Clear.
Considering he’d run to the right of her, it must be the way out, she reasoned. If it were a dead end, he wouldn’t waste his energy; he’d just wait for her to double back. She moved with stealth and speed, continuing to hug the wall for protection. Only the opposing side featured working bulbs, she noted. Stay in shadows.
It was what Miraj would do.
The next divide offered a straight path ahead or a right. Autumn chose the later by instinct, motivated by the large fluorescent light in the distance. One thing she had learned from her time beneath Casteel was that major junctions featured such looming bulbs. It was the promise of a tunnel maintenance workers did not – or could not – fear to tread. A way out.
Quicker now, she darted along the damp surface, dodging puddles as best she could – more noise than she could afford to risk. Twenty feet... thirty feet... Her chest ached, her illness looming large and reminding her she was weak, pitiable. A mouse in the den of a lion. Her lungs felt crushed, compressed beneath the weight of her terror.
Andrew. Veronica. Mom. Dad. Pandora. She listed off her loved ones, marching to beat of her desperate drumming heart. She couldn’t give up, not now. They’d all fought to keep her alive, to keep her safe. It was her turn now.
Rounding to her left, Autumn spotted a brass plate on the wall. Leaning forward, she scarcely detected the words etched in: Staff Quarters. The arrow indicated she was on track to reach Faculty Housing. She hesitated, weighing the merits of this choice. Would Kearney move in that direction, perhaps returning to his home to bandage himself? What did he think she would do?
Maybe the bastard’s bled out from the jugular, Autumn seethed. No time to debate this. Continue or reverse?
Continue, she decided, pressing onward. If she could connect to the tunnels from her exploration with Veronica, she could reach Pearson Hall, or continue on towards Media Studies. Better the devil you know...
Her breathing was laboured now, her vision blurring as she persevered. Beads of sweat rolled down her back as she leaned against the wall for support. She needed another hiding place, a refuge in which to rest. Her body was too weak for this game of Hide or Go Die. Her legs wobbled beneath her and she fell forward with a loud slam, screaming silently as something sharp embedded itself in her knee. Her heart skipped as she frantically struggled to focus and pull her knee into view. A large piece of broken glass was lodged in her skin, jutting out to the side. Cursing silently, she pulled it free, wincing as warm blood oozed over her fingers. Tossing it to the side, her eyes widened in recognition.
The gloves. The hair. The syringe. Autumn knew where she was. Distantly, she heard someone begin to run and scrambled to her feet.
And so does he.
Bolting around the corner to her right, she alternately jogged and ran, fighting vertigo and the lightheadedness of fever and infection. He was off somewhere to her left and behind her, but growing closer. Whatever damage she’d done to him with the blade, it hadn’t slowed his pursuit.
Pounding feet grew in a cacophony around her, a hammering in her skull as she darted right and pawed frantically at every door she saw. She couldn’t think, couldn’t remember the way. The droning voices were stirring in the background, threatening a hostile takeover of her body – a sacrifice.
No, no, no, please don’t do this....
Locked door, and another. He was in front of her, behind her, everywhere. She gasped for air, crying silently as she tugged on another locked door in frustration. No way out.
Her body hit the ground then, a sickening cracking noise in her left arm as she fell sideways. She was smothered in his stench, writhing and flailing as he grabbed her wrists, wrenching her onto her back.
"You stupid bitch!" Kearney hissed. "Look what you did!"
The scalpel jutted from his neck, a sight she would find hilarious if she were not being crushed against concrete. She kicked the ground weakly, his legs straddling her waist as he slapped her viciously, left then right.
"You can’t do this to me again!" he snarled, pinning her wrists overhead. "You’re mine, Mary!"
Fuck you! she tried to scream, her voice a faint squeak. She squirmed and yanked with everything she had, her battle cry a familiar mantra: What would Miraj do?
She’d go down fighting, to the death.
His grip loosened as he belted her again, her eyes rolling back in her head. Digging her heels into the back of his legs, she wiggled herself lower, lining her knee up for a final stand. She drove it upward into his scrotum with a satisfied smile, Doug rolling off her and yowling in pain. Pushing up to her feet, she headed back from where she’d come in, determined to circle around somehow, merge off into another tunnel, another path to freedom. Blood pooled in her mouth – her teeth had been driven into her cheek by the force of his strikes. The metallic taste motivated her to run faster. I’m still alive, she chanted to herself. I’m not dead. Her left arm hung limp at her side, a bone broken somewhere beneath her elbow.
I’m alive.
She heard him shriek behind her, heard him gaining on her. I can’t go faster, she realized sadly. I can’t keep running from him. In her mind, she struggled to remember self-defense moves, plotted ways to kill him from movies.
One of them would die tonight in this tunnel, and she didn’t plan to be a willing victim.
Her head pounded and pulsed, drowning out his pursuit. Mom... Daddy... Did they know she loved them? Had she told them enough? Her right ankle threatened to roll beneath her and she pushed on, ignoring the pain. A draft blew past her arm and she knew he was closing in again.
Give up, the bees droned. You can’t win.
No!
A turn ahead – no, two turns. If she could just get somewhere close to the surface, the noise might bring rescue. With the last of her strength, she launched herself at the first right and flailed as a hand seized her good wrist, pulling her against the wall. She closed her eyes and waited for him strike.
A sickening crack and a thud broke through her headache, but she felt nothing. Her eyes flew open in shock, staring at the assailant before her.
"I’ve waited three years for this, you fuck!" Professor Grant yelled.
He swung the baseball bat again, taking out Kearney’s other knee. Broken and battered, he wept before his colleague, crumpled on the ground. Arms enveloped Autumn from behind and she struggled, spinning around in confusion.
"It’s me!" Andrew shouted. "It’s me!"
His face was streaked in dirt, his clothes rumpled and dusty. He pulled her away from the fray as Grant continued to lash out at Kearney.
"You think you’re the only one who cared about her?" Grant screamed. "Mary was one of my closest friends. I loved her, more than you ever did. You deserve a fate worse than death for what you’ve done to her, to all of the students!" His boot connected with Kearney’s ribs, earning a curse from the helpless man before him. Turning towards them, he gently asked, "Is she okay?"
"I think so," Andrew said, his hand cupping her cheek. "What did he do to your face? I could kill him!"
She shook her head, vetoing that idea. With her right arm, she clung to him, pressing her face into his sweater and inhaling deeply. I’m alive. Alive. Her legs buckled beneath her and Andrew moved swiftly, catching her and lowering her carefully to the ground.
"Stay with me, Autumn," he begged, cradling her to his chest. "I love you so much."
"Andrew! Professor Grant!"
Veronica? Autumn wept openly, adrenaline draining, leaving grief and devastation in its wake. They’d come for her. They’d found her. No one found the others, she thought sadly. They died alone.
Sirens began to wail above ground as Veronica and Evan joined them, crouching beside Autumn and Andrew. Veronica’s hands smoothed Autumn’s hair back as she kissed her cheek.
"Watch her left arm," Evan cautioned. "I think it’s broken."
"Prick!" Veronica shouted at Kearney. "She needs an ambulance," she said to Andrew, quieter.
"I’ll stay with you, just in case," Evan insisted.
Autumn’s ears were muffled in cotton, voices slurring around her. She felt herself being lifted, her left arm draped carefully down Andrew’s back. In her mind, she could see her room at home: the wide picture windows; the shelves of well-loved books; a tiny black cat curled up on her pillow. The scent of brownies baking in the oven. Her father’s laughter. Andrew, Veronica and Evan, at her side. Her very own Wizard of Delirious Oz ending. They were all here. They were real, weren’t they?
"Safe?" It was all she could muster, a faint whisper in Andrew’s ear.
"You’re safe," he promised. "I’ve got you."
Her head lolled as she coughed violently. I’m alive, she assured herself. I survived.
The last thing she saw was Nikki Lang, smiling as Andrew ascended the steps towards the quad with Veronica rushing ahead to hold the door open. She pressed a palm to her heart, then extended it to Autumn. Gratitude.
Rest in peace, Nikki, Autumn mouthed. Thank you.
As she slipped from consciousness, she swore she heard Nikki laugh.
EPILOGUE
Toronto; January 31st, 2012
"There’s the turn!" Veronica announced, waving the map in her hand.
"This place is in the middle of nowhere," Andrew grumbled. "Who the hell thought this was a good place for a concert venue?"
"Absolute morons?" Autumn suggested cheerily, laughing as Andrew stuck his tongue out.
After weeks of police interviews, hospitalization and homework catch-up, it was time for Autumn’s favourite form of therapy: a concert. With all of the panic and fear, she’d almost forgotten her Christmas gift entirely. It was her mother who’d jarred her memory, handing her the documentation to excuse her from campus for an overnight stay at home. It wasn’t a hard sell: after Kearney’s murder attempt, Logan was too petrified of a lawsuit to even look her way, let alone refuse a request.
Evan turned into the parking lot of Sound Academy, unhappy to find himself lodged in the rear of the lot. "Getting out is going to be hell tonight."
"So we’ll make out in the car to kill time!" Veronica exclaimed. "Shut up and smile. You’re about to see an amazing band!"
In her own way, Autumn felt closer to the music of Jack’s Mannequin than before. She’d come face to face with death, felt it breathe down her neck. Their songs of survival and appreciation for life resonated deeply with her experiences, and while there was a great deal to still resolve, her soul felt lighter.
After arresting Professor Kearney, Professor Grant had been able to lead them to the room Autumn described, where the jarred hearts of the missing girls, coupled with a blood-smeared rag traced to Nikki Lang, sealed the case against him. He was expected to plead Not Criminally Responsible, but Autumn was assured that his work showed far too much planning to be due to mental illness. As for the skipped year in his pattern, Kearney had been on sabbatical for the winter term of the previous year – motivated by Professor Grant prying into his life, suspicious after Nikki’s death.
Andrew, having realized that Grant was seeking the killer, had rushed to Faculty Housing the night of her abduction, enlisting his aid in tracking her down. For all of his attitude throughout the year, she owed Grant her life, and afforded him respect accordingly.
"He really is our Snape," Andrew had said, keeping her company in the hospital. "Redeemed."
In a strange coincidence, Chris Miller had finally been apprehended the day she left the hospital, busted attempting to cross the border into Washington State with a fake passport. He was being held without bail as a flight risk – which meant Autumn could actually sleep at night.
Her ghostly roommates had vacated the dorm, appearing the night she returned to school, smiling before walking through the walls. Message received. She didn’t speak of this with Veronica or Andrew, simply noting she hadn’t been haunted since her ordeal. They didn’t know of Miraj, didn’t know of how Nikki had saved her beneath ground, but that was okay. Like Veronica had once said, what mattered was what Autumn believed – and she believed that Nikki and Mary had ultimately wanted to protect her.
Her attention was drawn back to the present by the barking security guard, hand outstretched for tickets. Pulling the strip from her pocket, she handed them over for scanning, letting Andrew separate and distribute them among their group. Her left hand was still weak, the hairline fracture just above her wrist radiating pain through her fist. Most days, she suffered on half the dose of painkillers, refusing to spend her life in a haze. She’d lived that way for over a year, and didn’t care for an encore.
"I wonder what they’ll play tonight," Andrew mused. "Think my favourites will be in the mix?"
Autumn grinned. "Yeah, your favourites match up well with the overall fandom. It doesn’t matter all that much: Andrew McMahon is a musical god."
His arm wrapped around her waist as the four of them navigated their way into the heart of the venue, quickly maneuvering towards a vantage point in front of the mixing board. As much as she loved being front and centre for a show, her arm was too fragile to risk being jostled in the throng of fans pushing towards the stage. They’d opted to show late instead and hang back in safety. With the fence behind them, they were safe from being pressed forward.
"This view is still awesome!" Veronica gushed over the din, swaying side to side. "We also have room to dance."
"Don’t think I’ll be doing much of that this time, V," Autumn lamented, holding up her arm. "Even half a pill makes me wobbly."
"That means you’re screwed, Evan," Veronica replied, leaning against his chest. "We have practice dancing together though, don’t we?"
"That we do, beautiful."
Commence make-out session. Autumn grinned as they gave the sound crew a show, Veronica’s short skirt hiking up to graze her buttocks. She no longer minded their constant displays. Life was far too short to waste time being self-conscious and doubtful. Instead, she turned to Andrew, her good hand reaching up to run through his hair.
"Thank you for this – again," she said.
Andrew smiled in that way that sent her heart racing. "You deserve everything and more."
"I might be starting to believe that," she admitted shyly.
"I’ll just have to keep working at convincing you," he murmured, pulling her closer.
His kiss ignited her, the lingering aches and pains lost in the intoxicating feel of his body pressed against her own. She would never doubt the depth of his devotion again, not after the four days he’d spent at her side in the hospital, leaving only when dragged out by her father to sleep – at her house – and returning first thing in the morning. Not after he’d saved her life. With every touch, every kiss, she healed from the bruises – both visible and unseen.
"Aww!" Veronica cooed, shattering their reverie.
Autumn giggled, glancing over at her friend. "Hey, you can’t complain! I learned from you two."
"Happiness suits you, that’s all," her friend said.
"It really does," Andrew whispered.
"Suits you too, Mr. Daniels," Autumn replied.
The lights dimmed, sending the crowd into a frenzy as one by one, the band ventured onto the stage, joined last by their beloved front man. He launched enthusiastically into their first number, a song from their most recent album, and Autumn felt the familiar joy bubble up within her. Music was her oxygen and language, and always had been, but live music embodied something far deeper. It was cathartic, rejuvenating and salvific. Baptized by the dank scent of sweat and booze, awash in a rainbow of light, Autumn always found herself, no matter how lost she’d felt walking into a venue. Tonight’s show was not only this, but also a celebration of living, of evolving into the woman she’d thought forever out of reach. Her hips swayed, feet tapping along as the band ripped through setlist staples and new additions with gusto.
I’m alive. She was gratefu
l for this, each and every day, and reminded herself often.
It was a giddy moment when her three companions all joined the crowd in shouting along with one of the band’s biggest hits, Veronica persuading her to dance in silly circles in their alcove. The song didn’t lie: this was the embodiment of "Holiday From Real".
Minutes flew by, song after song beckoning her to dance, to sway with slower numbers, to sing along with raucous choruses. The crowd was a wonderful, joyous bunch, thoroughly into the show, which only enhanced each moment.
"I never want this to end!" Veronica gushed as she twirled Autumn in a circle.
"Me neither! Let’s kidnap the band!"
"Evan! We’re taking the band back with us, okay?" Veronica shouted, much to the amusement of the fans in front of them.
He shrugged, grinning. "Babe, if you can fit them into the car, you can do whatever you want."
Veronica hooted and pulled Evan into a dance, leaving Autumn to lean against Andrew and rest. Adrenaline was overpowering prescribed narcotics, but only just. As the band sang of being alive, she cut loose and sang along with them, audience be damned. This was her anthem now. Andrew kissed her neck and murmured appreciatively, making her blush.
Moments blended together in euphoria, minutes flying by in melody. Laughter, embraces, ridiculous attempts at coordinated movement. Perfection.
"They’re playing our song."
Andrew announced it happily as Jack’s Mannequin launched into "My Racing Thoughts" – the song he’d performed for her. It seemed so long ago, that benefit concert. It was a night of beginnings, of tentative steps back from the abyss she’d sunk herself into. Her voice reclaimed, her heart taking flight. It was he who sang along this time, snickering as she swooned and melted into his arms. I love you, famous Andrew, but I love my Andrew more.
"I almost threw up that night," he admitted. "But it was worth every second of anxiety."
Definitely, she agreed silently.
They danced to "Hammers and Strings (A Lullaby)", slowly swaying without hesitation to one of her favourite songs. “Practice for the Valentine’s Day dance,” they both joked. It was her next step out of her self-imposed exile, one last awful memory from her time with Chris to replace. They’d probably leave early, but it would be a victory all the same.
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