The Boy Who Died

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graphy. I spend the rest of my day turning the words over and over like there's a loophole I'm just not seeing. The rest of my professors blur. I get lost in the familiar halls of McK

want t

I call as I

rk at the newspaper on campus. I spent the whole summer hearing about what an amazing opportunity being a staff writer for the Arden

need to wash-and detour through the living room. The massive, squashy orange couch Heather arrived with doesn't e

s open for emergency sessions. But, god, I promised her I had my shit together thi

er. I can't lose my progress. Maybe I couldn't dispel the hallucinati

em even crazier. "I just have to prove that my brain

d be so disappointed, but I can't live a life where I never see him. Ryan's mom didn't approve of social media; she thought he was going to get kidnapped by a pedophile or something, so I only have

Theresa, the final member of our trio, who holds a set of bunny ears behind his head.

f school with his chin on his hand. He made me take the picture

ar away, sniff back a second one, and pull out my laptop. What did he say his name was? Ben Andrews. I type that into the search bar o

. Lots of accounts, but none of them match what he looks like. Nothing, nothing, nothing. In a fit of frustration, I open a regular sea

apher for hire in the greater Peoria area. Indiana. The Ben in class said he was from Illinois. It also references Ansel Adams as an inspiration. My stom

y ears. This is beyond indulgence; this is sickness. I'm stalking my professor

the private parts of her while making it very clear that she's naked underneath. Next. A man stares out a window, lit an

lmost all of them feature people. No self-portraits. Not a lot of men at all. Be

of his shots are of pale, long-haired brunette women with dark eyes. They're often pretty tall, too, framed a

e women Ben likes to photograph to a T. Like... like they are all based on m

s from beyond the grave. I grab my phone and text Dana to ask if we can move this week's appointment up. After a brief hesitation, I add that I might need some extra support this semester. My face burns. One day of classes, and I'm already falling a

f to take a deep breath. Heather opens the door, a

y, yanking her keys out of

ug. "

ns an assignment from the Arkly and grins.