“He needs us just off stage. Follow me.”
This was old hat for her: she’d done the stage seating so many times at the Toronto production, she knew the ushers by name. Her last few shows, she’d led people to the appropriate spot to await escort, warning them about the bathroom breaks and insisting the jog up to the third level facilities was worth the time saved. Tonight’s stage seating consisted mostly of the significant others of cast, with the exception of Evan. Veronica had insisted that Autumn have opening night.
“Plus,” she’d admitted quietly, “I would hate to screw up and have him right there on stage. He can sit on stage Friday. Thursday? Orchestra level or bust.”
Most of them were familiar faces now. Autumn had spent the last few weeks studying in the theatre during daily rehearsals, scribbling away at Biology questions while every note was run through dozens of times. Dance leaders choreographed each scene down to the tiniest detail, studying video footage of the Broadway production for authenticity. Costumes were donned, and chairs tossed around on stage.
Amidst all the bustling confusion, Autumn pretended this "gesture of support" wasn’t an enormous excuse to avoid seeing Andrew Daniels.
He’d stopped emailing her now after several days of excuses and apologies. Her chest ached when she thought of him, imagining that same sad look he’d worn when they’d last seen each other. He deserved so much better than she was able to offer him. He was thoughtful, funny and kind. He’d been abandoned enough in one lifetime, and she’d gone and done it again. Even if it were for his sake – for his protection – she was a cruel soul, and she wore this guilty burden every second of the day.
She sighed as she glanced at her watch. Five minutes to seating time. Knowing her thimble bladder, she ought to pee before the show. With a wave and murmured excuse, she slipped down the hall to the backstage bathroom, dodging a frantic Shantelle as she braided her hair quickly, tying it with brown ribbon. From beyond the curtains, the audience chatter hit a crescendo – students enthusiastically discussing the anticipated nudity during the first act, she wagered. Logan had somehow missed the memo on the bare ass and breasts, but couldn’t veto it now, not with Hurst looming large. She smiled while recalling Hurst’s rants about Logan, which were as legendary as Veronica claimed. The woman, with her wild black hair and eccentric outfits, was Autumn’s hero.
Relieving herself quickly, she flipped on the taps, scrubbing her hands ferociously as she thought of mussed black hair and pale blue eyes fixed on a computer screen. She could hear his laugh as if he stood behind her now, perhaps shambling like a zombie – their shared joke. There’s no point in torturing myself, she thought bitterly. It doesn’t matter how I feel. All that matters is how he would feel if he knew about Andrew. Veronica was perhaps safe. Heather and Corrina hadn’t been harmed, after all. But a guy? One who held her hand and bought her hot chocolate? One who, as much as she denied it, showed an interest in a relationship, even if he was beyond patient?
She turned the water off, drying her hands briskly and tousling her hair. It had to be this way, at least while he remained an unknown. Besides, tonight was about Veronica, not her pathetic panic attacks and relationship carnage.
Gurgle-pop!
The pipes rattled and bubble beneath the sink, and Autumn’s gaze flew downwards. You’d think with all their money, they would have replaced the plumbing, she thought wryly, amused by the churning stomach of soapy water beneath the oak surface. Her smile shifted to suspicion as the sound grew, seeming to echo within the tiny confines of the bathroom.
Oh please tell me that not’s the toilet pipes, she pleaded silently, tilting her head in its direction. No, it was definitely louder near the sink. Should she call Lucas over? Or would he just jam his stupid pen in the drain and smack the taps with the clipboard?
“Fuck it,” she muttered. Lucas could deal with it.
She spun around, grasping the knob tightly, but found herself paralyzed.
“Autumn…”
A hissed warning, genderless, cold. A hiccup, and then, it laughed. Turning slowly, body shaking, she braced herself, insisting she’d imagined it. The room was empty behind her, as she’d left it. Was someone pranking her?
Gurgle-hic!
The blood seeped out of the drain, snaking up the porcelain sink, beckoning her with its sticky fingers. Her hand clamped over her mouth, stifling a scream as it bubbled forth, the scent of rust thick in the room. A single drop hit the tiled floor, then another. So much blood. She could feel it in her palms, body memories of weeping wounds and a tiny heart beating its last. Her back pressed against the door, she edged on tiptoes as the two drops became ten, and rolled slowly towards her, hungry…
Knock-knock!
“Autumn? You in there?”
“Veronica?” Her voice was frail, shaky. It was a scant five tiles away, relentless in its pursuit. Help me, she begged forces unseen.
“You okay? They need you on stage.”
Three tiles… two…. With a whimper, she unlocked the door, yanking it open and nearly falling into her friend’s arms.
“Whoa! What’s wrong?”
“The…” Autumn paused, blinking her eyes hard. No… Wait….
There was nothing there. The sink was pristine, save a small cluster of soap bubbles wreathing the drain.
“What?” Veronica’s voice was gentle, her look one of concern as she embraced her. “You look so pale.”
Nothing there. But she could feel it!
“It’s nothing,” she lied. “Just got nervous about being on stage.”
“But you’ve done it before,” Veronica countered, leading her away from the bathroom. “Did someone say something to you?”
“No, no. I don’t know why. Maybe because I know people down there? It’s silly. I’m sorry.”
The lies fell easily from her lips, calculated in their innocence and believability. Satisfied, her friend hugged her once more, beaming in her pale green dress.
“Thank you for being here tonight, and for helping me find my lucky charm,” she whispered. “Now scooch!”
Forcing a smile, Autumn followed a flustered Lucas to her seat across the stage, settling into her chair with a whoosh of air fleeing her lungs. It was just an anxiety attack, she told herself. Matt keeps mentioning this place is haunted, and you’re not sleeping because your room is suicide central. Breathe, Autumn! The house lights dimmed as the band warmed up and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, squeezing until her fingertips glowed white. It’s all in your head.
It hissed in her memory anew: Autumn… It knew her name. What else did it know? And why did she feel, as a chill coursed her veins, that this was only the beginning?
***
The theatre was a dim, overheated mess of dancing limbs and passed bottles of vodka mixed with various juices. A small iPod dock blared a tune by Metric as the cast of Spring Awakening celebrated their sold-out opening in a style most unbecoming the prestigious reputation of Casteel Preparatory Academy. Security’s patience had worn pretty thin but they lingered, unwilling to relinquish their post-show buzz.
For their part, Autumn was well on the way to drunk and Veronica was completely in the bag, hanging off Evan for stability when she wasn’t dancing wildly in the aisles. To the relief of all, Lucas had apparently found a horse tranquilizer backstage, his lanky body now sprawled across four seats as he debated the merits of LMFAO and Wiz Khalifa with one of the swing cast. Sales had long been tallied, the stage prepped for the next day, but no one cared to return to their rooms.
“This is the bitch of Thursday openings,” Meg declared loudly, perched on stage. “Friday classes.”
A chorus of groans signalled unanimous agreement. Autumn had found enough sense to shift her session with Emma to Wednesday this week, meaning she could technically sleep in until noon. Judging from the vibe of the after party, she’d played her cards wisely.
“Guys!” Matt drummed on the back of a seat, gesturing to the main foyer.
“Guardy McGuarderson says he’s calling Logan if we don’t leave in ten minutes.”
Various curses and giggles met this proclamation, and an empty water bottle sailed towards Matt’s head. He dodged it with impressive speed for someone who was at least as drunk as Veronica, laughing as he stumbled down the centre aisle. Autumn giggled, far more amused than she ought to be by his wavering gait. Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down! Veronica promptly slid to the ground and she laughed harder, chanting the commercial jingle in her head.
“I wanna party!” Veronica insisted as Evan pulled her up, spinning around three times and falling back into Evan’s waiting arms. His designated walker routine was admirable. He was definitely worthy of her friend.
“Well, we can’t stay here,” Jason grumbled. “And it’s cold outside! I’d prefer to keep my nuts intact, thanks.”
“Where can we go?” Meg was fast electing herself leader of the inebriated pack, rising to her feet and stomping the stage. “Think fast!”
“Tunnels!” someone shouted.
“Fuck no!” Autumn blurted out quickly. “Grant patrols them.”
“Really?” Evan seemed surprised by this.
Autumn nodded, twisting her hair absently. “Almost busted me once. Plus they’re gross and Veronica can’t walk.”
“What? I’m fiiiiiiiine!”
Evan chuckled, tucking Veronica beneath his arm. “I’ve got an idea: the athletics building. We could loiter in the gyms.”
“But they’re locked,” Lucas stated, waving his arm in a lazy figure eight. “Not open. Closed.”
With a wink, Evan said, “There’s a way in. But we have to do it before curfew. Now or never, kids.”
“Now!” It was a battle cry, and the group stumbled to their feet, tugging on jackets and grabbing bags in a flurry of giggles and playful jostling.
A bottle of spiked fruit punch made its way into her hand and Autumn took a large swig. She wasn’t a big drinker – none of them were, except perhaps Matt – but after the bathroom thing and weeks of feeling lousy over Andrew, she needed to forget worry and find happiness, even if it was of the artificial variety. Evan offered her his free arm for support and she took it gratefully, her footing shaky as she navigated the steep aisle. Veronica joked about sharing her wife and Evan laughed, insisting he could never come between their bond.
“But you’re between us right now!” Veronica teased.
“Shh!” Matt urged them. “We have to be sneaky!”
The security guard (Autumn swore his name was Tim or Tom or some name with three letters and zero memorable traits) glowered at them, more for the disruption to his slumber than any genuine concern for their public intoxication. Someone imitated Elmer Fudd’s rabbit hunting shtick, plunging the group into further laughter that only ceased when they stepped out into the frigid night, the air seizing their lungs.
“What the hell, Mother Nature?” Shantelle grumbled, drawing her coat tighter around her.
“Fastest route of least suspicion?” Lucas asked.
“Follow me,” Evan said, tugging gently on Veronica, who had become fascinated with a shadowed figure shuffling through a backpack on a nearby bench.
Shit! Autumn knew it before he spun around, startled by the noisy din: Andrew.
“Hey! It’s Elton John guy!” Veronica blurted out, grinning ear to ear. “Hi, Andy!”
“Elton John guy?” Andrew stared at her as if she’d grown a second head.
“Yeah! We saw you playing once, right Autumn?” At this, she yanked her friend into view, leaving Autumn face to face with her unwitting partner in an unending game of Hide and Seek.
“Autumn, hey.”
The sad eyes. The ones that sometimes floated by in her dreams. I need ten more drinks.
“Andrew, hi. How’s editing?”
“It goes. Maybe 75% of it down? I’m thinking of taking another trip downtown and trying to locate a few of my subjects post-Occupy. Gretchen thinks it’s a cool angle.”
They’d drawn an audience; she could feel the eyes. Everyone knew of the infamously aloof Andrew Daniels. This exchange probably contained more words than they’d all heard him utter in the past year and a half collectively.
“That’s great,” she offered, wanting to dissolve into the ground. “Definitely go.”
“Elton John guy?” he asked.
Veronica’s chatty nature was only worsened by alcohol – and uncensored. “That song! The saving life one! Autumn loves it. You totally sang it one time. I remember it. Don’t I?”
“Yeah….” I’m going to murder her tomorrow.
Matt tapped his watch. “Um, guys? Five to.”
“Crap!” Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Andrew awkwardly added, “I’ll talk to you.”
Two paths diverged: Andrew towards Trudeau, the party circuiting around Pearson and the upper class Academics facility. Autumn sensed she ought to have taken the quieter one, instead.
The party carried on past midnight, at which point most of them were too intoxicated to navigate stairs, a troublesome matter when none of them lived on the ground floor of their respective dorms. It was worth the inevitable hangovers, though: they sang, danced and snacked on a stash of candy from Shantelle’s bag, laughing at Logan’s horrified reaction to the hayloft scene – one in which Meg’s breasts and Matt’s rear were on prominent display.
“Hurst will get an earful tomorrow!” Lucas insisted.
“Which means we get a primo rant!” Veronica squealed as she clapped her hands.
“Totally recording that shit on my iPhone,” Luis said. “Could be better than the Rent tirade.”
“She’s offended by drag queens and homosexuals? This is a theatre program, for fuck’s sake! A good half of her male students are queer!” Matt parroted from memory.
“Bitch is just jealous that Angel dresses better than she does!” Veronica and Meg chorused, giggling.
“I love Alexandra so much. Her rants make my life,” Jason said, toasting her with a concoction of Red Bull, orange juice and vodka before pulling his boyfriend Terry in for a kiss.
Autumn yawned and stretched, quietly observing the festivities. She’d slid past giddy drunk into bedtime napping drunk, and she longed for the night to end. Crossing the quad alone in this state seemed an unwise option though, especially in heels. Her eyes met Evan’s and he nodded slightly, affirming he was on the same page.
“Hey! Guys!” his voice boomed. “Security’s gonna sweep this place in twenty. Sadly, we must call it a wrap.”
Whining and chants of resistance began, but they were all show: none of them dared risk the wrath of Logan after their performance. Veronica hummed to herself as she gathered her heels in her hands, insisting she would go barefoot. Autumn immediately kicked off her own shoes, admiring her friend’s genius. Besides, heels would make far too much noise on the stairs of Ashbury.
Their group fractured outside, hugs and goodbyes quietly exchanged beneath the moon. Evan, ever the gentleman, escorted Autumn and Veronica to Ashbury, whisking them quickly to the infamous side door that was conveniently propped open on the regular.
“Where’s her room?” he whispered.
“Second floor, opposite end,” Autumn murmured.
“Shit.” He gestured to Veronica, who was falling asleep upright. “I’ll get busted carrying her there.”
“My room,” Autumn replied. “This side, third floor.”
Hoisting Veronica over his shoulder, he slipped inside, Autumn holding doors as they crept upstairs. Each step seemed a mountain, vertigo threatening at every turn, but she somehow prevailed, fumbling her key into the lock and ushering Evan inside.
“That one,” she whispered, gesturing to the spare bed.
She watched as he yanked the covers side, tucking Veronica gently beneath them. She murmured sleepily and nuzzled the pillow with a smile as he pushed her hair back from her face.
“Night, V.” A light kiss to the cheek, and he rose, arms outstretched. �
�Hug?”
Autumn smiled, accepting readily. Evan was fast becoming a campus big brother. They often sat together in Creative Writing now, sharing their works in progress during free writing sessions. They also shared a love of Nutella that meant frequent battles over his stash featuring clanging spoons and Veronica as referee.
“Don’t be too hard on her,” he said. “She wants you to be happy.”
Ah. Big brother Evan had noticed the Andrew situation.
“She owes me big time,” she grumbled.
“She’ll pay up. Thanks for letting her crash. I better jet. Night, Autumn.”
“Night.”
She locked the door behind him as quietly as she could manage, too weary to bother changing clothes. Besides, she thought sleepily, Veronica owes me. She can dry clean them.
In her restless dreams, Andrew strummed a guitar beneath her window under inky skies, Autumn silently screaming a warning as a familiar figure stalked him.
***
The cruel light of a perfectly sunny morning cut a swath across Autumn’s face, jarring her from hungover slumber by force. Clutching her head, she pawed the floor for her purse, desperately seeking Advil before the drummers in her skull kicked it up from rehearsal to Neil Peart. Veronica remained sprawled on the opposing bed, one leg dangling over the side, skirt hiked up to her hips. She was a fashion ad even when sleeping.
So unfair, Autumn thought, swallowing her Advil dry.
Three hours to kill, according to the display on the laptop she now hoisted into her lap. Showering before pain relief was out of the question and food was a no-go before hydration. That left one thing she could tackle on today’s to-do list: further researching Casteel Preparatory Academy’s ghostly history.
Sipping on water she’d stashed in the drawer beneath her bed, Autumn pulled up her bookmarks, returning to the paranormal website that investigated the campus. The video still spooked her too much to play it, but she did pay more attention this time to the detailed reports. One piece of the report caught her eye: a female student, living in Pearson Hall, recalled a story of the school once being an asylum, and how a young student had been ‘driven insane’ by the ghost of a former patient. Scrolling upwards, she noted the investigation had been done four years ago – prior to Nikki’s suicide.
Change Of Season Page 26
