Why haven’t I ever gotten married again?
Oh right, because my douchebag fiancé, the only man I’ve ever loved, took off a month before the wedding.
I sigh and pad across the hardwood floors to my tiny office. The rain has stopped today, at least, but the sky is still dark and foreboding. It’s technically spring, according to the calendar, but in Vermont the trees are still bare, reaching to the sky with their bony fingers, and occasional piles of snow make their last stand across the property. I know, I should be grateful I have a nice house to live in and a cupboard full of food, but these last few weeks have only made me realize just how isolated I am. If I hadn’t inherited the house from my mother, I would move to downtown Montpelier where there were people around, bars and coffee shops, and… life. Whenever those bars and shops actually open back up, that is.
The morning is quiet, the only sound the music from the pandemic playlist my co-worker Chiyomi turned me onto, so I’m really looking forward to the afternoon admissions meeting. All the other admissions counselors have pets, and I always ask them to hold their big-pawed puppy or furry orange cat up to the screen so I can get my fill. Social distancing is ideal for those of us who are allergic, but I do love the furry creatures. As we go through the updates, Alastair’s name comes up, and with a jolt of guilt, I remember Friday’s meeting.
“Has anyone heard from Alastair? He missed the music composition meeting this morning,” Sarah asks, and a coldness spreads across the surface of my skin. “It’s just not like him.”
There’s a chorus of “no” from the others, and I wrap the headphone cord around and around my finger as I struggle with whether or not I should share my concerns. I know they love me and my quirky personality, but since I came clean about my anxiety struggles, I always worry that people are going to think I’m losing it. But with all that’s going on in the world right now, who wouldn’t? I look down and see my finger is all white above the tightly wound cord.
I decide not to say anything, but as the sun makes its descent, I can’t stop the dark thoughts from coming. Katie and I have a six o’clock informational video conference with some prospective students, so I decide to take a short lie-down and try to clear my head.
The call is lively (children’s writers always are), and since this is our first one of these done online instead of by phone, I can’t help but be pleased. It’s so magical to watch the sense of community bleed into people even over the internet: I swear the college is infectious. One by one they reluctantly log off, until it’s just me and Katie to do what we refer to as our post-mortem.
“Well, that certainly couldn’t have gone better!” Katie’s smile is big, her energy high. How does she pull that off at seven o’clock at night?
“It was good,” I offer, forcing a bit of brightness into the last word. Truth was, the minute the last person winked off, I felt kind of… bereft. Like sitting in the tub as the bath water drains out.
“You okay, Ann?”
I look up at Katie’s face staring at me through the screen. I’ve almost forgotten we were still on, and I sit up straighter and smile. I can rally with the best of ‘em. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, just tired, is all.”
She stares a bit more, then says, “Okay…” But she’s just too damn perceptive to really believe me.
I had to sell it or she was going to start to get concerned. I laugh: “Really, I’m fine! Nothing a bowl of ice cream and an episode of The Witcher couldn’t cure!”
She seems convinced. “Well, I’m going to go have some of my tofu bourguignon. It smells really delicious!”
I had to laugh. Katie was always making vegetarian meals out of seriously meaty dishes. It’s as if someone dared her that they couldn’t taste as good. “Okay, then. I’ll leave you to it.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Don’t forget we’re presenting to the senior staff about our enrollment first thing.”
“How could I forget?” I put off disconnecting. I always dreaded the last work of the day because of the nothingness that followed.
As I hover my cursor over “end meeting,” I see something moving behind Katie, blocking the view of her bedroom behind her. Couldn’t be her cat, could it? No, too big. “Katie, what—”
“Well, then, I’ll—”
The room lights up all at once and there’s a high-pitched screeching sound through the speakers, so loud I have to pull off my headset. The last thing I see is Katie’s eyes, huge and glassy, her mouth open in a silent scream, and in the split second before the screen goes black, there’s a woman’s face.
It was her! The woman from the all-staff meeting! She was behind Alastair, too!
I jump up, knocking my chair backwards. Now I’m certain I wasn’t imagining it. Hands shaking, I grab my iPhone and dial 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Yes, my friend, there was someone in her house… a woman, I think… I’m afraid she’s hurt!” Am I making any sense at all? My mind is skittering. “And she lives alone,” I add in a small voice. Truth is, I worry about a scenario like this all the time. All alone and in trouble with no one to know. I swallow deeply.
“Okay, miss, where does your friend live?”
I give her Katie’s address in Montpelier, and the woman says she will have an officer do a wellness check. I thank her and hang up. Then I pace the room.
Should I drive there and check on her myself? I look out the window. The rain is coming down sideways, hammering the roof like a tommy gun.
No. I’m such a nervous driver anyway, especially under these conditions. My heart is pounding inside my chest as if it wants out. I have to do something! It’s that woman in the all staff meeting who’s the key to this. I just know it! But who the hell is she?
Then I remember: the all staff meetings are recorded for people who are unable to attend. I hammer away at my keyboard and pull up the archived meetings. I find last week’s and download it. My head is buzzing. Once it’s downloaded, I fast-forward through the minutes, scanning the pictures on the side as they shift. But they are all familiar faces. Did I really just imagine her? Then an image flashes in and out, and I freeze. I rewind a bit and press pause. The blue eyes stare right back at me, burning holes in the screen. She’s smirking.
“There you are!” My voice is loud in the quiet house.
I take a screen shot and edit it down to just the face. I do reverse image search on Google, and a series of blonde heads appear on the screen: actresses, social media profiles, none of them her. I go to the second page. Then the third. Halfway down the fourth page, I stop, my fingers freezing on the mouse.
It’s her. In a news clipping. I bring the article up and scan it.
Wait. There has to be some mistake.
It’s old. Like, really old: 1897 old!
The most sensational murder in Central Vermont history.
Then I notice the name: Anna Wheeler.
“Hold on a minute! The Anna? VCFA’s Anna?” I ask of the photograph accompanying the article. It was the same face, only… sweeter, more innocent. I keep reading. It was the story I knew about her. Love triangle. Murdered right on campus.
I sit back and stare at the screen.
Holy shit! Was Anna the one who was hurting my colleagues? I search more, trying to get more pictures, more details. I explore ancestry sites, and local history blogs. The hours tick by as I scan each page, hoping for more clues, something more about her.
I blink awake and sit up, my hand going to my sore neck, the indentation of the laptop keys embossed into my face. And then I remember.
Anna!
Wait… Katie!
I check my phone and find a voicemail from the Montpelier police that they went by her house. Nobody was home, but they were going to check on her again this morning. I notice the time and realize the meeting we’re supposed to be presenting in is about to start. Maybe Katie will be there, and all will be okay. I shakily log in and put my headset on. I click to join the meeti
ng, and find only two faces waiting: Leslie and Matt.
“Good morning, Ann.” Leslie says in her bright voice, but I can tell something’s bothering her.
“Um, hi.” I wave awkwardly and realize I must look like hell. I run a hand through my short hair. I have to say something. “Where’s Katie?”
“We were going to ask you the same thing,” Matt says, and I get a feeling there was serious conversation going on before I logged on.
Wait, senior staff has nine people on it. “Where’s everyone else?”
Leslie presses her lips together. “We’re not sure, but we’re hoping they aren’t… ill.”
Oh God. The virus. Jesus.
“Well, since we’re missing so many people, I think it best we reschedule, don’t you, Matt?” Leslie looks into the camera, and I can tell I’m not the only one who’s anxious.
“Yes, I think that would be best.”
I’m not going to ramble in front of the President. Matt is different, though, so I say: “Wait! Matt! Can I talk to you a minute?”
Leslie waves and logs off.
“Sure! What’s up?” Matt asks.
“I’m worried about Katie… and Alastair. I was in video meetings with them and I… saw… something, and then they were gone.”
“Something? Like what? A person?”
“Yes… I mean, no.” Oh man, he really is going to think I’m losing it. But I have to tell someone. “Truth is, I think I know who… or what, it is.”
His voice gets really quiet. “What? Ann, what’s going on?”
And then the words just spill and pick up speed. “Matt, I think it’s that woman in the all-staff meeting I told you about, remember?”
“Okay…”
“Last night I pulled up the recorded meeting, and I was able to get a screenshot of her and I did a search.” As I talk, my fingers are rushing over the trackpad to share my screen with him. There. The photograph of Anna in our meeting pulls up, next to the news clipping about the murder. Matt pulls his glasses onto his forehead and peers closer. I watch his hazel eyes widen as he reads the clipping on the screen, then compares the photographs.
“Are you telling me you think Anna the ghost was in our all staff meeting?”
OK, so I laugh hysterically at that, even though there is nothing at all funny about it. I just can’t help it. Hearing it out loud from one of the more grounded humans I know really emphasizes the absurdity of the idea. As I catch my breath, I notice Matt isn’t laughing.
Wait. Does he believe me?
He pulls his glasses back down. “I’m wondering if this is a practical joke from some disgruntled employee, there was—”
“Matt! No one has heard from Alastair or Katie! And where the hell are the rest of the senior staff?” Yes, I’m screaming now, but I don’t care. I have to get someone to believe me. I take a deep breath and look straight at the screen. “Matt, I think something is happening to the staff. Something bad.”
I can see him tapping away on his phone, then putting it to his ear, then tapping again. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to call Katie. Alastair…” Tap, tap, tap. “Anybody!” He puts his phone down, then sinks into his chair. “And you think it’s Anna?”
I watch him. Is he making fun of me? He always says he thinks I’m “hilarious,” but the only thing I see in his eyes is fear.
I just nod.
He looks off, quiet for so long I wonder if he’s just going to dismiss it, leaving me to think my wild thoughts by myself as I usually do. Then he takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and says, “What can we do? It’s not as if anyone is going to believe us.”
Us.
Two letters, that’s all. But they carry so much weight… and hope. “I don’t know, but I’ve been thinking about what she wants.”
“Anna?”
“Yes. I mean, hundreds of years College Hall is bustling, then suddenly, bam! No one.”
“True. But why kill people?”
“I think she’s pissed.”
He throws his hands up in the air. “Well, she certainly isn’t happy. But what does she want?”
I start thinking out loud, imagining myself as Anna. “Well, we might have irritated her, but we were company. I mean, I hate being here all by myself, so I can relate! But if you read between the lines of that article, she had her life all lined up, fiancé, school… and then, bam!”
“You keep saying ‘bam.’”
“Yeah, but this time it’s to represent an actual shot so it makes sense. Matt, I think she feels jilted. Abandoned. Lonely.”
He stops for a moment. “Makes sense.”
A warmth spreads outward from my chest. Finally, someone thinks I make sense. “I think you need to go talk to her.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Well, ‘cause you live a block from campus! I’d have to drive in, and—” I glance at my watch, “the weekly all staff meeting starts in half an hour, and I don’t think we have that much time.”
“Why do you care about the staff meeting at a time like this?”
“Because think about it! Every remaining staff member will be on that call? Matt! They could all be in danger!”
He breathes out loudly. “Jesus.”
Tammy’s voice comes from upstairs: “Matt? Everything okay?”
He narrows his eyes, then yells back, “Yeah, honey. I just need to walk over to College Hall for a minute to…get a file!”
I look at him, tears threatening. “Thank you, Matt.”
He waves it away and starts to stand up, but then stops and waggles his index finger at me. “If I get eaten, or worse, in trouble with Leslie, I’m totally blaming you!”
I laugh and start to thank him again when he winks off.
I sink in my chair as if my bones have melted at once.
I’m already logged on to the meeting and waiting when three o’clock comes. Matt hasn’t called me, but I’m hoping he’s found some answers. I stare at my solitary image on the screen, the bright orange paint of my office deceivingly cheery behind me.
3:03
3:09
What the hell? Why is nobody here yet? I pull up Gmail on my phone to see if there was a cancellation message I missed. Nothing.
3:11
Not even Leslie? She’s running the meeting, and she’s not the kind of person to be late for anything.
3:14
My heart is galloping now, and I text Matt.
What’s going on?
I stare at the screen, then type:
Nobody’s logging on to the all staff meeting & I’m freaking out!
Nothing.
My breath starts to come in shallow and fast. Did Anna kill everyone? And did I just send Matt to his death? I search through my contacts and find Tammy’s cell number.
“Hey, Ann!”
I’m so taken aback by the cheeriness of her voice, I can’t say anything for a minute.
She asks: “Everything all right?”
“Um… yeah, yeah, sorry. I was just trying to reach Matt… is he around?”
“No, he went to the college for a file, but he hasn’t come back yet. Did you try texting him?”
I need to get off the phone. I’m pretty much incapable of holding a “normal” conversation at this point. “Yeah, I guess he’s busy… no worries. I… gotta go, thanks T!”
“Wait! Is everyth—”
I tap ‘end’ and text Matt again. Nothing.
I stare at my phone and feel my chest tightening, the air leaving my lungs in gulps. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen.
Then three ellipses appear, indicating that he’s typing.
I let out a long breath.
Thank GOD. He’s alive.
Can you get here right away?
I type back: What? Why?
I’ll tell you when you get here. Just come to College Hall.
I shove the phone into my back pocket, grab my bag and my coat, and head to the car as if in a trance. What the
hell am I doing? And what did Matt find? But my heart is racing in anticipation of leaving the house. Of driving somewhere other than the supermarket or the drugstore. Of walking into College Hall again.
I drive down Route 12 without even seeing the surroundings, intensely focused on just getting there. Though I have taken this route twice a day for ten years, I haven’t been on it for the full five weeks of lockdown. Normally I would be admiring the budding trees, the waterfalls from the melting snow. But all I can do is drive and stare straight ahead.
Montpelier is silent, the streets empty, stores closed. Not a surprise given the governor’s shelter in place order. I make my way up the hill to campus, the building coming into sight, its 1826 architecture looming and intimidating. It’s so weird to see no one on the green. There’s usually a couple of people throwing a ball to their dog, or kids playing around the fountain. It’s like I have the college all to myself.
I pull my car into the empty parking lot, turn off the engine, close my eyes and breathe deep. An entire lifetime of being afraid, afraid of silly things. Flying on airplanes, clowns, sports mascots. But here’s something actually scary.
Isn’t it?
This isn’t all in my mind, is it?
I pull a hair tie off my stick shift, complete with stray blond hairs stuck in the elastic, and pull my hair into a messy bun at the back of my head. I’m about to get out when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I see a new message from Matt:
Come up to the tower. I want to show you something.
I look up at the dark building through the car window. How did he know I was here? I get out and start walking, while simultaneously wondering what the fuck I’m doing. But I can’t seem to get myself to turn around. As I walk up the concrete steps, I realize it’s like this is inevitable. The glass doors are unlocked, and I walk into the cold, dark lobby, the stairs leading up into darkness in front of me. I take my time, relishing the smell of the empty building, the aging wood and dusty carpets. When I reach the fourth floor, I stop and look around. The narrow door that leads to the tower is open.
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