Behind every great novel is a secret worth killing for.
Writer’s Prompt
The neon sign of the “Drip & Grind” flickered, casting a bruised purple light over Gemma’s manuscript. On page 42, her protagonist was currently dissolving a body in a bathtub. In reality, Gemma was just dissolving a sugar cube into cold espresso.
Then the bell chimed.
Professor Dan Marks walked in, his scarf trailing like a victory flag. He wasn’t alone. Beside him was Maya, a junior with bright eyes and a thesis that Dan had called “pedestrian” just last week. Now, he was whispering into her ear, his hand resting on the small of her back—the exact same spot it had rested on Gemma’s two nights ago over a bottle of cheap Merlot and “constructive criticism.”
The betrayal tasted like copper. Gemma watched them settle into a corner booth, their knees touching, their laughter a jagged blade cutting through the low-fi jazz. Dan’s eyes met Gemma’s for a fleeting second; he didn’t flinch. He just tucked a stray hair behind Maya’s ear.
Gemma’s fingers flew across the keys. She didn’t see the screen anymore; she saw the heavy glass sugar shaker on her table. She saw the dark alley behind the lecture hall where the security cameras had been broken since the fall semester. In her novel, the student lures the professor to the archives with the promise of a rare find, only to ensure he becomes part of the history he teaches.
She looked at the pair one last time. Maya laughed, leaning in for a kiss. Gemma closed her laptop with a definitive thud. She reached into her bag, her hand closing around the cold, heavy weight of the “research” she’d brought from the lab.
She stood up. The story was written. Now, it just needed an ending.
How does Gemma’s “research” come into play? Does she confront them in the light of the cafe, or wait for the shadows of the faculty parking lot? You decide the final chapter.
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