Dead Beautiful

by Yvonne Woon

  The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and the sound of footsteps pounded on the stairway above us. “I’ll be waiting,” Dante said, and smiled.

  During lunch, Mrs. Lynch and Professor Lumbar searched our room. When they found nothing, they searched it again. It felt odd watching them going through my underwear drawer, tossing around Eleanor’s things. They even confiscated Eleanor’s notebooks, though after reading them they found nothing of interest except illegible scribbles and pages and pages of love notes written to Professor Bliss.

  Mrs. Lynch confronted him about it just before fourth period. I was walking down the hall when I saw them in his classroom through the window in the door. I crouched outside and watched as Mrs. Lynch handed him Eleanor’s History notebook and crossed her arms.

  Mr. B. flipped through it, reading the notes slowly. Suddenly he dropped the notebook and stood up, gesticulating wildly with his hands. They got into an argument. I pressed my ear against the door and listened.

  “If you have an explanation, now’s the time,” Mrs. Lynch threatened.

  Professor Bliss claimed he had no idea the love notes existed. “Eleanor was my student. Nothing more. It isn’t abnormal for a teenage girl to have a crush on her teacher. These things happen all the time. It doesn’t mean I abducted her.”

  Unexpectedly, the knob on the door turned and the door swung open. I threw myself out of the way just before Mrs. Lynch stormed into the hallway with so much force that she didn’t even notice me pressed against the wall behind her.

  I met up with Nathaniel and told him about Eleanor and what I saw as we walked to Philosophy.

  “So the last time you saw her was after Grub Day?” he asked.

  I hesitated. I had lied to everyone in order to hide the fact that I’d spent the night at Dante’s. But someone had to know the truth. I needed Nathaniel’s help. “No. It was actually the morning of Grub Day.”

  Nathaniel looked confused. “What? But why did you tell everyone that—”

  I cut him off. “I spent the night with Dante,” I said quickly. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  Nathaniel went silent. “So you don’t know when she disappeared?”

  I shook my head.

  “This is bad, Renée. Really bad.”

  I swallowed. “I know.”

  “Well, if we assume that whatever happened to her happened on Grub Day, then it couldn’t have been Professor Bliss. I even saw him later that night patrolling the boys’ dorms, so either way, he’s safe.”

  “Why do you think it happened on Grub Day?”

  “I mean, think about it. It’s perfect. Everyone is in town, including most of the professors and the Board of Monitors. So the real question is, who wasn’t in Attica Falls that day?” But the question was impossible to answer. There were far too many people, and besides, we hadn’t been keeping track.

  “Do you think it could be...” My voice trailed off.

  “The Gottfried Curse?” Nathaniel said, finishing my sentence. “Maybe.”

  When we walked into class, Annette LaBarge was sitting on her desk, her legs dangling freely like a child on a swing. A glass of water sat by her side. Unlike my other professors, she taught everything as if it were a story.

  “A long time ago, we used to believe that people were made of two things—the body and the soul. When the body died, the soul lived on and was cleansed and reborn into someone new. The idea was explored by many, though namely in Western culture by Plato, and then René Descartes.

  “Descartes was a famous philosopher in his time. He was obsessed with death—he wrote about it incessantly. He even claimed to have discovered the path to immortality. He was going to reveal his secret in an essay he claimed would be his lifetime achievement, and which he worked on up until his death. He called it his Seventh Meditation. When he died, people believed that his death was a hoax, an experiment. They thought he had found a way to cheat death and become reborn.

  “That, of course, was never proven, and Descartes was never heard from again. All that remained were his papers. People combed through them, searching for the Seventh Meditation, but they only found six, none of which contained anything about the key to immortality.

  “After everyone had given up hope, rumors began to surface that they had found something buried beneath the foundation of his house. Descartes’ Seventh Meditation. But the book was banned just before it was released. According to rumor, all copies were immediately burned, as were the men who had printed it. And before it could even be read, the book was gone, along with all of its secrets.”

  While she spoke, I looked out the window, and watched the branches of the trees sway in the wind. A boy ran into Horace Hall holding a messy stack of papers, clearly late for class. A maintenance worker shoveled snow along the edge of the green. The flood, followed by Eleanor’s disappearance, seemed to fit with all of the other “accidents” that had been reported on in the article from The Portland Herald. And if Eleanor’s disappearance was related to Benjamin’s, then there was a good chance she would soon be found dead of a heart attack.

  “We do, however, have glimpses into what his final work contained, facts that scholars have gleaned from other books published back then. In the Seventh Meditation, Descartes stated that children couldn’t die. He said that, unlike adults, the bodies of children only appear to be dead. After ten days, they wake up and live again, soulless. According to Descartes, children stop rising from the dead at the age of twenty-one. Some philosophers speculate that this is why the age of twenty-one now embodies the idea of adulthood.”

  If I had only found a way to get to those files in the headmistress’s office, I might have found some piece of information that would have helped prevent whatever had happened to Eleanor. Quietly, I tore out a piece of paper from my notebook.

  We have to find a way into the headmistress’s office

  I folded the note, and when Miss LaBarge wasn’t watching, I passed it to Nathaniel. He gave me a cautionary look, as if he knew what I was planning to do and didn’t approve. Nonetheless, he scribbled down a response and passed it back to me.

  I don’t think you need my help doing that.

  I immediately felt stupid. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? I didn’t have to break into the headmistress’s office; I just had to get into trouble and be sent there. I had no idea how I would get to the files once I was inside, but I would deal with that later. Satisfied, I crumpled up the note and slipped it into my pocket.

  After classes, the investigation for Eleanor began. One by one, we were called in for questioning. Solemnly, we watched each girl walk downstairs to Mrs. Lynch’s quarters. A door slammed. After fifteen minutes it reopened. And then the next name was called. No one spoke after their interview. With Eleanor missing and Mrs. Lynch arousing suspicions among the student body, the atmosphere in the dorm was grim.

  Finally it was my turn.

  “Winters!” Mrs. Lynch’s voice echoed from downstairs. On the way down I passed Minnie Roberts, who had gone in before me. I tried to say hello, but she kept her head bowed.

  Mrs. Lynch’s quarters were strategically positioned right next to the entrance so she could hear anyone sneaking in or out. When I got there, the door was slightly ajar. I knocked. When no one answered, I pushed it open.

  Mrs. Lynch was sitting in an overstuffed plaid armchair, her stubby feet resting on a matching ottoman. She was scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad.

  “Shut the door,” she said without looking up.

  The room looked like something a grandmother might live in. It had a low ceiling, dingy floral curtains, and a shag carpet. It smelled like potpourri and mothballs. The walls were decorated with pictures of lighthouses, which, upon closer examination, were not paintings, but needlepoint.

  Finally Mrs. Lynch stopped writing and looked at me. “Miss Winters.”

  There was nowhere to sit, so I stood in the middle of the room.

  “Eleanor Bell has been missing for wha
t seems to be two days now. You are her roommate, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “Eleanor never went to Attica Falls on Grub Day.”

  “She said she was going to the library.”

  “And did she return to the room that night?”

  “No,” I said. “Wait, yes. Yes she did.”

  Mrs. Lynch gave me a suspicious look. “In your short time here at the Academy, you have garnered quite the reputation for troublemaking.”

  I gave her a confused look. “What?”

  “Called to the headmistress’s office three times.”

  “But the first time I hadn’t done anything—” I tried to say, but she continued.

  “Caught severely out of dress code; breaking curfew with a boy; blatantly disobeying the authority of professors...”

  “But that was all really just one time—”

  “Talking out of line,” she said with contempt. “Where were you on Grub Day?”

  “I was in Attica Falls. People saw me there; you can ask Nathaniel Welch. I was with him.”

  “Where were you that evening?”

  I hesitated. “I was in my dorm room, studying.”

  “And what were you studying?”

  “Latin,” I said quickly.

  “And Eleanor was there that night?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  “And you can produce no other witnesses of your whereabouts that night?”

  “It was after curfew. We were alone in our room.”

  She put down her pencil and clasped her hands together on her lap.

  “Miss Winters, where is Eleanor Bell?”

  “I... I don’t know.”

  She sighed and then jotted something down on her pad. “I think you do.”

  “But I don—” But she cut me off before I had a chance to respond.

  “And you said that she wasn’t”—she picked up her pad, referring to her notes—“No, forgive me, that she was in your room that night?”

  I swallowed and nodded.

  “Yet conveniently, no one else saw her. Or you.”

  I shifted uncomfortably, staring at a persian cat that had sauntered into the room and was glaring at me from the windowsill.

  “So really you have no alibi for the night after Grub Day.”

  “I do, but—”

  “And you didn’t report her disappearance until today because you weren’t sure she was gone.”

  “I would have, but—”

  She jotted down one last note and shut her pad. “That will be all.”

  By twilight, the search parties came. Professors and school administrators flocked to the green with flashlights and flares. They looked odd outside the context of class. Their casual clothes, boots, and raincoats made them look puttering and old, exposing the fact that they were vastly outnumbered by a campus full of teenagers.

  The Board of Monitors was supposed to regulate the students, watching the dorms and making sure that everyone was in by curfew, but did so halfheartedly. After dinner, I lingered outside the dining hall until everyone else filed outside. When the path was clear, I started to walk back to the girls’ dorm, but then quickly changed routes and jogged toward the green.

  Students weren’t allowed to participate in the search. “Too dangerous,” Professor Lumbar had said. They didn’t care that Eleanor was our friend, and that we cared about finding her just as much as they did. It seemed like everyone was gathering on the lawn except for the people who were closest to her. Even a few people from town had been recruited for the search. I crouched behind a tree and watched. Together they huddled beneath the evergreens as the sun set on Gottfried Academy, until all that could be seen of them were the yellow beams of their flashlights reflecting off the fog rising from the lake.

  The search was led by the headmistress herself. She wore a long overcoat and carried a lantern, a two-way radio, and a bag of flares.

  “Friends,” she bellowed. The crowd grew silent.

  “Thank you for leaving your families to help us here tonight. It’s a tragic day for everyone when a child goes missing, especially when it’s a member of our own small community. If anyone hears any information regarding Eleanor Bell’s whereabouts or the manner of her disappearance, please alert me or one of the professors immediately.

  “To make the most of our time, we will break into groups. Each group will search a different area. Miriam, Edith, and Annette will take Horace Hall. Lesley and I will search Archebald. William, Marcus, and Conrad will search the edge of the forest....”

  As she called out the names, each party broke off and began to comb the campus grounds looking for Eleanor. When the lawn had emptied out, I slunk out from behind the tree and jogged toward the lake. Dante was exactly where he said he’d be, leaning against one of the spruces, his hands in his pockets. He was perfectly preppy, crisp yet rough around the edges in a shirt and tie, a Gottfried scarf draped over his blazer, and his hair pulled into a messy knot.

  We sat by the lake, against the back of a large rock.

  I hugged my knees. The calm water reflected the night clouds.

  “What do you do when you don’t know what to do?” I asked, staring into the darkness.

  Dante followed my eyes to the outskirts of school, where we could see dim flashes of light bouncing off the trees and buildings. “I follow my instincts,” he said, touching my shoulder.

  I tossed a pebble in and watched the ripples dilate until they reached the shore. What were my instincts telling me? “I think Benjamin and my parents were murdered. I think Cassandra was too.” I said it quickly, in case it sounded ridiculous. I told Dante about the séance, about how I had tried to summon my parents but only found him, Gideon, and Vivian on the lawn; about how Eleanor had tried to summon Benjamin but got Cassandra, too. “And I think the same person got to Eleanor. I don’t know why or how, and I don’t have any reason to think any of these things other than a feeling. A really bad feeling.”

  Looking at my feet, I waited for him to react, but instead he stretched out his legs and leaned back on his elbows. “Do you really believe in that stuff? Séances?”

  I looked up at him, my eyes watering in the wind. “I want to.”

  “You want to believe in ghosts? In monsters?”

  “I want to believe that things don’t have to end,” I said, looking away, but Dante didn’t let me.

  “I want to believe that too,” he said.

  “Do you think Cassandra is dead?”

  Dante hesitated. “Yes.”

  His frank answer somehow disturbed me, and a series of questions escaped my mouth before I could process them. “What? How? Why? Who do you think—?”

  “Slow down,” he said. “One at a time.”

  I paused to compose myself. “Do you think Benjamin was murdered?”

  “Killed, yes.”

  “Do you think it’s related to my parents and the deaths in the article?”

  He thought about it. “Yes.”

  I hadn’t expected so many affirmatives, and was at a loss for what to say. “So you believe me? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? After the séance?”

  “I didn’t know you were looking for your parents when I ran into you that night,” he said, almost to himself. “You were in your pajamas, which caught me off guard. And you looked so surprised to see me; I couldn’t tell if you were happy or upset. I remember holding your hand and running through the rain; the way the water collected in droplets on your eyelashes. I couldn’t believe you were real. I still can’t.”

  “You remember that?” I whispered.

  “I remember everything.”

  I looked up at him, and he moved closer. I shivered. Raising my hand to Dante’s face, I coiled my fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him toward me.

  We met halfway, my neck arching up to meet his. But just as our lips were about to touch, he pulled away and kissed me on the cheek.

  His face was inches from mine. “Why won’t you kiss me?” I
asked, my voice betraying more despair than I intended.

  When he finally spoke, his words came out slowly. “Because I’m afraid of what might happen.”

  “What could happen?”

  “That’s what I’m worried about—I don’t know.”

  Not knowing what I was doing, I let my hand fall down his cheek. Dante pressed his finger to my lips, as if to stop me, but instead let his hand pass over them and roam down to my collarbone, guiding me toward him. His touch tickled my skin, like dozens of snowflakes falling and melting. His eyes were trained on mine.

  “Renée, wait, there’s something you need to—”

  Everything happened at once. I closed my eyes, feeling his breath dance around my lips. Then voices emerged from the distance, floating toward us, followed by the sound of footsteps thumping against the frozen earth. And then light.

  I pulled away from Dante and froze. A flashlight shone on us.

  “Stand.”

  I shielded my eyes and squinted into the glare. It was Miss LaBarge, her cheeks rosy from the cold. She shone the light in my face, and then in Dante’s.

  “What was about to happen just now?” she asked him, her voice sharper than I had ever heard it.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.”

  She shone the light in his face for a few more seconds before turning it off.

  “You shouldn’t be out here tonight. Or any night, for that matter. No students are allowed outside during the search, only professors. You know that.”

  I stepped forward to explain, but Dante gripped my hand, holding me back.

  “I’m sorry, Professor, it was my fault. I asked her to meet me here.”

  Miss LaBarge gazed at him. “Fault is a slippery thing.”

  Dante nodded, and I sat very still. I could hear the footsteps of the rest of her party walking in our direction. Miss LaBarge glanced around. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see you. Get back inside. And don’t let me catch you again.”

  Dante reached for my hand, but I stopped him, remembering the note Nathaniel had written to me earlier. There was only one way to get into the headmistress’s office to find those files. I couldn’t sneak in, I had to be sent there. And what better time than now, when the headmistress was clearly distracted?