CHAPTER 2

Michael closed his Quantum Physics textbook in front of him and massaged his temples wearily. He glanced at his wristwatch. 11:01 PM. He didn't realize he had been studying in the library for four hours straight. I need sleep – badly.

He stood up and stretched his 6ft2 frame before sitting down again. He was about to collect his things when a stocky guy stopped by his cubicle.

"Hey, Michael. Staying up late?" a blond guy with chocolate eyes grinned at him. He placed his books on the table, and leaned against the wall, facing him.

Michael recognized him immediately. James Lakefield was also a junior, and well-known as the hot-shot campus investigative reporter. He had won quite a lot of prize for his headlines. Currently, he was doing a major scoop on food-poisoning series that had been happening around Greenwood and its neighboring area.

"I'm about to quit now," he replied.

"So, are you still on for tomorrow's interview?" James asked.

"Yeah, I suppose," he replied half-heartedly. He wasn't too excited at the prospect of being interviewed for an article about himself in the paper. Some people would jump at the chance to be in the newspaper, but for him, the mere thought of it sent him a feeling of anxiety.

"My aren't you thrilled," James remarked with a hint of sarcasm. "C'mon, man, you should be proud your pet project on that infra-red thingy won the first place. None of the students from Greenwood had come in the first place in the Inter-Varsity Science Competition before – until you did. You should be famous."

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I've never done something like this before."

James smirked. "Don't worry. Once I've made you the famous man in campus, I'm sure women would fall all over your feet. You'll be grateful to me."

Michael scowled. "That's the last thing I need right now."

"Don't tell me you're not seeing anyone since..." his voice faltered a little when he saw Michael sending him a death glare.

Michael looked away, making a big show of arranging his books. Even though he had gotten over Pearl Sullivan's death, the subject was still making him uncomfortable. Not to mention that she used to be Manda's best friend. No, he didn't want to talk or think about Pearl at all. That was a past he'd rather forget.

"Man, you ought to lighten up!"

"So, I see you tomorrow?" Michael prompted suddenly, looking up at him.

James sighed, smoothing down his short spiky hair. "Yeah, tomorrow. Good night." He stood up and took his things before walking away.

"Night."

Michael gathered his belongings, and stood up. He was about to move when he noticed a brown leather wallet on the table. James's wallet. He picked it up, contemplating for a minute whether to return it tomorrow morning, or tonight. After a little bit of decision-making, he dashed down the stairs, hoping to catch James before the guy left the building. But when he arrived on the ground floor a few minutes later, there was no sign of James. His apartment. He could drive over there and return it to him.

He rushed out of the library, and climbed into his black 4WD. He stashed his books on the passenger seat, and started the ignition. The traffic was smooth, and he had no problem driving to his destination.

A few minutes later, he had parked his vehicle in front of James's four-story apartment. Michael had been here a couple of times before. An elderly woman, who was coming out of the main entrance, held the door for him. He thanked her quickly before he entered the lift to the third floor. James's door was ajar when he reached there. He found it strange that the room was dark.

"James?" He knocked on the door. A sound of shuffling made him pause for a moment. "James?" he tried again, pushing the door wider before stepping inside. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His hand blindly searched for the switch on the wall. He was about to flick on the switch when a sharp pain at the back of his head sent him sprawling to the floor before blackness welcomed him.

Michael wasn't sure how long he was out when he finally woke up. He lifted himself into a sitting position, annoyed by the constant pounding in his head. His hand instinctively reached behind his head and winced when he felt a small bump. Someone's going to pay for this.

He figured he might have caught a burglar in the act. But what about James? Where is he?

"James?" he called out. Turning around, his other hand touched something heavy, and fleshy on the floor. The pounding of his heart jumped twice as fast, feeling something was wrong. He stood with wobbly knees, staggered to the switch and flicked it on.

The sight before him made his stomach turned. No! No! No! Not again! This can't be happening!

Lying on the floor was James, with his brown eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Fresh blood was seeping through his white shirt from a bullet that had penetrated his chest. Michael knew without checking the pulse that James was already dead.