The Night Orchid

by M. G. Hernandez

  Josephine

  Aunty Helen drops me off earlier than usual, giving me the opportunity to roam around the school in private. In this chilly, dewy morning, Wakefield High’s original building beckons. Built in 1899, it was the center of the town, educating this former agricultural community for decades. It sits empty now—only a museum to showcase the school’s glory days through historical photographs.

  As it looms, I take a mental picture of its classic architecture. The red bricks, white pillars, classical moldings and grand steps leading to the portico entryway are out-of-place in the middle of a bustling suburban town equipped with shopping malls, tract housings and Starbucks. Blowing warm breath onto my icy palms, I curse at myself for forgetting gloves. But I plant my hands in my pockets and walk up the stairs.

  The door is unlocked, and I push it open. Once inside, the familiar musty odor of old buildings hits my nose. The stench doesn’t bother me in the same way that moldy fragrances of antique books don’t offend my nostrils.

  Photographs line the hallway. Pictures of students and teachers decorate the silvery walls showing technology strength from 1899 to present. The changes from grainy black and white photos to the sharp images of today’s powerful cameras fascinate me as they capture the fashion trends of each decade.

  My eyes dart to a recent panoramic class picture taken last year. It’s a photograph of the current seniors back when they were a grade lower. Julian, Bianca, Brandon and the rest of their friends sit front and center, making me furrow my brows. “Where’s Alexa?”

  I place a finger on the glass and slide it over each student, searching for the girl that has occupied my many sleepless nights. In the middle row, next to Dee, sits the girl in question. Her smile breaks through the pixelated image. It’s a perfect one—not wide, not awkward. It’s an easy, confident grin that’s perfected over years of practice. I check Bianca’s, confirming my suspicion. It’s the same as hers.

  I turn up my lips and look at my reflection on the display glass. I look phony, grinning for no reason. Aunt Helen always tells me I’m stingy with my smiles. But I’ve learned one thing about myself. Before my facial muscles grant me the ability to beam, I have to earn it. I have to be happy.

  I study Alexa’s picture again. At first glance, she looks pleased and perky. But as I draw my face near the glass, I see her eyes. They are heavy and tired. “I bet you can fool anyone with your smile. But you’re not sitting with your boyfriend and best friend. Why?”

  As I examine each frame, the deafening silence seeps into my awareness. I shake my shoulders to loosen up the tightness creeping up my body. That nagging feeling of being watched tiptoes around my senses, making me shiver.

  A noise—a shuffle—reaches my ears. I rub the nape of my neck and exhale. “Relax, idiot.”

  But my breath fogs the glass in front of me, telling me I’m still breathing hard. Heart beating, I see a blurry image creep into my peripheral vision. A slender giant, looming and towering. I check for goosebumps and hair standing on end—clues I rely on to decipher spiritual presence. Such physical reactions stay absent from my body, and I breathe a sigh of relief. But despite the reassurance, I still can’t shake the suspicion that I’m not alone.

  I turn. I squint through the dim hallway, but no one lurks in the shadowy corners of this building. “That’s good. Right?”

  But the longer I stand, the more I notice my vulnerability.

  Forget nostalgia. I run towards the door. The knob shines—a beacon, promising me the freedom from this unexplainable dread pooling in my gut. But it turns before I reach it. The massive oak opens, and a shadow falls over me. Eyes bulging out of my sockets, I’m left paralyzed.

  “Jojo?”

  That nickname. I squint for clarity. “Brandon?”

  Alexa’s boyfriend stands before me, blocking the entryway. With the sun shining on his cascading hair, he’s a breath of fresh air.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here. What’s up?” he asks. Ray Ban wayfarer sunglasses shield his brown eyes, so I can’t gauge him. He notices me staring and takes them off, revealing red-rimmed, watery eyes.

  I clear my throat and nudge my head towards the framed photographs on the wall. “Just checking out the pictures.”

  He raises a thick, dark, questioning brow. “You sure? Lookin’ pale there, sis. Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  You have no idea. “What are you doing here?”

  He stares at me so deep I believe he can see my soul. After a few seconds, he sighs. “Hiding from the bullshit.”

  Forehead creasing, I try to understand. But he chuckles and nods his head towards the far end of the hallway. “Ever been to the music room?”

  “Didn’t even know there was one.”

  “Come. Let me show you.”

  As he passes me, I detect a faint smell of marijuana and unsteady gait as he descends the staircase. But that thought is fleeting as something else makes me pause. That overwhelming sense of vulnerability is back.

  Well, alright then. I break out into a run to follow the boy with the shiny black tresses. “Hey, wait up!”

  ***

  Brandon waits for me at the bottom of the stairs. He laughs at my wide eyes and tentative steps. “Nothing to worry about, girl. Students visit here to play music… or make out.” He adds a wink.

  My cheeks heat, and I wonder if he had ever taken Alexa here for a kissing session. Who am I kidding? Of course he has.

  He leads while I study the cobwebs, the cracks on the walls and furniture covered in white sheets. This reminds me of those 90s slasher movies with its dim hallway and empty rooms. Dark corners and shadowy spaces make me jittery, and this place has plenty of them. I sneeze as I pass by an old, dusty upright piano.

  He stops and holds a door open. “After you.”

  Eyes narrowing, I question his intentions. “You’re not planning on murdering me down here, are you?”

  A low chuckle escapes his lips. “That’s a popular assumption these days.”

  I wince. “Sorry. That was insensitive.”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it. At least, you say it to my face.” He smiles. “Come on. Get in.”

  As soon as I enter, I exhale. While the hallway screams horror flick, the classroom is bright and normal.

  Brandon brushes past me. “Nothing scary in here, ya?”

  A legitimate drum set gleams while a grand piano sits in the middle of the room. Arranged in a circle, chairs and music stands take up the center space. He opens a huge walk-in steel cabinet, and I see cases of flutes, clarinets, and hundreds of other instruments. He removes a case from the shelf while I head for the piano. Fingers tracing the keys, my mother pops in my mind.

  He sits in one of the metal chairs. “Do you play?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Unfortunately?”

  “My mom forced me to take a lot of lessons to show me off to her rich buddies.”

  “Yup. I get that.”

  I look at him. Brandon’s dad is the proprietor of multiple Hawaiian-based fast-food joints in Central California and Hawaii. I’m sure he, too, had to live up to his parents’ expectations and “perform” for their friends.

  He unzips the case and removes a guitar. After placing it on his lap, he tunes the stringed instrument. “Didn’t realize when I asked you to come I was inviting a fellow musician.”

  I take a seat on the piano bench. “Why did you ask me, then?”

  He looks up at me. “You’re a breath of fresh air.”

  Funny, I just said that about him.

  “I don’t feel judged by you.”

  “It’s brutal out there, huh?”

  He crinkles his nose and sneers. “They’ve done everything but place handcuffs on me. Might as well give them my wrists already.”

  As he plucks the strings with a pick, I wonder if he could hurt Alexa. I suppose he could with that athletic body. But watching him in this quiet moment, I can’t picture it. But again, many a victim had
fallen prey to naïve assumptions. Ted Bundy’s victims trusted him with his handsomeness and charisma. I shiver and look out the door. He could kill me now if he wanted. No one will ever hear my screams.

  “Any other instruments of choice?” he asks, unaware of where my mind had gone a few seconds ago.

  “The guitar.”

  A smile spreads on his face. “Jojo, you’re a cool chick.”

  I shrug. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Fire away.” He hums a tune as he strums.

  “What wa—is she like?” I breathe a sigh of relief when I caught myself from referring to Alexa in the past tense.

  He looks up at me and furrows his brows. After a beat, he relaxes them and continues to pick on the strings. “She’s my ride or die. And I’m that guy for her, too.”

  I nod and turn to the piano. I tickle the keys to distract myself from the fact that the spirit of his murdered girlfriend is currently haunting me. “How long have you guys been dating?”

  “Four years,” he said. He chuckles. “In the high school world of relationships, we’re practically married.”

  “Ever wrote a song for her?”

  His head snaps in my direction, making me think if I’ve crossed the line. But he glances out the window and clears his throat. “Last year. Do you mind hearing it?”

  “Not at all. Please.”

  He blinks and takes a breath. Then he looks at the instrument on his lap. After a few seconds, he starts strumming and a minute later, he sings. His voice quivers at first from a sudden shyness uncharacteristic of the athlete. But when the second line rolls around, he relaxes and gains confidence. The sun, a natural spotlight, sneaks through the window and shines over him. He smiles as if his world, once shattered, pieced itself together for this moment.

  I nod with respect. Brandon can sing. He hits those high notes with ease and with control. His vocal range is wide, singing in falsettos and then falling into his chest voice. It’s as if he’s crying for mercy one minute and then whispering lustful poetry in another.

  The song itself boasts a catchy mid-tempo island flavor, taking me somewhere on the beaches of Hawaii where the tropical breeze blows my hair and the fine sand massages my feet. Young love graces each musical note, and I imagine Alexa gazing at him, knowing that he wrote this piece for her.

  I’m a fool

  But even fools learn from their mistakes

  Let my love break through the walls

  Give me another try

  Give us another try

  As he sings, the air thickens and energy sizzles as if someone else besides me is listening. Brandon is oblivious as the music entrances and transports him into a dreamy world of twinkling lights and shooting stars, yearning for that space where there only exists him and Alexa. In this state of oblivion, he may have forgotten I existed.

  When he finishes, he doesn’t look at me and keeps his eyes fixated on the ground. I let him stay this way as he reflects on his lyrical communication to his girlfriend.

  I break the silence. “Alexa is a lucky girl. If you want to talk, I’m here.”

  Brandon turns to me. Then he scoots closer, reaches over and squeezes my palm. His touch isn’t lustful but more a cry for human kindness. He smiles. “Thank you.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  A sharp feminine voice coming from the doorway breaks the easy harmony between us. We pivot to the sound, and I curse at the couple standing at the entrance.

  Julian is leaning against the door frame with narrowed eyes and a sour expression while his girlfriend stands next to him, an erupting volcano.

  Bianca turns to me and juts a chin. “Listen, you little slut. Stay away from my best friend’s boyfriend!”

  Ready to fight, I clench my fist, but Brandon speaks up before I could move forward. “Calm down, B. Ain’t no sluts around here, girl. What’s up?”

  He gets up from the chair and moves towards her. But the feisty cheerleader has more ammunition. “So, you’ll defend this home-wrecker just because you guys were making googly eyes at each other? Let me remind you, you have a girlfriend. Lexie’s missing. Not dead!”

  The three of us become silent. Finally, I reach for my backpack and prepare to escape. “So, uh, I’m gonna go. Thanks for this… awkward drama.”

  As I move, she turns to me and gives me a parting shot. “Yeah, bitch. Leave!”

  I bare my teeth, ready to pounce and eat her face, but Brandon takes her elbow, pulling her away. “Bianca. Relax.”

  In a low voice, he talks to her as she protests. Not interested in deciphering that conversation, I walk towards the door.

  But Julian is blocking my exit. Body standing tall and muscular, he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over a puffed up chest.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. As he stares, his stance is equal parts relaxed and cocky.

  “See this backpack over my shoulders? These legs walking towards the door? I’m trying to leave you, assholes, behind.”

  “Tell me first what you were doing with Brandon.”

  “You saw what we were doing. Answer that question yourself.”

  “Is that how you play your game?”

  “What the hell are you talking about, weirdo?”

  “The game where ‘The Nobody’ gets to nab her longtime crush who’s distressed over his missing girlfriend.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He roams his eyes on my face, then slithers to my outfit. “I see you’ve released your curls and nixed the designer outfits. Pretty impressive make-under, sis. Did you have this moment planned? He couldn’t stop looking at you.”

  My jaw slackens at his insinuation. This guy’s nuts. Just like his chick. “You’ve been inhaling too much chlorine, Taylor.”

  “So, your intentions are clean? Didn’t you have the hots for him in sixth grade? What were they again? Brandon, Jr. and Brenda Jo?”

  I gasp. He remembers the names I created for my imaginary children with Brandon. “The hell, Jules!”

  That Cheshire grin reemerges. Then he takes a step forward and yells, “Bro, you gotta hear this!”

  My palm circles his wrist to stop him. “Shut up, or I’ll knee you on the balls. I’m the right height and position to do so.”

  He drops his gaze on the fingers on his skin. “You sure about that? My hot blooded girl is just around the corner.”

  “Screw Bianca!” But I drop my hand because the heat beneath my touch is distracting.

  He looks above my head, checking on his friends. Then he bends towards me. “Because this is an isolated event, I’m releasing you with a warning. This little stunt better not happen again. Leave Brandon alone. He’s already being blamed for Lexie’s disappearance. We don’t need everyone hating him for looking like he’s cheating on Alexa. You got that?”

  I clench a fist. The nerve of him to assume I’m seducing his friend because of a lame ass crush I had when I was a kid. “Fuck off, Julian. We ended in the same space and realized we had something in common. You and your evil chihuahua girlfriend ruined an innocent moment between two human beings who just needed a break coz they’re sick and tired of putting up with bullshit from people like you. Now, get out of my way!”