Catch up on the previous chapters here
Nell wore one of Kent’s sweatshirts and would’ve pulled the sleeves down over her hands if she could’ve figured out how to hold the book and turn the pages that way. She didn’t want to touch the book, even though C. J. O’Connell himself hadn’t actually handled it. He’d written the words, whoever he was, but he’d never held this specific copy.
Unless he had. Because he sent it himself. But, if he knew that Nell was here, then why go through the trouble of writing a book and getting everyone all geared up to #FindRosie?
Nell didn’t know anyone named C. J. O’Connell, or even anyone with that last name, but then, this guy wouldn’t have known her as Nell, be it Green or Harris. Plus O’Connell could easily be his pen name, which didn’t have to have anything to do with legal name or a legal name change. So.
Kent kept her water bottle and coffee mug topped off, but she still had a headache. She didn’t want to keep reading, but she wanted to be done, especially when that wasn’t the only thing she’d have to do before talking to Adam. It was one thing to point to a book and say hey, Mr. FBI Agent, this is the guy you’ve been looking for, and another to give him the proof that meant he might actually read the book. Or at least force an underling to read the book.
The serial killer wasn’t publicly a serial killer because they’d only really put it together after Heidi’s murder, and that was the end of it. The end of it because Nell, whose name hadn’t been Nell at the time, disappeared. Really she was just lucky she somehow had alibis for all five murders, and that those alibis weren’t all provided by Kent. Whose name hadn’t been Kent at the time, either.
God, it had been years since she’d thought about that other life. Her dead life. The life that collected so many dead people in it during those last seven months.
Margaret and Trevor didn’t die in the book. Calvin simply … spoke to them … and they stopped doing the things that messed with Rosie’s life: running late on the bus schedule and always stealing her parking spot. Or maybe Cal spoke to Margaret’s boss and got her fired, which was still a pretty cruddy thing to do, but at least it wasn’t murder.
The bar was on the floor.
Book Trevor wasn’t named, either, but the guy who lived in 17 simply … left … after a stern talking-to from Cal. The real-life Trevor left, too, and it took more than two months before people realized that he hadn’t just taken off. Two months where Nell’s assigned parking spot was always available to her, sure, so it didn’t matter as much if she ran out to do an errand or went home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but two months when Trevor’s girlfriend waffled between grief and loud one-night stands.
Nell and Heidi had agreed that the parking lot annoyance was less invasive than all the late-night noises. They’d laughed about it, and then felt bad when Trevor’s body was found, and then the girlfriend—God, what had her name been? Sherry? Shelly?—moved away.
Nell wasn’t to the end of the book yet, but she figured Rosie’s roommate had to die. There wasn’t really a way around that one. But she was still in winter, coming up on Kelsey, actually, and after Kelsey but before Heidi there was Ashleigh, and …
After Heidi, after the last one, the FBI gave the killer a name, at least among themselves. He was the Fairy Godfather, but that wasn’t quite right—he was Nell’s fairy godfather, whacking anyone he perceived was a threat to her and her personal success. It meant he had to be associated with the apartment building, sure, but everyone there was checked out ages ago. That happened in 2019, after Nell left and became Nell, and after the murders stopped. The theory, according to Adam, was that the murders stopped because Nell left. The Fairy Godfather couldn’t protect her anymore, so he no longer had a reason or an excuse to kill.
There was still doubt that Ashleigh was actually murdered, since that was a car crash, but Adam also confided that he, personally, counted that one. There was just enough to be a little suspicious, especially since Ashleigh had been the only one ahead of Nell to become valedictorian. Nell hadn’t wanted to be valedictorian. She was willing to cut her GPA off at the knees last quarter if it looked like Ashleigh might do the unthinkable and get an A- in one of her classes. She didn’t want to give the speech, and she didn’t really need a perfect 4.0. She had her job lined up, she’d be moving in with Kent, and they were already discussing marriage and kids and their future.
The whole point was that the Fairy Godfather didn’t know her at all. He had to be close enough to know that Margaret drove the bus, and Trevor stole her parking spot—but he only started stealing her parking spot when she started driving to class because the bus reminded her of Margaret—and he knew that Kelsey and Ashleigh routinely came over, and that Heidi was her roommate, but, whoever he was, he didn’t understand.
Adam was the one who had to explain the logic: Kelsey was a friend from high school who was going to hold Nell back somehow. Ashleigh outshone the Fairy Godfather’s chosen special girl, so she couldn’t be allowed to keep that up. And Heidi and Nell clashed, except Adam only really got that information from Nell, and it wasn’t anything major. Minor annoyances, sure, so had Heidi told the Fairy Godfather about those issues? Or had he overheard her telling someone else and exaggerating about it?
It made no sense, and Since You Went Away made even less sense. Maybe Brandon heard it was heart-wrenching and yada yada yada, but this was just some mediocre white dude assigning Rosie a sacred position in the world simply because she’d caught his eye. Seriously, there wasn’t anything special about Rosie. That was just another argument that the Fairy Godfather hadn’t actually known Nell at all.
Kent was clearly trying not to hover, but he came out of the spare bedroom, peeked in, and came over to sit down next to her, arm around her shoulders as he checked what page she was on. “You need a break, babe?”
Nell groaned and shut the book on her thumb, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “If I take a break, I don’t know if I’m going to have enough time to figure out how to convince Adam.”
“I’ve been working on that. I don’t have the page numbers, but …”
But, when Kent read it last night, he’d added sticky note flags to certain chapters. They only started partway through, which was a clear indication of when he’d realized that fuck, no, this was actually a problem, but they were there. Nell suddenly blinked and groaned, slumping against him. “You’re going through our old emails, aren’t you.” Because she hadn’t kept a diary or a journal or anything like that, but she’d emailed him almost every night. The only times she hadn’t was when they’d been together, but Kent was a year ahead of her at Western so he’d been off at his new job and they’d been apart for every murder but Heidi’s.
They’d walked in on that scene together.
Kent kissed her temple. He conditioned his beard so it wasn’t too prickly, and half the reason he grew out all of his hair was because, before, he’d been clean-shaven with a near buzz cut.
Kent’s argument was that, if they were taking on new identities, then of course it was time to explore all the things they might’ve wanted to do with physical appearance, but had never felt brave enough to try. That was maybe easier for him, because he had felt trapped in a glass box of family expectations, and it was also a little intimidating how much Kent had blossomed into himself once he was free from all that, but now Nell was off track again. It was easier to think about, say, November 2019 and later rather than her senior year of college, forever unfinished.
He kissed her hair this time. “You could use a nap.”
Nell chuckled. “Are you saying you’re going to take a nap and you’d like some company?”
“Eh. I could go either way. It didn’t actually take me that long to read. But,” he added with another kiss, “if you’re saying you’d like to go to bed with me …”
“Kent Alexander.”
“Can’t threaten me with my middle name if I like my middle name.”
“You like your middle name,” she countered, setting the book aside and getting up, “because I only use it when you’re going to get your way in the end.”
He grinned and let her help him up. “I’m going to get my end in what now?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, although it was tempered by her smile and cut off by his kiss.
from Since You Went Away by C. J. O’Connell (Penguin, 2024)
Holidays are hard. There’s the consumerism aspect, which assumes you’re going to go into debt to prove to the people you love that you do indeed love them, except there’s also the social aspect that dictates who, exactly, those people should be. If they’re not blood, they’re secondary—that’s why they’ve started touting that stupid Friendsgiving, for the people you actually want to spend time with, because the fourth Thursday of November has to be family. Born family, not found family, and if we’re already admitting that they aren’t the be-all, end-all of relationships, why not capitulate completely? Take Thanksgiving and Christmas and spend them with the people you can actually stand for more than two days a year, honestly.
Rosie went home for Thanksgiving, and I get that. Her family isn’t very big—it’s just her and her grandmother, and she does actually like her grandmother. Rosie’s the only child of only children, and yeah, that’s pretty freaking lonely. But it also means they’re tight, and I can’t just … presume to show up, too. Even though it’s less than two hours away.
Part of it is how Rosie assumes that, since she and Nana are peas in a pod, I should be that way with my mom. The two Musketeers. Even though Mom’s right here in town, and I see her a lot, and Rosie hasn’t gone back home since the quarter started. She left after class Wednesday, did the whole long weekend thing, and came back Sunday night.
Now we’re looking at winter break, and it’s a lot longer.
I’m trying not to let it get me down. Trying not to dissolve into romance movie cliche. But that’s really the truth, isn’t it? When you find the person you want to be with, you just … want to be with them. It doesn’t matter if it’s Christmas Eve or just another Tuesday. I’d rather be alone than with most people, but I’d rather be with Rosie than alone.
I’ve got a key to her apartment. Not for any of the reasons I’d really like a key, but at least it’s a key she gave to me and not just the FacMan key. It’s because she’ll be gone, and Hailey will be gone, and they’ve got plants to water. I guess on the one hand it’s nice of her to leave it instead of taking it with her, because it gives me something to do. Some way to help her that she’s actually asked me to do, so that’s a step forward: instead of just trying to hide her problems, she presented it to me outright and asked me to check in.
Of course I said yes. I’m not a college student at a prestigious liberal arts school on a weird quarter system that gives practically a month off over Christmas. I’ll be working, including Christmas day if something goes wrong.
Some guys would take advantage of the key thing to go through her stuff, but Rosie knows I won’t. She’s not the neatest person, so there are piles of papers and notebooks and things, and maybe I’m there somewhere—she’s taking a creative writing class this quarter—but I’m not going to go looking for myself. If she wants to share it with me someday, I’ll gladly read it, but not before she’s ready.
So much of Rosie’s life has been people forcing things on her before she’s ready. What she needs is a safe space where she can finally relax, can finally take in the silence, and grow at her own pace.
Rebecca Frost 
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