by Sara Preucil
She had been with Austin enough times in which he had forgotten his house key that she knew where the Whitlocks kept a spare key hidden. In their front yard, decorative driftwood was strategically placed among the immaculate garden landscaping. Emmy stepped off the paved path to a particular grouping just off to the right. Under the middle, sun-bleached piece of wood was the shiny silver key. Glancing over her shoulder, feeling a lot like a crook, she snagged the key and hurried up the rest of the path to the front door. Quickly, she let herself inside, closing the door behind her.
She yanked off her boots and rushed upstairs to Austin’s bedroom. Pushing open his door, she headed toward his bookshelf. She selected a couple of books, choosing those that looked the most used with their corners dog-eared or with brightly colored tabs sticking out of their pages. Praying Austin wouldn’t notice the missing texts, she hastily left his room, closed his door, and crept back downstairs. She shoved her feet back into her boots, slipped out of the front door, replaced the key within the driftwood, and ran back to her car.
Emmy set the books on top of her backpack in the front seat, started the engine, and quickly drove out of the neighborhood, hoping no nosey neighbor would have recognized her car parked outside the Whitlocks’ house at this hour.
She drove straight home. Brad’s truck was in the driveway, but Emmy wasn’t bothered by it; he’d be asleep after his night shift. Quietly, Emmy crept up the stairs to her bedroom, her backpack now near bursting with the stolen books. Locking the door behind her, Emmy crossed the room to her bed and dumped out her backpack.
Climbing onto her bed, Emmy grabbed the nearest book. It was a copy of Dante’s Monarchy. She flipped to the first bookmarked page. Two lines were highlighted. They read:
Being is naturally antecedent to unity, and unity to goodness; that which has completest being has completest unity and completest goodness.
From this it would seem that unity is the root of goodness, and multiplicity is the root of evil.
In the margin, in Austin’s cramped handwriting was the note:
A unified soul, a balanced soul, is good. An unbalanced soul is evil.
Okay, Emmy thought, somewhat cautiously. This isn’t too weird. Maybe Austin had gone through a philosophical phase, or something? As she flipped to the next bookmarked portion, she silently prayed that she wouldn’t find anything worse. A couple of pages later, a larger chunk of text was highlighted.
These things being premised, we may argue as follows for the proposed exposition of the original assumption: All concord depends upon unity in wills; mankind at its best is a concord of a certain kind. For just as one man at his best in body and spirit is a concord of a certain kind, and as a household, a city, and a kingdom is likewise concord, so it is with mankind in its totality. Therefore the human race of its best disposition is dependent on unity in wills. But this state of concord is impossible unless one will dominates and guides all others into unity…
The text continued, but the highlighter stopped here. A pit had formed in Emmy’s stomach. She reread the passage a few more times to try to work out its meaning, and then, with a growing sense of anxiety, she looked over at Austin’s note. He had written:
Harmony depends on like-minded, good, balanced people. Our responsibility is to bring balance to the imbalanced.
Next to this note was a tiny drawing of the same symbol that Emmy had come across yesterday. The two opposing triangles.
Emmy snapped the book shut. She had to take a few deep breaths to calm her suddenly rapidly beating heart.
“What the fuck is this?” Emmy whispered to herself, her words coming out raspy; her mouth had gone completely dry. What did Austin mean by our responsibility?
Tossing Monarchy aside, Emmy reached for the next book. It was Dante’s Inferno. Having read pieces of Inferno in last year’s English class, Emmy had a bad feeling where this was going. Hesitantly, Emmy turned to the first page to see Austin’s doodle of the overlapping triangles. Suppressing the natural rise in her emotions, the inexplicable disgust, Emmy quickly turned the page to a random bright-pink tab. On this saved page, one word was circled.
Sorcerers
And next to it, Austin’s note saying:
Those that practice witchcraft end up in the second lesser circle at the center of hell.
Emmy flipped ahead, skimming more of Austin’s notes on witchcraft and the punishments that Dante imagined fit for them.
Emmy was still holding on to the hope that all this had to have been for research for a paper or something. But instinctively, she knew it was not. The way Austin’s scrawls filled the margins of the pages and the violent underlining and circling of passages, gave the impression of an impassioned (if not obsessed) reader.
Completely dazed, Emmy set the book down, and looked at the title pages of the texts scattered about on her bed. There were more writings of ancient philosophers and a book about the Salem witch trials. Peeking out of the back of one of the books were some loose papers, which Emmy—against her better judgment—extracted and carefully unfolded.
The pages were clearly out of order, but what was written on the top page sent a chill down Emmy’s spine. In the margin was Austin’s cramped handwriting. He had written one word.
Emberly.
Chapter 19
Emmy stared at her name. It felt so strange, so out of place, to see it written on some paper that had been hidden among texts on philosophy and witchcraft. It didn’t belong there. Why was her name there?
With great effort, Emmy pulled her eyes off her name to glance at the accompanying highlighted text. It read:
If in the composition of a body, fire dominates, then the soul being already of an ardent nature, receives thereby an excess of heat which renders it the more energetic and furious, and the body the more vivacious and active.
“What is this?” Emmy mumbled, and shuffled through the pages to find the beginning of the text. The title page told Emmy that she was reading a translation of something called the Kore Kosmou. She flipped back to the page she was reading from and continued to the next portion that Austin had highlighted:
The domination of the water causes the soul to be mild, affable, bland, sociable, and easily molded, because water blends and mixes itself readily with all other things, dissolves them if it be abundant, moistens and penetrates them if it be less in quantity. A body softened by too much humidity offers but a weak resistance, a slight malady disintegrates it, and little by little dissolves its cohesion.
Next to this section, Austin had written:
Experiment with humidifier
Emmy stared at the paper, trying to make sense of what she was reading. Not long after they had started dating, Austin had purchased a humidifier because of his indoor allergies. At first Emmy had hated it, she never felt completely dry with it around, but eventually she got used to it. Was this some holistic medical text? But that seemed so anti-Austin. He was all about Western medicine; just one look at the cabinet in his bathroom would verify that. And that wouldn’t explain why her name was written in it.
The persistent uneasiness stirred again in Emmy’s gut. Reluctantly, she continued reading the page. The next two highlighted portions read:
But if the elements be all in just equilibrium, then the whole nature is ardent in its actions, subtle in its motions, fluent in its sensations, and of a robust constitution…
and
…as equilibrium is maintained in the primitive combination and in the vapors arising therefrom, that is, so long as the normal proportion of fire, air, earth, and water remains unchanged, the creature continues in health. But if the elements deviate from the proportion originally determined--(I speak not now of the growth of activities, nor of that resulting from a change of order, but of a rupture of equilibrium whether by addition or diminution of fire or of other elements)--then malady supervenes.
Almost certain her illness is fire. Need to balance with water. Perhaps the lake?
Emmy stared
at Austin’s notes. The lake? Was he referring to Lake Whatcom, to which he had dragged her practically every day in the summer, and from which she would return home pruney and waterlogged? Was that somehow part of an experiment?
She thought back to the summer, sifting through her memories for any sign of odd behavior. Sure, there were times when she would have preferred sitting on the side of the lake, soaking up the heat as opposed to dipping into the cool water. She would start to argue her case, but Austin’s charming smile would always win her over, and she would find herself swimming with him, forgetting the whole reason she was originally opposed. There was nothing odd about that, was there?
She flipped back to the page on which he had scrawled her name. She stared at it, leaning back against her headboard. Her elbow knocked into something hard. She glanced over.
It was her water bottle. She stared at the forest scene on the metal container, Austin’s note swirling around in her mind.
Need to balance with water.
Chapter 20
By the time five o’clock rolled around, Emmy was pacing in the school parking lot, waiting for Austin to be done with football practice. She had spent the day reading and rereading the texts she had stolen from his room, working herself up into a heated mess of confusion and betrayal. Finally, she decided to confront Austin, and drove back to school to head him off before she could lose her nerve.
She parked her car next to his Audi, so there was no way she could miss him, and waited. When students from the various fall athletics started filing out of the school, finding their cars or loading into the activities buses, she had gotten out of her Geo. The papers of the translated Kore Kosmou were clenched tightly in her fist as she paced in front of the silver Audi, waiting for its owner.
At last, she saw him approaching, walking with a couple of his teammates. When he saw her standing at his car, he waved goodbye to the other guys and headed straight for her. The look of confusion that played across his face when he first saw her was masterfully covered up with his charming grin.
“Hey, I thought you were out sick today,” he said as he approached, hiking his bag higher up on his shoulder. “You feeling better?”
“What the fuck is this?!” Emmy thrust out the sheets of paper, pushing them into Austin’s chest, forcing him to take them.
“Em, what…” He opened the papers, which had been crumpled, flattened out, and re-crumpled each time Emmy took another pass at them over the last few hours. He smoothed them out and looked at the top page. It was the one on which he had written her name, Emmy had made sure of that.
Emmy watched his face for any hint of emotion as he gazed at the paper. He sighed, took out his car keys from his pocket, unlocked his Audi with the fob, and tossed his bag into the back seat.
“Get in,” he said, not looking at her. “Let’s talk.”
Emmy huffed, but made her way around the car to the passenger side, opened the door, and slid down on to the leather seat.
“So, what is this?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.
Austin stared out of the front window to the street. The sky had opened up, and the first few drops began to splash against the windshield.
“You went through my things.” he stated, avoiding Emmy’s question.
“Don’t ignore me, Austin.” Emmy yanked the paper out of his hands. “What the hell is this?” She waved it at him.
“It is part of an old poem—”
“Why is my name on it?”
Austin shrugged. “I must have been thinking of you when I was reading it for school. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It’s ancient.”
“Oh, bullshit!” Emmy yelled. “I’ve been through your books, I’ve read your notes. This wasn’t for school. Don’t treat me like an idiot, Austin.”
Austin tapped his finger against the steering wheel, chewing on the inside of his cheek, like he wasn’t sure what to do. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, tapping on the lit screen for a few seconds. He then pocketed it.
“Well?” Emmy demanded. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” She was growing outrageously frustrated; trying to get an answer out of him felt like wading waist deep through mud. The rain began to fall harder against the roof of the car.
“I’m not exactly sure what to say,” Austin finally replied. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze.
They sat in silence for a minute, Emmy staring at Austin with wide, unbelieving eyes. She couldn’t believe his lack of reaction, and this only made her angrier.
“What the fuck is going on, Austin?” she demanded again. “Are you in some sort of cult or something? And what the hell do you think it has to do with me?”
Austin remained silent. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, typed a response, and then set it on the dashboard.
Emmy couldn’t stand it. Why wouldn’t he answer her? She had never been angrier in her entire life. Her rage grew as she watched Austin sit calmly in his seat. It twisted deep in her core and churned hot through her veins until her whole body felt degrees warmer. She seethed with it while Austin sat, staring at his hands on the steering wheel. Emmy waited for him to respond, growing more livid by the second, until she could no longer physically restrain herself.
“ANSWER ME!” she screamed, the words ripping from her throat. The searing energy she had been withholding finally released itself, seeming to scorch a pathway from her gut to her extremities in an instant.
The papers Emmy was clutching suddenly burst into flames.
Emmy yelled in astonishment, dropping the papers. They fell to the floor of the car, continuing to burn. Quickly, she stamped them out with her boot.
“What the fuck?” Emmy starred at the charred smudge, her heart pounding wildly.
When Austin made no comment about the insanely bizarre thing that had just happened, Emmy slowly pulled her eyes from the ruined floor mat to look at him. He was watching her, his expression chilling. There was no fear or—what struck her the most—surprise in his expression. Instead, he was watching her, his hazel eyes devoid of emotion, his head tilted slightly to one side as if examining her, studying her reaction.
Emmy flipped through the pages of his notes in her mind: the fascination with the elements, particularly fire, and her name scribbled next to these writings. He wasn’t surprised because somehow—
“You knew.” Emmy leaned away from Austin, her shoulder bumping into the side window. She wasn’t even sure what she was accusing him of knowing. She had never done anything like this before—she wasn’t even entirely sure she had done anything. But the charred mat begged to differ.
“How?” she asked quietly. It was a two-fold question. How did she seemingly cause a few pieces of paper to spontaneously combust, and how did Austin know that she could?
Instead of responding, Austin continued to stare at her with that same deadpan expression. He looked so different from the boy Emmy knew, like a beautiful mask had slipped, revealing an ugly truth beneath.
Austin’s phone buzzed again. He picked it up off the dash.
Emmy suddenly grew uneasy.
“Who are you texting?” she asked, her voice shaky.
Austin’s thumb silently jabbed at the screen, the light of which shone an eerie blue across his face, lending him a sinister quality.
“Austin…” Emmy repeated, trying to keep the rising panic at bay. “Who are you texting?”
Austin pulled his eyes from the screen, finally looking at Emmy. He sighed.
“It was going so well,” he said, more to himself than to Emmy. “They won’t be pleased.”
“Who are you talking about? Emmy was starting to feel genuinely scared.
But Austin just looked at her with a pitying look in his eyes.
Suddenly, it dawned on Emmy that he was stalling.
Get out. A voice rang clearly in the back of her mind. Emmy’s hand twitched toward the car door handle.
With a sickening click, the do
or locked.
“It’s too late for that,” Austin said, his voice carrying a mocking cruelty to it that she had never heard before.
Emmy tried the handle, but the door wouldn’t open.
“Unlock the door!” She yanked at the handle, trying the button on her door as well, but it was as though it had been disabled.
Fortunately, a car pulled into the spot next to them.
“Open this door or I’ll scream,” Emmy said, gesturing toward the two men next to them. Hopefully they could help.
Austin sighed again. “Fine,” he said, and with another click, the door unlocked.
Emmy pushed it open, practically falling out on to the pavement in her eagerness to escape. She jumped to her feet just as the car door next to her opened and one of the men stepped out. He was wearing a nice black suit—probably someone’s dad here for a parent-teacher conference—and looked down at her with mild concern.
“I’m okay,” Emmy said, fishing her car keys out of her coat pocket. She turned to head to her car, but the other man had gotten out and was now blocking her way. He too was dressed in a black suit.
Emmy tried to dart around the back of Austin’s car, but the second man grabbed her. Something foul-smelling was slipped over her face.
“Quickly,” someone hissed. Was that Austin?
Emmy instinctually inhaled to scream, but sucked in the cloth’s toxic fumes. Her head became fuzzy and she melted into the man who was holding her. A pair of ocean-blue eyes was the last image her mind clung to as she lost consciousness.
