Tom cursed under his breath as he jogged back towards the Student Centre. He'd been inside the student centre for all of five minutes before his cell phone had started to ring. It was Angela.

"To-o-m!" she blubbered, and before he'd gotten anything else out of her, she'd immediately broken down crying.

"Angela?" he questioned. "Is that you? What's wrong?"

He'd heard a scratching sound, like the phone being passed to someone else with a shaky hand, and then a voice said brusquely, "Tom? Tom Watts?"

"Who's asking?" he said.

"This is Claire Beaumont," a female voice asserted. "Angela's friend. Listen, do you have the key to the news station?"

Tom absent-mindedly patted his pockets. "Yeah, I do."

"Great. We're going to need to borrow them. Can you meet us behind the Quad?"

"Slow down. Why do you need my keys?"

"Angela needs to change her clothes. I don't want to get into specifics with you now."

Tom scoffed slightly. "I'm going to need a little more than that to be convinced that my presence is definitely necessary. I'm a busy guy, you know."

"Are you deaf, Tom Watts?" Claire asked heatedly. "Can you hear Angela wailing like a banshee? Why would I call you if we didn't need you?"

Tom looked around furtively; he wasn't competing in the Murder Game, but what if someone had thought it would be fun to kill the reporter covering the story?

"This can't wait?"

"No," Claire said firmly. Angela kicked up the sobbing a notch, and Tom pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing.

"What's wrong with her, anyway?"

A choking sound issued from the receiver, and Tom had the impression that Claire was trying very hard not to laugh. "You'll see. Hurry up." She hung up.

He'd ambled down the Quad warily, expecting to be doused in cold water, or crash tackled from behind and forced into a dress, but no one even acknowledged his presence until he got in sight of Angela and her friend Claire, who was tapping her foot impatiently. Angela was covered in blood.

"Oh, my God, Angela!" Tom cried, hurrying forward. "What happened?" He rounded on Claire. "Why didn't you tell me she'd been hurt over the phone?"

"Calm down, Ace Ventura," Claire said dryly. "It's paint. Someone shot her with a paintball gun as we were walking along the Quad."

Angela sniffed. "I don't want to get in my car and go home and get the interior covered in paint," she explained. "Can I just use the keys and shower at the station?"

Tom screwed up his face. "Can't you go back to a friend's dorm and shower there?" he asked, jerking his head towards Claire.

Claire shook her head. "I've lost my key and haven't had a chance to duplicate it yet. Anyway, I've got another class in a couple of minutes, and my roommate has the same class, so she won't be able to let Angela in."

"Kate would have let me into her sorority house to take a shower on her way to dinner," Angela said plaintively, "but someone put bleach into a shampoo bottle and - and - and it's not safe, and -" she broke off, beginning to hiccough and sob again. "I don't want green hair and red skin!"

Tom stepped back in alarm as Angela opened her arms for a shuddering hug. "Well, your coat is ruined," he stuttered, trying to think of something to distract her. Instead, he propelled her forward and they began to walk towards the station.

Claire made a contemptuous noise in the back of her throat. "It's my coat," she informed him. "I'm pretty sure the kill was meant for me - Angela isn't even playing the game. If it was aimed at me, it was definitely Derek Bode from Sigma - we just broke up a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh," Tom said, deeply uninterested.

"I found out he'd taken one of the Wakefield's out on a date," Claire glowered. "So I told him where he could shove it."

"Not Liz?" Tom asked, perturbed.

"No, not the boring one," Claire spat. "The one who doesn't consider her week over until she's broken up at least four relationships."

"Good," Tom said, visibly relieved. Behind him, Angela started to sniffle again.

"What do you care, though?" Claire demanded. "I thought you were dating Dana Upshaw."

Tom stared at her. "How do you know that?"

Claire shrugged. "You're a BMOC, right?"

Tom stiffened his spine and ran a hand through his hair, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I guess I am a Big Man on Campus."

"That would be Big Mouth on Campus," Claire interjected. "I don't know how I know it, I would have assumed it to be common knowledge, even though I don't think I've seen the two of you together for a while. I've seen her around campus - she's always lugging that cello and shaking her hair back like she's in a Pantene ad."

"We're not dating anymore," he muttered under his breath. "We broke up a little while ago."

"Why do people still seem to think you're dating?" Claire said curiously. They had almost reached the station.

Tom pulled his keys out of his pocket, his fingertips running over the jagged edges. His hand closed over a smooth keychain attached to his dorm key - a silver-plated love heart Liz had bought for him on their six-month anniversary. He'd dropped it accidentally at her dorm room door back when she lived in Dickenson Hall, and had tried to jam the door closed around it, unaware that it was lodged in the frame. The heart had a little dent on the side, which was appropriate now.

"I don't know," he mumbled.

Angela snorted through her tears. "He still tells people they're dating in the hopes it will get back to Liz and she'll be jealous," she said.

"Well, that's stupid," Claire commented. "She's got too much - too much - integrity and moral fiber -" she shuddered, "-to go after a guy whose apparently moving in with his girlfriend."

"Thank you, doctors, but I think that's all we have time for today," he sniped. "I'm doing just fine without Elizabeth and Dana, thank you very much." They climbed the steps and Tom unlocked the door. "Here's where I leave you."

He let Angela in and she turned back towards him as she stepped over the threshold. "Thanks, Tom," she said softly. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem," he said gruffly. Even though she could be a bit of a ditz and a pain, he did have a soft spot for Angela. Her friend, on the other hand, he would be glad to never talk to again. He unhooked the station key from his full set and tossed it to her. "Lock up when you're done. I'll get it off you tomorrow."

He turned and started to walk away in the direction of the Student Centre. Checking his watch, he saw that he was almost twenty minutes late now. He swore under his breath and broke into a light jog. If he missed a good scoop because of Claire and Angela, and someone like Scott Sinclair from the paper got there first, he would never forgive himself. A real journalist wouldn't have let a little thing like feelings and crying girls get in the way of a good story.

He skidded to a walk as he rounded the corner of the Student Centre. His heart leapt when he heard voices coming from inside the centre, and he felt his pulse racing, like it usually did when he had a feeling he was onto a good story. He slipped inside the doors, his hands jammed in his pockets as he nervously fingered the little love heart keychain.

"Hello," he called, starting forward. "Who's here?"

The voices stopped abruptly, and he halted, uncertain.

He tried again. "Where are you?"

There was a low murmur, and Tom spun to his left, heading for a couple of the closed rooms. He hurried along the corridor, and saw some light filtering out from underneath a closed door. As he got closer, the voices, low and urgent, amplified. He patted his pockets, looking for his iPhone, in case he needed to fire off some rapid shots, or record something. Steeling himself, he placed his hand on the door handle and pushed.

He didn't know who looked more shocked. Him, standing there, his arms hanging at his sides, his eyebrows shooting up and disappearing into his hairline, or Sam Burgess and Elizabeth, frozen. Sam had his hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, and she was stooped slightly, her hand over her mouth. When they saw him burst through the door, she straightened up and jerked away from Sam, her mouth hanging open. "Tom!" she blurted out.

She moved slightly, as if to cover something, and Tom's eyes strayed to the open cupboard they were standing in front of. "Oh, my God, Liz! What have you done?"

Elizabeth shook her head manically, trying valiantly to shield Tom from the body stuffed into the utility cupboard. Tom strode forward, and not even Sam tried to stop him. He craned his neck over Elizabeth's shoulder, and stared straight into the cold, dead eyes of Cameron Haze.