were obviously filled with a sort of disgust and disappointment in him.

After leaving Silas behind, Monique looks at Leila in frustration. What is going on, Leila?

I don’t know what happened there, Leila says. But I need to see if I can get my equipment out of the Bungalow.

What the hell did you and Chelsea do last night?

After a moment Leila explains: "This is Chelsea’s part of the research. Something must