Change Of Season (20 page)

The plaque was worn, embossing long faded, but Autumn was able to make out all that she needed to know: 
Operating Theatre
, it said, a tiny arrow to the right.

“Um, no.  Left.”  No way in hell did she dare chance an encounter with a spirit that died on a table.  She had enough issues with the one that died in room 308.

Not a single light remained in working order in this juncture, leaving Autumn at the mercy of the powerful but narrow beam of her Maglite.  It made dodging puddles and insects far more treacherous, and her gait slowed, each step picked out carefully.  Steam hissed from the pipes overhead, serpentine billows of condensation escaping the surface.  The smell bothered her most: rotten apples and manure, as best she could describe it.

“Please tell me I’m not stumbling into a septic tank,” she whispered to herself, focusing on breathing through her mouth.

Several doors dotted this stretch – an electrical room, clearly marked with a foreboding
High Voltage
sign; a storage room that was locked, to Autumn’s disappointment; and a final door on her right, unmarked and, as a turn of the knob revealed, unlocked.  But where did it go to?

Scrape-thump.

Autumn’s heart stopped, vision whirling away as it met her ears.  A shuffling, slow walk.  Distant, but palpable all the same. 
I’m not alone. 
Clicking off her flashlight, she pressed her back to the door she’d been contemplating, ears straining.

Scrape.  Scrape-thump.
 

What to do?  How the hell could she explain being down here? 
Oh, gee, I was trying to find a bathroom and somehow ended up here! Silly me!
  A more chilling thought crossed her mind as the steps drew closer.

Can ghosts make walking sounds
?

Autumn didn’t care to find out.  Hadn’t that site posted a video of a presence?  What if
this
was that presence? 

A whistle, low and sinister, sounded down the tunnel. 
Her
tunnel.  There was only one thing to do.

Throwing open the door behind her, Autumn darted inside, and began to run.

The mystery door, as she learned, let to another tunnel, from which several doors branched off – more storage?  Dead body lockers?  No time to ponder it now, as the distant steps increased in their pace.  Slamming through the door on the opposite end – mercifully unlocked – Autumn found herself forced left down a dimly lit tunnel.  Clicking her light on hurriedly, she scanned the walls, finding a single door to her right.  With a desperate huff, she threw it open and continued running, even as the steps grew dramatically closer and quicker. 

Oh, shit! I’ve doubled back towards – whoever!
 

And she had – she knew these tunnels now.  She was beneath Media Studies again, down one of the many crazy branches she and Miraj had found that first night.  But where was the stage?  There were no doors here! 

The second branch
, she remembered. 
This must be the first
! 

A coughing nearby sent her careening around the corner to the right, only to meet with a dead end just ahead. 
No!
  Autumn realized, sickened, that she was utterly lost and at the mercy of her pursuer.  Unless that door -

To her right, she jerked the knob, the door opening to a stairwell upward.  Chest heaving she ran up the eight steps, nearly tumbling forward on the last as she jerked at the handle leading to potential freedom.

Locked.  It wouldn’t move.

“No, no, no…” Autumn whimpered, shoving and twisting at the handle.  Something moved within the mechanism, but it refused to budge.  Maybe it was only stuck?  Throwing her shoulder into the door, she twisted the silver knob.  The metal shifted in its frame, yielding slightly.  Hope renewed, she shoved again, her shoulder aching as it collided with the door.  Another inch of yield. 

Scrape-thump-thump.
Panting.  Fifty feet off, at most.

With a deep breath and a prayer to a God she stopped believing in a long time ago, Autumn threw her entire body into the door – and hit the ground as it sprung open, cracking her shins painfully against the floor.  Wincing in agony, she scrambled to her feet, relieved.

Backstage. 
That was the door I saw Nikki walk through
, she realized nervously, stumbling to her right.  Should she thank the ghost if she made it out of this?  Was it an omen? 

Breathless and frantic, Autumn didn’t see him until his arms ensnared her, a hand pressed firmly over her mouth as she slammed into his chest.

“Don’t move,” he hissed.

193

Change Of Season

ELEVEN

Oakville; October 7
th
, 2011. 11:37 p.m.

Autumn’s head spun as she struggled against her captor, fists striking at his hips, torso, anything in reach as he dragged her around a corner. 
He always said he would find me
, she thought bitterly, choking on a sob. 
And he did! He’s going to finish it
.  He muttered for her to be quiet and she silently cursed him, wished him dead.

That is, until he spun her around, hand still pressed to her mouth.

“You’re going to get us both busted!  Quiet!”

His hand fell from her lips and Autumn inhaled a shaky breath.  It was the guy.  The Film Guy.  How was this even possible?  Was he stalking her too?

“You…What-?”

“Shh!” he urged, gesturing for her to follow.  “It’s gotta be someone on staff.  We need to get back to the dorms fast.”

Autumn followed him as he cut around a corner, beyond the storage room and down a small stairwell that spilled into what she recognized to be the rear of the building, where students came and went after hours.  Security usually lingered here, but the guard had apparently wandered off to patrol, or maybe nap on the couched upstairs.  His leather jacket shimmered in the moonlight cast from the picture windows as he gestured towards a nearby stairwell.

“What’s your dorm?” he whispered.

“Um, Ashbury,” she admitted. “What-”

“I can get you back via Trudeau.  Follow me.”

Autumn hesitated at the door, heart lodged in her throat.  She knew her own way out – why should she follow?  But staff could be on the grounds, and not even a hoodie could fully conceal her as she jaunted around Athletics and dodged the quad. 

What if there is no staff member?  What if HE was chasing me?  And why is he here this late?

“Are you coming?” he asked, pausing inside the stairwell.  “I don’t know who’s out, but it’s probably Grant again and he will have our asses!”

“Grant?” The thought chilled Autumn’s blood. 
He hates me so much… and he would be out snooping
.

With a curse under her breath, she followed Film Guy down the stairs.

They soon met with a solid metal door reminiscent of her usual route, only this one spilled into a different tunnel, as best she could tell.  Without a word, he turned right, and she followed, jogging to match his pace as they wound to the right, then a sharp left.  Her scattered mind was able to determine this was roughly the right direction to Trudeau, which set her somewhat at ease.  All the same, she maintained a few feet of distance, eyes scanning for alternate routes, should he… do anything.

The pursuing steps no longer echoed off the walls, and the two of them slowed, catching their breath in gasps.  Hand pressed to her chest, Autumn waved him down, leaning against the grungy wall.  Understanding, he paused, waiting for her.

“Should start jogging again,” she muttered.

“You did alright,” he replied casually.  “What were you doing down here?”

“I could ask you the same,” she retorted.

“I wasn’t down here. I was editing in my suite and lost track of time.  I was heading to the tunnels to sneak back to Trudeau when I heard steps.  Freaked me out, since nobody goes down here, except the staff.  Thought I was fucked.”  He ran a hand through his damp hair, tousling it. “When I saw you, I figured that they were after you, so-”

“So you grabbed me?”

He rolled his eyes, angry.  “I was trying to save you from stumbling into security! Plus, I remembered you from the other week, and… anyway, I’m sorry I startled you.  We should move, though.”

Autumn sighed. “Okay.  And thank you.  Someone
was
following me for a while.”

They walked briskly, their sneakers slapping beneath them as they moved side by side.  In the faint lighting of the service corridors, Autumn could study his features from her periphery.  Bright blue eyes, stubble on his chin, pale skin, save a dash of freckles across his nose.  He wasn’t bad looking at all, if she had any interest in dating.  But she didn’t, and the strength of his grip had reminded her of precisely
why
she wasn’t interested.

“You never said why you came down here,” he suddenly mused aloud, the question hanging in the air.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she ceded.

“I usually play
Plants Vs Zombies
when I can’t sleep.”

Autumn sighed, shaking her head. “I heard the tunnels stretched all over the place.  Figured I’d take a wander.  You know how the snow is in Canada. I wanted indoor options, like the PATH system downtown.”

He chuckled softly.  “You mean that underground shopping thing in Toronto?  You do know there’s no Gap down here, right?”

“Well yeah, but I was hoping for Starbucks at least,” she deadpanned.

“God, I could go for a no-whip mocha Frapp,” he sighed.  They cut to the right, and he continued, “It’s just a little further.  The stairs lead into the Trudeau basement.  From there, I can get you outside.  You can get back into Ashbury, right?”

“Yeah.  There’s a door and a convenient rock everyone uses,” Autumn replied lightly.  “Do you do this often?”

“Maybe once a week,” he confessed.  “When I get on a roll with the film, I hate stopping.  Curfews are bullshit anyway.”

“And here I thought I was the only criminal slash insomniac!” Autumn mused lightly. 

“Nope!  A rarity, but we exist at Casteel.”  He pulled open a door to their left, revealing a stairwell heading up to a door with chipped paint and possibly cola stains.

Film Guy’s escape route deposited him in the laundry room for his dorm, a nice, noisy place that easily concealed the faint squeal of door hinges as they slipped into the room.  Carefully securing the door behind them, he gestured ahead, leading her into a lonely corridor with an elevator and another stairwell, indicated by a flickering Exit sign.

“The elevator is loud as fuck, so more stairs, I’m afraid.”

Autumn shrugged. “My thighs will be bad-ass after tonight.”

“They’re already bad-ass,” he blurted out, immediately flushing.  “That is, not that I was looking or anything.”

Autumn, too, flushed crimson.  It had been a long time since anyone had complimented her in a way that wasn’t leering or… forceful, like
him
.  It was kind of sweet, even if it wouldn’t get him anywhere.  Unsure of how to respond without hurting his feelings, she resorted to her tried and true technique: humor.

“So you’re saying I could leg model?  You know, like hand models, only my thighs? Because I bet that could be profitable for university.”

He laughed, pressing his hand over his mouth to stifle the volume.  “You’re funny when you’re not running from me, or, well, anyone.  What’s your name?”

“Autumn Brody.  I promise that’s legit and not my computer-generated porn star name.  And you?”

He smiled widely, pausing at the first landing.  “Andrew Daniels. Boring, I know, but the porn generator spat out Fluffy Bronte, so I’m stuck with it.”

Autumn grinned.  “On the bright side, you can probably do bad shit and blame it on dozens of other Andrews.  Autumn’s distinctive.”

“You can blame everything on a whole season.  That’s better.”  With a sigh, he gestured to the door. “Out there, second bush to the right and straight on ‘til Ashbury.”

Autumn tilted her head. “Did you seriously just twist J.M. Barrie?”

A mischievous grin crossed his lips.  “Hell yeah. You got a problem with that, Wendy?”

Flushing, she shook her head. “Not at all, Peter. But if you shake a fairy’s ass over my head, we might have a problem.  I have no idea where that fairy’s been.”

A creaking overhead startled them and Andrew moved quickly to open the door. “Our don never sleeps, the bastard.  Better run for it.”

Darting outside, Autumn turned back, reluctant to part.  Something was very…. Veronica about him.  Safe.  A friend.  The door shut partway, then sprung back open, revealing a frantic Andrew.

“I’m in my suite every night from seven to ten!”  And with this declaration – invitation? – he disappeared once more.

Drawing her hoodie tight around her hair, Autumn darted off towards the bushes to her right, just as
Andrew Pan
told her. 
Maybe I could have two friends
, she mused.  Slipping into Ashbury and heading up to the third floor, her mind quickly shifted. 
No… I already talk with too many people.  Even Keenan approaches me now, with or without Veronica around.  And Dora and Sarah, too…
  Unlocking her room, she stepped inside, locking herself in and stripping off her hoodie and t-shirt. 

“It’s just not safe,” she thought sadly.

Yet even still, as she lay in bed, sleepless, his words haunted her. 
He’s always there too, like me.
 
He seems nice
.  But he’d grabbed her, and his anger that day in the film suite…  No.  She was being foolish.  It wasn’t even an option.

“Fear is safety,” she mused, recalling her favourite Shakespearean play.

She’d seen no one in the quad as she’d returned to her room, but someone had apparently noticed students ditching curfew.  Perhaps the illustrious Headmistress Logan had heard of her late-night jaunts and sought to catch her in the act?  She’d have to lay low, then, adhere to curfew for a week or so. 
Besides
, she thought happily,
I’m going home for two nights.  I’m halfway through my prison sentence.  Why chance extending it
?

She would be a black-eyed mess in the morning if she didn’t sleep soon.  Popping an Ativan as Emma had suggested, she reached for her laptop and opened her email.  Sure enough, her mother had sent a quick line about picking her up after lunch, but it was the lack of messages from Miraj and Heather that sank her heart.  Miraj was more understandable, as her internet access was sporadic.  But Heather had a Blackberry and her emails went wherever she went. 

Autumn was being ignored.

She could picture it with crystalline clarity: Heather, surrounded by her cheerleader friends and the endless string of guys willing to kiss her ass for a date.  Autumn had never fit into her world once they’d hit high school.  It was an inevitability, really.  But they possessed history, years of friendship and laughter and the odd fight that ended as quickly as it started.  Didn’t that mean anything?

Friends were a scarce commodity, now.  She wasn’t ready to give up on Heather.

Hitting compose, she furiously tapped out an email to her best friend – or former best friend; she wasn’t sure anymore.

Hi Heather,

I know you’re busy with school and cheerleading, but I thought I’d say hi, and also let you know I’m coming home tomorrow for a few days for Thanksgiving.  If you get sick of your grandmother and her talk of purity balls, you can give me a call.  Maybe we can even snag some cheap wine and hit the beach?

Autumn

Autumn froze, staring at the screen.  Maybe there wasn’t a point.  She’d ignored Heather for the better part of a year, shut her out of her life.  What did she really expect Heather to do?  Wait around?  Willingly be treated like trash?  Her stomach turned with guilt, and she closed out of the message without sending. 

Heather was just giving her what she deserved.

“Stupid,” she muttered.  “You stupid, worthless girl.”

Her Drafts folder bolded, drawing her eye.  Two unsent messages. 
Wait – two?  What else didn’t I send?
  Frowning in confusion, she clicked into the folder, concerned she’d forgotten to send something to a professor, or worse, her mother.  Instead, she found two messages to Heather: tonight’s abandoned note, and another, from almost a year ago.  She opened it reluctantly, almost certain of what she’d find…

Heather,

I keep trying to phone you, but I can never make myself say anything, so I’m going to write this.  I really need your help in understanding… I don’t know.  I don’t have the experience you do with guys and all, but something with Chris just seems off.

He’s so… I don’t know.  Angry?  Mistrusting?  I see him all the time, but it feels like he’s expecting me to run off any minute with another guy.  It’s sweet that he’s so afraid of losing me, but it’s also kind of controlling.  I don’t feel like I’m my own person anymore. 

Maybe this is just love, for him anyway.  I really like him – you know I do – but we’ve been dating only a month, you know?

Anyway, I probably sound like a stupid juvenile girl, but it’s just… Sometimes, he gets this look when we make out or whatever and…

Heather, he scares me.

With a whimper, she deleted both drafts, slamming the computer shut and thrusting it onto the windowsill.  This was a sign.  She couldn’t be friends with men.  They couldn’t be predicted, couldn’t be trusted.