***
Alex spent the beginning of lunch hour searching for the missing Amy Lawson. When she found her in none of the familiar places, she thought to call her cell phone. But just as she was about to make a call, the device in her hand began to rattle. A text message appeared on Alex’s phone. Her screen read “Com C Me. Crtyrd.”
The sender was none other than Amy.
On her way to the school’s main courtyard, Alex was greeted by waves upon waves of students that had never before had any reason to want to talk to her. In a blind flurry, they came to offer their friendship for what they referred to as The trying days ahead. At first the unwarranted attention sounded like a ruse to have her converted into a religion. Though it became apparent rather quickly that they were simply talking about the inevitable road to recovery from having witnessed the traumatizing deaths of her parents. And that was when she noticed a handful of other students standing together in a corner, murmuring to each other, talking about her in their own private conversations.
“I heard that she was there when it happened,” she heard one of the students say.
“I heard that she once mentioned the name of you-know-who,” gasped another.
“I heard that her aunt drives a cheap car.”
“I heard that she’s walking right past us.”
“I heard that Emily gained five pounds,” one girl told another.
“I heard that!”
Talk of Alex kept on to no end. If this was to go on for much longer, Alex was confident that all her efforts at fitting in would soon be rendered useless, and she would forever be looked down upon in the eyes of her peers with pity.
The courtyard placed at the center of campus was a large stone path a quarter of the size of a soccer field. It was surrounded by newly trimmed grass, shortened shrubs, and at the centermost point of it all was a large decorative water fountain.
On the round-a-bout path encircling the water fountain was a bench where Amy sat by herself. She was plucking flower petals from a pastry pink tulip, letting them fall to the ground.
“Why aren’t you at lunch?”Alex went ahead and asked her.
Without taking her focus away from her flower, Amy told her friend, “I hate the school food. You know that better than anyone.”
“It’s not any worse than normal,” Alex justified.
“Probably not.” But she didn’t make any attempt to take the conversation any further.
“You weren’t in class for two days. Ben and I were wondering what happened to you.”
“I didn’t feel like showing up.”
“Why not?”
Rather than answer the question, Amy threw away what was left of the flower.
“I’m not going to class today,” she added.
“You’re going to be suspended.”
“I won’t,” replied Amy. “My parents excused me. They called the school, told them I had some kind of contagious disease.”
“Oh,” said Alex. “So what are you doing here?”
“I heard what happened to your parents. And I thought that the least I could do was show up and see how you were doing.”
Amy laid a prolonged hug on Alex, fought back a few sniffles when she asked, “Can you walk with me after school today?”
She agreed. And at the moment that school was over, before calling Aunt Melanie to come pick her up, Alex accompanied Amy on her walk back home.
For a few minutes traversing along the rich sidewalks of Suburnia, Alex and Amy said nothing to one another. They were both lost inside their own internal thoughts. With Alex’s concerns being namely how different things would become if the rest of Elsinore and Suburnia showered her with special attention for the rest of the semester. It was a bit later that Alex noticed something dark around Amy’s neck. It was a large, purple sore.
“What’s that?” Alex observed.
Amy pulled up the collar of her uniform. It didn’t take a second for her to know what Alex was referring to.
“Nothing,” she said. But it was still there. Still visible.
Alex put a hand on hers. “What’s wrong?”
Amy looked down. “McLeary gave you back the bracelet,” she observed, but came off thoroughly uninterested.
“Amy, what is going on?”
“Let’s not talk about it, okay Alex? It’s a Friday today,” she answered back, accompanied mid-sentence by a sudden shift in tone. Her expression made a 180 degree turn from depressed to jovial in the snap of an invisible finger. As though she were doing her best to convince herself that she was happy. “What say you come over to my house for a bit?”
Curious to know what was troubling Amy, Alex agreed. Together they crossed the street into Anderson Lane and followed it down to Carlson Road. When they arrived at Amy’s house, Amy’s mother, Mrs. Lawson, was sitting in the kitchen reading an interior design magazine. She flipped the glossy pages with her left hand, and with her right, took sips from a glass of bourbon.
“Alexandra,” Mrs. Lawson broke from her reading, utterly surprised to see Alex standing beside Amy.
“Alexandra,” she continued, lowered her knees so that her eyes and Alex’s eyes were more or less level. “I heard what happened. I am so, so incredibly sorry. Is there anything you need?”
Alex shook No.
“Anything to eat? Drink?”
“No thank you Mrs. Lawson.”
“Perhaps a cookie? Or some biscuits? Some juice, maybe?”
“Mom,” Amy cut in. “She doesn’t want anything.”
“Okay. Well, if you change your mind, please let me know.”
“I will,” responded Alex, and she followed Amy up the stairs to her bedroom.
“Amy,” called Mrs. Lawson. “Don’t forget to prepare the guest room. Your grandmother is coming tomorrow. I want her to have clean sheets as soon as she arrives.”
“I’ll get to it,” called Amy.
As they went inside, Amy closed the door behind her.
“How have you been dealing?”
“Better than expected,” which was a lie. In fact, for a girl without a soul, she was taking this much worse than she had initially expected. Starting with why she felt nothing for her parents in the first place, moving to that strange tingling she’d felt throughout most of last night, to right now, where her mind was currently being occupied with the uneven treatment she’d been receiving in school.
“So the teachers aren’t giving you homework for a week?”
“Two, actually. And two weeks off from school should I ever feel the need for skipping a day.”
“You should. I can’t remember the last time McLeary ever let someone just skip school let alone for two weeks.”
Amy slipped off her shoes, and sniffles began pouring out at the sight of the bruises on her ankles. Amy staggered, losing her sense of balance until she fell on the floor, and started to cry.
“Are you alright?”
Alex picked her up. Amy’s face was swollen with tears.
“I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” she whispered into Alex’s ear.
And with that, the pieces all came together.
Alex Frost Meets The Killer Page 7