Dulce

“It’s what sisters do,” I point out.

“So, you keep reminding me.” She sighs, and I brace myself, knowing whatever she says now is not going to give me the warm and fuzzies.

“Those photos you had sent over. We’ve managed to ID a few, but not all of them.”

I frown at that. I don’t know why, but I assumed they would dig into school records.

“Okay, I know this isn’t really my area of awesomeness, but what’s the big holdup? Surely they have school records or social media accounts. Hell, no teenager is social media free these days.”

“Well, turns out, not all these people have a file on them. Now don’t get me wrong, there are a few files without photos, so we did some cross-referencing and found a few more. But some of these girls never went to the academy, Dulce. Or if they did, their file was wiped when they left.”

I chew my lip as I make my way around the outside of the main building to one of the smaller ones, where my English lit class is being held.

“I mean, I assumed they all went here. But come to think of it, none of them were wearing uniforms in the photos, so that is my fault for making assumptions.

“Which reminds me. Check out missing faculty members from here and coffee shops in the surrounding area. It’s not much, I know, but call it a hunch.”

“I’ll see what I can find.”

“Damn. If these girls didn’t all go here, they could be from anywhere. Hell, they might be miles away living their best life. I…” I shake my head, trying to think about why those photos made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. None of them show anything sinister. Every person in them either looks happy or genuinely caught off-guard as if the person taking the picture was pranking them. None of them looked scared or coerced. None of the backdrops were dingy basements or rooms with prison bars, or at least that I noticed. Most of the backgrounds were a little fuzzy.

“Did you pull anything from the backgrounds?”

“We’re still looking, but nothing is standing out at this point.”

“The girl I took these photos from, can you run her for me? Her name is Cassandra Robbins. She rubs me the wrong way. It could just be this place is getting to me and I’m looking for something where there is nothing.” Even as I say it, I don’t believe it. I’ve spent too long listening to my instincts to doubt myself now. Cassandra is involved, I know she is. She had those photos after all. They might as well have been a handful of red flags.

“I’ll look into her. Four of the girls definitely went there. I’ll text you their info so you have it, but from what we can see, there is nothing to report. They either graduated or left for whatever reasons. They went back home, and that’s that. No more troubled teen. None have been reported missing. Two are doing online courses, one is doing a gap year. And the other is engaged, according to her Facebook account, but she mostly posts photos of food and random unicorns farting rainbows and quotes. You’d love it.”

“Rude. What is your problem with unicorns? You know what? Never mind. Look, I don’t know what I’m feeling because my spidey senses are telling me all is not what it seems. Cassandra had those photos for a reason. I was so sure most of those girls would be listed as missing,” I shake my head wondering if my dislike for Cassandra really is clouding my brain, but I shake it off.

“Just be sure to check her out for me, I’d rather be wrong and have egg on my face than have lots of eggs and…actually, I have no clue where I was going with this analogy.”

“Too many dicks will do that to a girl. They scramble their eggs or fertilize—”

“Eek. No, stop with the whole egg thing.”

We both stop talking for a minute, and I take a second to wonder how the hell our conversations always veer so far off track.

“So this is why it’s usually Lollie or Sugar that calls me, huh?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she admits, and I can picture her nodding her head with her face scrunched up in thought, her long blonde ponytail bouncing up and down.

“I have to go anyway. But dig into the girls that supposedly turned their lives around. Trust me, this place is not where people have epiphanies. This place molds a dark soul, not a light one. If they wanted training in the dark arts, then this is the place to come. But if you’re looking for redemption, you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.”

“I worry about you.” She snorts, sounding like she does not give a fuck about me at all, even though she does. Mostly. Kinda.

“Just check them out and get back to me. I’ll see if I can dig up any info on the others. There must have been a reason for Cassandra to have those photos.”

“Could be friends. Teenage girls take photos of everything.”

“Nah. Selfies, maybe. But this girl is not keeping a bunch of photos of pretty girls under her vibrator for no reason.”

“Oh, what kind?”

“Six-inch dual speed with a rotating head.”

“Meh, beginner.” She sighs. “Alright, I’ll do some more digging and keep you posted.”

She hangs up, so I pull my cell from my ear and tap the gallery for my photos. The Polaroids are one thing, but it’s these that bug me and it’s driving me nuts why. I never shared these ones with Hunter and Griff, having sent them from Cassandra’s cell to mine, but there is something there. I know it. Now if I could just figure out what.

I scroll through them, trying to figure out what it is about these photos that make me feel antsy when I’m jolted from behind.

My cell drops to the ground as I spin around and glare. Scott stands with his hands up in surrender. Casey laughs his ass off behind him. Sarah shoves him with a scowl as Scott bends and grabs my cell.

“Sorry about that. I did tell you my friends were assholes, right?”

“Hey,” Sarah snaps indignantly.

“Sorry, friend,” he replies.

His brows come together in a frown as he takes in the photo open on my screen. “You know her?”

He looks up at me, his face a little pale as he swallows.

Sensing his mood change, Sarah and Casey draw closer and look at the photo.

“Oh,” Sarah replies softly.

“So, you know her?”

“Why do you have a picture of her on your cell phone?” Scott asks, looking confused.

Crap.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Someone sent it to me, but with no message. I figured it was a wrong number. But looking at your reactions, I’m wondering if it is meant to be a threat of some kind.”

“Her name was Louise something—” Sarah’s voice drifts off as she tries to remember.

“Rollins. Louise Rollins,” Scott answers, his eyes going unfocused.

I reach out and touch his arm, making him jump, pulling him out of whatever memory has a grip on him.

“Sorry. She was new here, like you. It was the beginning of last year. She was quiet but pretty, which made her an easy target for Cassandra and her minions.”

“She was bullied?”