Change Of Season (47 page)

Fiona.  What if he’s gone after her too?

A chill rolled over her as she started a new email.  She had failed Fiona in not lending her voice for the legal case.  She had ignored her warning last month, not so much as thanked the one whose life nearly ended at the hands of a master manipulator.  This quick message was the absolute least she could do to reciprocate.  Hitting send, she gently shut the laptop, her head falling to her knees with a muffled sob.  There was no sense in asking Veronica what to do: Autumn knew damn well what the answer would be.

"Autumn?" 

His voice was hoarse, but gentle.  Guilt washed over her as she recalled her panicked actions:  hiding in the closet; collapsing in his arms; the watch he’d kept so that she might sleep.  Two weeks of being together as a couple and here she was, endlessly demanding of him.  She flinched at his touch upon her back. 
Unworthy
. 

"Hey, what is it?" Covers shuffled, silk sweeping over silk in an elegant hush.  Steps came around the bed, halting before her.  "What can I do?  What do you need?"

Glancing up, she shook her head sadly.  "I’m so sorry.  This is all my fault."

"What is?"  He knelt down beside her, distressed.  "I’m trying to understand, but you’re spinning in circles and I can only pick up so much."

Tell him
, Veronica urged in her mind. 
He’s safe
. 

He’s not safe now,
she countered sadly.
  And that’s why I have to tell him
.

"What do you know?" she whispered. 

He paused, weighing his words carefully.  "Someone hurt you.  Someone you dated, I think.  I don’t know what he did for sure, but it was physical somehow.  Certain touches or movements... your whole body turns to stone.  You’re still scared.  Your parents don’t seem to know anything."

Autumn nodded in confirmation.  So many of the pieces were in place already. 
Tell him he’s in danger
, her head screamed. 
If anything happens to him
...

"He was so nice at first," she began, eyes averted.  "Forward, but nice...  I don’t know how it happened... Little things he said, arguments.  In a few months, he had me trained to take it.  I blamed myself for angering him...  So stupid!  But then I found out what he was capable of, and when he knew I knew his secrets..."  She winced, tugging on her hair viciously.  "He’s back in Toronto.   He was here last night, I know it..."

"He was the one who set off the alarm?  Are you sure?"

"He’ll kill you!" she cried, shuddering at the thought.  "I can’t let that happen!"

Andrew pulled her into his arms and rocked her gently.  It didn’t make sense.  Didn’t he hear her?  His life was on the line because of her.  Her parents...  Her father would be so disappointed in her.  The lies, the cover-ups...  Honesty was the mantra of the Brody house. 

"Don’t be nice. You’re in trouble. Don’t you understand?" she mumbled, struggling against him.

"I do," Andrew said firmly.  "But all I care about is you.  You’re in danger, too."

"I don’t know what to do."  She pushed harder against his chest.  "I’m bad for you, Andrew.  You shouldn’t be good to me!  I’m so fucked up-"

"I’m not letting go of you unless you ask me to because
you
don’t want
me
."  He was adamant in this.  "What do you want?"

"You."  Drained, she went limp in his arms, silently shedding tears.

"If this guy is trying to break in, your parents need to know," he said gently.

"They’re going to be so angry... I let them down."

He kissed the top of her head, which only made her cry harder.  "The only person who’s let someone down is this guy.  He betrayed you.  He hurt you.  Your parents just want you to be happy and well."

"I lied to them." 

She felt so small.  Five years old, spilling milk on the kitchen floor.  Blueberry stains on her mother’s white blouse.

"We’ll tell them together," Andrew whispered.  "Okay?"

Nothing was okay.  But she could try and make it that way, before any more blood was shed.

Andrew broke the news for her, Autumn unable to speak as they sat in the living room.  Curled up in her easy chair, she pressed her eyes shut as her mother began to weep, simply asking "why?" over and over.  Her father was steely resolve and rage contained, placing calls to the police and arranging statements and investigations.

She could only offer that she was sorry, that he’d threatened to hurt her family.  That he had lashed out with deadly force to drive home precisely what he was capable of. 

Her mother held her as she was forced to dredge up every miserable detail on Christmas Day, wincing as her daughter recalled being slammed into walls, punched and slapped. A restraining order was immediately issued in light of Fiona’s pending case corroborating her story.  A piece of paper seemed worthless in the line of fire, but it soothed her parents.  It was "doing something".

Everyone wanted to "do something".  Tidings of comfort, without joy. 
Ha
.

An attempt was made that night to enter Fiona’s home.  Thanks to her warnings, police had been monitoring her house and were able to thwart Chris Miller, although he evaded arrest once again, disappearing into the night without a trace, not even a licence plate.  He was intelligent, a predator whose tracking skills were honed over four other abusive relationships, as police detailed.

Fierce debate began anew over boarding school:  understanding now that Autumn had made a choice out of preservation, her parents wanted her to drop out and return to Jarvis.  Uninterrupted slumber beckoned from the warmth of her own bedroom, but would it truly be peaceful?  She would trade one ghost for another, forever glancing over her shoulder, one eye open at night, waiting for the shattering glass.

Chris didn’t know
where
her school was.  He knew only where it
wasn’t
.

There was also the matter of her new friends, her Writing program, and Dr. Stieg.  As reluctantly as she’d assented to their weekly meetings, she’d come to rely on their catharsis.  Casteel’s prison walls were strangely salvific. 

“If anything,” she’d argued, “I should go back and avoid home visits entirely.  Home is the only place he knows where to find me!”

This notion didn’t fly, to say the least, but Autumn won her war.  Andrew remained at the Brody home, arranged with Casteel’s staff and his disinterested aunt, until January 2nd, when her father drove the two of them back to campus.  Aside from her theatre outing with Veronica she remained homebound, watching movies with Andrew steadfastly at her side and writing in her journal between phone call sessions with Emma. 

Ativan flooded her veins daily.  A morphine drip for psychic devastation.

She counted stars between nightmares, Pandora’s purring her solace.  She dared not wake Andrew or her parents when she came gasping to the surface of night’s dark oceans.  Yet somehow, he always sensed her awakenings, slipping in and silently holding her until medicated mercy baptized her anew.

She dared not confess the feelings lodged in her strangled throat.  They seemed a death knell, a signed execution order. 
He
could be listening.

“Autumn?”

Eyes blinked once, twice.  They were here, behind the gates of her school.  Where had time gone?

“Oh.”  Seatbelt unbuckled, she slid out of the van, fingertips grazing the dirty veneer.

Warm arms, strong and familiar.  Her father held her silently for what seemed an eternity. 

“Call us if anything happens, or if you just need to,” Neil Brody said.  “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Daddy.” 

Andrew took her bags, carrying them to her room as she climbed the stairs in silence.  It was September all over again:  laughter and shuffled belongings and congested halls.  Eyebrows raised at Andrew’s presence, the gossip machine whirring to life, but she couldn’t be bothered to care.  Talk was cheap.  The police talked, too. 
Oh we’ll get him
, they lied, viper smiles and self-congratulatory pats on the back.

Andrew was action, not talk.

He sat her belongings down on the spare bed, hovering as she inspected every corner of her space.  The window was firmly locked.  No chairs were out of place.  Silence within walls.

“I can’t stay long,” he said.  “Rules.”

Autumn nodded.  “Thank you.  For everything.  I...  No words, really.”

Another embrace, also warm, but yielding and gentle.  Spice and sweetness.  She inhaled him deeply.  How would she close her eyes without him just beyond the wall?

“You should sleep,” Andrew said.  “Classes in the morning.”

Rubbing her eyes, she agreed. 
Back to the daily grind
.  Her fingers fumbled to program an alarm into her phone as Andrew turned down her bed, placing her water bottle on the ledge nearby.  Kicking off her shoes, she stretched out, burrowing in the blankets.

“If you need anything, phone me.  Day or night.”

“I can’t trouble you like that-”

“Shh.  You’re not trouble.  Not to me.”  He kissed her cheek quickly, brushing her hair from her eyes.  “I’ll pick you up outside for breakfast at eight.  Try and rest.”

“Okay.”

She watched him departing, bile rising in her throat. 
Don’t go
, she pleaded, knowing full well it wasn’t a choice. 

“Text me?” 

He nodded. “As soon as I get to my room.  Promise.”  He hesitated, his expression pained.  “I’m not far.”

“Far enough,” she murmured sadly.

“I can get here in two minutes.  Just call me.”  Glancing over his shoulder, he sighed.  “Dorm mother’s coming.  Rest.”

The door shut briskly, the murmuring of voices beyond it indecipherable.  A lock engaged quickly – he’d had Lorraine use her master key, she assumed.  Emma had promised all pertinent staff would be made aware of the situation.  Hopefully Lorraine was one such person. 

The phone vibrated minutes later, her hand fumbling to read the text.

In my room.  Not leaving until I come for you tomorrow.  If you need me, call.  Don’t hesitate. 

Relieved, she managed a short goodnight before her eyes fluttered shut.  Rag doll girl, stuffed with chemicals.  Stabilizing the patient.

The worst was over
.  It was the catchphrase of the week.  Chris knew he was being sought, everyone reasoned.  She was back in the dorms, somewhere not on his radar. 
It was a matter of time
, they said.

Why did it feel as if the nightmare was only beginning?

TWENTY-FIVE

Oakville; January 3rd, 2012

The first day of the new semester spanned six hours, but to Autumn, it seemed like days.  Hair pulled messily into a bun in the five minutes she’d had to dress and head downstairs – the snooze button was abused that morning – she sat through her classes, scarcely aware of the instructors, let alone her friends.  The academics were up to speed: their concerned looks and endless stares were  a tell-tale sign of intimate familiarity with the TV movie of the week that was now her life.

Andrew led her around, gently guiding her through the motions of normalcy.  Eat breakfast.  Attend class.  Walk to another class.  Eat lunch.  No, eat more than one bite.  Another class.  Evan arriving, escorting her to Contemporary Literature.  One foot in front of the other.  Onward, little soldier.

War had been declared long ago.  What terrified her was the face of defeat looming on the horizon.

And now, she was at the Administration building, scheduled for an emergency session with Dr. Stieg.  A fun-filled day at Casteel made complete.  Shoving her way inside, she was body-checked roughly into the door frame. 

Headmistress Logan.  Now my day is truly complete
.

"Miss Brody," she stated curtly.  "You should be mindful of where you’re going."

"I am mindful.  I’m going to see my shrink.  In this building."

The switch flipped, and Nurse Ratched mode sprung to life within her wicked glare.  "Your deliberate obtuseness doesn’t suit you.  You know perfectly well that I meant you should watch where you were going, lest you cause harm.  I would think, in light of your
situation,
that you would be more observant."