"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

My heart was racing like I had just run a marathon. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true.

I thought of how Tyler spoke of Mia, how pain still flared in his face whenever her name was said aloud. But then that night with his family came to mind—how she was all but unmentionable, the rift between his father and brother, the idea that they "had finally put it behind them."

I shook my head. "You're lying." I said. But why would Chris lie about something like that?

Instead of answering, Chris slipped his backpack off his shoulder. From within he pulled a manila folder haphazardly stuffed with papers and newspaper articles.

"It's all in there," he said, handing it to me. "I just want you safe, Dash. You don't know him."

"Why?" I asked even as I accepted the folder. Fear and confusion threatened to choke me. "Why? Why did you look him up?" Because I needed to be angry at Chris for something. Because I needed to focus on something besides the two-ton folder in my hands.

There was a strange sadness about his eyes and lips. As though bearing this news physically hurt him

"Look it over tonight," he said. "You can make your own decisions, Dash. But I just wanted you to know."

~~~~~

As soon as Chris left, I bolted up three flights of stairs to my room. Amber was shuffling papers on her desk when I barged in. Already, a fight was brewing in her features as her mouth opened to confront me about what I could only assume was Chris's rudeness.

"Not now," I said, sitting down heavily at my own desk.

I stabbed the power button my laptop. Pieces of thoughts floated around in my head, connecting and breaking apart, never coalescing into anything, as I stared at the folder Chris had given me.

What if I threw it away and never looked at it? What if I set it on fire, watched the words curl up in smoke, drift away in ash, and never read what those files and articles had to say?

But even as I contemplated it, I found myself reaching out to open it. The first article was recently printed, but the publication date was from three years ago.

"Star Hockey Player Charged in Girlfriend's Death"

The first headline nearly knocked the breath out of me. So that even as I closed my eyes, I still saw the words flashing, searing into my eyelids.

Tyler wasn't a murderer. He couldn't be.

I knew Tyler, but the guy they described in the papers wasn't the boy who had spun me around on the ice yesterday, wasn't the guy who had made me feel alive again last night.

I read the paper flat on the desktop because my hands were shaking too badly to hold it.

The papers spoke of a well-liked, well-known high school athlete, a rising star in hockey with a bright future. A boy who seemed to have it all, who was kind, always willing to lend a hand, but whose captivating smile hid a sinister side. They spoke of Mia, a talented musician with unlimited possibilities which were cut short when she was pushed to her death from a bridge, at a place locally known as "River Tracks."

I almost threw up when I read that name. That was where we had gone walking—the first time he had told me about Mia. An image sprang to mind of the weathered piece of caution tape I had seen tangled around the bridge spoke. Back then I didn't pay it much mind; it could have just been a warning about the hazard of the old bridge. But what if it was something more? What if it was the last remnants of a crime scene.

Later articles continued the story: how it was Tyler who had first reported Mia's death, calling 911 hysterical, nearly incoherent to say that he thought she had jumped. They wrote about the lack of a note, how there was seemingly no indication that she was suicidal. In an interview with her parents, they revealed that she had been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis but that she was responding well to treatment. Her parents were vehement that Mia was not depressed and never had been; she had been getting ready for a Julliard audition.

At first the only evidence tying Tyler to the crime was his footprints. But since he had called 911 from the bridge it wasn't disputed. Then the autopsy came back. There was bruising around her wrists, bruises made by fingerprints, and skin cells under her nails, cells that matched Tyler. He had waited almost an hour to call 911 because, he claimed, "I thought I could save her." It was enough evidence to charge him in her death—to charge him with murder.

It took several more articles to piece together his part of the story. All the while vomit stung the back of my throat and tears kept blurring my eyes. Several times I had to look away and take a deep breath, but I couldn't stop reading one after the other.

I read about how he told the judge and jury a side of Mia no one knew. A girl who could be reclusive and overly anxious, afraid of failing herself and her family, who would cut herself occasionally, high on the inside of her arms so it was easy to hide. How she had begged him not to tell when he found out because her parents wouldn't let her go to Julliard. How she promised she would stop, she was just stressed about the audition because according to her, "everything was riding on it," and the arthritis was making it increasingly difficult for her to play.

The medical examiner confirmed the presence of old scars on her arms but that they had been healed for a while. Tyler went on to say how he had found her that night, sitting in the bathroom with a knife, and wrestled it away from her, hauling her to her feet by her arms. How she had screamed and cried that she didn't care anymore, and how when he had gone downstairs to call her parents she was gone by the time he got back. He said Mia would go to River Tracks whenever she was stressed or upset and so he followed instinct when he went there to try and find her. By the time he got there, there was nothing but one of her earrings caught between the boards, earrings Tyler had given her after she found out she had a Julliard audition.

Tyler was eventually found not guilty after the evidence was ruled circumstantial and two of Mia's closest friends vouched for Tyler and agreed that Mia had been suffering from anxiety and mood swings. A representative from Julliard also testified that Mia had difficulty playing at her audition and left the room "distraught."

Society's jury was split on the decision. Half seemed to believe Tyler did not kill her, that there was enough evidence pointing towards her being depressed and having a hard time coping with her arthritis and what it mean for her musical career. Other believed there were enough clues to convict him and throw him in jail, while still others believed he should still have been held accountable since he knew she was engaging in "self-destructive behavior." That her death could have been prevented.

Somewhere along my path through the evidence, quotes, comments, and speculations, Amber had left the room and I had uncorked a bottle of wine. My tongue was thick with the taste and there was a humming in my veins that did nothing to relieve my anxiety. It felt like there were wasps in my blood, stinging me from the inside out.

Eventually, the light in the room shifted, words blurred on the page, and all I could see in my mind was the phrase "accused of murder."

I tried to rise, stiff-legged from my chair and stumbled, knocking over the last dregs of wine. It soaked into the final article on my desk, turning the page red and making the pictures and words bleed together. My mind was reeling. I couldn't reconcile what I had read with the guy from last night—the Tyler I knew.

Tyler wasn't a murderer. He couldn't be.

Those words kept repeating in my head. But it wasn't like when you keep telling yourself something so that you start to believe it. The words were on an endless loop so at some point I stopped hearing them; at some point they lost their meaning.

Without thinking I shoved the papers back into the folder, tucked it under my arm, and took off back across campus.

_______________________________________

Okay, now I really need to know, what do you guys think?! As a juror, what's your decision? How do you think it will affect their relationship.

Also, what did you think about the chapter in general? Was it too info-dumpy? I'm not sure I'm crazy about the style of this chapter but I need it to juxtapose the next one.

Anyway, make sure to comment, vote and share! :) "Dare Me to Live" has also been nominated for "Best General Fiction Story" in The Fiction Awards!!! If you feel like it deserves to make it to the next round of voting, please go to thefictionawards and make an inline comment in their "Nominations" chapter next to the "General Fiction Story" category. Make sure to include the title and tag me! There's also a link in my last profile update! Thanks so much :)