by J.J. Bonds
**********
Anya’s on the phone again. She has her back to the door and doesn’t see me peek in through the opening. I decide to wait in the hall to give her some privacy, but it doesn’t prevent me from overhearing her call. Truth be told, I’m listening hard this time trying to make out as much of the conversation as possible.
“Yes. The students are being questioned now. Faculty and staff as well.” She pauses, listening. “I told you. Anyone who went off campus that day is going to be questioned. No exceptions.” Another short pause. “No, she’s safe. Pratt is putting the school on lockdown today. It will be announced at dinner. No one gets in or out.”
There’s a long break in the conversation before Anya speaks again.
“My contact is sure. The only good news is that none of them will be waking up. It hasn’t been in the news, but all of the heads were removed. He’s cleaning up after. I haven’t told Pratt anything, but if this goes on much longer he will call the Linkuri, and no amount of reasoning from me will be able to stop him. You know how he is about this school. Hell, it’s a wonder New York hasn’t sent anyone yet, with all the press this is getting. Keep stalling them. I need more time.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Is Anya complicit in all of this? And why is she keeping information from Pratt? If these really are vampire attacks, why wouldn’t she want the Linkuri here? This is what they do. They hunt and they kill. They’re professionals.
“I don’t think this is a secret that should be kept,” she says to the mysterious party on the other end of the line. I wish I knew whom she was talking to. “It’s going to come out eventually and then what? How are you going to explain it away?” Anya pounds her fist on the desk. I jump in the hall, startled by the sound. It’s so rare for her to display overt anger. “She has a right to know.”
She lowers her voice so that I can barely make out her next words. “I am trying to do the right thing. People are dying every day. This is an unnecessary risk. You’re too involved. You don’t see things clearly when it comes to her.”
I turn and run. I don’t need to hear any more. I don’t stop until I’m locked safely in my room. It had to be Aldo on the phone. What is going on? What doesn’t he want me to know? I think back to my last real conversation with Anya. She was trying to tell me something, but I wouldn’t listen. The dreams stopped, and I didn’t think about it anymore. That was right before Damian disappeared. Right before the killing started.
It can’t be a coincidence. I refuse to believe it. I pace the room trying to put the pieces together in my mind. Both Anya and Aldo are always interested in my dreams. Wanting details, wanting to know how I interpret them. Why? Because, I reason, the dreams have significance to them, even if the meaning is unclear to me. What do they know that I don’t? If what Anya insinuates is true, then my dreams must be connected to the deaths in Rutland. Could I have stopped this, I wonder?
“Focus!” I order myself. “Think it through. What do they know that I don’t?” I stop and lean on the desk, placing my hands on it palms down. “What do they know that I don’t?” I repeat it like a mantra as I try to work through all of the ill-fitting pieces of this puzzle.
My desk is a mess. There’s a dirty mug which is actually pretty gross, some laundry that hasn’t been put away and a pile of homework assignments. On top of the stack of papers is a steno notebook. I haven’t opened it in weeks. It’s the one I took to the library when my computer was stolen. I reach for it slowly, my hand shaking.
“What do they know that I don’t?” I flip the cover back warily. I make myself read over the notes I took that day. The truth hits me hard. Its crushing weight drives me to the floor. I sit there numbly for a while, allowing it to suck the remaining life out of me. It takes some time for me to accept the truth. Eventually I reach for the phone. Aldo answers on the first ring. Maybe he’s been expecting my call.
“You knew, didn’t you?” My tone is bitter, accusing. I refuse to feel guilty about it though. There are many things on my conscience, but my anger won’t be one of them.
“Katia. It’s not what you think. Please calm down, child.”
“Child? You want to talk about children? Let’s talk about Damian Thomas!” I scream. “What about him?” I wonder if Aldo even knows his name. If he even cares.
“This is just like before! That boy is feasting his way through the local population. It’s not a coincidence, and we both know it.”
“I didn’t know until today,” he tells me. “I suspected, but I couldn’t be sure. I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you living in fear, always looking over your shoulder. I will not apologize for that.”
“I can’t stay here! These people are in danger as long as I’m here. I have to go.”
“NO!” Aldo is upset. I imagine him sitting in his study at home frustrated at his inability to control this situation as it unravels thousands of miles away. “Katia, you must stay at Crossroads. You are secure there. The Pazitor will keep you safe.”
“I can’t in good conscience sit here and do nothing!” My protests fall on deaf ears. “Innocent people are dying. More will die if I stay.”
“You will stay put. That is an order!” he barks, letting his emotion get the best of him.
“I appreciate your concern, but I have to be able to look myself in the mirror.”
I end the call and take a deep breath. I’m done taking orders, and I’m scared to death. But I know I have to get out of here. I go to the closet and grab a duffle bag. I quickly stuff it with the essentials: my computer, some clothing, toiletries, and my wallet. I don’t know where I’ll go, but anywhere is better than here. I have to get away.
I check the hall and see that it’s empty. Classes have let out for the day, and everyone is probably in the dining hall for dinner. I must’ve sat on that floor much longer than I realized collecting my courage. I head straight for the garage.