She Was the Quiet One

by Michele Campbell

  On the Quad, the fog had grown even thicker, eerily backlit by the full moon. She hoped it would give her cover for sneaking out, and make it less likely she’d get caught. In the event that she did, she had a story ready. She was on her way to do layout for the lit mag. Rose’s reputation as dependable and levelheaded would give her some leeway. It was unlikely any teacher would demand that she produce a pass.

  Avoiding the path down the center of the Quad, Rose clung to the sides of the buildings as she made her way toward Founders’ Hall. The perimeter of the Quad was dotted with gracious iron lampposts. They gave a yellow light that looked viscous against the fog. The dorms lining both sides of the Quad were fuzzier than usual, as the glow from their windows dissipated in the mist. When Rose passed Founders’, and reached the open field behind it, the lights disappeared completely, and the night closed in. She reached the place where the path passed into a dense wall of trees, and lost her nerve. The fog was collected in patches on the ground, and hung in the air. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see—somewhat—by the light of the moon. But the natural sounds of the night were strangely distorted. The dripping of water, the rustling of branches came at her from all sides. Rose thought she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her and whirled, her heart racing, to find nobody there.

  She was imagining things.

  She took out her phone and turned on the flashlight. Fog caught in its beam, swirling like smoke. But the cheery shine gave her some comfort. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and entered the woods.

  Mist from the hollows under the trees engulfed her, clinging to her eyelashes, dampening her hair. A strange smell—cold and metallic—filled her senses. There was a chill in here that went beyond temperature. It floated in the air, penetrating her clothes, getting into her bones. She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, using her phone to get her bearings, navigating in the direction of the crossroads. She couldn’t afford to miss the turn. The trees were tall as buildings and met overhead, blocking the moonlight that had guided her out on the field. She kept the flashlight beam trained down at the ground in order to avoid tripping on the thick roots and sharp rocks that jutted underfoot. But that meant she couldn’t see beyond its beam. If she somehow missed the sign for the turnoff, she’d wander deep into the woods, and be lost, as the night closed in, as temperatures plunged. She might die of exposure, or be attacked by a wild animal.

  She could still find her way out if she turned back now.

  Then just ahead, she saw the sign, and walked up to it, shining the flashlight directly on it. The sign lit up, and leached light from the path around her, making everything else seem black in comparison. LOST LAKE, 1/3 MI, the sign read. The very name seemed ominous.

  Rose couldn’t do it. She simply couldn’t. She turned around, and took a step back toward campus, toward Founders’ Hall and the lights of the Quad. Then she saw it. The figure of a person, on the path in the distance, standing between her and the exit from the woods. Saw him—from the height, it was a him. He moved toward her, and she heard the sound of feet crunching on icy ground. A man was following her. Her skin crawled.

  “Who—who’s there?” she said.

  The figure froze in place, and said nothing. Then the clouds shifted, and she could no longer see the figure amidst the trees. Was it a person, or were her eyes playing tricks? But no—she’d heard the crunch of footsteps. That, she could not have been imagining.

  “Is anybody there?” she said, but her voice, shaking with fear, was barely audible.

  Terrified to get any closer to the shape, Rose stood rooted to the path. Then suddenly, she heard a scream from behind her. A long, thin shriek that rang out and hung in the fog-thick air, making all the fine hairs on her body stand on end. The scream was definitely human, not an animal. And it sounded like her sister.

  Rose grabbed the weapon from her pocket, whirled and bolted toward Lost Lake. She forced herself not to look over her shoulder for the figure in the woods. But she didn’t need to. The crashing sound behind her told her he was real, and he was following her. Ahead in the distance she saw a spectral glow. The opening to the meadow wasn’t far. She had to make it to the meadow before he caught her. She had to get to Bel.

  Rose ran flat out, her flashlight beam bouncing wildly off the trees. Within seconds, she’d stumbled on a root, and went down hard on her hands and knees. She got to her feet, stunned and in pain, but she was too late. He was already on her. He grabbed her from behind. He was wiry and strong. She screamed, but he clapped his hand over her mouth. She jerked sideways, got her arm free, and lashed out with her blade, making contact. He cried out in pain and let her go. She saw his outline in the moonlight.

  “You fucking bitch,” he said, an edge of hysteria in his voice.

  “Zach? Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing?” Rose said. She was breathing hard, her heart thundering.

  “You cut me. I’m bleeding. I could cut you, too,” he said, clutching his hand.

  “We have to find Bel. Did you hear that scream?” she said, struggling to catch her breath.

  “Screw her. She deserves what she gets. I’m sick of you both.”

  His tone terrified her. Rose backed away, and then turned toward the opening to the meadow, expecting that he would try to stop her. But he didn’t. Instead he turned, as if to leave. Rose walked a few steps, putting distance between them. Twenty feet ahead, she stumbled out into the open, onto ground squishy from the melting snow.

  The moon was bright, but this close to the water, the fog was thicker. Her flashlight reflected back at her, like she was swimming in clouds. Her breath, harsh in her throat, made it hard to hear. She knew from having been here before that the lake was straight ahead, but she couldn’t see it. She thought the scream had come from that direction, but there had been no sound since then—at least, not that she’d been able to hear over her struggle with Zach. Was it Bel who’d screamed? Was she still out here? Or—God forbid, had something happened to her?

  Then Rose saw a light up ahead, bouncing in the fog. It was a flashlight beam. Somebody was up there. For a split second, the beam picked out a stand of white birch trees, and the side of the wooden shelter, and Rose knew where she was. Bel had originally asked to meet at that shelter. Maybe she was still there. Rose walked forward. The bouncing flashlight had disappeared in the mist, but her own flashlight bounced along in front of her.

  “Bel?” she called. “Bel?”

  The lake was at her feet, to the left. She saw the water, black and oily as it caught a glint of moonlight, and heard it lapping at the shore. The fog was so thick here that it seeped into her lungs, making her sputter and cough. Suddenly, she was face-to-face with the wooden shelter. She had almost walked into it. She went inside. There was nobody there. She shone her light all around. A dark spatter marred the back wall. She walked over to it and examined it under the light. Then she took off her glove and touched it. Her finger came away wet, and crimson. She started to shake with terror.

  “Bel?” she said, but it came out a whisper.

  Rose’s entire body shook with panic. She stepped out of the shelter, onto the path. Then she saw it. The thing, at the edge of the lake. A lump, a mound, something unnatural pushing down the grass. She took a step closer. The moon escaped from behind a cloud, and she saw clearly now. She saw her sister’s face, white and still, the long hair fanned out, the many rents in her jacket where the knife had gone in, the darkness of blood in the snow all around her. Rose saw a glint of silver in the snow, reflecting the moon. Instinctively, she reached for it, then stared down in numb horror at a large knife, covered in blood. She held it in her hand, not wanting to understand what it meant. Rose dropped to her knees beside Bel’s inert body, a strange keening sound coming from her own throat. She knelt over her sister, gathered her close, whispered.

  “Please, Bel, please, wake up. Bel, please, please, wake up.”

  She waited. But Bel didn’t move. She put
her cheek to her sister’s nose and mouth. Nothing. Not a whisper of breath escaped. Had this evil knife taken her sister’s life? But a knife didn’t act on its own. There was someone standing behind her. He’d been there for a minute or two, but she hadn’t allowed herself to know that. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She was paralyzed with fear, like in a nightmare, and couldn’t turn to look. He took a step back, and she heard the sound of a solid object whizzing through the air, coming at her. As if it was happening to someone else, Rose thought that this was the man who’d murdered her sister, and now he was coming for her. Pain exploded in her head, at the same moment that her heart exploded, because she knew now, she knew for certain.

  Bel is dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!

  part two

  43

  She’d picked up a second job working as a dispatcher for the Odell Security Department three nights a week, on the four-to-midnight shift. She liked it because it was quiet, and she could sit down the whole time. Her job as a cashier at the Food Giant had her on her feet all day. She answered the phones, took down information, and relayed it over the radio to the security cruiser on duty. The calls were always routine—lost valuables, a car speeding on Campus Drive, that sort of thing. Staying awake was the biggest challenge.

  The security office was off on its own, across the enormous parking lot from the Alumni Gym, in a one-room brick building that backed onto the woods. It was an open plan inside, with desks for the chief and the two officers. She sat at the reception desk, right when you walked in. On her shift, there was only her and the one security officer who worked the late shift. He was a retired cop from Massachusetts, nice enough guy for a big-city type. He came in twice a night for breaks, and they would chat. The rest of the time she was alone. The building was old, and it creaked something awful on windy nights. Crazy thing, the door didn’t lock. A lot of buildings on the Odell campus were like that—no locks—because it was so safe here. Supposedly. The fact was, it made her nervous, being there alone at night.

  About ten o’clock, the wind kicked up. It came through the old windows in places, making an eerie, whining sound. She turned up the space heater to fight off the draft, and draped her coat over her knees. She’d forgotten her book at home, and her phone was out of juice so she couldn’t check Facebook. With nothing to do, and the heat turned up, she found herself nodding off.

  Wouldn’t do to have the officer come in and find her sleeping. She got up from her chair at the reception desk, and went to the kitchenette at the back of the office. The kitchenette was really a just a counter with a microwave, a coffeepot, and a mini-fridge. The officer would be coming in in the next hour, so she made a fresh pot. She was just stirring some creamer into her cup when she heard a noise behind her.

  “You’re back early—” she said, turning as she spoke.

  She froze. A girl stood there, covered in blood. It was on her face, in her hair, on her coat, on her pants, like something out of a Stephen King novel. Slowly, the girl raised her hands. In one of them, she held a large kitchen knife, slick and red with blood. The dispatcher opened her mouth to scream. Her throat worked, but no sound came out. She thought she might wet her pants. The girl took a step toward her.

  “Put the knife down! Get back!” the dispatcher said, finding her voice.

  She held her cup of coffee in front of her, the hot liquid her only weapon. The girl swayed on her feet, her eyes oddly fixed and dilated.

  “So much blood,” the girl said, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  44

  It was eleven-thirty when Heath got home. Sarah had left the bedroom door ajar, so she would hear him come in. She was in bed, pretending to sleep. But she’d been lying in the dark for more than an hour, and hadn’t closed her eyes.

  Sarah hadn’t gone to dinner tonight because the kids were still recuperating from that awful flu. She’d subsisted on grilled cheese and canned soup and milky tea for the past four days, as she cared for them. She texted Heath around dinnertime to ask him to bring her some dinner from the dining hall. That was at least five hours ago. He never replied.

  There was a milk-and-cookies social in the common room tonight. Sarah had baked for it when the kids went down for their naps in the afternoon. She’d been planning to host, and hadn’t arranged for any other faculty member to cover for her. Heath knew that. He was supposed to come home to watch the kids. When she still hadn’t heard from him by quarter-to-seven, she dialed his cell. It went to voicemail.

  “Uh, hey, it’s me. I have to go to milk and cookies. Where are you? Call me.”

  Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t heard from him. She dialed his office phone. No answer. She put on a clean shirt, and some lipstick. It was past the kids’ bedtime. She’d been planning for Heath to put them down. She couldn’t leave them, not even to go down the hall. She tried getting them into the stroller in their pajamas. Scottie whined and fussed. Harper fought her, bouncing up and down, and kicking. Sarah was breathless and exhausted by the time she got them strapped in. She put the trays of cookies in the bin under the stroller, and rolled down the hall to the common room. She’d have to ask Rose Enright to take the kids right back to the apartment before they melted down completely.

  There were about twenty girls in the common room tonight. But Rose was not among them.

  Neither was Bel.

  Sarah stood there looking around the room like a fool, wondering where Bel Enright was, and if she was with her husband. She’d been lying to herself about the photo. That was Heath; she knew his body too well to keep denying it. If the girl in the picture was Bel, that meant Heath was involved with a minor. That wasn’t just an affair, or Sarah’s personal tragedy. It was a crime. But she had no evidence. You couldn’t see the girl’s face, or any more of her body than one leg, wrapped around him. And besides, Sarah didn’t even have the photo anymore, since Heath deleted it. What was her fear based on, other than paranoia and gossip run amok in the hothouse environment of this crazy school?

  The head of the math department, Pat Banks, had been threatening for some time to come to the Moreland social to sample Sarah’s famous chocolate-chip cookies. Of course, she had to pick tonight to show up, when Sarah could hardly think straight and found it impossible to make simple small talk. Pat, with her brittle manner and thin, ascetic face, was not the motherly type, but she watched Sarah with worried eyes, and eventually found a moment to draw her aside.

  “What’s wrong?” Pat said. “If you’re feeling ill, I can take over.”

  “No, no, I’m fine.”

  “Sarah, you don’t look well. I know you’ve been nursing those kids for days. Where’s your husband? Why isn’t he here to help?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe he had a meeting and forgot to tell me,” Sarah said, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Come outside,” Pat said.

  They stepped into the hall.

  “What’s wrong? This is more than fatigue. You’re not happy about Heath being in contention for headmaster, are you? I know it’s a sacrifice.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. She could continue floundering in the dark, or she could aggressively seek information. If Heath was really having an affair with a student, if the whole campus knew about it, but wasn’t willing to tell her, maybe she should do the obvious thing, and ask.

  “It’s not that,” Sarah said. “Pat, this is going to sound crazy. I know it comes out of the blue. But I’m worried about something. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but it’s weighing on my mind.”

  “Go on.”

  “Have you heard any gossip lately? Gossip, about Heath in particular?”

  “I might know what you’re talking about,” Pat said, raising an eyebrow.

  “About Heath, and a student? You’ve heard it, haven’t you?”

  “Well, sure. But so what? It’s nonsense.”

  “It isn’t true?” Sarah said with relief.

  “My dear, how would I know whether it’s true or not
? What I mean is, I don’t pay attention to gossip. If I did, I’d constantly be questioning my colleagues. Every good-looking teacher gets gossiped about. It’s a professional hazard. Until a student files a complaint, or a credible witness makes an accusation, my advice is: Ignore it. Or it’ll drive you crazy.”

  “You think so?”

  “Absolutely.” Pat looked at her sharply. “Unless, you know something I don’t.”

  Sarah hesitated. She could tell Pat about the photograph, but that would trigger a major investigation. Even if the investigation ended up clearing Heath, and finding him completely innocent, it would take him out of the running to be headmaster. Losing his dream would destroy their marriage. It would destroy him. No. She couldn’t take such a drastic step—not unless she was sure that the girl in the picture was Bel. And she wasn’t sure.

  “No, I don’t know anything. I was just—wondering.”

  “You’re a levelheaded girl, Sarah. You know your own husband. If you trust Heath, that’s good enough for me. And, by the way, if he gets this job, there’ll be a lot more scrutiny. You need to stay strong, and take care of yourself. I can tell you’re exhausted. Go home. Put those kiddies to bed, and then get some rest. I’ll stay and clean up.”

  “Pat—”

  “I insist.”

  “All right. Thank you.”

  Sarah hugged her boss awkwardly. Then she took the kids home, put them to bed. And waited for Heath.

  * * *

  Her eyes were wide-open now in the darkness of their bedroom. There had been more commotion than usual when Heath entered the apartment. Max started barking like crazy. When he wouldn’t quiet down, she heard the front door open, close and open again. Heath must’ve let Max out onto the Quad. They did that sometimes, though only during the day when they could keep an eye on him from the window. Never at night. Sarah thought about getting up and saying something, but she couldn’t bear speaking to Heath right now—not until she decided how to handle things. Instead, she lay there and listened to him move around the apartment. She heard him in the kitchen, opening cabinets one after the other. What was he looking for? Then she heard him in the bathroom, turning on the shower. After a few minutes, the shower went off, the bathroom door opened, and he went back to the kitchen. What was next—the refrigerator? But no. To her surprise, she heard a scraping sound that she immediately identified as the louvered door to the closet that held the washer and dryer.