The Cult of Romeo

VI. Thank you, Elijah Lawson

He was headache-inducing, incredibly annoying and sometimes outright rude, but nice. Too nice to ignore, and too caring to leave him out of conversations

"Freya," he smiled as his head bobbed above the crowd, the bright white of his bleached hair made him stand out, even with the out-grown brown roots. "I'm glad you're here. You need to do another fitting for your Lady Macbeth costume from last year."

Freya sighed, the sound low and annoyance laced with it.

When Jude stopped beside our seats he gave Julien and me a large grin. "Oh, Charlie. I don't suppose you'd like to play the witch again?"

I rose my hands into the air, leaning forward with a grimace. "By the pricking of my thumbs. Something wicked this way comes." Then, I collapsed against my seat. "No way, Jude. I hated that ugly dress, and it smelt of that sticky fake blood."

"That's only because Julien was Banquo and after his scenes drenched in fake blood, he insisted on hugging you," Jude protested. I gagged while my cousin laughed loudly, tipping his head back. "I promise, it doesn't normally smell like that."

Before I responded, D'Angelo's voice interrupted angrily as he yelled at a first-year on the stage.

"He seems more stressed lately," Freya commented.

"Yeah, he does," Julien jumped to agree. D'Angelo had always walked that thin line between extremely happy with our performances and dangerously grumpy. He was mostly disappointed, with a deep line between his furrowed brows as he shouted. Striving for perfection with his beady blue eyes peering from his skull and a notebook in hand always.

"A lot of reporters are probably hounding him for the show. Do you think he feels guilty?" Julien continued.

I didn't think he felt guilty, but he was definitely stressed. He wanted to show the world that he was more than just the director whose actor died on stage. He wanted to be West End worthy.

For a second, we all stood and watched as he reprimanded children on the stage. Quietly observing as the light bounced against his tanned skin and hands raised to paint dark shadows on the wall behind him.

In those shadows, slunk into the corner with his head down and back straight, was Mr Donahue. He looked a little worse for wear this morning and something told me it wasn't just because of the early hour.

When I looked at his large hands, I could still imagine Jackie's blood dripping from his fingertips. I still saw the horror in his eyes and felt his pleading vibrating through my bones. As people danced through the spotlight it cast even darker shadows on his brown skin that seemed eery on his hard features.

"So will you come with me for fittings, Freya?" Jude sighed, breaking the air of concentration that we all felt. He often forgot to read the room.

"Yeah," Freya stood slowly, her long limbs stretching as she fell into step with Jude and they left.

"She's perfect," Julien sighed from beside me. "So perfect."

I rolled my eyes. "Last night somebody left me a note under my dorm door that said to meet them in the kitchen at midnight. When I went, there was another note left there for me. It said 'these violent delights have violent ends'. Then, on the back was a picture of Khaleel and me talking. It was taken from a distance, as though somebody was looking in on us and our faces were crossed out with red ink."

"Khaleel Rahim?" He shook his head. "The new kid? Why the new kid?"

"Shut up," I reprimanded. "I'm trying to explain, so let me. Khaleel thought that I could help him solve this whole thing since I knew Elijah. Then, we chased a hooded figure in the library that led us to Jackie's body-"