by Beth Goobie
With a gasp, Willis lowered his trumpet. Tumultuous applause and foot-stomping began, opening the air to praise. Amazement flooded Sal — they’d heard, they’d listened, and they were speaking back. But as she grinned at the crowd, Tauni raised both hands against the thundering noise. Stumbling toward the nearest exit, she bumped into the doorframe.
“Find your feet, find your feet,” Sal whispered as the girl fumbled with the push-handle. “Doors open, walls don’t.”
Then Tauni was through and gone, in search of the solitude she needed to piece her reality together again. Throughout the auditorium, the S.C. student body was quieting, the applause dying out, only the odd whistle still piercing the air. Turning toward her seat, Sal paused as Willis touched her arm.
“Sally,” he said quietly, his eyes faltering across hers. “Whatever you think of me, whatever comes next — thank you for this.”
He hadn’t betrayed her, Sal realized. He hadn’t told Shadow about their surprise duet. So, not everything was etched in stone.
“Yeah,” she said, breathing and breathing the great good air. “Thank you too, for helping me to live inside the question.”
For two days, they left her alone. No further envelopes were presented to her for delivery, and no one signaled her in the halls. From the time Sal entered the school until the time she left, the only student who spoke to her was Brydan. Then, Friday evening around nine, the house erupted into a clamor of phones. Coming down the stairs she answered without thinking and picked up the front — hall extension to hear Willis’s careful voice at the other end.
“Sal, is that you?”
She knew immediately and shrank into the tight cave of her breathing. Without waiting for her response, Willis continued, as if he was aware Dusty and her mother were out, leaving Sal the only one present to answer the phone. “It’s the duty, we’ve scheduled it for tonight. I’ll come by at one-thirty, in the back alley. Can you be outside waiting?”
“One-thirty,” Sal whispered, the words creeping up her throat.
“There’s no other time to do this.” Willis seemed uncomfortable, his voice strained. “It has to be done at night. Make sure you bring your house key to get back in.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“See you then.”
She spent the intervening hours walking an invisible blueprint of fear. Stupidly, she’d fooled herself into believing she was safe in her own house, that Shadow Council ruled Saskatoon Collegiate but it ended there. Now it felt as if the school halls and classrooms had been superimposed over her home, a transparent nightmare that followed her as she paced the solid reality of her bedroom, the kitchen, and the long lonely halls. Even Retro-Whatever could do nothing to blast the images of dread growing so strong in her mind that her mother and Dusty, when they finally came home, seemed distant and unreal, a mere fantasy of safety.
At 1:25 she crept down the back stairwell, pausing at the door to the basement. She could hear Dusty and Lizard ensconced in Retro-Whatever, immersed in Led Zeppelin. Snatches of their conversation floated toward her. For a moment she considered hurtling down the basement stairs and revealing all, but what was the point of dragging a look of concern back onto her brother’s face? Since that night at the school wall he’d been so different, relaxed and proud of her, as if the main problem had been solved and everything else she had to face was mere technicalities. And perhaps he was right. Whatever’s coming ... Who knew what tonight would bring? Maybe she would paint her own version of the school motto onto the auditorium wall: Shadowus, Celtus et Bullshittus. What could they do to her, after all? They couldn’t actually force her to paint the words they wanted, and they weren’t likely to beat the crap out of her. Shadow Council never incriminated itself directly, and Willis would be there to protect her.
The night sky arced clear and cloudless, dreaming with stars. Beyond the back gate purred the outline of Willis’s car, a newer model that left Dusty’s several decades in the dust. Opening the passenger door, Sal slid into the acrid smell of hash and Radiohead’s hypnotic drone.
“So the victim has arrived.” Marvin saluted her from the back seat with a beer. “Give the girl a drink.”
“Can’t,” said Willis, easing his foot off the brake. “She has to be able to paint, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” Marvin snorted. “Ecstasas.”
He was echoed by a refrain of giggles. Checking the rearview mirror, Sal noted the shadowy outlines of Linda and Rolf passing a joint between them. She shot a careful look at Willis but he ignored her, keeping his gaze straight ahead.
“I think the victim should have one beer.” Leaning forward, Linda pressed an opened Coors into Sal’s hand. “Here victim, it’s on me.”
“Do I have to?” Again Sal glanced at Willis. Mouth tightening, he continued to stare straight ahead.
“Yes, you do,” Linda declared, her voice slurred and overly loud. “It’s part of your duty because I said so. Drinkie, drinkie.”
Something about this struck the other backseaters as hilarious. Snickering, Linda sank back among their guffaws. Sal shot another careful look at Willis. Without taking his eyes off the road, he gave a minute shake of his head, and she set the can on the floor.
“Nice concert you gave on Wednesday, victim,” snorted Linda, coming out of a long titter. “I really, really liked it.”
“You guys want to get focused?” Willis demanded sharply.
“Focused like you’re focused?” Marvin asked in a high giggly voice and the three were off again, collapsing into one another, choking with laughter.
“Give me that.” Swinging around, Willis grabbed the joint and tossed it out the window.
“Ooo — all work and no play makes Willis a dull boy,” sang Linda. “And tonight we just want to play.”
“Yeah, well, play later,” Willis snapped, pulling up to the curb. “Everybody out, we’re walking from here.”
Fear thrummed in Sal’s head and pounded a reggae beat through her body. Several residential blocks lay between the car and Saskatoon Collegiate, every house along the street darkened for sleep. Digging her chin into her jacket, she walked beside Willis as the three gigglers stumbled behind, negotiating their feet. Imperceptibly, Willis quickened his pace and they pulled ahead, two parallel silences.
“How are we getting in?” she asked as the school building loomed.
“Key,” Willis said shortly. “Legend has it that a Celt was helping maintenance unload supplies. One of the staff dropped a key chain and the Celt scooped it up. He got all the keys copied within the hour, then left the originals where they’d be found in the same area. The school locks were never changed, and Shadow figured out which keys were helpful.”
“Hey,” came Linda’s slurred voice. “No associating with the enemy, Prez.”
Again Willis’s face tightened, but he swallowed his thoughts. Far off, a siren wailed. They crossed the parking lot, the gravel scuffing loudly in the quiet.
“The door’s open,” said Rolf. “They’re already in.”
“Shhh!” hissed Linda, and another round of helpless giggling began. Staring at a slightly open maintenance door, Sal felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. Why were so many Shadow Council members present tonight? She’d assumed a few would be there — Willis, Linda, probably Rolf — but why had so many of them shown up to watch her paint a few words on a wall? Desperately she imagined herself taking a stand and refusing to enter the school, or simply turning and dashing off into the darkness. Then the doorway was looming and her body passing through it, silent and obedient as ever.
They entered a small loading area she’d never seen. Another door stood open to their left. “This way to the auditorium,” sang Linda, but Willis pushed forward with an abrupt “I’ll lead,” and they followed him into a hallway lit only by an EXIT sign at the far end.
The hallway seemed larger in the dark, an endless gloomy row of lockers and classroom doors. As they started along it, Sal had the quick blurred impression
of stepping into herself and beginning a long walk toward something that waited within. Beside her, Willis picked up the pace. They seemed to be circling the auditorium that sat at the center of the school. Doors led into it from the north, east and west halls. As far as Sal knew, they were always left unlocked, but Willis passed the north entrance without glancing at it and turned down the west hall. Gradually the three gigglers behind them fell silent. Everyone was wearing soft-soled shoes, and the eerie quiet gave Sal the feeling of walking through a shadowy underworld.
Abruptly, Willis stopped at the west door. Knocking three times, he turned to her and said, “What follows herein will be kept secret until you are laid in your grave, on pain of death.” Then he opened the door and she followed him into a darkness so immense and complete, it seemed like a living presence.
No exit signs, she thought, squinting into the unrelenting dark. Someone must have unscrewed the bulbs.
“Begin,” said Willis, and the auditorium’s darkness was shredded by flashlight beams. Deliberately they crossed Sal’s face, momentarily blinding her. Blinking, she watched as they turned toward the stage, bringing two objects into sharp relief — a wheelchair that sat center stage and above it, a human body cut off at the knees and dangling mid-air, a rope around its neck.
“Brydan!” she screamed, shock gutting her brain.
“Too late,” said Willis, stepping in front of her and cutting off her view. “You disobeyed, and now someone has to pay the price. The bell tolls, the traditions are written in stone, blood is required for a traitor’s — ”
She lunged at him, shoving wildly. The body that dangled center stage seemed to be jerking. Was it still alive, was — ? But Willis had stepped in front of her again, blocking her view of the stage. Suddenly she knew with absolute certainty that he offered her no protection and never had — Willis would always do whatever Shadow required to save his own skin. Whirling, she rammed her way through flailing arms and startled shouts. Then she was out the auditorium door and tearing down the long, gasping hallway. Darkness squeezed in and out of her head. Disoriented, she slammed into a wall and bounced off. Find your feet, find your feet, she thought. Endless doors flashed by, endless locked and empty rooms. Then, finally, she saw it — a dim light that could only be coming from the front-office glass doors. There would be a phone in there. If she reached it, she could call for help. It took a while for someone to strangle to death in a noose, not like head injuries. Maybe an ambulance could get here in time. All she had to do was smash through the glass. If she put up an arm to protect her face, she would just have to work up enough speed ...
“Sal, no!” Footsteps pounded behind her and Willis grabbed her arm, swinging her around.
“Let me go,” she screamed. “You’re killing him, you’re killing him.”
“Listen to me,” Willis yelled into her ear. “Would you just listen?”
Hands over her face, she sank quivering to the floor. It was over now, the chance was gone — she was sure of it. “Brydan,” she whispered.
“It’s not Brydan.” Breathing heavily, Willis leaned over her. “It’s a dummy and a wheelchair, just a stupid trick. Come back, let them play their infantile game, and then they’ll let you go. The whole thing will be over — half an hour and you’ll be out of there, I swear.”
She stared up at him, stunned with disbelief. “Like you swore to Dusty?” Struggling to her feet, she stood swaying as the hallway looped figure eights around her. “More of Shadow’s honor, is that what you’re offering me?”
“Dusty told you?” Willis hissed, his face contorting.
“Told me what?” She didn’t know whether to move forward or backward. Everywhere had become nowhere, all the same dying place.
Willis paused, his face drawn and wasted in the dim light. “We have to go back,” he said, “or they’ll come looking. They’ll cover the exits. There’s no way out.”
He started down the hall and she followed. Slowly the darkness sorted itself out, taking on the vague outlines of lockers and doors, everything silent and closed into itself. Without speaking, Willis turned down the west hall, toward the group clustered in the auditorium doorway. A whisper went up and the figures disappeared into the auditorium.
“What’s going to happen?” Sal asked as they approached the door.
“I don’t know,” Willis said, pushed it open, and passed through.
She stepped into the auditorium. For a long moment there was nothing, just a vast room echoing with darkness. Then a single flashlight came on, pinning the dummy that swung center stage. Dim figures shifted beyond the flashlight beam, closing in.
“Now is the time,” a male voice began to chant, “a time for reckoning.”
“Time for reckoning,” other voices repeated, overlapping and out of sync. In the brief pause that followed, someone giggled. It was Linda, Sal would have recognized the vampire queen’s titter in any darkness. Turning toward it, she filled with a rage so dense and complete she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Suddenly she was bent forward and screaming, her whole life pouring between her lips.
“You’re so fake, with your shadows, codes, and stupid games. You couldn’t come up with anything real, you don’t know what real is. I saw my father die, I saw his brains smeared across the car windshield, and you know what? I survived it. You think you can shut me up now with a dummy? You’re the dummies. You’re nothing but shadows, the biggest cowards this school has going. None of you are real. You are all just so full of bullshit.”
She staggered as the fury evaporated, leaving her hollowed and spent. The flashlight cut off, and in the ensuing darkness, no one moved. The game seemed to be over.
“I’m leaving,” she said hoarsely. Groping toward the door, she leaned briefly against the frame.
“I’ll drive her home,” said Willis. “Everyone clean up. We’re finished for tonight.”
This time she led and he followed, even when she miscalculated in the dark and he took her arm to correct her. As the long labyrinth of hallways faded behind her, Sal had the feeling of emerging from some deep interior place. Coming through the loading area, she stepped out into the clear night air — a great darkness above, loaded with stars, and space opening on all sides. Exhaustion rippled the ground beneath her feet as she and Willis walked the several blocks to his car. Neither spoke, though he paced himself continually to her, tensing when she stumbled. Finally they reached the car and she climbed in thankfully, staring out into the trance of passing streets.
“What did you mean when you asked if Dusty told me?” she asked, her mind thick and slow-moving.
Willis’s fingers tapped his hesitation onto the steering wheel.
“Just once,” she said, turning to look at him directly. “Just once in your life give a straight answer, Prez.”
Willis’s eyes flicked toward her, then away. She had a sudden inane desire to undulate her right hand slowly in front of his face.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “The stunt they pulled tonight is a tradition usually reserved for the victim until the end of the year. It’s a scare tactic designed to shut you up, seal your lips. This year they decided to bump it up because you handed out the codes.”
“And Dusty?”
Willis sighed. “Your brother gave Shadow a lot of flack when he was in grade ten. They pulled that stunt on him too, made him think they’d hung his best friend.”
“Lizard?”
“Shadow got Lizard to drop some acid with Dusty just before, and your brother fell for the game completely. Of course, he figured it out later, but it was enough to crack him. As far as I know he never told anyone, and he stopped harassing Shadow.”
“And me?” asked Sal. “What was this supposed to do to me?”
“What d’you think?” Turning down the back alley, Willis parked at the Hanson’s back gate. “That beer Linda gave you was spiked with enough to send you way over the edge. Lucky they were too far gone to notice you didn’t drink any.”
She sat, cradled by the car’s gentle throb, considering the vast loneliness of the universe. All these years, Dusty had remained best friends with a guy who’d betrayed him, and had never talked about it with anyone. And what about all the years she’d wasted, not trusting the one person in her life who’d turned himself inside out trying to protect her?
“Y’know, Willis,” she said, getting out. “There are no nice jerks.”
Closing the door, she went inside to talk to her brother.
Chapter Nineteen
She stood before the yellow door, tracing the black iron outlines of the number thirty-four. How she remembered this door, the initial resistance as it opened, the quick give midway, and the inevitable slam as she and Kimmie tore through, en route to the water park, the rollerblading rink, or soccer practice. It was the only yellow door in the neighborhood — the Busatto’s entire house glowed with dandelion yellow doors, shutters and eavestroughs. Yellow was the color of spring, starting anew, and forgiveness. Raising her hand, Sal took a breath of the impossible and pressed the buzzer.
Footsteps approached from the inside, pausing as someone peered through the peephole. Five heartbeats went by, deep, underground detonations. Then the door opened onto Kimmie’s face, expressionless, carved in stone. Her eyes were swollen, her makeup smudged — Kimmie had always been abysmal at applying makeup. Without a word she stood holding the door ajar, grimly staring into Sal’s uncertain gaze. The muffled sounds of late-afternoon TV could be heard from down the hall, laughter erupting as Oprah carried off yet another intimate, up-front, and personal interview.
“Who’s there, Kimmie?” came Ms. Busatto’s voice.
“Just the paperboy,” Kimmie called over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”
They stood watching one another, Kimmie’s relentless gaze forcing Sal’s downward. The silence grew interminable, a thick sludge. “I, uh ...” Awkwardly, Sal fished an envelope from her pocket. “I wrote Chris a letter, and I was wondering if you’d give it to him.”