She delivered the concluding line.
“Nicole West and her mother Deirdre were murdered in 1954 and nobody gives a damn. They…”
“Language please,” Miss Cranston said.
Giggles. Bitch tits and Asian Gollum, of course.
Ellie continued, her cheeks blazing bright red. It was too late to stop now.
“They were taken from LA to Toronto, killed by Tony Charpentier and his goons, and the remains were either burned or buried. They might even have been buried alive for all we know. A seventeen-year-old girl and her mom who never hurt anyone in the world. No one’s ever been put in jail for this horrific crime. Nobody gives a…damn.”
Miss Cranston pointed a finger. “Ellie!”
“The man responsible for their murder,” Ellie said, speeding up before the inevitable cut off, “the man who started it all, is still out there. He’s free and everyone thinks he’s a fucking legend. He’s worshipped like a god. Fifty-five years later, nobody gives a damn and…”
“Time’s up. Presentation over. Terry – will you open the drapes please?”
A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Everyone started talking to their neighbor like they’d been released from a vow of silence.
Miss Cranston instructed the class to pipe down while Terry Ruddock, a lanky boy with arms like toothpicks, pulled the drapes and let in an explosion of early afternoon sunlight.
“I haven’t wrapped up yet,” Ellie said. Her voice shot up an octave with outrage. “That’s not fair. There’s more.”
“You are most certainly finished,” Miss Cranston said, standing in the middle aisle, hands clamped to her hips. “Swearing is not permitted in this classroom Ellie, particularly not during a formal presentation such as this. If you can’t make your point without resorting to foul language then perhaps you don’t have much of a point to make in the first place. Hmm?”
“I said damn a couple of times,” Ellie said. “Big deal.”
“You said something else too. But we don’t need to hear that word again.”
“Can I finish the presentation now?”
“No. You’re done. You clearly can’t control your emotions, Ellie. That’s not a good state to be in when you’re trying to present information to a room full of people.”
Ellie’s jaw hit the floor. She wanted to throw something at both audience and teacher. She wanted to lash out and hurt them. Cranston’s calm, patronizing voice was grating on Ellie. What did she know? Miss Sandra Cranston, mid-forties at least, pretty and tanned and always wearing the same joyless blazers and dress pants. The way she stood there with her pout and her slim never-miss a-day-at-the-gym-body. Salad for lunch again, Miss Cranston? What the fuck did she know? And here she was, challenging Ellie. Telling her that she wasn’t supposed to feel anything? How could Ellie not feel anything about the West murders?
Cassandra’s eyes were lost in empty space. She was no help at all.
Miss Cranston coughed into the back of her hand to clear her throat.
“Don’t get me wrong girls,” she said, forcing out a strained smile that revealed deep-set dimples on both cheeks. “It’s clear you put the work in and I wish that some people sitting in this classroom would have shown a little more respect for the effort. The research was, in places, meticulous.”
Jane and Adana rolled their eyes. Ellie saw it and hoped that both girls would get knocked up by the age of fourteen.
“But,” Miss Cranston said, circling an empty desk near the front. “And here it is girls. These class presentations are non-fiction only. Do you understand? Ellie, Cassandra? This is true crime and I’m looking for objective facts. The vast majority of what you’ve given me, apart from the biographical details of Nicole’s life, is speculative. Which I didn’t ask for. You could have spent more time talking about the disappearance rather than speculating about the alleged murder. You should have concentrated on what really happened in 1954. About the police case and the…”
“What police case?” Ellie said, interrupting. She was back to standing at full height, the beautiful blonde stick insect, already taller than most of the boys in class. “The police case was a joke and it cooled off like after a week or two. And then what happened? The story vanished from the front pages and that’s pretty convenient for all those rich assholes from the studio who had the cops and the media and everyone else in their pockets and…”
“Ellie,” Miss Cranston said, raising her hands in the air. Open hands. Peacemaker. “There you go again. Please calm down. Why are you so angry about this?”
“Because it’s murder. And no one cares.”
“No one cares?”
“Nobody except Cassandra and me.”
“Evidence please?” Miss Cranston said, eyebrows up, carving deep grooves in her forehead. “All I hear is more speculation. Speculation and facts aren’t the same thing. You say murder, in fact you scream murder, but we don’t even know there was a murder. A disappearance, yes. That happened. But in your presentation, you went on and on about murder and yet there were other theories around the Wests’ vanishing in 1954, that much I do know. What about exploring those?”
“They’re just stories,” Ellie said. Her arms were taut. Her jaw tight.
“Well, perhaps some of those stories are worth exploring. What about the rumor that Nicole and her mother left the country because of the increasing intensity of the McCarthy witch-hunts in the fifties? Many people in the Hollywood community were ruthlessly victimized by McCarthyism and having Soviet ancestry at that time, like Nicole did, was far from fashionable or even safe. There’s as much evidence in favor of relocation as there is of murder. A retreat from the spotlight, new identities, and maybe Nicole is still alive today. An old woman who flirted with Hollywood and in the end wanted nothing else but to vanish off the face of the earth. No murder. Worst of all, Ellie and Cassandra, you mention the name of the man you think is responsible for this alleged murder? The man you know is responsible. Based on what? Rumors that you read on the Internet? Dark Hollywood gossip sites? Forums? Sleazy books and magazines? Not a shred of legitimate evidence exists against this man. These are not facts. This is not true crime, it’s conspiracy theories.”
“Everyone knows who did it,” Ellie said, shooting a furious look at the silent Cassandra. Cassandra’s head was lowered, a repentant sinner on her way to the gallows.
Adana put up her hand.
“Yes, Adana?” Miss Cranston said in a tired voice. “Do you have a question?”
“I’ve never heard of any of these people,” Adana said in a smug tone. “But thanks to my cousin Rex, I know that there’s a heap of online forums where people write about old stories like this one. Murders, rapes, kidnaps, robberies – all that kind of thing. Rex says that most of the people who hang out there are crazy conspiracy theorists with no life. My question for Ellie and Cassandra – do you guys spend all your time hanging out on these forums?”
The rest of the class burst out laughing.
“Stop it!”
Miss Cranston killed the laughter dead with a single, steely-eyed look. Her eyes were distant and Ellie wondered if the teacher was at the end of her tether, fantasizing about her beloved elliptical machine.
“If you’ve got nothing constructive to say,” Miss Cranston said, pointing a finger around the room “then don’t say anything. Not if you want out for lunch.”
Ellie and Cassandra stood beside the projector, drowning in the disastrous aftermath of their presentation.
“Any questions?” Miss Cranston asked, turning in all directions. “And what I mean by that is, are there any proper questions?”
The silence was excruciating. No arms went up. No one spoke or showed any interest in continuing the discussion. Ellie’s focus drifted over to the window, beyond the empty playing fields and in the direction of Rouge Park where the remains of Nicole and Deirdre West lay unavenged.
She’d failed them today. She’d blown it and now she felt like thro
wing up.
“Okay,” Miss Cranston said, scribbling on the two grade papers she’d placed down on the empty desk. “No questions. That’s fine. Thank you Ellie and Cassandra for the presentation this morning.”
As Miss Cranston was writing, the buzzer sounded for lunch. The rest of the class jumped to their feet, threw their books and pens into their bags, and rushed through the door like the school was burning down. Ellie cringed at the sudden explosion of laughter in the corridor. High-pitched, squeaky head-splitting cackles. No prizes for guessing who they were laughing at.
Miss Cranston put her pen down on the table. Then she walked over and handed the girls a sheet of paper each.
“It was a decent effort,” she said, a half-smile on her face. “But next time, please stick to the facts. There was just too much invention in there for my liking. Adana, although she was trying to be a smartass, was right. Leave the dark Hollywood forums to the weirdos. You girls are so much better than that. Okay? Next time, let’s talk about what actually happened. In this case, a double-disappearance, not a double-murder.”
The teacher’s pity smile lingered a moment longer. Then Miss Cranston returned to her desk and gathered up a few things before walking out of the classroom, still avoiding eye contact. Ellie and Cassandra were left alone, staring at the grade papers in their hands. Speakers were graded in several categories, including clarity of presentation, use of props, research skills, speaking ability and a few other things that didn’t mean much to Ellie. She was only interested in the overall grade at the bottom of the page. For months, she’d envisioned an A plus in that box. An A plus that meant everything to her.
They both got a C.
It was a giant slap in the face, Cranston-style.
“Bitch,” Ellie said, crumpling the paper into a ball. “She’s the worst teacher I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Oh God,” Cassandra said, lowering the grade paper, letting it slip through her fingers and fall to the floor. “I mean, what the fuck?”
“They don’t care,” Ellie said, staring bitterly at the open doorway and into the hall that was busy with human traffic. Loud, childish voices going from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. “They don’t want to hear it and they’re too fucking dumb and stupid to hear it anyway. That Cranston bitch, can you believe her? And what about you Cass? What the fuck happened to you? You shut down on me.”
“Sorry. I’ve been feeling like shit all day.”
Ellie tossed her graded paper into the trash can. Then she put an arm around her friend’s shoulder.
“Were they fighting?”
Cassandra nodded. “Yeah. Looks like my dad’s about to get laid off or something. Money fights are always the worst.”
“Sorry,” Ellie said, knowing the words were useless.
“It’s not so bad,” Cassandra said. “Maybe they’ll decide they can’t afford to keep me anymore. That means I’ll get to live with my aunt. My dad’s always going on about how I’m eating them out of house and home. Well, that’s one way of fixing it – to get rid of my fat ass.”
Ellie threw her bag over her shoulder. “I need some fresh air.”
The girls walked outside into a crisp, sunny afternoon. They zipped up their coats and made their way towards a row of eastern white cedars located at the far end of the school yard. There was a vacant picnic table there. This was their table, far away from all the other kids. From the cliques and teachers.
Cassandra slammed her bag down on the wooden table and flopped onto the bench. Neither girl had much of an appetite. For now at least, their packed lunches remained in their bags.
“I feel like shit, Ellie.”
“It’s alright Cass. It’s just a shit day, that’s all. We’ll get past this – it isn’t over.”
“It’s a shit day every day,” Cassandra said through clenched teeth. “And it’s not going to change unless something drastic happens. Why can’t we just go to LA now? Let’s just steal the money or sell a kidney or something.”
“They’d find us and bring us back,” Ellie said. Even though she’d tossed her grade paper in the trash she could still see that giant ‘C’ floating in front of her like an apparition. “We’d just be another pair of underage runaways and they’d take us back to our folks like we were a nuisance or something. And how do you think our folks would react? Think they’d be pleased to see us?”
“I’m dying here,” Cassandra said. “This place is killing me on the inside. I have to go.”
“Not right now.”
“It doesn’t get to you, Ellie? All of it, back home, school and now this fuck up of a class presentation – it doesn’t get to you?”
“Of course it does. Maybe I just hide it better than you.”
“There must be something,” Cassandra said. “I don’t care what it is. What makes all of this go away Ellie?”
Ellie shook her head. “Cut it out, will you? If you’re about to suggest some kind of freaky suicide pact where we jump off a bridge holding hands you can forget it. We’ve got work to do, remember? How does that help Nicole?”
“Nicole?” Cassandra said. There was a confused scowl on her face. “Nicole’s dead for God’s sake. Or she’s living in Russia. You know, maybe those communist theories aren’t so crazy after all. You ever think about that? What if everyone else is right and we’re wrong? How about we forget about Nicole West and start helping ourselves for a change? Starting with getting our asses on a bus to LA.”
Ellie tensed up. “What’s your problem Cassie? You believe Cranston all of a sudden over what you felt at the river? She’s there. She’s asking for our help and we just let her down big time.”
“We tried,” Cassandra said, wrestling with the zip of her backpack as if she’d rediscovered her appetite. The zip was too stubborn and she pushed it across the table. “But you saw what happened in there. They don’t care. No one cares about someone who disappeared in Hollywood over fifty years ago and vanished into thin air. Even if she did go to Russia to escape McCarthyism, she’s probably dead and here we are fixating over what might have been. What’s the point? Why don’t we start fixating on a quick route out of Toronto? Hey, we could always go to Vancouver first, you know? Work our way west across Canada, then drop down into Washington State and go to LA from there?”
A pause.
Cassandra was tapping Ellie on the shoulder. She heard her friend’s voice, calling from afar. “Ellie. ELLIE!”
“Huh?”
“You’re doing that staring into space thing again. You were like totally gone for a minute. What’s going on with that?”
Ellie shrugged. “I zone out sometimes.”
“That must be nice.”
Ellie blinked hard. Felt like she was waking up from a vivid dream about something or someone strong holding her down. “What were we talking about?”
“Leaving this shithole,” Cassandra said. “Are we really going to wait till we’re sixteen before we get out of here?”
“Sixteen’s not far,” Ellie said. “We’ve got a plan. Remember? And it involves a couple more years of waiting. Just suck it up.”
Cassandra looked at Ellie like she was a stranger. “What did you say to me?”
“I said suck it up.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say.”
A fucking C.
“We’ll go to LA like we planned,” Ellie snapped. “And we’ll go when we planned. But I’m not going anywhere with you if keep acting like a giant fucking baby all the time. What happened to you in there? You folded. I needed you and you folded. So what, they yawned. So what, they laughed. Big deal. They’re losers, every last one of them. Twenty years from now, they’ll all be working shitty nine-to-fives and hating their lives. As for Cranston, she’ll be wearing her tits around her knees. And us? We’ll be in LA. Far, far away from all this. Or will we? You caved, Cassie. You folded. How do you think you’re going to make it in LA if you can’t handle Toronto?”
“Thanks a lot,”
Cassandra said. “But I’ve got other things going on in my life besides obsessing about a dead girl.”
Ellie felt ten fingers curling into two tight fists.
“I can’t believe I thought you had what it took.” It felt like a volcano was inside her, spilling over. “You’re a fucking basket case.”
“I told you what was happening at home,” Cassandra said.
“Yeah, you did. What’s so special about you all of a sudden? You think my parents have stopped fighting overnight or something? Think my dad’s turned into dad of the year? I still showed up today and gave it my best shot.”
“I’m sorry about the presentation.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Cassandra was fidgeting with the zip on her bag again. Her eyes were laser focused. “Ellie. Do you really think that Nicole is trying to make contact with us? Or do you…do you just want to believe it?”
“I believe it. Don’t ever ask me that again.”
“Okay. Then I guess I do too.”
Cassandra stood up. She grabbed her Blue Jays backpack, staring at the broken zip like it was the cause of all her problems. “I gotta go. But I’m sorry I let you down. My head’s all over the place today and I don’t know what’s happening with my dad and his job and what sort of mood he’s going to be in later. We’re still on for LA though, right? Two years.”
“I don’t know,” Ellie said.
Cassandra looked scared. “What?”
“It’s going to be tough in LA,” Ellie said. “Like really hard. That town kills people who aren’t prepared for it. We’re going to have to work our asses off in lousy jobs and we might have to do that for years and years before we get a break. We’ll deal with creeps, hustle non-stop for acting gigs and sell our souls and it’s going to get much, much worse before it gets better.”
Scream Test: An unforgettable and gripping psychological thriller Page 6
