Was she dragged down seven flights of stairs (silently) then taken outside?
Maybe they buried her in the woods.
Perhaps she was tossed off the mountain. Or into the lake.
My eyes trace the gray stone walls, the row of dingy sinks, the smudged stained glass windows on the westerly wall, the cobwebs in the corners of the tall black ceiling.
They built this school to look like a Gothic castle. From the administration offices to the dorms, the architecture has sharp towers, cavernous spaces, arched windows, and flying buttresses. Definitely gives off a creepy vibe.
And she stood in this very bathroom.
Taking a deep breath, I push that aside and slide on panties, black joggers, and a baggy sweatshirt. I’m toweling my hair dry when the metal pipes on the back wall clang and growl.
Bang! Grrrrr!
Along with it, a low laugh reverberates—dark and male.
Goose bumps skate over my skin just as the laugh stops with the plumbing. My hands press against my chest as I wait for the sound again, but there’s nothing but drip, drip, drip from the stalls. Several long moments go by as I stand poised, ready to fight or flee.
Pipes can make weird noises.
Looking for my toiletries, I grab my duffle off the wooden bench, and my foot presses on the metal drainage grate in the floor. When it squeaks, I scream.
Jesus!
I should have known better than to shower at midnight, but I couldn’t sleep, turning the encounter in the planetarium over and over in my head. Rune. Ugh.
How did I end up here? I wanted to attend NYU at eighteen, but my uncle refused. Instead, I worked for him and took online classes, always under his watchful gaze. They stayed upstairs and I stayed in the basement.
Then, five months ago, I woke up in a strange bed with no clue how I’d gotten to Crystal Lake Academy.
Someone drugged me then put me on a plane and delivered me. Had Uncle found out about my relationship with Benny? Was this his punishment?
All I knew for sure was that I was in the middle of nowhere.
Could be Canada. Could be Antarctica.
It’s not the Caribbean.
That first day, I walked out of my dorm room in a daze, and a passing student took pity on me and pointed me to the headmaster’s office.
I barely recall Headmaster Kelly’s words as I sat slumped in a chair, although You’re here for a while was clear.
I brush my teeth then stare at myself in the cracked mirror above the sink. My blue eyes have shadows under them, and my lips are thin as if holding banked emotion. Through my clothes, my hipbones are sharp, my collarbone thrusting out of my chest. I’ve lost weight before—and gained it—mostly because it was something in my life I could control, but I’ve never been this emaciated. I’ve been eating. I have. Some. But nothing sticks.
A sharp pain knifes into my stomach just as a hot flash ripples over my skin. I gasp for air. I need my meds, the ones my aunt and uncle gave me daily, but whoever packed my duffle when they kidnapped me didn’t put them in there. Maybe I can talk to the school nurse—
A flash of a shadow appears behind me in the mirror, and I whip around as fear grips my chest.
“Who’s there?” I yelp.
Fumbling around on the sink, I grab my glasses and shove them on.
Silence greets me. An empty room. What the hell? This shit is too real.
I dash out the door, holding out my toothbrush. Mental note: whittle it into a shiv ASAP. Hitching my duffle over my shoulders, I run down the hall then up two flights of stairs to the ninth floor. I’m panting as I open the creaking door that leads to my hall.
“Late night?” a deep voice asks, and I reel back from the man who’s appeared out of nowhere.
Even outside of class, he’s wearing tailored slacks and a thick, cream fisherman sweater that looks posher than anything I’ve ever owned. Leather loafers are on his feet, buffed to a fine sheen.
“P-Professor Wells. What are you doing in the girls’ dorm?”
A handsome man with soft sandy-blond hair, he lowers his head to consider me, capturing me with piercing pale blue eyes, otherworldly, eerie eyes—
Stop.
Not freaky.
But, come on. After I saw sparks in Rune’s eyes?
“Good evening, Miss Anderson. Tsk, tsk, curfew was at midnight. Do I need to write you up?”
I’ve heard about detention. It’s a stone cell in the basement with no furnishings or heat. The Hole.
“I-I was just getting a shower.”
Several moments pass as neither of us speak, and I feel color deepening on my face. Something about him gives me the shivers. I can’t decide if they’re good or bad.
He gives me a half-smile. “Forgive me for scaring you.” His hand indicates my damp hair. “Don’t make it a habit though. It’s not safe after midnight.”
You think? I recall the maybe-laugh and maybe-shadow in the bathroom then wonder if it was him. Impossible. The community bathroom is two floors below, and there’s no way he had time to get up here.
“Like Samantha Greene?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
So, it isn’t just a ghost story. She really did disappear.
“Have other people disappeared from Crystal Lake?”
He shrugs noncommittally. “Students come and they go.”
I lick my lips, my curiosity winning over my anxiety as I repeat my earlier question. “What are you doing on this floor?”
He touches the curve of my cheek, a brief caress, and I freeze, a deer in the headlights.
“Academy business, my dear. No more late showers, yes?” He delivers the words with a silkiness that makes my stomach twist with something hot and sweet.
I haven’t been here long enough to figure him out. Even though the female students gush over him, he never flirts with them. In fact, he brushes them off rather rudely when they ask to grab his coffee or clean his room—and he touched me, so is he being flirty, or am I imagining things?
The truth is, I wonder if I imagine a lot of things. Like Rune trying to hypnotize me. Was that real? What about the night I thought I saw a giant wolf through the trees? Or the time I swore Professor Wells walked out of his office and smiled at me—with sharp canines.
No. None of this is real. It’s panic disorder or severe anxiety. I’m grateful to be away from my aunt and uncle, and you’d think I’d be over the moon, but my head is so muddled that I can’t seem to make sense of anything. Maybe it’s PTSD. Maybe I’m imagining all of this and I’m really in a padded room.
God. I miss Benny. I met him on a walk through my neighborhood and we carried on a secret romance.
“Good night,” Professor Wells says and moves off the wall in a smooth, lethal way that hints that he might have some tiger in him.
“Not strange at all,” I mutter as I reach my door, unlock it, and dash inside. I double, then triple-check the deadbolt as I wilt against the wood.
My roommate, Tera-Kate, isn’t in her bed. A tall, narrow-eyed Texas beauty, she’s part of the popular crowd. My first day in the cafeteria, I asked if I could sit with her, and she raked her eyes over me said, No, and don’t ask again.
My train of thought stops when I see a red envelope on my bed. I dash to it, nearly stumbling in my relief. Benny! We aren’t allowed cell phones or internet here. This school forces you to do everything the hard way: letter writing to keep in touch with friends and family, books instead of the internet for your studies. My breath catches as tears threaten. I miss his arms around me, his soothing voice, his hazel eyes. In the beginning of my stay here, I wrote upbeat letters to him—I love you and I’ll see you soon—but when he never wrote back, my words turned bitter. This place is driving me crazy. Why are you ignoring me? What did I do? Please write back!