Change Of Season

by Dillon, A. C.

  The music suddenly began to stutter and skip, the title of the song repeating over and over as if on a loop. Puzzled, Autumn scrolled the mouse to the skip button. Corrupted file, she thought bitterly.

  Overhead, the light began to flicker.

  A chill crept along her spine as she stared at the ceiling fan, its pot lights seeming to wink at her as they lit up and dimmed in a rhythmic pattern. Dying bulbs? All four at once?

  Her computer plunged into darkness, all power lost.

  "What the fuck?"

  She struck the laptop in anger, checking the power cord. It was firmly in the wall and connected to the base. Has the fuse blown? She groaned in frustration. Of course. My light’s screwed and my outlets are dead. Could this night keep sucking?

  From the periphery, she watched her bathroom light up on its own and felt her stomach drop. Fuses do not do that. Reluctantly, she rose to her feet, edging forward in a shuffling gait towards the ugly yellow fluorescent light. Time seemed to jump, cutting in and out like a poorly edited movie. Her stomach lurched from the disorientation, the bile and coffee churning wildly.

  Don’t look, she thought.

  "I have to."

  And she did have to. She had to reach out and find reality.

  Her hand connected with the door frame, pulling her inside the magician’s box, where the night played its tricks with illusion and sleight of hand. On the floor sat a girl, dressed in a blue floral summer dress that seemed a cast-off found in the Salvation Army bargain bin. It hung off the girl’s shoulders just slightly, revealing the sharp relief of collarbone beneath flesh. Too thin. A cascade of crimson curls danced down her back, tethered with a black scrunchie atop her head. Her head bowed as if in prayer, she remained silent, motionless.

  The light flickered twice. Strobe light. Dance, puppet. Showtime.

  Autumn stared speechless, blinking hard only to find this curious visitor remained. Somewhere in the walls, a sigh slipped out, tumbling from the overhead vents.

  What is real?

  The head rose, tilting as if alerted to the presence of an audience. Her china doll hands were pressed to her face as she slowly turned, her neck craning at an impossible angle. Vacant black pools for eyes, she stared at Autumn, studying her visage as if seeking her own truths.

  Laughter in the walls. Jaded, sarcastic.

  Autumn was paralyzed, the rabbit in the headlights waiting to be struck. Willing victim, obedient and still. Porcelain hands fell away from their macabre game of Peek-a-boo to reveal the battered face of Mary Kennedy, no longer as pretty as her picture. Bruised lips parted, unleashing rivulets of blood that coursed over her chin and pelted her dress.

  "Thief of hearts!" she screamed, gurgling blood.

  And Autumn screamed with her, reality crashing in as she fell backwards onto the floor. Her body convulsed with sobs as she pressed her hand to her eyes, refusing to see. It can’t get you if you don’t see it. It can’t get you in the light. Every old lie about protection from the things that bumped in the night became a mental talisman as she cried out uncontrollably, willing her body to expire already, to be free of its hell.

  Hands shook her shoulders and she screamed harder. It’s all real, she understood. If he doesn’t kill me, the ghosts will. Her name was repeated, a mantra, and she could only shake her head in protest, inching and writhing along the hardwood.

  "Let me in!"

  She knew that voice, knew its truth. Veronica. She peered between her fingers, relieved to find her friend dropping to her side, enveloping her in a safe embrace.

  "Shh, Autumn, I’m here. What happened?"

  She shook her head, throwing her arms around her neck, clinging to life. Over her shoulder, the bathroom was vacant, mocking her.

  What is real?

  A crowd had gathered at the door, Lorraine ushering them away as Veronica held fast, murmuring soothing words and promises. Their eyes bored holes in her armour, fresh chinks for fingers to poke, knives to jam through. They all knew now. They knew just how crazy she was.

  Fear me.

  "Sweetheart, come to my room, okay? Sleepover time." Veronica leaned back, brushing the damp hair from Autumn’s face. "I’m here. We’ll go downstairs and I’ll come back for your things."

  "We should probably call the nurse," Lorraine said hesitantly.

  "No, no need. I’ve got this," Veronica insisted. "Just clear the goddamn gossip mill out of the hall?"

  Lorraine stepped into the hall, shouting at various students to move, clear the way. Crazy is contagious, Autumn thought bitterly. Come watch the freak show but careful, she bites! With Veronica’s aid, she rose to her feet and made her way cautiously to the hallway. As Veronica moved to shut her door, she caught a glimpse of her laptop and staggered.

  It was on now, as if nothing had happened.

  "Come on, Autumn," Veronica gently urged, an arm around her shoulder.

  What is real?

  Autumn didn’t know anymore.

  THIRTY

  Oakville; January 9th, 2012

  No matter how engaging Professor Kearney could be during a lecture, it wasn’t enough to stave off the yawns and slumped-head-on-desk routine. Autumn felt guilty, but if coffee couldn’t save her anymore, she accepted defeat. Veronica took diligent notes, glancing sideways every minute or two in motherly fashion. Autumn forced a smile halfway through class, hoping it would satisfy her, but Veronica knew better.

  Her hysterical fit had been broadcast across campus, her classmates side-eyeing her as she entered the room with Veronica. Whispers were louder than most believed, and every single accusation of insanity and schizophrenia reached her ears, further rattling her tentative hold on reality. Hallucinations: that was what last night’s events were. Ativan overdose. Autumn had stopped taking the pills, and while the return of heartache was unbearable, seeing dead girls bleed from their orifices seemed the worse fate.

  "Hey," Veronica gently called out. "Politics."

  Crap. One of her two classes today with Andrew. Maybe hallucinations were preferable.

  "Coming," she mumbled, shutting her unused notebook and stuffing it back inside her bag.

  More babysitting from friends. Veronica escorted her to her class, ordering Autumn to wait for her before heading to lunch. She was too tired to argue. Her hair lay limp, unwashed but brushed, courtesy of Veronica’s ministrations. Her uniform needed pressing, but she didn’t care anymore. She’d worn the kilt intentionally, in spite of the below freezing temperatures. The cold was all that could pull her from the caverns of her mind.

  Gretchen smiled warmly as she entered, and Autumn wondered if Lorraine had sent out some sort of notice of her fit, or if she simply looked that terrible. She slumped into the seat in the rear of the room, staring out the window at the icy landscape. A group of children tossed snowballs as they lingered outside the primary grade classrooms, laughing without care.

  She understood now why Peter Pan and the Lost Boys never wanted to grow up: it ruined innocence and joy.

  Her thoughts turned to Andrew, and she scanned the room, finding him near the front in his customary seat. He was unnaturally still, unconcerned with the chatter around them. What did he think of the latest gossip, she wondered. Surely someone had asked him why his girlfriend lost her shit.

  If he cared, he would be over here, checking on me, she thought sadly. She’d apparently succeeded in her mission: she’d driven him away. At least he would be safe now.

  One hundred and twenty minutes passed in fragmented lecture and avoided stares, the barren trees outside her focal point when she couldn’t feign taking notes any longer. From time to time she glanced at Andrew, his uniform equally disheveled this morning. He remained silent during discussions, prompting a few concerned looks from Gretchen that went, as best she could tell, ignored. When he bolted from the room at the end of class without so much as backward glance, her heart ran after him, leaving her hollow.

  "Hey doll, let’s go eat!" Veronica called from the
doorway.

  "Not hungry," she complained.

  "Not an option," Veronica countered.

  "Whatever."

  With a shove of her desk, she rose angrily, trailing Veronica like a pathetic puppy to the dining hall. Why eat? Why attend classes? She’d probably hallucinate a whole new lecture and fail. In her mind she began to construct a fictitious History of Canada, complete with alien invasion in 1969, amusing herself with the notion of a Cat-Person race demanding cheeseburgers. Why go halfway? Go stark raving bonkers or go home.

  If only home were an option.

  Today’s prescribed lunch from Doctor Veronica consisted of a fruit bowl, a small yogurt and a slice of pizza. It was more food than she normally ate on a good day at lunch, but Veronica had caught on to her skipped dinners last week and had taken to compensating for them.

  "I can’t eat this much. I’ll hurl."

  "Try, please? For me?"

  Autumn sighed, reluctantly taking a bite of pizza. "Guilt trips aren’t cool, V."

  Veronica shrugged, unapologetic. "You’d do the same for me. Don’t try to deny it."

  Damn her. She wasn’t wrong.

  "Did you talk to Andy?"

  Autumn shook her head. "No, and I don’t really care to talk about him."

  Veronica speared a large bite of poutine, chewing it thoughtfully as she scanned the hall. Evan would inevitably be here to join them, being as he was next on the babysitter schedule. He’d whisk her safely to Contemporary Literature, sit beside her and crack a few jokes, then shuttle her to Math. Autumn’s head pulsed at the thought of a second round of rejection from Andrew. Maybe she’d cut out early, lie down in the clinic. She could count the pockmarks in the ceiling, invent constellations of nothingness as fluorescents burrowed into her cerebral cortex via optical torment.

  "There he is!" Veronica exclaimed, obviously relieved.

  Big brother Evan crossed the crowded room, juggling a tray loaded with food to fuel his swim practice at four. It reminded Autumn of the scene in The Breakfast Club where Andrew – God, she couldn’t escape that name! – unpacked a small load of groceries for a lunch. Today’s feast: two servings of pizza, a turkey club sandwich, a spinach salad garnished with cherry tomatoes and bocconcini and a pudding cup, proving all men remained children at heart when it came to school lunches.

  The pudding actually did look pretty tasty, but she wouldn’t admit it aloud.

  "My two favourite women!" Evan declared, kissing Veronica’s cheek before plunking down his tray. "Don’t tell my mother that or she’ll beat me with her soup ladle. How was the morning?"

  "It was fine. Senior Biology bites," Veronica replied, swiping a tomato from Evan’s salad.

  "I slept with my eyes open," Autumn chimed in.

  Evan, as usual, rolled with her pessimistic punches. "I wish I could master that skill. If Lafleur spots me snoozing in Physics one more time, my ass will be in Logan’s office and you know she’ll ban me from the next meet."

  "Someone needs to feed her a winning lottery ticket so she blesses us with her retirement," Veronica grumbled.

  "She’d just buy the school to exert even more control," Autumn grumbled, absently plucking a cherry from the bowl in front of her. "She’s a sadist."

  "She’s right, babe. Logan won’t leave until she finds a new torture chamber to oversee. Autumn, you’ve read this book for Lit before, right?"

  She nodded weakly, popping a second cherry in her mouth. "A favourite of mine."

  Huh. Crazy woman book is a favourite. Well that isn’t telling or anything!

  "Can you help me with whatever the hell happened at the end? I was up until one and I suspect it’s not sleepy reading."

  Autumn shrugged. "Sure, I guess. After class?"

  "Don’t you have Math?" Veronica asked.

  "Not today."

  Vectors while sleep deprived? How about no?

  Evan nodded, cutting off Veronica quickly. "Great, thanks. Practices are killing my study time."

  Practices and your couple time, Autumn corrected silently. She loved Veronica and supported their relationship wholeheartedly, but this was a time that called for single, bitter friends to lean on. To their credit, Evan and Veronica were nixing their usual obnoxious PDA, which was a large gesture. Not kissing every five minutes? Unheard of with these two under normal circumstances.

  "I have to jet for Drama. Did you want to study later?" Veronica asked casually.

  "V, seriously?"

  Her friend smiled, tying her hair back loosely. "Study, watch Netflix and ignore the books – synonyms. Maybe grab something from Keenan?"

  "Maybe. I’ll text you," Autumn promised.

  "Later, lovelies!"

  Watching Veronica stroll towards the far doors, pausing briefly to gather Meg and Matt from another table, Autumn made a promise to herself to repay her friend’s loyalty somehow. Gifts, candy, tremendous favours – whatever it took.

  If I live long enough...

  "So, no Math today?"

  Evan sunk his teeth into his sandwich, staring her down. Big brother mode had engaged.

  "Nope." A bite of pizza, buying time.

  "What happened between you two? Should I go ream him out?"

  Autumn shook her head. "No, don’t make it worse. It’s better this way, for him anyway. I can’t take any chances with Chris in the area, so I might as well embrace this separation."

  Evan frowned. "You know that’s bullshit, right? You’re treating him like a child, and that’s insulting after the support he’s given you."

  "A child? I’m not doing anything of the sort!" Frayed nerves and the drummer practicing in her frontal lobe were combining in a burst of energy spawned by her annoyance.

  "Autumn, you’ve basically decided that an eighteen-year-old man doesn’t know what risks he’s taking and must therefore be shielded from things ‘because you say so’. You can dress it up as protecting him all you like, but by cutting him out of the decision-making process, you’re infantilizing him."

  She slumped in her chair, feeling rather infantile herself. So what if she was? Wasn’t that better than having to lose Andrew for good? If he were alive when the dust settled, there was a chance of reunion. Death was a permanent severing of ties.

  Finishing his sandwich, Evan cracked open a can of Sprite and gulped it before continuing. "You’re shaken up, probably emotionally exhausted. Anyone can see that. It’s okay to need help. You let Veronica and I help you. Why not Andrew?"

  "Because he’s the one in my life with a huge bullseye on his back, if Chris finds me here," she replied. "He’s had access to friends at home and done nothing to them. You two are safer."

  "Did you tell him this?"

  She shook her head. "He implied I was crazy, and I got pissed and left it at that."

  Evan sighed, mulling this over as he picked at his salad. From the furrowed brow, she could tell he was placing himself in Andrew’s shoes, picturing Veronica rejecting him in similar fashion. He wasn’t impressed.

  "Look, some guy advice? We’re not emotional thinkers, not like women. There are exceptions to every rule, but in general, we see facts and events more than underlying feelings. I can promise you that Andy believes you are not interested in talking to him because he pissed you off, and feels like a complete failure as a boyfriend. He is not extrapolating to the Chris factor at all. If you’re waiting for him to approach you, you’ll probably wait weeks. He’s trying not to anger you further, in hopes he can make amends."

  Friday night came into focus, memories of Andrew leading them to safety. He’d so readily cared for her, defending them against his house leader’s acerbic tone. He was, in his own words, socially awkward. Maybe he did care, after all.

  "I can’t see him get hurt because of me," she whispered. "Is that so wrong?"

  Evan shook his head. "You care about him. Thing is, you either keep hurting him with a rejection he can’t reconcile, or you risk losing him, but also embrace the time you have. Or, and I
hate this third option, you can keep him at a distance, but you owe the true reasons to him. I can’t make you give him a say in his own life, but you could at least give him something to wrap his head around."

  It was grating, how right he was.

  "I still can’t deal with Math today. My head’s killing me."

  "Skip. Just consider what I said, alright?"

  Autumn nodded. "For an annoying brother, you’re pretty great at sorting my shit out."

  "I know." Packing up a few choice items of his lunch spread, Evan jerked his head towards the window. "Lit?"

  "Let’s go."

  As she rose, Evan pointed at the table. "Nice try. Bring the yogurt and fruit."

  "Yes, Mom."

  Typical freaking older brother of another mother. With a huff, she packed her uneaten lunch and joined Evan on the frigid walk to class.

  ***

  A quick call to Emma had relieved her of Math class for the day, Autumn returning to her room for a cat nap beneath several blankets. Her mental batteries recharged, she packed up her ereader and set out for the Media Studies building, taking care to watch for Andrew or other familiar faces. She couldn’t dodge him forever, true, but she needed alone time to decompress after the hellish weekend. On tap was a re-reading of Hamlet, tucked away in some dark corner where she wouldn’t be found.

  The theatre itself was deserted, a peculiar sight after months of rehearsals and performances. With some debate, Autumn ascended to the balcony seating, tucking herself into the very back row and sinking into Shakespeare’s prose. For all of the Bard’s flaws – and Autumn could write an essay on them, particularly his romances – his work was comfort food for her mind. Iambic pentameter was precisely what she needed to clear her head of emotional static.

  She’d only just reached the arrival of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, one of her favourite scenes, when a noise below jarred her concentration. Glancing down, she spied perhaps the last two people she’d predict: Professor Matthew Ross, strangely naked without his omnipresent Bible, and Professor Paul Grant, the potentially murderous Biology teacher who seemed to have a problem with straying into school buildings after hours. From their body language, she could tell they were having a heated discussion, but from her perch, it was impossible to hear.