I can’t say anything; there’s a void where my thoughts should be. It’s as if her song chased away my own spirit and not just the ones around me. But she doesn’t seem to notice, as she continues.
“Everyone has monsters here,” she says quietly. “It is the price our students pay for their genius. And you, my girl, do not belong here.”
There’s no sympathy in her voice, but a resignation, a quiet plea for me to accept her words. I think of Victor and Nikolai, and even Malcolm. They all have torment hidden behind their eyes, covered in a veneer of arrogant cruelty.
“I have monsters too...” My voice is no louder than a hoarse whisper, but I know she heard me when she stiffens. “I always have. Mama protected me from them. And now they’ve found me. They killed Melissa.”
She pulls back, relaxing her grip but not letting me go as her ice-blue eyes look at me in question. “What do you mean?”
I give a half shrug, unable to meet her eyes. I follow the grain of the wood flooring as I explain. “My monsters... it’s happened before,” I say. “They get too close to me and people start dying in strange ways. That’s when we knew it was time to move on.”
Her gaze is heavy, and I gather my courage to look up at her. But I don’t find condemnation there or disbelief. I find curiosity, as if she’s really seeing me for the first time.
“What do you know of these... monsters?” She’s hesitant, but sincere.
I pull away and she lets me go, standing to retrieve a box of tissues and offering them to me silently. I take them with a nod of thanks and return to my seat, blowing my nose.
“I know they’ve wanted me ever since I can remember,” I begin, pulling another tissue from the box. Slowly I begin shredding small pieces of it off. “It’s why mama said she had to leave my father. Because it wasn’t safe for us.”
“Mary...” she pauses until I meet her eyes. “In light of everything, I doubt this question will be odd. Do you experience... anything that doesn’t seem of this reality?”
Spirits roaming the halls of Crowsrest. The ghastly being which covered me in bugs. The mutilated bodies filling my bedroom, the tortured souls pushing through the bloodied walls. Ghosts of children following their living parents through hospitals. The being that attacked Nikolai.
A polite knock sounds and the icy witch I’m familiar with returns as she focuses the glare at whoever is on the other side. “What is it?” Her voice is full of frozen venom.
“The Society, Mrs. Browning.” It’s Mr. Cornell. Her eyes flash to me before she smooths down her dress as she rises.
“Miss Wollstonecraft, we’ll continue this conversation later.” The dismissal is clear and I go to leave. Before she opens the door, she meets my eyes. The seriousness of her look is frightening. “Remember, Mary. There are monsters here. There is only so much control one can have.”
She opens the door, and Mr. Cornell seems surprised to see me. I slip past him with a polite nod and head towards my room. There are monsters here, other than my own. So who or what killed Melissa? Was it my own monsters... or another student’s?
Chapter Eighteen
When my alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m., I groan, hating my phone and wishing I could sleep longer. But despite the isolation order, I still have morning chores. I spend little energy getting ready, doubting the rest of the school will be rising much. Dinners were delivered to the rooms, and I suspect breakfast will be too. Maybe I’ll be one of the delivery girls this morning.
“Miss Wollstonecraft, circumstances being as they are, your father will decide if you are to stay and finish your education with the institute or not. You are dismissed from any duties assigned by Mr. Cornell, but you are still expected to assist Mr. Jekyll and Mr. Van Helsing.”
It’s signed personally by Mrs. Browning.
It’s tempting to go back to sleep, but I know if I do, I’m going to wake up exhausted when the alarm goes off at seven. Instead, I put on the uniform and pull my bag over my shoulders. No one except the morning staff is awake at this time and I know the library is only cleaned at the end of the day. I don’t have much time.
I make my way there, unimpeded as I expected, and only two spirits were visible. Neither of them seemed remotely interested in me so I slipped by, avoiding stepping through them as much as I could.
The door creaks too loudly in the silence as I ease it open, but no one comes screaming down the hall like I half fear.
“Good morning.”
I spin around, my hand clapped to my mouth to stifle the yelp. Victor isn’t looking at me, he’s still reading whatever book is in front of him. Shame and desire roll through me and my cheeks burn as I think of him on top of me, his hands and mouth on me.
He was just using you, I remind myself, he said so himself. He doesn’t deserve your attention.
Marching past him into the stacks, I say nothing. I do regret my choice of skirt instead of the pants provided, but it’d been the set on top and I went with it. I don’t look back, no matter how much I want to. Did I get under his skin as much as he’d gotten under mine?
I don’t like Victor Frankenstein. I don’t want Victor Frankenstein. It doesn’t matter because I’ll leave in a few days and never have to see his stupid face again. I’ll never think about his kiss again. I don’t like Victor Frankenstein.
Maybe if I repeat it enough times, I’ll start to believe it.
By the time I make it back to the desk with a selection of metaphysical books, he’s gone. The relief is annoying, because I know it’s from not having to decide to talk with him or not. I sit as far away from the table he was at as possible, and open the book to the section I want and try to focus.
When I realize I’ve read the same paragraph three times, I finally give up. I’m no closer to figuring out what the spirits I see are and why I can see them. My stomach growls, reminding me that it should be close to breakfast time and I return the book to its place, defeated for the moment. Perhaps after breakfast, if we still have classes, I can ask Professor Cortez, the medieval literature professor, what she knows about philosophers dealing with the soul. There’s got to be some epic poem dealing with it.
The noise in the hallway alerts me to a change, and I follow it warily to the main staircase. The students are filing into the breakfast hall, chatting as if nothing happened the day before. Only Vanessa and Karen seem subdued, trailing behind Cordelia and Nikolai. As if he can sense me, he looks up at me. I wait for any reaction, my breath held, but he dismisses me completely and walks in without pause. With a sour note in my stomach, I head to the breakfast hall.
It’s as if everything is normal and I want to scream at them as I collect my tray with oatmeal, fresh fruit, and the coffee I’m very slowly growing used to. No one is talking about Melissa, or the fact that someone died. If my first day had been today, I’d never know that someone had literally just died on the grounds yesterday.
I ignore the conversations around me as I eat, forcing bite after bite of tasteless oatmeal down my throat. It’s like dry cardboard, sticking to my esophagus and I have to force it down with scalding coffee. It burns my tongue, but it’s not as if everything doesn’t take like ash anyways.
Something warm hits the back of my head, followed by muffled laughter. When I pull my hand away, it’s covered with oatmeal. Another one follows and hits me in the shoulder this time and I turn to glare at the perpetrator.
Nikolai is smirking at me, his eyes the brilliant blue once more. Cordelia’s next to him, smug. On the other side is Victor, who’s watching me with amusement.
“Freaking jerk,” I accuse him and the room goes quiet. Even the staff at the far end of the hall watch us warily.
“Is that so?” His reply washes towards me like a tide rising quickly. He maintains eye contact while Victor offers up his bowl of fruit. The blond-haired boy picks out a grape, and lobs it across the aisle and I dodge it carefully. Something else hits me from behind though, and more giggles fill the air. When I look back in front
of me, Malcolm is there, a grin on his face.
“What?” Confusion courses through me. They’ve been annoying and jerks before, but outright hostile?
“Heard you were leaving us soon,” he replies and holds up a carafe of orange juice. “Figured we should celebrate your departure.”
He pours the orange juice on the top of my head, covering me and soaking my new uniform. Fragrant sugary citrus surrounds me as I scrub at my eyes, trying to get the juice out of them.
“We thought about a cake, but only had flour.” Victor’s behind me now, and betrayal cracks through my heart. I can’t look at him as he pours a massive bowl of flour over me, sticking to the orange juice covering me.
“Do you think she’ll be the stripper from her own cake?” Nikolai asks loud enough that every person can hear him. “After all, she took her clothes off easy enough for you, right, Victor?”
I plead silently with him not to do this but it’s pointless.
“Can you believe she asked me if I’d have sex with her last night?” Jeers and howls assault me, some of the younger boys shout that I’m a slut and I flinch with each accusation.
“After throwing yourself at me earlier?” Malcolm laughs so hard, he bends over. “If I’d known you’d be that easy, I’d have let you keep going. After all, you were more than happy to let my hand into your pants.”
“Shut up!” I scream at them, tears burning my eyes. The worst of it is that what they are saying isn’t a lie. I had asked Victor if he’d have sex with me, despite the context. And Malcolm and I had almost gone farther until Vanessa’s scream interrupted us.
Nikolai jumps up on to the table, holding up a spoon like a microphone.
“Gents of the Gifted Minds, I present to you this morning, the slut of the school—” cheers rise up and my face burns even hotter. I want to run, but students are pressing in around me, providing no escape. “Let’s send her off with the attention she craves. Come on, boys, she doesn’t care about your age—let’s give her a good time.”
“Don’t touch me,” I lash out at the first boy—Carter— who reaches out to me. My nails rake across his hand, drawing blood.
“Bitch!” He yanks back, anger in his fifteen-year-old eyes.
“Oh, right, the school’s slut has nails. You’ve gotta bribe her to get her to spread her legs for you. Let’s start the bidding at ten dollars!”
I can’t stay here. Not in this room, not at this school. I push against the crowd, leering faces smirking at me. Hands are all over me, squeezing my ass and my breasts, and they grunt as I swing my elbows out.
“Let me go,” I shriek and the crowd parts enough that I stumble. Cordelia is in front of me, her arms crossed as she looks me up and down.
“I told you that you were just a mouse to them,” she reminds me, her nose stuck up in the air. “Guess playtime is over with their toy of the week.”
Victor steps up next to her, slinging his arm around Cordelia’s shoulders and tugging her close. He looks at me with mock surprise.
“What? Did you really think I’d want an ignorant virgin?” He tugs Cordelia in for a kiss, and watching it is sickening. They both look at me when they pull apart, victory in Cordelia’s eyes and zero emotion in Victor’s. “You don’t belong here, Miss Wollstonecraft. We’ve told you that. And now you’re leaving and the rest of us will forget you.”
“This school is filled with brilliance,” I spin to face Malcolm, who’s shoved through the crowd. He bends down until we’re nearly breathing the same air. If he tries to kiss me right now, I’ll knee him in the balls without regret.
His fingers dig into my shoulders as he grabs me, ignoring the mess of orange juice and flour. “You’re nothing to anyone here beyond an inconvenience.”
He shoves me through the crowd and it parts like the Red Sea as he marches me out of the room. I look back, and regret it immediately as I see Nikolai looking at me in victory and Victor watching me with dead eyes.
How could I ever think that they had any interest in me beyond tormenting me? They made me feel like they are obsessed with me, trying to drive me to insanity or out of Crowsrest. When we get to the stairs, I yank out of Malcolm’s grip and he lets me go easily.
“What the hell, man?” I accuse, shoving at his chest. He rocks back on his heels, but his blank expression is infuriating. “I hate you all.”
“Good.” He’s quiet, but he doesn’t drop his eyes from mine. I can feel orange juice making my shirt cling to my skin, and it’ll be a long time in the shower before I don’t feel sticky anymore. “You should run away, Mary.” He steps past me and takes the stairs two at a time. When he reaches the top, he looks down at me, his brown hair falling over his haggard green eyes.
“Run away, Mary, and never come back.”
Chapter Nineteen
The water scalds my skin but I don’t turn it down. I need to clean more than the orange juice and flour off of me. I need to rid myself of Victor, Malcolm, and Nikolai. I don’t have a loofah or a washcloth so I scrub at my skin with my nails, relishing the extra burn and the red lines that bloom on my skin.
I scrub at my belly, over and over, hot tears mixing with the water running down my face, as I try to dig out every atom of Victor and our experience together. It’s like he branded me when he covered my stomach. It felt amazing at the time but now... now it’s just a symbol of being the school slut. How could he be like that? He was just as eager, just as involved... but there’s never a term for a boy who gets off with a lot of women. Only girls get branded as sluts, whores, loose, easy, and others.
Boys are encouraged to sow their oats in as many fields as they can, but those fields are insulted and demeaned for seeking the same intimacy.
A scream of rage wrapped around pain tears from my throat, echoing around the empty bathroom. No one comes to this bathroom except me, the girls dormitory down the other hall. I can be alone in my misery and pain. I scream again, relishing the burn at the back of my throat, my eyes squeezed tightly shut. I slap the stall wall once, sharp pain warming my hand. I slap it over and over, but the rage is still in my stomach. It’s a hard thing, full of sharp edges, as it tries to force its way out of me.
I need more. My rage needs more.
I race back to my room, heedless of anyone who may be around. Screw them. The bedroom door rattles as I slam it shut and throw my towel to the floor along with my soiled clothing. I refuse to wear any of the uniforms, dragging on faded jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt before stuffing my feet into sneakers. I zip up my green hoodie and I leave my room, marching towards the stairs.
Everyone should be in their dorm rooms or classes right now, which is perfect for me. I’m likely to attack the first person I see. The rage inside me has only grown since the shower, as if it realizes I’m about to unleash it. Eager excitement courses through me as I descend the stairs and walk towards the back garden entrance. Classroom doors are open and I can hear students talking to themselves and each other. Some of them look up as I pass, their eyes filling with sadistic humor.
Screw them all.
The hallway begins to glow with spirits as more and more appear. Unlike the times where they’re indifferent, they each focus on me and on my rage. They swarm around me like a storm of vengeance, their malevolence pressing into the real world, the wall sconces flickering and the doors we pass being pushed open by their force.
I wrench open both handles of the glass French doors and fling them outward, the ghosts spilling out before me. The doors shatter as they slam against the stone walls of the manor, light dancing in the air as they fall, illuminated by the strange glow of spirits. The hedge where Melissa died is directly ahead of me and I break out into a run.
Gravel crunches beneath my shoes and I hear shouting behind me, so I run faster. The gravel in front of the hedge opening is still dark with blood, the only reminder that a student died recently in this entire school that seems to want to forget. I skid to a stop, almost slipping on the loose rocks as a
new spirit appears, still as a statue amidst the swirling storm.
“Melissa?” I ask, choking on the words.
She turns to face me, a transparent version of what she looked like before. Except her head is half-covered in dripping blood and her arms and legs are bent at weird angles, as if she were given extra knees and elbows.
“He has my body,” she sounds morose. “I didn’t want him to have it. I’ll be one of his experiments. I just want to go home.”
The shouting gets closer and looking over my shoulder, I see Professor Wilton is walking quickly, his face red from the effort.
“Who, Melissa?” I ask, desperate for answers. “Who has your body and who killed you?”
She sobs, a broken racket of a sound, hollow and it crawls up my spine.
“I tried to be good, he said I’d be good.” She falls to her knees, covering her bloodied face with her hands. “I just want to go home. I didn’t mean to be bad. I didn’t mean to hurt them.”
“Miss Wollstonecraft!”
He’s too close, I need more time.
A strangled shout makes me turn, and I see the spirits swarming him, his tweed jacket fluttering and his combed-over hair fluttering. It’s as if he’s trapped in a gale of wind, unable to stop.
“Run, Mary.”
Melissa is standing up again, staring at me with a terrifying intensity.
“Run away, and never come back.”
More shouts behind me and I don’t hesitate, diving down the left path of the hedge, before coming to a cross-section.
It’s a labyrinth.
I can hear people calling my name, but I keep running, deeper into the labyrinth, heedless of the turns I take.
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary...”
Obsession Page 12
