There's More To It

By Alexandra Stenos

An ordinary group assignment takes a turn as the decision to turn the project into a criminal investigation is made. Is the criminal who has been in jail for the past 10 years guilty? Was he framed? Is he a good liar? Was he rightfully accused? There are so many questions and not enough answers, at least not yet. As the group digs deeper into the truths of the past, they risk uncovering long-buried secrets that were meant to remain hidden. Each revelation propels them further into a complex and dangerous world. With every discovery, the bonds of friendship and trust among the group are tested, and unexpected romances surface.
As the stakes continue to rise, these five students—Ivy Alcazar, James Adler, Daniel Kwon, Tristan Atwood and Rose Carter—must grapple with the consequences of their search for the truth. They soon come to realise that the price of uncovering the past can be far higher than they ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Mar 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9780645962727

Book preview

1

IVY

Monday

March 11th 2024

I’m not a fan of change. Or maybe I am, honestly, I’m not sure. I guess what really gets to me is the uncertainty that comes with the unknown.

Today is a big deal, it’s the first day of my bachelor’s degree in psychology. That’s a huge change. There’s a lot of unknown here. I’m fresh out of high school where you are constantly told what to do. What am I supposed to do with all this freedom now?

I reach the door that opens to my first university class. I’ve been dreading it, because who knows what comes next? I pause outside the door taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. I grasp the door handle and force it open, revealing a well-lit classroom with scattered tables. I don’t know any of these people and feel completely out of my depth. The name of the unit is written on the whiteboard at the front of the room. ‘Human Behaviour’, good, at least I know I’m in the right place.

The first person I see is the teacher, he’s young, much younger than I would expect. His eyes dart around the room as if he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. There’s a kind of approachability in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. As he notices me, he offers a somewhat awkward nod in my direction.

I scan the room for a place to sit. Most of the tables are taken up by other students. The overlapping chatter creates a murmur of indistinct conversations. How do they already know people? It’s day one! Other students are consumed in their phones and laptops. I wonder how long I can stand here deciding where to sit before I draw attention to myself. The thought itself unnerves me.

Walking further into the classroom I spot a familiar face. A girl from high school, Camilla. There’s an empty seat beside her, which I don’t hesitate to take. Recognition slowly spreads across her face, Hey.

Hi, I reply as I pull my laptop out of my tote bag. I notice none of us have the same laptop. It’s a small detail but it just proves how different this is going to be from high school.

I didn’t know you were studying psychology, she says while running her fingers along her keyboard.

Oh yeah, I am, I blurt out, reaching for my water bottle, the metallic clink echoing against the table. Did you always want to do psychology? I put the water bottle back down, not even taking a drink.

Yep.

Even though she’s from my high school I swear I haven’t talked to her until now. Isn’t that funny? We were in school five days a week for six years and came out barely knowing most of those people.

The time on my laptop reads ‘8:56 am’ which means four minutes until class begins. Maybe it’s not too late to leave? Maybe if I get up now and walk back out no one will notice. Just as I’m watching the door—deciding whether or not to make a break for it—it opens.

A guy walks in with three other students but my sole focus is on him. I don’t recognise him but from the moment he crosses the threshold, I can’t help but steal glances. It’s not just because he’s incredibly good-looking. But there is something else, something that I can’t explain.

His hair is a shade of dark brown, not quite a freshly clipped buzz cut, more like the result of a couple of week’s growth. He’s of average height, not towering over the crowd, but by no means short either. The way he carries himself exudes a sense of strength, he looks strong, like he works out but it isn’t the main part of his life. He has these deep green eyes, which complement his dark hair.

It’s as if my gaze has been involuntarily drawn towards him. I snap back to reality the moment I realise he notices my lingering stare, I quickly avert my eyes, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

He sits at the circular table next to me, but they are spaced out enough that he feels further away. As I face forward, he’s positioned at an angle, not directly in my line of sight. I have to purposely turn to see him. I, however, am directly in his eye line.

Despite knowing better, I find myself falling into a frustratingly repetitive pattern of stealing glances. The cycle repeats itself at least four times—the magnetic tug of my gaze, his eyes locking onto mine, a subtle but intriguing smile playing at the corners of his lips, and my quick and somewhat embarrassing retreat. With every exchange of glances, a strange sensation churns in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s never happened to me before. It’s as if a flurry of butterflies have taken flight in my stomach, their wings fluttering erratically.

With the same sense of calm he has displayed throughout the class, he collects his belongings, sliding his navy laptop into his backpack, his fingers then coil the cords of his headphones before they follow after. As if in a trance, I find myself mirroring his pace. It’s pretty pointless, what am I expecting? It’s not like I’m actually going to talk to him.

Eventually, he departs, leaving the room behind, and I follow suit. Our paths diverge as we go in opposite directions, our worlds momentarily overlapping and then drifting apart, like two parallel lines that may never meet again.

Monday

March 18th

It’s week two of classes, and I find myself sharing two classes a week with him. I’ve never spoken to him, I have to force myself to not look at him most of the time, but there’s this inexplicable magnetic pull. Whenever we’re in the same space, I can feel it—a flutter in my stomach, an awareness in my bones.

I overhear him introduce himself to the teacher, James, he says, his voice clinging to my memory like a lifeline. I am not going to point out the fact that everyone in the class is talking and the only way I can hear his response is by straining my ears desperately to capture every syllable, to hold onto any part of him that I can grasp.

As I covertly steal glances at James, I suddenly become aware of another guy on a different table who appears to have caught me. A knowing smirk creeps across his face, and I feel a wave of self-consciousness wash over me. In a hasty attempt to divert his attention, I nonchalantly shift my gaze elsewhere, hoping to convey the impression that I am just scanning the room. But when I look back to check if he’s still looking at me I find his smirk has only grown wider.

I’ve never been the type to be obsessed with a guy or boys in general, I usually just keep to myself and my limited amount of friends. It’s not necessarily because most people don’t like me, or maybe they don’t, but also because I’ve never been one to particularly warm up to people in the first place.

Most people leave so what’s the point in getting close to anyone? In the end, they’ll move on, and you’ll find yourself alone again. Your chances of getting hurt by others are lower when there are fewer people in your life.

Monday

March 25th

On the way to my class, I’m startled by my reflection in the hallway mirror. I kind of resemble a raccoon, with heavy, dark circles under my eyes. I was up till 2 am last night at my desk, alone in the quiet darkness of my room. I made the mistake of looking ahead to what’s to come in my ‘Human Behaviour’ unit. A sinking feeling still lingers, I don’t think there could be anything worse. It’s the end of the world—okay, maybe I’m exaggerating slightly, but it certainly feels like it.

The cause of my dread? An upcoming group project. We don’t even get to choose our groups, they will be selected for us. Why do teachers not allow us to at least choose the people in our groups?

The grey door stands tall before me, all I have to do is open it. I grumble to myself, seriously, why is this door always so heavy? Do they think I’m a bodybuilder or a university student?

As soon as I enter I’m met with an announcement, Wait there, I’m organising everyone into groups. I join the huddle of students while our teacher—whose name is surprisingly unknown to me—starts directing us to various tables around the room.

Camilla gets seated on the table nearest the back window and I just hope I get put there too. I don’t know anyone else in this class and I don’t particularly want to be grouped with only strangers. Well, the only other person is James and I don’t even really know him. I spot him around campus sometimes. I’ll offer a smile, but it’s quickly followed by an awkward retreat on my end. He always smiles back. Yet I’m still not going to go up and talk to him. It’s just not me.

It doesn’t matter anyway because he’s not here. He’s usually late but this one class is compulsory since we need to organise groups so he should be coming. I hold my breath as I watch every student get put in groups while I am the last one standing.

My heart sinks as I start walking in the direction of the nearest table and scan everyone’s faces, I don’t recognise any of them. Hi, I’m Rose, the way-too-energetic strawberry blonde exclaims, her smile radiant and enthusiasm practically oozing off of her. It’s 9 am. I find it suspicious for someone to have that much energy in the morning, she seems like the type of person who is outgoing and makes friends with everyone. Frankly, it’s almost nauseating, she defies the natural order of early mornings.

This is Tristan, my boyfriend, she gestures to the guy sitting next to her, his blonde hair framing an unwelcoming expression. It’s a surprising contrast, to say the least, but people do say opposites attract, it’s not something I believe in but it’s the only explanation in this case. The stark contrast between her cheerfulness and his apparent aloofness is enough to make anyone question the debate.

I don’t see how the universe is fair—or at least the teacher’s random selection process. How on earth did Rose and her boyfriend end up in the same group?

Hey, I’m Daniel, a voice interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to see the source of the interruption. The same guy who was smirking at me during the last class. He’s lounging in his chair, exuding an air of self-assured charm. His medium-length, wavy hair adds to his appeal, and his dark brown eyes fixate on me with a gaze that’s both direct and compelling.

I realise it’s my turn to respond, and I mentally groan, dreading introductions, Oh, hi, I’m Ivy, I manage to muster, my voice carrying a touch of self-consciousness.

The classroom door swings open with almost excessive force, the accompanying breeze ruffles the papers on the nearby desks. Whoever pushed it must have used a lot of strength, Sorry I’m late.

No worries, join that table, the teacher responds without missing a beat and promptly continues, Everyone has to choose a topic for their group. No group can have the same topic.

It takes me until he sits next to me to realise he is in my group. James retrieves his laptop from his bag, and as he places it on the table. He then casually turns in my direction. My eyes instinctively seek out his, and when our gazes meet, he responds with a friendly smile.

I don’t know how to feel about this. There is about an eighty percent chance that I will be awkward the entire time now. He introduces himself to the table and I act like I don’t know his name.

Out of the lengthy list of topics to choose from, I chose the one that sounded the most interesting—number two. It’s probably the most complicated project topic, but that is balanced out by the excitement of talking to a criminal. I think that’s why no one objected when I suggested it.

Pick your topic, and click on it to find out more:

1. The Impact of Helicopter Parenting on Preschoolers (click here)

2. The Correlation Between Big Five Personality Traits and Criminal Behaviour (click here)

3. The Influence of Social Media on Adolescent Self-Esteem and Body Image (click here)

4. The Effects of Bullying on Mental Health and Academic Performance in School-Aged Children (click here)

5. Gender Stereotypes and Their Impact on Career Choices and Success (click here)

6. The Link Between Personality Traits and Job Satisfaction (click here)

A paper is going around the tables, we need to put our names on it under our chosen topic. I catch the subtle flex of James’ veins as his hand reaches for the paper from Daniel. James looks at me expectantly, and I can’t quite decipher the reason.

Hmm?

I asked if I could borrow a pen? He repeats.

I nod, unzipping my pencil case. I hand him my pen, keeping my grip on the very end to ensure we don’t accidentally touch. While he writes his name under topic two, I look through our resources, so I can familiarise myself more with the assignment.

For this project you will have access to the following resources:

• Police Report

• Journal articles featuring interviews with family and associates

• Public court records

• Unsealed police record case files obtained under the Freedom of Information Act

• A scheduled supervised interview with a selected prisoner. This individual has demonstrated good behaviour while in jail and is not considered a risk.

• The interview will take place at Stone Ridge Forest Correctional Facility. Your group has the flexibility to choose the allocated time for this interview. Your group is responsible for coordinating the interview time with the Correctional Facility making necessary preparations accordingly.

• This certain project will need to be completed as a field trip, you get to decide the duration with the recommended timeframe falling between 2 to 4 days.

• Additionally, adhere to ethical considerations and guidelines during the interview process. Ensure that all necessary permissions and approvals are obtained before undertaking the field trip.

Our group needs to talk to the criminal—Chris Cooper—and create a profile based on his personality, looking into the ‘Big Five Personality Traits’. Those traits include extraversion, openness, agreeableness, contentiousness and neuroticism. All of which fall on a continuum.

I don’t have time to read many of the documents we’re given but I get the main details. Here’s the story, this man went to jail for the murder of his wife Nina Cooper, it happened ten years ago, on March 1st 2014. Chris Cooper pleaded not guilty but was found to be guilty during the trial. Everyone including his two children thought he had done it, all of the evidence pointed to him, and he didn’t even have an alibi.

I can’t tell if this is even an ethical assignment—talking to a criminal sounds messy and complicated. But I’m not complaining, this is an educational experience, a chance to delve into the mind of a convicted killer.

The only problem with this project topic is that it requires staying overnight with strangers. That means I will most likely have to socialise non-stop, which is definitely not something I am used to or looking forward to doing.

Tristan told us we would leave on Thursday at noon for the road trip to the prison. It’s a five-hour drive in one car, which means we will most likely be squished.

2

TRISTAN

I only agreed when Ivy chose the second topic because it was a project that would take me far away from here. Something that would keep me away from him for as long as possible was something I could agree with.

I strain to hear his voice, it’s a familiar and urgent tone. It’s not the first time I’ve heard him call out for me, and I’ve come to understand that not going to him only exacerbates the situation. Every second counts.

My heart races in my chest as I stand outside his office door. The tension in the air is like an invisible weight pressing down on my shoulders. I take a deep breath, my fingers trembling slightly and then I turn the doorknob and step inside. The room has a rustic charm with warm oak panelling and a collection of wooden furniture that lends an air of tradition and seriousness to the place.

He’s seated at his desk, hunched over his computer, completely absorbed in his work. The only noise in the room is the thrashing of fingers against the keyboard. The soft glow of the monitor casts an eerie light on his face, accentuating the creases of stress that have etched themselves into his brow.

The scent of aged wood and leather permeates the air, creating an atmosphere that feels both familiar and stifling. Without sparing me a glance, he utters his message, his words slicing through the silence of the room. Rose was over earlier, his voice comes out cold and detached, no different from usual. He doesn’t phrase it like a question, leaving me no room for a response, so I remain silent, bracing myself for what comes next. I know that speaking up will only make the situation worse.

She was talking to one of our neighbours on the street. That Jackson boy, each word is articulated with controlled precision. I know all too well the script that is playing out. The corners of my mouth twitch as I fight the urge to say something.

It isn’t a conversation he wants. It is about obedience, compliance, and the preservation of his reputation in the eyes of the world. The reputation of his charity, the reputation of his business, but not the love for his family. So, I stand here, absorbing the verbal blows as the dutiful son, my thoughts and objections carefully concealed.

Why do you allow her to talk to other men? You shouldn’t tolerate such behaviour. I won’t let people think I’m a fool because my son is one. His voice grows more agitated. Of course, this comes back to him, how my actions look on him, it’s all he cares about. He stands, circling his desk toward me, his steps deliberate and intimidating.

My voice sounds weak as I manage to speak, She was only talking—

Don’t talk back, he snaps, his anger radiating through the room. His temper flares and the back of his hand strikes my cheek. The stinging pain threatens to send me stumbling back, but I stand firm. I know that stumbling is not an option. He despises weakness, it’s unacceptable.

Am I understood?

Yes, I reply, my voice low, my cheek throbbing.

As soon as I’m excused I head straight for my room. If he were gone, everything would be better. The door slams shut behind me, causing the room to tremble slightly. My heart is still racing, and I can’t stop pacing back and forth, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. I can’t hear anything beyond my heavy breathing, my chest rising and falling quickly. It feels like I’m forgetting how to breathe altogether.

Why does my life have to be like this? I could kill him. No, I wish I could kill him. I wouldn’t even care if I ended up in jail as long as he was gone.

Feeling my anger escalate I impulsively punch the wall beside me, a loud thud echoes in the room. My jaw clenches at the pain exploding through my knuckles but it doesn’t bother me. When is this shit going to end? I storm over to my desk and kick the chair sending it crashing to the ground. The sound of breaking glass follows as I knock everything off my desk.

I fall to the ground and lean my back against the wall. My breathing is uncontrollable and I struggle to catch my breath. I should be used to this by now, but every time it happens, it’s like reopening an old wound that never fully heals. The pain, the anger, the frustration.

A sharp pain shoots through my hand, causing me to wince. Glancing down, there’s a broken photo frame, and a glass shard has left a small but stinging cut on my palm. As I carefully pick up the shattered pieces, my attention is drawn to the photograph. It’s of Rose, she’s in a dark green dress with her wavy hair flowing over her shoulders. The best part is her beautiful smile as she grins at me while simultaneously rolling her eyes. I was behind the camera, I was telling her to hurry up, that if we took too many photos we’d miss our dinner reservation.

She said, ‘Tristan, when we’re all old and grey, sitting on our porch swing overlooking the river, what do you think we’ll remember? Huh? That we got to dinner on time or this photo that we’ll look back on and remember this night. We won’t remember where we ate or what we ate but we’ll always have this photo. It’ll be like we stopped time and we can travel back here whenever we want. So, shut up and take the damn photo’. So I did just that. I took many photos that night. Because she was right. I don’t remember anything about the restaurant, I remember that moment.

My eyes dart around my room in a panic. Holy shit. What did I do? My mind races and a sense of dread takes hold as I contemplate the consequences. I can only hope he didn’t hear it.

Then, the sound of my door handle slowly turning makes my heart beat faster. As the turning knob continues to creak, I brace myself for what’s to come next.

Thursday

March 28th

I spent the rest of the week on edge, trying to not agitate my father. It doesn’t take much to set him off