Change Of Season

by Dillon, A. C.

  "Autumn showed us the notes you gave her before, about all of the missing students from campus. She also was saying you believed that the campus was cursed. Could you explain exactly what curse that is?"

  Ben nodded eagerly. "Absolutely, although I have to say that my own theories might be shifting now."

  "How so?" Andrew interjected.

  "Let me start with my hypotheses, and get to that. It’ll make more sense," Ben insisted. "Back before the Centre For Addiction and Mental Health – CAMH for short – was the big mental health facility on the block, there were several asylums in Ontario. Humber College has recently expanded onto the grounds of one. Casteel Preparatory Academy has become very wealthy off of the relatively cheap purchase of the land and existing buildings that once comprised the Bronte-Appleby Regional Mental Hospital. The dining hall was once a gymnasium for exercise. Pearson and MacDonald residences housed those being treated here. There was another residence, but they tore it down to build the Administrative building. Now, asylums were and often still are terrible places in many cases. If you’ve ever watched One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest – or better, read it – you know what I mean by that."

  Taking a large mouthful of water from the bottle in his bag, he continued. "So, Casteel buys this place in the ‘60s and converts it to a snooty school for rich people’s kids. It eventually grew, added more dorms, fueled by the alumni cash and tuition. The arts specialty expanded over time to encompass more areas of study. Now, people who’ve died in unpleasant ways often tend to linger around the place they died, and Casteel is haunted. There’s video and dozens of witnesses that we know of."

  "Where does this tie to the girls?" Andrew asked, growing impatient. "And what about this new theory?"

  Ben sighed. "Getting to that now. I told Autumn that my investigation began in 2007, when Alyssa Patterson disappeared. It just wasn’t right, and she’d complained of being stalked or watched for months prior. I began snooping in the school files and discovered that although some other students ran off here and there, a very distinct pattern emerged in winter: every odd numbered year, a girl with red hair disappeared, or in the case of Nikki, ended her life. I traced it backwards to 1999. As far as I was concerned, it was too much of a coincidence. Given the school’s history and the fact that several of them stayed in Pearson Hall, I added the ghosts up. 2011 was the first year off pattern, which made me hopeful it was all in my head. That is, until Autumn emailed me. I took one look at her and saw the resemblance immediately."

  "This is really important: has anyone else contacted you in the last six months about all of this?" Andrew asked.

  Ben shook his head. "Just the two of you and Autumn. Bringing her up, I have to tell you two something that I kept from her: two days before Nikki... she came to see me."

  Veronica’s breath hitched and Andrew touched her arm, comforting her. "Nikki talked to you before she died?"

  Ben nodded. "She was really anxious and paranoid, certain she was next on a hit list. Said ghosts were following her around campus, asked about how to get rid of them. I directed her to a Pagan guy I knew via email, but she was in a really rough way. She hadn’t slept in days, from what I could tell."

  "Sounds like Autumn," Veronica murmured.

  "In which case, she’s in serious danger. The problem is, I don’t know if the danger is human," Ben admitted. "Autumn emailed me the other day and asked for information that disturbs the hell out of me, truth be told."

  Andrew frowned. "What information? Veronica, did she mention this to you?"

  Veronica shook her head. "Not a word."

  "She was asking about teachers who’d been students at Casteel," Ben explained. "She mentioned Grant and when I saw the dates in his history, my blood ran cold. It would be incredibly easy to take advantage of the campus and its history to prey on young women. I’m waiting on a reply from a source who works in the office this year. I also asked him to cross-reference last year, since the pattern broke. See if anything jumped out."

  "Could you let me know too, once you get an answer?" Veronica asked.

  "No problem. Look, I really want this pattern to end at 2009. Autumn fits the profile down to every detail: Behavioural Reform program; her appearance matches; she strikes me as a loner. You need to be alert. The disappearances seem to happen between January 1st and February 18th, so that’s your window." Ben rose slowly to his feet, zipping up his bag. "If there’s anything else I can do to help, please email me. I really don’t want another name on my list, especially if Autumn’s onto something with this teacher business."

  "So... a teacher really could have..." Veronica visibly blanched. "I mean, I suggested it, but I guess I didn’t really believe it."

  Ben sighed deeply. "It never occurred to me, and I wish it had. Maybe Nikki would still be here. But the past can’t be undone. It was good to meet both of you, even if under horrible circumstances. I’ll email you when I know more, Veronica."

  "Thanks," Andrew said quietly. "I appreciate the help."

  With a little nod, Ben slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them seated at the empty table, stunned. Andrew considered himself a good judge of character, and Ben was a decent person. He hadn’t tipped off anyone, Chris included. He was the only person, aside from them, who cared about these girls and wanted answers. His devotion was admirable.

  "What do we do?" Veronica asked quietly.

  "First, we give thanks that Autumn got sick and was sent home. That gives us the weekend to learn as much as we can to protect her," Andrew said. "We’re going to have to piss her off, though."

  "How so?"

  "We need muscle, more eyes. We’re going to have to tell Evan."

  Veronica nodded slowly. "Yeah, it’s time. She’s like a little sister to him. Plus, keeping all of this inside is too hard for me. He keeps asking why I’m down and I just keep pointing at Chris stalking Autumn. I don’t think he’s buying it anymore."

  "Where is he now?"

  "It’s twenty after six, so he’s probably just finishing up in the pool," Veronica replied.

  Andrew nodded, rising quickly. "Then we’d better hustle to Athletics."

  The two of them walked briskly across the snow-dusted quad, Veronica absently toying with the sleeves of her coat as they moved. Andrew couldn’t find the energy to console her, his mind fixated on Ben’s words. Even he suspects that the teacher theory is viable, and he knows this story better than anyone. Could Professor Grant actually be a killer?

  A loner, Andrew began listing. No family, keeps to himself among faculty. Dislikes Autumn. Has been here for every single girl’s death or vanishing act. Swallowing hard, he added, Biologist, specializing in anatomy. Skulks around the tunnels. It was undeniable: he was the number one suspect, not Chris.

  "This way," Veronica said, opening a side door. "He comes out this way every time. We won’t miss him."

  They walked briskly down the sloping corridor, taking a right at Veronica’s direction. At the end of the hall a door swung open, revealing Evan and his teammate Brendan, chatting casually. As Evan glanced forward he froze.

  "Veronica? What’s wrong?"

  "We need to talk. Privately," she added.

  "Brendan, sorry man. Rain check on the Black Ops," Evan said, waving them closer. "This way."

  The two of them moved past Brendan with the faintest acknowledgement of his presence that would pass as polite. Evan’s arm immediately wrapped around Veronica’s shoulder as he led the way down a corridor to the left.

  "What is it?" he asked anxiously. "You look scared, both of you."

  "We’ll explain. Where are we going?"

  "Random lounge," Evan announced, pushing open a door on his right and holding it for them. "Door locks. Get inside."

  Andrew settled gingerly onto a stiff sofa, fidgeting with the edge of the cushion. Veronica threw herself into her boyfriend’s arms the moment the lock engaged, to which he responded with a tight embrace and panicked look at Andrew.

&nbs
p; "Shh, I’ve got you," he soothed her. "I don’t understand. Is Autumn okay?"

  "For now," Andrew ceded nervously.

  "Wait, what?" Kissing Veronica’s forehead, he gently led her to the opposing couch. "Tell me."

  Andrew and Veronica began to detail the school’s sordid history, skimping on the names and ages of the girls and summing up the crux of the issue: Autumn fit a pattern, and was likely in danger from a homicidal teacher on campus. Evan’s expression shifted from concern to confusion, then rage at the thought of someone besides Autumn’s ex-boyfriend targeting her. His body shook as he mulled over this information, eyes unseeing. Andrew understood: he was envisioning all of the terrible ends she could meet as well.

  "She made me promise not to tell you," Veronica said between sobs. "But we need to work together to protect her, and she can get over it."

  "No, I’m glad you told me," Evan replied. "Fuck, a teacher? How the hell has this gone on so long without anyone else noticing?"

  "Troubled girls on a prestigious private campus going missing? Not good for business," Andrew suggested bitterly. "Never mind that no one cares about troublemaking teens, especially women. It was ‘good riddance, fill the dorm room’ and that was that."

  "I’m just so glad she’s at home after what Ben said," Veronica exclaimed, running a hand through her tangled hair. "I kinda hope she stays home."

  "Oh, did she go home today?" Evan asked.

  "No, yesterday," Andrew said.

  "Um, no, she was here yesterday," Evan corrected him. "I know she was."

  Andrew’s heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward. "How do you know?"

  "George told me so. He went by her room last night to drop off our next novel study and some Vitamin Water." Evan froze, glancing at Veronica’s ashen face. "You didn’t know this?"

  "Professor Kearney told me she went home yesterday morning," Veronica said quietly. "He told me to hang onto her handouts until Monday."

  Andrew bolted from his seat, throwing open the lounge door and running down the hallway. Behind him, Veronica and Evan struggled to keep pace, but he wasn’t about to wait. Two teachers, two different stories: which was true? Was Autumn still on campus – incapacitated and weak, no less? Oh, shit! She could be on medications! She might not even realize what was happening before it happened.

  He shoved hard against the crash bar, nearly stumbling to the pavement outside before scrambling across the ice and frozen grass towards Ashbury. If she was there, she was coming to his room until her parents could come for her, no matter what Lorraine, Amar or Headmistress Logan had to say about it.

  And if she’s not?

  Andrew shook the thought aside, refusing to accept it as an option. Gasping for air, he reached the main entrance of Ashbury and yanked on the door, to no avail.

  "Goddamn FOB access! Veronica!"

  She rounded the building with Evan thirty seconds later, which may as well have been eternity. Holding her stomach and wheezing, she swiped her FOB over the reader, granting them access.

  "Where?" Andrew demanded, glancing around.

  "308," Veronica replied, sucking in a deep breath. "I’ll get Lorraine and see if she saw Autumn leave."

  Andrew ran up the stairs, his lungs burning from the sudden exertion he demanded. Knocking into several students on the first landing, he apologized and kept moving, ignoring their protests and demands to leave. Nothing and no one would keep him from room 308. She needed him, and he would be there. He’d promised to keep her safe, to shield her from whatever evils befell her.

  Third floor. Glancing quickly down the right hall, he corrected and stormed down the left, grinding to a halt outside room 308. His hand reached out for the knob, twisting it roughly. Locked. His fist pounded the door, wheezing for air.

  "Autumn!" he shouted. "Open up!"

  No response. A sickening feeling washed over him and his head began to spin. Something’s wrong, his mind chanted. His efforts were met with the staring eyes of a lithe blonde across the hall, arms akimbo.

  "You’re not allowed in here!" she snapped. "I’m trying to study!"

  Spinning around, he glared at her. "And I’m here because someone is trying to kill my girlfriend, so how about you get the fuck back in your room and try some ear plugs?"

  "I’m calling security!" she shrieked, storming back into her room.

  "Good. They can break down the door." He pounded again, calling her name. Nothing.

  "Andrew!"

  Veronica appeared at the top of the stairs, Evan and Lorraine in tow. Her face revealed everything: Autumn was supposed to be here right now.

  Did Kearney lie? Or did Grant tell him a lie, knowing it would get to Veronica?

  "This is highly inappropriate, Mr. Daniels, but I’ll excuse you in light of what Miss. St. Clair has told me," Lorraine chastised, flipping through a ring of keys.

  "She was here up until this morning, when Lorraine last saw her," Evan said solemnly. "She’s supposed to sign out on weekends."

  Andrew tapped his foot impatiently as Lorraine unlocked the room and opened the door. "Miss Brody? Oh, dear!"

  Andrew pushed past her, taking in the scene. A pile of school books lay haphazardly across one of the beds, the other a tangle of sheets and blankets. Several empty and half-empty water bottles lined the windowsill and a chair was inexplicably left near the bathroom door. The room looked torn apart, tossed by robbers. A bad movie scene.

  "This place is a mess," Evan said. "Autumn’s not messy."

  "Well, she has been sick, Mr. Kowalczyk," Lorraine interjected. "She likely forgot to sign out due to the illness. Not like the poor girl could call me to the desk, what with the laryngitis and all."

  "Laryngitis?" Andrew spun around, concerned. "No wonder she hasn’t phoned."

  She couldn’t have screamed for help if she wanted to.

  "Hey Andy, I’ve got an email from Ben," Veronica announced. "Wait, it’s from six-thirty. Why didn’t I notice it?"

  "No signal in Athletics," Evan said. "What’s it say?"

  Veronica whimpered as she read the screen, "There’s two," she said. "Grant and Kearney."

  Andrew fought the urge to throw up as bile lurched upward, scanning the room once more. She fought someone, he guessed, staring at the chair. He’s been here. He’s taken her.

  "Guys, her laptop is here." Tears began to fall as Veronica pointed at the bed. "She would never leave it if she went home."

  "What the hell is going on?" Lorraine demanded. "What are you talking about?"

  "Call the police," Andrew ordered her. "She’s in danger."

  "What-"

  "CALL THE DAMN POLICE!" Veronica screamed, shoving her backwards.

  "That’s quite enough! There will be strict disciplinary action taken here, for all of you!" Lorraine strode angrily towards the stairs, huffing and muttering under her breath, leaving the three of them staring at an empty room.

  "Now what?" Veronica asked.

  Andrew stared at the scattered papers, the abandoned laptop and books strewn all over, his body trembling. Where was she? Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a single page flutter to the ground beside her desk, despite there being no draft he could sense. Walking over, he bent down to read it and gasped in recognition.

  "I know how to find her," he said. "Follow me."

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Oakville: January 13th, 2012

  Twitch. A flicker of light. Proof of life. For how long? Limbs alight with jangled nerves, shaking off inertia’s iron grasp. Resistance.

  Twitch. Eyelids fluttering. Flesh scraping against brittle cords. I can’t move.

  The circuits came online one by one, as if flipped by switches, and Autumn could hear her skin scraping against the binds on her wrists. Rope, she recognized, wincing in pain. Her head pulsed, throwing a rave in spite of her wishes for silence. What happened to me?

  Behind her, a figure moved, shoes scraping against what sounded like pavement. Someone did this. She was too terrifie
d to open her eyes, scrambling to retain frayed knots of memory that slid between the ethers. Who? Her throat felt raw, the taste of blood on her tongue, mingled with something sweet and tart. Juice.

  Kearney!

  It crashed over her in a tsunami of fear: Professor Kearney was the killer. He’d drugged her. And now, he’d taken her... where? Did it matter? None of the girls had ever returned from this unknown prison, had they?

  "Are you awake?" he asked. His voice was saccharine, sickening – it made her stomach lurch.

  I have to look, she realized. I have to see if there’s a way out of this.

  Her eyes burned as the fluorescents flooded her field of vision, her head jerking aside as they squinted, trying to adjust. Beyond the jaundiced light, she saw grey. Cold walls. The tunnels, she guessed, slowly opening her eyes again. I’m somewhere under the campus.

  "Ah, you are!" he chirped excitedly. "I wasn’t sure how long it would take to wear off, but I’d hoped the dose was small. It was the only way to get you out of that prison."

  Glancing around, Autumn took in the rusted wheelchair, the duffel bags in the corner of the room and a series of cabinets with glass doors. This had to be associated with the old Operating Theatre. There was no gurney she could see, although turning her head in the leather chair she was tied to was impossible without tearing her shoulder from its socket.

  And then, he was there, standing beside her.

  "I’ll get you some water," he informed her, moving away somewhere behind her.

  Tilting her head, she studied the cabinets, noticing something beyond the glass doors. Containers of some kind, translucent. She could hear liquid strike the bottom of a metal container as she began to make sense of the shapes within the containers, understood with sickening clarity that these were his possessions.

  Jars. Jars of hearts, carefully preserved in formaldehyde.

  She gagged, bile flooding her mouth as she stared in horror. Six. Six girls ran away. He fucking took their hearts!

  Her gaze averted as he returned, a metal mug clutched in his wretched grasp. He held the cup to her lips and she sniffed it, testing it for drugs. Some poisons are odorless, she remembered and she refused to accept the fluid. I won’t help him kill me, she seethed.