Change Of Season (62 page)

He shoved hard against the crash bar, nearly stumbling to the pavement outside before scrambling across the ice and frozen grass towards Ashbury.  If she was there, she was coming to his room until her parents could come for her, no matter what Lorraine, Amar or Headmistress Logan had to say about it.

And if she’s not
?

Andrew shook the thought aside, refusing to accept it as an option.  Gasping for air, he reached the main entrance of Ashbury and yanked on the door, to no avail.

"Goddamn FOB access!  Veronica!"

She rounded the building with Evan thirty seconds later, which may as well have been eternity.  Holding her stomach and wheezing, she swiped her FOB over the reader, granting them access. 

"Where?" Andrew demanded, glancing around.

"308," Veronica replied, sucking in a deep breath.  "I’ll get Lorraine and see if she saw Autumn leave."

Andrew ran up the stairs, his lungs burning from the sudden exertion he demanded.  Knocking into several students on the first landing, he apologized and kept moving, ignoring their protests and demands to leave.  Nothing and no one would keep him from room 308.  She needed him, and he would be there.  He’d promised to keep her safe, to shield her from whatever evils befell her.

Third floor.  Glancing quickly down the right hall, he corrected and stormed down the left, grinding to a halt outside room 308.  His hand reached out for the knob, twisting it roughly. 
Locked
.  His fist pounded the door, wheezing for air.

"Autumn!" he shouted.  "Open up!"

No response.  A sickening feeling washed over him and his head began to spin. 
Something’s wrong
, his mind chanted.  His efforts were met with the staring eyes of a lithe blonde across the hall, arms akimbo.

"You’re not allowed in here!" she snapped.  "I’m trying to study!"

Spinning around, he glared at her.  "And I’m here because someone is trying to kill my girlfriend, so how about you get the fuck back in your room and try some ear plugs?"

"I’m calling security!" she shrieked, storming back into her room.

"Good.  They can break down the door."  He pounded again, calling her name.  Nothing.

"Andrew!"

Veronica appeared at the top of the stairs, Evan and Lorraine in tow.  Her face revealed everything:  Autumn was supposed to be here right now. 

Did Kearney lie?  Or did Grant tell him a lie, knowing it would get to Veronica
?

"This is highly inappropriate, Mr. Daniels, but I’ll excuse you in light of what Miss. St. Clair has told me," Lorraine chastised, flipping through a ring of keys.

"She was here up until this morning, when Lorraine last saw her," Evan said solemnly.  "She’s supposed to sign out on weekends."

Andrew tapped his foot impatiently as Lorraine unlocked the room and opened the door.  "Miss Brody?  Oh, dear!"

Andrew pushed past her, taking in the scene.  A pile of school books lay haphazardly across one of the beds, the other a tangle of sheets and blankets.  Several empty and half-empty water bottles lined the windowsill and a chair was inexplicably left near the bathroom door.  The room looked torn apart, tossed by robbers.  A bad movie scene.

"This place is a mess," Evan said.  "Autumn’s not messy."

"Well, she has been sick, Mr. Kowalczyk," Lorraine interjected.  "She likely forgot to sign out due to the illness.  Not like the poor girl could call me to the desk, what with the laryngitis and all."

"Laryngitis?"  Andrew spun around, concerned.  "No wonder she hasn’t phoned."

She couldn’t have screamed for help if she wanted to
. 

"Hey Andy, I’ve got an email from Ben," Veronica announced.  "Wait, it’s from six-thirty.  Why didn’t I notice it?"

"No signal in Athletics," Evan said.  "What’s it say?"

Veronica whimpered as she read the screen, "There’s two," she said.  "Grant and Kearney."

Andrew fought the urge to throw up as bile lurched upward, scanning the room once more. 
She fought someone
, he guessed, staring at the chair. 
He’s been here.  He’s taken her
.

"Guys, her laptop is here."  Tears began to fall as Veronica pointed at the bed.  "She would never leave it if she went home."

"What the hell is going on?" Lorraine demanded.  "What are you talking about?"

"Call the police," Andrew ordered her.  "She’s in danger."

"What-"

"CALL THE DAMN POLICE!" Veronica screamed, shoving her backwards. 

"That’s quite enough!  There will be strict disciplinary action taken here, for all of you!"  Lorraine strode angrily towards the stairs, huffing and muttering under her breath, leaving the three of them staring at an empty room.

"Now what?" Veronica asked.

Andrew stared at the scattered papers, the abandoned laptop and books strewn all over, his body trembling. 
Where was she
?  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a single page flutter to the ground beside her desk, despite there being no draft he could sense.  Walking over, he bent down to read it and gasped in recognition.

"I know how to find her," he said.  "Follow me."

THIRTY-FOUR

Oakville: January 13th, 2012  

Twitch
.  A flicker of light.  Proof of life. 
For how long
?  Limbs alight with jangled nerves, shaking off inertia’s iron grasp.  Resistance.

Twitch
.  Eyelids fluttering.  Flesh scraping against brittle cords. 
I can’t move
.

The circuits came online one by one, as if flipped by switches, and Autumn could hear her skin scraping against the binds on her wrists. 
Rope
, she recognized, wincing in pain.  Her head pulsed, throwing a rave in spite of her wishes for silence. 
What happened to me
?

Behind her, a figure moved, shoes scraping against what sounded like pavement. 
Someone did this
.  She was too terrified to open her eyes, scrambling to retain frayed knots of memory that slid between the ethers. 
Who
?  Her throat felt raw, the taste of blood on her tongue, mingled with something sweet and tart. 
Juice
.

Kearney
!

It crashed over her in a tsunami of fear:  Professor Kearney was the killer.  He’d drugged her.  And now, he’d taken her... where?  Did it matter?  None of the girls had ever returned from this unknown prison, had they?

"Are you awake?" he asked.  His voice was saccharine, sickening – it made her stomach lurch.

I have to look
, she realized. 
I have to see if there’s a way out of this
.

Her eyes burned as the fluorescents flooded her field of vision, her head jerking aside as they squinted, trying to adjust.  Beyond the jaundiced light, she saw grey.  Cold walls. 
The tunnels
, she guessed, slowly opening her eyes again. 
I’m somewhere under the campus
.

"Ah, you are!" he chirped excitedly.  "I wasn’t sure how long it would take to wear off, but I’d hoped the dose was small.  It was the only way to get you out of that prison."

Glancing around, Autumn took in the rusted wheelchair, the duffel bags in the corner of the room and a series of cabinets with glass doors.  This had to be associated with the old Operating Theatre.  There was no gurney she could see, although turning her head in the leather chair she was tied to was impossible without tearing her shoulder from its socket. 

And then, he was there, standing beside her. 

"I’ll get you some water," he informed her, moving away somewhere behind her. 

Tilting her head, she studied the cabinets, noticing something beyond the glass doors.  Containers of some kind, translucent.  She could hear liquid strike the bottom of a metal container as she began to make sense of the shapes within the containers, understood with sickening clarity that these were his possessions.

Jars.  Jars of hearts, carefully preserved in formaldehyde.

She gagged, bile flooding her mouth as she stared in horror. 
Six.  Six girls ran away.  He fucking took their hearts
! 

Her gaze averted as he returned, a metal mug clutched in his wretched grasp.  He held the cup to her lips and she sniffed it, testing it for drugs. 
Some poisons are odorless
, she remembered and she refused to accept the fluid. 
I won’t help him kill me
, she seethed. 

"Ah, you’re afraid of more drugs," he said, almost as if speaking to a small child.  "Here, watch."

Reluctantly, she obeyed, avoiding eye contact with the monster.  He took a large mouthful from the mug, swallowing it and opening his mouth to prove he’d consumed it. 

"See?  It’s just water.  Drink, please."

Autumn assented, draining the cup of its cool fluid, straining to remember every novel she’d read featuring a psychotic killer.  How could she get away? 
I need to be untied
, she thought clearly. 
I need to find a weapon
.  She tugged hard at her restraints, panicking as they seemed to draw tighter around her wrists. 
Shit, shit, shit
!

"I’ve waited so long to finally have you back with me, Mary," he said, turning her chair to her right.  He settled into an opposing seat, his face wistful.  "I know how furious you must be with me."

Oh my God. He thinks I’m the Polaroid girl.  Mary Kennedy
.  He was delusional!  She whimpered in spite of herself, her legs flailing into the air.  Professor Kearney shushed her, shaking his head. 

"You mustn’t strain your voice, Mary," he said.  "Besides, no one can hear you down here.  Please, let me explain before you protest."

Autumn looked away, disgusted. 
What, "I’m sorry I drove you to suicide
?"  In the periphery of her vision, something moved.  She shook her head, as if to clear her vision.  She was exhausted, feverish and likely still under the influence of whatever he’d slipped in her drink. 
Focus
! she ordered herself.

"I loved you for years before I came to tell you that night," he confessed.  "Valentine’s Day came and went several times before I finally knew that the time was right.  I brought you a poem, something I’d composed months before, yet never delivered.  You’d smiled at me that day, and I knew you were ready."

He knocked on her door, mindful of the empty corridors – hoping they would remain that way
. 
If he were caught in the ladies’ dorm, there would be severe consequences.  In his pocket was a small, folded page, torn from his notebook.  He knew it by rote, but he had to be sure.  He had to have it with him, just in case.

"One sec, Jenny!" a voice called.  Her voice: rich, warm tones.  Mature, yet lighthearted. 

"Don’t chicken out," he whispered to himself.  "You’re meant to be."

The door flew open, and there she stood:  Mary, his love.  Dressed in a black strapless party dress, trimmed in lace and sequins, her crimson hair seemed as if it were on fire.  Her expression was puzzled, her brow furrowed.

"Doug?  What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in for just a few minutes?" he asked nervously.

"It’s not allowed," she replied, glancing down the hallway.

"If anyone finds out, I’ll take all the blame.  I really need to talk to you," he insisted.

With a resigned look, she stepped aside, ushering him into her room.  "Fine, but I’ll swear the door was unlocked and you walked in unannounced if anyone finds you."

Her room was kept neat, she and her roommate’s beds perfectly made, their books stacked on their desks.  Several compacts and lipstick tubes dotted her bedspread.  On the radio, Styx was playing and Doug smiled in recognition.  Another thing they had in common.

"So, what did you want?" Mary asked, pawing through her make-up collection.

"I..."  He hesitated, suddenly tongue-tied.  "I, um, have something to tell you."

Mary froze, a tube of red lipstick in hand.  "Oh God, is Johnny with some other girl?  That bastard!  He’s two-timing me, isn’t he?" 

Doug felt his stomach bottom out as the pieces fell together:  Mary was getting dressed up... which meant she had a date tonight.  With Johnny, apparently, if her hurt expression were an indicator.  He inwardly cursed his foolishness, re-examining every minute of the last four days.  She hadn’t mentioned a date at all, had she?  Hadn’t she said she was skipping the dance?  But here she was, radiant and ready to dance – but not with him.  Never with him.