If the ritual was not performed to the demon’s satisfaction, he would be free of the bonds that kept him contained, allowing him to wreak havoc on the white man’s territory.

His mind wandered to the notebook and the implied meaning in relation to what he read and he shook his head. “No way. The girl is mine,” he whispered, yanking clothes out of his drawer. He headed toward the shower.

He made it to his eight o’clock class on time. Murphy looked like hell with dark bags under his eyes. Even his short military haircut looked disheveled. Steve wondered if they found any of the missing parts.

He didn’t pay much attention to class. His mind kept returning to two things—the way the frat boys looked at Jennifer, and the words in the notebook. The initiation ceremony gnawed on his conscience. What did it really entail?

Visions of Jennifer falling prey to satanic rituals preyed on his mind—teeth tearing at her in cannibalistic sacrament, rape, torture, and blood sacrifices to a dark god.

He shivered, shaking his head slightly to lose the morbid nightmare rolling behind his eyes. He doodled on the page of his notebook, prompting more questions than answers. Bloody letters soaked into the fabric of the paper again.

Stay away, she is mine!

“Bullshit,” Steve said aloud.

“Mr. Williams, do you have something to share with the class?” Murphy asked.

Steve stared at the paper, and then up at the classroom and shook his head. He exchanged a glance with Murphy and then lowered his eyes to the page. “No. Sorry for the interruption.”

“Please see me after class,” Murphy said and continued the lecture.

* * * *

Murphy climbed the steps and sat on the edge of the table in front of Steve. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he snapped as the door closed behind the last student.

Steve slowly turned the notebook. “Remember that leap I asked you to take yesterday? Try again and look at the center of the page.”

Murphy did. He saw a blank page. As he started to turn the notebook, red caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He snapped his attention back to the paper in awe as the words appeared in his peripheral view. When he moved his gaze directly to the page, it was still blank. “What the…,” he trailed off and unfocused his eyes. He saw the fuzzy letters.

“Should have seen my reaction the first time they appeared.”

“I must be overtired.” Murphy rubbed his eyes.

“Tell me what you see.”

“Stay away, she is mine,” Murphy replied. “Looks like it’s written in blood with the way the letters seep into the page.”

“Bingo.” Steve closed the notebook. “Still think its human?” He stood.

Murphy looked at him, dumbfounded.

“It wants Jennifer.” Steve pointed to the unassuming composition book lying on the desk. His lips pursed. “It isn’t going to get her.” He swept the notebook off the desk and spun towards the door.

“It still could be a person. There are such rare things as projecting thoughts onto paper.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ve never seen it, but others in the bureau studying psychic activity have.”

“There’s a part of the bureau that studies paranormal events?” Steve asked. It was his turn to be dumbfounded and he fell back into his chair.

“A small unit.” Murphy pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Like the X Files?”

Murphy laughed. “No, not like the X Files.”

Steve shook his head, chuckling. “Well I’ll be damned.” He traded a glance from the notebook back to Murphy, shaking his head. “You need to be clear of the woods before tomorrow afternoon.” Steve stood again. “The initiation ceremony is supposedly taking place tomorrow night and it’s under the cover of a camping trip.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Murphy said. “Don’t forget, lunch tomorrow. I want to meet her and if she doesn’t show, I’m hauling you both in.”

“I know. We’ll be there.” Steve left the room. He trotted to his next class, slipping through the door a few minutes late again.

The professor turned, staring at him. “Mr. Williams, you are late yet again,” he said, drawing attention of the room to Steve.

“My professor wanted a word with me after my eight o’clock class.”

“I don’t care. I thought I was clear on Tuesday—I give one and only one chance to be late. As of right now, the highest grade you can get in this class is a B.” He turned back toward the board.

“I disagree,” Steve replied. An argumentative mood scraped over his skin like rough sandpaper. He stood and trotted down the steps to the floor near the professor, gazing in the open lesson book. “I could teach this class more accurately than you and be entertaining in the process instead of making everyone fall asleep.”

The professor’s entire face went red and he didn’t speak.

“Don’t have a coronary,” Steve said, picking up the lesson book. “If I can accurately teach the class today, will you waive my being late?”

The entire classroom watched with slack jaws.

“Get out of my classroom,” the professor sputtered when he found his voice.

“Law is all about negotiation, professor. I’m negotiating for an A. Aren’t you the least bit curious whether I can do this or not? Whether I know your material well enough?”

“You were late. I only give one warning.” The professor stood fast.

Steve closed the book, handed it to the professor, and walked out; grabbing his notebook on the way past his desk, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

Steve sat on the bench in the warm sun, frustrated.

He flipped open his phone and pressed speed dial.

“I just pissed off Professor Lang,” he said to Murphy.

“What happened?” Murphy sighed into the phone.

“I told him I could teach the material better than he did and he threw me out. I guess I’m dropping the class,” Steve said, looking out at the campus. He had less than an hour before his next class. “And by the way, what the hell am I doing in a public relations class?”

“You have to ask after what you just pulled?”

Steve started to laugh. “Okay, I guess I deserved that. I’ll check in later.”

“Don’t piss off any other faculty members today.”

“I’ll do my best.” Steve folded the phone up. He walked over to the building where his PR class was and stretched out on a stone bench, waiting for the hour to go by.

“What are you doing here so early?” Jennifer walked up to him.

“I got kicked out of class.” He tilted his head back so he could look at her.

“What?” She took a seat next to him when he sat up on the bench.

“I’m very good at pissing people off. And I think I pushed my last professor over the edge.” He relayed what he had done, including his exiting statements.

Jennifer sat with her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in surprise.

“That’s what everybody in the class looked like.” He laughed, pointing at her.

“Steve, that was just rude,” she said after the shock wore off.

“I didn’t wake up with you in my arms, so I’m a little pissy today. It won’t happen again.”

“What, you being pissy?”

“No, not waking with you in my arms,” he said, and the smile that graced her face made it worth it. “I missed you.” He didn’t tell her about the information he found online or the message in his notebook. He didn’t want to ruin the lighthearted mood.

“I dreamt about you,” Jennifer said and her cheeks budded into tiny rosy spots.

“Really?”

Jennifer nodded. “Really.”

“How was I?” he asked, perpetuating the humor.

“Almost as good as the real thing.” She looked at him sideways.

He laughed. “Well, after class, I’ll remind you just how good the real thing is.” He bumped her gently with his shoulder.

“I’d like that.” The blush took on a crimson tone.

“How would you like it today?” He grinned, prolonging the conversation just to see what color her cheeks would turn next.

“I don’t know.”