Night School

by C. J. Daugherty

  Allie punched his arm lightly. ‘Hey! Watch it. Remember who your date is.’

  His smile was wicked. ‘I could never forget. And in fact, I think it’s time for my date to dance with me again. Come on now, bottoms up.’ He finished his own drink then waited until she’d emptied her glass before holding out his hand.

  As they headed back to the dance floor she felt a little unsteady on her feet, and reached for Sylvain’s arm to steady herself. At that moment, Carter stepped in front of them. Their eyes met and, remembering that morning’s English class, Allie felt a spark of electricity. Then she noticed he had his arm around a small girl in a blue taffeta dress. She was pretty, with long, curly blonde hair. Before Allie could say anything to him, he turned away very deliberately and smiled down at his date, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle.

  Allie flushed and must have tensed because Sylvain looked over to see what had caught her attention. When he saw Carter, his eyes narrowed, and his arm tightened around her waist.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ he asked her coolly.

  Forcing a smile she pulled him onto the dance floor.

  ‘Everything is perfect.’ But she noticed she’d slurred the last word, and she frowned with concentration as she tried to figure out why.

  Bloody hell – am I drunk? Already?

  ‘You look,’ he said as they took their first steps onto the dance floor, ‘like an angel.’

  Carter was right there at the edge of the dance floor, Allie was sure of it. He was probably watching them. With his date.

  Fine, then. She’d give him something to watch.

  She pulled Sylvain closer. ‘I don’t feel like one.’

  He threw his head back and laughed as they picked up speed. This time the dance steps were easier, and at first Allie relaxed into the movement and the music and let Sylvain decide where they went on the floor. Her head felt light and pleasantly dizzy. She gave into the feeling with a soft sigh, leaning back against his arm and letting him support her completely. She felt the air rush around them.

  He pulled her closer until his lips were against her ear; as he nibbled sharply at her earlobe she gasped and would have tripped were he not holding her so tightly.

  After that, he was silent for so long that she glanced up at him worriedly.

  ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice taut. ‘You are irresistible.’ His expression was so intense it made her nervous.

  He swirled them to the edge of the dance floor and led her hurriedly out of the room. Feeling a bit woozy, Allie clung to his hand as he rushed out into the dark night, past a small crowd gathered near the back door, then around the corner to a quiet empty spot, out of view.

  She tried to talk without slurring her words. ‘Where are we …?’

  He shoved her roughly against the wall, and she cried out at the impact, although she felt it as if through a cushion of cotton wool.

  ‘Stop! Sylvain, you’re hurting me.’

  His eyes were luminous in the moonlight and she saw something like ferocity in them.

  ‘Not one more second.’ He kissed her so hard that her head hit the wall and she bit her tongue. Tears filled her eyes from the blow. She struggled to get away, her fists pounding at his chest, but it was all a bit hazy and after a second she couldn’t quite remember why she was fighting.

  A vague memory of Carter’s warning filtered through her confusion: Don’t trust Sylvain. He’s a liar.

  Then Sylvain tilted up her chin and kissed her neck. For a second she liked it, but then he nipped at the skin so hard it hurt and she gasped, her body moving involuntarily against his as she tried to get away. But she couldn’t move – he was pressed hard against her. His hands moved up from her waist to her breasts and she started to panic in earnest. A tear ran down her cheek as she shoved against his chest but it seemed to have no effect on him.

  ‘You want me,’ he whispered. His left hand moved up to her throat, holding her so tightly she found it hard to breathe.

  ‘Stop!’ Her voice was just a whisper.

  She clawed at his wrists but he was too strong.

  ‘Say it,’ he said again, pressing harder. ‘Tell me that you want me.’

  ‘Ask yourself a question, Sylvain. If you force somebody to want you, do they really want you?’ Carter’s voice came from right behind Sylvain.

  Sylvain’s hold loosened enough for Allie to breathe but he didn’t let go as he turned to face Carter. As she breathed in, his smile was feral.

  ‘Oh do go away, Carter.’

  Carter stood his ground. ‘What are you trying to force her to say, Sylvain? Spell it out for me. Like I’m simple.’

  ‘This is none of your business, Carter. Your jealousy is pathetic.’

  ‘Tell it to Isabelle. And while you’re at it, tell her what you were about to do to Allie. And then you can have a long talk about The Rules.’

  Dizzy and bewildered, Allie struggled to free herself as she looked from one boy to the other. She licked her lips and tried to speak clearly. ‘Carter, what is going on? I don’t understand …’

  He kept his attention on Sylvain. ‘No. But Sylvain does, don’t you Sylvain?’

  Their eyes met in an icy clash and for a second Allie thought Sylvain would not back down, and she wondered what Carter would do. But then without warning Sylvain let go and stepped away from her.

  ‘Fine Carter. Be the hero. Save the girl. But we both know you’re pathetic. And it’s me she wants.’

  Tensing his shoulders and curling his hands into fists, Carter took a furious step forward but before he could pounce, screams split the night air. Carter and Sylvain froze.

  Carter turned to Allie, the rage gone from his expression. Now he looked alert – on guard.

  ‘Allie, stay here. Don’t move.’

  Sylvain didn’t look around at her as the two of them ran back around the building.

  Trembling, Allie stood right where they’d left her. When she reached to touch the back of her head she could feel a lump under her fingertips.

  How did I get so drunk? And what the hell just happened?

  She wrapped her arms tightly across her chest. She was sore all over – she knew she’d have bruises on her arms in the morning and her head really hurt. Sylvain had been out of his mind but she hadn’t fought properly. She hadn’t stood up for herself.

  Too drunk, she thought disgustedly. Or … her expression changed, did he put something in my drink?

  She wasn’t an inexperienced drinker and she’d never got drunk on one can of cider either. And she’d only had three glasses of champagne. As the idea took shape, a horrified look crossed her face.

  Would Sylvain do something like that?

  Before she could complete the thought, piercing screams. The sound was close – just around the corner. She jumped back into the shadows, pressing her back against the wall.

  She heard crashing; sounds of fighting. Then, silence.

  She held her breath.

  After a moment, in the darkness, footsteps. Running towards her. Fast.

  ‘Carter?’ she said, her voice tentative.

  The footsteps stopped.

  With a gasp, Allie realised her mistake. The rush of adrenalin cleared the haze of alcohol, and she pressed back against the wall, the rough brick cold against her skin. She made herself as small as possible. Although she could see nothing, someone was there – she could sense them watching her. Frozen, not breathing, she counted her heartbeats.

  … ten, eleven, twelve …

  Footsteps moved towards her again. Slower this time.

  Flinging herself from the wall, Allie raced around the corner towards the school entrance. The footsteps followed – fast.

  She sped up to evade them, then tripped over something soft on the ground. Screaming, she lost her balance and pinwheeled to the ground.

  On the cool, damp grass, she curled up into a ball and covered her head waiting for the attack. But non
e came. Instead she heard footsteps running away, gradually fading into the night.

  Allie stayed still for a moment until she was sure she was alone. Then she sat up cautiously and peered around her.

  Her hands were covered in something wet and sticky. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that she’d tripped over a girl in a pale dress, lying prone on the ground. She touched the girl cautiously but she didn’t move. With her hands on the girl’s shoulders, she rolled her over onto her back.

  ‘Hey, are you OK?’

  Then she saw. She sucked in her breath.

  The world seemed to go silent.

  She scrambled back away from the girl, staring at the shape in the dark.

  Numb, she stumbled to her feet and walked with slow steps to the back door. Inside the lights had gone out and the hallway was dark and chaotic. It smelled of smoke. People were shouting and running past her. Allie felt disembodied – distanced from everything around her. She looked straight ahead, her bloodied hands out to either side.

  Over and over in her head she thought the same words: None of this is real. It cannot be real. None of this is real. It cannot be real …

  As she made her way back towards the ballroom the smoke grew thicker, bringing tears to her eyes. The grand room – so beautiful earlier that night with its sparkling candles and white flowers – was on fire. The only light came from the handful of torches held by teachers, and from the fires themselves. In that half-light, boys in tuxedos beat flames with wet tablecloths while girls in gowns carried water using anything they could find: ice buckets, punch bowls, flower vases. The floor was littered with abandoned high-heeled shoes and broken champagne flutes.

  The fires were small and already beginning to go out – it was clear the students were winning the battle. But the intense smoke was the biggest problem – it was hard to breathe.

  ‘Open a window!’ somebody shouted.

  ‘Don’t!’ came a firm reply. ‘It’ll make the fires worse. Get out if you need a break.’

  Zelazny’s familiar stern voice was somehow comforting to Allie, who stood stunned in the middle of the room unable to take it all in.

  ‘Allie! Are you all right?’ Jo appeared at her side, her face smeared with soot, an empty vase in her hand. ‘Jesus. Where did the blood come from? Are you hurt?’

  Dropping the vase, she grabbed Allie’s bloody hands and turned her around looking for obvious wounds. Allie shook her head but for a second she couldn’t find her voice. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged.

  ‘Allie, you’re scaring me.’ Tears sprung to Jo’s eyes. ‘Please, please, please tell me you’re OK.’

  Her words jarred Allie and suddenly the truth burst out of her as she gripped Jo’s hands so tightly it must have hurt. ‘Oh my God, Jo. There was screaming, and … There’s blood … everywhere.’

  Jo’s cornflower-blue eyes were wide with fear – her hands squeezed Allie’s so hard it hurt. ‘Allie, please try to explain – where is the blood from?’

  Allie stared at her hands. ‘Jo, this is Ruth’s blood. She’s out back. Her throat is … it’s cut. Badly. I think she’s dead.’

  Swallowing hard, Jo whipped around calling urgently: ‘Jerry!’

  Allie watched through the dark and smoke as Jo ran to the teacher who had been beating smouldering embers with a soaked tablecloth. His face was black with soot. Eloise stood nearby, her long hair tangled down her back. She’d taken off her heels and stood barefoot spraying foam from a fire extinguisher.

  Jo spoke quickly, her face panicked. Allie couldn’t make out her words.

  Jerry and Eloise exchanged a look. Eloise handed the extinguisher to another teacher and the two ran out of the room.

  When Jo returned to her side, Allie looked around. ‘Where’s Lisa?’

  Jo bit her lip. ‘I couldn’t find either of you anywhere.’

  ‘So you haven’t seen her at all?’ Allie could hear the hysteria in her own voice but was helpless to stop it. ‘Jo, she could be hurt! She could be … like Ruth.’

  Tears filled her eyes and she fought them back as Jo grabbed her bloodied hands.

  ‘Stay calm, Allie. I haven’t had a chance to really look for her.’ She glanced around the room. ‘It looks like most of the fire is out now. Let’s look for her together.’

  Moving quickly, Jo headed across the room pulling Allie with her. They walked through the lingering smoke, checking everybody they could find.

  Nothing.

  ‘Out front.’ Jo was moving swiftly now, and Allie was right beside her. They headed for the front door and then skidded to a stop. In the entrance hall a frail body in a silvery blue dress lay still on the stone floor, a long, filmy wrap stretched out on either side of her, as if blown on a breeze only she could feel. A tall wooden candle holder lay across her body.

  ‘Oh no.’ Jo’s words were a whisper as they rushed to Lisa’s side.

  Allie crouched beside her and picked up Lisa’s hand. ‘She’s alive,’ she said.

  Jo pulled the candle holder off of her and threw it to one side. Lisa’s hair had fallen across her face and Allie gently smoothed it back, revealing a deep gash across her cheek. Jo gave a small cry and her hand covered her mouth, her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Lisa? Lisa, wake up. Can you hear me? We really need you to wake up.’ Allie said the last word with such force that it seemed to reverberate.

  She saw droplets fall on Lisa’s dress and it took her a moment to realise that she was crying. Burying her face in her hands she sobbed, as Jo cried beside her.

  ‘Wake up.’

  SIXTEEN

  In the chaotic hours after the attack, teachers herded the students into the darkened dining room and attempted to calm the panic. Staff carried in boxes of torches and handed them out, while nurses set up a triage in one corner. The injured queued to have their wounds bandaged, burns assessed and broken or sprained ankles splinted.

  The room was generally clear of the choking smoke that lingered in the hallways, but the air was filled instead with the stifled weeping of students and the brutally efficient conversation of medical staff.

  ‘Hand me those bandages.’

  ‘This ankle needs an ice bath, you got one free?’

  ‘Antibiotic by injection.’

  Lisa remained unconscious, and was carried away to the nursing ward by two silent members of staff. At first Jo and Allie insisted on going with her, fluttering around the stretcher like shrill birds. But Eloise convinced them to stay.

  She had a smear of soot across one cheek, and still wore her little black dress. Although her shoes were long gone, her eyes were bright and tireless. ‘I promise you she’s going to be OK. She needs to rest. And we really need your help down here. Please tell me I can count on you.’

  They nodded reluctantly, and she sent them upstairs to wash off the blood and change clothes.

  As they climbed the stairs, the fearful rumble of the aftermath gradually faded into the pitch black silence of the dormitory wing. Jo held Allie’s hand. Allie’s head pounded, and her stomach was churning. She thought she might throw up.

  When they separated at the top, Jo said, ‘It’s safe up here, right?’

  ‘She wouldn’t have sent us here otherwise,’ Allie replied, but her voice was uncertain.

  ‘OK. Be really, really fast. I’ll meet you in the bathroom.’

  Allie opened her bedroom door slowly and flashed the light around to verify its emptiness. In the dark it felt foreign – as if it had no attachment to her at all and her belongings had been placed randomly. Hurrying across the room, she rifled through the dresser, grabbing whatever clothes came to hand.

  Later, in a dark, cold shower lit only by a torch propped up against Jo’s borrowed silver kitten heels, she scrubbed the blood off her body fiercely. The cold and the water cleared her head, as if she were washing the whole night away. Jo waited for her by a sink, swinging her light around the room. Occasionally they called out to each other for reassurance.

&
nbsp; ‘You still alive?’

  ‘Yep. You?’

  ‘I think so.’

  When she was finished, Allie left the ruined white dress and the sparkly silver shoes in the shower changing room.

  She and Jo hurried downstairs where the air of panic had transmuted into grim efficiency.

  Torch beams bobbed down hallways as students carried scorched furniture out of the ballroom. Outside the back door a generator rumbled steadily, and thick black cables snaked down the corridor to the great hall where the Klieg lights they powered gave the still-smouldering space an unearthly glow.

  Teachers armed with clipboards orchestrated the work. Some stood on chairs and called out instructions while others were sequestered in small, whispering groups around the walls.

  Jo and Allie stood side by side, surveying the room.

  ‘Well, I guess we should find Eloise,’ Allie said, her voice shaky.

  But instead of the librarian they found Isabelle perched perilously atop a rickety wooden chair, issuing orders calmly to the teachers and students who milled around. Her white dress was smudged with soot but otherwise perfect, although her hair had escaped from its clips and flowed in waves over her shoulders. She looked relieved to see them – especially Allie.

  She crouched down to take her hands and pulled her closer. Speaking so quietly only Allie could hear she said, ‘I’m so sorry that you had to see that. Are you OK?’

  As she looked into Isabelle’s concerned eyes a flood of conflicting emotions swept over Allie. She wanted to cry for Ruth and for herself. She wanted to hug the headmistress for caring. Instead, she willed her tears back and nodded to show she was fine. Giving Allie’s hands a final squeeze, Isabelle stood up again.

  ‘OK, you two,’ she said, businesslike again. Handing them a clipboard with a pencil connected to it with string, she continued, ‘I need to be sure that we know where everybody is. There are fifty-two students here this term altogether. Identify everybody you can find. Search the central ground floor – not the wings, not upstairs. Do not go outside under any circumstances.’