Change Of Season (48 page)

Autumn felt her fists curl at her sides.  In her head, she heard every vicious word every bullying girl had ever said, remembered every threat made by her ex-boyfriend.  She heard them all and she snapped.

"And I would think, in light of the fact a stalker ex-boyfriend, bent on killing me and anyone who attempts to thwart him, is back in town, that you would be less of a
bitch
and try not to exacerbate matters.  Or would you prefer I join the Room 308 Suicide Club?"

The administrator moved to speak, but Autumn waved her away.  "I don’t care what you have to say.  You’ve been determined to make my life hell since September.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see myself to my doctor, who will help me process your blatant abuses of authority and lack of empathy."

Storming down the back corridor, she threw open Emma’s door without knocking, grateful to find her alone.  With an angry scream, she threw her backpack on the floor and slammed the door behind her.

"Autumn!  What’s wrong?"

The teenager laughed bitterly, shaking her head.  "What, you mean aside from the asshole out to kill me or the fact I’m stark raving mad?  Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe I’m tired of the head of this school thinking me being stalked is funny.  Maybe I’m tired of cops telling me that everything’s going to be okay.  Or that I will get through this, with time.  I DON’T HAVE TIME."

Emma rose from her chair, gesturing to the couch across the room.  "Sit down, please."

"Why?  Do I scare you too?"  Autumn shook her head.  "My apologies."

"No, I’m just concerned you may hyperventilate and collapse," Emma said calmly.  "Again, please sit."

With a grunt, Autumn flopped onto the sofa, legs stretched along the cushions.  A part of her sensed she was being cruel, unnecessarily irate.  She couldn’t make herself give a shit.

"I’d ask how you’re doing, but it’s pretty clear," Emma began.  "You’re exhausted, fed up, scared.  What else?"

Silence.  What was the point?  Talking couldn’t save her.  If anything, it had made her life worse.

"Okay then.  We can sit here.  You’re in control."

It was a battle of wills:  Emma silently reclined in her chair, studying her; she, in turn, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the doctor.  Overhead, the clock ticked on, every shifting of the minute hand deafening.  Autumn picked at lint on her uniform, contemplating walking out and never returning. 

Where would I hide
?

A mouse, roaring as if it were a lion.  Foolish.  What else was new?  Her incompetence and poor choices were viral these days, and pulling Andrew into her chaos was one example of many.

"Guilty," she said at last.

Emma nodded thoughtfully.  "What do you mean when you say guilty?"

"My parents.  My friends.  Not telling the cops right away who had tried to break in.  But Andrew, most of all."  She drew a deep breath, holding it to steady herself and exhaling slowly.  "I should have gotten my shit together before dating.  I was selfish.  I wanted him around.  I missed his smile, missed the smell of him.  It’s so animalistic, but we’re animals beneath the veneer of intelligence, aren’t we?  And now, he’s a worried wreck.  Constantly texting to check in, making sure someone walks with me to class...  He didn’t sleep at my place.  How else would he know when I woke up?  But the worst of it, Emma?  No matter how guilty I feel for being a bloody burden, I can’t imagine him
not
there.  Not now."

"If I’m hearing you right, Andrew has been looking after you since the incident at Christmas.  You feel guilty because you need that support, want it, but also feel like you were wrong to let him in."

"Yeah, that pretty much says it.  I’m a needy basket case.  Psychic vampire."

Emma leaned forward, tilting her head.  "He comes to you, though.  That suggests that he wants to be there for you.  That he cares.  What about his feelings?"

Autumn shrugged, resting her head on the arm of the couch.  "He cares a lot.  I know he does, but..."

"But what?"

"I’m damaged goods.  He deserves more."  Tears.  Always more to shed. 

"You’re a woman struggling with a lot of painful memories and very real threats to your safety.  But you’ve also come so far already.  You may be down right now, but you’re not broken.  You’re a survivor." 

"I’m weak," Autumn countered.  "It’s so hard now to even wake up, to move.  I feel pathetic and helpless.  Infantile."

"Is relying on supportive people not a means of survival?" Emma queried.  "Not everyone can accept help."

"Doesn’t matter."  Closing her eyes, Autumn listened to her heart rattling against her ribs.  Palpitation pinball.  "I’m too tired to care, too tired to let them go."

"Then maybe you should rest," Emma suggested.  "We still have our Friday session this week.  Try and eat something, head to bed early.  Your teachers have all been told to excuse late homework and assignments for the time being.  Focus on taking care of you."

Easier said than done.  Rest?  If it’s not Chris, it’s Nikki following me around. 
Weary, she pulled herself to a seated position, smoothing her kilt over her knees. 
No homework’s a perk, though.

"I’ll try."

"That’s all I ask," Emma replied gently.  "And don’t worry about Logan.  She and I will be having a talk tomorrow."

"Silver lining, right there."

Emma handed her backpack to her, escorting her to the reception area.  Logan was long gone, to Autumn’s relief.

"Goodnight, Dr. Stieg."

"Goodnight, Autumn."

She shivered outside, checking her phone as she crossed the road towards the quad.  Unsurprisingly, she had a text message from Andrew waiting for her.

Done Film Class at five.  Dinner? 

She tapped out a reply quickly, cursing her lack of gloves. 
Promised V I’d meet her in dining hall.  Wanna join?

Beep. 
Sure.  I’m in room MS302 if you want to meet me
.

She glanced at the clock display.  Five minutes to.  Just enough time to jog over to Media Studies.  Sliding her phone into her coat pocket, she rushed towards the warmth of the building, nodding to Lucas and Matt as they passed by. 
Miserable, slushy winter
.  She longed to hibernate, slip into a cave and await brighter days.  She craved the sun. 

Everything awful happens in winter
.

The class was just exiting as she rounded the corner towards his room, her eyes scanning for messy hair and the omnipresent leather jacket.  He was last to leave, accompanying Gretchen in a hushed discussion.  Probably another talk about her.  Her hand hit the wall, steadying her wavering frame. 

Too much
. 

He saw her then, brow furrowed in worry. 
I must look like death
.  With a brief farewell, he rushed towards her, feeling her forehead.

"You’re clammy," he murmured.

"I just need food," she lied.  "How was class?"

Andrew shrugged.  "It was class.  Are you sure you’re okay?"

"Andrew, I’m alright," she insisted.  "Let’s go."

They silently took the stairs, spilling out through a side door and looping back towards the dining hall.  She studied his face from her periphery.
Confused.  Upset
. 

"I’m sorry for hovering," he said at last.  "I can back off, if I’m annoying you.  I’ve just been so worried."

Autumn winced.  "It’s not that.  I just feel so..."

"Smothered?"

"Needy," she corrected.  "You have your own life to worry about."

They drew to a halt, Andrew moving in front of her.  "You’re a part of my life.  A huge part.  You couldn’t make me stop worrying if you tried, so let me take care of you.  Please."

"It’s hard to feel... worth it.  But I can try, I guess."

"That’s enough for now.  Food?"

"Yes – no, wait.  I have something I need to do..."

Ten feet away, Professor Grant was passing by, headed towards faculty quarters. 
You’re not getting away this time
, she vowed.  Calling out to him, she jogged in his direction, Andrew close behind her.

"Miss Brody, what is it?"

Autumn forced a smile.  "I hope you’re feeling better now.  You were sick for a while."

He nodded, startled by her inquiry. 
Likely because I hate his guts and he knows it
.  "Pneumonia isn’t pleasant, but I’m recovered.  Was that all?"

"Just one thing, quickly.  My mother was telling me about a new coworker of hers, and she mentioned that her cousin attended Casteel a while back – I think it was when you studied here?  I was curious if you knew her.  I think Mom said her name was Mary Kennedy?"

Even in the dim light of dusk, Professor Grant visibly blanched. 
He knows her.  Knew her.  Just as I thought!

"Um, the name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t recall a face," he said curtly.  "I do have to go.  Goodnight, Miss Brody."

Autumn watched as he spun on his heel, storming off into the night. 
Liar
.  He knew more than the name.  He knew something about her life – or death.

"Um, Autumn?  What was that about?"

She turned towards Andrew, cursing her impulsive approach. 
Crap.
  Maybe it was time she came clean about her last big secret.  Given his protective nature, it was only a matter of time before she or Veronica slipped up, and with the anniversary of Nikki’s death drawing closer, perhaps three heads were better than two.

"I’ll explain at dinner," she promised.  "Speaking of, I’m freezing.  Let’s go."

Reaching the dining hall in record time, driven by the cold, Autumn quickly ruled it out as a place for exposition of the ghostly kind.  Veronica was hovering near the salad bar when they found her, at which point Autumn drew her aside, whispering in her ear.

"It’s time to tell him why we watch Chip Coffey."

Veronica’s eyes widened.  "You sure?"

"Kinda have to.  But not here."  Louder, she called to Andrew, "Grab food and hit the suite?"

All in agreement, they swiped for their meals and ventured again into the frost and winds, lungs seizing.  Reaching Andrew’s customary suite, they shut the door tightly and Autumn began to summarize the habits of her invisible roommate and the conspiracy theories of Ben.  Andrew’s dinner grew cold as he listened, riveted by the tale.

"No wonder you always look exhausted," he commented.  "Banging, crying, chairs sliding... Fuck, just the thought of a suicide in the room is enough to unnerve anyone.  You can’t get a room transfer?"

"I mentioned it once to Lorraine.  The short answer is no way," Autumn responded.

"I keep suggesting a séance, but she won’t have it," Veronica added, popping a fry in her mouth.

Autumn rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall.  "Nikki’s pissed enough, thanks."

"Okay, so that brings us to tonight: what was with that conversation with Grant?  He looked like he’d seen a ghost himself."

"What conversation?" Veronica asked.

Autumn sighed.  "Before the break, he busted us out close to curfew, remember Andy?  He was demanding my pass for Media Studies and just being a dick in general.  Something you said stuck with me:  that he was a student here, many moons ago."

"Ew, he was?"  Veronica grimaced.  "Why doesn’t he marry the place if he loves it so much?"

"Funny you say ‘marry’," Autumn remarked.  "I decided to look up his staff profile when I got back to my room.  Turns out he graduated in 1980 – the year that Mary Kennedy killed herself."

"Holy shit!  So he knew her?"

"Yeah, V.  And considering I look like her, it made me wonder how he knew her.  I asked him tonight under false pretenses and he practically ran back to his cave or wherever he sleeps.  Hence Andrew being filled in tonight."  Reaching for her Coke, she mused aloud, "This adds a whole new level of creepy to the
Gray’s Anatomy
page and his appearance there."

"Um, what?  I don’t remember this," Veronica queried.  "What page?"

Oops.
  "The day I saw Ben, I also saw Nikki in the stacks.  She led me to a heart diagram from
Gray’s Anatomy
on the floor.  Next thing I know, Grant walks around the corner.  Know what his research specialty is?  The heart."

Andrew ran his hand through his hair nervously, tapping his foot.  "Okay, I’m seriously concerned.  There’s a track record of girls matching your description going AWOL, ghosts leaving you pictures of his work’s focus, and he went here the year the first girl died?  This sounds like a bad Dean Koontz book, and we know how those tend to turn out."

"Brainwave:  pull up his profile on the computer," Veronica insisted.  "I’m curious."

"About?"

"Wait," she insisted, watching Andrew login.  "It could be nothing.  Scratching a creeped-out itch."

"Okay... Staff...  Paul Grant.  What am I looking for?"