Chapter 7 The clock tower

The clock tower loomed above me like a skeletal finger pointing at the gray Swiss sky.

I stood at its base, my heart pounding and my breath misting in the cold afternoon air. The tower was ancient, its stone walls weathered by centuries of wind and rain. A spiral staircase wound up the interior, disappearing into shadow. At the top, a bell hung silent and still.

At the top, Blanche had died.

I didn't know why I had come here. Maybe I was hoping to find something the police had missed. Maybe I just needed to stand where she had stood, to see what she had seen in her final moments. Maybe I was hoping that being here would give me some kind of clarity.

Instead, I just felt so cold. And more confused than ever.

The door was unlocked. I pushed it open, and the hinges groaned in protest. The interior was dark and musty, the air thick with dust and the scent of old stone. I took a breath, steeling myself, and began to climb.

The stairs were narrow and winding, each step creaking beneath my weight. I counted them as I went. Fifty. Sixty. Seventy. The higher I climbed, the more my legs burned and my lungs ached.

Eighty. Ninety. One hundred.

The stairs opened into a small room at the top of the tower. A heavy bell hung in the center, its surface tarnished with age. Around it, narrow windows offered views of the school below, the courtyard, the chapel, the sprawling grounds. It was beautiful.

And it was where my best friend had taken her final breath.

I walked to the edge of the room, where a low stone wall marked the boundary between safety and emptiness. I looked down. The ground was so far below that the students milling about looked like ants. A fall from this height would be instant.

A sharp and brutal death.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine Blanche standing here. What had she been thinking? Was she scared? Was she angry? Had she jumped willingly? Or had she been pushed?

I was so lost in thought that I didn't hear the footsteps behind me until it was too late.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.

Bryce Ashford-Smythe stood in the doorway, his silhouette dark against the pale light from the stairs. His eyes were cold and hard, his jaw clenched tight. He looked like he was barely containing his anger.

"I asked you a question," he said, stepping into the room. "What are you doing here?"

I took a step back, my hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I was just..."

"Just what?" He cut me off, his voice sharp as a blade. "Looking for a good view? Trying to get a thrill?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I've seen it before. Some student thinks it's funny to come up here and joke about what happened. Maybe take a picture for social media."

"That's not..."

"Or maybe you're one of those ghouls who gets off on death." He stepped closer, his eyes boring into mine. "Let me guess. You heard about the golden girl who jumped, and you thought you'd come see where it happened. Maybe take a selfie. Maybe post it online with a sad emoji face."

"Stop it," I said, my voice shaking. "That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?" He was in front of me now, so close I could smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes and the anger radiating off him in waves. "Because I'll tell you what I see. I see another pathetic student who doesn't have anything better to do than gawk at the spot someone just died."

I snapped.

I didn't mean to. The words just came out, sharp and angry and full of pain.

"You don't know anything about me!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "You don't know why I'm here. You don't know what I've lost. You don't know anything about what I'm going through. So don't you dare stand there and judge me when you know nothing about me."

Bryce stared at me, his expression unreadable.

Then he laughed.

It was a cold and cruel sound that made my blood run hot with fury.

"Right," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because I'm sure someone like you has so much in common with the Blanche Montclair I'm sure you were best friends." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Wait, I recognize you now."

My heart dropped.

"You were there," he said slowly. "You were watching me..."

My face flushed. "I wasn't..."

"Yes, you were." He was smiling now, but it wasn't a nice smile. "When I was with Maeve. You were hiding in those bushes like a little creep, watching us."

"That's not what happened," I said, my voice shaking with embarrassment and anger.

"Then what happened?" He took another step closer. I had nowhere left to go. My back was against the stone wall. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were getting off on watching me."

"I was not..."

"Pervert," he said, the word landing like a slap. "That's what you are. A little pervert who can't mind her own fucking business."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he didn't give me the chance.

"That's what this is, isn't it?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low and dangerous whisper. "You followed me here. You've been following me all along. You want me. You want my attention. You want me to notice you."

My cheeks were burning now. "That's insane. I don't want you."

"Sure you don't." He laughed again. "That's why you were watching me with Maeve like a sick person. That's why you came up here, because you knew I'd be here. You just can't get enough of me, can you?"