Change Of Season (50 page)

"Let’s start with what we know in terms of timeline.  In 1980, Mary Kennedy committed suicide on Valentine’s Day."  She nudged forward the stained Polaroid, now paper clipped to the yearbook page she’d photocopied.  "Judging from where we found that, I’d say it’s likely that Mary also lived in room 308."

"This room..."  Veronica shook her head.  "Bad mojo."

"In 1999, also on Valentine’s Day, Rachel Bateman, age 15, runs away.  She’d been depressed, but never said a word about wanting to take off."  Autumn laid her picture beside Mary’s.  "No one knows what happened to her.  Reading Week, 2001, Anne Linehan takes off.  She was 17, had a boyfriend in Montreal that she’d mentioned running back to.  Of all of the girls on this list, she’s one of the few I’d believe actually did take off, if she wasn’t precisely on schedule." 

Veronica nodded, pointing to her picture.  "Maybe we should make a note of that?  I mean, the resemblance is odd and the timing, but she did what she said she would.  She’s also the oldest, isn’t she?"

Autumn nodded.  "No, that would be Alyssa, but we’ll get to her.  Cindy Rames, start of semester two in 2003.  Upset about her parents divorcing.  Only 12.  Hurts my heart."  Gingerly, the photo was lined up with the others.  "Leigh-Anne Blackwell was 13.  Took off in 2005 the day before Reading Week.  This is the other one I would believe as having bolted, because she repeatedly told others her plans, including going to Union Station.  And now, Alyssa, the oldest one.  Took off in late January after complaining about being stalked or watched.  She’s the reason Ben began investigating at all, and her complaints are why he believes the campus ghosts are cursing Casteel’s students."

Veronica reached in her bag, pulling out a small notebook and a pen.  "I want to start tracking the theories here.  So, theory one is that the campus ghosts really hate redheads and haunt them until they run away or take their own lives."

Autumn nodded.  "The campus was an asylum once upon a time.  Pearson was one of the residences for the patients and paranormal investigators did find weird shit in the service tunnels.  Ben may be odd, but he has a valid basis for suspicion."

"Okay... got it.  Back to our girls, and 2009."  Veronica’s face fell, fingers grazing the photo.  "Nikki Lang.  16, barely.  Killed herself on February 15th, possibly during the commotion of a fire at Pearson.  Talk about odd coincidences.  She was a little sad at times, but she did love the arts, and she had close friends."

Hesitantly, Autumn passed the postcard fragment to Veronica.  "I held this back before, because it seemed so...  I don’t know.  After finding her barrette, I didn’t want to upset you."

Veronica gasped, her hand shaking as she examined the scrawl.  "Oh, fuck... Where did you find this?"

"The tunnels, back in October.  Same day I met Andrew, actually, now I think of it.  I saw her, V.  She ran through a door and it was there.  Is it-"

Veronica nodded.  "Lori’s her cousin.  They wrote a lot.  She wrote this...  Does this read like stalking or haunting to you?"

"Yeah.  Like Alyssa."

Veronica sat the postcard down lightly on Nikki’s photo, blocking her eyes.  Drawing her knees to her chest, she leaned against the bed.

"Nikki stayed here.  She committed suicide like Mary, but felt watched.  She cries in your walls, moves things around...Her barrette ended up backstage and ignored for years somehow."

"She also gave me the heart diagram," Autumn added, unfolding the page.  "She also left me the message:  ‘your turn’.  For what, I don’t know.  What I do know is that, in thinking about it today, we need to keep it simple and eliminate the most likely possibilities first, as best we can."

"And those would be?"

"That all of these girls ran away or did take their own lives, as the case might be."  She winced at Veronica’s furious stare.  "I know, V.  I know Nikki makes no sense.  But before we decide there’s a serial killer who happens to teach Biology here, we need evidence."

"Serial killer, Grant...  theory two.  So theory three is that everything’s a massive coincidence?  And how do we prove that?"

Autumn pulled her hair off her neck, letting cool air drift over her flesh.  "This is where the investigation comes in.  I saw Nikki in the tunnels.  I found the postcard there.  I’ve been chased by Grant in them.  Andrew can get around parts of campus unseen with them, and so can I, which means that anyone determined to run away may have used them, too."

"Or a psycho killer could use them," Veronica countered.

"They’re also haunted, according to the investigation by that paranormal society," Autumn continued.  "I say we go down there with flashlights and see exactly how far they go, and where to.  If there’s a way off campus without hitting the gates, then runaways could be runaways.  Or maybe we’ll figure out why a ghost might come after female students, see some sign of it."

Veronica sat quietly, mulling over the proposition.  Her skin was ashen, the unseeing lost girls all focused on her.  Autumn knew the feeling: every time she pulled her notes out, she could feel them behind her, asking for answers she couldn’t give them.

"Okay.  We’ll do it.  When?"

"Can you skip going home?"

Veronica nodded.  "Weekend.  Good call.  Friday?"

"As usual wifey, you’ve read my mind."  Shuffling her papers back into a pile, she tucked them into the envelope and stuffed it back in her drawer.  "I’m tired of waiting to be cursed, or killed by
anyone
.  I have to try something."

"And we will...  Okay, I’m super depressed now.  Chocolate and comedy?"

Autumn laughed.  "Yeah, I’m booting up the Netflix.  Any suggestions?"

"
Loser
?  Jason Biggs, Mena Suvari and kittens.  Can you truly go wrong?"

"Sold."

Autumn’s gaze lingered on the quad as she waited for the movie to load, taking in the small clusters of dorm-bound students.  Carefree, laughing faces bundled up against the chill.  There was a time when she and Heather were much the same, trudging from Jarvis to the nearby pizza joint for after school treats, or sneaking out to one party or another.  Her soul was heavy now, tethered to shadows of the woman she could have been. 

Nothing could be undone.  She understood this.  But it didn’t stop her from staring at the sky, wishing on stars that twinkled in pointed jest. 

"Hey, you okay?"

She turned around, forcing a smile.  "Yeah.  Just wondering how Andrew was doing."

"What is it you always tell me?  Ah, yes:  sap!" Veronica teased.

Stretching out on her bed, she looked one last time to the stars overhead. 
I need closure, for all of us.  Please
... 

A large star just right of the moon winked.

***

The sound of shattering glass and a guttural sob tore Autumn from rare slumber.  Her body bolted upright, immediately tensed for battle.

"Veronica!"

Curled up on the hardwood beside her was her friend, her hair tangled around her clawing fingers.  Her feet skirted shards of glass – what once was a bottle of Snapple, maybe.  Reaching out, she touched Veronica’s shoulder to console her.

"What is it?  What happened?"

"Don’t you see it?"

Confused, Autumn glanced towards the bathroom, her jaw dropping open in disbelief.  Her desk chair, often the focus of Nikki’s antics of late, was centred beneath the overhead light fixture and fan, as she’d found it several times in the last month.   This didn’t faze her.

It was the sheet tied around the fixture that dangled to just graze the chair that left her reeling.

"She hung herself," Veronica whispered.  "I didn’t tell you, but she...  Oh my God...  What does it mean?  Why is she doing this?"

"I don’t know."

Music flooded the room, symphonic and macabre in its cheeriness.  With a whimper, Veronica clawed her way onto Autumn’s bed, her back pressed to the wall, but she couldn’t sit still.  Autumn knew this song incredibly well – ranked it among her top twenty tracks of all time.  This was no spontaneous shuffle and play of iTunes.

It was a message.

"Why?" Veronica pleaded.  "What do you want, Nikki?"

"The title of the song," Autumn said calmly.  "Tunnels.  Nikki’s endorsing our plans.  We’re on the right track."

The sheet fluttered in an unseen breeze, beckoning her.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Oakville; January 5th, 2012

"Thanks for photocopying these, Andy.  The first few days were spacey."

Autumn scanned over his notes from the week’s lectures in Politics and Math, nodding to herself as bits and pieces came back to her.  With any luck, she’d subconsciously absorbed the big stuff and wouldn’t be too far behind.

"Not a problem.  Focus coming back?"

"Mostly."  Autumn shrugged, tucking the pages into her bag.  "Sleep would improve things, but I remember at least half of today’s class, so it’s a start.  Weaning off the Ativan might be necessary, although that could create a whole new set of issues.  I’ll ask Emma tomorrow what she thinks."

Andrew rolled his chair over, abandoning the editing homework on his computer screen.  "You grabbed dinner, right?"

Autumn groaned, exasperated.  "Yes, and Veronica watched me eat it.  I don’t have an eating disorder."

"I know, but part of the spacing out with you is skipping meals and not realizing it."  Catching her glare, he winced.  "I’m sorry.  You’re not a kid.  Change of subject?"

"Yes, please."  She patted the couch seats, smiling.  "Break time?"

He joined her on the cool leather with a contented sigh, toying with her hair as she rested her head upon his lap.  She studied his features, memorizing the light stubble and tiny scar near his left ear.  What was it from?  She wanted to know the story, wanted to know which of his parents had his slender nose and forever messy hair.  She felt so exposed at times, her entire life an open book before him, and evening the score would restore balance.  More importantly, she wanted to understand him, know what made him tick and why.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Autumn shook her head slightly.  "Just admiring the scenery.  Curious what lies beneath."

"Musculature, blood vessels-"

Autumn swatted playfully at his chest.  "Don’t patronize me!"

"All right, all right!"  Andrew’s other hand grazed her stomach beneath her sweater and she shivered in pleasure.  "Ask a question, then."

"Where did you get that scar?" she immediately asked, language escaping her as warm circles were drawn just beneath her bra line.

"Scar?  Oh what, the one on my jaw?  Firecracker disaster when I was twelve.  One of my idiot friends thought it would be hilarious to treat a sparkler like a lightsaber and took a swing at me as a joke.  Grazed me with it."  He grinned as her back arched slightly, languidly tracing a line to her waist.  "Something wrong, Autumn?"

"System overload," she murmured, stifling the urge to moan, lest someone overhear it.  "Um... desert island albums.  Five."

"Rage Against The Machine’s
Battle Of Los Angeles
, the Street Sweeper Social Club album, Marilyn Manson’s
Mechanical Animals
... Hmm,
Rain Dogs
, Tom Waits.  Oh, and Jack’s Mannequin. 
The Glass Passenger
."

"Really?"  Her eyes rolled back as his soft circles drifted along her side. 
This is too good to be legal
!

"Of course.  My fellow Andrew led me to you.  Are you sure you’re okay?  I could stop-"

"Don’t you dare!"

"As you wish," he whispered.  "I love how soft you are.  It’s a cliché, I know, but your skin feels so nice to the touch." 

Circles and figure eights, branding her.  It was all she could do to not ignite.  Primal instincts whispered in her ear, urging her to pull him to the floor, to tear at needless layers and press her fevered flesh to his.  This wasn’t the place for it, but how desperately she wished it was! 

I’ll have to settle for what I can have
.

With a roll, she rose to her knees, startling Andrew. 
The element of surprise
.  Taking advantage of his confusion, she straddled his waist and kissed him.  He sank into her with a guttural noise, their kiss intensifying as she gripped his hair and pulled him closer.  She felt his hands slide over her hips and up her back and gasped at the contact.  Safe harbour, shelter:  all fears and doubts were, for a few minutes, cast out by their spark.

No ghosts here.  Only life.

"Door’s... not locked," Andrew whispered hoarsely.

"You started it," she whimpered, biting her lip as he sucked gently at her neck.