Cassandra: And they all fall down

by Julie Hodgson

  When she was slightly calmer, she dropped down into her beanbag and pulled out her cellphone. Her mom was right; she had to try to start getting back to normal. She would set up a night out with Braydon. When she looked at their thread online, she saw that he had sent lots of messages over the last week and she had only answered some of them. It was then that she felt something of her feelings for Braydon returning. They had never truly gone away, but they had been masked by the shock of what she had gone through this week; they had been buried under the blood and gore and hidden where she couldn’t see them, beyond her best friend’s hospital bed and the memories of what put her there.

  Hey! she wrote and realized that was pretty lame, so added, Sorry I haven’t been in touch much. I’ve missed you so much. It’s just been a lot to deal with.

  He wrote back straight away. Cass, I’ve been so worried. I thought canceling on you had put you off, but you know how it is with Mom. When can I see you?

  This was a good sign.

  How about tonight?

  Perfect. But what about the beast?

  Cassandra couldn’t stop herself from feeling offended by this, but she shelved it in the interest of keeping her relationship. We’re going in the car, right? And we’re not going into any woods?

  I guess. I’ll look after you anyway, he added, and this made Cassandra smile. I’ll pick you up at six.

  Looking forward to it.

  Cassandra had only the date on her mind when the doorbell rang downstairs. She hadn’t kept up her meditation practice now there were no more predators to assail, so her senses were as latent as a normal human, and she had no idea who was there. She wasn’t expecting anybody, but whoever it was, seemed impatient and rang the bell over and over while she attempted to ignore it. Finally, after five minutes, she had no choice but to go down and answer it.

  “Captain Barnsley?”

  “Miss Jones, sorry for the inconvenience, but I need to ask you a few questions. Can I come in?”

  “My parents are both at work,” she told him. “Can it wait until they get home?”

  “It’s only a few questions. It won’t take long.”

  Cassandra smiled weakly and stepped aside to let him through to the living room. As he took a seat a thought occurred to her, and she said eagerly, “Is there news on Bindi?”

  “I’m afraid not. Her condition’s still the same.”

  Against their white sofa, the detective looked more disheveled than ever, and he filled the room with a pungent musk. He looked as if he still hadn’t slept and the extra week had aged him by ten years.

  Cassandra sat on the edge of the armchair with her hands gripped together.

  “I need to know where you were on Saturday night,” he asked directly, and Cassandra could feel him monitoring her face for tells, for a signal of any kind that gave her away.

  “I was here,” she said and then added, “I watched a movie with my parents.”

  “Which movie?”

  “Monsters University on DVD.”

  “What time was this?”

  “About eight.”

  “Then?” He was far less friendly than he had been at the hospital and Cassandra didn’t know if this was because he had her on her own or he genuinely suspected her of foul play.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Just tell me your movements after that.”

  “Well, I went to bed at about eleven and slept straight away. I woke up at about nine and went straight to the hospital to see Bindi.”

  Barnsley didn’t answer straight away. He was still scoping out her face, looking deeply for a sign, checking to see if this was a face he could trust.

  “You know the beast attacked again on Saturday night. Two boys. Do you know either of them?”

  “I know Spike. I knew Spike,” she corrected. “I had no idea …”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. He was a funny guy,” she said, but there were no emotions to accompany it.

  “And you’re not upset that he’s been killed so brutally? That both of these guys have been murdered.”

  “It’s sad, but I didn’t know him well. And I don’t mean to sound cold, but all I care about right now is making sure Bindi recovers.” She did sound cold.

  He paused again, maintaining eye contact. The feeling made Cassandra fidget in her seat.

  “I did a bit of research, Cassandra, and discovered that you have something of a violent past.”

  Cassandra could feel the color flushing in her cheeks. She tried to suppress it. This was something that simply wasn’t spoken about, especially with a stranger, but Cassandra found herself answering openly and honestly. She felt it was the only way. “I attacked a little boy when I was a little girl.”

  “You hospitalized him.”

  “I had ADD, and I have been receiving treatment for years. You can speak to my parents about that.”

  “Are you still taking your medication?” Cassandra looked down at her gloved hands and shook her head. She could feel his interrogation getting to her and was determined not to let it show, but it felt as if he could see right through her.

  “The boy I attacked is my boyfriend now,” she told him, not exactly sure why she had said it, but it made him smile.

  “Is that so?”

  “So, you see, people change.”

  “I’m not implying that you had anything to do with the attacks, Cassandra. It’s interesting, though, don’t you think?”

  Cassandra smiled and nodded, but she had no idea what he was talking about. She wanted to ask what exactly he was finding so interesting, but she didn’t want to know the answer.

  “I’ll leave you to your day now, Cassandra. Will you be going back to school soon?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I guess.”

  “Well, school’s important, you know. The sooner you’re back, the sooner things can return to normal.” He was getting to his feet as he spoke and Cassandra mirrored his actions. She moved towards the front door, and he followed behind. “You have my card,” he told her. “Anything – and I mean absolutely anything – you might be able to tell us to help us, anything at all. Get in touch.”

  Cassandra nodded and returned an unconvincing smile then closed the door behind the captain and fell back against it with her brain in a spin. “He’s just covering all his bases,” she told herself, “doing his job.” Maybe he looked at everyone as if he thought they were a murderer.

  After Barnsley had left, Cassandra found herself in the familiar position of pacing around her room, talking herself around, and then immersing herself in her cell phone. There was always something to look at or read online, and it was the best distraction she had. However, she was so used to messaging Bindi that every time she picked up her phone she was reminded of her absence. Thankfully, she still had Leo to talk to, and he had been there for her in his own way all week. He had sent her rude pictures, and funny little films and they had shared their memories of Bindi in a way that made Cassandra smile. With anyone else, it may have been morbid, but Leo was such a funny guy that it was really helping her. She saw that he was online now. She looked at the time; he should have been in Phys. Ed.

  Shouldn’t you be running around the field kicking a ball or something? She asked.

  He was quick to answer. Darling, I don’t pay $300 for a haircut and then run around messing it up.

  Everything was well in the world again, and Cassandra was able to smile.

  I wish I were there to see it, she said and really meant it. She would speak to her mom and dad about returning to school soon.

  All you need to know is that it’s fabulous. How are you doing today?

  Cassandra thought for a moment about how to answer this. She wrote the first few words of a message telling him exactly how she was, but then she deleted it. I’m good, she wrote instead. What I really want to know is what’s going on with you. You still blanking Thomas?

  I’m not blanking him. It’s amicable. I meant what I sai
d. I need some time to work some things out in my mind.

  Why the big change? You were faaaabbbbbuuulllloooouuuus before!

  There was a delay before he wrote again. I guess I want the real deal. I look at what you and Braydon have, and I want that.

  The thought of what she had with Braydon now made her feel warm inside. Why wouldn’t Leo want to feel what that was like? He had been running around from guy to guy forever, and there was no one he really liked. Guys had always been more like accessories to him; he wanted to be seen with the best-looking, richest, most desirable. Cassandra had been worrying before the party that there was something wrong with him. She could see now that he was simply growing up. He was starting the next chapter in his life where feelings were more important than appearances. She had loved the old Leo, but she got the impression that she would love this one even more.

  I have to go, Leo wrote. Coach Andrews has been on the prowl for the last hour, and I think he’s about to find me.

  Where are you hiding?

  In the staff lounge. I thought I’d make myself a coffee and put my feet up. Ciao!

  This made Cassandra laugh out loud. She pictured him sitting in the staff lounge with his feet up as if he owned the place. He was hilarious. And he would always be fabulous. She was so grateful to have him as a friend, especially now that Bindi was out of action. She hoped they would remain friends forever … all three of them.

  At 6.00 p.m., Cassandra was looking out of her bedroom window. She had done her best to put Barnsley’s visit behind her, and the conversation with Leo had definitely cheered her up. She had even put on a little makeup for the first time all week. And played some classical piano music, which helped her zone out. She had been neglecting Braydon, she could see that now; Leo had shown her how lucky she was and what a beautiful thing she had with Braydon. She just hoped he understood what was going on for her and she hadn’t ruined things.

  She pulled her phone out of her bag and looked at the time. 6.10 p.m. She checked back through their messages. He had definitely said 6.00 p.m. She put the phone back in her bag, not wanting to look too needy, and resumed her visual of the empty street. When she looked at her cell again, it was 6.25 p.m. This now qualified as very definitely late.

  Have you been held up? she wrote at the end of their thread, but she could see that Braydon wasn’t online. She gave him five more minutes of staring up and down the street, and then she slumped down on the bed and reread their exchange again. He had said 6.00 p.m. He said he was going to pick her up. She tried to amuse herself with the cellphone while she waited for some kind of answer, but she was feeling restless. For all his supportive, loving words, this was the third time he had let her down and this time he didn’t even bother with an explanation. She couldn’t just sit there and wait any longer. He only lived a few blocks away; she would go round and see what was holding him up. She had heard so much about Braydon’s mom, but she hadn’t actually met her. Perhaps she would let Braydon out of whatever task she was making him do if she met Cassandra. As Cassandra thought this, she now felt sorry for her boyfriend and sorry she was annoyed with him. He had told her all about his life and how hard it was. Being thirty minutes late, or even standing her up, was irrelevant in a life lived the way he had to live his, desperately trying to protect and care for a drunk mother, dodging her equally drunk, violent boyfriends. Put into perspective, their date was completely irrelevant. Still, she wanted to see him, so she moved towards the door, but she didn’t reach it … Everything inside of her began to scream out, and she doubled over with the force of her senses. She tried to pull herself upright, but every nerve and cell was on fire, and she couldn’t bear it. She slapped her gloved hands to the side of her head and over her face, but she couldn’t keep out what was trying to get in. A piercing light; a shrill, a mumbling, rustling, whooshing, ticking; sickening colors; the stench of food and bodies and sick thoughts and shattered consciences; a lingering taste of blood. It was many minutes before she was able to move from the spot and then she burst out of her door, downstairs, and into the evening breeze. Because above all of the other sensations attacking her, she could hear a clear, undeniable sound that willed her into immediate action – the sound of a young woman crying out. It wasn’t over.

  She pulled off the fingerless gloves her mother bought her and stuffed them in her pockets as she ran. It was close, closer than it had been before. It was also lighter than it had been before; there was no cover of darkness, but the streets were empty, so she thrashed forward as quickly as she could, and in just a few minutes she arrived at the entrance of a pedestrian underpass. She stopped, peered inside, and could see the elongated shadows of three people creeping up the curved wall. Two standing and one on the ground. She took a step into the underground, relishing the power rising within her, and could feel the tendrils licking at the underside of the skin on her hands. She pumped both fists out into the air, and her leathery weapons tore out in the direction of the strip lighting above her. In a crash, the panels lighting her were smashed, and she was plunged into darkness. She would do this again and again as she walked the length of the underpass, smashing light after light so she could move in darkness, and before they had time to react, she arrived at the scene and attacked. One of her tendrils wound its way around one of the masked men’s throats and lifted him in the air, holding him there while the other thick tentacle slashed and hacked at his partner in crime. She was quick this time, aware of a whimpering girl on the floor who would forever possess the memory of this. Although she was standing in the darkness, this girl could clearly see the result of her efforts and she didn’t want to put her through more than she had already been through. So, she withdrew her tendril when she was certain the first guy was dead and allowed the second tendril to squeeze the life out of his friend before dropping him on the cold, hard ground. Then she ran, fast.

  How was this happening? She had killed two guys at the party, then two more guys, and now this? They were dividing and multiplying. Almost cloning! It made no sense whatsoever. These guys couldn’t just keep coming and coming. But if they did, she decided as she ran, she would keep slaying them – high school kids or not. She had no idea what had put her in this position, but she had obviously been given these gifts to protect people, and that was exactly what she was going to do. For now, she had to get home before anyone noticed she was gone, and after just a few minutes of running, she burst in through the door, ran upstairs to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

  “Cass? Cass! What’s going on? Where have you been?” Mom was running up the stairs behind her and banging on the bathroom door. “Cass, love, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” she called back, scrubbing the blood from her hands and checking her face for any further specks. What she saw when she looked in the mirror was a face she recognized – she had seen it in a million mirrors and selfies – but it was unexpected. Her expression showed neither fear nor disgust; she was buzzing. She looked the way she had seen herself after winning a race. She had killed two guys, and she was thrilled by it.

  “Are you going on your date now?” Ellen asked.

  “I don’t know. I might go later now, or not at all. I don’t know. I’m fine, though. Don’t worry.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “It’s cool, Mom. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.” Cassandra listened to silence outside the door and then she heard slow footsteps walking down the stairs. She had no idea what her mom could have been thinking, but she was grateful for the space. She finished washing her hands and inspected what was left behind. She had gotten rid of all the blood and saw that there were no longer open wounds on her hands. They had healed into craters. It looked as if she had been branded with raised circles on both hands. If she hadn’t already seen so much, it might have turned her stomach, but she accepted it as the next stage in her development. She was now extremely grateful for the gloves and dried her hands before putting them back on. She then opened the d
oor just a little. When she saw that the hallway was clear, she disappeared back into her room.

  She picked up her cellphone, and if it weren’t for the last dregs of adrenaline leaving her body, it would have been easy to believe that nothing had happened. Was killing that easy? That she could go out for less than half an hour, slay two guys and then return to her life as if nothing had ever happened? Why shouldn’t it be? She had no right suffering on their behalf, feeling remorse or sadness. A deep pain slashed at her when she thought of the attacked girl, all the attacked girls, Bindi, but what she was doing was making things better for them, seeking vengeance for them. They were entitled to her feelings; the bastard perpetrators deserved nothing but contempt. So, it really was that easy to kill and return to her life again, quicker than she could run out to the local store and buy a magazine and a carton of orange juice. There was something, however, niggling at her. It had been niggling at her for some time if she dared tell the truth, but she had kept it in the background. It was, after all, ridiculous, but this had all reached a new level. Something was happening that made no sense at all, and Bindi’s words kept coming back to her. Bindi had always made so much sense. She was always the voice of reason. She had warned her to be careful when she met Braydon. Cassandra didn’t know anything about him, and this wasn’t the time to be making new friends. Hadn’t Mac said the same? Something about disguises? That we all wear them, and we had to stay close to our own at times like this. Beware the outsider. And now there was a shadow hanging over Braydon. It was a slim, dull shadow, but it was there nonetheless, and she hated herself for even acknowledging it because deep down she knew how soft and gentle Braydon was. She knew that he wasn’t capable of hurting a soul, but still there was a gentle tugging at the edges of her conscience. She checked her cell. There was no message from him, and he hadn’t been online since last, she checked. Didn’t the attacks start happening when he arrived in town? But what difference did that make? She had now killed six different guys. He clearly hadn’t been involved in any of the attacks or he would be dead now. But there was something holding all these attacks together, wasn’t there? There had to be. She paced the room as the two sides of her launched into the debate. He had canceled her twice this week and … where was he now? She stopped pacing when a new idea filled her mind. This had also been a mist in the back of her mind, too hazy to reach. The runner from Davidson, the girl who was supposed to win the race. She had told Braydon about it. She had told him how she had no idea how she was going to get out of the situation. Then she turns up attacked, and she wins the race. He did it for me! She stamped the thought away as quickly as it appeared, but an even more desperate thought followed. If he was involved, then … then … This thought made her sick. She tried not to think it, but it involuntarily streamed through her mind. If he was involved, there was a chance she just killed him. But he wasn’t involved. He absolutely wasn’t involved. She looked at her cell again and clicked on his profile picture – a shot of the two of them looking bashfully in love, with iCandy behind them. He absolutely wasn’t involved. She would bet everything she owned on it and swear to any court in the land that he was not the kind of guy who could do such a thing. But weren’t there moms and friends and girlfriends who would say the same for Spike Blue? He was so innocent looking. It was so hard to believe he could hurt a fly. Not Braydon, though, not Braydon. He had only just moved to town; he had made friends, but he couldn’t have gotten mixed up with something like this so quickly. The other side of herself responded with, but no one was being attacked before he got here. And then the image of him as a little boy filled her head. The ugliness. The way he humiliated and hurt everyone he came in contact with. The way he had tormented little Jakey every day of his life and eventually terrorized him at the farm. Cassandra forced her cell phone into her pocket and ran down the stairs again. She popped her head into the living room, where her parents were cuddled up together, and said, “I’m heading over to meet Braydon. I won’t be long.”