by Emme DeWitt
My feet slowed as I passed a night visitor a little more closely than I’d intended. If I could help it, I always gave them a wide berth. Watching them die over and over again would do nothing for my anxiety tonight. In fact, I was sure it would shatter any resolve I’d managed to scrape together.
I sighed at the night visitor as its death loop started again. Marching on, I felt a ping of guilt as my eyes slid from theirs, leaving them to endure their horror alone.
The Elevated symbol popped into my mind unbidden.
My feet stuttered to a stop.
It couldn’t possibly be that easy. I searched my mind back to this morning. How many notecards had I filled out for Ms. Xavier? Fifty? One hundred? I hadn’t thought about the publisher as a way to sort relevance. That had been before Evangeline had shown me the symbol. Before I knew what I was supposed to be looking for.
I stuck my thumbnail in my mouth and crossed my arms. Shaking my head, I couldn’t remember. Not for sure. Nothing specifically came to mind, but of all the volumes in Ms. Xavier’s collection, I’m sure several matched the titles found in the snowflake room. What had the students called it? Winter?
My feet slowly traced an unseen path between two gnarly trees. As I filtered through what I could remember, they turned back around of their own accord when the path was blocked by the second of the two twisted trees.
The one drawback of the dreamscape was always that details seemed to blur the longer I was on the opposite side. I didn’t forget, necessarily, but the answer seemed on the tip of my tongue. I could recite how I’d spent my day, even how many tortellini I’d shoved in my face before my appetite had been ruined. Something about more complex memories seemed to become watered down on the other side.
I shook my head again, hoping this time the answers would come.
Had the symbols been there? Or was I trying to force myself to remember them?
High up on my list of priorities when I awoke would be to talk to Ms. Xavier. If I was going to spend all this time sorting and cataloguing for her, I better figure out what for. Also, if the publisher really did have a connection to the Elevated, I would need access to as many different volumes as I could to try to decipher if their existence at the school had any particular relevance or if a graphic designer in the forties had decided that combination of lines was nifty.
The pessimist in me had a feeling the publisher knew exactly what he was doing.
My eyes caught a flash of red, and I froze.
Looking down, I realized the blood had dried on my hands. I tapped my jaw near my ear, but it was impossible to tell if I’d lost my hearing or if there just wasn’t anything to hear. I glowered at my hands, wondering how I was supposed to get rid of the dried blood now. I rubbed them on my pants, deciding spit would be a last resort only.
I had an intense urge to return to the night visitor scorch mark. I felt a sick sense of dread fill my stomach, and my legs pumped back toward the site. While my mind had been searching for one thing, the reason the area seemed familiar floated to the surface of my subconscious.
Colm. The area with the scorch mark was where Colm’s death loop existed. Or it had.
A shooting pain hit me in the stomach. Then a rapid series of tugs.
Not again, I thought to myself. Not now.
I needed to know. I needed to know if it had been Colm who had been pulled so suddenly from my dreamscape. I needed to know if I was too late.
The pain continued, but I was running full force. I didn’t have time to stop.
My ankle caught on a root, and the momentum of my body caused me to pitch forward. I flung my arms out to brace my body for the impact. Just as my face breached the barrier of the fog, my field of vision went black and I was pulled back into consciousness.
Nineteen
A pitiful groan escaped me as I came to in the practice room. My head felt like it was splitting in two, with a battle axe lodged helpfully in the gap. My fingers snapped to my ears, checking to see if the blood had followed me into the real world.
I squinted at my fingertips, holding them directly in front of my eyes.
To my annoyance, they were wet with blood.
My eyes snapped open fully, burning in the bright light of the practice room. I sat up, my fingers probing near my ears to find any tender spots. Other than some slight ringing, nothing else seemed off. I scowled at the drying flakes that fell into my collar as I rubbed at the trail. I was thankful it was only that much blood.
Until I realized I was sitting in something wet. Horrified, I looked down. Had I wet myself somehow when I was in the dreamscape? My entire backside was soaked, and the squelching sound that followed my butt as I leaned over to find the source made my nose crinkle in distaste.
Bracing my hand against my clothes, I pulled it away to find it was dark red.
Blood. Again.
My gag reflex kicked in as my head listed all the possible maladies that would cause blood loss to this extent. I tried to find the source of the blood. My eyes darted around, finding something to be extremely off.
The room I was in was a mirror image of mine. The piano was on the wrong wall. Everything else seemed identical, save for the guitar stands in the corner, one of which was empty.
The color drained from my face.
I was in Sean’s practice room. I twisted around, finding the door wide open.
I stumbled to my feet, my pants sagging with the weight of blood they had soaked up. I felt the oversaturated fabric lose several beads of moisture. The slow parade of blood down my ankles to my boots clawed at my brain as my eyes tried to make sense of the scene in front of me.
Someone had disabled the air compressor so the door hung open, fluttering slightly at the mercy of the gusting air conditioning. In the gap of the doorway lay Sean’s lifeless body, his face obscured in darkness in the hallway. The rips in his clothing and their mottled color rang alarm bells in my mind.
I closed the distance between us slowly, the lump in my throat blocking my irregular, ragged breathing.
I crouched down next to his head, my fingers tentatively searching his neck for a pulse. My brain was screaming at me not to bother. The size of the pool of blood that had saturated the carpet was as much an indication of Sean’s health as his cool, rubbery neck. I pulled my hand back to my chest, cradling my arms to my chest.
The feeling left my body, leaving me tingling with pins and needles as my stomach hardened.
It was too much.
The lump that had begun in my throat dropped like a stone into my stomach, setting it on fire.
And I screamed.
All the anger I felt, the sadness, the confusion, was balled tightly into one fireball. I launched it as far as it would go.
I thought my throat would explode. Instead, my fear fueled the scream longer than I’d ever yelled in my life. I didn’t know where the air was coming from, but the feelings didn’t escape with the noise.
The lights along the hallways flickered on, the trails of light snaking through the whole floor and turning the somber scene into a center-stage production. In the brightness, I could see the contusions coloring Sean’s pale skin. My scream turned into a keening shriek as soon as I saw the angle of his neck.
A blur rocketed into my field of view, giving my watery eyes something else to focus on than the sad state of my first real friend at Windermere. The blackness of the shadowy figure contrasted sharply with the eggshell white plaster wall.
A pair of green eyes locked onto mine, and the scream died on my lips.
I collapsed onto my knees, letting my sobs wrack my whole body. Ig circled the scene, taking in everything from every angle. His eyes flashed, and he was at my side. His paws delicately treaded around the saturated carpet, and he found a spot close to me safe for him to sit comfortably. I turned to meet his eyes, closing mine in defeat.
My nose went cold, and my eyes fluttered open to see Ig nose to nose with me. Even that small touch set me off again. I hated this
cat. This cat hated me. Why was he trying to comfort me?
Ig pressed his check to mine, rubbing both sides equally. I reached out to touch him but froze when I saw how much blood was on my hands.
“Noah,” a soft voice said.
I spooked, causing Ig to jump back out of harm’s way.
Evangeline stood with a flashlight in one hand and her phone in the other. She was still fully dressed, even at this hour. Her wide-screened phone flashed an ungodly hour at me.
“What happened?” Evangeline said, her face averted from Sean’s body. Her gaze was fierce, and I felt a deep sense of guilt.
“It wasn’t me,” I said in a hoarse voice. Tongues of rage flickered up from my stomach as my mind screamed at me, reminding me that we weren’t the guilty ones. The past ten minutes flickered on a loop in my brain.
Evangeline’s eyes narrowed, but all I could do was look back at Sean. Poor Sean.
“But it’s my fault,” I whispered to no one in particular. The indignation and guilt tussled for the forefront of my mind, but I felt so empty. The warmth of my anger that had fueled me moments before cooled into nothingness, and I felt stretched too thin. I was really in trouble this time.
Ig reappeared by my side, plopping his butt right in front of me, facing Evangeline. His chest puffed up, as if answering a threat. My eyes followed the swishing of his tail like the weight of a metronome. It lulled me into an odd sense of calm.
A sigh escaped Evangeline, and I felt her enter my personal space.
Fabric covered my shoulders, and I realized I was shivering. I pulled the coat closer, but it stretched awkwardly around me.
“Sorry,” Evangeline said. “Here.” A pair of shoes appeared in front of me beside a pair of stocking feet.
I looked up, confused.
“I doubt you want to trail blood across campus.” She nudged them closer to me with her toe. “These socks are thick. I’ll survive.”
I realized belatedly that she’d given me her coat as well. Her petite frame looked like she would be blown away in the autumn breeze, and I felt a stab of guilt for getting blood all over it.
“We need to hurry before anyone else wakes up from that scream,” Evangeline said in a steady voice.
I nodded, slowly rising to my feet. I slowly pulled my feet out of my boots, slipping into the waiting pair. My heels hung off the back pathetically, but I was able to balance on the balls of my feet just like I did with a pair of high heels.
Evangeline stepped forward, grabbing my elbow to steady me. I grabbed the boots and hugged them tightly to my chest.
“Why are you helping me?” I blurted out, my logical brain finally inching out the scared monkey brain that had taken over at the sight of Sean’s body.
Evangeline met my gaze, her lips pursing slightly. “You’re not the only one who didn’t pick the right side,” Evangeline said sadly, tugging lightly on my elbow. “Come on. We’ve gotta go.”
“My bag,” I said. “It’s still in my room.”
Evangeline tiptoed around Sean to my room, where the light had been turned off.
“Bastards,” I muttered as Evangeline slipped in and out of the room, returning with my bag.
“Anything look off in there?” I asked through chattering teeth. The air conditioning was doing me no favors today.
“No,” Evangeline said. “Did you leave the guitar against the wall?”
“Yeah,” I said. “In the corner, right?”
Evangeline nodded.
“Okay, make sure it’s locked. Technically, it’s not my room,” I said.
Evangeline tapped her temple knowingly, making sure to double check the lock. She shoved her hand in her pocket, unearthing a small packet of wet wipes. She grabbed the doorknob, giving it a good wipe down with the toilette.
“Hope that works.” Evangeline tucked the wipe back into the folds of her cardigan. She grabbed my elbow loosely again, guiding me quickly down the hallway. “It’s now officially a conspiracy, and I’d rather not take my chances.”
“Thanks,” I said.
We both winced at the clamor of the staircase but paused at the next level.
“Shortcut.” Evangeline pulled me through the door toward the orchestra room.
I closed the jacket more tightly around my shoulders and didn’t argue. I followed Evangeline down the hallway, taking the last door on the right. It was labeled as a custodian closet, but I saw a door on the far side of the room beyond the shelves of cleaning supplies and paper products. The door opened into a cramped stairwell, this time old, wooden, and rickety, just like the Landing.
Evangeline led the way, clicking her flashlight on to illuminate the claustrophobic space. The switchback surprised me, but I followed dutifully. She shoved the door with her shoulder, putting a fair bit of weight behind it. The door groaned open, and I took several steps into a dim echoing room before I felt her grab my elbow.
“Hang on a second.” She turned back to the stairwell.
An indignant yowl echoed in the staircase, and Evangeline shoved something into my arms.
Ig’s claws scratched at my arms, and I had to wiggle him around into a mutually respectable position against my chest and in between my blood soaked boots.
“Dummy,” Evangeline scolded the cat, bumping herself against the door to close it. “This way.”
It wasn’t hard to follow Evangeline once I could see the glowing emergency exit sign. I could tell we were in the commercial kitchen behind the assembly line by the orange-lit shadows of the counters and army of hanging pans and utensils.
Ig purred against my chest even as he was bounced awkwardly from side to side while I navigated the half-lit course on my toes. I could only imagine what I must look like.
Evangeline held the door open for me, dodging past me to open the final one against the wind. I trotted down the small concrete steps, noting the Grecian urn planter turned cigarette butt graveyard. The door snapped shut behind us, and the back wall of the dining hall fell back into shadow.
“Where are we going?” I asked, keeping my voice low in the still brisk night. The wind cut through the jacket, causing my blood-soaked clothes to grow even heavier against the dropping temperature.
“I doubt we could get away with having you shower in your room,” Evangeline said. “Someone just had to live on the seventh floor.”
I snorted, causing Ig to pause his purring.
“There’s an abandoned custodian’s cabin that has a shower and a fireplace. I hope you’re not attached to that outfit. It’s going up in smoke as soon as you can get out of it.” Evangeline jogged across the grass in her socks toward the woods.
I made sure I wasn’t far behind. Ig resumed his purring, and all I could think about was his warmth and not the hours of internet scourging it had taken for me to find these limited edition leather biker boots.
Boots not bracelets, I chanted to myself as my feet hit the ground. I did not look good in orange.
Twenty
The cabin was tucked behind a copse of trees just far enough behind the Landing that I couldn’t see the rest of campus through the tree cover. The path was worn into the ground, but the overgrowth obscured the way for any creature taller than three feet. It was a true deer path.
Evangeline was able to duck easily, but with the added weight of Ig and my boots and single-handedly holding my jacket-turned-cape, my luck was not as good. I barreled through the brush more than I was able to avoid it, and the sting of branches kept my adrenaline high. I hoped I wasn’t leaving an obvious trail, but the longer we stumbled along, the more the desperate need to get to the end came over me. I gave up on being careful in favor of forward momentum.
“How much farther?” I gasped, the looming shadow never seeming to come any closer the longer we stumbled.
“Almost there.” Evangeline disappeared behind another switchback.
“Was the custodian intoxicated when he made this path? Good God,” I grumbled into Ig’s face.
&n
bsp; He sneezed at me, unimpressed with my whining.
After another five minutes of stumbling, a clearing opened up beyond a thick ring of trees. Finally, we had reached the cabin.
And it looked like the only thing keeping it upright was tradition.
The foundation sagged into the soft mound, half of the porch at a steep enough angle to discourage any foot traffic. The wood was soaked from years of rain and too few coats of sealant. One sigh from the inside and I was sure it would collapse.
I froze in the front yard, clutching at Ig until he yowled at me.
“Are we serious right now?” I called after Evangeline, whose pace had not slowed.
She waved at me from the porch before disappearing into the house. Ig yowled at me again, and I loosened my grip enough for him to wiggle free. Once his feet were on the ground, he shot after Evangeline into the cabin.
“Apparently we are serious right now,” I grumbled to myself, trudging on my sore arches before I could think of ten better reasons not to enter the decrepit dwelling. Evangeline’s shoes squished on the stairs, and I realized the blood had finally soaked through them from my clothes. I sighed miserably.
“Get in here before you drip all over the porch!” Evangeline said. “I’d prefer not to add arson to my list of felonies today.”
I shuffled into the cabin without another word. The door creaked back on its hinges, closing with a soft sense of finality. I sighed into the room, my eyes roaming over the sheet-covered furniture and the dim light coming from the back.
“In here,” Evangeline called.
I followed her voice toward the light, crowding the small doorway to an ancient bathroom. She waved me toward the bathtub. I stared at the butter yellow monstrosity, my body refusing to move.
Evangeline sighed, taking my elbow again and steering me to the tub, forcing me to step into it. I turned to face her.
“Wait here.” She darted back into the cabin proper.
I frowned after her, clutching my boots more tightly to my chest. The metal buckles digging into my stomach kept me comfortably grounded in reality.
