Obsession

by Marie Robinson

  He lets go after one more painful squeeze before he’s pushing past me and the door is closing after him with a resounding thud. The hot tears I’d fought back spill over and as they drip off my chin, they’re mixed with the black ink he left on my skin like a judgment for all to bear witness to.

  Chapter Four

  It’s as if the first full day set the course for the week. The only good thing was that eventually the students stopped paying attention to me completely. It was as if Victor Frankenstein had announced I was to be ostracized and his word was law. I scrubbed my face raw trying to get the ink out of it, but it had taken three days for his handprint to fade entirely. I wished I had bothered with make-up before just so I could try to cover it up with foundation or powder.

  But the mark wasn’t as bad as how secluded I’d become. I thought I had known how to be alone. I never had many friends, I couldn’t—we never stayed in one place long enough for me to have real ones. I doubt any of them know my name now. I was always that “strange girl, whatever happened to her?” and then dismissed permanently after a shrug.

  Maybe I know how to be alone. But being lonely is a fresh cruelty to me. In defiance of Victor, I sat my butt in the middle of the dining hall, disrupting their established order, casting stones into their calm waters. It hadn’t mattered to them. It was as if I were a new piece of furniture, something to move around but not bother with. Even when students sat beside me or across from me, it was as if to them I didn’t exist.

  The only ones who seemed to still notice me were Cordelia, Nikolai, and the strange boy I’d met in the hall my first morning.

  But it’s Friday evening, and from now until Monday morning, my time is my own. I have three more essays to write; it’s like these professors have never heard of multiple choice before. The topics were all strange, too. Or, well, they might seem perfectly ordinary if I could wrap my head around them. Making it doubly hard, I don’t have a thesis and every assignment is supposed to relate to it. A chill spreads across my bedroom and I sit up from my bed, looking around. I’m alone, just as I thought.

  So why do I feel someone close?

  A scratch on the wall next to my bed sends me scurrying off it, pressing myself against the far wall, which is not far enough away for my comfort. The wall is solid wood panels, a dark oak like the rest of the godforsaken manor. When it’s been long enough that I start to wonder if I’d imagined it, I hear something, a whisper of some sort. It makes me nauseous, but I’m drawn towards the wall nonetheless. My hand shakes, but I raise it, reaching out to touch the wall, expecting to feel the cool smooth wood.

  It’s warm; hot, in fact. I snatch my hand back, my palm red as if I’d held it over a flame.

  “Mary.”

  I shriek, holding my hand to my chest as I spin around. But there’s no one there. I’m still alone in my room, and it’s quiet enough I can hear the other students in the hall.

  Eyeing the wall beside my bed, I hesitantly drag my fingers over it. It’s cool against my skin, and the chill is gone from the room. I need to get out of here. Even if everyone ignores me, I can’t be alone.

  I grab my shoulder bag, full of rummaged spiral notebooks and pens that had found their way to the miscellaneous supply cupboard in Mr. Cornell’s office, and I walk so quickly down the hall towards the back stairs that I earn strange looks. At least I can see who’s looking at me this time, so I endure it.

  When I get to the library, I almost turn right back around and brave my empty bedroom. Cordelia and her posse, whose names I learned are Vanessa, Karen, and Melissa—much to my amusement, so stereotypical rich white girl names—are there. So are Nikolai, Victor, and their friend—the strange one who asked me about vampires. I have a class with him on medieval literature, but no one ever speaks to him, not even the teacher. I’ve felt him watching me sometimes, though. When I walk in, he looks at me as if he sensed me, his expression like a hunting dog who’s caught the scent of a fox. Of course, that means everyone else looks at me as well.

  I ignore them, clutching my bag as I head towards the seclusion of the stacks, but as I’m about to disappear between two of the shelves, I hear Nikolai.

  “I believe the primary school level sciences are on the other side of the library. With the rest of the children’s books.”

  His voice is smug and Cordelia laughs the loudest at the insult. I don’t stop though, I can’t let them see that they’ve drawn blood. I don’t stop until I’ve reached the far end, far enough that I can’t hear Cordelia’s fairy-light laughter, or the rich baritone of Nikolai, his words flirting for everyone else. He saves the daggers for me alone. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, not really. Half of the books have blank spines, the others have names that I can hardly pronounce. I lose myself in searching for anything familiar, finally feeling a sense of peace settling over me.

  I’ve always loved libraries. No matter what town we found ourselves in, there was always a library. Always new worlds to explore, new things to learn. It was true that the class material was above me, but it wasn’t as far as everyone thought. One benefit of an unconventional childhood was that I never really stuck to the standard school education. I learned more from the library books that caught my eye than any third-rate school science lab.

  What I really needed was a focus, a thesis. Nikolai and Victor are right, I’m not really a student here like them, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have my own interests to pursue.

  I feel a soft brush against the bare skin of my forearm, and when I look to see who’s next to me, a tranquility comes over me. It’s one of the souls I’ve felt here, the ones that have left me alone for the most part. Sometimes this happens, where they feel more like a comfort than a threat. The soul disappears and I know what I will focus on. I can’t directly write that I’m studying paranormal apparitions, but I can bury my real thesis in another. I can study the myths surrounding death and, more importantly, the afterlife. I can see what records there might be of others like me. People who have died before coming back different than before.

  With a course of action decided, I walk through the stacks once more, seeking out any of the books on Greek or Egyptian mythology relating to death. I may not be a great mind, but I know to start with the most famous cultures. I pull one book off the shelf, a massive tome that makes me glad we’re not allowed to check out the books, and walk to a table in the center of the room. Thankfully, the others are gone and it appears that I have the room to myself. It doesn’t feel suffocating or scary like my room did.

  My thoughts turn to my mother, how she died two weeks ago, but I shove them away. I bite my tongue hard enough that I taste copper and I can convince myself the tears blurring my sight are from pain. I force myself to read, opening the book at random and focusing on the words, using them to drown out her voice.

  When my hand aches from the amount of notes I’ve taken and my eyes are dry, I give up for the night. The lights are dim and I realize that the staff must have come in to lower them while I was absorbed in my work. The windows show the night sky, the moon making the cloud cover glow. My neck and shoulders ache from hunching over for so long, and I lean back in my chair, closing the book with a sigh. I’ll have to come back tomorrow to keep working. Now that I’ve chosen a thesis, my assignments are making more sense to me. I don’t understand the full scope of them, and I doubt I ever will, if I’m honest with myself, but I’m more optimistic about getting a passing grade.

  I weave my way back between the shelves, wanting to return the book instead of putting it on the empty return cart. It’s not the staff’s fault I stayed late, and I would rather not get on any of their bad sides since, for half of my days here, I’m one of them. I slide the book back in its spot with a sigh when I realize I’m not alone anymore.

  “Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” Nikolai purrs and I can’t hide the shiver that runs over me. His voice is like warm silk, his face achingly beautiful, but he reminds me of a Venus flytrap. So tempting and delicious to i
ts prey, but once it has you in its maw, you have no hope of escape. He eyes the book I just put back with an intrigued expression. “Ancient Egyptian death rituals? A bit morbid, isn’t it?”

  “Right, you claimed to be obsessed with the living?” I don’t exactly answer him as I try to walk past him. His arm snaps out, not quite touching me but not letting me pass.

  “Are you in a hurry or something?” he asks when I look at him.

  He’s still wearing his gloves, and his sleeves aren’t rolled up like they were the first night I arrived.

  “You have a thing about dirt or something?” I give a pointed look at the black gloves.

  “Or something,” he answers, dropping his arm and stepping in front of me. He’s tall enough I have to tilt my head back just a bit to meet his gaze. Why is it that the pretty ones are always assholes? If science or whatever he studies ever fails him, he’s got a real career in social media influencing. That smoldering smirk of his would be selling organically made limited edition water bottles faster than they could be made.

  He turns that smirk on me now. I’ve seen the way the other girls melt, the handful of them that are here. I must be a novelty to him. Fresh meat. No doubt he’s dipped his stick in all the other wells and is looking for something new. Even though I can feel the same heat those girls do, that same desire building from being the focus of that look, I won’t flutter my eyelids and wilt like the others. I take a page out of his buddy Frankenstein’s book, and school my features into something impassive.

  “How are you liking the school so far?” he asks, but he doesn’t really care about the answer. He’s watching me, waiting for how I respond. He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating off of him. If anyone catches us like this, no doubt they’ll think they’ve caught us about to... how would my great-aunt put it... commit a salacious act? Well, I would be performing the act and Nikolai, one of her pet geniuses, would be the victim.

  “Student body could be better,” I answer with a shrug, never breaking his gaze.

  “Is that so?” he asks, taking a step forward. I fall back a step, and his smirk turns more feral. He advances and I keep stumbling backwards until my back is pressed against the wall. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, Miss Mary, that this is the greatest student body in the country, if not the world.”

  I swallow hard, wishing I hadn’t left my bag back on the table so I could have something between us. “Maybe intellectually, but definitely not in personality.” I’m proud of how little my voice falters.

  “Hmm, is that so?” he asks, this time sounding like he’s actually considering my statement. He frowns slightly, his eyebrows raising as he acknowledges my point but dismisses it all the same. Nikolai looks at me like I’m an unfamiliar equation, as if with time he will know every secret I have and every way he can use me for his own means. He plants his hands on either side of my head, just above my shoulders and dips his head towards me, our mouths so close we’re breathing the same air. “Have you ever been kissed, Mary Wollstonecraft?”

  I should lie, but whatever answer I give him will just be ammunition either way. I know how these games play out. For all their IQ points, they still play the same high school bullshit.

  “No,” I say, almost a whisper. It didn’t come out strong and proud like I’d intended. Instead I sound breathless, as if Nikolai’s proximity is affecting me, as if I’m thinking about him kissing me.

  His eyes drop to my lips. He stares at them for so long my stomach twists with nerves, wondering if he’s actually about to kiss me.

  A flash of light, and we both snap our faces to the left. I stare at the intruder in confusion while Nikolai glares at them. At the same moment though, we realize it isn’t a professor or another student. It disappears a moment later and now I’m panting, my eyes closed as I press my head against the wall.

  “What the hell was that?” he asks, turning his glare on me as if I’m at fault.

  I let out a mirthless laugh. “Can’t you use your precious great mind to figure it out?”

  He snarls at me, and I swear the wood nearly cracks under his fingertips. I see a flash of green in his eyes but then it’s gone. But that’s all it takes for me to answer honestly.

  “It’s a ghost, Nikolai Jekyll.”

  I say it with such certainty that he drops his arms and steps away from me, his brow furrowed. He looks back towards where we’d seen the apparition, and then I’m running before he can stop me. I run through the dark library, swiping my bag from the table. I run the rest of the way to my room.

  Chapter Five

  The unnerving feeling lasts the entire weekend. Even now on Monday, it follows me as I clean the desks and sweep the halls. Every movement at the corner of my eye has me turning, certain that there will be someone there this time, only for me to be completely alone.

  I hardly slept and I can feel the fellow students’ eyes lingering on me longer than usual. I don’t look for Nikolai as I stare into the pale swirls of milk in my coffee. Honestly, I hate the stuff, but I figure I need it to get through my lecture with Professor Wilton without falling asleep. It takes me a moment to realize someone has sat down across from me. When I finally look up, it’s the same boy from the hallway, the strange one who had such rage in his eyes.

  He doesn’t look like that this morning. He looks almost boring. Cute, but unassuming with his brown hair that’s slightly too long and soft green eyes. In fact, had I not met him my first morning here, I’d think he’s gentle. Nice. Normal.

  I know already that no one is normal at this school. Least of all me.

  I’ve learned my lesson, though, from Victor and I refuse to talk. I lift the cup to my mouth, slurping in as irritating of manner as I can manage while holding his gaze.

  “There are no such things as ghosts.” He speaks low enough it takes me a moment to understand what he said, his expression never changing. His tone, just like his face, is unreadable. A single monotone, giving nothing away. Nikolai must have told him, but I wonder if Nikolai said that he saw it too, or if only I claimed too.

  I take another slurp, buying myself time. The drink is lukewarm from milk and tooth-achingly sweet from too much sugar, but I drink it anyways. “There are no such things as vampires,” I answer at last.

  His eyes narrow, so little that had I not been waiting for it, I would have missed it.

  The students aren’t paying attention to us, despite the oddity of someone finally speaking to me at mealtime. Others are finally drifting back out, heading to their classes, no doubt. I don’t see Victor or Nikolai, though Cordelia is holding court over her followers on the opposite end of the room.

  “Private study, second floor, the last door on the left before the staff stairs. Directly after lunch,” he says as he stands, the wooden chair screeching against the floor as it’s pushed back.

  “I’ve got duties,” I say, setting my cup down finally, folding my hands on the table and watching him passively.

  “Skip them.”

  I roll my eyes but he doesn’t see. He’s already walking out of the room. He said it with the same tone that people only use when they know they won’t get in trouble. I’m not risking the wrath of Mrs. Browning on a boy, no matter how cute he is. Especially since I’m fairly certain there’s some level of crazy going on with him—and I see ghosts, so I feel like I’m a bit of an expert.

  My mother would have laughed at that.

  Memories rush back before I can even try to stop them. Of us running. Of her telling me not to look out the back window, to keep my head down. The monsters were chasing us, but most of all they were chasing me. My mother had always warned me of the monsters, but they never looked the same. She’d always saved me though, gotten me out before they could take me away. The monsters didn’t kill her, but if they hadn’t been chasing us—we wouldn’t have been in the accident.

  I can’t breathe. All I can see is the dark water, the bubbles of air surrounding us, the sounds of the water pushing against the car.
I could hear her, as she strained against the seatbelt buckling me in. My lungs and eyes burn but I don’t know if it’s a memory or if it’s reality. Before the memory of darkness comes over me, I scrub my eyes with the heels of my palms, as if I can force away the memories.

  She always told me that if something happened to her, I have to keep running. Because the monsters will never stop. Now I’m stuck here though, and my heart physically aches while every other part of me screams to run.

  “Sniveling will not gain you sympathy here, Miss Wollstonecraft.”

  I just want to punch my fist into his perfect teeth with his perfectly polite cold tone.

  “Have you ever lost someone, Victor?” I spit his name out, meeting his eyes with fury in my own.

  “Yes.” Victor’s reply is curt, as he always seems to be. Karen walks up behind him, her bleached blonde hair pulled high into a ponytail, her eyebrows too dark for her face. She’d probably be pretty if she would try an expression other than bitchy.

  “Don’t be a bitch, Mary,” she hisses, holding her books tight. “I don’t know how it is in public schools, but here—we respect people who’ve lost their loved ones.” She turns to him, her hand on his arm, a surprisingly sincere look of compassion on her face. “You don’t have to tell her about how your family died.”

  I blink, processing her words. She gives me another glare before nudging him along, and he falls into step beside her, his shoulders squared, without a look back. I return my tray to the dish cart, and follow them more slowly. Karen’s in Professor Wilton’s class too, but thankfully she sits one row in front, and two over from me. I won’t have to deal with more than the eyesore of her liberal application of peroxide on her hair.