Chapter 103: 103. Just When I Was About To Go Home I Hear Some Good Beating

She said it quietly and clearly, and there was no performance in it. This quality was the thing Mike had recognized at twelve when he watched her cry genuinely on the stage—she was someone who operated without the buffer of self-deception.

It was not always comfortable. It was also not something he encountered often.

"Living in a double life, huh?"

Ellie laughed. "Yeah, but still... what you said to me while fucking me, I will not give him any real affection, and it seems like our kisses will be on the cheeks only."

"That’s the harder version," Mike said.

"Of what?"

"Of being a person," he said.

She looked at him for a moment.

Then she said, "Will I see you again?"

"I’m at Valcrest," Mike said. "And also... We live in the same city."

"That’s not what I’m asking."

He looked at her. "Yes," he said. "You’ll see me."

She nodded once, and something in her settled with it. It was not resolved or neat; it simply settled in the manner of someone who has received a genuine truth and is choosing to accept it as it is.

She unfolded herself from the sheet and stood, moving around the bed toward the chair where she had folded her things earlier that evening. She dressed with a focused quietness, as if shifting into a different mode, in that transitional space between one room and another.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching without really watching, like someone observing something that wasn’t theirs to scrutinize closely.

When she was dressed, she stood in the middle of the room and looked at him, and the expression had changed again—less of the contained things, more of something that was simply present and warm and a little rueful.

"You’re still leaving," she said. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"I have to," he said.

"I know." She stepped toward him.

She did it without hesitation, which was Ellie, crossing whatever distance she’d decided to cross in the same direct way she crossed all of them. She cupped his face in both hands and looked at him closely for a moment, engaging in the act that people perform when they attempt to preserve the unique quality of a moment before it turns into a memory.

"Okay," she said, quietly. "Bye-bye then, love you, Mikey."

Then she kissed him, not urgently, not like something trying to extend the evening, but slowly and with full attention, the kind of kiss that knows it’s the last one for this particular night and is not trying to be anything apart from what it is.

He put one hand at the back of her neck and let it happen.

She pulled back first. She kept her hands where they were for another second.

"Thank you," she said, expressing gratitude for more than one reason.

"Ellie," he said.

"I know," she said. "I know."

She dropped her hands and stepped back, turning toward the door. She glanced over her shoulder once, taking in the details: the portfolio case in the corner, the framed photo on the dresser, and him sitting at the edge of the bed with his jacket draped over the chair.

"Get home safe," she said.

"Of course," he said. "And don’t forget to clean this room."

She nodded, opened the door, and walked down the hallway with quiet footsteps, making a measured and careful sound as she moved toward the room at the end of the hall, knowing exactly where to step to remain silent in her own home.

The bedroom door opened softly and closed the same way.

Mike sat in the quiet for a moment.

He looked at the photo on the dresser again. Stanley and Ellie, squinting into sunlight, had the easy posture of two people who had been doing this particular thing together for long enough that it required no adjustment.

He looked at the window.

He picked up his jacket, stood, and let himself out of the guest room, down the stairs, and through the front door, pulling it closed without sound behind him.

"Thank you, Stanley... your girlfriend is fucking delicious."

District 5 at two in the morning was exhibiting the typical behavior of residential neighborhoods at that hour: an absence of visible activity and a few quiet occurrences hidden beneath the stillness.

The streets had a distinct quality, reflecting a place that had finished its day but had not yet started the next. Streetlights flickered at intervals.

The sound of a distant car echoed through the quiet streets, but there was no foot traffic to be seen.

Mike walked in the direction of the university, which was between the house and the transit stop and had the advantage of being a route he knew.

He had walked through dozens of cities at this hour in various conditions of sobriety, urgency, and personal safety, and he had developed the particular calibration of attention that nighttime walking required—wide awareness without narrowing focus, the ability to be aware of everything without looking at anything in particular.

Erosyne City at two AM was, by his assessment, quiet in a way that was almost unusual.

He had lived in cities that buzzed at all hours due to their vibrant character, as well as in those that went genuinely dark at night when their economies shuttered with the businesses. Erosyne was a city that still held some life at this hour, yet it was not fully awake in a performative sense.

The commercial areas closer to the center would be more active. District 5, with its residential vibe, and District 2, known for its academic atmosphere, existed between these two energies, while the path along the campus edge remained quiet.

He was walking past the eastern boundary of the Valcrest campus, where the old faculty buildings lined a narrow service road, when he heard it.

It was not an ambiguous sound. It was a specific one, with a clear source and a distinct meaning. He stopped walking.

...

What he heard first was laughter.

Not the laughter of something funny. The laughter came from people who had been engaged in an activity for so long that it had become tedious, and they were now entertaining each other to alleviate their boredom.

Then a voice.

"Come on," Cody said, his voice booming. "Get up, you fucking pussy! I didn’t even hit you that hard."

"I think you did," Tobin said, amused. "Just look at his dumb-ahh reaction."

"I’m telling you, I didn’t hit him that hard. He’s just being dramatic."

A pause, and then a sound that was not dramatic—a short, involuntary sound of someone who had been kicked and could not entirely suppress the response to it.

"See, that one was hard," Tobin said. "That one he’s allowed to make noise about."

"Yeah, alright."

The narrow alley between two of the older faculty buildings ran about forty meters to a service gate at the other end. He could see most of it from the street entrance, and what he could see was three people standing, one person on the ground, and the quality of motion that belonged to a situation that had been going on for some time and was not going well for the person on the ground.

He recognized the general build of the three individuals standing there—the specific proportions of Jay, Cody, and Tobin, whom he had carefully assessed earlier in the week.

He recognized the glasses on the ground beside the person who was down.

It was Tyler Schmith, and he had been walking home, or perhaps to his campus lab, or to some other place he thought was safe at this hour. He had relied on his extensive schedule mapping but had miscalculated once again, leading him to be in a place that felt increasingly unsafe as the evening progressed.