Bellamy Rising

by A. E. Snow

  “I got off early.” I played with the hem of my jeans.

  “Were you with Will?”

  “It’s not . . .” I started to say but realized that it was basically exactly what it looked like.

  He snorted.

  “Why are you so pissed?” I asked, suddenly furious. “You appeared to be very cozy with Katie Kennedy the other night.”

  “I guess I just thought . . .”

  “Thought what?”

  We were both trying to say the same thing. “I like you and I thought you liked me.” What was worse, I knew neither of us would say it now. Things were just too complicated and weird.

  We heard a bang downstairs. I froze. Mason spun around to face me. I barely dared to breathe as footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  “Andrew?” I called.

  “What?”

  “Just making sure it was you,” I replied and fell back on the bed letting my arms cover my face. To Mason, I said, “Andrew is home. You can go. Thanks for coming.”

  When he left, I remembered that someone had probably been in my room or else hacked into my computer but I figured it was the former. I got up to grab my pajamas and sleep in Meredith’s room, which was safe from murderers, presumably, when my eyes landed on the pile of notes lying on top of my syllabus. Something made me stop. I picked up the first note. “In one long yellow string I wound, Three times her little throat around.”

  Frantically, I flipped my English book open to the last poem I’d read before waking up my computer. I skimmed the lines until I found it.

  In one long yellow string I wound, Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again.

  I found the first note. “The same exact words,” I said, my voice hollow. “‘Porphyria’s Lover’ by Robert Browning.”

  I skimmed the first few lines and read the rest aloud. “‘Be sure I looked up at her eyes happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshiped me; surprise made my heart swell, and still it grew while I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, mine, fair, perfectly pure and good: I found a thing to do, and all her hair in one long yellow string I wound three times her little throat around, and strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee, I warily oped her lids: again laughed the blue eyes without a stain.’”

  My legs gave way and I dropped into the chair with a thud. “RB! RB isn’t someone’s real name. RB is Robert Browning. Some sick fuck is reenacting this poem.”

  Someone was strangling girls with their own hair and that same someone had been in my room.

  Chapter 29

  When I woke from a couple hours of fitful sleep, it was still dark out. I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand. The clock read 5:13 when I finally located it. I was afraid to go downstairs, afraid that a seriously sick and crazy killer would be peeping in the windows, plotting their next move. Or worse, already making their next move.

  I couldn’t go to school. I didn’t want to face Mason or Will. Plus, I had something I had to do. I had to figure out who RB really was. When I heard my mom get up at 6:30, I left Meredith’s room and went downstairs.

  “You look terrible.” Mom stood there staring at me and holding the recently rinsed coffee pot. Water dripped off making a tiny puddle on the floor.

  “Thanks.” I sat down at the kitchen table and put my head down. “I’m not going to school,” I said, my words muffled by my sleeve.

  The coffee maker hissed to life. “Are you sick?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Okay.” Her gaze bored holes of compassion into me.

  I sat up. “Will you call school for me? Ya know, otherwise they’ll call here and then call you at work.”

  “Sure. Go back to bed,” she said. “I’ll bring you some toast and tea.”

  Toast and tea in bed sounded like the greatest thing on the planet.

  I went up to the attic. Although it creeped me out, Mom would know something was up if she found me in Meredith’s room. Besides, it wasn’t so scary in the morning light. I let the news play while I flipped on my computer.

  I typed ‘Robert Browning’ into the search bar. Moments later, every poem he ever wrote was at my fingertips. I skimmed the article about him and learned that he’d been an important poet, was married to an important poet, and had a son. He was definitely not a murderer. Nothing stuck out that might give me a clue to the identity of the wannabe Robert Browning wreaking havoc on a small town in Virginia.

  Restless and parched, I chugged the glass of water next to my bed and made a face. It tasted old. Then I sipped at the bitter mug of cool tea but I couldn’t stomach the toast or anything. I stood up and pulled on my clothes from yesterday, not bothering with a shower. Maybe I would never take one again. I did brush my teeth and scrub my face a little, just in case I saw someone. I had raccoon eyes from not taking off my mascara. I left a little bit.

  No one was home by the time I made my way downstairs again. I grabbed my backpack—the one I never took to school—and stuck a flashlight and a bottle of water in it. Mercifully, the Subaru was parked in the driveway, haphazardly, the way Andrew always parked it. He preferred to ride to school with Kayla and probably because she let him drive her car which was some sort of sports car. Meredith had practically moved in with Mike and didn’t use the car so much lately.

  I was supposed to work after school. I dialed the coffee shop as I drove by. I hoped Ana Sofia didn’t see me.

  “Hi, Ana Sofia,” I said, trying to sound weak. “I stayed home from school today. I think I’m sick.”

  “Oh no! Stay in bed. I’ll see you next week.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I was asleep all day.”

  Ana Sofia clucked at me. “Shhh, then go back to bed.”

  “I will.”

  “Adios.”

  I drove through town and traced the route Mason and I had taken the week before until I found myself turning onto Larkin Lane.

  Larkin Lane seemed to stretch even longer than it had the first time. I didn’t want to park near the house so I turned off onto another dirt road which was about a half-mile from the house, I guessed, just near the part of the lane from my dream. There was a barn falling in on itself there and a place to park next to it. I took a route through the woods next to the road.

  There were hours of daylight left so I felt pretty confident, with no trace of the hysterical girl who was afraid of her own shadow last night. I wasn’t going to let some yahoo scare and intimidate me. I also knew, without a doubt, that the house was important somehow and I had to find out why since I was possibly the only person that could save my own life.

  I came to the edge of the woods and waited. I squatted down, more alert than I’d ever been. While I waited, I fiddled with my lip ring from the inside with my tongue and forced myself to breathe. Nothing. No shadows moving behind windows. No movement anywhere.

  “Here we go,” I said.

  I went in the back door, the one that led to the kitchen. I crept through to the living room. The curtains still hung limply and torn with light peeking in from the outside.

  I circled the room. At first everything seemed completely the same. But the chair. The chair wasn’t in the same place. It was no longer right in front of the fireplace but sitting over by the wall. I stood frozen to the spot. Chills ran all over me and I felt like I wouldn’t sit in that chair if my life depended on it.

  “A moved chair doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” I whispered. Then again, it didn’t walk itself from the fireplace to the wall. It was entirely possible that some stupid kids had been in the house and moved the chair. I lightly touched the peeling paint with wood peeking out from underneath
. A vision, the strongest and most vivid I’d ever had, immediately knocked me to my knees. Headlights illuminate the dark road. A sinister moon is overhead. And then, a curl of blond hair tied with a ribbon. I let go and fell back onto the floor panting.

  “Shit.” I wrapped my arms around my middle and held on while the room spun. Afraid to close my eyes, I forced myself to slow my breathing. As soon as I could, I stood up again. Backing into the kitchen, I took stock. Everything was the same as it had been before but something was very obviously wrong. I felt it in my bones. I spun around slowly and my eye caught the basement door, which stood ajar.

  I didn’t want to go down there. Not at all. Who knew what the door was hiding with its peeling paint and darkness seeping out from behind it. But it was the only place in the house I hadn’t been. More than that, it seemed like the perfect place to hide something you didn’t want anyone to find. I clicked on my flashlight and steeled myself. The door creaked loudly when I opened it. I glanced around waiting for someone to jump out, but nothing did.

  I shined the light down the stairs. They were all there, which made them more stable than the front steps. I grabbed the railing, barely breathing as I made my way down. All I could see was dirt floor and darkness so black my flashlight could barely cut through it.

  When I got to the bottom, I swung my light around to reveal more rooms. Pitch-black rooms. It was like the scary basement in every horror movie I’d ever seen. Cobwebs stretched in the corners while the only window was covered with a piece of wood and only a tiny glint of light seeped in through the cracks.

  There was nothing in the big first room but a hallway led off into the black. I stayed close to the wall and went down sideways trying to never have my back exposed. A tomb wasn’t as quiet as that basement. The first room was full of old bottles, many of them broken. The shelves were dusty and empty.

  I crept further down the hall. The room at the end of the hall seemed darker than all the rest. I entered the room and flattened myself against the wall. Moving slowly around the room, I stayed flat against the wall. I swung my flashlight around trying to see something tangible since all I had to go on was the horrible, dark feeling deep in my stomach. I crept closer and felt a sharp stab of panic when I tripped. Before I had to time to find the trip hazard, visions, like snapshots, flashed in front of my eyes.

  Jenna, dead, her eyes stare off into nothingness. Riley, head turned with her long hair falling over her face and rope burn around her neck.

  I swung my light down to see that my foot was touching a tangle of rope. There was a dirty white sheet lying next to the rope and a roll of duct tape. A small wooden box sat against the wall. Fear swirled around me clouding my vision.

  Gulping air, I knelt down and picked up the box with shaking hands. I aimed the light and opened the box. The flashlight fell to the floor with a thud and I bit down on a scream. Inside of the box, tied with black ribbons, were two locks of hair. Tucked into the lid, pictures of Riley and Jenna. Jenna’s smiling face stared back at me from her fall cheerleading photo. Riley smiled shyly.

  A scream escaped my throat before I could stop it. I clapped my hands over my mouth and tears squeezed out of my eyes. My mouth watered and bile rose up in my throat. I fought the bitter taste back down and tried to steady myself. I had to get the hell out of that basement.

  I grabbed my phone out of my back pocket and hit the camera button. A message popped up on the screen. ‘Storage full.’

  “Shit. Of course it’s full.”

  I tried to get back to the photos to delete a few only my hurried actions overwhelmed my elderly phone and it froze. I groaned and shoved it in my back pocket. I fumbled around on the ground, grabbing the box and the flashlight before I ran, stumbling down the hall and up the stairs, certain that someone or something was on my tail.

  Sunlight blinded me when I burst through the door and into the kitchen. I slammed the basement door behind me and leaned up against it for a split second before darting out of the back door gripping the box.

  I ran for my life to the woods. Normally, I would have been more afraid in the woods but they were welcoming and safe compared to the house. Once I was far enough into the woods, I leaned against a tree and tried to catch my breath.

  My hands shook as I held the box. I had to take it to the police. When I could breathe again, I ran to my car and locked the doors as soon as I was inside. After shoving the box into the glove compartment so I didn’t have to see it, I backed slowly out of my makeshift parking spot. I pulled onto Larkin Lane and hit the gas. Every mile, I cranked the music up to drown out the noise my heart was making in my chest.

  Chapter 30

  My thoughts tumbled around and I barely registered the highway as I drove. Why did someone choose an abandoned house? The better question was who chose it? I ran through the list of suspects. Ethan. I wasn’t convinced it was him. Keeping the hair of one’s victims seemed more like a serial-killer thing than a high school guy with a bad temper. Plus, I was willing to bet he’d never read a poem in his life. And even if he did, it wouldn’t occur to him to recreate a murder found in a poem. If it was someone at school, there were only about a thousand possibilities. The creepy old janitor? But why? Mr. Caldwell?

  As soon as I got into town, I maneuvered into a parking space at the end of Main Street next to the police station and tried to stop shaking. My teeth chattered and my skin crawled. I had a million questions but no way to answer them. Who? Why? How?

  I closed my eyes and started counting. I would count to a million if I had to and maybe when I got there this entire mess would be over and I’d be safely on a beach somewhere far away. One, two, three, four, I counted very slowly. Fiiiive, siiix, seeeveeen.

  The urgent knocking on the window startled me and I jumped about fifty feet in the air. I opened my eyes and sat up fumbling to find the lock to make sure the car was locked for the fiftieth time, unable to register the face that peered in the window at first.

  “Bellamy!” Mason called urgently. “Open the door.”

  “Holy shit.” I searched for the unlock button.

  He got in. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, not even convincing myself. My voice shook and tears leaked out of my eyes.

  Grabbing me by the shoulders, he urged me to talk. “Bellamy.”

  “I can’t tell you.” And I couldn’t. I had to make sense of it. I had to tell the police first.

  “Why not?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Bellamy, I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  I hated the way he looked at me. Like I was a crazy person and a liar. My face crumpled and days of stress and fear came rushing out of me like a river. I dripped salty tears and probably snot onto the steering wheel where I had my head buried in my arms.

  The car was silent for a long time. I sat up and elegantly wiped my nose on my sleeve since there was nothing else. He stared at me, his eyes wide. I resisted the urge to apologize.

  “Mason,” I said finally. “I’ll tell you as soon as I can.”

  He huffed and shook his head. “Bellamy, you’ve got to be kidding me. I find you parked on the side of the street having a hysterical fit and you won’t even tell me why?”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m sorry if it sounds crazy.”

  “Yeah it kind of does.” Mason’s shaking voice was higher than usual.

  More quiet.

  “Where were you today?” he asked.

  “Sick,” I said.

  “If you are sick, why are you sitting in your car on Main Street?”

  “I had to run an errand and then I started not to feel well.”

  “Fine,” he said flatly. “You really aren’t going to tell me.”

&
nbsp; “Not right now.” I just couldn’t. As terrified as I felt, I finally felt like I was getting somewhere and I just wasn’t ready to tell him. I didn’t want him to know that I had his sister’s hair in my glovebox but I wasn’t any closer to figuring out who put it there. It was just more than I could handle. I made a silent vow to tell him after I talked to the police. It was silent in the car and hours and days passed before he spoke.

  “Are you going to be all right?” His voice was softer.

  “I think so,” I said, but I didn’t think so at all.

  He put one hand on the door handle. “I should go.”

  I nodded.

  Without another word, he got out of the car and shut the door.

  I called the number on the card Officer Jackson had handed me what felt like months ago. My voice shook as I spoke. “Officer Jackson? I found something you’ll want to see.”

  I met them at the police station. After I gave Officers Jackson and Lewis the box, they gave me the third degree.

  “Where did you find this?” Lewis asked, squinting at me.

  “In the basement of an abandoned house on Larkin Lane.”

  Jackson swooped in. “What were you doing there?”

  Unable to fully explain, I just said, “I was exploring.”

  They both frowned at me. I told them the story, though I left out the visions. “I like abandoned houses, as you know.” I didn’t wait for a laugh. “I skipped school to check out this house I found on Larkin Lane and I found this in the basement.”

  Jackson frowned at me but said nothing for a long time. Finally, she took a deep breath. “You found this exploring.”

  I nodded.

  “And that’s the whole story?”

  I nodded again. “There’s a little more.”

  Lewis sighed. “I’m listening.”