Delete-Man: A Psychological Thriller Read Free Page B

help
me find this group, though. My girlfriend’s name was Josephine
Baird.”
    The clerk typed fast, I got the
impression he lived in front of a screen even when he didn’t need
to. Various people idly hung around in the entrance hall. From
beyond the oversized wooden doors the sound of rain was faintly
audible.
    “Umm, I have her record here.
Let me see. I can see what modules she took, her extra modules too,
but there’s nothing about a writing group. Are you sure it wasn’t a
non-credit group? A lot of the student groups are organised without
any interference by the university.”
    “You wouldn’t have any record of
that?”
    “Well it would probably be on
the online bulletin board, but we wouldn’t have records of the
members, or a schedule. Nothing like that.”
    The clerk shrugged
apologetically. I wondered if it was even worth the effort. It was
a long shot, but after a moment’s consideration I realised there
was nothing else I could pursue.
    “How many film students do you
have here?”
    “Hundreds. What course do you
mean specifically?”
    “Film. Arty film. Not film
history or studies or anything. Film, cinematography, making films,
stuff like that.”
    The clerk looked at me with
disguised disdain for my crudeness.
    “We have two or three courses
like that.”
    “Which one involves the most
practical work?”
    “The course you probably mean is
Film and TV. It’s in the media block on Cowley Street.”
    “Can I see a list of the
students?”
    “There are far too many students
for you to find the one you’re looking for.”
    “It’s a girl, probably a foreign
student. If I just saw the list I’m sure I could remember the
name.”
    “I can’t give you the names of
students. It’s against the rules.”
    “That’s ok, just get it up on
the screen. All I want is the name. That’s all.”
    I had pushed my luck with the
clerk as far as it would go. We stared at each other for a few
seconds, a deadlock. He gave in, probably realising he wouldn’t
easilly rid of me, and let his speedy fingers hammer once again on
the keyboard.
    “There are quite a few students
still that fall into that criteria.”
    “That’s ok. Just show me the
names.”
    I leaned over the reception desk
and the clerk swivelled the monitor reluctantly for me to see. I
scanned the list of about a hundred names.
    “Bianca! That’s it! Bianca
Azevedo. Thanks a lot for that.”
    “Ok, good. We don’t usually give
out that kind of information. It’s really—”
    I turned and left before the
clerk could hum and haw at me further, slamming through the giant
doors into a thick downpour. I had wet feet before even thinking of
where I was heading. It was likely pointless, but it was a
discovery nonetheless. I felt somehow closer to Josie. It was
empowering. That faint sense of accomplishment spurred me on to
Cowley Street. It was only a few crossings away, signposted by the
stream of fashionably clothed students that hurried through the
rain. After scanning the area’s side streets I found it, and
without hesitation escaped into the angular building.
    It was a distinctly different
place from the main university block. There didn’t seem to be any
kind of reception, no clerks behind computers or stuffy main halls.
Instead, the walls were coloured with various artworks, and even
the students milling about seemed to do so in a more comfortable
fashion.
    I paced along the corridors,
following signs that sounded vaguely like where I needed to go.
Asking various students where I might find her eventually led me to
a large corridor with few doors. I approached someone playing with
their phone beside one and asked once again.
    “I think she’s in a lecture
now.”
    He took me along the corridor
towards another door and I thanked him. Pressing my ear to it, I
could just about make out the lecturer’s old, jaded, and comforting
voice. I pushed the door open slightly and looked in. The room was
nearly full, and the lecturer in full