Change Of Season (49 page)

"What year did he start teaching at Casteel Prep?"

Autumn stared at Veronica.  "No..."

"Um, 1998," Andrew replied, spinning around and freezing.  "What’s wrong?"

"The first disappearance after Mary was in 1999," Veronica said quietly.

Autumn shook her head in disbelief.  "This... No, this is total coincidence.  Veronica, you can’t possibly think-"

"Who better than a teacher?" she countered.  "Autumn, he lives on campus.  He went here, so he knows it better than almost anyone.  And, as much as it scares me, he hates you more than usual, and every single girl looks like you."

"You know what else is weird?  He’s always lurking around campus at night."  Andrew drummed his fingers on the desk.  "I mean, in the time I’ve been here, I’ve seen all of the faculty at some point, but late at night?  Grant’s out at least once a week.  Why?"

Autumn reached weakly for the captain’s chair, slumping into the seat. 
The crying.  The warning that it’s my turn.  The pattern going back to the start of his position.  The heart diagram Nikki wanted me to have.  His fixated torture in class... 
She couldn’t deny her own past suspicions, but to see them actually validated...  Her stomach lurched and she closed her eyes tightly.

"Nikki didn’t kill herself," she murmured.  "Those girls didn’t run away."

They were dead.  All of them
.

"Get her a damp paper towel," Andrew ordered Veronica.

Someone had killed Nikki alright.  But not Nikki.

Your turn
, the computer menaced in memory.  They all died in the winter. 
‘Tis the season
.  Who would kill her first: Chris, or Grant?

"You need to breathe," Andrew insisted beyond the din.  "Breathe.  In and out."

Was she not breathing?  A chill caressed her shoulders.  Death at her door. 
Knock-knock
.

She inhaled sharply as cool paper towel pressed to her eyes. 
Evidence. 
They had no evidence, beyond the testimony of a spectre. A hand rubbed her back as she leaned forward and cradled her face in her palms. 
We need proof
. 

"Maybe we should get the nurse," Veronica suggested.

"No, I’ll be fine," she insisted.  "Fine..." 
Inhale, exhale
. 

She glanced up, her nose grazing Andrew’s.  He was crouched beside her, paper towel discarded beside him. 
I don’t want to die. 
Which meant one course of action remained:  proving Grant was a murderer.

"I think we should get you back to your room," Andrew said quietly.  "You’ve had a lot to deal with in the last two weeks already."

She reluctantly assented, the headache pulsing in her temples tipping the scale in her friends’ favour.  Her escorts walked her to her room, Andrew again bucking the establishment.  With a promise to rest, she hugged them both goodnight, locking the door at their behest. 

Her toiletries were scattered on the bathroom floor once again. 
Nikki tantrum
.  Kicking them aside, she splashed her ashen face. 

"I know, Nikki.  I’ll make him pay," she promised.  "He won’t get me."

A deep sigh echoed in the room, satisfied.

He won’t get me. 
She wanted to believe it.  But as she tossed and turned for hours, dropping in and out of consciousness, her dreams were of coffins and funerals – and a pile of dead girls with brilliant red hair, tangled in a heap, hands outstretched in a plea for help.

TWENTY-SIX

Oakville; January 4th, 2012

"Autumn?  Could you stay back please?"

She glanced up, nodding at Professor Kearney.  "Sure.  I’ll meet you tonight at eight, V?"

Veronica smiled.  "Sleepover time!  I’ll bring the snacks and such.  See you later."

Autumn slid her books into her bag slowly, intentionally wasting time while her classmates cleared out.  From the look of concern dashed with pity, she assumed Kearney wanted to discuss the events of the holiday break.  Given her complete inability to focus in class, it seemed wise to solidify that whole "hand it in late" deal her therapist had arranged.  The last straggler escaped into the hall, celebrating the end of the school day with a whoop and fist pump and she approached the front of the room cautiously.

"No need to look so concerned," the professor said, smiling.  "I just wanted to check in and let you know that Dr. Stieg spoke with me about your ordeal.  I am of course willing to extend your assignments as needed, and I won’t call on you unless you volunteer.  I don’t want to add any stress right now."

"That would be greatly appreciated," she replied.  "I have to admit that I totally spaced the last two days.  I swear I like history."

"No apologies needed.  You were one of my most involved students last term in social studies.  Everyone needs time to recoup.  As someone who researches psychology, I can perhaps appreciate more than other instructors how difficult returning to a daily routine is for you."

"I was thinking of taking Intro Psychology next year."  She shuffled her bag to her other shoulder, the one she hadn’t pulled during her fitful sleep.  "I’ve enjoyed the studies I’ve participated in, and the connection between depression and creativity has been in my thoughts for a while.  Plus, I figure it’ll help me as a writer."

Professor Kearney nodded, leaning against his desk.  "Oh, absolutely.  I think the best writers understand how to portray complex characters, psychologically dense beings struggling beneath their burdens.  It’s what carries good work into the realm of the exceptional.  It also helps us understand ourselves, which fosters a deeper appreciation of what we do and why.  At least, that’s what drew me to the subject."

"Kind of like self-analysis?"

He nodded.  "To a degree, yes.  I think most who study the mind have a desire to make sense of their own passions and fears.  There’s not a person alive who hasn’t wrestled with internal conflict.  Humans have fantastic poker faces at times.  We carry our pain in silence, smiling through it, eventually coming to a solution.  A facade is so easy to master.  Even those in whom we confide only ever see the tip of the iceberg, because there are no words that are sufficient – no offense, future author."

Autumn smiled.  "None taken.  It’s one of the frustrations of writing for me, the conveying feelings aspect.  That all makes a lot of sense.  Did you ever want to be a therapist?"

"No, I was always more inclined to do the research.  It’s a difficult career, witnessing the pain of so many.  I’d rather help those out in the field learn more about how to help their clients.  Now, it’s well past four, and you should be enjoying your free time."

"I suppose.  I will try and keep up, though.  Is it okay if I come for extra help once the dust sorta settles?"

The professor smiled, fastening his briefcase.  "Of course!  And if you do need to decompress or vent, you can talk to me as well.  I may not be a therapist, but I do have a great ear." 

"Thank you,  I’ll see you Thursday."

In crossing the quad towards Ashbury, she mulled Kearney’s words carefully.  They resonated with her own life, true, but they also echoed what had been said repeatedly about Nikki Lang:  no one ever noticed pain that would make her suicide seem... expected?  Realistic?  While her instincts screamed foul play, she also knew that she’d been found in a manner that had plainly alerted authorities to suicide.  The other students were missing; no bodies had ever been found, nor had they been located alive. 

A good writer ensures all angles are examined, such that by the final climax, the reader agrees that all prior pages led to that very moment
.  Professor St. James stressed this on several occasions in his class last term.  If she were going to ensure justice for Nikki – and her own survival – all avenues and theories deserved equal consideration.

"Hope you have your thinking cap with you tonight, Veronica," she muttered, unlocking her dorm room. 

Enough of Chris Miller.  It was time she gave Nikki her due.

***

"Pass the Doritos?"

Autumn tossed the bag across to the other bed, shaking her head.  "V, did you not eat a real dinner or are you and Evan expecting?"

"Bite me.  PMS is on like Donkey Kong.  I cannot stop eating
everything
!"  Veronica tugged hard, the bag opening with a loud
pop
.  "I had the quesadillas for dinner, though.  Semi-healthy, right?"

"And here I thought you liked your ass big," Autumn teased.

"Not when I have an audition in three weeks!  Oh well, I’ll just swim laps with Evan until I’ve burned off a baby goat’s worth of flab.  Anyway, you should be joining me, Miss ‘I forgot to eat’."  Veronica glared at her.  "Andrew will be so pissed if he finds out."

Autumn winced, propping her feet on her headboard.  "Oh God V, don’t tell him.  I’m just too anxious to eat big meals.  Look, see?  Candies?"  She popped another jelly bean into her mouth.  "I’m eating the best I can.  Besides, if you tell him, he won’t just be angry.  He’ll order a pizza to campus and make me eat it all."

"Pizza?"  Veronica’s face lit up.  "I keep forgetting he’s grade twelve.  Can we
please
ask him to order one?  Calcium cures PMS or something."

"No!"  A pillow sailed across the room, striking Veronica in the head.  "You’ll thank me later."

Retaliatory fire struck Autumn in the face.  "Maybe.  But damn, pizza sounds amazing.  Where is Loverboy tonight?"

"He’s filming an interview for his new documentary mid-term.  There’s a grade seven student whose family survived the Holocaust.  He’s doing a piece on genocides and the generation afterwards.  I think he has another lined up with someone from Rwanda in Toronto next weekend.  Hence our girl time sleepover."

"And how are things between you two?"

Veronica.  Always incorrigible.  Always a romantic at heart.

"I don’t know," Autumn admitted.  "We had two weeks of average-level crisis and then it all went alert status fail.  I was practically catatonic for three days, and he was just
there
, trying to help me.  I feel like he’s going to get fed up, you know?  And then there’s the fact that my ex is frolicking around Ontario, well aware that I’m at a boarding school somewhere.  I mean, how many of them are there in this province?"

Her friend rolled over on her side, propping up on her arm.  "I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if Jamie was... well, coming back.  You’re so brave.  I would have begged my parents to fly me to a desolate island until he was arrested.  As for Andy, stop worrying about that.  You didn’t see how he was when he first arrived.  It was only a few weeks after the crash.  He understands why you’re a mess."

"I guess..."  Reaching for another handful of jelly beans, she continued.  "There’s understanding though, and burden.  I’m really no good at dating, V.  You have to interpret him for me."

Veronica thought for a moment, then smiled warmly.  "Honey, if he were a typical guy out for an easy, breezy love affair, he would have dated two dozen other girls on campus by now who were pretty and willing.  If he thought it was all too much, why would he wait for you, sing for you and send you that note even after you declared radio silence due to emotional disaster?"

"I don’t know, maybe-"

"And he bought you tickets for your favourite band, y’know, the one he covered at the fundraiser?  No, hush.  He is head over heels.  All he wants is to make you happy again.  Trust me.  I swear on my love of Broadway."

Autumn laughed, shaking her head.  "Okay, okay.  Serious vows."  Pausing, she quietly added, "I really hope you’re right.  Now, share the damn Doritos!"

"Catch!"  She tossed the bag over, giggling as they nearly hit the floor between them.  "It was super cool of Lorraine to agree to this," Veronica said, pulling her hair back with an elastic.  "A new room would be better, but at least you don’t have to be alone every night."

Autumn nodded.  "I’m hoping she keeps her antics to a minimum tonight, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.  Which brings me to a little investigative work that I’m hoping you’re game for tonight."

"Are we
Paranormal Prep
?"  Veronica bolted upright, tossing aside her chocolates.  "Do we need to leave the room?"

"Not tonight.  I did want to kind of go over things again, plan of attack stuff."

"Pass me another Fresca and break out the case file," Veronica quipped. 

Sliding open the drawer beneath her bed, Autumn dug out her now bulging envelope of notes and photos and shifted to the floor.  With hesitation, she lined up all of her evidence, including the postcard she’d never mentioned to anyone.  Veronica had proven time and again that she could be counted on for discretion and an open mind.  Besides that, she could possibly verify the handwriting on the charred fragment.