Chapter 7: Death in the Woods - Part 2
Sheriff Galpin looked like he'd rather be anywhere else than Principal Weems' office, questioning traumatized teenagers about supernatural murder. His jaw worked steadily on a piece of gum that probably hadn't been flavorful since the Clinton administration, and his eyes held the weary skepticism of someone who'd seen enough violence to know it usually had disappointingly mundane explanations.
Wednesday sat beside me in the leather chair that matched mine, posture perfect and expression suggesting she was mentally cataloguing the sheriff's weaknesses for future exploitation. Weems had insisted on joint questioning—something about witness confrontation and timeline verification.
Smart. Force us to coordinate stories or contradict each other.
"Mr. Bason." Galpin consulted a notebook that looked older than I was. "Walk me through last night again. Start with why you were in the woods after dark."
"Couldn't sleep. Went for a walk to clear my head."
"At what time?"
"Left the dorm around nine-thirty. Found the body at approximately nine-forty-seven."
Precision suggests reliability. Details matter in police interviews.
"That's very specific timing."
"I checked my phone when I called Principal Weems."
Galpin made a note, probably comparing my timeline to whatever Wednesday had told him earlier. "You didn't see anyone else in the area? No other students, no movement in the trees?"
The Hyde. Eight feet of murderous intent disappearing into darkness.
"Just the body."
The lie came easier the second time. My deadpan delivery probably made me sound like a traumatized kid processing shock rather than someone concealing critical evidence.
"Miss Addams here says she was returning from her own evening walk around nine-fifteen," Galpin continued. "Interesting coincidence, both of you wandering the woods on the same night."
Wednesday's voice cut through the tension like a scalpel. "Coincidences are statistical inevitabilities in confined populations. Two students seeking solitude in a finite area during optimal darkness hours represents predictable behavioral overlap."
Christ. She talks like a textbook even under police interrogation.
Galpin's expression suggested he was reconsidering his career choices. "Right. And you didn't encounter each other during these... overlapping solitude walks?"
"No," I said. "Different routes."
"Miss Addams?"
"I saw no other students during my excursion."
Technically true. She probably saw the Hyde, not me.
The questioning continued for another twenty minutes—routine police procedure designed to catch inconsistencies or signs of deception. But my clinical recollection of the crime scene apparently convinced Galpin I was just another weird outcast kid who'd stumbled into a nightmare, not a co-conspirator or witness to supernatural murder.
"That's all for now," he said finally. "Don't leave campus without permission. We may have follow-up questions."
We filed out of Weems' office in silence, but Wednesday caught my arm in the hallway once we were out of earshot.
"You saw more than a body."
Not a question. Statement of fact delivered with the confidence of someone who never doubted her own perceptions.
I met her gaze without flinching. "Your timeline gives you an alibi."
"And your statement corroborates it without making you an obvious ally." Her eyes narrowed with something that might have been approval. "Efficient."
She gets it. Alliance benefits without explicit coordination.
"Good luck with your investigation."
"Same to you."
She walked away without looking back, and I realized we'd just formalized our partnership without saying a word about it. Information sharing, mutual benefit, plausible deniability.
Perfect.
Eugene was reorganizing our room when I returned. Not cleaning—reorganizing. Every book alphabetized, every piece of beekeeping equipment arranged in perfect geometric patterns, every surface scrubbed until it gleamed. The kind of compulsive activity that screamed psychological trauma.
"You don't have to do that," I said.
"It helps." His voice cracked slightly. "Rowan wasn't exactly a friend, but he was... here. Part of the ecosystem. And now he's just gone, and they don't even know what did it."
I do. Monster with Tyler Galpin's face and something else's hunger.
Eugene's hands shook as he adjusted his bee research for the third time. Classic trauma response—attempting to control environment when larger forces felt chaotic and threatening.
I sat on my bed and let him talk. No platitudes, no false comfort, just presence while he processed fear through nervous energy.
"They're saying it was an animal attack," he continued. "Some kind of bear or mountain lion that wandered onto campus. But the wounds..." He shuddered. "Bears don't do that. Nothing natural does that."
Nothing natural. Exactly.
"The administration will handle security," I said. "Increased patrols, better lighting, whatever protocols they have for this kind of thing."
"Right. Protocols." Eugene laughed bitterly. "Because Nevermore definitely has a manual for supernatural murder."
He was spiraling, fear feeding on itself until rational thought became impossible. I recognized the pattern from my own past life experiences with trauma and violence.
Time for truth. Or as much truth as I can give.
"Eugene." I waited until he stopped fidgeting and looked at me. "I won't let what happened to Rowan happen to you."
The words came out flat, matter-of-fact, but they hit Eugene like a physical blow. He stopped mid-motion, staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite decode.
"You mean that?"
Yeah. I do.
The realization surprised me. Somewhere between bee lectures and worried fussing, Eugene had become more than a convenient roommate or intelligence asset. He was genuinely decent in ways I'd forgotten people could be, and the thought of him ending up like Rowan made something protective and primitive coil in my chest.
"Yes."
Eugene's eyes filled with tears he didn't try to hide. "Thank you. I... thank you."
Something fundamental just shifted.
I'd moved beyond pure self-preservation, chosen someone to protect regardless of personal cost. Eugene wasn't strategic value or tactical advantage—he was family, chosen and claimed through simple human decency.
First genuine emotional connection since transmigration.
The weight of it felt strange, like putting on clothes that fit better than expected.
Wednesday intercepted me in the library that evening, materializing from the stacks like a particularly elegant predator.
"You're investigating," she said without preamble. "So am I. We should coordinate."
Direct approach. No social niceties, just tactical reality.
"What makes you think I'm investigating?"
"Your statement to Sheriff Galpin was precisely calibrated to provide me cover while revealing minimal personal information. Your questions during our previous conversation showed familiarity with evidence analysis. And you've been carrying yourself differently since finding the body—hyperaware, cataloguing threats, preparing for combat."
Perceptive. Dangerously so.
"Information exchange only," I said. "I don't take orders, you don't take orders. We share what we learn."
Wednesday's smile was knife-thin. "Acceptable. What did you actually see in those woods?"
Moment of truth. How much can I reveal without exposing transmigrator status?
"Something big, fast, and wrong. Claw patterns suggest non-human anatomy. It left Rowan and retreated purposefully when it sensed my approach."
Mostly true. Omitting the Unnoticed Mode activation and Hyde identification.
"You encountered it directly?"
"Briefly. Distance and darkness prevented detailed observation."
Wednesday absorbed this information with predatory focus. "Then it's intelligent and mission-focused. Someone's controlling it."
Or someone becomes it.
"That's my assessment."
"Excellent. I've been developing leads through alternative channels. We should pool resources."
Alternative channels. Probably means breaking rules and questioning witnesses.
"What kind of leads?"
"The normie coffee shop where Rowan was last seen alive. The staff there might have observed behavioral changes or suspicious contacts." Her expression sharpened. "Unless you have objections to investigating outside official channels?"
Weathervane. Tyler Galpin. Exactly where I need to be.
"No objections."
"Good. Tomorrow afternoon, then. And Aron?" She paused at the edge of the stacks. "Whatever you're not telling me about what happened in those woods—I respect tactical secrets. But if it puts either of us at risk, that changes."
Fair warning.
"Understood."
Eugene was asleep when I returned to the dorm, finally exhausted enough for unconsciousness despite the trauma. His breathing was deep and even, and for the first time in hours, his hands weren't shaking.
I pulled out my notebook and made new entries:
Alliance active. Wednesday knows I'm holding back but accepts it. Eugene trusts me to protect him—first person who has. New priority: keep them both alive when I barely remember what's coming.
Outside our window, Nevermore's woods held different shadows now. Deeper. More threatening. The knowledge that something hunted between those trees had changed the entire landscape from sanctuary to battleground.
Tomorrow: investigate Tyler Galpin with Wednesday. Gather intelligence on potential Hyde connection.
Tonight: figure out how to sleep knowing there's a monster loose and my protection of Eugene depends on abilities I barely understand.
My shadow wrapped around the sleeping form across the room—protective gesture I didn't consciously command. Maybe the darkness understood priorities I was still learning to accept.
Found family. Chosen obligation. First genuine human connection.
Time to figure out how to keep them alive.
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