Change Of Season

by Dillon, A. C.

  "Ah, you’re afraid of more drugs," he said, almost as if speaking to a small child. "Here, watch."

  Reluctantly, she obeyed, avoiding eye contact with the monster. He took a large mouthful from the mug, swallowing it and opening his mouth to prove he’d consumed it.

  "See? It’s just water. Drink, please."

  Autumn assented, draining the cup of its cool fluid, straining to remember every novel she’d read featuring a psychotic killer. How could she get away? I need to be untied, she thought clearly. I need to find a weapon. She tugged hard at her restraints, panicking as they seemed to draw tighter around her wrists. Shit, shit, shit!

  "I’ve waited so long to finally have you back with me, Mary," he said, turning her chair to her right. He settled into an opposing seat, his face wistful. "I know how furious you must be with me."

  Oh my God. He thinks I’m the Polaroid girl. Mary Kennedy. He was delusional! She whimpered in spite of herself, her legs flailing into the air. Professor Kearney shushed her, shaking his head.

  "You mustn’t strain your voice, Mary," he said. "Besides, no one can hear you down here. Please, let me explain before you protest."

  Autumn looked away, disgusted. What, "I’m sorry I drove you to suicide?" In the periphery of her vision, something moved. She shook her head, as if to clear her vision. She was exhausted, feverish and likely still under the influence of whatever he’d slipped in her drink. Focus! she ordered herself.

  "I loved you for years before I came to tell you that night," he confessed. "Valentine’s Day came and went several times before I finally knew that the time was right. I brought you a poem, something I’d composed months before, yet never delivered. You’d smiled at me that day, and I knew you were ready."

  He knocked on her door, mindful of the empty corridors – hoping they would remain that way. If he were caught in the ladies’ dorm, there would be severe consequences. In his pocket was a small, folded page, torn from his notebook. He knew it by rote, but he had to be sure. He had to have it with him, just in case.

  "One sec, Jenny!" a voice called. Her voice: rich, warm tones. Mature, yet lighthearted.

  "Don’t chicken out," he whispered to himself. "You’re meant to be."

  The door flew open, and there she stood: Mary, his love. Dressed in a black strapless party dress, trimmed in lace and sequins, her crimson hair seemed as if it were on fire. Her expression was puzzled, her brow furrowed.

  "Doug? What are you doing here?"

  "Can I come in for just a few minutes?" he asked nervously.

  "It’s not allowed," she replied, glancing down the hallway.

  "If anyone finds out, I’ll take all the blame. I really need to talk to you," he insisted.

  With a resigned look, she stepped aside, ushering him into her room. "Fine, but I’ll swear the door was unlocked and you walked in unannounced if anyone finds you."

  Her room was kept neat, she and her roommate’s beds perfectly made, their books stacked on their desks. Several compacts and lipstick tubes dotted her bedspread. On the radio, Styx was playing and Doug smiled in recognition. Another thing they had in common.

  "So, what did you want?" Mary asked, pawing through her make-up collection.

  "I..." He hesitated, suddenly tongue-tied. "I, um, have something to tell you."

  Mary froze, a tube of red lipstick in hand. "Oh God, is Johnny with some other girl? That bastard! He’s two-timing me, isn’t he?"

  Doug felt his stomach bottom out as the pieces fell together: Mary was getting dressed up... which meant she had a date tonight. With Johnny, apparently, if her hurt expression were an indicator. He inwardly cursed his foolishness, re-examining every minute of the last four days. She hadn’t mentioned a date at all, had she? Hadn’t she said she was skipping the dance? But here she was, radiant and ready to dance – but not with him. Never with him.

  "I don’t know anything about Johnny," he said quietly.

  Mary sighed in relief, heading past him for the bathroom. "You had me worried, Dougie! If that’s not what’s up, then spill it. I only have half an hour."

  Her lips pouted as she applied the ruby colour to them in confident sweeping motions. She smiled at the result, proud of her look. Pride was always in her eyes, in her walk. Mary thought very highly of herself, he suddenly realized. Anger swelled within him as he stared, the poem forgotten. She’d led him on, hadn’t she? For what? To fuel her pride?

  "I came to tell you that I love you," he said angrily. "I’ve loved you for years, but you’ve never seen me, have you? Oh, I’m great for homework help, but not as a real man. Even this week, you toyed with me, letting me believe you actually cared. What a fool I’ve been!"

  Mary spun around, enraged. "How is it my fault that you can’t take a hint? When have I ever said anything that remotely suggested that I liked you? Look, I’m sorry you have some horrid crush on me, but I didn’t ask for it."

  "Didn’t ask for it? Oh, your smiles and pretty little pleases and thanks weren’t flirting? Manipulation?" His tone was icy as he edged forward. "You don’t have any idea of the kind of man I am, the man I could be for you. I would have treated you like a queen, Mary. Instead, you date the same jocks, over and over, ignoring the ones who actually care about you."

  "You need to leave Doug," she said forcefully. "Now."

  "What can I do to make you see it?" he pleaded, his heart cracking beneath her look of disgust.

  "No, you need to go. I’ll scream," she threatened.

  It was all a blur: he’d reached for her, trying to close the distance. She’d resisted him, jostling against the counter behind her. Tug of war ensued and then, a rolling sound along tiles and a whimper as his love and her loathing collided in deadly force.

  "I tried so hard to wake you up," he sobbed into his hands. "But the way you hit your head... the blood... It was an accident!" he shouted, tears streaming down his face. "But no one would believe that. I knew they wouldn’t. So I did what I had to do."

  Autumn bowed her head, fighting off tears. He faked her suicide, she concluded. Slit her wrists for her. In my room.

  "When you came back to me in 1999, I knew it was a chance to make it right. But you were so angry, so unwilling to hear me." He grabbed her chin, tilting her face to look up at him. "Why wouldn’t you let me explain?" he screamed. "Why?"

  "Please," she whispered hoarsely.

  "Every single time, you come back to screw with my head, to torment me," he ranted, releasing her face with a grunt. "Over and over, I tried to understand why."

  A flicker of movement to her right. She turned her head, saw nothing. I can’t lose it now, she thought wearily. I have to hang on. In her mind, she saw Andrew’s face and her heart stopped. I love you, Andrew. God, I wish I hadn’t shoved you away so many times. A streak of black moved behind Doug Kearney as he continued to pace, muttering to himself.

  "Just wanted to make amends," he said, shaking his head.

  "Because chopping girls up is so sweet?"

  Autumn’s head spun to her left, mutely gasping as she saw Miraj, leaning against Kearney’s dead girl trophy cabinet. Her hair was longer now, the layered angled cut mirroring her own. With a shake of her head, she pressed her index finger to her lips.

  "Pretend I’m not here, Red," she said calmly. "He can’t hear me, or see me. But you know that."

  He spun around, staring right at Miraj – no, through her, at the cabinet. "I’ve tried being flirty and confident. I’ve tried being calm, patient. Nothing has worked to satisfy you, Mary. Nothing gets through."

  He stared at Autumn expectantly, but she remained silent. Miraj. Real or imaginary, it was so good to see a friendly face before this madman ended her life.

  "Tell him you don’t remember anything," Miraj instructed her.

  "I don’t remember this," Autumn rasped nervously.

  Doug sighed, punching the wall. "They all tell me that. You all say that, but I see you in there, Mary. Look harder! Think! Haven’t I been good to y
ou this time, Mary? Listening to you talk about that horrible boyfriend, Chris. He didn’t deserve you. Beating you, killing your dog, running people down... I mean, haven’t you figured out who the good guys are yet? How many lifetimes does it take?"

  Miraj glared at her. "He’s read your file. Don’t panic. Play along. If you break the fantasy, you die."

  Autumn nodded furiously, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. "I dumped him. I learned."

  He nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose that Andrew guy can be excused. I mean, you’re only just remembering me. I’m old now, a teacher. But I still love you, Mary. Only you. This time, it can be perfect. It will be perfect."

  "I was lonely," she whispered, coughing violently.

  Miraj nodded, giving her a thumbs up signal as her captor’s face visibly relaxed. He rushed off behind her with the metal mug and she forced another coughing fit, playing up her illness.

  "Good. Make him focus on caring for you," Miraj said. "Make him think you’re Mary."

  She was coaching her, encouraging her through the nightmare. I’m not as alone as the other girls were, she realized. Crazy or not, I have an ally. Autumn felt the chair spin further to her right, leaving Miraj behind her. The cup was again pressed to her parched lips and she drank eagerly, certain this time that he wouldn’t harm her – not yet, anyway.

  "Thanks," she whispered.

  "is it coming back, Mary? Do you remember?"

  She bit her lip. "So hazy... The drugs?"

  Her deranged professor nodded, his face apologetic. "GHB can cause memory loss. If you keep drinking water, it should come back. I had to be sure you’d hear me out, Mary. You understand, don’t you?"

  She nodded, forcing a small smile. Call me Mary or Suzy or Charlize Theron. Just don’t kill me.

  "My arms hurt," she complained hoarsely.

  "A precaution," he said. "Until your memory is back."

  Autumn didn’t care to wait that long, and apparently, neither did Miraj. Now standing behind Kearney, this time leaning against the large sink, she pointed to Autumn’s right side.

  "Scalpel. Table beside your wrists. Be ready to grab it when I direct you."

  A silvery glint in the corner of her eye assured her that this was a genuine hope in her hell. Autumn searched her mind desperately, struggling to think of a way to keep Kearney’s attention drawn from her. Keep up the fantasy, she reminded herself. Then, it hit her, and she smiled.

  "The poem," she said, stifling a cough. "I’d like to hear it." I’d like to shove the fucking paper down your throat and let you choke, she added internally.

  "Oh! You know, I’ve never tried to read it before. All those other times you’ve come back, only to fade away..." He patted his pockets, frowning. "Must be in my bag. I’ll get it."

  He moved behind her, returning quickly with one of the large duffel bags she’d seen on the floor. As he bent down to unzip it, Miraj stood upright, nodding furiously as she mimed the motions with her own hands behind her back. Autumn’s fingers stretched desperately, clawing at the surgical cloth beneath the blade. She bit her lip as it cut into the soft tissue of her pinky finger, forcing down the pain. Almost... almost... YES. Clutching her prize in her hand, she deftly spun it around, pressing the blade into the space between her palms. Slowly, methodically, she began to saw at her binds, mindful of the noise.

  "I don’t seem to have it," Doug lamented, turning back to her. "I must have left it in my room."

  "Don’t remember?" Autumn baited him.

  Keep talking, you sick prick. I’ll keep sawing.

  "I tried to, several times. I called you, but every time, the words would fade and I’d hang up. Just like the old days, huh?"

  "Called?" she whispered. The calls were him? Not Chris?

  "Maybe I can remember it later. I can remind you of the first day we met, instead." At her encouraging nod, he smiled. "It was grade eight. I was new to the school, and so scared. I didn’t know anyone, was too shy to speak to people. My roommate disliked me right away because I didn’t play football."

  Autumn felt her binds loosen slightly and sawed a little harder. Patiently... Carefully.

  "You were in my English class. You had braces then, but no one teased you. You were beautiful with them. You really hated Animal Farm for some reason, protested reading it for the class. That fire... It matched your hair. Such intensity!"

  Looser still. Her nearly-numb palms flooded with blood as circulation restored. Freedom was so close. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe she could flee, hide. But where to? How far could she get, barefoot and delirious with illness and likely still roofied?

  "You were on the debate team. I went to every match, just to watch you argue. Strange, I know, to be so enamored with your obstinate nature, but opposites attract, I guess. I was passive to your aggressive."

  "Like debate," she rasped, urging him along. Babble on. Just a little longer.

  "You remember that? Oh God, Mary, it’s so good to have you back! I’ve prayed so long to have a second chance with you."

  He was grinning, brimming with joy. She was a prize to him, a quest, and he’d finally found his Holy Grail – or so he thought. She scarcely caught the rope as it spring free, keeping it from hitting the floor and betraying her efforts to run away. She rolled her ankles casually in her seat, loosening the joints. Be ready.

  "Make him come closer. You know what to do," Miraj said firmly. "Don’t hesitate."

  She did know what to do. She had to buy herself time to flee. To do that, she would have to handicap him somehow. The scalpel was burning through her flesh, beckoning her. Do it, it whispered. Make him hurt.

  Stifling the urge to gag, Autumn set her trap. "Come. Hold me?"

  Her flesh crawled at the thought of him on her, but this was her best chance at surprise. Startled, he hesitated for a moment, moving forward only when she smiled brightly and nodded. In her mind, she was looking at Andrew, staring into his loving face in the safety of her home. Christmas cookies scented the air, not the sterility of bleach and mildewed walls.

  "You’re really back," Doug whispered, crouching down in front of her. "It’s a dream..."

  As his arms wrapped around the chair, her right arm swung violently, jabbing the scalpel deep into his neck. She shoved him backwards as he wailed in pain, pawing at the blade lodged in his vein.

  "I will never be your Mary, you son of a bitch!" she growled, leaping off the chair and following Miraj out the far door.

  She could hear his shoes scrape against the floor, the sound of palms slapping against the floor, pushing him to his feet. She’d bought scant seconds and she prayed they would be enough. The corridor was dark, but led only to her left. No way to choose the wrong path. Her legs unsteady, she staggered and ran down the hall, her feet pricked and jabbed by pebbles and slivers of wood and debris. Up ahead, the tunnels met a T-shaped fork, leaving her with an impossible choice. Nothing was familiar here, no signage, scarcely any light from the sparse light bulbs dotting the walls.

  Behind her, she heard him call her name – her real name. Fantasy over, she thought anxiously, stumbling into the intersection. Which way?

  "Autumn!"

  She spun to the left, jaw falling open as she was greeted by the sight of Nikki Lang. Dressed in her uniform, her legs bloody, she beckoned her with a translucent hand.

  "Follow me!"

  Without hesitation, she ran towards the spectre, fists pumping at her sides. The whining sound of hinges confirmed that Kearney was now out in the tunnels, hunting her. This was his domain, and she was merely one more creature to track and mount on his macabre mantel. Thief of hearts. Nikki darted ahead, rounding the corner quickly to the right and she darted diagonally, cutting her time by seconds. Her feet slapped against the ground as Nikki stood before a door ten feet away, pointing at it.

  "Hide," she urged.

  Autumn yanked open the door, a chill rolling over her flesh as she inadvertently reached through Nikki. Inside lay a metal ladder,
climbing downwards into what appeared to be some sort of crawl space. Pushing past her claustrophobic tendencies, she descended the ladder quietly, gingerly, feeling her way in the pitch black as the door shut quietly, guided by Nikki’s hand. Feet firmly on the ground, she crouched, hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her heavy breathing.

  Above, she heard his footsteps pounding against the concrete, her name uttered in rage as he moved swiftly past her tunnel – and her hiding place. As the noise grew more distant, she felt herself relax. She massaged her wrists, exhaling sharply as she touched the raw wounds, then debated her options. She could keep hiding, but for how long? Who would find her? This section of tunnels hadn’t been mapped during her explorations, that was for certain. Veronica wouldn’t know where to begin, nor would Andrew.

  She would have to find her way, then. Find a path – any path – to the surface and bang on doors, break windows, get attention. Goddamn laryngitis! All of her forced talking with the creep had burned her throat out completely. She was effectively mute.

  Slowly, she reached for a rung on the ladder, pulling herself up to the surface. Ten small rungs, yet it felt like a mile. Without light, she was forced to move at a snail’s pace, flailing blindly for each handhold. When she at last reached the door, she froze before it, panic welling up inside her. What if she ran straight into him? I didn’t wait long enough, she worried, wringing her hands. Or perhaps it was too long, and he’d doubled back.

  The knob twisted easily in her hand, silent save the faint click of the latch releasing from the strike. Slipping out into the tunnel, she glanced hesitantly to her left. No one. Not even Nikki awaited her now. Straining her ears, she couldn’t discern Kearney’s location. Either he was very far or he was stock-still, awaiting her next move.

  It was a risk she’d have to take.

  Autumn tiptoed down to the main tunnel, hugging the walls for cover. As painful as the ground was on the soles of her feet, she did move rather quietly compared to her sneakered treks down here. Small mercies. Holding her breath, she risked a glance in each direction.