"That would be greatly appreciated," she replied. "I have to admit that I totally spaced the last two days. I swear I like history."
"No apologies needed. You were one of my most involved students last term in social studies. Everyone needs time to recoup. As someone who researches psychology, I can perhaps appreciate more than other instructors how difficult returning to a daily routine is for you."
"I was thinking of taking Intro Psychology next year." She shuffled her bag to her other shoulder, the one she hadn’t pulled during her fitful sleep. "I’ve enjoyed the studies I’ve participated in, and the connection between depression and creativity has been in my thoughts for a while. Plus, I figure it’ll help me as a writer."
Professor Kearney nodded, leaning against his desk. "Oh, absolutely. I think the best writers understand how to portray complex characters, psychologically dense beings struggling beneath their burdens. It’s what carries good work into the realm of the exceptional. It also helps us understand ourselves, which fosters a deeper appreciation of what we do and why. At least, that’s what drew me to the subject."
"Kind of like self-analysis?"
He nodded. "To a degree, yes. I think most who study the mind have a desire to make sense of their own passions and fears. There’s not a person alive who hasn’t wrestled with internal conflict. Humans have fantastic poker faces at times. We carry our pain in silence, smiling through it, eventually coming to a solution. A facade is so easy to master. Even those in whom we confide only ever see the tip of the iceberg, because there are no words that are sufficient – no offense, future author."
Autumn smiled. "None taken. It’s one of the frustrations of writing for me, the conveying feelings aspect. That all makes a lot of sense. Did you ever want to be a therapist?"
"No, I was always more inclined to do the research. It’s a difficult career, witnessing the pain of so many. I’d rather help those out in the field learn more about how to help their clients. Now, it’s well past four, and you should be enjoying your free time."
"I suppose. I will try and keep up, though. Is it okay if I come for extra help once the dust sorta settles?"
The professor smiled, fastening his briefcase. "Of course! And if you do need to decompress or vent, you can talk to me as well. I may not be a therapist, but I do have a great ear."
"Thank you, I’ll see you Thursday."
In crossing the quad towards Ashbury, she mulled Kearney’s words carefully. They resonated with her own life, true, but they also echoed what had been said repeatedly about Nikki Lang: no one ever noticed pain that would make her suicide seem... expected? Realistic? While her instincts screamed foul play, she also knew that she’d been found in a manner that had plainly alerted authorities to suicide. The other students were missing; no bodies had ever been found, nor had they been located alive.
A good writer ensures all angles are examined, such that by the final climax, the reader agrees that all prior pages led to that very moment. Professor St. James stressed this on several occasions in his class last term. If she were going to ensure justice for Nikki – and her own survival – all avenues and theories deserved equal consideration.
"Hope you have your thinking cap with you tonight, Veronica," she muttered, unlocking her dorm room.
Enough of Chris Miller. It was time she gave Nikki her due.
***
"Pass the Doritos?"
Autumn tossed the bag across to the other bed, shaking her head. "V, did you not eat a real dinner or are you and Evan expecting?"
"Bite me. PMS is on like Donkey Kong. I cannot stop eating everything!" Veronica tugged hard, the bag opening with a loud pop. "I had the quesadillas for dinner, though. Semi-healthy, right?"
"And here I thought you liked your ass big," Autumn teased.
"Not when I have an audition in three weeks! Oh well, I’ll just swim laps with Evan until I’ve burned off a baby goat’s worth of flab. Anyway, you should be joining me, Miss ‘I forgot to eat’." Veronica glared at her. "Andrew will be so pissed if he finds out."
Autumn winced, propping her feet on her headboard. "Oh God V, don’t tell him. I’m just too anxious to eat big meals. Look, see? Candies?" She popped another jelly bean into her mouth. "I’m eating the best I can. Besides, if you tell him, he won’t just be angry. He’ll order a pizza to campus and make me eat it all."
"Pizza?" Veronica’s face lit up. "I keep forgetting he’s grade twelve. Can we please ask him to order one? Calcium cures PMS or something."
"No!" A pillow sailed across the room, striking Veronica in the head. "You’ll thank me later."
Retaliatory fire struck Autumn in the face. "Maybe. But damn, pizza sounds amazing. Where is Loverboy tonight?"
"He’s filming an interview for his new documentary mid-term. There’s a grade seven student whose family survived the Holocaust. He’s doing a piece on genocides and the generation afterwards. I think he has another lined up with someone from Rwanda in Toronto next weekend. Hence our girl time sleepover."
"And how are things between you two?"
Veronica. Always incorrigible. Always a romantic at heart.
"I don’t know," Autumn admitted. "We had two weeks of average-level crisis and then it all went alert status fail. I was practically catatonic for three days, and he was just there, trying to help me. I feel like he’s going to get fed up, you know? And then there’s the fact that my ex is frolicking around Ontario, well aware that I’m at a boarding school somewhere. I mean, how many of them are there in this province?"
Her friend rolled over on her side, propping up on her arm. "I can’t even imagine how I’d feel if Jamie was... well, coming back. You’re so brave. I would have begged my parents to fly me to a desolate island until he was arrested. As for Andy, stop worrying about that. You didn’t see how he was when he first arrived. It was only a few weeks after the crash. He understands why you’re a mess."
"I guess..." Reaching for another handful of jelly beans, she continued. "There’s understanding though, and burden. I’m really no good at dating, V. You have to interpret him for me."
Veronica thought for a moment, then smiled warmly. "Honey, if he were a typical guy out for an easy, breezy love affair, he would have dated two dozen other girls on campus by now who were pretty and willing. If he thought it was all too much, why would he wait for you, sing for you and send you that note even after you declared radio silence due to emotional disaster?"
"I don’t know, maybe-"
"And he bought you tickets for your favourite band, y’know, the one he covered at the fundraiser? No, hush. He is head over heels. All he wants is to make you happy again. Trust me. I swear on my love of Broadway."
Autumn laughed, shaking her head. "Okay, okay. Serious vows." Pausing, she quietly added, "I really hope you’re right. Now, share the damn Doritos!"
"Catch!" She tossed the bag over, giggling as they nearly hit the floor between them. "It was super cool of Lorraine to agree to this," Veronica said, pulling her hair back with an elastic. "A new room would be better, but at least you don’t have to be alone every night."
Autumn nodded. "I’m hoping she keeps her antics to a minimum tonight, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. Which brings me to a little investigative work that I’m hoping you’re game for tonight."
"Are we Paranormal Prep?" Veronica bolted upright, tossing aside her chocolates. "Do we need to leave the room?"
"Not tonight. I did want to kind of go over things again, plan of attack stuff."
"Pass me another Fresca and break out the case file," Veronica quipped.
Sliding open the drawer beneath her bed, Autumn dug out her now bulging envelope of notes and photos and shifted to the floor. With hesitation, she lined up all of her evidence, including the postcard she’d never mentioned to anyone. Veronica had proven time and again that she could be counted on for discretion and an open mind. Besides that, she could possibly verify the handwriting on the charred fragment.
"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-"
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