Change Of Season

by Dillon, A. C.

  Gingerly she rose, dumping her books onto the spare bed to free up her backpack for a weekend’s packing. While she had plenty of clothes at home, her favourite pajamas were all at school now and besides, why do laundry when Mom could do it there?

  I’m really practicing for university now, she thought wryly. The weekend home for laundry and free food. Food… Her mom could make sticky toffee pudding. Oh yes, hurling on the side of the road would be worth that treat!

  A knock sounded on her door and Autumn moved to answer it. Did Mom just drive straight here for six-thirty? She’d hoped to grab a quick shower before being seen in public. Opening the door, she was greeted by a familiar yet non-familial face: Professor Kearney.

  "Hello, Autumn. I came to bring you your work and a few things to drink. How are you?"

  "Laryngitis," she said quietly, pointing to her throat.

  "Oh, save your voice, then. I won’t be long." He stepped inside, shutting the door and looking at her line of empty water bottles on the window sill. "Looks like I brought refreshments right on time."

  Autumn smiled, shoving her things aside to make a space on the spare bed to sit on. He thanked her, placing a small bag beside him. Casteel really takes their education seriously, she thought, sitting down on her own bed. I better go home before someone brings a term paper outline for me!

  "I have an idea: open up a document on Word. You can type instead of talking," he suggested.

  Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Opening a fresh window, she quickly tapped out a message before turning the computer towards him.

  Thanks for stopping by. I have to say, the teachers here are really thoughtful.

  "It’s the nature of boarding school: we live together, so it’s more communal," he said. "Did they tell you how long you’ll be silent?"

  Typing: Doctor said to keep quiet until Sunday night and see how I felt. My throat’s super-inflammed, so he figures when the infection eases, I’ll be talking again.

  "Makes sense. In any case, I brought you the outline for your first essay. It’s due in two weeks, but you’re on extensions right now. Just look it over when you’re feeling better. I also brought you some juice from the dining hall. Vitamin C cures everything, or so I’m told."

  He pulled a plastic bottle from the bag and handed it to her, then retrieved her assignment pages. Her throat was the Sahara, the juice her oasis as she unscrewed the cap and took several large swallows. Berry flavour, as best she could tell with her muted senses.

  Back to the computer: Yummy. You had great timing. Lorraine’s been pretty attentive but it’s Friday, so she’s probably relaxing.

  He read the screen, nodding thoughtfully. "There’s always friends, though. What about that funny girl from our class, Veronica? Hasn’t she come by?"

  Autumn shook her head, typing quickly: No one’s come or called. I guess they’re trying to let me rest. Either that or they’re exhausted from taking care of me all the time.

  She felt guilty for her neediness of late, no matter what her friends told her to her face. Perhaps a nice weekend off would do all of them a world of good. Taking another gulp of cold juice, she remembered her promise to her mother and glanced at the time display on screen. 6:25. I guess I’ve got time to pack while she drives.

  "It’s inevitable that we will have times where we lean pretty heavily on our friends. You’re having an exceptionally hard year, Autumn. If they can’t understand that, perhaps they’re not very good friends."

  Professor Kearney meant well, but he couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of their devotion to her well-being. If they were exhausted, so be it. Let them have a break to live their own lives for a while.

  Autumn began to explain this on the screen, but found herself squinting at the letters, unable to see them clearly. Her head throbbed – a new headache brewing – and she sighed wearily. Noticing the shift, her instructor rose, placing a hand to her forehead.

  "Fever? You seem very warm."

  Had she taken Tylenol recently? She couldn’t recall. No wonder I’m dizzy again! With a small nod of confirmation, Professor Kearney reached for the juice and her bottle of Advil.

  "Try and take one of these. I’ll get a cool cloth from the bathroom for you."

  Her hand fumbled with the cap of the bottle, colours streaking and sharpening into focus. She felt off again, like before she’d fallen down during the ritual. Maybe she was getting worse? Oh hell, it’s definitely mono! Why me? Popping a tablet in her mouth, she swigged the juice, pausing as her browser window flashed on screen.

  Email had arrived.

  Scrolling over, she expanded the window, pleased to see Ben’s name lit up in her single unread message. Opening it, she willed her eyes to focus on the scant words he’d sent.

  Sorry for delay – took time to confirm. You already know about Grant – student from 1972-80. The only other teacher who’s been a student was also a graduate of the 1980 class, and if you’re onto what I think you are, you need to avoid both of them to be sure.

  Professor Douglas Kearney: student from 1975-80; teacher since 1999.

  Be careful!

  Autumn froze, straining to focus and re-read the last line. Kearney? She glanced at the bottle of juice beside her, cocking her head in confusion. Wait: shouldn’t the safety seal have cracked? She couldn’t remember that characteristic snapping noise when she’d begun chugging at it.

  The water shut off in her bathroom and she quickly signed out of her email. This was no fever she was struggling against now. She’d been drugged. Which meant...

  "Here, this should help," Professor Kearney insisted, handing her the moistened face cloth with a smile.

  He killed them. Not Grant.

  She nodded slightly, her mind racing against the encroaching stupor. I have to get help, have to tell someone. Pressing the cloth to her eyes, she felt her senses shock a little, enough of a jarring to perhaps stand and walk – or run -for her door. Shooting stars and rainbows everywhere she turned, but beneath them, the shadow of a man reaching into a bag. What else was in the bag?

  Shuddering, she pointed to the bathroom before rising slowly to her feet. I’ll just pretend... Shit, what? Where am I going? Wincing as her head began to pulse, she took a few steps towards the bathroom. I have to get away from something... Her brain was slurring and grinding to a halt, thoughts lost in the haze.

  "Where are you going, Mary?"

  Mary… She shook her head, legs buckling. He’s the killer. Gotta run... got to...

  "Help." It was scarcely a whisper, her voice cracking.

  Autumn lunged for the door, slumping against the closet as her balance betrayed her. Behind her a hand reached out, only to curse as furniture slid across the hardwood. She slumped to the floor as she whimpered, staring at the chair in the centre of the room.

  Oh, Nikki... I failed you.

  Professor Kearney’s face was an expressionless mask as he loomed over her, staring down intently at her crumpled body. "I’ve missed you, Mary," he whispered.

  Murderer, she thought helplessly as her limbs grew heavy. Andrew, help me...

  The candy-coloured chemicals claimed her, plunging her into purgatory.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Oakville; January 13th, 2012

  Andrew Daniels was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

  Weeks of watching Autumn – the woman he’d come to love with a depth he once believed was Hollywood fiction – slowly spiral into paranoia and physically wasting away had taken their toll. He’d hit the breaking point of patience. Now, he just wanted something to attack.

  It was lucky that Autumn was home sick. She didn’t need to see this angry side of him right now.

  He missed her fiercely and was frustrated by not speaking to her, but as Veronica had pointed out, she was extremely ill and needed rest more than ever. When she was coherent, she’d phone him and he would immediately arrange to visit her in Toronto. For now, he sat with Veronica in the dining hall, ignoring his burger
and seething.

  "I can’t believe she’s still hiding things from me, after all the talks we’ve had," he muttered in disbelief.

  Veronica sighed, shoving aside her uneaten salad. "Look, I don’t know anything for sure. Her phone rang in the middle of the night twice and she ignored it. I thought it was you, but if you didn’t call, Chris seems to be the next possibility to consider."

  "He’s stalking her," Andrew concluded. "He can’t find her physically, so he’s going to drive her up the wall until she comes home, where he can reach her."

  "Maybe she’s afraid if she says anything, her parents will make her go home," Veronica hypothesized. "Kind of like she’s locking herself down here in some scholastic bunker. This whole haunting thing isn’t helping matters, either."

  Andrew nodded thoughtfully. Although he hadn’t witnessed anything, what mattered was Autumn’s belief in it. Veronica had heard the crying personally and seen something in her room that she refused to describe, but she also expressed some doubts as to how much was real versus how much was in Autumn’s fevered head.

  "It’s all the blogger guy’s fault," Veronica continued angrily. "If Ben hadn’t given her all that information, she could focus on healing from what Chris did. Instead, she’s been pulled in so many directions, she can’t even eat. And now, she’s so sick they removed her from class for days and sent her home? Grr!"

  "She’s delirious from lack of sleep. I bet buddy’s notes are fuelling the nightmares she sees." Andrew paused, a terrible thought coming to mind. "Veronica, how accessible is the information about this supposed curse?"

  "Autumn found it by searching for the asylum that used to be here. He’d posted a link to his blog, which was basically the nameless version of his theories. Anonymous girls, no descriptors. What are you thinking?"

  Andrew leaned forward, his heart beginning to race. "What if someone else is using that information against her? Driving her crazy?"

  "Oh, shit! You’re not saying-"

  "The guy threatened her and killed her dog. He’s capable of anything."

  Veronica bit her lip nervously. "That would explain the phone calls. Maybe after she filed her report, he stepped up his game."

  "I’m not a violent person, Veronica. I’m not. But I could strangle this bastard and feel no remorse."

  "You and me both," she whispered. "But where does that leave us?"

  Andrew weighed the information he knew, considering Autumn’s welfare as he debated courses of action. If she were concealing phone calls from Chris, confronting her directly would likely send her recoiling into her shell. He didn’t want to disturb her while ill, either; she was too fragile and worn out. But if Chris was using the urban legends of the campus to disturb her, it meant he’d found Casteel Prep, and potentially her dorm room.

  "You say the blogger guy is to blame for spitting out his theories?" Andrew asked. "How would we get in touch with him?"

  Veronica’s eyes widened. "What are you thinking?"

  Andrew struggled to maintain composure. "I think we need to have a talk with this Ben guy, and see who else he’s been feeding Casteel’s supposed curse to. Don’t you?"

  Veronica withdrew her iPhone from her purse and tapped a few keys. "She sent me the blog link ages ago... His email was on it. Um, okay... Oh, here!" Waiting for the link to load, she said, "Autumn won’t be too thrilled with us approaching this guy behind her back. She’ll think we’re calling her crazy."

  "Do you think she’s crazy?"

  "One sec... ‘Contact Me’ – don’t mind if I do... I don’t think she is. Nikki was a friend, Andrew. Her suicide has always bothered me, and I’ve seen enough to think this campus is haunted. Ghosts exist, that I do know. But maybe that’s where it stops, you know? Even Autumn suggested that we had to consider the simplest explanations."

  "Like the girls actually running away or... ending it?" Andrew asked. "Fair enough."

  "Okay, I’m emailing him now. What should I say?"

  Andrew hesitated briefly, then spoke quietly. "Tell him Autumn’s really messed up and we need to talk to him about the curse, now. Today. Stress the urgency. Let’s buy into his conspiracy theories."

  Veronica’s thumbs flew along the screen, tapping out the message in record time. Hitting send, she nodded in confirmation.

  "Thanks, Veronica. By the way, does Evan know everything?"

  Veronica shook her head. "She made me promise not to tell him anything about the ghosts. He knows the basic gist of the Chris situation. Why?"

  Andrew grimaced. "Because someone may need to hold me back from slugging this guy if he’s talked to Chris, and Evan’s bigger than you."

  "You know she wouldn’t like you doing that, no matter what Ben’s done," Veronica admonished.

  "I know, but I’m not exactly running at full strength in the self-control department now. I can’t let anything happen to her."

  "We won’t let it," Veronica assured him. "We’ll get some answers from Ben and make our next move from there."

  The fear wound itself around his throat, drawing taut and suffocating him. Nearly two years had passed since his parents had perished in a twisted heap of rain-misted metal, and while the pain lingered, it was easier to breathe with Autumn around. She often complained that she felt like a burden to everyone around her, but to him, she was a buoy, keeping his head above water. He could no longer sit and watch as everyone placated her with false promises of hope and resolution.

  "I was so dead inside before her," he confessed, staring at the scuffed table. "I shut down. It was easier to care about people on a screen. I won’t forgive myself if I can’t keep her safe. I owe her my life, and she doesn’t even see it..."

  Veronica’s hand reached across the table, squeezing his gently. "When the dust settles, she’ll see it clearly. What she does see is you there for her, and she needs you. We have to stay calm and rational, for her."

  Veronica’s phone vibrated across the table and she snatched it up quickly, sliding her thumb to unlock the display. "Ben’s speedy."

  "What did he say?"

  Veronica scrolled, reading his response. "He’ll meet us at five forty-five in the library, near the Criminology stacks. Says he’s glad we contacted him, whatever that means."

  Andrew shrugged. "Guess we’ll find out. Meet at the library tonight?"

  "I’ll be there. Should I bring Evan?"

  Andrew hedged. "No, I’ll keep my cool. For her."

  Veronica rose slowly, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I have to go to class. See you at the library."

  He watched as she walked away slowly, the usual joy in her demeanor deflated. Her lunch was rammed into the garbage uneaten, much like his own would be. Only five hours until they had answers. Three hundred minutes. It seemed a lifetime away.

  He checked his phone, frowning at the lack of messages. Veronica and Gretchen had both told him she was in terrible shape, but it still seemed odd to not hear from Autumn. Tonight, after I talk to this Ben guy, he promised himself. She slept so little at night these days; he’d give her the safety of daylight hours to recuperate.

  He flipped through the media folder, opening up a picture from Christmas Eve. Autumn was laughing with her father, fighting over the bag of Scrabble tiles from their game. This was the life she deserved: bright with love and laughter.

  I’ll find the way out for you, he vowed. I’ll bring you back into the light.

  ***

  If Andrew could say nothing else for this mystery Ben person, he was prompt. He and Veronica had convened at five-forty, discussing their questions and approach before heading upstairs to the Criminology stacks, where Ben was already waiting for them. His hair was tipped in blue, as Autumn had described it to Veronica, although the colour was washed out. What struck Andrew quickly in meeting him was the concern in the man’s eyes.

  He’s worried about her, Andrew realized. Whether or not he was delusional or simply paranoid about the asylum history of the school, he was sincere in his c
oncerns for current students he deemed at risk. It was a common ground he could build upon while interrogating him.

  "We have a room," he said quietly, leading them towards the independent study areas in the far corner of the floor. "Thirty minutes."

  "And if we need more time?" Veronica asked.

  "You won’t."

  Ben held open the door to room eight, which was labeled with a maximum capacity of four individuals. Andrew suddenly regretted telling Veronica not to break her confidence and involve Evan. Three versus one would have ensured better odds for uncovering the truth. Settling into the chair opposing them, Ben dropped his backpack onto the empty seat, patiently waiting for Andrew and Veronica to speak.

  "Thank you for meeting us today," Veronica began warmly. "We’re really worried about Autumn’s safety and well-being, and we had some questions for you."

  "Where is Autumn?"

  "At home sick," Andrew replied.

  "That’s a very good thing. The less she’s on campus, the better. If I ruled the world, she’d drop out immediately, before anything happened to her," Ben said anxiously. "Ask away."

  Veronica exchanged a look with Andrew, who nodded, encouraging her to begin. They were taking the traditional good cop-bad cop approach with Ben – Veronica playing to the stereotypical emotional woman, with Andrew as the rational no-bullshit type. With any luck, it wouldn’t come to threats or intimidation.