Shades of Darkness (12 page)

I wasn't too worried about being quiet—Elisa had long grown used to me shuffling in the dead of night. The familiar whir between my fingers was calming, rhythmic, almost more soothing than the guidance I was seeking.

I'd nearly thrown them out sophomore year. Almost. The idea of being connected to the occult after . . . well, it felt like a dangerous line to walk. But the idea of trashing something my mom had given me caused too much guilt, so the cards stayed.

“What's going on?” I whispered, images floating through my mind to make the question solid: Mandy's smile, cop cars in the snow, Ethan's words ringing like omens:
Someone died.

A card flipped out mid-shuffle, landing on the desk.

“Ten of Swords,” I muttered, staring at the man stabbed by his own blades. Obvious enough—defeat, destruction, death. “Tell me something I didn't know.”

I kept shuffling.

Minutes seemed to drag by. The cards shuffled quietly, none dislodging. I couldn't think of anything else—no other question seemed pertinent. Then, after my eyes began to droop and my shuffling faded, a new image flashed through my mind: Jonathan, standing before our folklore class, a raven on his shoulder.
It was the gods who took the innocent away.

I jerked awake as two cards spilled from my hand, landing on the floor, one crossed over the other.

The bottom was The World, inverted. And above it, The Tower.

“Shit,” I muttered. Chills ran down my neck. I reached down and slid the cards back into the deck, passing it off as an accident. I was too tired to be doing this.

But when I slid into bed and turned off the light, my cards tucked beneath my pillow, all I could see behind my closed eyes were those two cards. The inverted World: a woman twined in fabric, falling upside down. The Tower: a great obelisk destroyed by lightning, figures leaping from its heights. Apart, they were important, almost cosmic—great shifts, catastrophic turns of events. Together, in that combination, they felt like a curse.

The world on fire. The world crumbling like the tower. Everything falling like feathers in the snow, like blood on the tiles.

The gods walk,
something inside me whispered. And hell if it didn't sound like Brad.

Elisa was, unsurprisingly, up before me. She plodded silently to the bathroom, but that slight rustle of covers was enough to wake me. I blinked and rolled over, glaring at the alarm clock on her shelf. Six thirty. I closed my eyes. I really, really didn't want to be awake. I didn't want to face whatever was going to happen today. Surely, we'd have some sort of assembly. Classes would be canceled, and I hated to admit that that would be one of the worst parts of all this—work always helped me get through things. If we just had a day to sit around and think about what happened, I'd go insane.

Ethan found me at breakfast. I was sitting at the far end of the cafeteria, by the windows overlooking the woods and the iced-over lake. The mood of the room was as gray and heavy as the world outside. No one seemed to be talking, and if they were, it was in muted tones. He saw me, saw the look on my face, and immediately slipped into a side of himself I saw only in dire circumstances.

“How are you?” he asked, setting his tray beside mine. There was only a banana and half-filled bowl of oatmeal. Looked like I wasn't the only one without an appetite.

“I . . .” I was about to lie, to say I was okay. But Ethan's eyes were on mine and right then, I didn't want to pretend anymore. Not with him. I'd been pretending with Elisa all morning. “I'm feeling pretty fucked up.”

He gave me a half grin, the sad, consoling sort, and put a hand on my arm.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don't know if I can.”

He nodded like he understood. And maybe he did understand, at least partly. He'd once admitted it took him two years to come out to his parents. Some secrets were hard to hide, and even harder to share. His, at least, had nothing to do with blood or ex-boyfriends.

“Well, I'm here when you're ready,” he said, breaking me from my thoughts of the past. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes. I knew he meant it. I just didn't know if he'd still mean it if I told him the truth.

We ate our breakfast in silence, the cafeteria's mood getting both of us down. Elisa sat beside us a while later. She didn't even bother with the facade of food: She had a mug of coffee and a handful of grapes. I couldn't blame her for losing her usually voracious appetite.

“We're having an assembly at nine,” she said. “Maria told me when I left.”

Ethan and I both sighed, staring down at our plates. There really wasn't anything to say to that. Even when Oliver—usually the bright spot in any conversation—came over and sat down, the mood didn't shift from morose. It felt wrong to even try to be cheery. Mandy had killed herself, and none of us had done anything to prevent it. We hadn't even known there was a problem.
You knew something would happen,
whispered Brad.
But you were too scared to do anything about it.
I shook my head and shoved down his voice and focused on getting what little food I had down. I felt like I was floating, not really there. And everyone else in the cafeteria had the same dissociated air. No laughter, no loud chatter. Everyone moved and spoke like they were in a daydream, one they were terrified of rupturing. Some small part of me hoped I'd wake up to a morning that didn't involve old nightmares and a dead classmate. Brad's whispers told me that wouldn't be the case.

Outside, it began to snow again.

“Do you guys want to go for a walk?” Elisa asked quietly, when it was clear everyone was done picking at their breakfast.

I nodded. There was still an hour before the assembly, and sitting inside seemed like a terrible idea. We stood and left like a funeral procession.

Islington was a nature lover's paradise. You almost had to enjoy nature when you studied here—there wasn't anything else. We didn't walk any of the short trails along the lakeside, though. No time, not with the looming assembly. Instead, we sat on one of the benches by the shore and stared out at the frozen lake. Fishermen's huts dotted the snowy ice, and a line of fir trees on the horizon marked the shore. I'd sat out here so many nights, daydreaming about what went on in those houses: people having dinner or watching TV or fighting. People not worrying about art or college or trying to make their mark on the world. In my imagination, they all had simple, happy lives. Lives my own convoluted mess could never imitate.

The things we didn't talk about far outweighed the things we did. For the most part, we sat in silence, watching a few figures roam the lake and the clouds churn above. Ethan asked Elisa about her play. Elisa asked Oliver about his concert.

We didn't mention Mandy. We didn't wonder aloud why she'd done it or what would happen next. We didn't need to. Those questions perched on our shoulders, heavy and laden with oily feathers and sharp beaks.

For my part, I could barely concentrate on their small talk. Ethan leaned against me on one side and Elisa rested her head on my other shoulder, but I hardly felt them. Their weight felt worlds away, unable to tether me to the Earth. I watched the crows circle above the snow, flecks of black dodging between a sky as pale and solemn as the ice spread out below.

Why are you back?
I wanted to ask. I didn't know if I was asking the birds or Brad, or if it even made any difference.
Why are you following me?

Mandy had killed herself on her own volition. I had barely known her. This had nothing to do with me. So why did it feel like I was the center of all of this, like the crows above were circling around
me
like some cosmic nexus?
I had nothing to do with this,
I wanted to scream.

Only because you did nothing to stop it,
Brad whispered back.
A trait you've gotten quite good at. How long do you think you can run away, Kaira? How long until they find out what you did?

“It's time,” Elisa said, snapping me from my reverie. Her voice seemed swallowed by the lake, her words small and insubstantial.

We slid off the bench and wandered to the black box theatre where the assembly was taking place. It didn't take a genius to figure out why they chose it over the actual auditorium: This was more intimate, a conversation rather than a lecture.

We followed the line of students leaving their dorms up the asphalt drive that led to the performing arts complex. My entire body felt numb as we walked down the hall and into the cozy theatre which, as the name implied, was just one large black box with a row of risers and chairs on three sides. Ethan and Oliver and I sat near the back, while Elisa took a spot up front with Cassie. The place was filling fast.

I closed my eyes. I didn't think I was empathic, but being in large crowds always drained me. It might be part of the reason I gravitated toward painting. Right now, I felt like I was suffocating in other people's muck. I leaned my head against Ethan's shoulder and nearly whimpered when he wrapped his arm around me.

“Is this seat reserved?”

I quirked my eye open.

Chris stood in the aisle, in a green plaid shirt and black jeans, looking down at me a little uncertainly.

“What? No,” I said. Ethan was staying resolutely silent.

Chris gave me a slight smile and sat down. If one could fidget while sitting, he did so. He stared straight ahead, hands clasped in his lap, his foot tapping nervously.

“How are you doing?” I asked. I knew Chris knew Mandy—everyone in the art department knew everyone. It's just how things worked.

“I'm okay,” he said. Definitely a lie. “What about you?”

“Okay,” I replied. I could lie just as well as he could.

He nodded. For some reason, I wanted to apologize for the distance the night of the concert. Pushing people away right now seemed like a bad idea, even if it really was in his best self-interest. I didn't say anything though. Words seemed too difficult.

The theatre filled up silently. Some students and staff were even standing along the walls, since this place wasn't meant for four hundred bodies. If anyone cared about the cramped conditions, they didn't voice it.

Ms. Kenton, our president, stepped into the middle of the stage and the room hushed in a moment. She wore a somber black suit, which just made the room seem even heavier. She was normally full of life and color, putting the rest of us and our faux-hippie attire to shame. Seeing her was like the final hammer.

Mandy was dead.

And we were here to mourn her.

“As many of you know,” she said, her usually strong voice a little weaker, a little shakier, “we lost one of our own last night. A senior, Ms. Mandy Rivers, took her life. This is a dark time for us. Islington is a community, and we here are dedicated to supporting each and every one of you. In light of this, we will have a guidance counselor at hand twenty-four hours a day, should you need to chat. About anything. I myself will have open office hours should you wish to speak with me. We are here for you. For all of you. You are our family, and we grieve as a whole when one of our flock is taken.”

She paused and swallowed.

“I now wish to open the floor to you. I know your hearts are burdened, so let us be here to share that heaviness. If you wish to speak, please stand. It may be about Mandy, fond memories or words you remember, or it may be your own questions for me. Remember: Healing may only occur when one is open to the pain. We are ready. We support you.”

She went silent then and I had a terrible image of no one standing up. Of Ms. Kenton standing there in the dim spotlight, watching us, waiting for someone to share their heart like she shared hers. Then a girl—Laura, another ceramicist—stood in the front row.

“Mandy was my friend,” she said. “She was always so happy, even when she was bogged down with work.” Laura sniffed, and it sounded like a laugh. “I remember, this one time right before finals, she dragged me out of my room to go make snow angels. I nearly got frostbite but she got me hot chocolate from the caf. She always did nice things like that—little notes saying hi, or a flower she found, or a painting she loved. She was so full of love. I just . . . I don't know why. . . .”