No One Will Believe You

by Robert J. Crane

  My room was my sanctuary. It was home, and the only place where I could be myself. No one to answer to in here, no lies to tell.

  I stripped off my clothes and swore I’d never wear them again, throwing them into the dirty hamper, almost knocking it over.

  I grabbed a clean pair of jeans from my dresser and pulled a faded blue t-shirt from my old high school over my head, fully embracing my Yankee heritage—maybe to spite Xandra.

  I checked my hair in the mirror and grimaced. I didn’t have time to style it, so I grabbed some mousse and ran it through my curls. They looked a little wild and a little greasy—not to mention dusty from all those boxes in the bunker—but I didn’t have much choice.

  I felt queasy at the memories.

  I ran to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and washed my face with water as cold as I could make it. It was still only marginally cold.

  Stupid Florida. Is nothing ever cold here?

  I slammed my hands against the sink as I stared into my eyes in the mirror.

  Yes, something was cold here in the Sunshine State.

  The heart of Byron Vesper.

  The tears came before I could stop them, and then they kept coming. I grabbed a fluffy bath towel, pink, and pressed it to my eyes, stifling the sound of my sobs.

  They racked my sore and spent body, and I had to sit down before I collapsed. Before I got too worked up, I forced myself to take long, deep breaths. Then, when my tears had stuttered to a halt, I washed my face again, and closed my eyes, breathing deeply and evenly, willing my heart to slow.

  I’d have to face what had happened, but I couldn’t do it now. Not so soon, not with a fiery tempered mother down in the kitchen, and not without any sleep.

  At least I was still thinking rationally.

  Or maybe I was just trying to survive.

  I wondered how Xandra was doing, or how her parents had reacted. Would she have told them we’d been chased by a vampire?

  Would they have believed her?

  Eyeliner done—and not a bad job of it, although if I started crying again I was going to look a total emo dork—I grabbed a pair of sandals from the floor of my closet and sat on my bed, pulling them on.

  I checked my clock on my side of the bed.

  Two minutes until I had to jump back into a car with Mom and suffer the whole ten minutes to the school.

  Xandra really believed what she was saying, didn’t she?

  And what was crazy, I thought as I gave myself one last mirror check, was that by the end of the night, I was starting to think she was making sense.

  Even admitting it to myself felt crazy. How could I believe in a fictional creature out of a fairytale? It was absolutely insane.

  But how else was I supposed to explain the speed, the height of Byron’s jumps?

  More importantly, how could I begin to explain the dent in the steel door?

  Chapter 6

  I had exactly a minute and a half to tear down the hallway to my homeroom class before I was officially late. The hallways, all fluorescent lights and kitschy colored tiles, were pretty much empty. There were brightly colored, encouraging signs all over the walls, reminding us to stay in school, stand up against bullying, and to love to read. There was even a couple making out on a bench in one of the study lounges with the vending machines.

  I got a look from my teacher when I arrived, panting in the doorway.

  “Sorry,” was all I could say. I quickly took my seat. Near the door, as per usual. Allowed me to be the first one out and the last one in.

  School was buzzing—typical, for a Friday. I heard snatches of conversation through the hall as I exchanged my books at my locker: talk of plans to go shopping at the International mall, or head to Plant City for the strawberry festival. I heard some of the wrestlers talking about going fishing and crabbing. One kid even said he was going to go sharking with his dad off the pier of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. I wondered if that was to impress the pretty brunette he was talking to.

  I was getting used to the taste of blood in my mouth, since I was relentlessly chewing on my bottom lip, unable to control myself.

  Before third period, which was English class, I desperately scanned the halls for Xandra’s brilliant blue hair. It should have been easy to pick out, but the three hundred other students roaming about complicated matters somewhat. Why wasn’t she trying to seek me out? She’d had all these crazy ideas, after all—shouldn’t she take some responsibility for them? Maybe she was skipping school. Therapy—advocated by her parents, possibly. If so, I wanted them as my parents instead of the unrelenting hardasses I’d gotten. The longer I couldn’t find her, the more anxious I grew. She was the closest thing that I had to a friend right now—yep, the blue-haired anime-club girl who called me the weirdo was as close as it got—and definitely the only person that I could talk to about what had happened.

  The bell sounded, obnoxious and like a fog horn—nothing like the firehouse sort of bell I missed from my old school in New York. My lack of sleep was quickly catching up with me as my wiry English teacher, Mr. Procter, prattled on about Hamlet. The thought of the play made me drowsy, and all I could see was Byron’s smug face in my head. I started to wonder if he had somehow known that we were going to start our new unit today, and paranoid thoughts started to buzz in my head.

  He’d known my name, hadn’t he? Would it have been that much weirder for him to know my class schedule?

  I stared at Mr. Procter’s back with my chin propped in my hand, my elbow resting on my desk. If I didn’t physically hold my head up, I knew it would slam against the plywood desk and my blank notebook page.

  I glanced up at the clock. It was only 10:30 in the morning, and I felt both elated and disgusted about it—disgusted because that meant I still had almost five hours until I could go home and sleep the rest of this awful day away; elated because that meant I still had a long time until I had to deal with the impending backlash from my parents.

  It was a confusing mix of emotions, but not any more confusing than how I felt about the last twenty-four hours in general.

  How was I supposed to fathom it all? Vampires? A stalker?

  Oh, and let’s not forget all the lies I was telling to cover it up. So much for going cold turkey.

  I was blissfully unaware of anything Mr. Procter said, except once when he called on me to answer … something about Hamlet. I made something up. Got it wrong, of course, but all it got me was the shake of his head and some looks from some of my classmates.

  I couldn’t care less about what any of them thought of me at this point. Come tomorrow, they would forget all about me—just like they all had ever since I arrived.

  “Cassie?”

  I blinked and looked back up at Mr. Procter. He was staring at me in a funny way.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You have a delivery.” His bushy eyebrow was quirked up, somewhere between amusement and scorn. I didn’t know him well enough to tell which.

  I glanced at the door. The secretary from the office was standing in the doorway. She was a tall, lean woman, who probably woke up before dawn to go out running. Her hair, always perfectly straight, hung over her shoulders. She gave me a thoroughly inconvenienced look. But what drew my eye, as well as the eye of every one of my classmates, was a bouquet she held of the most exquisite roses I had ever seen. They were all open and full, bright ruby red, the peak of perfection.

  “For … me?” I said dumbly.

  “You are Cassandra Howell, aren’t you?” the secretary asked. That irked me more than her tone—clipped, annoyed, as though I personally had strutted into her office and slapped her off Facebook. I had been in that office at least twice a week since I started school, changing classes and updating my schedule. How could she still not remember me?

  “Cassie, yes,” I said, and got to my feet when the secretary held out the bouquet, almost carelessly, obviously not intending to cross the few feet to bring them to me.

  I forced a s
mile, but I wondered how much it looked like a grimace. I could feel all eyes in the room on me, and the walk from my desk to the door felt like I was walking the entire Great Wall of China.

  “Thanks,” I said, and she pushed the roses into my hands. I had no sooner taken hold of them when she turned and closed the door behind her.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the room and realized that no one was talking. They all were gazing at me. Some were wide-eyed, mostly the people who sat nearest me. A few girls looked annoyed; maybe they were jealous? Mr. Procter, however, stood with his hands across his chest, his notes in one hand, looking expectantly at me.

  “Sorry,” I said lamely, and hurried back to my seat.

  I was sure that my face was as red as the flowers.

  Mr. Procter seemed satisfied once I was seated, and tried, in vain, to draw the class’s attention back to the lesson. He turned back to the board and started to write down some key points for the first few scenes. I tried desperately to ignore the huge blossoms in front of me. The whole bouquet was so large that it didn’t even fit on the top of my desk, and I wondered if I should just set them on the floor. Somehow, though, that felt wrong. I would most likely damage the fragile petals, and they were so pretty, I couldn’t bear to do it.

  I still saw faces stealing glances of my roses out of the corner of my eye. Mostly the girls, probably wondering who in the world was sending the new girl flowers like this.

  Plus, I knew enough about the world to know that deliveries of roses to students was not common in any school, anywhere. The roses were wrapped in a pretty silver-flecked cellophane, and as I adjusted them, allowing the blossoms to hang just over the side of my desk, facing away from the rest of the room, I felt a small tag made of cardstock.

  My heart jumped up into my throat, and I clasped the note in my fingers.

  Dearest Cassandra, I enjoyed our night. Parting was such sweet sorrow. I can’t stop thinking about you and cannot wait until we can be together again—forever.

  All my affections,

  Byron

  My heart dropped like it had been thrown out of an airplane at thirty thousand feet. Cold chills ran down my arms, and I barely controlled a hard shudder.

  I should have known it was him.

  So he really enjoyed making me run for my life, did he? What a sick, twisted … there was no word powerful enough to finish the sentence. My heart thundered in my chest, rumbling in my ears. And for the third time, I wondered—had Xandra been right?

  Idiot. There was no such thing as vampires.

  But what about people with enough strength to nearly punch through a steel door?

  I shuddered.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about me? What on earth did that mean?

  I looked across the room, out of the windows, half expecting to see him leaning on the window sill like a monkey on a branch. Memories from the night before were pressing in on my thoughts, and it took excruciating effort for my tired brain to push them aside.

  Even if he wasn’t staring into the room, how did I know that he wasn’t here, at the school? How did I know that he wouldn’t somehow intercept me before I was able to get on the bus?

  And how did I know that once I got home, and was all alone, he wouldn’t break in?

  I was more grateful to be in a room full of people than I had ever been before in my entire life.

  The last line in his card almost confirmed my fears. He couldn’t wait to be with me?

  Was he freaking kidding?

  Heavy dread settled over me like a dark cloud. My pulse raced, and I suddenly had a hard time not hyperventilating.

  The blessed bell rang and I nearly dove out of my chair and dashed from the room. The bathroom was just down the hall. If I could just make it before the other students got out of their classes and noticed me …

  I heard a gasp from an adjacent classroom, but I kept my head down and my pace quick.

  I slammed the bathroom door open and made a girl fixing her eyeliner in front of the mirror jump.

  She looked from me to the roses, and then tossed her pencil back into her bag and left the bathroom.

  Thank you, random girl. Maybe I looked terrifying.

  I leaned against the sink and forced myself to breathe evenly. I was safe at the school. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to get to me here. There were too many people. And they would know I was missing way faster than if he waited for me to leave.

  I turned the bouquet so I could see every flower, all in full bloom.

  Why did he choose roses? If the handwritten tag hadn’t hinted as much, the roses themselves—a lover’s gift—were a morbidly possessive symbol. And it was so bizarre. They were so attractive, so enticing.

  Much like Byron himself.

  I stroked one of the silky petals. The stark overhead lighting caused the roses themselves to look almost washed out.

  I felt a lump grow in my throat as I stared more intently at the bouquet.

  That was just a shadow, right? I pushed aside a few of the roses in the middle of the bouquet. That little spot of darkness was not … Thick thorns pricked my fingers, but the fear washing over me was too strong for me to really notice.

  Deep inside the cellophane, hidden beneath and between the impeccably chosen, full, perfectly lovely roses, was a single shriveled, small, dead rose—like a secret meant only for me.

  Chapter 7

  My thoughts were slow, gelatinous. Lack of sleep was catching up to me, and my every thought was suspect at this point. Isn’t judgment the first thing to go when you’re tired?

  Xandra. She was the only one who would be able to help me make any sense of any of this.

  Well, if she was here, then at least there’d be two of us with impaired judgment working on this … which probably wasn’t any better.

  But at least she’d be someone to talk to about this before I exploded from bottling all the fear, the tears—everything—up inside.

  She was the only one that I could talk to who would believe me. Was Xandra at school? I had no idea. But I had to find her. I didn’t care if I skipped the rest of my day. I honestly felt like my entire life was at stake. I could handle some discipline from my parents if I missed a few classes.

  At least that was what I told myself.

  I ducked my head out of the bathroom and gazed up and down the hall. This hallway was where all of the juniors had their lockers. I could stuff the roses in my locker and leave them there, and then try and find Xandra.

  Since she was in Math League with me after school, I knew that she was a junior too. So she had to stop here eventually in order to exchange her books for classes.

  I looked up and down the hall. Blue hair, blue hair, blue hair.

  My heart leapt when I saw a blue messy bun, but then realized that it was just the underside of a blonde girl’s head. Not Xandra.

  “What are you doing?”

  I turned so fast that I smacked my cheek against the edge of the door.

  “Whoa, you all right?”

  Hand pressed to what would surely be a bruise, mouth open in a silent groan of pain, I looked up and saw Xandra. A single, perfect eyebrow was arched at me. Her blue hair was in a pair of long, thick braids.

  “Xandra, thank God. Get in here. “And before she could protest, I grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her into the bathroom.

  “What the hell, psycho?” she said. “Did you get a Byron personality transplant?” She squirmed to pull herself free of my grip.

  I let her go when the door closed behind us and brandished the bouquet. She leaned against the wall behind her and folded her arms across her chest.

  Today she wore a pair of grey skinny jeans, a black Coldplay t-shirt, and a black and white plaid flannel shirt tied around her waist. I absently thought that a black beanie would complete the look. Maybe she had one in her locker.

  “You bought me flowers?”

  I nearly threw them at her in exasperation.

  “A
re you kidding me?” I ripped the card out and thrust it at her.

  “Wait … these are from Byron?”

  I nodded.

  She took the card from my trembling fingers and quickly read the words. A faint scowl rolled across her face. “Passive aggressive much?”

  “Who, me or him?” I asked.

  “Him, obviously. Though I won’t rule you out yet either,” she replied, her eyes still on the card.

  “And that’s not all,” I said, and I pulled back the fully bloomed roses to reveal the single dead one hidden among them.

  She appeared to take it the same way I did. Her gaze met mine, and I could see fear plain as day in her pale blue eyes.

  The door to the bathroom swung open and a pretty redhead no older than a freshman walked in, her nose in her phone.

  “Get out,” I said. Forget about making friends right now. I didn’t have time to be nice.

  The girl looked up, startled.

  “But I need to use the—”

  “I don’t care. Use the one down the hall!”

  The girl stared at me with wide eyes, her eyebrows high. “O … kay,” she replied, and slowly turned to leave, texting feverishly as she did so. Probably reporting me to the administration for bullying.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed as the door closed again. Then, turning, I dropped the bouquet of flowers into one of the sinks. A few stray petals fluttered down onto the dirty tile floor. I grimaced at them.

  “So,” Xandra said, breaking the silence. “What do you think it means?”

  “The dead rose? Or the psycho-stalker Hallmark Valentine’s Day card? I have no idea on either. That’s why I was trying to find you. “