‘Maybe Lila was right about the play being cursed,’ Jason said quietly as he passed his sword to Ravenswood. The dim light rippled over the engraved hilt.
Jason wasn't alone. Ravenswood was beginning to wonder himself. Or was he the one carrying the curse?
***
ANGELIKA
Angelika traced her fat bottom lip with her tongue. She tasted blood in a crevice in the split skin. She writhed again, grunting and squirming until her arms burned. Her wrists rubbed raw against the restraints.
With a sigh, she slumped back against the pole. Everything seemed so hazy and the sledgehammer inside her head didn't help.
Angelika squinted into the shadows. The floor was concrete. The only light source came from behind her. The place was quiet except for the sound of dripping water, but there was no sign of them. Know your enemy was Sun Tzu’s number one rule. If you didn't know who you were facing, there was little chance of victory. Angelika thought she saw a face she knew but it couldn't possibly be true. A blow to the head was never conducive to clear thinking.
She glared. A cold hard stare was her only weapon. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she said, but her defiance came out as a croak.
Laughter bounced around the room, sarcastic and malicious. Angelika gritted her teeth. She squirmed one way then another, but she barely moved and the restraints chafed off another layer of skin.
‘Save your energy.’
‘Let me go,’ she whined.
It made no sense but her bindings felt stronger than just rope, as though she was trapped by something impossible and frightening. She was a fly in someone’s web. Her forehead burned but her feet were like ice. This couldn't be happening. A lump hardened in her throat but she swallowed it down. Tears were a declaration of defeat.
Was this another dream?
Angelika pressed her lips together. Get a grip, she muttered to herself. Surrender was not an option. As Sun Tzu said a good general was full of caution. She must watch and wait.
But Angelika couldn't stop her worrying. She licked her broken lip again and pictured her nose splattered across her face like an overripe tomato. Or her face ruined by a deep diagonal gash, her skin slashed from eye to chin, exactly like her dream. She cringed. How could she be so vain at a time like this?
‘There's no point in fighting,’ the voice sneered. ‘Just give in.’
‘Never,’ Angelika wheezed.
Her attacker stepped from the shadows.
Angelika's mouth dropped open.
‘It is you. I thought it was you... but how...?’
Cold eyes blinked back at her. ‘Don't struggle. It ruins the meat.’
‘I don't understand,’ Angelika spluttered.
‘Of course, you don't. You're not as clever as you think. I can see right through you. Just like all the others.’
‘What do you want from me?’ she demanded.
‘You know.’
‘I don't. Tell me. Then I can give you it to you want.’
Her laughter echoed off the walls. ‘You have it all mapped out, don't you?’
Angelika frowned. ‘What happened to you?’
‘You could say I found my true power.’ Her eyes glinted like sharp knives. Her lips curled as she bared her teeth.
Angelika suppressed a whimper. She thrashed at the rope as she scrambled for solutions, scouring through the words of Sun Tzu, the strategies of the Grandmasters, anything and everything inside her head for a solution. Her mind floundered, she couldn't think past the pain. Her powers of persuasion never worked well with women, anyway.
‘You're not so different to me. I can smell your craving. Your ambition. Your greed. If this had been another time, another place, we could've had such fun together. But not today.’
Angelika’s body drooped, her limbs were heavy with fatigue. The facts hit her harder than the blow to the head. All her pride and indignation leaked onto the floor, overtaken by the surge of a cold panic through her veins.
‘Help,’ she moaned weakly. ‘Help me.’
‘Good girl. You're learning.’
She dropped her head. She couldn't stop the tears leaking through her eyelashes. Her body shook with silent sobs.
Tears, mixed with blood, dripped onto her Lady Macbeth costume.
Chapter 14
VIOLET
Bang.
A door slammed up ahead. Violet flinched but straightened her back and headed towards the noise coming from somewhere up near Domestic science.
With her hands on the double doors, she noticed something to her left: a trail of blood splattered across the freshly painted wall. Violet gasped but continued on. She was going in the right direction.
The lights fizzed above her head and her heart pounded with every boot step. The next section of corridor was unlit: not even a speck of light came from the kitchens or sewing rooms. Violet cupped her hands against the glass panel in the door leading into the Domestic science classrooms and peered inside but couldn't see a thing.
Violet pressed her ear against the crack in the door, hoping to catch Lila's cheerful voice. Or even Angelika’s. Maybe they’d run off together, full of nerves.
She scoffed at herself. Where did she pick up this optimistic streak? She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled, then grabbed the door handle, her stomach twisting. She pushed the handle down but the door was locked. She rattled the handle and pulled at the door but it only budged a smidgen.
Violet sprung back from the door, scouting in every direction when something thudded further down the corridor.
‘Hello?’ she squinted into the semi-darkness.
She flinched. A ceiling tile landed inches from her feet and shattered on the linoleum. Fine white dust exploded in a cloud. Violet jumped back as another tile fell. Then another. They were falling like square rain drops. She covered her head and ran down the dim corridor.
When she reached the doorway of the typing classroom halfway down the corridor, the tiles stopped falling and all was quiet again. Violet leaned against the door to catch her breath and cooled her cheek against the glass panel. Behind the door, the room had windows into a central atrium. Weak daylight trickled over the rows of typewriters, like big grey snails covered in their plastic hoods. Rain slapped against the glass and shadows darted as winds lashed the trees.
Violet froze as a new sound wafted down the corridor. This was not a thud or a thump but a voice, wailing. It was not a voice she recognised. The shrill unearthly keening grated across her skin as it grew louder, then softer, undulating like a moaning wave. She wrapped her arms around herself. Was that the true sound of pain?
Her knees trembled as she imagined Lila behind the howls. She took a few shaky steps further down the corridor towards the sound. The art department was the next room on her right. A bolt of lightning snapped and a white slash lit up the corridor.
Violet peered through the glass in the classroom door. The desks were arranged around a central table and in the dim light she could make out a pinecone, a horned skull and a teddy bear among the random junk. And behind the table by the large windows, someone stood facing her.
Her heart stalled.
Thunder cracked the air.
Violet swallowed and squinted. The silhouette was tall, slim and female. Long hair tumbled over her shoulders, but her face was hidden in shadow.
‘Angelika?’
Violet waved at her and pushed against the door but once again it was locked tight. She rapped on the glass but the figure didn't move.
‘Are you locked in?’ She knocked harder but still the figure remained motionless. Violet wiped her clammy hands against her witch costume. Why was she so still? And where was Lila?
‘Angelika?’
Violet bashed her knuckles against the thick glass.
‘Angelika! Are you alright?’ she yelled but the figure seemed frozen in place. A hard mass glaring back at her. Violet sighed. After her behaviour this week, Violet wouldn't trust herself either.
�
�I know I was a bitch,’ she said, and she wasn’t acting this time. ‘I’m sorry. And I want to help.’
There was no reaction at all. Like with Holly, it’d take more than a few words to repair the damage, but she had to keep trying.
‘Really. I do. Is Lila with you?’
Again there was no reply. Violet’s stomach churned. There was something unnatural about Angelika's absolute stillness.
‘Are you alright?’
A second lightning bolt snapped lit up the art room and for a split second, Violet could see clearly inside.
She burst out laughing. Her shoulders shook as she leaned her forehead against the door and laughed. A few stray tears fell onto her cheeks. It was a wooden, bald life-sized mannequin with no facial features.
Violet slid all the way down to the linoleum and curled into a ball, her head rested on her knees. She swore she'd seen long hair. Once again, the shadows were playing tricks on her.
Her eyelids weighed a ton but she had to keep moving. She had to find them. She lay against the door and her pulse slowed. She needed to rest, regain her strength but only for a moment.
Thump. Scrape.
Thump. Scrape.
She forced her eyes open. The lightning storm was gone and the corridor was pitch black. Even the red exit sign was out.
Thump. Scrape.
Thump. Scrape.
It was coming her way.
Violet scrunched up as small as possible and pressed her body against the door. She was glad for the darkness now. She was in no hurry to meet whatever was behind the noise.
Thump. Scrape.
Thump. Scrape.
Out of the darkness, a tiny circle of light appeared.
She scuttled to her feet and assumed a starting position, all set to sprint away.
Thump. Scrape.
Thump. Scrape.
The light grew brighter and larger as it came towards her.
Violet’s brain scrambled for an explanation. Could it be the maintenance men? One of the other cast members? Was it Lila and Angelika perfectly safe? But what could explain the thumping noise? She swallowed hard enough.
‘Who's there?’ she squawked.
‘Is that you, Violet?’
Violet spluttered with relief as she recognised the long pink cardigan carrying a pencil-sized flashlight.
Quasimodo.
‘Miss Quinlin,’ she sighed.
‘The lights appear to have gone out.’ Miss Quinlin pushed up her spectacles up and snuffled as she thumped towards Violet. ‘Must be the storm. The generator is down here somewhere. You alright?’
‘Yes,’ Violet lied. ‘Just doing final rehearsals.’
‘Ah, break a leg. We should have this power sorted before the curtain goes up. Where's that Booth fellow?’
She limped past Violet and continued down the corridor. A large wrench hanging from her other hand. Violet frowned as she watched the teacher walk away. Her feet tingled with pins and needles when she pulled herself upright. Maybe the science teacher wasn’t as bumbling as she appeared.
What did the bus driver say?
Darkness could be anywhere.
***
HOLLY
Holly ran down the corridor and up the stairs three at a time. She passed the girls’ toilets and pushed on the double doors towards Domestic science, but they were firmly shut.
‘Come on,’ she said with a grunt and shunted the door with all her bodyweight. ‘Why are you locked?’
A red smear on the wall caught her eye. Was it blood? She swallowed. Violet’s expression had been so innocent when Holly confronted her. Did she even know what she was doing? Had she finally flipped like Holly feared? What had Dahlia said again? She asked whether it was still the same Violet.
Holly rubbed her forehead. Whatever the truth, there was no time to waste. She'd have to take the long way round. As the school was built in a square, there were always two ways to get anywhere.
Turning back, Holly ran down the stairs, past the toilets, the drama department and the theatrette towards the science labs. This route passed the main office, where she could stop off and use the phone to call the police or get Mr Booth and the weird maintenance men to help. Anyone’d be more helpful than Mr Ravenswood.
She skirted around the corner towards the main office as the lights dipped and plunged the corridor into complete darkness. She skidded to a halt and pressed herself against the cold wall as she waited for the power to return.
Thunder boomed outside and something else shook right above her head. Her heart jerked; she hoped it was the pipes.
The shaking stopped but a howling drifted down the corridor out of the darkness. Holly clutched a breath in her throat as she strained to hear clearly. The sound was barely more than a whisper at first, the pained voice was familiar yet unfamiliar.
It wasn't Lila. Maybe it was Angelika. Holly didn't know her well enough. An attack could have stripped away all of Angelika’s composure. Whoever it was, their mewling sent shivers over her skin.
The cry intensified. It grew louder and louder, until she was forced to cover her ears. The sound seeped into the bones of her arms and legs, it rang in her skull. Holly wrapped her arms around her head but then the deafening wail faded away, and the corridor was quiet once again.
Breathing in, Holly steeled herself.
‘I'm coming, Lila,’ she called and then muttered. ‘If only the lights would come back on.’
A set of strong fingers grabbed her shoulder from behind, but Holly shrugged them off and ran.
***
RAVENSWOOD
‘Where are they?’ Ravenswood stomped up and down the gap between the stage and the front row and tugged at his collar. ‘Is it warm in here? My God, look at the time.’
‘They'll be back in a minute,’ Lionel said as he slumped in his seat with his feet up. ‘It’s fine.’
Ravenswood glared at him. How could Lionel Pereira possibly understand? Look at him, all of sixteen years old with a perfect face, sickeningly comfortable in his own skin. His whole life was opening up, without a shred of shame. The boy had no idea of his anguish, of how it felt to stare into the face of ruin. Again.
‘It’s not fine.’ Jacinta stood in the aisle and threw her hands into the air. ‘Mr Ravenswood. Holly told you Violet was mental but you didn't believe her. You didn't do anything and now Angelika's missing.’
‘Holly came to me with some wild story,’ Ravenswood said as he rubbed his forehead and paced. ‘If I believed every rumour I heard around here...’
‘I think everyone needs to take a deep breath,’ Lionel said.
Ravenswood stopped and turned, his eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I am perfectly calm, thank you, Lionel. Perhaps you should go learn your lines. Make sure you don't embarrass yourself.’
A flame ignited in Lionel's eyes and his nostrils flared as he turned away.
Ravenswood winced. He opened his mouth to apologise but Lionel was already halfway out the door. Now his leading man hated him. It was happening again. Ravenswood scraped his fingers along his scalp. The room was stifling hot. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes. He grabbed hold of a chair as the theatrette began to spin.
‘Mr Ravenswood?’ Toby said.
Ravenswood flinched as he saw a black hooded figure with no face standing before him. He gasped and dropped into a front row seat. The hooded figure had only been Toby with his hood up.
‘Do you need a glass of water?’ Jacinta rushed down to the front row.
‘Just give me a moment,’ Ravenswood said as he rubbed his temples and hid his eyes. ‘I've got the strangest headache.’
‘Me too,’ said Toby, pressing his thumb into his eye socket. ‘Right in here.’
‘And I've got this funny taste in my mouth,’ Jacinta said. ‘Like some heavy-duty cleaning stuff. It's still there, no matter how much gum I chew.’
‘It's probably the paint.’ Toby nodded. ‘It’s toxic shit.’
Ravenswood wished they'
d be quiet. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.
‘There's been strange stuff going on for days,’ Toby said. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
‘It’s this place.’ Jacinta shuddered.
Ravenswood looked up. ‘Violet mentioned dreams.’
‘Dreams? Nightmares, more like it,’ said Jason.
‘You've had them too?’ Jacinta frowned.
‘Yeah. And weird things happening,’ said Toby.
‘And the shadows,’ Ravenswood said quietly as he clutched fistfuls of his hair. ‘I should have listened to Fi. I should’ve stayed away.’
‘You don't think Violet is behind it?’ Jacinta said.
Ravenswood blocked his ears. All this superstitious nonsense. Mrs Petrakis had assured him the school had been cleansed. It must be the pressure or stress or low blood sugar. The start of a cold, lack of sleep, a million different sensible and more logical reasons than evil spirits or a troublesome schoolgirl.
One thing was true: his cast and crew were letting him down. What did he expect from a bunch of kids? They had no commitment, no discipline. His chance to redeem himself in front of Alan Wolf was ruined.
Ravenswood jerked upright and glared around the theatrette. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Well, Angelika and Lila are missing. Holly’s gone to look for Violet. Jez is in the hospital. Wayne’s washing the blood off his tunic,’ Jacinta said, counting on her fingers. ‘Lionel stormed off and Kon is around here somewhere. But we’re here.’
Ravenswood dropped his head again.
It was three years since his second year at uni and the night of the final performance of his Directing course. He had chosen Endgame, another challenging piece but one of Alan Wolf’s known favourites. All of his lecturers and his classmates were going to be in the audience and his final marks depended on the performance’s success. With a small cast of four, it should’ve been easy. But once again, he’d been lumped with slackers. They chatted amongst themselves and ignored him unless they had something to whinge about. When Ravenswood insisted they needed one more run-through, they practically rioted. It had only been one in the morning. Who needed sleep? The performance was more important.
The Flower and the Serpent Page 21