© Victoria Hyder 2017
For Chelsea,
We fell in love with two broken boys and by doing so, we made each other whole.
All my love.
Prologue
Nothing is more soothing than the irresistible sleekness of a black grand piano, especially one that is dressed up in the gentle rays of silvery, morning sunlight. It’s the sort of dawn that you can only witness in the early seasons of an English year; secluded by the dark clouds and the ever-breathing promise of a gentle, shimmering rain. It’s only a piano. Nothing varied it from any other piano. And yet, the sleekness that reflected my emotionless interior –was enthralling.
The ebony body had its flawless curves set to perfection so that it reflected the platinum clouds through the heavy black curtains that hung on either side of each of the four windows.
It hadn’t changed in all the years that I’d attended this school. Beauty does not even describe this room. I stand, immobile by the double door entrance, running my eyes over the tainted ebony beast before me, silently watching my every move. The piano lid was a familiar weight on my fingertips as I pried it open and gazed down hungrily at the pristine teeth of the dormant beast. My fingertips ran over the sleek black-and-white keys.
There was no pressure, no sound.
The room remained silent as I circled the elegant instrument before me. I was the predator now, keeping my trained eyes on the perfect beast.
The black stool creaked as it bent beneath my weight. I ran my fingertips over the silver studded balls along the border of the leather cushion. A shiver ran down my spine. They were so cold; the sensation was sharp against my skin. It was tantalising.
I flexed my shoulder muscles, my clothes feeling suddenly hot and tight –like a second skin that was shrinking to fit to my skeleton. My eyes were feeling scratchy and dry. Searching, always searching. They were so perfect, so white –like Casper’s teeth.
That’s when my eyes catch upon the barely noticeable speck of blood just below a black key –just a dried droplet of ruby red. I had tried to rid the key of this offending drop many a time, to no avail. It would forever haunt this room. This one tiny spot had shifted the elegant perfection within which I sat. It was almost like an undercurrent of disaster quivering underneath the building, disrupting everything within.
I let out a shaky breath and released the droplet from my gaze, though once spotted; it is hard to forget that it is there.
I hadn’t been in this room since the day that it happened –the only pleasant thing about that day had been the weather; a hot, radiant sun had sailed high in the sky. There had been no clouds, and the scent of freshly cut grass hung soothingly in the air. That was also the day that I understood everything that Casper had ever said to me, when he did speak to me, especially when it boiled down to his obsession with harmful objects. I had not truly understood that particular obsession with them beforehand; however that day I got taught a lesson that was going to permanently scar my memory.
And it all started with when I returned to University for my final year.
Chapter One
On the night that we first met, I was on my way from the main building on campus towards my dorm, when I felt the icy pinpricks of rain on my skin. It made me stop in my tracks, the stench of damp hanging heavily in the air. I tilted my chin up to feel the sharp sensation of the cold droplets a little better. A chill spiraled down into my stomach. I jerked out of my daze as my watch beeped, signaling that I had ten minutes to reach my dorm before they locked all the doors up. As it turned out, I wasn’t the only one rushing to reach my dorm before curfew; a blurred crowd of students scrambled over the sodden football pitch, coats held over their heads as a shield. The air was frigid, the rain like a million needles slicing through the air.
Within moments my own clothes were soaked through and clinging onto my frame like rags. The wind bit through them and forced the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up on end. I bowed my head and hurried on towards the door.
I could still picture his face when he flashed through my line of sight; his skin drained white with the cold, eyes red from –I could only assume –lack of sleep, and fingernails and lips blushing blue. I doubted I’d looked any better as I fumbled in my pockets for my key-card, my fingers almost too numb to properly work it through the reader. He was trembling behind me; his breathing ragged over the hiss of the rain. The spasms in his muscles were growing out of control with the cold. Within a matter of moments we were both slipping and stumbling over the floor and into the lifts that stank of week-old weed. For the most part, though, it was a blessing compared to the rain outside.
As soon as the metal doors shut behind us the silence fell like an iron curtain, my heartbeat gradually slowing in my ears as I wheezed in the heavy scent of old sweat. I drew in deep breaths and I rubbed my shaking hands over my forearms.
A sharp intake of breath was all it took for me to turn my head and acknowledge the boy beside me. He was slumped down on the floor, a puddle of cold water forming beneath him from his drenched clothes, which consisted of nothing but a sodden white shirt clinging to his torso and a pair of heavy-looking black jeans and thick-soled boots. My own knees seemed to creak at the thought of wet denim. His black hair was plastered down against his head. His body convulsed aggressively against the walls and I jumped at the movement. I watched –panting –from my doubled-over position opposite, as warmth slowly ebbed back into his sickly white body.
His shaking form slackened considerably by the time the lift opened its doors onto Level Three. The ride had been airless. We hadn’t spoken to one another as the lift clanked up the shaft. I glanced over in his direction. He was out cold, his body glowing eerily under the florescent lighting. The water shone like a second, glossy skin. I had an icy moment of fear that knotted my stomach as I looked over at him. Fumbling with the cuff of my shirt, I leaned over pressing my fingertips to his neck. I waited for a moment or two, the silence stretching out in my mind. When the throb of a pulse touched my fingers, relief flooded through me.
When the doors opened up to Level Four, I hooked my hands underneath the boys’ armpits and dragged him from the lift floor. His skin was icy to the touch and he looked feverish from the sudden change in temperature. At that moment, my main concern was about getting this boy dry and warm.
Easier said than done.
It was awkward getting him into the boys’ bathroom that was all the way down the hall from the lift. Mostly because if anyone were to come across us I would have a hard time explaining what was going on. I doubted people would believe I was in a fight, but finding someone dragging a fellow student was bound to raise a few eyebrows. Thankfully, everyone seemed far too content to wrap up in their rooms.
Once I managed to get inside, I kicked my soaked shoes off and slipped along the tiled floor in soggy socks as I hauled him over and propped him up in one of the shower cubicles. The thin plastic curtain stuck to his bares arms as he slumped over against the wall. The tiled floor stung my skin. I reached out and twisted the shower knob so that tepid water dribbled down onto his body.
As soon as the first touch of warm water hit his skin, his body lurched, making me jump back. His heavy lidded eyes opened for the briefest of moments before he allowed his head to lull to one side against the wall. Feeling a little wary about leaving him on his own, I crouched over him for a few moments, watching and waiting, before straightening up and tiptoeing through the water and out into the corridor.
I quickly made my way to my room and grabbed the nearest, cleanest towel I could find along with some of my clothes. The air in the bathroom was warmer and moist when I returned. The mirrors were beginning to steam up. His eyes were open but his position had stayed almost exactly
the same as when I’d left him. He didn’t say anything as I returned, arms laden with towels and pyjamas. His eyes followed me, not a muscle twitched out of place as his wet eyelashes shifted along with his gaze. His lips were pressed into a tight line and his jaw was clenched as I went over and piled the things on the benches.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he rasped. It made me flinch, like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. My clenched fingers suddenly felt hot and useless.
“It’s no problem,” I responded with a shrug, “You can just owe me a favour.”
He snorted to himself, but no scathing remark came my way. That’s when I realised that the water from the shower was no longer running. How could I have missed the hiss of the water? I felt my shoulders tense up a little as he groaned and proceeded to toe off his boots that were stained with mud. I tugged the smallest towel off of the pile in my arms and walked towards the cubicle. It had overflowed all over the floor. I dropped the towel onto his head and was instantly reminded of an obedience trick used in dog-shows.
I watched him raise his hand and tug the offending object off his head, his wet black hair rising in several glossy spikes. I offered him a ghost of a smile before turning to leave. I didn’t look back or attempt to say anything else as I opened the bathroom door and left.
On the landing outside the bathroom, I felt compelled to stand against the wall and wait to see if he was alright. However, as soon as the thought entered my mind, I became aware that my own clothes were still dripping wet. I abandoned all thought and headed in the direction of my bedroom. Once inside I quickly pulled off the clothes, grimacing at how awful I felt. The cool air made me tremble. I hurried around to claw on some warm jogging bottoms and a thick sweatshirt before grabbing the hair-dryer tucked away under my bed, and blitzed my hair until it was standing up in every direction. I studied my reflection for a while. I tugged the hood over my fluffy hair and went over to my bed. I collapsed onto it and sighed. My eyelids finally started to feel heavy and sleep started to numb my senses as I rolled over and curled up into a ball. The boy with black hair was far from my mind as I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Two
It was a brand new term in January and everyone was settling in from spending Christmas with their friends and family. The halls were naked from the Christmas décor. It wasn’t until we actually started lessons did our Professor surprise us with an extracurricular project that hadn’t been mentioned on our syllabus.
The air was bitter as we all stood as a group on the open-air walkway that bridged between the library and the music block that sat adjacent to the main building. Small snowflakes drifted lazily down through the frost-bitten air and powdered everyone’s hair and hats. We were all wrapped up in our thick coats and had long scarves wrapped around our faces and necks. Except for that one person that had a bright mustard coloured scarf. Every class had one. The worst thing about that particular day was that our Professor was late for the first lesson of the week –on a Monday morning no less.
When we were finally allowed into the classroom, every one of us was reluctant to part with our frost soaked coats. There were several empty seats due to the cold weather that morning and the fact that far too many students either couldn’t be bothered to leave the warmth of their beds or had actually gone out and partied the previous night.
Our professor sat behind the battered mahogany piano at the front of the classroom beside the interactive whiteboard that had the day’s ‘plan’ marked down for us to read. Once we were all settled no one around me bothered to get anything out and didn’t seem too interested in taking down notes. I was sat huddled down with my friend Isabel with her newly dip-dyed blue-on-blonde hair. Her curls shivered as much as her legs bounced. It seemed that the heaters hadn’t been turned on until about five minutes before we entered the room and so were still quite cool. Normally, I’d ask how she’d slept the night before. Unfortunately, no one was in the mood for general chatter. She glanced at me and rested her head on my shoulder.
“Alright class pick up your ears and pay attention …”
I drowned his voice out almost instantly as I focused on the warmth radiating through my cold bones. The heater was firing up against the back of my chair and it felt so good. The shivering of my limbs gradually subsided as our professor droned on and a few late stragglers dragged their sleep-addled bodies in through the creaking door. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Isabel unwind her scarf from around her neck as a soft rosy blush tinted her cheeks.
“-Now as I have previously mentioned, this project though unexpected to most of you, has been approved to qualify for at least forty percent of your final grade, so please try not to neglect your work.” He stressed the word as though all of us were slackers.
I clenched my eyes shut once again, hoping that my eyelids would shield me from his monotonous tone. He began calling people’s names out from the register. That was around the same time that the classroom door swung open yet again.
The ebony-haired man stood framed in the doorway as the door itself crashed into the wall from where it had been kicked with such force. He stood there with such a bored look on his face and in his stature that I shifted awkwardly in my seat. He dipped his hand his back pocket and flashed a yellow slip of paper at our professor, who was now standing up beside the whiteboard with a marker in his hand. A scowl twisted his features. He snatched the slip, glared down at it as he always did to ensure that it was in fact a signed note and not a forgery, before his lips curled into a vague sneer for him to take his seat and to be quick about it. I watched as the guy dragged his legs over and dropped himself into the chair.
What bothered me for the rest of that lesson was not that he was actually in my class, but that there was something about the way that he constantly rubbed awkwardly at his forearms through his long sleeved shirt and the vacant expression he wore on his face that really irked me. It was only then, in that specific hour, that I noticed how his chair was slightly more exiled from the rest of the chairs huddled around in the center of the room. It was the smallest of differences, but it was there. I inwardly chided myself for staring, and instead thanked Isabel under my breath for handing me a copy of the assignment booklet we’d been given to look through.
Nearer the end of the lesson our Professor informed us that he’d chosen small groups for us to work in our newest project. I slouched a little as he started calling out names and listing their group partners. Finally, he got to my name.
“Avery Fletcher and Isabel Truman you will both be paired up with …” he grabbed at a ball of screwed up stained paper and unfurled it between his long, bony fingers. I watched as his mouth set into a grim little line and he cleared his throat, “Casper Stokes.”
My mind ran blank as the name rung in my ears. I peered around Isabel’s gleeful expression to see the ugliest glare marring the black-haired man’s cold, chiseled features. His mouth was a tight line, much as it had been that night in November, and his eyes were blazing through their bloodshot haze in an expression I could only perceive as sinister. Cold dread flooded my stomach. I swallowed thickly and knotted the scarf that hung in my lap over and over until the ends started to fray between my fingers. Not only did this shadow-boy have a voice whenever he drifted lazily through my mind as he had done not an hour earlier when he’d drifting in through the classroom door, but he now had a name attached to him. A name that would forever be associated with that voice and those piercing grey eyes. By the way that his jaw and fingers clenched, I could tell that he didn’t care one inch that the dark red haired man who’d dragged him into the showers that night –and literally soaked him back to life –had a name. He didn’t care who I was or what I did; all he clearly wanted, was to not work with either me or Isabel. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much, but the fact that I knew his name suddenly lifted a weight I hadn’t known had been hanging around my neck. I got to work with the boy with the impossibly pale eyes and waves of animosity radiating off of
him. I got to put a name to a face and fit another piece to the puzzle I hadn’t known I was building.
I would now get to work with Casper Stokes.
And it was definitely a challenge I could have lived without.
Chapter Three
Being grouped up with Casper Stokes was a little newsworthy, and a challenge if ever there was one, but that didn’t mean that the whispering needed to start buzzing in my ears like a swarm of bees. It wasn’t like he was an alien from outer space; he was our classmate; a reclusive, quiet, glaring classmate.
There were rumours that floated around saying that he never completed a project and how it was a wonder he was actually still allowed to stay in the University. That didn’t seem plausible; if it were true he would have been kicked out long before the Christmas holidays. To follow those rumours, there were others that consisted of people thinking that Casper and some of his teachers had a ‘personal’ agreement that he’d get passable grades and continue attending, for blowjobs and other physical pleasure. That or he had incredibly rich parents.
Yet it was clear that there was no one in the class that would actually know the answer. He didn’t have a select group of friends. People talk at him and not to him. I couldn’t help but notice this as Isabel snatched my arm before I had the opportunity to dash out of the music classroom. She made us loiter outside the doorway.
Casper was the last to leave, a sallow expression on his features. He froze in the doorway as he realised that we were blatantly waiting for him. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He made no move to acknowledge us any further. He merely narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the strap of his bag before putting one foot in front of the other to escape the confinement of the building. Unfortunately for everybody involved, Isabel had next to no concept for personal boundaries and actually reached out to touch Casper’s arm.
Caspers Ghosts Page 1