“Veronica?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.” It was scarcely more than a whisper, but it was all she could choke out past the grit in her throat.
Veronica halted, facing her with a smile. A genuine one, not the Mary Poppins fake one she’d fed Logan.
“You’re my friend. Friends have each other’s backs. Now, I just saw my buddy Keenan head behind the pool, which means he has something herbal. Shall we get hungry for our birthday sushi?”
Autumn found her lips curling up of their own accord. “Hell yes. Lead the way.”
***
It was with a pulsing temple and a groan that Autumn’s right eye opened slowly, cursing her alarm clock. Her hand fumbled and swiped wildly at her phone, slapping the keys until the snooze function engaged. Burying her face in her pillow, she whimpered in pain.
Her birthday had become far more than sushi dinner with the parents. Sufficiently stoned after their rendevous with Keenan (who was, as Veronica later babbled in Autumn’s room, the best friend of Evan Kowalczyk, the swim team’s star and the crush of half the senior grades), they changed out of their uniforms, located rough tabs for Veronica’s audition piece, then stumbled giggling onto the steps of Ashbury. By the time Autumn’s bewildered parents pulled up, the two of them were in the middle of a laughing rendition of a Les Miserables number, blissfully unaware of students passing by. Dinner went well – her parents loved Veronica, whose ability to charm only intensified when “in the company of Mary Jane” – and they returned to the dorm with a bevy of goodies from the nearby gas station. Said goodies become barter for a small bottle of tequila from one of the post-grad students Veronica dated briefly last year, and next thing Autumn knew, she was tipsy and watching The Breakfast Club on Netflix.
“Fucking Jose Cuervo,” she mumbled weakly.
A squealing door jolted Autumn awake. Her heart leapt into her throat as she spun, sighing in relief as Veronica sashayed into her room, clad in a towel and a yawn-smile.
“I swear I left you hot water,” Veronica murmured sleepily. “How’s the hangover, birthday bitch?”
Autumn shook her head. “Vodka. Next time, it’s vodka.”
In her groggy stupor, she’d forgotten that Veronica had opted to stay the night. Neither of them were coherent enough to risk being spotted in the halls. She pushed up to her feet, stretching her arms overhead and shuddering as her joints clicked. Autumn had an irrational loathing of the sound. It made her stomach turn every time, even if it was someone else’s joints. She’d always hated how he would crack his knuckles on purpose – No. Don’t go there.
“Hey babe, what’s with the chick next door?”
“Hmm?”
Veronica combed her hair roughly, jerking her head towards the adjoining room. “I swear I heard her crying through the walls. Is she always sobbing, or did she just get dumped last night or something?”
Autumn frowned. “I’ve heard it almost every night since I moved in here. I keep meaning to talk to her, but I never seem to see either of the two in there.”
“Oh!” Veronica bounced as she tossed her towel aside, tugging on her bra. “Speaking of crying: did you hear that they found that old movie from Nickelodeon this summer, Cry-Baby Lane? You’ve read the Creepypasta on that one, right?”
Autumn twirled a strand of hair absently, still thinking of the mystery of the girl next door. “Vaguely. People were freaking on Twitter, I think. Wasn’t it banned and lost for twenty years?”
“Mmhmm. Someone found it on an old VHS in their house and soon we all had a crap video file to torrent. An urban legend comes to life. It’s not scary, by the way; I watched it the other night. I don’t get the big ol’ ban.” With a shimmy, Veronica tugged her skirt up over her hips. “I’m going to get dressed, go change at my room, then head for breakfast. Want me to wait for you?”
“Ugh, food sounds like death right now. I’ll pass and meet you at the theatre, okay?”
“Cool! Bring your writing homework if you want. Endless scales and repetitions get dull. I promise we’ll have time to chill before I hit the bus to Toronto.” Veronica yanked a tank top over her head, then kissed Autumn’s cheek. “See ya soon! By the way, your shampoo rocks!”
Autumn laughed as Veronica skipped out the door, bursting with energy. She’s the Tigger to my Eeyore, she thought wryly. Feet unsteady and head still throbbing, Autumn stumbled down the hall into the bathroom and prepared to steam the hangover out of her pores.
The shower was the perfect cure for the woozy feeling in her legs, the accompanying Advil chased with a coffee in the dining hall putting a swift end to her headache. Trudging through dew-kissed grass towards the Media Studies building, Autumn pondered her latest writing assignment.
Write a 500-word piece that takes something routine and allows it to transcend to the mysterious and divine. Strive towards avoiding direct description of the task or activity depicted. Metaphor is your friend. Autumn enjoyed the challenge of St. James’ assignments. They always pushed her to think beyond her basic creative notions, and given her stellar grades thus far, he enjoyed where her mind took him. She had to be cunning with this piece. It had to avoid the obvious or easy-reaches, like a flowery detailing of brushing her teeth. Slipping into the theatre, Autumn inhaled deeply. Inspiration lived here; she could taste it in the air. She simply had to open her mind and wait.
Veronica, dressed now in flared jeans and a black halter top, was poring over sheet music with a lanky young man that Autumn recognized as part of the Music program. Several other students scuttled in and out, flipping script pages or scribbling in Moleskin books as if their lives depended upon ink seeping into the fibres. Slipping into the fifth row, Autumn watched as her friend kicked the stage, flailed her arms then stormed to centre stage, biting her lip.
“Run me through it, Ken!”
A thumping piano line. Recognition: this was one of the big numbers of Spring Awakening, "The Bitch of Living". With eyes closed, Veronica’s neck rolled, and she launched into the song with gusto.
Other Drama students froze, smiling and mouthing along as Veronica took on a five-character number and somehow managed to not miss a beat. With each character change, her mannerisms and inflection altered, each part with its own flavour. Musical jambalaya, Autumn thought briefly, then scurried for her notebook. Hello, Muse! Veronica’s rehearsals: that would be her writing assignment.
“Yes!” she whispered to herself, jotting down words and phrases.
Veronica was so at home on a stage: her eyes twinkled mischievously as she ran through several numbers from the musical, playing up the characters of each with gusto. The thumping rock piano and acoustic guitars were a pulse, circulating her friend from stage right to left. Her voice and the accompaniment were eloquent call and response, a harmonic pas de trois. Two hours slipped by in a stream of writing and wonder, Autumn’s bladder finally shattering the spell cast by Veronica with a dire clenching that signaled imminent release. With a hesitant biting of her lip, Autumn approached another Drama major, with whom Veronica had been alternating stage time.
“Hey… um, Meg, right?”
The petite brunette nodded quickly. “Yep! God, she sounds amazing.” Meg sighed sadly, twirling a wavy strand about her finger as Veronica hit a series of high notes that had a trio of guys hooting in the back of the theatre. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to try for Wendla.”
Autumn smiled slightly, shaking her head. “Don’t say that. When did Veronica say she was auditioning for Wendla?”
Meg tilted her head askance, eyes narrowing. “Are you saying-?”
“I’m just saying not to count yourself out,” Autumn interrupted. “Anyway, I’m about to do the leg-crossing hop. Where’s the nearest bathroom?”
Meg pointed backstage. “If you take the steps up and head straight along the corridor, it’s the fourth door. It’s unlocked today, and it has toilet paper for a change!” From her sarcastic glee, Autumn sensed this was an ongoi
ng gripe with the female Drama majors.
“Must be my lucky day. Thanks.”
Autumn shrugged her purse strap higher upon her shoulder as she jogged briskly up the small stairwell through the crushed velvet curtains to her right. Her sneakers slapped lightly upon the polished steps, stray beams of spotlight casting blinding reflections off the waxed flooring. A part of her wondered if this was the built-in “break a leg” system of Casteel, a sick way of ensuring a stellar opening night. Even her trusty Airwalks were skidding slightly.
The lighting grew dimmer beyond the second steel door, tiny pot lights dotting her way towards her bladder’s promised land. Thick ropes hung vine-like from the rafters overhead and she danced her fingertips along them, humming to herself as her feet echoed beneath her.
A familiar scent drifted past her and her heart stopped. Eternity. Calvin Klein. She knew it well; she’d bought a bottle of it with points she’d saved at the local drug store as a Christmas gift. A present she’d returned in January in exchange for obscene amounts of candy and caffeine pills to keep her awake in class.
It was his favourite scent.
Her back pressed instinctively into the wall as her eyes darted wildly in both directions. No one there. Just the smell of him, filling her nostrils. She gagged and edged closer to the bathroom, palms sliding shakily along the cool cement walls. Locked door. Safety. But he couldn’t be here: the only footsteps were her own hesitant shuffles, the only breathing her ragged gasps and choked-back tears.
A pot light flickered and Autumn whimpered. He comes in the dark. He knows I told Miraj. He knows why I’m hiding. Her purse slid down her arm and her fingers quickly tangled in the strap, preparing to swing it in defense. For once, she was grateful for the endless mountain of change she forgot to count out and spend and instead chucked into her bag. Three doors now. One more.
The light fell dark overhead and Autumn lunged for the bathroom.
The door handle spun easily in her grip, a knife silently slicing butter. Her back slammed against the cold metal as her fingers flipped the latch in place, the click deafening. With a sob, she slid to the floor, pawing through her belongings until her hand met her phone in relief. Campus security was in her contacts list already – she’d added it a week before beginning her studies at Casteel Prep. Trembling fingers hesitated over the Send button, palms dampened in fear.
From beyond the door, she heard voices. Veronica’s friends. Surely, if there was a stranger roaming the backstage area, they wouldn’t be discussing the latest episode of Dexter…
“You’re going crazy,” she whispered angrily. “He’s not there.”
Phone met wallet in an angry collision as she pushed herself to her shaky feet. This was ridiculous. Lights went out all the time. Plenty of guys wore that damn cologne. Her imagination had run head-long onto the Crazy Train and taken her for a ride. With a groan, she relieved herself and washed her hands in scalding water, her flesh red and raw as she tidied her hair. I need to keep control, she admonished herself silently. What would Miraj do? She wouldn’t live in fear. Life brings plenty of reasons to be terrified.
Forcing a smile, Autumn slipped back into the corridor and headed briskly for the front of the theatre – and stumbled as her foot connected with something hard and small. Cursing under her breath and massaging her ankle, she leaned forward, examining the hazard in confusion.
It appeared to be a barrette – a rather expensive one, given the shimmering Swarovski crystals adorning it. Palming it, Autumn stared at the detailed design. It was a glass slipper – completely Cinderella – and so intricate that it was surely custom-made for the owner. Pale blue hues lent an icy sheen to the ornate shoe as she tilted it back and forth beneath the lights. Autumn found herself mesmerized by the trinket as she walked, the terror of minutes before forgotten. It twinkled, calling her playfully. Don’t look away, it whispered.
“Autumn! There you are!”
Her green eyes darted upwards as Veronica bounded off the stage from her right, embracing her warmly. Sweat misted her limbs, her skin glowing with feverish energy. Rehearsal had gone well.
“Did you get lost back there?” Veronica teased. “Meg says you left like, ten minutes ago.”
Autumn feigned a chuckle. “I had to drip dry. All done for the day?”
The barrette dug into her palm as her fist closed around it protectively. Veronica held open the curtain, ushering her through with a flourish.
“My voice is begging for mercy. I’m going to get packed and head for the buses.” Veronica fumbled in her bag for a bottle of water, promptly downing it in one long chug. “Hey, what’s that?”
Autumn startled, opening her palm. “Tripped over it backstage. Really pretty. Did someone lose it today?”
From behind her, an audible gasp grabbed her attention. Pivoting slightly, Autumn focused on Meg, whose own palm pressed against her lips, her body trembling violently. She looked to Veronica, seeking answers, but found only a stoic wall, blue eyes steeled as she acted nonchalant.
“No one wore it today. I’ll go leave it in the lost and found in the office,” Veronica said quietly.
Reluctantly, Autumn allowed the crystalline object to fall from her palm into Veronica’s. Within her, she yearned to keep it – to wear it, even – but couldn’t fathom why. Crystals were something she loathed on principle, the trappings of spoiled cheerleaders at Jarvis and the premium collars their pocket dogs wore. It’s mine, she thought suddenly, biting her lip in surprise. Wait – what the hell?
Veronica jogged off to the left, barrette in hand, leaving Autumn to awkwardly pack their respective bags. Meg remained shaky in a corner, whispering quietly with someone whose name was either Jeremy or Jerry. Strong arms enveloped the brunette’s shuddering shoulders and Autumn felt a pang of jealousy. No one holds me when I’m upset. Not like that. Ken handed Autumn sheet music – Veronica’s pieces – and she slipped them gingerly into her friend’s tote bag, taking care not to crease them.
“Ready?”
Autumn glanced up, handing Veronica’s bag to her. Steel-face greeted her. “Yeah.”
It was perhaps five seconds after they emerged into the overcast afternoon when Veronica dropped her guard, feet grinding to a halt. Autumn stumbled into her from behind, cursing and apologizing, but Veronica waved it away.
“Where did you find it?” Veronica asked abruptly.
Autumn frowned. “Backstage, on my way back from the bathroom. V, what’s wrong with Meg?”
“Just in the hall?” Veronica was ignoring her. Why?
“Yes! What the hell is going on? I nearly took my ankle out on the thing and now I’m getting a death glare!” Bile rose in Autumn’s throat. It’s a fucking hair accessory! What is everyone’s big deal about it?
Veronica sighed deeply, kicking the moist dirt beneath them with the toe of her shoe. “I’m sorry, Autumn. It’s just… I don’t understand how it would go unnoticed before now, and you’re in – well, it’s really fucked up, okay?”
“Try me. If I upset Meg, maybe I should go apologize-”
“No!” Veronica insisted loudly. “Look, it’s a very long story, but summing up: it belonged to one of Meg’s friends. It was a shock.”
The consoling inside the theatre… Veronica’s sudden all-business posturing… Autumn swallowed hard, her voice a whisper.
“The friend died.”
Veronica nodded sadly. “Meg took it hard. It was two years ago, so…”
“And it only turned up now?” Autumn shook her head, confused. “I get it.”
“Don’t mention that you know, or that you even found it, okay?” Veronica’s voice was softer now, but urgent. “I’ll get Hurst to give it to Meg on Monday, but for now, I had to do the proper protocols. Not everyone knows what’s up.”
“Secret’s safe with me.”
They began walking slowly towards Ashbury, both girls lost in thought. Autumn’s chest ached for Meg’s loss. She’d drifted from Heather, but she could
still call her up and try to make amends. Death, however, didn’t negotiate. She’d learned that lesson well last December.
And what was with her strange attachment to the glass slipper trinket? Her body had yearned for it on a primal level, even as her brain rejected it as loathsome and ostentatious. Was it a message from her subconscious? Had she dreamed of something like it – something she longed to possess?
Hugging Veronica goodbye on the steps of Ashbury, Autumn found herself lingering on the cement, watching the leaves dance in the crisp September breeze. There was more to the story; she was sure of it. But why would Veronica conceal it?
“You’re paranoid,” she mumbled to herself angrily.
So much for seventeen being better than sixteen, the worker bees taunted within.
The hive came alive as Autumn pressed her head to her knees. Sixteen, seventeen, nothing but a drama queen. Her whimper of protest was futile. Your fault. Always your fault. In her mind, she grasped wildly at music, at melodies she knew, but the thrumming noise grew in her skull. You worthless whore. Misery-making mad girl.
It followed her up the spiralling staircase, down the desolate hall, into her room. Mad girl, crazy girl, helpless girl, worthless girl. They sang inside her, a symphony of her shortcomings. Crazy, crazy, crazy!
“No… Stop…”
And then he hissed in her ear, and she wailed, scrambling in her purse wildly. Autumn, who are you trying to fool? Me? Her hand fumbled with the blister pack, foil crinkling as she jabbed and pressed until a pill fell onto her purple blanket. You can’t get away from me, he hissed again, and she tumbled to the floor as she strained for a bottle of water on her desk. She pressed to her knees, pill on her tongue as she batted the water to the floor, unscrewed the cap.
Where are you going, bitch?
Water flowed down her throat; tears fell upon her cheeks. “Go away,” she murmured softly, curling up on the floor. Too much effort to stand.
His fingers caressed her flesh and she gagged, hugging herself tightly. The sleeping pills took twenty minutes to kick in, but they promised twelve hours of reprieve. She had to keep her eyes on that prize, had to remember that the fingers on her thighs weren’t real, that the voices would fade out, that he couldn’t find her.
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