Infatuate by Aimee Agresti Page B

like a girl who gets up early to read. That says something about you, you know?” He nodded in praise. “I knew what I was doing when I drafted you at the hospital.”
    “Yeah, guess so,” I said, thinking about how he also had recruited Sabine but saying nothing.
    “Anyway, make yourself at home. And just lemme know if you need anything.” He waved his apple as a goodbye.
    I leaned against the counter, thinking, then called out, “Connor?”
    He popped his head back in.
    I did my best to sound nonchalant. “So what’s the deal with the house next door?”
    “Ahhh, the haunted one?” he asked, in a loaded way. “The LaLaurie pad? The tourists love it, of course. But it’s just some well-marketed folklore. Nothing to worry about.”
    “No, totally, I know,” I said, trying too hard to sound cool. “So is it, like, abandoned?”
    “Right now, yeah. But actually it’s gonna get fixed up soon. Some of you guys will be working on it, as one of the group projects.”
    “Right. Thanks.”
    “House meeting at nine o’clock,” he reminded me, then ambled down the hall, polishing off his apple. I poked around inside the fridge and opened the cupboards in the hopes that some sort of comfort food would appear and soothe me. I found some of those single-serve packs of Oreos, like Joan used to put in my lunches in grade school, and couldn’t resist tearing one open.
    That’s when I heard the scream. It came from somewhere out front: a male voice, deep, expletive-laced, accompanied by rattling metal. Then footsteps running through the hall. I lunged out of the kitchen.
    “You heard it too?” Connor asked. I nodded. “Stay here.” He jogged down the mirrored hall to the back entranceway.
    Despite his instruction, I trailed behind him. The sun had only just begun its ascent, the sky brightening to a deep indigo as we clomped down the wooden staircase to the courtyard and through the lantern-lit archway to the locked front gate. One of the guys from our house, the one I had seen yesterday with a basketball, stood there, hands clasping the metal bars, trying to get in.
    Connor slowed his pace, his alarm lessening. “Jimmy, dude, what’s the deal? What’re ya doin’ out here?”
    “You gotta let me in. Lemme in, lemme in!” He was frantic.
    “Where’re your keys? If you lost ’em already, we’re gonna have to charge you,” Connor said, unhitching the lock and opening up. I hung back in the shadows of the archway.
    “Call nine-one-one,” Jimmy said. He raced in, letting the gate crash. He ran right past us.
    “What are you talking about?” Connor called out to him.
    Jimmy paused just a moment, shouting back from the courtyard, “There’s a body out there. An eff-ing body!” We could hear him stumbling up the steps and slamming the door. Connor and I stood stunned in the lantern-lit haze. He sighed and scratched at the back of his head, like he was psyching himself up, then unlocked the gate once more. Silently, he stepped out onto Royal Street, as I followed a few paces behind.
    By the time I reached the sidewalk, he was walking back toward me stone-faced. With a firm voice, he ordered: “Haven, go back upstairs.”
    It was too late. My eyes flashed to the ground, and a scream, involuntary and raw, escaped my lips. My hand rose to my mouth. In front of our house lay a battered body in a pool of blood. Much as the sight shook my every nerve, I still couldn’t manage to look away. The victim looked like he could’ve been a college student, or someone we’d seen last night at the welcoming party or run into celebrating with the masses as we shuffled home. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with the remnants of a hooded sweatshirt in tatters around him. In the brightening morning light, as the city still slept, our block felt so tranquil, not the kind of place you would expect to find this. It just didn’t belong. The asphalt of Royal Street had been hosed down since last night, all traces of the evening