New Olympus Trilogy: Teenage Goddess Teenage Star Hell on Earth

by May Burnett

  “Yeah.”

  “The strange thing is that this other girl supported your story, and admitted what she did, and why. Is she an idiot? The obvious thing would have been to put the blame on you, or say it was an accident.”

  Now that he pointed that out, I was forced to agree. “It is strange, and I’ve no idea why Christabel told the truth. It’s very unlike her, actually. I’ve known her for several years. She’s very far from an idiot and always looking out for her own interests.”

  “Well, if she recants her confession, then you yourself might fall under suspicion. As the boyfriend, you are the most logical suspect in the first place.” Zackary was watching me closely.

  “What!”

  “And let’s not forget that you’re an experienced actor, who can presumably simulate grief quite convincingly.”

  I thought of decking him, breathed out slowly, tried to relax. “I could, but there was no need.”

  “Still, it looks like you’re over the worst of it now? You’re far more composed than I expected, from the reports I got yesterday.”

  “I have my wits about me, if that’s what you mean.” I will not let the guy get to me. Keep cool.

  “I’m glad to hear it. The police are going to come at you with far worse. You have to keep it together, and remain consistent. I’ll be there to help. When I tell you to shut up, do so. There will be good reasons for it. All right?”

  “Okay.” If my parents picked him, this lawyer probably knew his business. They only hired the best.

  “What do you really think happened to the girl?” Zackary looked at me penetratingly. I met his gaze without flinching.

  “Her name is Myra, not “the girl”. I have no explanation.”

  We were about to move towards the improvised interview room when my cell phone rang. It was Jerry, my agent.

  “Jason, are you all right? You didn’t answer the phone yesterday. Alice and I have been frantic. We need to co-ordinate the public relations side of this disaster right away.”

  “Not now, I’m about to see the FBI. I’ll call you back.” I switched the phone off.

  No less than four FBI agents were expecting me, three men and a woman. They all wore similar dark suits. Old-fashioned recording equipment was set up on the table.

  Zackary introduced himself as the lawyer sent by my parents. The agents did not seem to mind his presence.

  I told, once again, the story of the tragedy: I’d showed the waterfall to Myra, we’d talked – I omitted the earth-shattering kiss we’d shared. Christabel came up later, made a scene and pushed Myra into the pool. Every horrible detail was burned into my brain.

  “We’ve seen footage of a press conference you gave in Atlanta last week,” the female agent said. “Your feelings for this girl seemed very intense, almost over the top. Such strong feelings at your age – between sixteen and seventeen – can easily turn into their opposite.”

  “You have no evidence that they did,” Zackary put in. “Jason is a very stable and normal teenager.”

  “This is not about my feelings,” I said. “Why don’t you find Myra first, and then we discuss my feelings?”

  She made a note on a pad, while Zackary cast me an admonishing look.

  “Did you know you’d be passing close by that waterfall? How did you know it was there?”

  “We did this same hike three years ago, and that time our guide showed the waterfall to a group of us. Christabel was also there. Until we started out, I had no idea we’d repeat that other hike.”

  She made another note.

  “You claim you pulled the victim out of the pool, hurt and bleeding. From the pictures of the place, that looks pretty dangerous. You had to jump at least eight feet from the bottom of the ledge.”

  “It was scary, but I was only thinking of saving her. At least I could see where the rocks were, while Myra went in backwards. ”

  “Your clothes were soaked in water, and had bloodstains.” They’d taken them away yesterday, given me something dry in exchange. I nodded.

  “Where did you put Myra after you grabbed hold of her in the water?”

  “There wasn’t a lot of choice. At one side of the pool there was a flat bit of sand between the rocks, just large enough. The side where she fell in was too steep.”

  “And then?”

  “I crossed the pool again, and scrabbled up the rock face towards the grass slope, where Christabel was standing and gloating. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the path.”

  “You’d have been faster by yourself.”

  “I couldn’t leave Christabel behind. She might have decided to finish Myra off.”

  There was a minute of silence while everyone contemplated this.

  “Where was Myra’s brother Hellmuth when you came back to the campsite?”

  “He was there among the other students. I distinctly remember that he looked shocked when he heard my call for help. I don’t remember where he was later on.”

  The questions went on and on. They were sniffing around, looking for the slightest inconsistency, or any clue to the mystery of Myra’s disappearance. Despite their persistence, which tired me out, they did not find anything. At about half-past ten they gave up – for now.

  Before he left, Zackary made me switch on the cell phone again and personally entered his telephone number so I’d be able to call on him day or night. “I’ll be staying at the guesthouse in Westhaven, only twenty minutes away, until this blows over,” he told me. “Don’t talk to any police or agents without me present. This is very important.”

  I promised I’d call him when he was needed, and wondered if I should join my classmates for the Math lesson about to start. No, I’d never be able to concentrate, and anyway first I had to call my agent and publicist. Since Jerry would be furious by now, I started with Alice.

  “Jason, thank God! The media are going crazy. We’ve got headlines as far away as Iceland, Turkey and Hong Kong.” I’d rarely heard her sound so perky. “You’ve got to put out a statement immediately. I’ve sent you the draft, look it over and I’ll send it out within the hour unless I hear back from you with any changes. Please do it right away, this is a chance we mustn’t miss.”

  “What do you mean: a chance?”

  “Oh, sorry, I don’t want to belittle your grief, but your profile is going stratospheric if we play this right. A mystery, a tragedy – it needs a delicate touch but this will add millions to your next movie contract.”

  I was speechless for a moment. “I didn’t realise you’re such an insensitive bitch, Alice. Is money all that matters to you?”

  “What else is there? Sensitive people shouldn’t become publicists. You’ll thank me later.” Her cheerfulness was undiminished as she rang off.

  Well, that had gone well. The call to my agent was hardly better. I had to face the fact that they did not care a whit about Myra’s fate, only about my image and income – I was their meal ticket.

  At least my parents had sent a couple of SMS expressing sympathy, as well as a therapist and the lawyer. Their solution to any problem was to hire the best available specialists and let them get on with the job. That’s how they had approached my education, too. It worked most of the time.

  I kicked at the door of my room when I go there. Without Myra, I was surrounded only by opportunists. It hadn’t bothered me in the past. I had expected it, acted like it myself, often enough.

  What had changed?

  3

  The therapist my parents had sent was an elderly guy who’d introduced himself the day before as Matthew Mundy. Within the first few sentences he let drop that he had his own TV programme, and had written several books on his specialty of healing grief. Only as a favour to my parents, whom he knew socially, had he dropped his other commitments and come to check on me.

  Treating a famous actor in the media spotlight had nothing to do with it – yeah, right.

  After the interview with the police he tracked me down before I could
retire to my room to catch my breath, for a second counselling session. Since there was no help for it, I took him out into the school gardens and we sat on one of the wooden benches, looking at rosebushes and a small fountain. The roses would soon be killed by the first frost, but seemed determined to enjoy these last mild days of fall, and the weakening sunshine.

  Mundy took out a notebook and started to write in it. Notes about my general appearance and body language, I supposed, as I wasn’t talking.

  “So, how did you manage to sleep last night?” His voice was deep, the kind of voice you’d require to hypnotize your patients. It sounded trustworthy, authoritative. As an actor I knew all about the effective use of such a voice. It did not mean a thing, though even I felt an urge to confide in this man I’d met for the first time the previous day.

  “Fine. The school doctor gave me some pills.” I was not going to tell this stranger about my dream. “I felt a lot better in the morning.”

  “You must be conflicted right now.”

  “What do you mean, conflicted? I’m worried about Myra, angry at Christabel, and frustrated at the lack of news. All pretty normal reactions, I’d have thought.”

  “What about guilt?”

  There was a short silence. “Why would you suggest that I feel guilty?”

  “You tell me. For instance, did you taunt or provoke this other girl in any way?”

  “I was angry at her for interrupting my time with Myra, and then she started to insult my girlfriend.”

  “And now you are here, sound and healthy, while your girlfriend is missing.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “What do you think happened to Myra? It must be very confusing not to know for sure.”

  “You got that right. I have no explanation at all.”

  “But you must be speculating, I suppose? Take a guess.”

  “Sorry, I’m all out of guesses.”

  “The way you said that sounds pretty hostile, Jason.”

  “Aren’t you here to try and help me cope with the uncertainty and sadness? So far I’m not seeing much effect.”

  “Hostile, all right.” He made another note in his notebook. “Jason, guilt is a normal reaction in such a situation, whether justified or not. You are alive, Myra probably isn’t.”

  “I refuse to accept that. Not unless they find a body.”

  “OK, fair enough.” He wrote again in his notebook. Probably subject delusional, refuses to deal with fact of loss.

  I watched a couple of sparrows hopping around on the path, close to the rosebushes, having a good time with each other.

  “Why did you feel attracted to this girl in the first place? Given your celebrity status, a great many girls must be interested in you. What was – or is – different about her?”

  I had to think about that for a while before I found the right words. “Myra’s not like other girls, though it’s hard to explain how. She liked me, I think, but didn’t seem terribly impressed by my fame, or my career. She is smart, and her own person, more so than the typical teenager. There is something mysterious about her. She didn’t say much about her background, but I got a feeling that there was something very special and different about it.” I shook my head, frustrated. “Nothing makes sense.”

  “And how far did your relationship proceed in the relatively short time you knew each other?”

  “We did nothing inappropriate to our age.” I was not going to tell this stranger about kissing Myra, or holding hands with her, or nuzzling her neck. Even less about the locket I’d given her and its inscription. That was between Myra and me.

  “But you wanted more?”

  “Of course I did – I do. When the time is right.”

  “Hmm.” His pen was still, he stared into the distance, thoughtful. I watched the sparrows fly off towards the kitchen garden.

  “Given the circumstances,” Mundy finally said, “you seem to have things pretty well together. Is that a fair assessment?”

  “Today, yes. Yesterday I felt a lot more desperate.”

  “Is it normal for you to recover so quickly?”

  “I’ve never been in such a situation before. But does it really matter? I assure you I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

  “You don’t feel the least bit tempted –“

  “You can assure my parents that I’m not suicidal in the least. I want, no, I need to get to the bottom of this mystery. I want to see Myra again, or if that’s not possible, at least to arrive at some kind of definite ending.”

  “Closure.”

  “Yeah. One way or the other. Until I get that I’ll just carry on as best I can.”

  We talked a bit more. In the end I managed to convince him I was enough in control that he could safely go back to his other patients, and his TV programme.

  4

  In the afternoon I sought out Myra’s brother, Hell (short for Hellmuth), in his room. Although only fourteen, he attended the same class as Myra and I, and more than held his own. From what I’d observed, he ought to be already in college. Hell effortlessly aced every subject, without doing a lick of actual work.

  I’d always thought the two siblings were close, but to my surprise he didn’t act all that broken up over his sister’s disappearance.

  “Have you told your parents what happened? Are they coming soon?” I asked him. In fact, it was strange that Myra’s parents were not already here, demanding that the search for her be continued as long as possible.

  “They know all about it, and they’re not coming.” Hell shrugged. “My parents are – unconventional, let’s leave it at that.”

  I took a big breath, steeled myself for his reproaches. “I’m so sorry about what happened –“

  “Not your fault,” Hell interrupted me. “You tried to save her, did save her, for all we know. I’m in your debt.”

  That was unexpected.

  I felt bad about the next part. “Christabel was jealous. I had no idea how much. I never expected her to attack Myra.”

  “Myra might have expected it, if she’d paid attention. There was bad blood between them for a while. Again, not your fault.” He looked me over attentively. “How are you feeling, yourself?”

  “A lot better today. I refuse to believe Myra is dead, since I never saw her body.”

  “Same here. I’m not going to mourn her just yet.” Hell hesitated. “Have your feelings for her changed over the last twenty-four hours?”

  I blinked. “How do you mean?”

  “Would you want her back?”

  “Of course I would! Just how shallow do you think I am? She’s my first real girlfriend, and I had no lack of opportunities. She was – is – special.”

  Since my first major movie role when I’d been only twelve, girls of all descriptions, and some adult women too, had thrown themselves at me. None had a fraction of the impact Myra had made on me, a few days after I first met her.

  “Glad to hear it,” Hell commented with a smile. “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

  “Are you going to stay at this school, after what happened to your sister?”

  “For a while, at least, until my parents make other arrangements. What about you?”

  “My agent keeps urging me to move to L.A. for good. Maybe I will now.”

  I left him, wondering at his self-possession, especially given his young age. Brains and emotional control rarely went together like that. Well, Myra was also unlike other girls her age.

  Maybe Hell just didn’t feel very strongly. If his parents were so cold they didn’t even join in the search for their daughter, maybe he’d inherited their attitude. Myra had not been like that, though. Myra was sweet and loving.

  I missed her.

  Powering up my laptop when I got back to my room, I typed in Myra’s name, to check on the publicity Alice had mentioned. For some reason I could not find anything with her name on the net, nor her photo; and I knew for a fact that the media had been busy shooting pictures
of Myra only last week. Several news vans were still parked outside the school.

  Searching my own name brought up the usual fan sites, and I scanned a few for recent news. The internet must have had some problems, for most of them were down just now. On the others, any mention of Myra’s disappearance was in indirect, about “the Swiss girlfriend” or “the mysterious student” – no names or pictures at all.

  At least I’d taken some pictures of Myra on my cell phone, and uploaded them to a picture site the previous week. I searched, but that site was down, as well.

  Frantically, I checked my phone. There. I breathed a sigh of relief. Myra’s lovely smile was still captured on the small screen.

  I sent a copy to a mailbox I used for private messages, but it never arrived. Weird. It was as though the whole internet refused to carry any picture or mention of my beloved.

  I heard Myra’s voice in my head, from last night’s dream. “I’m not exactly human.” Was this a clue? Nonsense. I was letting my imagination run away with me.

  If she was not human, the same had to be true for her brother, to whom I’d just spoken. Despite the strange nickname and hyper-intelligence, the idea of Hell being anything but a normal boy appeared just silly. My subconscious was playing tricks on me. Wishful thinking. I`d better not mention any of these thoughts to Mundy, the therapist. He’d think I was a flake.

  Idly, I clicked from fan site to fan site. Most were utterly predictable. Then I hit pay dirt in a single throwaway paragraph.

  Jason’s lost girlfriend was also talented. We hear that she and her brother sang a remarkable duet when they visited the Atlanta studios with Jason last week, and made a deep impression on two jaded sound technicians. Who knows, maybe the world has lost another potential star.

  I immediately called the studio, requesting a copy of the song, if it still existed. It quickly arrived via Email, a simple MP3 file. I played it.

  It blew my mind. I couldn’t understand a word, but the melody and the voices – and something else I couldn’t pin down – were unforgettable and haunting. I’d had no idea Myra and Hell could sing like that. Why hadn’t she mentioned it to me? They could have had their own recording session while we were at the studios. It would not have been difficult to arrange. I’d love to sing together with her …