I take a breath before knocking on Paulette’s door. I’m not at all looking forward to the session.

Paulette is perched on the edge of her desk, eating a Granny Smith apple. She looks up when I walk in, and places the apple on a small ceramic plate. A smile forms on her lips as she wipes her hands with a Kleenex.

“I’m so glad to see you, Ivy. It’s been quite a while.” She stands up and comes to shake my hand. Then she waves at the sofa.

I take a seat. My mouth feels like sandpaper.

“I’ve been busy preparing for exams.” It’s partly true. I have been busy lately, but if I’d wanted to, I’d have found time to come and see her.

“Well, I’m glad you made some time.” Paulette sits down on the couch. “How are things going? I’m guessing you’ve settled in completely now?”

I nod and run my hands over my camel capri pants, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Really well, thanks.”

We’re both quiet for a while. I feel her eyes on me, though I keep mine downcast. Can she read my mind? Is she able to see what I’m hiding?

Paulette crosses her legs, the material of her melon pleated skirt spilling onto the couch on either side. She clasps her hands over her knees. “The reason I asked to see you was to find out if any more letters have arrived for Jennifer.”

“No. None.” I avert my gaze again. Please, don’t ask more questions, I silently plead. I’ve never been good at lying.

Paulette is quiet again, and I swear I can hear the wheels turning inside her head. She knows I’m avoiding something. I look up to meet her eyes and force a tiny smile.

“Ivy, is there something you want to tell me?”

“No, nothing at all. Things have been great.” The words tumble out of my mouth too fast. I must sound completely full of it.

Paulette leans back on the couch, eyes glued to me. “I hope you’re not in contact with Professor Devereux, Ivy. He’s a dangerous man.”

“I don’t know why you would think that. There’s no reason for me to be in contact with him. I don’t… I don’t even know him.”

“I see.” Paulette stands and goes back to her desk. She lifts her apple to her lips and takes a bite. She chews silently for a while as she moves toward the window.

She turns back toward me. “I’m sorry if I’m getting it wrong. But in case you are in touch with him, I want to warn you. Psychopaths can be charming. You have to be extremely careful.”

“You think he’s a psychopath?” I realize too late that I haven’t disputed the accusation. Have I dug a hole for myself? I’m better of letting her believe what she wants to believe, and refrain from confirming her suspicions.

“The man murdered somebody… brutally. There’s something terribly wrong with him. And he can be dangerous to any person he comes into contact with, even from a distance.” Paulette returns to the couch, still eating the apple.

Something hot and furious forces its way up my throat, forming words that pour out of my mouth before I can stop them. “What if—what if Oliver Banes really raped Jennifer?”

Paulette dips her head to the side. “If that’s the case, if he really was a rapist, you think he deserved his fate? You think he deserved to die like that?”

“I’m only saying Jud—Professor Devereux might not be the only bad guy in all of this.” I can’t seem to stop myself. “I mean, does righting a wrong really make someone a psychopath?”

“I don’t know how deep you are in this, but the simple fact is, if that’s the case, Professor Devereux’s act of vigilante justice still makes him dangerous. Any person who kills another human being is dangerous. I really hope you haven’t gotten yourself wrapped up in his web.”

A little too late for that.

“I should go.” One second I’m sitting on the couch, and the next I’m on my feet, my eyes burning hot. I can’t let her see me cry; that will certainly give me away. I pick up my backpack and walk to the door.

“Ivy? Is something troubling you?” Paulette gets to her feet and attempts to walk toward me.

I hold up my hand. “I’m okay.” I’m blinking too fast. “Really, I’m fine. I just... I have a lot of work to do today. I’ll send you an email to make an appointment for another day.” With each word my throat constricts, clogged by the sobs I’m forced to swallow.

“Please do that.” Paulette’s voice is tinged with worry.

I shut the door quickly.

As I rush down the stairs and away from the Student Support Department, the tears come. Why am I even crying? What Paulette told me is the truth: Judson could be a murderer, and murderers are dangerous. Any normal person would think that. Whatever Oliver Banes might have done, it does not justify his death. And yet, here I am, feeling as though I have to defend Judson from the world. Even though I know there’s a one hundred percent chance he will be found guilty in a court of law, I can’t seem to make myself let him go.

At the entrance of the snack bar, I bump into Milton, who catches me before I slam straight into him. Why is he always everywhere I happen to be?

“Hey, hey.” He places his hands on my shoulders. “You’re crying. You okay?”

I shake my head. Tears spill over my cheeks. “Fine. I just... I need to go to the dorms.”

“Did you hear some bad news or something?”

I swallow hard. “No, nothing like that.” Nothing new that I didn’t already know, at least. “I’m sorry, Milton. I really need to go.”

He lets go of my shoulders and digs into the pockets of his scuffed jeans. Change jingles as he pulls out a pack of Kleenex and hands it to me. “You need this.”

In spite of myself, I give him a tiny smile. Probably the first genuine smile I’ve given him since we met.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting. If you need anyone to talk to, I’m here. Seriously, I’m a good listener.” His eyes tell me his concern is genuine.

“I really appreciate that, Milton.” I pull a Kleenex from the pack and return it to him. I dab at my eyes, sniffing. “If I happen to need a good pair of ears, I’ll make sure to let you know.”

“You should. Now go, before everybody else starts asking you what’s wrong.”

I give him another smile and walk quickly toward the exit. Maybe Milton isn’t such a bad guy, after all, I think as I walk out into the sunshine.

I burst into my room and crash against the closed door. My heart is way too heavy inside my chest. My lungs hurt when I breathe. I raise my hand to wipe away the tears. Why do I feel this driving urge to protect a man I’ve never even met? It bothers me that I can’t answer the question. It bothers me even more that my heart is behaving so foolishly, going against my head. The right thing would be to stay away from Judson Devereux. The fact that he’s behind bars should send me running for cover. If only I knew how.

After catching my breath, and before the rational side of me catches up and warns me that I’m walking into the arms of danger, I move to my desk and pull out a sheet of paper.

I want to visit you. Let me know how. Ivy

I simply slip the short note into an envelope and seal it. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve sent the letter and I’m back in my room with my head in my hands, hyperventilating as the voices inside my head scream their reprimands.

What have you done? Are you out of your freaking mind?

My hands drop from my face. A sheen of sweat is clinging to my palms.

I draw in a deep breath. Maybe it’s not so bad. The letter doesn’t have to change anything. There’s no guarantee he will want to see me too. He could have changed his mind. Or maybe only friends and family are allowed to visit inmates. What am I to him, anyway? A pen pal? I’m not his next of kin.

I stand on shaky legs and go to the fridge, where I pour myself a glass of wine from the half-empty bottle left over from one of Chelsea and Neil’s dates.

I’m still standing at the fridge as I take a huge gulp, then lick the bittersweet liquid from my lips. I’m normally not much of a drinker, but I take another sip.

There, no need to panic.

If he says he wants to see me, I can always say I changed my mind. Maybe that will piss him off, and then I’ll be forced to cut off contact and let him go.

Is that even possible?

I knock back the rest of my wine and sway to my desk. At my computer, I pull up a few project assignments and get to work distracting myself. It is possible. One morning, I’ll wake up and not even remember the stranger who captured me through his letters. The only problem is my body. Will it forget the sensations that vibrate through me when I read his words?