Dan smelled mint. His office always smelled of mint. The young secretary left a tin of peppermints on his desk every morning and he ate them throughout the day. Julie was her name. Pretty and young—too pretty and young to already be working in a place like this.

A half-finished report sat on the desk before him. This side of things, the paper-pushing side, always annoyed him. That’s what assistants were for, damn it all, but they couldn’t be depended upon for anything. Sucking on a mint and adjusting his spectacles, he went back to the business at hand.

Where was he? Ah, yes. Writing.

Each victim had been strangled, although some had struggled, the signs of which were evident in the bruises and cuts they sustained. Reportedly, the victims posed to dance looked remarkably convincing, as did those set around the rest of the bar, sitting and standing. Good God, the planning it must have taken to achieve this. . . . A corpse reaches its peak stiffness at approximately twelve hours after death. To kill the patrons of an entire bar and then wait among the dead for hours . . . I admit, even I was skeptical that treatment could help a man so deeply, deeply troubled.

Happily, repeated insulin shock treatments and two weeks in the Dark Room have somewhat improved the patient’s temperament. He seems almost docile. I have nearly accomplished something astounding with the man. There will be more sessions, the next one on Thursday, and further monitoring of his behavior.

Report complete, he signed his name.

Daniel Crawford, Warden

He considered the signature and signed it again. And again. He wrote his name faster and faster, pen flying across the page. Daniel Crawford, Daniel Crawford . . . The page disappeared in front of his eyes. He could see the dancing corpses, hear the record wheezing softly in the background. It played the tune of Lucy’s music box. And then he was falling down the rabbit hole, falling, and he . . .

. . . woke from his nap with a start. Dan hadn’t even known he’d fallen asleep. What was the dream? He concentrated before it faded away. . . . He was seeing again through the warden’s eyes as if they were his own. It felt so real. He even remembered writing the report, in the warden’s own hand. If he thought hard enough about it, he could taste the peppermints.

Dan rolled out of bed, still decidedly groggy. On the bedside table, his phone lit up with a picture of Abby. Her text message appeared underneath.

Class over. They’re handing out ice cream in quad. Want update on Jordan. Meet me in 5?

In five? Damn, no time to shower. Dan checked his breath, cupping his palm over his mouth and blowing. It . . . could have been better. He tracked down a beat-up, old pack of gum in his backpack, but just tasting the mint made him feel sick.

What else would Daniel Crawford ruin for him?

The lure of ice cream had apparently emptied the dorm, both of students and the police. Dan jogged through the silent hall to the back stairs. At the second floor, he grabbed the handrail as usual and swung around it to the next set of stairs below. But a dark shape startled him, and he stumbled, nearly colliding with the lump in the stairwell. He dodged it just in time, sliding to the right and grabbing the opposite handrail.

At first, he assumed it was just a backpack someone had dropped, or maybe a bucket one of the maintenance workers had left. But no, the shape was bigger and—oh, God—it was human. There, with one arm on his legs and the other slung over his head, was Jordan’s roommate, Yi. For a second, Dan’s limbs refused to cooperate. He couldn’t move.

Oh, God, he’s dead, oh, God, he’s dead, he’s dead. . . .

Then Dan knelt, taking Yi by the shoulders and shaking him gently. What did those safety pamphlets always say? Don’t move someone who’s fallen because you might make things worse?

“No, no, this can’t be happening. It isn’t happening,” Dan whispered, carefully searching along Yi’s T-shirt. He pressed his palm to Yi’s chest and waited, a hysterical laugh of relief escaping when he felt the thump of his heartbeat.

“Yi! Yi, can you hear me?” He shook him again. No response. Dan yanked his cell phone out of his pocket and frantically dialed 911. Would campus security be better? They’d be closer, that’s for sure. Where had those cops gone anyway?

“Yes, hello? I need help. I’m at the Brookline Dormitory on campus. Sorry, um, Camford, New Hampshire College. My friend is unconscious. It looks like he was attacked or maybe he fell? I don’t know. He’s breathing, but I can’t wake him up, but there’s definitely a pulse. . . .”

The operator insisted he stay on the line, and while it was probably just a moment or two before the police arrived, it felt like a lifetime. He kept his hand on Yi’s shoulder, telling him over and over again that it would be okay, that he’d be okay, that everything was all right. After a while, Dan knew he was babbling, words tripping out of his mouth as he tried not to panic. He tried not to notice that one of Yi’s ankles was neatly crossed over the other leg, as if Yi had just sat down on the stairs to take a rest. Finally, the police officers arrived. One of them helped Dan up, patted him on the back, and told him to wait downstairs.

More cops arrived, and more, and then the paramedics. Dan answered their questions in a daze. No, the stairs weren’t slippery; no, he hadn’t moved Yi at all; yes, he’d called the second he found him. No, he didn’t know anyone who would want to hurt Yi. They sat him down on a bench in the front hall while the police secured the doors. Nobody from outside was allowed in, and police posted to each floor told the students still in their rooms to stay exactly where they were.

Through the windows in the entrance hall, Dan could see students gathering around outside and peering in, trying to figure out what was going on. By the time he thought to look at his phone, he had six missed text messages, all from Abby.

Police just freaked out and went inside. Where r u?

and

Dan? r u ok? What happened? Do u c the cops in there?

The messages became increasingly panicked, until the final one was just a mess of exclamation points and question marks.

“I’m fine,” he texted back. “Found Yi. He fell down the stairs or something.” Dan glanced up from his phone. The paramedics were carrying Yi on a stretcher, a blanket wrapped tightly over his chest. “Taking him to ambulance now.”

As soon as the paramedics reached the doors, two cops sprang forward to usher them out and control the crowd waiting to get a look. The noise that flooded in from outside was deafening, one mass of shouts and crying and the blare of ambulance sirens.

Abby texted back in a flash.

Whoa! Poor Yi! I c them taking him to the ambulance now. u holding up ok?

Dan was grateful for her concern. “Fine,” he shot back, even if that was only half-true. Because while the police questioned him and paced around and questioned him some more, all Dan could think was that Yi had looked so still, still as a sculpture.

From their questions, it became clear that the cops didn’t feel Joe’s murder and this incident were related. For one, Yi was still alive, and for another, the apparent murderer was in their custody. But gazing around at the faces of the students outside, Dan knew they were all thinking the same thing—Brookline wasn’t safe.

“Son?”

Dan’s eyes lifted slowly from his cell phone to the police officer standing in front of him. He didn’t remember his name, although he knew the officer had introduced himself at some point during the questioning. Dan simply didn’t have the energy to remember.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said, nodding to the doors. “We want everyone out for now. They asked that you all gather in the dining hall.”

Abby was hovering right outside the dorm, dodging officers who were trying to herd her away. When she caught sight of Dan, she came running.

“Hey! You . . . you’re really okay?” She gave him a big hug.

“That helps.”

Nobody was doing a very good job of getting people to leave the scene. There was simply too much commotion. Dan looked into the blaze of siren lights, finding that even professors and townsfolk had been roused by the excitement. Clusters of students whispered under the trees, and Dan spotted a few familiar faces—among them some hall monitors and professors, including Professor Reyes, and—wait, what the hell—Sal Weathers’s wife. Her gaunt face was even more ghostly under the blue flashes of the police car lights. Professor Reyes was pushing through the crowd and flagging down an officer. She seemed to be shouting at him, arguing. When Dan tried to spot Sal’s wife again, she was gone.

They joined the stream of kids going into Wilfurd.

“It’s all just too awful to think about,” Abby said. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I don’t know. I mean, he was breathing, but he was unconscious. It could’ve been a fall, I don’t know. I just hope he’s all right.”

Inside, students zoomed around helter-skelter. Some of Abby’s art friends raced up to them, bombarding Dan with questions. Oh, right. I was there. I found him. Of course everyone knows. Finally Abby intercepted, asking them to give him space.

“Thanks,” Dan said to her when they left. “I’m not sure I could handle more questions right now. The police already grilled me.”

The hall monitors had moved the ice cream inside, and set it up on the buffet table so students could help themselves. There was also a young woman in a crooked hairnet who was making milk shakes.

“Is this supposed to make us forget?” Abby asked, rolling her eyes. But then she spied Jordan standing alone by the windows. She pinched Dan’s elbow. “Let’s get him something. He and Yi are close. He must be devastated.”

“He wasn’t so thrilled to see me when I went to visit,” Dan said. “In fact, I got the impression he was really pissed off at me.”

“Yeah, I saw your text,” she answered quickly. “I still think we should say something.”

“Sure, yeah. Let’s just . . . approach with caution, you know? I don’t feel like getting my head bitten off again right now.”

They waited their turn to grab a shake for Jordan. Dan overheard the kids in front of them discussing their plans to leave. His heart sank. Did this mean the program was over for good? He suspected the only reason things hadn’t shut down after Joe’s murder was because they’d apprehended a suspect so quickly, but another incident . . . Well, it was easy to see why people were drawing a connection.

Milk shakes in hand, Abby and Dan approached Jordan. His notepads and pen were nowhere in sight. He’d gone back to carrying his many-sided die, turning it in his palm as if he were trying to polish down the corners. He stared out the windows into the quad, still wearing his blue bathrobe and a pair of brown suede slippers.

When Jordan saw them, he said defiantly, “I don’t want it. I don’t need your pity party.”

“Then we’ll go. We’ll leave you alone,” Abby replied. She put the milk shake on the table next to him. “But we wanted you to know we’re here if you need us.” She turned to leave, nodding for Dan to follow her.

“Hang on a second.” Jordan took the milk shake, cradling it in both hands. There were big circles under his eyes; his hair was unkempt. The lights from the police cars outside reflected off his face, tinting him red, then blue, then ghostly pale.

For a moment, Jordan kept his eyes on the cup in his hands. Then he slowly lifted his head to look at them. “Thanks. For the milk shake and . . . thanks.”

“So how are you holding up?” Dan asked.

Jordan sighed. “It doesn’t feel real. I mean, maybe he fell, but did you see all those cops? There’s no way he just fell.” He took a long slurp on the milk shake. “What did Yi do? He’s a good guy, a little talkative, but good.”

The program director arrived, informing them in a quavering voice that the dorm had been thoroughly checked and they could now return to their rooms. Nobody seemed eager to leave the dining hall.

“Come on,” Abby said. She put her hand on Jordan’s arm. “Let’s head back to your room.”

“I can walk there myself.”

Here we go again. . . . Dan braced himself for the blowup.

But Abby ignored the tone. “I know you can, stupid, you’ve got legs. But let’s go together anyway. Nobody should be alone tonight.”