Chapter 41 Baseless Accusation
Professor Mercer stepped in, uninvited, his coat still half-buttoned, his eyes locked on Beckett. The air changed instantly. It became sharp and charged, like the pause before a storm.
“Mercer,” Beckett said evenly, not rising from his seat. “You could at least knock.”
Mercer didn’t answer. His gaze flicked briefly to Lila, then back to Beckett.
“I didn’t think knocking was necessary,” he said. His voice was quiet but rough around the edges, tight with something that sounded dangerously close to rage.
Lila’s hands tightened on her notebook. Her stomach sank.
Beckett’s brows lifted slightly. “What is this?”
“You know what this is.” Mercer took a step forward, jaw tense. “You’re not going to hurt another one, are you?”
Lila blinked. “What?”
Beckett leaned back slowly in his chair, expression calm, but his knuckles pressed white against the armrest. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
Mercer’s voice rose. “Serena, her best friend, Ruby and others like them. And now, her?” His finger pointed sharply toward Lila. “How far are you planning to go, Beckett?”
For a moment, the world tilted sideways.
Lila sat frozen, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Beckett’s face didn’t change. He looked at Mercer as though he were an unruly student. “That’s a serious accusation,” he said finally. “And quite absurd.”
Mercer scoffed. “Absurd? A girl dies near the lake with roses in her hands and your office key is found beside her body. The same roses your students say your office always smells of.”
“Careful,” Beckett murmured, his voice low and measured. “You’re letting grief make you foolish.”
The tension between them was suffocating. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. Lila wanted to disappear into her chair.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t tell them to stop.She just sat there, silent, trying to understand why the two men who once spoke with so much respect for each other now looked ready to tear each other apart.
Mercer took another step closer, his shadow falling across Beckett’s desk. “You always talk about control, about discipline, about your precious reason over emotion. But what happens when reason dies, Professor? When all you’re left with is guilt?”
Beckett’s lips curved, not quite a smile. “Guilt? For what? I have done nothing wrong.”
“Then explain the key,” Mercer snapped.
“I lost it weeks ago.” Beckett’s tone didn’t waver. “And even if it hadn’t been found, I’m sure you’d still find a way to spin a story out of it. You’ve always had a flair for dramatics.”
Mercer’s fists clenched at his sides. His voice trembled when he spoke again. “You think this is about drama? I buried a student I cared about. And now another is gone. I’m not standing by while you pretend your hands are clean.”
Beckett rose finally, his movement deliberate. The faint scent of his cologne was sharp, metallic and seemed to fill the room. “Watch yourself, Mercer,” he said quietly. “You’ve made a habit of accusing others whenever you can’t face your own failures.”
That one landed. Mercer flinched, eyes flashing.
Lila pressed her hands between her knees, her breath shallow. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Her head spun with confusion. Why were they like this?
Why did both men who looked so composed, so intelligent look at each other with such hate?
Mercer turned suddenly to her. His voice softened, but his eyes stayed sharp. “You don’t have to stay here. Come with me, Lila.”
She stared back at him, lost. “He’s just talking about my essay,” she said softly.
Mercer blinked, as if the words didn’t register. “What?”
“I need to pass this class,” she said quickly, looking at Beckett. “That’s all we were doing.”
Mercer’s mouth opened, then closed again. Disbelief flickered across his face. “Lila, this isn’t about your essay.”
She looked down at her notebook. “It’s fine.”
The silence that followed was thick.
Beckett’s expression didn’t change, but there was something colder in his eyes now, a faint satisfaction.
Mercer exhaled through his nose, his shoulders stiff. “You don’t understand what’s happening.”
Lila looked up at him, her voice trembling. “Maybe I don’t. But I can’t run from everyone who talks to me. I just want to study and move on.”
Mercer hesitated, pain flashing behind his eyes. “You sound like your sister.”
That made her look up. “What?”
He caught himself, swallowed hard, and stepped back toward the door. His voice softened again. “Just be careful, Lila.”
Then he walked towards the door, opened it and left it open. He turned and looked at Beckett. “Just to be on a safe side.” And then, he was gone.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Beckett sat back down, adjusting the edge of the papers on his desk as though nothing had happened. His calmness felt unnatural, almost rehearsed.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said at last, his tone smooth again. “Professor Mercer is prone to emotional outbursts.”
Lila didn’t respond.
“He’s not a bad man,” Beckett continued, looking at her. “Just one who’s let grief eat away at his reason.”
Her throat was dry. “He’s scared,” she murmured.
“Fear,” Beckett said, “is a disease, Miss Rowan. It spreads quickly. It makes people see monsters in everyone around them.”
His words lingered in the air, heavy and careful.
Lila’s hands trembled slightly as she picked up her notebook. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” she said quietly.
“You didn’t,” Beckett replied. His voice softened. “You should focus on your work. Let the police and professors argue. That’s not your burden to carry.”
Lila nodded, though her mind was miles away. She wanted to believe him, to believe one of them but she didn’t even know what truth looked like anymore.
Beckett smiled faintly, almost fatherly. “Don’t worry about the noise around you. Worry about what you can control. That’s how you stay sane in a place like this.”
She nodded again, pushing her chair back slowly. “Thank you, Professor.”
He gave a single, small nod. “You’re welcome, Miss Rowan. Close the door on your way out.”
The hallway outside felt colder than before. Lila’s footsteps echoed softly as she walked, her thoughts tangled.
Her fingers still trembled where they clutched the edge of her notebook.
She didn’t understand why Mercer hated Beckett so much. Why did he always look at him like he knew something no one else did.
Maybe grief really did make people strange. Or maybe it revealed what they’d been hiding all along.
She rubbed her hands together, trying to shake the unease creeping through her chest. Her pulse hadn’t slowed since Mercer stormed in.
She told herself it was just another argument and professors fighting like they always did. But somewhere deep inside, she wasn’t sure.
As she turned the corner, her mind still spinning, she collided with someone hard enough to knock her books loose.
The impact jolted her out of her thoughts.
Her papers fluttered to the floor.
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up, the hallway light flickering above her.
Lila froze, staring at the person she had just bumped into.