Blue Is for Nightmares

by Laurie Faria Stolarz

  "The ambulance is here," I say.

  "You'll be all right, Drea." Donovan smiles and rubs her back.

  "Don't go, Donovan... please." She clasps her hands around his arm, like this is port and he's staying while she's going off to sea. A couple EMTs approach her with a stretcher, but she refuses to look at them until Donovan promises to stay with her.

  And suddenly I don't know whether this is reality anymore or if I've been sucked into an episode of The Young and the Breathless.

  The EMTs make everyone clear the way. Donovan steps back but keeps hold of Drea's hand as she's lifted onto the stretcher.

  "I think we should go in the ambulance too," Amber says.

  I walk with her toward it, as if I'm going to join them, all the while keeping an eye on the officer as he steps inside his cruiser. "No," I whisper. "You go. One of us should be with her. I need to stay here and check things out."

  'Are you crazy?" Amber whispers. "Not alone."

  I glance at Chad, standing at the back of the ambulance, seeing Drea inside. "I'm not alone."

  Amber looks at him. 'Are you sure?"

  I nod, unsure. "You better go."

  Amber lingers a moment more before climbing inside to join Drea and Donovan.

  I watch them all go. All except Chad, now standing by my side.

  tw-citr-s-e_vcr)

  It's after the ambulance has sped away that I notice Amber left her teddy-bear backpack behind. I pick it up, along with the uncharged cell phone and Donovan's sketchbook, and stuff both inside the bear's belly, already full with Amber's snack machine treats.

  "Why didn't you go with Drea?" Chad asks.

  "Why didn't you?" I answer. "It's practically midnight, what are you even doing here?"

  "I was looking for you. I went to your room. I went to the Hangman. The library--"

  "Those things close at eleven."

  "Yeah, but I thought maybe you guys were taking your time walking back. What's the big deal?"

  I study his face for a prolonged second, trying to decipher the truth, wondering if I should mention his e-mail to Veronica the whole reason why we're here. "Forget it," I say, finally. I pick up Amber's flashlight and head toward the window.

  "What are you doing?"

  "You're a smart guy; you figure it out." I edge the window open wide enough, hoist myself up on the ledge, belly-first, and crawl my way through the window and onto the classroom floor, my feet landing with a thud.

  Chad follows.

  I walk past a row of desks, using the flashlight to guide my way. I shine it around the room, in all corners, on the quest for anything that appears unclassroomlike. But, aside from the lack of lighting and the obvious vacancy of the place, it's just like any other classroom I've ever sat in--

  needlessly oppressive and completely stagnant.

  "What are we doing?" Chad whispers.

  I shush him with a finger and approach the front of the room. Sprawled across the chalkboard are the notes from the day's trig lesson, something about the 1 of m, and someone's left their biology books in the basket under the chair. My flashlight beam passes over the light switch by the door.

  But I don't want to flip it on, just in case campus police are still lurking.

  I move over to the door and wrap my hand around the knob, feeling a cold rush of blood run from my face. I whip the door open, causing it to crash against the wall and the trash can to topple onto the floor. My heart makes a bungee-cord jump into my belly and then up to my throat before snapping back into place.

  Chad picks the trash can up and looks at me his face blurred by the darkness. Are you okay?" He places his hand at my forearm. That's when reality really hits, reminding me where I am and what I'm doing. I pull my arm away and step out onto the green and white checkerboard floor, heading in the direction of Madame Lenore's French room.

  The flashlight beam paves about a three-yard distance in front of me. The rest is black. I shout Veronica's name a couple times, my voice echoing off the walls. I actually want her to be here--

  to be waiting for me, to be playing some trick, it doesn't really matter because right now, even with Chad, I feel completely alone.

  I focus on the red exit sign at the end of the hall, just to the left of the French room. The idea of it, of booting it out of here, keeps me moving forward, further down the hallway, further away from Chad, if he's still following behind me.

  When the beam of the flashlight is close enough to illuminate the exit door, I stop, my eyes lodged on the handles. It can't be true. It can't be real. But it is. I blink at least a dozen times, but it still is. A thick metal chain is threaded through and around both handles. If I want to get out, I'll have to backtrack.

  I stand there a moment, trying to decide whether or not this is really worth it. Maybe I should just forget it. Maybe I can tell Drea and Amber that I checked everything out, that Veronica was nowhere in sight, and just turn around and leave.

  But it's too late for that.

  I make my way past the Hillcrest trophy case, noticing for the first time that all the classroom doors have been closed.

  All except for the French room.

  "Veronica?" I call toward the open door, still not quite close enough to see inside.

  I hold the flashlight with trembling hands as I stall, scanning over banners rooting for Hillcrest's Hornets, posters for class president, and dropped pencils.

  "Stacey?" says a male voice. Chad's voice. I'm sure of it.

  "Chad?" I turn around to find him, but the slender beam of the flashlight won't let me see far enough. "Where are you? I can't see you."

  "I'm right here."

  But with the echo in the hallway, I can't quite tell if his voice is coming from in front or behind me.

  I wait several seconds for him to say something else. But when he doesn't, I keep moving closer toward the open French room, a spattering of tears rolling down my face before I even go in.

  And when I do, I find her.

  Veronica.

  She's lying on the ground, a collection of textbooks surrounding her head, as well as Madame Lenore's clay

  planter, still in one piece. There's a narrow stream of liquid running from her head, pooling itself into a pear-shaped puddle. I shake my head over and over again, swallowing the bile down, telling myself that the running liquid is just a water spill from the planter or a leak from the ceiling.

  But I know it's really blood. That she's dead. Her moss- green eyes stare up at me, wide open and disappointed, asking me why I didn't get here sooner.

  I glance up toward the window shade, slapping against the wooden ledge. The chilly November air filters into the classroom, plays with the wisps of cinnamon-brown hair at the base of her forehead, now stained bright Valentine red. I cover my face with my hands. That's when the darkness in the room folds in and swirls all around me. When my body hits the floor.

  tw-cuty---66ht

  The blare of the phone ringing startles me out of sleep. I spring up to a seated position. For a few confused moments, I think maybe last night was just a horrible nightmare. I look over at Drea's empty bed. My first thought is that she's in class, that I slept through the alarm clock and missed first period. But then it dawns on me that it's Saturday, four lilies later.

  Drea's day to die.

  "Hello?"

  "Stacey, hi, it's me, Chad. How are you?"

  "How do you think?"

  "Well, how are you feeling, at least?"

  "Like I told the police last night, I'm fine. It was more of a shock than anything else."

  I close my eyes and try to paste the pieces of last night together in my mind. I remember passing out, being walked to a police car, and all the flashing lights. The smell of eucalyptus and lemon oils stuffed up my nose. Voices trying to talk to me, asking me if I was okay. "Yes, fine," I assured them.

  "Do you want to call home?" they asked. "Do you need a doctor?"

  "No. I just want to go back to the dorm and sleep." />
  I remember being hysterical--crying, then laughing, and crying again. How someone, a school nurse maybe, told the police I needed to get some rest. And then how the police said they were going to keep an eye on me and talk to me in the morning. This morning. Even though it's already after eleven.

  But most of all, I remember Veronica, lying dead in the classroom, her haunting green eyes staring up at me, disappointed.

  "They think I did it," Chad said. "They think I killed her."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "When I came into the classroom, I saw Veronica and I saw you, and I knew you had fainted. So I tried to help you, but then it occurred to me that maybe I should go to the window, you know, to see if I could see anything, catch whoever did it. And then the police came in and saw me and thought I was trying to escape. And then they saw you, just lying there.

  And Veronica... they thought right away that I did it. They asked me what happened. I started telling them, you know, how I saw you guys helping Drea, and then how I followed you into the school. Then they stopped me and read me my rights. They made me call my parents."

  "What did your parents say?"

  "They told me to cooperate, to just tell them everything. So I did. The police questioned me for over an hour. First one guy, then this lady. Then back and forth. My parents ended up getting a flight here first thing this morning. They're pissed. They're hiring a lawyer."

  I think I hear a slight whimper in his voice, where his breath can't quite catch up to the words.

  "I gotta go," he says. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

  "Chad?"

  "Just tell me you don't think I'm guilty, Stace. I really need someone to believe me right now"

  I don't say anything right away; I just listen to his breath on the other end. "I do believe you," I say, finally, quickly, not knowing if I really do. The phone makes a clicking sound on the other end. "Chad?" But he's already hung up and I have no idea if he even heard me.

  I'm just about to call him back when I notice Amber's teddy-bear backpack sitting on the floor beside my bed. The police must have thought it was mine. I pick it up and unzip the belly Donovan's mini-sketchbook sits at the top. I pull it out and stuff it into the inside pocket of my jacket, wondering if he's still with Drea at the hospital, if I'll see him there. Then I pluck out Amber's cell phone, still dead, and plug the charger into the outlet behind my bed.

  I grab the phone to call Drea at the hospital, but hear a jingling sound outside the door. Maybe that's her now. I creep toward the edge of the bed, noticing that the crack of hallway-light at the bottom of the door has been blocked-- like someone's standing there.

  I place the phone back down on its cradle and get up slowly, watching the dark shadows play at the bottom of the door. From the center of the room, I wait several seconds for a knock or for someone to enter. When neither happens, I yank the baseball bat from the corner and, in one quick motion, whip the door open.

  Freaking Amber. She's scribbling a note on the message board attached to the door.

  "What is wrong with you?" I say. "You scared the crap out of me.-

  "Some good morning," she says, inviting herself in. "I guess I don't need to ask how you're doing." Amber closes the door behind her. "I heard about what happened. I can't believe Veronica's dead."

  "Believe it. Because it's true."

  "I know," she says, fingering along the windowsill, staring out toward the lawn. "It's just that...

  that wasn't supposed to happen, you know?"

  I reach into the spell drawer for my bottle of lavender, hoping the floral scent will help soothe my spirit.

  "I heard they're canceling classes for next week," Amber says. "There's supposed to be some assembly about it later, but everybody's leaving for the weekend." She watches me dab fingerprints of the oil behind my ears. 'Are you all right? You seem a bit distracted."

  "How do you think I am? Veronica Leeman was lying dead in front of me just a few hours ago and you have as much remorse about it as a chipped pedicure."

  -Why should I have remorse? I didn't do it. I mean, yeah, I feel bad--I may not have liked her, but I didn't want her to die.

  I cap the bottle and pop it back inside the drawer. There's really no sense pursuing this topic any further with her because if I do, I may very well go ballistic and today, of all days, I need to remain calm. Strength comes with mindfulness.

  "Did Drea spend the night at the hospital?" I ask finally. "What are you talking about? Isn't she with you?" "Why would she be with me?"

  -I dropped her off here last night. After the hospital." "What do you mean, you dropped her off?"

  "Yeah, after she called her parents and got checked out, I called PJ to come and pick us up. He did and we dropped her off here."

  I look at Drea's bed, the covers still very much intact.

  "You couldn't have. She didn't come home last night." "I think I'd know if we dropped her off or not." "Who's 'we'?"

  "I told you. Me and Pr

  "What happened to Donovan?"

  )3

  "He took a cab back. PJ got all piss-jealous of Donovan, saying I was hanging all over him, which I wasn't. So, then, Donovan had to take a cab back because PJ didn't want him in his car."

  "So what about Drea? What happened when you dropped her off?"

  "Yeah, so we drove back to campus, and I told PJ to wait in the car for me while I walked Drea into the lobby. I needed some time alone with him, to tell him off. He can't keep thinking of me as his juice."

  "So you never actually walked Drea up here?"

  "No."

  Our eyes lock. Regardless of what roles Amber and I play in this whole ordeal, we both know that this means--today is Drea's day to die and she's already missing.

  There's a knock at the door. "Ms. Brown?" says the female voice from the hallway Amber and I look at the door, then at each other. "Piglets," Amber whispers. "I refuse to talk to them. We don't have to, you know. We're minors." She snatches her teddy-bear backpack from my bed and heads to the window

  -Wait!" I hiss. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Leaving. If you're smart you'll do the same.- Amber opens the window and straddles one leg over the sill.

  'Are you crazy?" I grab at her arm. "You can't leave now. You need to tell them about last night.

  About Drea. Remember? Drea?"

  Amber hesitates a moment, but then pulls her arm away. "I can't. Talking to police totally freaks me out, Stace. They make you feel guilty"

  "Not if you're innocent."

  She looks away. "Call me as soon as she leaves. Don't worry, Stace. We'll get to the bottom of this."

  At that, she flips her other leg over the sill and runs across the lawn, toward the forest.

  twe.nty-nine

  I throw the door open only to find a short, fragile-looking woman standing in front of me, head to toe in a black DKNY-ish suit, snug cream blouse underneath, and shiny black ankle boots with a square toe.

  "Hi," she says, in a voice as petite as she is. 'Are you Stacey Brown?"

  I nod.

  She introduces herself as Officer Tate, though it might as well be Tart because that's exactly what she looks like--

  twenty-something, shoulder-length, artfully highlighted ginger-brown hair, with a chunk of platinum that dangles over one eye. "I have a few questions to ask you about last night," she says, flashing me her badge. "Can I come in?"

  I nod and step aside, allowing tart-woman to find her place in the center of the room. She pulls a thin spiral notebook from a square, shiny black purse and flips to a fresh page. But, since we're hardly talking manicures here, before she can even try to take control of the situation, I grab a firm hold of the reins. "I have a few questions too." I toss the door closed. "My roommate is missing and I want to know what you're going to do about it."

  She studies my expression from behind two bright, aqua- colored contacts, waiting for my stare to break, for me to look away. Whe
n I don't, she pulls the pencil from behind a double-pierced ear and places it against the clean, white notebook page.

  "How long has she been missing?"

  "Since last night. She was dropped off here, in front of the dorm, but then never made it back to her room."

  "Might there be a chance she's staying in someone else's room? Have you two been fighting?"

  "No. I mean yes. I mean, yes, we did get into a fight. But no, she wouldn't have stayed in someone else's room." "How do you know?"

  "Look, I don't have time to argue. I just know."

  "You're not helping me here, Stacey"

  "Didn't you hear me?" I ask. "Drea's in trouble."

  "I need you to calm down." She motions to the bed for me to sit. But how can I? How am I supposed to relax when Drea is missing and I'm the only one who seems to care? I grab the protection bottle from the night table and hold it into my chest.

  "Look, Stacey, we can talk in circles and get nothing accomplished, or you can let me help you.

  But the only way I can do that is if you talk to me. Start from the beginning and tell me what happened."

  "Fine," I say, even though this whole scenario of having to start from the beginning with little Miss Clairol, who doesn't seem to be the least bit interested in Drea, is so completely un-fine.

  -Good." She hands me the glass of water by the bed. "Have you talked to your parents about this yet?"

  I shake my head.

  "Well, I need you to talk to them before I question you." "Why? My mother won't care."

  "It's just procedure. You need to tell her the situation and that you're going to talk to me. I can't question you unless you do." She pulls out a cell phone. -What's your mother's number?"

  I roll my eyes and rattle off the number, thinking how completely senseless this formality is.

  How completely senseless that my teenie-bop-wannabe mom has been granted the title of adult, while I am still considered a child.

  "Hello? Mrs. Brown? This is Officer Jan Tate of the Hanover Police Department. Your daughter, Stacey, would like to speak to you." Officer Tate extends the phone to me. I take and place it up to my ear.