The Vanishing Stair

by Maureen Johnson

  Ellie was gone. The new Ellie was taking over.

  Janelle stood and waved to Stevie from one of the booth seats. Stevie headed over toward her. Nate was there, and Vi. Stevie slid in.

  “Where did you go last night?” Janelle said.

  “Camping,” Stevie replied.

  “Where?”

  “In the yoga studio. It was peaceful in there. The rain on the roof was really nice.”

  “You should have stayed with us. Are you okay? Did you sleep in there?”

  A tray lowered itself onto the table. It was attached to David, who sat down with them. He didn’t look up at Stevie. He just picked up a piece of bacon and started snapping it into pieces.

  The veins in Stevie’s forehead began ululating in alarm.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Are you okay?” Janelle asked David. “You weren’t there either.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’m great.”

  He snapped his bacon again. He looked right at Stevie, but her image seemed to bounce right off his eyes. Stevie felt herself vanishing, shrinking away. The toxic awkwardness of this conversation was obvious. Nate looked like he was trying to retreat into his sweater. Vi flashed a look of concern at Janelle. Janelle, of course, continued to face it all head-on.

  “The yurt is nice,” she said. “They moved in some beds, and they made little rooms for us with these tapestries.”

  “Good to hear,” David said. “I’ve always wanted to live at a renaissance faire.”

  “I’m going to get some food,” Stevie said, pushing back from the table.

  Though it had been some time since she had eaten, Stevie found she had no appetite. She walked along the counter, gazing into the amber depths of the warm maple syrup vat with its tiny ladle. Gretchen came up behind her, sliding her tray along delicately, careful not to touch Stevie’s, as if whatever Stevie had was catching.

  “You guys are having a bad year,” Gretchen said quietly. “I liked Ellie.”

  “Me too,” Stevie said. Now that she was saying it out loud, she realized she really had. Ellie was goofy and colorful. Ellie had been friendly from the word go. She was ridiculous in her tattered clothes, rolling off the hammock chair in the common room.

  “Do you think she did it?” Gretchen said. “Really?”

  “I don’t know,” Stevie said, sliding her tray along.

  “Sorry,” Gretchen replied.

  Stevie shook her head, indicating all was fine, even though all was not fine, and moved quickly along the line. She grabbed a portion of melon as a breakfast gesture so that no one would ask her why she wasn’t eating, and started the long walk back to the table.

  She had not done anything wrong, she told herself as she looked up at the judgmental faces of the carved pumpkins that sat on the eaves above. She sat with David in his grief. Then she told him the truth. That was all.

  Did she do it in a kind of mean way for no reason she could work out after he bared his soul?

  Stop, she told herself. Just . . . stop. It’s fine. Just sit. It’s fine.

  The space between her and the table loomed—stretching and shrinking. People turned and glanced up at her as she passed, some still with traces of their costumes of the night before present on their skin and hair. Glitter here, smudged eyes there, colors in their hair.

  Stevie was about halfway back to the table when the cafeteria doors opened and a small crew of faculty came in, including Call Me Charles, Jenny Quinn, and Larry. There was the school nurse, the counselors, Pix, a few other teachers. They cleared a bit of space. They gave Stevie just enough cover to sit down next to Janelle and start shoving melon into her mouth.

  Charles, today dressed in somber gray pants and a black shirt, stood up on one of the chairs. Jenny Quinn stood beside him, quietly surveying the room. She was also wearing gray and black—black crepe pants, low black shoes, and a massive, thick cardigan of gray wool that swept down to her knees. It was the kind of wild, magical thing that looked like it had come from one of Stevie’s Nordic Noir shows. She had pulled back her hair into a perfect bun that sat on the crown of her head like a doughnut. Her face was firmly set, and she ticked her gaze back and forth across the room like a scanner. She was looking for something, but what, Stevie had no idea.

  “Everyone, everyone,” Charles said, holding up his arms. “Could I get some quiet for a minute?”

  The cafeteria settled in a moment or so. Stevie turned to listen. She could feel David looking at the back of her head.

  “As I think most of you know by now, we suffered a terrible loss. Last night, Element Walker was found. She was not, I hate to have to say, alive.”

  The air-sucking quiet in the room said that everyone did know this, but hearing it was another thing entirely.

  “I want to tell you what we know and what will happen next,” Charles went on. “It appears that Ellie suffered an accident and became trapped in a tunnel—a tunnel we did not know about, a tunnel that will immediately be surveyed and sealed. One building, Minerva House, was affected, so we will be working with Minerva residents on accommodations . . .”

  He shifted a bit and put his hands in his pockets. Jenny’s attention was now pointed in the direction of the Minerva table.

  “. . . the last few weeks have been a time of such sadness. What you need to know, what you must know, is that your safety, your health, your emotional well-being is what matters the most. We are going to be here for you. We’re going to have . . .”

  “Counselors,” Nate mumbled under his breath. “You get a counselor and you get a counselor, and you get . . .”

  Janelle reached over and took Nate’s hand and he stopped.

  “. . . every available resource. Some of you may need some time to visit home. We’ll work to arrange that, if you need it. You can come and speak to any of us, at any time.”

  Charles continued burbling about procedures and feelings. Stevie shoved another square of melon in her mouth and chewed it slowly. Her mind decided this was nowhere to be and took a little trip back to anatomy class. Dis means apart. So many dis words. Discover. Dismember. Distance.

  All of it applied to her life.

  Charles relinquished the chair. Order was returned, and the cafeteria began buzzing gently again, everyone conferring about what they had just heard.

  “So is the school going to shut down or something?” Nate finally asked.

  “We hope not.” This was from Jenny Quinn, who had approached their table. Though she had seen Dr. Quinn many times, or overheard her several, Stevie had never really been part of any face-to-face discussion with her. Dr. Quinn was one of Ellingham’s most formidable academics. She was on more committees and was a member of more institutes than she had fingers and toes. Think tanks courted her. Harvard still missed her and was waiting for her to call. She was second in command to Charles, which seemed unlikely, until you remembered that Charles was a guy. Even at Ellingham, the patriarchy reared its shaggy head. She was also the first person Stevie had ever seen who was clearly wearing fashion. Not just things that were cool. Things that had been on runways.

  “Nathaniel,” she said. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  Nate visibly gulped.

  “Fine?”

  Jenny’s eyes were still tracking, going from face to face. She glanced at Nate, glided over Janelle and Vi, paused a beat when she caught Stevie’s glance, and then landed on David. David got a hard, long look before she looped back around to Nate.

  “If this causes problems with your book . . .” she said. “Just come to me.”

  She did the track of the table again. Whatever Jenny Quinn had come over here for, it was not to see how Nate was doing in the worlds of feelings or dragons. She had some other agenda she had decided not to share, and that agenda had something to do with David, who was now looking down at his plate and stabbing at his food.

  “I have a question,” Janelle said. “I need a job. I need to do something. What can we do?�
�

  A look that could have been approval spread over Jenny’s features.

  “I think a strong, positive message from the students would go a long way,” Jenny said. “If there is press, and there will be, then the students should be part of the message. Ellingham is an institution, and we have been here for many years and we will be here for many years to come, hopefully. In fact, we are likely about to expand, maybe even double in size. So perhaps you want to organize the students? Make yourselves heard. You can work with me to develop a message and work with our media team.”

  “I can do that,” Janelle said. “I can do that.”

  “Definitely,” Vi said. “I’ve worked on messaging with all kinds of campaigns.”

  “Good,” Jenny said. Then she made her exit. Janelle and Vi huddled at once to start discussing this. David picked up his tray and walked to the door, dumping the tray in the busing bin as he left.

  “So,” Nate said, turning to Stevie and speaking in a low voice. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck has been going on?”

  18

  “SO WAIT,” NATE SAID, WALKING UP AND DOWN. “DAVID EASTMAN IS Edward King’s son.”

  “Don’t tell anyone that,” Stevie said.

  She was sitting on the stack of yoga mats in the gloom of the rainy midmorning. Nate was one of those people who couldn’t quite sit still or look at you if the conversation went on too long, so he had been traversing the room, half lifting himself on the barre, tracing his finger along the edge where the mirrors met on the wall. He was doing everything to keep from standing still.

  “You’re here because of Edward King. And your job is to make sure David is stable?”

  “Basically,” Stevie said.

  “Is this normal?”

  “How am I supposed to know what normal is?” Stevie said, pulling at a loose thread in the cuff of her hoodie.

  “But you told David,” Nate said. “That his father is why you’re here.”

  Stevie had given Nate the overview on this, but not the bloody details about the crying and how she ran away.

  “Except that Edward King didn’t seem to know that when he called me this morning,” Stevie said.

  “He called you this morning?”

  Stevie had not gotten that far in the story. It was a lot of story.

  “Jesus Christ,” Nate said, banging his head delicately against the mirror wall. “Is this even a school, or are we in some kind of experiment?”

  Stevie shook her head.

  “So what happens now?” Nate said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “If David tells his dad, you could be gone, whenever? How?”

  “I guess he talks to my parents or something,” she said. “They listen to him. He has influence and . . . planes. He can do pretty much anything.”

  “Jesus. Jesus, Stevie.”

  “You wanted to know,” she said.

  “Does Janelle know?”

  “No. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “Probably. She already hates David.” Stevie rubbed her temples. “Look, I have to do something. There’s one more thing I have.”

  She unzipped her bag and removed the tin and set it on the floor.

  “What’s that?” he said. “Are snakes going to come out of it?”

  “It’s proof,” she said, “that the person who wrote the Truly Devious letter wasn’t the person who kidnapped the Ellinghams. I found it in Ellie’s room.”

  Nate tipped back his head and laughed. She had never heard him laugh like this before. It was deep and bounced all around the mirrors and the floor.

  “Now you are shitting me,” he said. “You’re in some secret deal with a senator, who is David’s dad, two people are dead, and you have proof about the Ellingham case.”

  “This is why my anatomy grades are bad,” Stevie explained.

  “You can’t be a real person.”

  “Whatever happens to me here, this case has to get solved. If they take me away, I need you to help me.”

  Nate pinched his nose and paced from one side of the room to the other.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “Okay. Yes. Okay. Sure. Let’s solve the crime of the century. Why the fuck not?”

  Stevie’s phone rang, and she pulled it from her pocket. The number was unknown.

  “Oh God,” she said. “I think it’s him.”

  “Who?”

  “Edward King,” she said. The phone continued to ring. Stevie considered throwing it at the wall, then decided that it would be better to answer than be kept wondering forever.

  But it was not Edward King. It was Larry.

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Someone here?” she said.

  Nate raised an eyebrow.

  The first rule of Ellingham Academy was that no one was allowed at Ellingham Academy except the students and faculty. Even parents could only come at appointed times. The road could not withstand heavy traffic, and the school was big on fostering a creative spirit of learning, which meant no randos. Visitors were rare and had recently been only of the police variety.

  So, her parents. They had come. It was over. She felt herself sag into the yoga mats.

  “Dr. Fenton,” Larry said. “She’s waiting at the Great House for you.”

  When Stevie arrived at the Great House, Fenton was there, leaning on the security desk, deep in conversation with Call Me Charles. And she had not come alone. Hunter sat in a chair by the door, looking like he wished he could sink into the floor. He was wearing some old jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and had the general air of someone who had been dragged along on someone else’s date.

  “. . . it’s a real work of scholarship,” she was saying. “It far surpasses the original.”

  “I’ll have to be sure to read it,” Charles said. For once, Captain Enthusiasm looked like he had been bested by someone much more exhausting than himself. He shifted uncomfortably and looked at his watch.

  “Stevie,” he said as she approached. “Dr. Fenton has come up to—”

  “I just wanted to check on some of these references,” Fenton interrupted, holding up the pad. “It looks like I may have come on a bad day.”

  “Yes . . .” Charles said. “I think what would be best is if you came to my office and we’ll look at the schedule. We’ll be a few minutes.”

  “Is there any chance my nephew could have a look around? He’s always wanted to see the place.”

  Hunter continued drilling into the floor with his mind.

  “I . . . think that would be all right,” Charles said, not sounding at all like this was all right. “Stevie, maybe you could take Hunter on a brief . . .”

  He didn’t linger on the word, but the point was made.

  “. . . tour of the campus. Dr. Fenton, if you could come with me . . .”

  As they stepped outside, Hunter sighed loudly. The rain had given up a little bit, leaving the day gray and soggy, but good enough to walk in.

  “Sorry,” he immediately said, “she made me come. I know we’re not supposed to be here. She knows it too. I’m really sorry. You don’t have to give me a tour. I can wait in the car.”

  “No,” Stevie said. “It’s fine. Today is . . .”

  “Bad,” he said. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Word spreads,” he said. “Is it true? They found that girl?”

  Stevie nodded. She did not add that she had found that girl. In the gray of a new day, the knowledge settled on her shoulders. She had found a body, and she was . . . okay with it. Not great. Not happy. But she was holding her own. Some coping mechanism had been triggered.

  “How did you get up here?” Stevie asked.

  “She told the person at the front gate that she had an appointment with Dr. Scott. He must have said we could come up.”

  “What do you want to see?” Stevie asked.

  Hunter looked across the vista, past the Neptune f
ountain, at the wide expanse of the green.

  “It’s really amazing,” he said. “I’m sorry to come like this, but it’s still cool to see it. I don’t know where to start.”

  “I guess, around?” she said.

  Stevie started walking toward the grass.

  “Sorry,” he said again. “Could we do the path?”

  He held up his crutch.

  “Oh, God. Sorry. Yeah.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It just sticks in the ground, especially when it’s wet.”

  Stevie decided that of the two possible directions, it was best to head toward the left, to the classroom buildings. It seemed like these would be less populated. David seeing would make this whole weird thing even worse. The library was as good as any place to start, so she took Hunter there.

  Hunter was appreciative of everything he saw, his eyes growing wide. She could see longing on his face.

  “This place is nuts,” he said as they walked between the classroom buildings. “It’s better than the pictures.”

  “It’s okay,” Stevie said.

  “You know it’s better than that.”

  She shrugged.

  “So someone gets all of this,” he said.

  “What?”

  “If they find Alice. Someone gets all of this.”

  “That’s an internet rumor,” Stevie said.

  “Not according to my aunt.”

  “Bullshit,” Stevie said, shaking her head. “She doesn’t believe that.”

  “She does,” he said.

  Hunter stepped ahead a bit and sat down on the bench between some of the statues nearby.

  “She says . . .” Hunter sighed deeply. “That Robert Mackenzie told her that there was something added to Ellingham’s will that stated that anyone who located Alice, dead or alive, would get some huge fortune.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Stevie said, shaking her head. “That’s an old rumor, like that the whole thing was faked or that Alice lives in the attic and she’s a hundred years old. I’ve been in the attic, by the way. She’s not there.”

  “My aunt believes it.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Stevie said. “No one who is serious about this thinks that’s real. If it were real, everyone would know. That would be the whole point. Tell everyone so that they would go look for Alice. You don’t post a reward without telling people to go look.”