Remington’s Tower
Katharine Sadler
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2016 by Katharine Sadler
All Rights Reserved.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
“There you go, sis, that’s the last box.” Byron dropped a box, clearly labeled fragile, on the linoleum floor with a crash and a tinkle. He winced at the sound, but then gave me a smile so wide and pretty, I swear his white teeth glinted. Even at just-turned-twenty-one, Byron believed his charm could get him out of any trouble he got into, and into every sort of trouble he wanted to get into.
“Thanks,” I said. I surveyed the small dorm room, with its two twin beds, two desks with wooden chairs, and two closets. One side of the room was empty, the other was stacked with my three boxes and two duffel bags of stuff. After a long drive to campus and a lifetime of no social life, the last thing I felt like doing was staying in that room and unpacking. I grabbed my football from the top box and tossed it to Byron. “Wanna show me the campus and throw the ball around a little?”
He grinned and pitched the ball back. “Some other time, Remington. I’ve got frat stuff to do. You should come over tonight and I’ll introduce you to the guys.”
By introduce, he meant let them all know I was strictly off-limits. Still, it was the only invitation I’d gotten, and I wasn’t about to waste my first night of freedom sitting on my rear in my dorm room. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”
A girl, with thick, dark curls that cascaded to her waist and a curvy body covered in a daffodil yellow sundress, walked into the room. An older man followed her with a huge box that seemed to stagger him a bit.
“Invite your new friend,” Byron said, before he took the box from the older man, set it on the floor, and vanished.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Remy. You must be Francesca.” I had been looking forward to move-in day at Maple Ridge University for so long, I’d probably read the letter Francesca sent me to introduce herself as my new roommate at least six-hundred times. I wasn’t sure we had much in common, but I was determined to like her.
“Call me Frankie, please,” she said, and stuck her hand out. I shook it and puzzled through what she’d just said. She’d spoken so fast, it sounded like CallmeFrankieplease. “This is my dad,” she said, just as quickly. Her father, a tall, narrow man with grey hair and wearing pressed slacks and a Maple Ridge University sweatshirt, shook my hand without a word and left, for more boxes I assumed.
I plopped down on my bed and watched as Frankie unpacked the box Byron had placed on the floor. Like a modern day Mary Poppins, she pulled out exactly what she needed in the exact order she needed it. She made her bed, hospital corners and all, and placed a flowery, pink duvet on top. I watched her as she worked, and her dad delivered three more boxes, and wondered if I could convince her to make my bed, too.
It’s not that I wasn’t capable of making my own bed or that I didn’t know how. I’d gotten into college, I could figure out how to make a bed. It’s just that I only ever made my bed when I had new clean sheets to put on it, and I never bothered getting it to look as cozy as Frankie’s bed looked. Of course, that probably had a lot to do with the fact that my sheets were grey flannel and I’d inherited the blue, plaid bedspread when my oldest cousin, Keats, had gone off to college. And I only had one pillow. Frankie had mounds of pillows that made her bed look more like a lounge than a place to sleep.
Growing up with four older cousins and an uncle, all of whom treated me like one of the guys, I hadn’t had much exposure to feminine or frou-frou décor. And I had to admit, as much as I might die before I’d admit it to my cousins, I really liked what she had going on. It looked homey and cozy and just made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I had some serious bed envy. I was already contemplating getting really drunk, for the first time in my life, and crashing on her bed “by mistake,” just to find out firsthand how comfy it was. Surely she wouldn’t kick a helpless drunk girl out of her bed. If I was drunk, though, I probably wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate that bed. And I probably wouldn’t remember it if I did. I studied the bed, considering how far I’d go to try it out.
Frankie met my gaze, and I realized I’d been staring, probably with lust in my eyes. I gave her a smile which I hoped didn’t appear lascivious, and realized her side of the room was unpacked and perfect. The girl loved flowers and pastel colors, but she also had a definite eye for decorating. I felt sorry that she’d gotten stuck with me for her roommate, I was totally going to crinkle her vibe. Yes, I made that phrase up, see above where I explained I was the product of a sheltered life. I grew up in the mountains and rarely, okay never, left my uncle’s property. The only people I associated with who were remotely close to being in my age bracket were my cousins, the youngest of whom is Byron. Byron is only five months older than me,
“Would you like some help unpacking?” Frankie said, her voice still fast and a bit breathless, like she was nervous. I hoped I hadn’t made her nervous. She probably sensed my covetous bed thoughts.
I should have been the one who was nervous, since I’d never been out in the real world before, but I was bubbling with an energy and a desire to see everything that was choking me a bit and making it hard to breath. “Your bed looks really comfortable,” I said. “Do you mind if I…?” I gestured to the bed, eyebrows raised in question and surprise at my own audacity. I had a bad habit of saying whatever was on my mind.
My strange request seemed to relax Frankie and she smiled. “Sure. The mattress is what makes the bed, but you’re welcome to try out my pillows,” she said, speaking at a normal pace. She had a lovely voice, delicate but a bit raspy. “It probably seems silly to have so many pillows, but I usually study on my bed and the pillows help.”
I leapt to my feet and settled on her bed, sighing in amazement. The standard-issue dorm mattress left a lot to be desired, but that pile of pillows was heavenly and the duvet was so soft I felt like I’d landed in a cloud. “This is amazing.”
I looked over at her, where she was leaning against the doorframe, watching me. I expected her to look at me like I was crazy, but her expression was more one of surprise and delight and…wonder?
I stood. “I’m not really in the mood to unpack,” I said. “Why don’t we go meet the rest of our suitemates?”
Frankie’s brow crinkled. “Um, okay.” Her expression shifted to concern and I thought I began to understand something about her. My family was never shy around me, but my cousin, Tennyson, was shy and he’d told me what it was like to feel that way, to want to talk to people and find himself unable to do so. Never getting to leave our land, I’d begged all of my cousins for stories of the world beyond it and they’d usually been happy to oblige me. Of course, I read books and watched television and movies, but none of that compared to their stories of the real world.
I stopped my forward momentum, did my best to tamp down my raging need to experience life, and considered her feelings. “Is there something else you’d rather do?”
Something like shock dawned on her face. “Um, well, no. No of course not.”
She was a terrible liar, like my cousin, Barrett, wh
o always lost at poker because he couldn’t bluff to save his life. All of my cousins were named after poets, Lord Byron, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Lord Alfred Tennyson, and John Keats were there namesakes. My aunt loved poetry, and she named her sons after her favorites. My uncle said she’d had big dreams and had wanted to see the world and poetry was a way for her to escape. Eventually, she escaped in a more final way, but that was before I went to live with my uncle. “It’s okay if you’d rather do something else. I’m up for just about anything.”
She dropped her eyes to the floor. “Whereareyougoingtosleep?” She spoke so fast I only caught the word sleep.
“You want to sleep?”
She blushed a bright red, but she met my gaze, the determination in her eyes making her look different, fierce and sure of herself. “No, I don’t want to sleep,” she said, obviously forcing herself to slow her speech. “Don’t you want to make your bed? So you’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight?”
I glanced at my bed and shrugged. She had a point. “The trouble is,” I said. “I have no idea which box the sheets and bedspread are in. I don’t want to spend the afternoon stuck in here looking for them.”
“I can help you,” she said, her voice as soft as a mountain breeze. “You only have three boxes.”
It seemed like she really wanted to help me, and I could definitely use the help. “Okay,” I said. “I’d appreciate that.”
Frankie pulled a notebook and a pen from her desk. She opened the notebook, cracking the spine and sighing a bit when she did, and wrote Remington’s boxes on top of the first page.
“Remy,” I said. No one called me Remington, except my uncle and my cousins. Okay, so everyone I knew called me Remington, but I wanted to be Remy at college. I wanted a new name to go with my new life.
“Hmmm?” she said, like she didn’t understand, but she didn’t even look at me as she took a box cutter from her desk drawer and ripped into my first box. Passive she might be, but I wasn’t getting anywhere near her list.
After an hour, my bed was made with neat hospital corners, and Frankie had a complete inventory of what each of my boxes contained. She had numbered each box and written the number on the box and on her inventory list. She had even convinced me to unpack and put away at least half of my clothes, which I did to make up for her getting stuck with a lazy slob for a roommate.
“Wow,” I said, surveying the room. “You’re really good at that.”
“I know,” Frankie said. Then she gasped and slammed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my stars. That was rude of me. I’m so sorry. I usually never brag.”
I almost laughed, but I was pretty sure it would hurt her feelings. “It’s not bragging when it’s true. You should totally own it.”
She gave me a beaming smile.
“Let’s go meet our suitemates,” I said. Her smile vanished, but she followed me out of the room.
Our third-floor suite consisted of a living room, surrounded by three double bedrooms. The door to exit the living room led outside to the balcony and stairwell, where we had a view of academic buildings and a few trees. The common living area was empty and the doors to the other rooms were closed.
“Maybe we should just hang out in the living room, until someone comes out and wants to be social,” Frankie said, her voice fast and breathy again.
Frankie seemed to have gone beyond nervous to terrified, and I hated to see anyone afraid. I understood how fear could eat away at the sand under your feet until you were drowning without even realizing what happened. I faced Frankie and put my hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay,” I said. “I like you, Francesca Lewis, so you already have one friend at college.”
“Oh,” Frankie said, studying me like maybe she thought I was making fun of her. I stared back at her with only calm compassion in my eyes, or at least what I imagined calm compassion looked like. “Okay,” she said. “It’s just…I’m not good at meeting new people. This is the first time I’ve ever been away from home for longer than a night.”
“I’ve never been away from home for even a night until now,” I said. If that was the worst flaw she brought into that dorm room, she was already light years better than me. “I’ll do most of the talking. If you feel uncomfortable, just clear your throat and I’ll make an excuse for you to leave.”
She nodded and swallowed hard. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I need to learn to be more outgoing and push myself out of my comfort zone.” She hesitated, her cheeks pinking again. “I like you, too.”
It was official, I’d made my first friend ever. I bit my lip and bent my knees so that I wouldn’t shout and jump up and down. “Good.”
I knocked on the first door and a tiny girl with a blonde pixie cut and a book in her hand peeked out. “Hi,” she said. “I was just about to come out to meet everyone, but I wanted to finish this one chapter.” Bell spoke in a genteel southern drawl that was as slow as molasses, the perfect counterpart to Frankie’s fast talking. If I closed my eyes while she talked, I could picture her in a hoop skirt, standing on a verandah. Her eyes dropped back down to her book as soon as she’d finished talking.
“Whatever you’re reading,” I said, “I want to borrow it when you’re done.”
She looked up and smiled. “Sure, but you’ve probably read it before. Wuthering Heights?” Her green eyes flashed with excitement as she spoke.
“I haven’t read that one,” I said. It was on a reading list for my home school curriculum, but I’d chosen a Sherlock Holmes book instead. “We can meet you out in the lounge if you want to finish that chapter first.”
She dipped her head and I thought she hadn’t heard me, but then she shut the book with a snap and smiled up at us. “Done. Come on in.” She threw her door open wide and gestured for us to enter. “I’m Liza-Bell, but most everyone just calls me Bell.”
Bell was wearing glasses and a retro-looking, blue dress with a bell skirt and brilliant red belt, and her side of the room matched her clothing style not even a little bit. It was just books, books, and more books stuffed in every conceivable space. The other side of the room, like mine, was full of boxes but absent a human.
“Where’s your roommate?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen her. All I know is that her name’s Alexandria and she has a boyfriend who’s a junior here.”
“This is my roommate, Frankie,” I said, waving Frankie in. She left her spot in the doorway, entered reluctantly, and sat down next to me on the vacant bed. “I’m Remy.”
“Where are y’all from?” Bell asked. “I’m from Savannah, Georgia originally, but I’ve lived in Las Vegas for the last six years.”
“I’m from Rollingsworth, West Virginia,” I said.
“I’m from right down the road,” Frankie said, her words slamming together like they were in a mosh pit. “Richmond, Virginia.”
Bell gave me a quick wide-eyed glance, but covered quickly. “It’s nice to meet you both,” she said, her voice changing to a softer tone, honey and gentle, like she’d just realized we were fragile and speaking too loud might damage us.
“Have you met our other suitemates?” I asked.
Bell nodded. “I met Ella, but she had to run off to work. Her roommate is Selene, but she isn’t getting in until tomorrow.”
“So,” I said, dropping my eyes to the floor to hide my disappointment. “It’s just the three of us, then.” Bell seemed nice, but I needed to do something to quiet the bubble of excitement and anticipation still raging inside of me. I took a deep breath and tried to get a grip. I looked up to find Bell watching me, her gaze almost intrusive.
“Well, I don’t know about you ladies,” Bell said. “But I am starving. Why don’t we see if we can figure out where the dining hall is?”
“Oh, I know where it is,” Frankie said, her words a bit slower. “I’ve got a campus map right here.” She actually pulled an index card sized object from her back pocket and unfolded it to reveal a full-size campus map. I was definitely going to have to keep h
anging out with her.
***
Three hours later, we were well-fed and at an off-campus party. We were invited by the older brother of one of Bell’s high school friends and we knew no one there. That didn’t matter. Frankie, it turned out, loosened up quite a bit after she’d had approximately two swallows of beer and the three of us had spent the better part of the past hour dancing to some truly old school rap. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I shimmied off the dance floor to answer it. I’d already let Byron know I wouldn’t be stopping by his frat, I’d rather hang out with my roommates and possibly meet some guys who wouldn’t be warned to stay away from me. Still, I knew he’d worry if I didn’t answer his latest text.
Byron: Text me back and let me know you’re still alive.
Me: I’m either still alive or I’m lying dead in a gutter somewhere and the psycho who killed me has my phone and is pretending to be me.
I’d meant to be funny, but when my phone rang a moment later, it was clear I’d miscalculated.
“Seriously, Byron, it was just a joke,” I said as soon as I answered.
“You’re supposed to be with Byron,” Uncle Leon said, sounding pissed. “Where are you? Are you at a party without your brother?”
Byron was technically my cousin and I thought of him as such, but my uncle always called his sons my brothers, and he would have liked me to call him dad. I never did, because he wasn’t my dad. I couldn’t remember my own father, who’d died when I was eight, and calling Leon Dad just felt like pretending my real dad had never existed.
I put a hand over my phone and pushed through the crowd and out of the apartment. Once I was in the quiet hall, I took a deep breath and put the phone back to my ear. Uncle Leon had escalated to yelling about coming down there and dragging me back home. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m just at a noisy restaurant and Byron is meeting me here any minute.” I lied to my uncle, but you would lie to your uncle, too, if he was uber-paranoid and almost refused to let you attend college unless you went to the same school as your cousin and promised to never leave your dorm room except for classes.
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