by Rachel Shane
“You must be Ty.” Sabrina pushes herself into the crevasse of the open door and gasps.
Isla and I rush in after her but stop short in the entryway. “Oh. My. God,” she says, plucking the words right out of my mouth.
Gold foil covers the entire walls, like a King’s royal bedroom where expensive gold encases every surface. No spot on the wall left untouched.
“Yogurt tops.” Ty gestures around his room. “I collect them. Been up for two nights gluing them. Had to find something to cover fifty years worth of tape marks.”
I groan. “Great, you’re as insane in person as you are on the phone.”
Ty lounges on his bed by the door, an unassuming navy bedspread looking out of place beneath him. Sports trophies line the shelf above his roommate’s bed, adding to the opulent ambiance. “So what brings you ladies to my humble abode? Beside my body, of course.”
Evidence. I spin in circles in the room, unsure what exactly I’m looking for. Something written on the wall…beneath the yogurt tops? Something more obvious?
“We’re looking for something,” Sabrina says, “but we don’t know what.”
Ty eyes Isla’s VCR. “Is it a tape?”
We all glance at each other. “Maybe?” we say in unison.
“Why?” Isla squints at him. “Do you have one?”
Ty shrugs. “I collect yogurt tops, not ancient artifacts.”
“You know.” Sabrina cocks her head to me. “Gavin said in the first note how I would know the answers and you would know the destinations. Maybe this is what he wants me to figure out?”
I raise my brow. “Do you know the answer?”
She deflates. “No.”
Isla jiggles the VCR in her hands. “So, um, what now?”
Our eyes flick to the door, to defeat.
Ty wiggles his brows. “I can think of something.”
“Are you sure no one came in this room in the last few days? Anyone that looked like me perhaps? Did your roommate let someone in?” Sabrina asks.
Ty shakes his head. “No one except you three.”
I linger on Sabrina’s statement. …In the last few days… Maybe what we’re looking for wasn’t planted here recently. Several of Gavin’s clues point toward 1994. What if what we’re looking for was placed her back then?
But would it even still be here?
My eyes drop to the legal papers rolled up in Sabrina’s fist, the ones we pulled out of the closet wall. Gavin’s clue had said “one of two.” I gasp, covering my mouth with my palm. The only way something from 1994 would still be here is if it was buried in the wall, like the papers. Maybe Gavin meant that’s what Gavin meant by one of two. The papers were the first item we’d have to dig out of a wall. “What if it’s in the closet? Stuck in the wall. Like the papers.” My pulse thumbs as I trudge toward the closet.
Sabrina snaps her head up. “That’s crazy, it’s—”
“Worth a shot,” Isla says, shrugging.
Sabrina flicks her eyes toward Ty’s closet by the door and then to the window. She crosses the room. “My dad loved to tell the story of how he first met my mom.” She gets on Ty’s roommate’s bed, shoes and all. “He was lying in his bed and heard a commotion outside, so he sat up and looked out the window.” She demonstrates. “And Mom was down there getting harassed by guys.” Her voice gets into the story, raising in octave at the scary parts. “Dad ran down the fire escape to save her, blah blah, but don’t you see? He sat up to look out the window!” She pats the bed. “He slept here.”
I wrench open the roommate’s closet, relieved to see the walls inside void of yogurt tops. “Ty, do you have a hammer or anything?” I scan the room for a blunt object, focusing on the trophies. One of those will work. I hope they aren’t worth something.
“Whoa, what the hell? You can’t walk in here and just take something out of my roommate’s closet. Either you’re the best thief in the world—doing it in public—or you’re insane. I vote insane.”
“Sabrina, explain please.” Figurine in hand, I slide open the closet door. Ty flies to my side, pressing his hand against the door and opposing my force. I’m not strong enough to fight him, but Sabrina wraps her arm around Ty’s waist and pulls him to the nearer bed.
I crawl into the closet, kneeling on piles of shoes. Shirts graze the top of my head, and I hold my breath to avoid the stinky feet smell. I run my hand along the wall, not exactly sure what I’m checking for. It all feels smooth.
“My dad stayed in this room when he went to Lockhart,” Sabrina explains behind me in a super flirty voice. “We think he hid something here. In your roommate’s closet.”
“Like a pirate’s treasure?”
“Maybe,” she says, coyly.
I knock along the wall, checking for hollowness.
“And it’s in the closet. All these years?”
“My dad has a tendency to hide things in closet walls. We’ll pay for damages.”
All the knocks sound the same, muffled, except one spot. The very corner. It’s hollow here. I take a deep breath.
Clutching the trophy, I arc my arm backward and ram it into the wall. It only makes a small dent, but the noise is like a firework. I ram the object again and again until I create a hole. White particles fly out of the edges, plaster raining down.
I contort my body into a yoga pose, my arched stomach gracefully greeting the floor as I straighten out so my legs dangle inside the room. I sweep my hand inside the hole, meeting the cold, clammy air of empty space.
I pull my arm back out and grab the trophy again. I enlarge the hole to reach a different angle. This time when I wrench my hand inside, my fingers graze objects instead of air. My heart leaps. Holy shit. I was right. There’s something in here! “Yes!” Grasping the object tightly, I twist my hand until the rectangular object fits through the hole.
I exit the closet and wipe dust from an old VHS tape like a bone unearthed on an archeological dig. My fingers shake as I lift the tape high in the air in victory.
Isla and Sabrina do a mixture of gasps and cheers.
Ty raises an eyebrow. “That better be a lost JFK conspiracy tape. Was your dad on the grassy knoll?”
I roll the tape over in my hands. How did Gavin know this? Why didn’t he find it first? And more importantly, why did Chuck stash it in the closet for twenty years?
Isla quickly hooks up the VCR and we pop the tape in.
“Sit back and relax. Enjoy the show,” Ty whispers too loudly in Sabrina’s ear. I expect her to roll her eyes. But instead she giggles.
My back stiffens as static turns to scan lines and the tape begins.
Present Day
I grip Ty’s blankets as the video begins, my white knuckles creasing the fabric.
A younger Chuck’s face appears on the screen, standing in a hallway. Lockers stretch out on either side with orange streamers hanging down in front of them like a Hawaiian skirt. He smiles at the camera, so happy he practically bounces. Or maybe that’s just the camera. The colors are all washed out, faded and foggy, like some of the dust from all these years seeped into the image.
He looks so much like Gavin that I gasp. His hair is longer and parted down the middle in the style of the nineties. But the way his eyebrows arch slightly when he smiles, the curve of his lip, it’s all Gavin.
Sabrina snorts. “I am so going to make fun of my dad for that hair style when we get back.”
“She doesn’t know where we are.” Chuck lifts his finger to his lips.
He leaves the frame and the surroundings blur until Josephine’s smile takes up most of the screen. The camera tilts, revealing a blindfold around her eyes. Her blonde hair hangs in long sheets on either side of her face, feathered bangs acting as the bridge between them.
Josephine’s nostrils flare as she sniffs the air. “Is Dennis here too?”
Chuck gasps in a mock-offended way. “Dennis! Think about us, not my roommate.”
“Sorry. I smell his cologne. Can’t you?” Sh
e sniffs again.
“I smell it wherever I go because he sprays that stuff over everything.”
The image spins chaotically when Chuck and Josephine start walking.
Faint notes of a piano—soft and melodic—merge with Josephine’s heels to create symphony of music. The piano grows louder and louder as they walk into what must be the school’s music corridor.
The screen wobbles until both Chuck and Josephine are visible, most likely with his arm outstretched to capture the shot. Chuck addresses the camera. “Detour,” he says. “This way.” He pulls Josephine’s free hand.
He pushes open a door and the volume of the piano soars. “Hey, Omar,” Chuck calls.
Sabrina and I exchange glances.
“What are you doing here so late, man?” Chuck asks.
The camera swings to show Omar sitting behind a piano. A baseball cap covers his head.
The notes trill beneath his fingers. “Gotta get this done, dude. The composition’s due tomorrow.”
Omar watches Chuck for a moment, and then nods at something Chuck must have said or done behind the camera. He winks and gives a thumbs up, an inside joke between them passing, the audience and blindfolded Josephine stuck in the dark.
Something tinny crashes loudly outside the door and Chuck angles the camera in the direction of the doorway where Josephine stands.
“What was that?” She sounds scared.
Chuck settles the camera on a shelf so all three are visible on screen. “Ghosts,” he says in a spooky voice.
“Ghosts?” Isla arches her brow. “Like the article?”
Josephine catches her breath and both men laugh.
“It’s probably Dennis.” Omar adjusts his cap. “He’s been running around here frantic all night. Must be struggling with his final composition.”
“No. He finished weeks ago. He told me he’d be at the library tonight.” Chuck shakes his head. “Probably wants to perfect his song since he’s presenting first. I still can’t believe he signed up for the loser spot.”
“I’m kind of curious what he’s going to play. I’ve been trying to eavesdrop tonight, but the bastard’s been playing too softly. You’d think he’d get over the shy act by now.”
“I told you I smelled Dennis,” Josephine says, grin on her face.
Chuck’s lips stretch into a thin line. He turns back to Omar. “Good luck, man. Looking forward to hearing yours in class. Of course, mine will blow yours away.” He squeezes Josephine’s arm.
“No doubt.” Omar waves, then perches his fingers over the keys, cracks his neck, and resumes playing.
The camera wobbles as Chuck picks it up and focuses the camera on Josephine as he leads her out of the room. They amble to another doorway where paper streamers hang in front.
“Duck,” he tells her, and she obeys. The streamers move like fringe in a car wash.
Chuck films Josephine as he verbally directs her to sit in a student chair. He sets the camera down in a far corner, zooming in and out on the lens until the shot finally stabilizes with a wide view. Thick layers of streamers circle the perimeter of the room like venetian blinds. As Josephine waits, Chuck lights twenty or so tea-light candles set up around the room. They rest on chairs and desks, and a row of them illuminates the piano that Josephine waits in front of. The candles flicker the same color of the orange streamers.
“Wait.” Isla pokes her finger at the screen. “Look at those streamers, behind the piano. Are they moving?”
I lean closer. The streamers bulge outward in one spot. “Maybe they’re covering—”
Sabrina pulls my shoulder back from where I leaned in front of her. “Shh, you guys—we need to listen!”
Josephine reaches to the back of her head, trying to undo the blindfold. Chuck races to her side and slowly brings her hands down to her lap. “Not yet. This is about engaging the senses. I learned about it in music class.”
Chuck sits behind the piano, his fingertips ready to play. “Okay, give me the first thing that comes to mind. Anything.”
Josephine giggles. “What are you doing?”
“Not the phrase I’d hope for, but it will do.” He presses several notes, trying a few keys. His fingers gracefully switch from one note to another and then he sings out in a tune I recognize, “What are you doing?”
“Another,” he prompts. “Something poetic.” He keeps playing while he speaks, one hand reaching over the other to hit some far away keys. He hits the wrong one and it sounds dissonant to my ears.
Josephine reaches up to cover her ears. “I need earplugs.”
Chuck scoffs.
“I’m just kidding!”
Chuck’s playing grows fiercer. “Earplugs stuffed into my ear.” He sings out the line, matching the notes to the tune he creates on the fly.
The next line Chuck adlibs, closing his eyes and letting his senses guide him. “Drown the world so I can’t hear.” He lifts one hand from the piano and waits. “That’s your cue,” he says.
“Let me take the blindfold off.”
He punches the keys, playing the same trill over again. “Let me take the blindfold off.” They both laugh. He hits the same note in a row. “We’ll have to strike that line from the record,” he sings along on tune.
He repeats the first two lines about earplugs and gives Josephine another chance to add a better third. “Give me a word. Something that rhymes with ear and hear.” He plays the same bar over and over again while she thinks.
“Um. How about clear?”
“Good. And though the quiet sounds so clear,” Chuck sings. His eyes light up as he continues to the next line. “My mind is what’s really closed.”
Sabrina’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my God. Are you hearing this?”
My pulse thumps against my breastbone. They’re writing Breaking Free of Silence. Dennis obviously kept only the good lines, figured out the tune Chuck invented on the piano, and upped the tempo for a catchier pop beat. The only thing he added was the dance. Otherwise, Chuck and Josephine wrote this song. And the evidence is all here.
Earplugs stuffed into my ear
Drown the world so I can’t hear
And though the quiet sounds so clear
My mind is what’s really closed
But then I met you, and I felt free
The beats pulsed inside of me
Our love creating a melody
My heart is what’s now exposed
Because I’m breaking free of silence
Sound surrounding me
You brought the music to my life
And we found harmony
I used to think that I was immune
To love’s powerful tune
But now it’s the only song I croon
And our love is what I composed
Now my life has a background score
A heartbeat I cannot ignore
A never ending perfect encore
Our future is what I proposed
When Chuck finishes with the song, he undoes Josephine’s blindfold and pulls out a small box from his pocket. She stares at it with big eyes. “Remember the last line of the song?” he asks.
She nods ever so slightly.
“I know we’re only in high school, and I don’t mean to rush things, but with me going four hours away to work at my dad’s construction business…well, I want you to know I’ll wait for you to graduate. High school and college, whatever you want. I love you, and that’s never going to change.” He twirls the box in his hands. She sits up straighter.
Bending on one knee, he opens the box and pulls out a small, sparkly object. “Will you marry me?”
She throws her arms around him and they kiss. He slips the ring on Josephine’s finger.
She stares down at it, beaming. But then her smile drops. “Does Dennis know?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
She twirls the ring. “He’ll be upset.”
“He’ll live, Jo. It’s been two years since you we
re his girl.”
They embrace in a passionate kiss, the candles flickering shadows on their faces, a shot any director would have been proud to capture.
“Ha! I knew my parents’ engagement was a clue.” Sabrina beams at me.
True, but it still doesn’t add up. If Chuck had evidence that he wrote Breaking Free of Silence, then why didn’t he go after Dennis back in 1994?
The kiss lingers an uncomfortably long time. The streamers behind the piano—the same place where the hanging papers bulged—start to wave. They fly up as if windblown, revealing feet scurrying at the bottom of the screen. The flimsy streamers dance in the path of the candles, their ends dipping into the candle flames, and within seconds, the entire thick layer shoots up into a crackling blaze.
The running feet emerge through the streamers, and another teenage boy pulls off a jacket that’s covered in flames. He drops the jacket just outside the door before he makes a clean exit. Flames shoot from the doorway, probably catching on the streamers and posters in the hallway.
As the figure runs out of the room, Chuck breaks from Josephine. His eyes are wild with fear. “Oh my God. I must have put the candles too close to the streamers.”
“Where’s the fire extinguish—” Josephine screams. Somewhere off in the distance, the sound of flames crackling rings out. Probably the hallway igniting.
Chuck grabs Josephine’s wrist violently. “We have to leave. The entire hallway is smoky.”
“Oh, God! How are we going to get out?” Her eyes scan the perimeter. “The window! Get that desk over there.”
Chuck rushes past the burning chair and grows larger on screen as he approaches the camera. The image on the screen spins chaotically, bright oranges and dark blacks mixing together like a smudged, abstract painting. Sound becomes screams and crackles. I can’t discern anything concrete, and after a short while, the screen goes all black. Either Chuck turned the camera off, or it went dead during their climb.
