The Last Good Girl (9 page)

“So, what happened last night?”

“I've been trying to get her to go out more. I thought it would be good for her. And when we got to the bar, I thought she was having fun. She was talking to some cute boy. Next thing I knew, I saw her walking out the front door, alone. I just assumed she was going to get some fresh air. When she didn't come back after, like, five minutes, I went out after her. But she was gone. Just, like, vanished. She wouldn't have gone anywhere without telling me, not without a good reason.” Preya's big dark eyes filled up with tears. “It was her first night out in forever. Because of me. And now this has happened.”

“It's not your fault,” Anna said, handing her a tissue. She always kept Kleenex in her purse; they were as necessary to her job as a mop was to a janitor. Preya blew her nose.

“Had she been drinking?” Anna asked.

“Not really, I don't think.” Preya wiped a tear. “We didn't preparty in the dorm. I saw her get a beer at the bar, but I don't know if she had any more than that. We'd been there, like, an hour before she left.”

“What was Emily's relationship with Dylan?”

“There was no ‘relationship.' They didn't talk. Once or twice, she saw him on campus, and it scared the crap out of her, but she just walked away. It's a big campus. You don't necessarily run into somebody unless you're trying to. She was the butt of some jokes, mostly from other kids, not Dylan. I think Emily and Dylan just ignored each other, except within the Disciplinary Committee case. Until . . .” Preya trailed off.

“Until what?” Anna asked.

“Two days ago.” Preya looked at Anna with big, scared eyes. “I think she did something big. And it changed everything.”

Holy crap. I'm, like, reeling.

Dylan's done it before. And he'll do it again. Unless I stop him.

Ugh.

Why does it have to be me? I'm not any kind of superwoman. I don't even raise my hand in class.

But, I'm—wait. Lemme start over, tell this in a straight line.

Okay, so I went to the student health center today. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in like three weeks. I thought they could give me Ambien or something. But I got a lot more than that.

They led me to an office with a nameplate that said
DR. SUSAN BLUM, MS ED
. Dr. Blum is a pretty psychologist with brown hair and a warm smile. I told her what happened, and, unlike everyone else, she didn't blame me or tell me to go away. She said what happened to me happened to a lot of smart, nice girls. She rolled out the notorious “one in five” statistic—but she added something I haven't heard before. She said six percent of the boys commit ninety percent of the rapes on campus. Can you believe that? It's crazy. The guys who do it, they do it over and over. They're predators.

Dr. Blum said that “given the statistics” Dylan had probably done it before—and would do it again if no one stops him. She said he's probably been perfecting his routine. I asked if she knew anyone who'd been raped by Dylan. She kind of looked at me for a second, like she wanted to tell me something—but then she said she's bound by confidentiality rules and stuff. But, she said, some survivors talk to this Title IX activist named Heide, and I could call and see if Heide could help.

So, I call this girl, Heide, and guess what? She knew other girls who've been assaulted by Dylan. Like, what are the chances? I actually asked her that. And Heide said a lot of girls come to her, and she starts to hear the same names over and over. She said nothing would change if girls like us didn't take a stand. I told her I wasn't sure. She said she understood—and then she asked if I wanted to talk to one of those other girls. I'm not sure why, but I said yes.

So a little while later, this girl calls me. Tells me what happened to her two years ago—which was exactly what happened to me three weeks ago. Like, insane. She didn't do anything back then. Didn't report it, didn't bring charges. Thought she could make it go away by just not thinking about it. Sound familiar? But, she said, it was worse, trying not to think about it. Like in elementary school when you do that thing where you try not to think about a pink elephant and of course all you can think about is a pink elephant. She said it's been eating her up inside, all these years.

And she kept apologizing to me. Like what happened to me was her fault, for not doing something before. It was so sad. It was like she almost felt worse about how she reacted than about the assault.

And that got me thinking. What if I'm in her position one day? Like, another girl calls me up and tells me Dylan raped her—two years from now? How will I feel then, if I hadn't done something today?

Shitty, is how.

Fuck.

Dylan's family is gonna flip out—and they have the money and power to seriously flip. His fraternity, with their secret-handshake-boys-club-running-the-world thing, is gonna blackball me from every party on this campus.

But this'll never change if I don't report it.

I really don't want to go to the police and make this whole thing googleable. But if I just file a complaint through the university, it'll be confidential. Sealed and private. No public record. I won't be tagged forever as a “rape victim.”

Oh man. I didn't come here to be an activist. But I can't just, like, walk away from this.

I'm filing a case against Dylan.

For better or for worse. We'll see, huh?

W
hat did Emily do two days ago?” Anna asked.

Preya chewed her thumbnail as she spoke. “I'm not sure, because I didn't see it myself. But from what I hear, she was keeping, like, a video log of her college life. And she published it on BlueTube.”

“What's BlueTube?”

“Like YouTube but just for Tower University stuff. Go red and silver.”

“Why were the videos a big deal?”

“Because she announced that Dylan raped her. Before the vlogs came out, it was whispered about, but I'd say that like twenty kids, max, knew about it. Because Disciplinary Committee stuff is secret. When she posted her vlogs, she called him out as a rapist. It was a big public throw down.”

“Can we see the vlogs?”

Preya shook her head. “No. They're not up anymore.”

“Did Emily take them down?”

“I don't know. I never got a chance to ask her about them. I didn't even hear about it till today. Some other kids watched the vlogs, and word got out. But the videos were taken down before I could see them.”

“Do you know anyone who actually watched the videos?”

“No. It's all like a game of Operator—I tried to trace it back—I heard it from Donna Hebel, who heard it from Jill Miner, who heard about it from Karin Beyer, who heard about it from a friend's cousin. Everyone out there”—Preya gestured to the other room in her suite—“is the same. Everyone's talking about the vlogs, but no one saw them.”

“Got it.” Anna made a note to look for the vlogs and subpoena BlueTube if she couldn't find them online. “Do you know how Dylan reacted to the vlogs?”

“I hear he was pissed. But I don't know. I'm not his BFF.”

“Did Dylan ever call here? Or come by?”

“No. Not when I was here.”

“Are you aware of whether he ever threatened Emily?”

“Uh-uh.” Preya shook her head. “I think I would know if he did.”

“Is there anyone else Emily had any tension with? Fights, jealousies, any reason anyone had to dislike her?”

“Actually, if I were you, there is one other person I'd talk to.”

“Who is that?”

“Professor Kristen LaRose—and her crazy ex-husband.”

There was more crazy? Anna thought they'd reached their limits at President Shapiro's house.

“Why them?”

“Well, first, can you tell me, will people know what I say to you? I don't want anyone to know this is coming from me.”

“For now, the investigation is confidential. But if this goes to trial at some point, we might need to disclose who told us what.”

“If this goes to trial? That means Emily would be hurt or dead, right?”

Anna nodded.

Preya looked like she was going to cry again. “I'll tell you everything I know. My mom's a professor, and academics talk. Everyone says they're into ideas and logic, but you come down to it, it's one of the gossipiest professions on the planet. And the Shapiros' split has been, like, huge. If there was a
National Enquirer
for college scandals, they'd have been on the front page for the last couple years. They're the Kardashians of academia.”

“Why is that?”

“Beatrice and Barney were a golden couple. He's the president, but she did a lot to get him there. Like, dedicated herself to his career. She was the ultimate hostess and networker. And she was good at it, elegant, charming, warm. She could work a room. She could work
you
—but she was so good, you didn't really notice she was working you.”

“So what happened?”

“Beatrice caught them having sex on Kristen's desk.”

“Oh.”

“She must've suspected for a while—she had keys made to Kristen's office and was able to bust in. She brought a professional investigator with. He took photos, and Beatrice cleaned Barney out. He got the house, but just because he's the president. If there was any possible way Beatrice could've gotten that, she would've.”

“Sounds like an ugly situation,” Anna said. “But how do you think it's related to Emily's disappearance?”

“Okay, so Kristen's husband, Landon, was so massively pissed off about the affair, he makes Beatrice look like a model of anger management. When Kristen left him, Landon got kind of . . . unhinged. Stalked her. Called her hundreds of times a day, started showing up at her classes and office. Banging on doors, yelling, scaring students. He posted a sex tape they'd made to one of those revenge porn sites. Obviously, her students all checked it out. Kristen was livid. She was ready to sue him; she wanted him arrested. But Barney convinced her not to do it—not even to get a restraining order. Barney just quietly got the videos taken down; he can really manage situations. But I'm not sure he could manage Landon. The man is distraught and, like, seriously mentally ill.”

Anna made a note to check in with the scorned husband. She asked Preya some more questions, and Sam wrote everything down. The conversation would be memorialized in Sam's 302, her write-up of the witness interview.

“Thank you for telling me all this,” Anna said. “You never know in these situations what's important and what's a footnote.”

“Please let me know if there's anything else I can do to help,” Preya said. “Emily is one of the sweetest people I know.”

After Preya was done, Anna and Sam spoke to the other students one by one. They learned that Emily was quiet and kept to herself. Preya appeared to be her best friend on campus. Emily's other friends were kids from her one elective class and an honors retreat she'd gone on that summer, before school started. She hadn't joined any clubs or sports teams. Anna guessed that much of her free time had been spent on the disciplinary case. Pursuing a rape case could be a substantial extracurricular activity in and of itself.

The last person they spoke to was a woman named Heide Herrmann. She was a tall brunette who looked a little more mature than the other students. Heide had graduated from Tower University two years earlier and was twenty-four, half a decade older than the other students assembled in the suite.

“So how did you know Emily?” Anna asked.

“After she was assaulted,” Heide said, “she came and spoke to me. I encouraged her to press charges.”

“Why did she come to you?”

“It's what I do. I'm a Title Nine activist.” Heide pulled up the hem of her jeans and showed a “IX” tattooed on her ankle. “I was assaulted at Tower when I was a student. They swept it under the rug. That's what the college has always done. They don't want to believe that rape is a problem on campus. They don't want parents to be worried, or for applications to drop. Did you know that Dartmouth's applications dropped fourteen percent after a rape allegation?”

Anna nodded.

“No parent wants their kid going to Rape U
.
So the colleges pretend it doesn't happen,” Heide said. “For a long time, they discouraged girls from coming forward. If the girls did come forward anyhow, disciplinary boards often find the boys ‘not responsible.' Because they can get sued for kicking a boy out—but not for letting him off. I've been trying to change things. My organization is called Survivors.”

Heide handed Anna a card. Anna hadn't heard of this particular organization. There were small outfits like Heide's across the country, grassroots efforts trying to shine a light on the issue.

“Where's your office?” Anna asked.

“I run it out of my apartment. You can do a lot with a laptop and Twitter.”

“Do you know what happened with Emily's Disciplinary Committee charges against Dylan?”

“She never told me. I tried to follow up with her, but I never heard back. That happens a lot. Some survivors just want to forget.” A note of anger tinged Heide's voice. “And they don't want to go through the circus that is our criminal justice system.”

Anna didn't have time to debate now. “How'd you end up here in Emily's dorm tonight? If you didn't keep in touch with her?”

“I heard it on Twitter, like everyone else. And unlike the authorities, I actually care about what happens to women on this campus.”

“The authorities care,” Anna said.

“Not in my experience.”

“Here I am.”

“You sure weren't here before.”

“I'm sorry you've felt neglected,” Anna said. “I'm sorry about what happened to you when you were a student. But right now, I need to find Emily. And so I need to know any information you have about where Emily might be or what happened to her.”