Shades of Darkness (11 page)

He took a deep, shaky breath.

“Someone's dead.” He looked at the floor while he said it.

My phone clattered to the table. Inside my head, I heard the raven caw.

Neither Ethan nor I spoke the entire ride home. We'd paid Veronica and left her the rest as a tip—we were out the door before she even had time to count the change. The entire ride back, all I could think was,
Not Elisa, not Elisa, please not Elisa.
I'd tried calling her cell phone, but whether it was shitty backwoods reception or her not being by her phone or worse, she never picked up. My stomach was acid; I nearly screamed at Ethan to drive faster, but kept the frustration in check.

Is that what this was about?
I whispered inside my head. Munin didn't answer. The silence was deeper than death. I felt like I was on the other side of a tidal wave, the calm emptiness following the executioner's ax. Even though I still had no clue what was going on, a part of me knew this was the worst. And, horrible as it made me feel to think it, the worst was over.

For now.

Campus was swarming with cops when we arrived, their lights cutting through the snow in scratches of red and blue on white. It felt like rolling into a dream, only I knew I wouldn't wake up when it was over. I watched the lights shift with morbid fascination as Ethan pulled to a stop outside my dorm. It wasn't until he spoke that I realized I was, in fact, still there in my body and needing to act.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” he asked.

“Of course. Likewise.”

I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before running inside.

I guess I expected chaos—after all, isn't that what we're taught to expect? Sobbing friends, cops demanding order while a white-clothed body is rolled out, a familiar hand slipping from obscurity? But there wasn't anyone milling about in the foyer or lounge area. Everything was empty, silent, save for the distant sound of crying and the lone figure at the desk.

“Kaira,” Maria said, standing like she was going to say something else. The words seemed to get stuck behind her lips; we stared at each other for a long moment.

“Who was it?” I asked, my voice rough. I didn't mean for it to sound so harsh, so clinical—Islington was a small school, barely topping four hundred students, so there was no way this wouldn't be personal.
Please not Elisa.

Maria walked around the desk and gave me a hug without saying a word. My heart dropped.

“Mandy,” she finally said. She hugged me tighter. “I'm so sorry.”

My breath caught in my lungs. How was that possible? I knew Mandy, vaguely. She was a ceramicist. And yeah, she kept to herself most of the time, but I'd never had any warning signs with her; isolation was just the nature of being in the ceramics studio.

“What happened?”

“We don't know yet. They're releasing more information later tonight. For now, it's mandatory sign-in. You should get up to your room—Elisa's already up there.”

•  •  •

Elisa was sitting on her bed with her knees curled to her chest when I opened the door. She looked a little shell-shocked, but I'd seen her in far worse states.

“Hey,” she said. She slipped from the bed and wrapped me in a tight hug. “You okay?”

I nodded.

“Yeah, I think so. I mean . . . did they tell you what happened?”

“Just that Mandy killed herself,” she replied. She took a half step back and looked me in the eyes. “You're sure you're okay? I mean, were you guys close?”

“I knew her. Last I saw she was preparing her thesis for tomorrow.”

Hell, I'd spent a few minutes with her this weekend in the ceramics studio. Her project was one hundred ceramic origami cranes. She joked that it was the most frustrating meditation ever: folding pieces of paper into cranes, dipping them in slip (a sort of runny clay mixture), drying them, and then praying the shape held when firing in the kiln. She'd been working on it for the better part of a month.

“It doesn't make sense,” Elisa said. “She was in my physics class. She didn't seem like the sort to take her own life.”

“Maybe she was just good at hiding the stress,” I muttered. Elisa and I had shared mostly everything, but this still wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with her. With anyone, really. It struck too close to home. “What with her thesis and colleges and other work . . . who knows what sort of pressure she was under?”

There was a look in Elisa's eyes that made me uncomfortable. Like she was examining more than my words. Damned actors and their damned training—she could analyze me better than anyone I'd ever met, often because I gave myself away with the flick of a finger or dart of an eye. Thankfully, she had tact with her observations. I had a feeling that if Ethan had her skill, he and I wouldn't be friends.

“Please tell me that if you ever get that stressed, you'll talk to someone, okay?” Her words were quiet and serious and somehow incredibly tender. “Even if it's not me. I don't want to lose you.”

Walls shifted inside of me. A crack in the barriers I'd built up over the last two years.

Back in the bathroom, everything orange and white and red and black, colors seeping into shadow, fluids draining into air. Pain fading into nothing. Ravens shifting from shadows . . .

Elisa's grip tightened, and our dorm room came into focus. Not without consequence—there were tears in the corners of my eyes and a shake building inside of me I couldn't force down.

“Please,” she said. “Promise me?”

I tried to still my jaw and keep my words from trembling. I didn't trust myself. I could only nod and hope that she thought I was emotional because of Mandy. She pulled me in for another hug. The fissure in my composure cracked deeper. I squeezed her tight and carefully rewrapped the wounds that scratched their way to light. Now was not the time. Now was
definitely
not the time.

This moment was about Mandy.

Not me.

I opened my eyes and looked over Elisa's shoulder. There, on the windowsill, silhouetted in lamplight, was a crow. He cocked his head when my eyes met his. Then, before I could blink, he flapped and disappeared in a fluff of snow.

•  •  •

A few hours and one terrible movie later, Elisa curled under her covers and fell asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. For that, I was a little jealous. I had a feeling tonight wouldn't be a night of restful sleep.

It was nearly ten. Supposedly lights-out, but no one was coming around to enforce it.

I turned from Elisa's bed and stared out our window, both hoping and dreading to see the crow again. The woods beyond were dark, lit only by a single streetlamp a few yards away. The light wavered in the snow, glittering against branches and falling like confetti in some silent celebration. I couldn't begin to count how many nights I'd sat here for hours after lights-out, watching the trees sway and the darkness change shape.

And then, as expected, a shadow flew across the window. I followed its arc to where it alighted in a nearby fir. I couldn't see it, swathed in shades of darkness, but I knew what it was. A raven. Sitting on the branches of a fir tree. Watching me as I tried to find it.

I felt like I should say something, some prayer for Mandy's peaceful transition. But as I watched the shadows shift, I knew the wish was unnecessary. Mandy was gone. Prayers for the dead were never really meant for the dead—they were meant for the ones left behind.

I was used to being left behind. I didn't need any more praying in that department.

Is this why you've been following me?
I wanted to ask. But I didn't want the answer; Munin didn't show up for something this simple. He was an omen reserved for more . . . apocalyptic . . . events. I'd learned that one firsthand, and two days too late.
So what are you trying to tell me?

The raven said nothing. Just like last time.

Finally, after a few more minutes of staring at shadows and convincing myself I wasn't going insane, I pushed myself from the bed and ducked into the bathroom.

I didn't turn on the light when I locked the door behind me; I knew the corners of this place like the curves of my own body. I slid out of my clothes and turned on the shower, pushed the heat to almost-scalding. Then, in the pitch blackness, I stepped under the spray. In here, I could pretend I was anywhere else. The darkness could be a cave, the cosmos, the water some magical liquid washing me clean inside and out. I slid to the wall of the shower, sinking down to rest on the floor of the cubicle. And it was then I let the last week crash in. It was too much, all too much. Mandy's death. Memories of blood in the bathroom. Even Chris's presence, touching on wounds I didn't want to feel. Too many wounds. Too many aches. Too many reasons I shouldn't even be here. I pressed my palms to my eyes and prayed into the spray,
wash me clean, wash me clean
. But I knew I couldn't get clean, couldn't run fast enough—nothing would cleanse me, not the water or my tears. I didn't deserve to be clean, to mourn. Mandy was dead. Dead. And even though I'd heard Munin's warnings, I hadn't known enough to stop it.

Cold wrapped around me in spite of the burning heat. The darkness wasn't a comfort. Not now. I wrapped my arms around my knees and pulled them close to my chest. I felt Brad behind me, wrapping his arms around me, kissing the back of my neck. Whispering that it should have been me.

•  •  •

After the shower I felt empty, but that was better than the alternative. I didn't look in the mirror after drying off. I didn't want to see Brad there, staring back. My moment of weakness was over. Now wasn't about me. Now I would focus on Mandy and those who knew her. My phone blinked with a dozen texts from Ethan and Oliver, all asking if I was okay, though Ethan's escalated from
Are you okay
to
Please tell me you're not dead
to
if you are dead, please don't text back, I don't want to behead a zombie-kaira
to
holy shit if you don't text back I'm going to sneak from my dorm room and find you and you know I live on the second story and can't climb. My paralysis is on your shoulders
.

I sent him a text first.
I'm fine. And I hope you're not in the bushes outside Rembrandt with a broken spine
.

A second later he texted back.
Moderate paralysis. I expect cookies.

I chuckled softly, careful not to wake Elisa. The room was lit by my little desk lamp, and I settled onto my papasan chair with a blanket over my legs. For some reason, Ethan's humor didn't feel sacrilegious or an affront to Mandy's memory. It was a reminder that my support network was still there, that life was still moving forward.

Despite what Brad had told me years ago, there were people who cared.

Oliver's texts were much more his calming style:
I heard about Mandy. I hope you're okay.
and
Call if you need anything. Any time.

I thanked him, then set my phone to silent and leaned back, staring at my cluttered desk and wondering what to do with this insomnia. I didn't want to sleep. Even with Mom's crystal, I didn't want to risk the shadows.

Mason jars with charcoal sticks and colored pencils and fine-tip markers lined one corner of the desk, while a stack of papers and folders was piled haphazardly in the other. My bulletin board was covered in snippets of paintings and inspirational quotes, pressed leaves and feathers, and a few photo-kiosk strips of Ethan and me at the mall.

I sighed and tore my eyes away. There was no way I was going to try to do work tonight, so I quietly slid out the drawer under my bed and grabbed a tiny cloth bundle. My Tarot deck.

The cards were warm and soft as I slid them from the bag. Four years of nearly constant use had worn the edges smooth and the cardstock supple, almost velveteen. The deck was the traditional Rider-Waite, with the primary-color images and geometric sky-blue card backs. Not my favorite style of art, but there was something to be said for the simplicity, the easy symbolism. It had been a gift from my mom the first day of freshman year.
Because the gods know a young girl needs more guidance than her mother can give.
Those had been her words when she handed it over, and a similar quote was written on a tiny notecard inside the bag, her handwriting perfect and looping in black ink. I envied my mother many things, but her handwriting was among the top.