The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen

by R. T. Lowe

  “You can’t be serious!” Felix shouted bitterly through his teeth. “The world? The world needs me? I don’t give a shit about the world. What has the world done for me?”

  “What about your parents?” Allison countered.

  “What about them?” Felix said with a chill in his voice.

  “They didn’t do anything for you? You don’t give a shit about them?”

  “That’s the dumbest thing—”

  “Is it?” Allison said, her voice rising. She took a deep breath, her shoulders stiffening as she exhaled slowly. “What do you think they’d want you to do?” She paused, watching him. “Well…?”

  “That’s not fair,” Felix answered in a flat voice.

  “I know it’s not—but it’s got nothing to do with fair.” Allison took his hand in hers and smiled forlornly at his reflection. “I’m sorry about all this—and I know you don’t want to hear that right now. And I know you don’t want to hear that the world needs you. But it does. And I don’t know if it makes a difference to you or not, but me and Lucas and Caitlin and Harper, we’re all part of this crazy world too.” She lowered her eyes for a moment and a thoughtful look passed over her tired face. “And you know, I um… I feel like something really bad is coming my way. Maybe it’ll happen to me. Maybe someone else. I don’t know. I don’t know what it is, but I just feel, I feel this incredible… sadness. I get these feelings a lot lately. And I just, I just know that only you can make things right.”

  “I just want to be normal,” Felix said miserably. “I don’t want to be the… whatever the fuck it is I am.”

  “I know.” Allison let go of his hand and sniffed the air, then she made a face. The house smelled a little wet. “I love what you’ve done to the place.”

  Allison had been to the house a few times during high school and always gave him a hard time about the questionable décor. His grandma hadn’t updated the interior in ages and most of the furnishings had belonged to her. The living room was a fair representation of the house as a whole. Dark brown carpet. Dark paneled walls. A series of four tourist-quality seascape prints, one for each wall. A plaid sofa pushed up against one wall. A matching pair of upholstered chairs with floral prints across from an old console TV. Next to that a tarnished brass floor lamp with a dusty ruffled shade. Tchotchkes—seashells, crystal animals, ceramic dolls, tiny replicas of the Liberty Bell and the Empire State Building, and an assortment of other vacation souvenirs—displayed on every available horizontal surface.

  “Yeah,” Felix sighed. “It’s pretty bad. But you know my parents were planning to fix it up. My dad was retiring next year. They wanted to spend their summers here. They liked the beach. They loved this place. They had plans. Lots of plans. Not anymore.”

  “I think you told me that.” Her voice sounded distant and she was gazing down at the floor. She fidgeted with the frayed edges of the towel dangling over her shoulders, lifted her eyes to his, and said cautiously, “When I talked to Bill, he said something, something you should probably know. We talked about your mom—your real mom. You don’t know why she died, do you?”

  He stared back at her, feeling a sudden coldness whisper up his spine.

  “Your mom hadn’t heard from her sister in something like twenty years. And then one day the journal just showed up in her mailbox. Of course she couldn’t have known it was cursed. So she was in this trance—or whatever happens to you when you read it—and her friend came into her apartment. Her best friend. The journal triggered something inside your mom but she didn’t know that it was happening. She didn’t realize what she was doing to her friend. One minute she’s in a trance reading a journal from her long-lost sister, and the next, she’s awake and watching her friend fall off a fifteenth-floor balcony. Your mom killed her best friend. But it wasn’t your mom’s fault.”

  “So wha—”

  “But she still felt responsible,” Allison persisted. “She never forgave herself. Don’t you get it? She wasn’t even sick! But the guilt ate at her like a cancer. And in the end, it killed her.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” His mom was dead. Did it really matter what killed her?

  “Because it’s the same thing that happened to you,” Allison said bluntly. “And you can’t let the guilt kill you like it did your mom.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said wearily. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have this…” He couldn’t convey the pain he felt—the suffocating anguish that made him want to dive into the ocean and never come up for air. Words were cheap and inadequate. All he could do was shake his head.

  “Maybe I don’t,” Allison admitted. “But I know you’re going to want to punish yourself. I know you, Felix. I know how you are. I know it won’t be easy. But you’re not alone in this. You might think you are. But you’re not. You can’t give up. You can’t.”

  She started to cry.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Felix watched the tears slide down her cheeks and hung his head guiltily. He didn’t know how he could go on living with the knowledge of what he’d done. How could he go back to his old life like nothing had even happened? “I feel like I deserve to… I don’t know… I deserve to die, or go to hell or…”

  Allison wiped her eyes with a muddy shirtsleeve, leaving behind more dark smudges on her face. “This really, really sucks, and I’m really sorry. This is just so unfair and so shitty. But you have to fight this. You can’t give up. You can’t give up on yourself. And you can’t give up on me. I won’t let you.” She looked at him sharply, eyes flaring. “And I will kick your ass if I have to! But you will not quit on me!”

  He watched her, wordless, amazed by her fire, her spirit.

  “Felix! Do you hear me?”

  He nodded.

  “Promise me!” she said, brushing away her tears. “Promise me you won’t give up.”

  Felix didn’t know if he could commit to anything right now, let alone something like that, but Allison needed to hear the words from his mouth, and her eyes locked on his, demanding an answer.

  “I promise,” he said in a soft voice

  “Good. And I promise to always have your back. Oh—I almost forgot.” She took her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and started tapping on the screen with her thumbs. “I need to let everyone know you’re okay. They’re worried, you know. They were like a minute away from calling the police.” After finishing the text, she put the phone away.

  He yawned.

  “When was the last time you got any sleep?” she asked.

  “High school.”

  “I believe you. You look like shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You grow the absolute worst facial hair.” She cracked a smile. “Please shave in the morning. I can’t be seen with you looking like this. I have my reputation to protect.”

  He smiled for her. That was the best way to end the conversation. He’d talked enough for one night. The fatigue was pressing down on him, growing heavier by the minute.

  “So where are you, um, sleeping?” She turned to look around the room.

  “Here.” He pointed at the sofa. “It’s a pull out. I like this room. You can hear the ocean.”

  Allison rubbed her eyes tiredly. “What bedroom should I use?”

  “Whichever. They’re all the same.” For the first time, he realized that Allison was completely exhausted.

  She glanced down at herself, frowning. “I didn’t bring any clothes with me.”

  “I should have something from last summer in the bedroom. The one on the left.” He motioned with his hand toward the hall. “Check the dresser. T-shirts and shorts, I think. Maybe some sweatshirts. Throw your clothes in the washer if you want. It’s kinda old, but better than nothing.”

  “Okay. Well, I guess, um, I’ll go to bed. You okay?”

  He shrugged.

  She turned and walked out of the room, apparently satisfied with the noncommittal gesture.

  He unfurled the fo
ldable mattress from the worn-out sofa and grabbed a pair of blankets and a pillow from the closet. There was a little pile of clothes, apparently worn, on the floor. He sifted through them until he found a pair of boxers. He stripped out of his shorts and put on the boxers, leaving the shorts on top of the pile. He used one of the blankets to dry off—he wasn’t sure why he was so wet, but from Allison’s appearance, he surmised they’d been outside—and tossed it on the rest of the clothes. The sounds of running water from a faucet in the hallway bathroom and the washing machine grinding and coughing into life echoed throughout the house.

  “Hey, Allie!” he called out, sitting down on the bed, dragging a hand through damp, limp hair.

  “Yeah?” she called back, by the sound of it, from the bedroom that faced the driveway.

  “Good night.”

  “Good night, Felix.”

  He turned off the lights and lay down on the thin mattress, shimmying over to one side until he found a spot that didn’t have a steel bar running up his back. The mattress springs creaked and twanged under his weight. He stared at the peaked ceiling. Every little detail—the slightly darker patch where someone had used touch-up paint, the Tiffany-style light fixture with vividly-colored grapes, pears, apples and peaches, the cobweb in the corner that shuddered from some mysterious draft too subtle to feel—was somehow etched into his memory. It seemed he’d been sleeping here for more than a few nights. He wondered what day it was.

  He heard light footsteps padding across the floor. A rush of cool air swept over him as the cover lifted up for a second, then he felt Allison climbing into the bed.

  “Close your eyes,” she whispered, pulling the fleece blanket over them, wrapping her arms around him. “You need to sleep. Just close your eyes.”

  He lay there, feeling the softness of her bare legs against his, the warmth of her body. He turned to his side, his back to Allison, and curled up against her, letting her cradle him in her arms.

  “Thanks for coming for me,” he said into the darkness.

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Felix.”

  “I just wish… I wish I could let go of this.” He placed a clenched hand over his heart. “I’m just so… so full of all this toxic shit. I feel like, I don’t know, like a bottle someone keeps shaking up. And it… it needs to… it has to open. Someone’s gotta open it. God, I swear I’m gonna… I don’t know… I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna explode if I can’t get all this shit outta me. I’m gonna blow up. Someone’s gotta—”

  “You need to open the bottle,” Allison whispered softly, her arms tightening around him, her warm breath on his cheek. “You need to let it out.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know how. I…”

  “Let it out.”

  “I can’t.” His eyes felt hot.

  “Don’t be afraid, Felix. Just let it out.”

  He didn’t want to cry. He had no right to cry. Crying was self-pity. And self-pity was acceptance. And he would never accept what he’d done. But he felt a sudden surge of emotion pulsing through him. He fought it. Tears wouldn’t heal the hole in his soul. Or numb the hurt. Or give comfort. But the grief in his bones and in his heart fought back, seeking to escape. He had to contain it before it broke through. There was no salvation in letting it out. No relief. Only more clarity. More pain. But he couldn’t stop it. It was too late for that. He didn’t have the strength. His throat clenched. And then all the anguish and guilt flourishing inside him, malignant and glacial, came pouring out in a heaving rush; the last of his remaining defenses were melting away.

  “I killed them, Allie.” Saying the words didn’t cleanse the poison raging inside him or dull the pain, yet they came nonetheless, spilling out from his trembling lips. “I killed them. I killed my mom and dad. What did I do? What did I do? I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”

  And then he cried.

  He cried long into the night. And finally, when there were no tears left, he closed his eyes and slept.

  * * *

  Allison held him. And when Felix had shed his last tear, and she knew that he was sleeping, she let herself drift off.

  Chapter 57

  Farewells and Suspicions

  Lucas dragged his suitcase into Caitlin’s room and closed the door behind him. He left the suitcase by the door and tossed a large green duffel bag and a backpack next to it. He yawned, holding the back of his hand against his mouth. The blinds were drawn and one of the bulbs in the ceiling light was out. The atmosphere in the room was somber and subdued, as depressing as the gloom and mist hanging over the campus.

  “I hate early flights,” he announced.

  Caitlin and Harper nodded blearily in agreement.

  “Did you get Allison’s text?” Caitlin asked from her desk where she sat organizing some papers.

  “Yeah.” He crossed the room and took a seat on Allison’s chair.

  “What’d it say again?” Harper rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She was sitting on Caitlin’s bed with one suitcase between her knees and another nestled against the footboard.

  Lucas took his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times. “Let’s see. Oh—here it is: ‘Seeing you in your full glory is proof that there is a God. I miss you. Why don’t you call me?’ Sorry. Wrong one.” He scrolled down. “Okay, this is it: ‘I’m unworthy of your love but I beg you: let me be your sex slave. I need you. I have to have you. Why don’t you call me?’ Oops. Sorry. That’s not it either.”

  “Lucas!” Caitlin shouted, glowering at him. “This is serious.”

  “That’s your problem, Little C,” Lucas replied casually, keeping his eyes on the phone. “Haven’t you learned anything from me? You take everything way too seriously.” He scrolled down some more, murmuring to himself. “Uh, here it is. It says, ‘He’s fine. I have him.’”

  “She can keep him,” Harper said acidly.

  “What’s up with you?” Lucas put his phone away, casting a curious glance at Harper.

  “Nothing,” Harper answered stiffly. “Just guys doin’ what guys do best. Why should I be surprised?”

  “Huh?” Lucas said.

  Caitlin got his attention with a frantic head shake, bulging her eyes warningly at him, drawing her hand back and forth across her neck—the universal sign for ‘kill whatever it is you’re about to say’.

  Lucas stared at her, bewildered.

  Harper seemed oblivious to their pathetic attempts at silent communication. “I’m so over all this,” she said softly. “I need some serious me time. I’m just so sick of this happening every goddamn time I… shit. Whatever. Maybe I just won’t come back next semester.”

  “Someone’s being dramatic,” Lucas replied with a grin. “And I’m the actor.”

  “You’re not an actor,” Caitlin told him as she looked over her itinerary. “Daniel Day-Lewis is an actor. Denzel Washington is an actor. You’re just an idiot pretending to be even more idiotic than you really are.”

  Lucas laughed at her. “That’s seriously hurtful. And you know I was shooting for an Emmy this year.” He turned to Harper. “I don’t think Felix is just any guy, by the way.”

  “What are you talking about?” Harper said testily. “There’s nothing going on between me and—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Lucas broke in. “I think there’s something going on with him. Something really strange.”

  “Like what?” Caitlin folded the itinerary in half and stuffed it into a checkerboard-patterned Louis Vuitton wallet.

  There was a burst of shouting out in the hallway. Most of the dorm’s residents were clearing out today. The mass exodus was creating chaos on every floor, move-in day flipped on its head, like a series of digital photos scrolled through in reverse order. Lucas looked over at the door, stroking the whiskers in the goatee he’d been growing, mainly because Caitlin despised it. With a thoughtful expression on his face, he stood up and started pacing around the room. Harper and Caitlin watched him from their sea
ts, appearing both puzzled and bored.

  “You guys remember when Felix woke up thinking Allison was dead or kidnapped, or whatever it was?” Lucas began. “He ran around the dorm naked and crashed your room. Remember that?”

  “At what point do you think we suffered brain damage?” Caitlin said. “Of course we remember. But he wasn’t naked. He had his underwear on. You’re such an exaggerator.”

  “Pizza and beers,” Harper added. “That was the thing with the skis at that woman’s house in no-man’s-land, right? But he just went out with Allison and drank too much and had a bad dream.”

  “Sure he did,” Lucas said, his voice clotting with skepticism. “Then there was the fire in your old room”—he nodded at Caitlin—“the night you were out. Felix wasn’t in my room that night. I was hooking up with some supermodel. I forgot which one. There’s been so many.”

  “You mean Piper?” Caitlin said with an eye roll and a theatrical frown. “I didn’t know they were signing up little albinos to be supermodels.”

  Lucas grinned at Caitlin as if she was the most amusing person in the world before continuing. “Felix said he slept on a couch in the common room. But who knows? Maybe he was in Allison’s room. It’s possible, right?”

  Harper frowned, staring down vacantly at her fingernails.

  Lucas reached over Caitlin’s shoulder and snatched up a pen from her desk. “And if he was in Allison’s room, maybe he had something to do with the fire.”

  “You think Felix is a pyro?” Caitlin asked incredulously, reaching back for the pen, but Lucas was on the move again. “You’re such an idiot.”

  Lucas rolled the pen over one finger and under the next, twirling it from thumb to pinkie and back again. “Maybe I am. But wait until I’m done before you write me off as an idiot.”

  “Whatever makes you feel better about yourself,” Caitlin said curtly.

  “Then there’s the nightmares,” Lucas pressed on, ignoring Caitlin’s barbs. “The only good thing about Felix’s disappearing act is that I actually got some sleep this week.”