The newest chapter of "All Those Years" isn't quite ready yet, but I do have an update for this story! I'm sorry for any confusion with uploading, FF was giving me problems over the weekend and never ended up actually posting this. Thanks to those who reviewed, favorited, and followed the first chapter. I'm glad you enjoyed, and please continue to leave feedback, as it lets me know that I should keep going!

Chapter 2

It doesn't take long for the Hotchkisses to reenter my life.

Beacon Heights' most powerful family throws a "welcome back to school" bash at the start of every semester. Apparently. I wasn't accepted into my graduate program until this past winter, and back then I tried to fly as far under the radar as possible.

I wasn't even planning on attending this semester, either, until I realized that my course on psychology in the context of culture and society has a community engagement requirement. We all have to attend at least three events on campus this fall. I figure I can spend an hour sipping wine in a lavish mansion if it means I don't have to end up at some undergraduate mixer in November.

The first thing I do once I arrive at Hotchkiss manor, aside from gawking at the doublewide staircase and gigantic chandelier in the entryway, is seek out Mona. I wait for a moment while she finishes greeting a well-dressed couple who are clearly much more important than I am, then grab her arm. "Hey," I say, pulling her aside. "Quick selfie."

She gives me a strange look, but complies as I hold out my phone and angle it so that the background makes my location obvious. "It's for a class," I explain after I snap the shot. "I have to prove that I was here."

Now that I have my proof, I consider just walking right back out the way that I came, but before I can move, Mona shoves a glass of champagne into my hand. "Stay for a while," she urges, reading my mind like always. "Go mingle." Then she glances past me and smiles. "Hey!"

That was too informal of a greeting to be geared toward some new recruit's wealthy family. I turn just in time to see Alison approaching. My stomach sinks in dismay, and I whirl back around. Mona and I exchange an entire series of looks in less than ten seconds, a skill that only sisters can master. "Be nice," she hisses, then adds cheerfully to Ali, "Welcome to the 'welcome back' party!"

Alison smiles, raising her eyebrows. "This is part of your job, too?"

"Of course," my sister replies. She grabs another flute of champagne off of the large table beside us and hands it to Ali. "I have to keep my recruits happy. Have some champagne. I picked it out myself."

Alison holds it up in a "cheers" sort of gesture just as someone standing behind the string quartet across the room calls Mona's name. "Excuse me," my sister says, checking her clipboard. She gives me another warning look, then hurries off.

I glance around, hoping to find a reason to leave. "Have you run into Dr. Lewis yet?" Alison asks casually, referring to the main coordinator of the graduate school. "She mentioned something about wanting a group picture of all the grad students."

I almost ask if she knows how many grad students actually came to this party, but stop myself. It's Beacon Heights University. Of course everyone's here. "I think I'll take a walk around first," I say. "Something gives me the feeling that this place just gets more amazing the more you look."

"I was planning on doing the same thing," Alison agrees, and I wonder for an uncomfortable moment if she's about to join me. But then, to my utter relief, she adds with a small smile, "I'll catch up with you later."

"Enjoy the scenery," I say awkwardly, gesturing to the grandeur of the entryway, and we part ways.

It takes me over half an hour to stroll through the extravagant ground floor of the house and out the back doors, champagne in hand. I used to think the Hastings' house was over-the-top, but this place puts it to shame. I've never seen such a grand display of wealth – and that goes for the guests, from college students to trustees, as well. Because it's not as if anyone has a reason to talk to me, I make a game out of keeping track of the different gemstones I notice around women's necks.

I've lost count by the time I wander toward the gardens in the back of the estate. My eyes drift over the brilliant blue pool, the well-manicured grass, and the vibrant flowers blooming in every color of the rainbow. I'm so caught up in the sights that I don't see my sister until I nearly run into her on the stone steps leading to the pool.

"Hey – " I begin, but stop short when I realize that she's staring out toward the thick woods that border the back of the property, not paying the slightest bit of attention. "What are you looking at?"

Mona's gaze shifts to me for only a moment. "Look," she mutters, nodding toward the trees.

I stare out as well, my eyes scanning back and forth until I finally spot a flash of movement. Someone is moving slowly between the trees, clearly being careful not to ruin his suit. I squint. "Is that…"

"Nolan Hotchkiss." She nods slowly, her gaze not leaving him. She takes a sip of wine, then says under her breath, "You need to follow him."

I'm sure that I must have misheard. "I need to what?"

"Follow him." Mona gestures toward the woods. "Something's up, and I want to know what it is."

All of this sounds like a serious case of "not my problem." I roll my eyes. "If you're so worried, can't you just go check one of the Beacon Guard cameras that you're always talking about?"

"Keep your voice down," Mona snaps, even though I was barely speaking above a whisper. "And no, I can't. He's heading right toward one of Beacon Guard's only dead areas, which is why I'm so suspicious."

I look down at myself. In at least some attempt to make a good impression, I'm wearing one of my nicest dresses…not to mention my highest pair of heels. Not exactly "trekking through the woods" attire. "Call me crazy, but I don't care what some snotty rich boy does in his spare time. Why don't you go if you're so concerned about it?"

Mona looks completely fed up. She gestures with her wine glass toward the patio, where a few men in suits and a woman in a cocktail dress are lingering, occasionally shooting glances in our direction. "I'm showing around potential donors. So unless you'd like to explain to Mrs. Hotchkiss why I had to leave them high and dry in the middle of a tour…"

I have yet to meet the formidable Claire Hotchkiss, but considering her last name is plastered on half of the buildings on campus, I know the threat is credible. I thrust my champagne flute at my sister with a scowl. "You owe me."

"Love you!" she calls cheerfully, then plasters on a bright smile and heads back to the donors. Unable to believe that I've been roped into traipsing into the woods, I storm around the edge of the pool, say a quick prayer for my heels, and begin the careful trek into the trees.

Under the cover of the leaves, it feels like it could be the middle of the night. I shiver and squint between the trees. Nolan has disappeared from sight, and I'm so intent on spotting him again that I step right into a rabbit hole. My ankle nearly turns, and I gasp as I pull myself out of it.

It's just then that a deep voice speaks from behind me. "Guess you missed the signs." I spin around, my heart rocketing into my throat. Nolan is standing a few feet away, perfectly framed by two dead-looking trees, his hands in his pockets and an inscrutable look on his face. He glances over his shoulder with a nod. "Party's that way."

Something flashes in his eyes. It's so brief that I almost miss it, but fear shoots through my entire body like I was struck by lightning. My brain scrambles for an explanation. "I – I was just…"

"Following me?" Nolan fills in. In the dim lighting of the woods, the shadows cast across his face from the leaves overhead make him look suddenly sinister.

"No," I breathe, but the word is barely audible.

He takes a step toward me. You're the adult here, I remind myself, but that doesn't lessen my urge to kick off my heels and run. "What do you suppose Claire Hotchkiss would say," Nolan muses, spitting out his mom's first name like he calls her that all the time, "if she found out her only son has a stalker on his hands?"

The ridiculousness of that statement helps me finally find my voice. "I think your mother would be more interested to know why her only son spent today drifting through the woods instead of schmoozing with the donors."

I hoped those words would hit home, but Nolan's mouth curves into an easy smirk. "You're threatening me?"

"No." I force the waver out of my voice. "Just stating facts."

"I know some facts, too, Viola," Nolan says, and I feel my blood run cold. My mind flashes back to our brief collision outside of Thorne Hall. I'm certain I didn't give him my name. "From your file. Maybe I should tell my mom to take a closer look. She likes to stay informed, you know?"

He's bluffing. He has to be. But even if he was, I'm sure the expression on my face has confirmed it. "That's none of your business," I whisper, my mouth dry.

Nolan shrugs, almost apologetically, like this is beyond his control. "You worry about your business, I'll worry about mine." He gives me one last smirk, then disappears further into the woods, already pulling his phone out of his pocket, like he's confident that I won't follow after him.

And he's right. I take a deep breath, shoot one last anxious look after him, then head back to the party.

…

The very next day, Nolan Hotchkiss is dead.

I was distracted from my research paper by the sound of sirens blaring and the low rumble of a growing crowd of voices just minutes ago, and I found my sister standing at the front of a huddle of students and faculty outside of Thorne Hall.

Now I keep my hand wrapped around her arm, because the sight of Nolan's body, impaled on the spikes of the fence surrounding the building, is sending all of the blood rushing to my head. "How did this happen?" I ask, and my voice is mostly swallowed up by the murmuring, horrified crowd around us.

"Mona. Viola." Alison rushes toward us, her eyes scanning across Nolan's body. I feel a strange rush of relief at the sight of her, another recognizable face among all of this disorienting unfamiliarity. "What's going on?"

"It's Nolan Hotchkiss," Mona says, looking as nauseated as I feel. "He's dead."

Alison takes an unsteady step backward, her eyes locked on the corpse. "Maybe he –he jumped," I stammer. "Or…" I trail off, following Ali's gaze. She's no longer grimacing at Nolan's body. Her eyes have traveled into the growing crowd. "What is it?"

I follow her gaze. A girl with long black hair, standing off to the side, has crumpled to her knees, her face twisted in agony as she lets out a sob. I think back to my brief conversation with Nolan outside of this very building, the day before he let his true colors show. "Is that his girlfriend?" I mutter to Ali.

A strange look passes across her face, briefly replacing her expression of horror. "I – I don't know," she murmurs, not taking her eyes off of the girl.

I turn back around, wincing as a few paramedics drape a sheet over Nolan's pale body. I laid awake most of last night, fretting over his threat and wondering how I could stop him. But never in a million years did I want it to happen like this.

I glance around, and my chest tightens. My sister is gone. "Mona?" I call, standing on tiptoe to peer through the crowd. When there's no sign of her, I head for the building. She looked sick a minute ago – maybe she ran for the bathroom.

Pushing down my own nausea, I make my way there, too. I rush down the spotless hallway, past what I'm pretty sure is the lecture hall that Alison teaches in, and am just rounding the corner when I nearly slam right into a freaked out looking girl with glasses and a barrette pinning back her bangs. "Oh, sorry," I gasp, jumping out of her way. Then, just in case she's somehow unaware of the scene outside, I add, gesturing toward the main doors, "You really don't want to go out there."

"And you really don't want to go in there," she replies, nodding at the women's bathroom right beside us.

My own warning being hurled back in my face is enough to catch me totally off-guard. "What?" I ask, but she just shrugs and rushes off without another word.

Still a little thrown, I take a moment to compose myself, trying to will the image of those spikes piercing Nolan's body out of my mind. My stomach lurches, and I'm just about to clap a hand over my mouth when a familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

"Answer me, dammit!"

It's undeniably my sister, her voice slightly muffled, but still plenty audible, from the other side of the wall. I glance over my shoulder, down the hallway that the younger girl disappeared down, then push through the door and into the bathroom.

Mona is standing at the sinks. Her hands are pressed against the counter, and she's staring into the mirror, directly at her reflection, with a look of such intensity that it stops me in my tracks. It's not until the door swings shut behind me that she jumps and spins around, her eyes widening at the sight of me.

"Who are you talking to?" I ask slowly, trying to wrap my mind around what I just walked into.

Mona composes herself so quickly that if she weren't my sister, I probably wouldn't have even noticed that anything was amiss to begin with. "No one. I just needed a breather."

I blink. "I heard you. Talking to someone. What – "

"I was talking to myself," she snaps, her face reddening. "God, Viola." She pushes past me and out the door without looking back.

My stomach is still churning. I stare as the door swishes closed behind her, my head spinning. Red ambulance lights flash against the wall, reflecting in from the small window beside the stalls.

I want to drop it. There's already enough to worry about tonight as it is. But something about what I just witnessed is nagging at me.

My eyes drift over to the mirror, and I cross the room to the sinks. Leaning close, I peer at my reflection. Answer me. My sister's words echo in my head, and as I stare into my own eyes, my expression suspicious and unsure, I wonder if I'm the only one looking back.