Four Keys for Them, Zero for Me Chapter 08

Four Keys for Them, Zero for Me Chapter 08

“Hello, is this Vera Woods? I’m a reporter from the Havenport Daily.”

Second month of term. The requests kept coming. Alibi went into a second print run, then a third. My editor called, barely containing excitement:

“Vera—your book hit the top ten this month. Two production companies are asking about adaptation rights.”

I sat in the coffee shop, latte in hand—the same one where I’d used to work. The owner said I was now his most famous former employee and refused my money.

“Hold off on adaptation. I want to finish the outline for Book Two.”

“Your pace. Your call.”

I hung up. Ethan pushed through the door, set a printout on the table.

“Look.”

A national creative writing support program’s acceptance list. My name was third.

“Twenty spots nationwide. You’re the only freshman.”

I looked at it. My name, next to my school and the book. Then Ethan’s face turned hesitant.

“Your identity might not stay hidden much longer.”

“What?”

“A local outlet came to campus. Asked Professor Hayes who ‘D.B.’ is.”

He didn’t say—but they found your national contest record. It has your real name.”

Vera Woods. Those three words would be dug up eventually.

“Whatever.”

Ethan watched me. “You’re not scared your family will see?”

“What are they going to do? Come here?”

“If they do.”

I took a sip of coffee, bitter on my tongue. “Then they come. I’m not the girl who sits on hallway floors anymore.”

He didn’t push. When I tried to pay, the owner waved me off—I dropped twenty into the tip jar anyway.

On my way back to the dorm, Jenna sent screenshots. Social media threads. Someone had connected “D.B.” to Vera Woods—college freshman, eighteen. Someone found a high school classmate: “Quietest kid in our grade. Grades were great. But I never saw her family come for anything.” Someone dug up Sherry’s piano competition videos. Comments had turned: “So she’s the ignored little sister.” “Beautiful piece—but knowing what her sister went through, it doesn’t sound as sweet.”

I read the screenshots and replied to Jenna: “Sherry didn’t do anything wrong. She was just a kid.”

Jenna: “You’re defending her after this?”

“I’m not defending her. I’m telling the truth. She never hurt me intentionally.”

She sent a sighing emoji: “Good people die young, Vera.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. At 1:00 A.M., my phone lit up. Sherry:

“Vera, I know people are talking online. They’re commenting on my social media. I reported them.”

“Why?”

“They’re wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just a kid too.”

Pause. Then: “I’m not asking for your help. I’m just telling you—Mom had Dad look up your school address. They’re coming.”

I froze.

“What did she say?”

“She said: ‘That girl has lost her mind. She’s embarrassing us to the whole country. We need to bring her back.'”

Bring her back.

Not “find her.” Not “see her.” Bring her back. Like a lost bag.

“If you don’t want to see them, I won’t tell them which dorm.”

Sherry, fifteen. The little princess of that house. She was doing something that could cost her every privilege—covering for me.

“No.”

I typed: “I won’t hide. Let them come. This time, I have my own door. I decide if it opens.”

I put the phone beside my pillow. The gray blue book leaned against the lamp. Outside, Havenport’s night wind carried the sound of distant waves.

I closed my eyes. For the first time, the thought of them coming didn’t make my heart race. No shaking hands. No urge to shrink—shrink—shrink into a harmless speck.

I just felt calm.

Come. Let me show you what you left behind.