Act 1, Scene 1
I clutched the telephone to my ear and listened to my father's gravelly voice as it travelled across the line. As he had personally requested my presence, I was whisked away by the headmistress, Mrs Hawthorne to her office.
Being in this room left me uneasy. My father's phone call paired with the fact that I had only been here once before, sent my stomach in knots. The last time I'd seen the place was before I was even an official Burton Abbey student. I was eight years old and here to collect my trophy as the winner of the Junior Arts Competition when my mum convinced me to play a piece on the violin. Though I hated every moment on stage and hated every moment of receiving the award and hated every moment of coming to collect it in this stuffy and claustrophobic office; it was worth it to see the look on my big brother's face.
"If I'm entirely honest, Charlotte, I'm not sure if we can even trust that godforsaken school any longer," Dad ranted. I was sure a deep frown was painted on his lips by now. "A boy is dead! Do you hear me? A boy, your age, Julien's age, is dead!"
I stood next to the window and watched as the bare trees danced in the wind, back and forth melodically along to the beat of my heart. Mrs Hawthorne was on her office chair and her big brown eyes peered at me curiously, just trying to catch at least a sentence of my father's words.
My back was turned and so Mrs Hawthorne assumed I couldn't see her, but I could. In the reflection of the office window, as clear as day, I watched my headmistress practically crawling across her desk just to listen to my conversation.
"So, they tell me you're a suspect," my father continued. He seemed suspicious of my involvement and I was grateful for it. While my father and I didn't get along quite as well as you'd imagine from how our family was portrayed, I didn't hate him. In ways, though I didn't like to admit it, we were similar.
"I didn't do it," I snapped. "They only say that because I made the props."
He sighed, dragging it along so that it sounded like a brush of wind against my ear. "Burton Abbey is said to have the best school drama department in the whole of Britain, and that is why we allowed you to join the theatre club, yes? However, as it's almost your last year in the school, I feel obligated to tell you that your uncle Arthur and I are paying for your and Julien's tuition for you both to prance around on stage, and for what? Will you go into theatre professionally, Charlotte? Are you and your cousin planning on joining the circus, is that it, my dear?"
His words were bitter and I bit my tongue.
"We pay for you to piss about with your friends and then suddenly one of your friends dies and I begin to wonder whether any of this is worth it? I can't have you showing up like that boy. Do I make myself clear? Are you listening?"
"Yes, Dad," I confirmed. "I understand but respectively disagree. We don't mess around, Julien and I really enjoy the drama club and take it very seriously, everyone does. You said it yourself, it's the best drama department in Britain. That's worth something. Nothing will happen to me, this was just a one-time occurrence. It could just have been an accident."
"At any sign of something not going our way, I'll be driving all the way to Burton Abbey and dragging you back home by your hair if I have to," my father declared. While I was sure there was no need for the dramatics, there was no doubt in my mind that he wouldn't go through with it.
He had never been the most welcoming of men, with his tough exterior and a personality that matched well. He wasn't the devil-may-care type. In fact, he was probably nicer to strangers because he didn't expect anything from them. He, however, expected the whole world from me, my brother, and my mother. Except, my brother had left and my mother divorced him, so it was really only me now.
"I can agree to that," I mumbled. He always had a way of making me feel small, as though I had to watch every word I said and how I moved. When I was a little girl, it was so much different. Back then, he would lift me onto his shoulders with a deep rumble of laughter and clutch my ankles tightly as he swayed back and forth. He made me feel invincible, I wanted to be just like him.
"Very good." I imagined him nodding his head up and down like a spring in agreement, happy that I obliged. "Be safe, be good. I'll see you at Christmas."
"Bye, Dad."
"Farewell, Charlotte."
I pressed the telephone back onto the hook and as the harsh bang echoed around the room, Mrs Hawthorne jumped back into her chair with a thud.
"If you need to talk, I'm here, Miss Monet," my headmistress smiled. I found it odd how her thick lips pulled into a plastered smile, as though it had been cut into her face. It didn't reach her eyes, though. In fact, it didn't come close and that disturbed me. "People have been letting me know how close you and Elijah were. Courting, some say."
I almost choked at the assumption but immediately hardened at the sight of the desperation in her features. It was a look laced with morbid excitement. While being headmistress of a prestigious boarding school was impressive, I doubted much of worth happened. Now, however, she had a murder case on her hands, something to fill her empty nights with contemplating and I resented her for taking advantage of this.
I detested the idea of this middle-aged woman taking the death of Elijah Lawson and attempting to solve his murder as though he were merely a character in an old crime novel to read before bed.
"If you wanted to talk to a counsellor too, I could set that up for you. Bereavement is a painful process so just say the word-"
"No, thank you, Mrs Hawthorne," I declined as politely as I could. "I'm not grieving."
Then, I walked out of the office, holding my breath tightly so that my whole body tensed.
I'd felt grief before and what was happening deep in my gut for Elijah now, was not that. Not only did I not deserve to grieve over Elijah, but I was too numb to be too heartbroken. Besides, I barely knew him. I imagined what his parents must have been going through and what I felt was nothing compared.
To me, he was the handsome boy in the theatre club. He was the funny one, the kind one, the respectful one. The one who sometimes, only sometimes, managed a rare smile to pull at my lips when we snuck behind after the usual rehearsals.
He was just Elijah Lawson and that's all I could say.
It may not have been grief but I harboured some sort of feelings. I chalked it up to resentment though. Not towards him - nobody could hate him. It was for that final look he'd given me. The one filled with the universe, but I couldn't read it.
That one look made me want to discover it all. The sound of his wheezing and the way his pouty lips turned blue made me want to find out how he'd ended up like that and whose fault it really was. I wanted justice and closure and to see his shy smile one more time.
But, it wasn't grief. It was curiosity. Besides, I wouldn't act on it. I knew I had to stay out of that whole thing because already, I was suspicious.
The police had told me so last night. After they took Elijah's body out in a bag, they questioned me right there backstage. Only briefly, of course, but I knew they were wary of me due to my connection to the props.
Elijah had drunk from the bottle of the pretend poison which had peanut oil around the top. Apparently, he was severely allergic to nuts and nobody had thought about his EpiPen that was tucked away backstage in the depths of his school bag. Well, why would they? He was performing after all. The leading man with only a few minutes left on stage and was struck down.
I stepped out of Mrs Hawthorne's office with a deep breath and as the air filled my lungs, my heart slowed. The school was buzzing with this distinct sort of energy that belonged only to Burton Abbey. It was early, early enough that the sky still looked like a blank canvas of colours that intertwined beautifully, and the students were barely awake but dragging themselves to the song of the birds. It was this atmosphere, when everything was so quiet yet so deafeningly loud, that made Burton Abbey a difficult place to leave.
I spotted Julien waiting for me on the cobbled path and we fell into step together. "You good?" He asked.
Today, he had a navy beanie atop his head, hiding the unruly mess his brown hair had become. My cousin had a girlish sort of face. Pretty and soft and features that reminded me of a feline. Large hazel eyes, a button nose and high cheekbones. He seemed almost fragile in the way his eyebrows downturned and it made him easily approachable.
I frowned at the group of people who lined outside of the school hall, too much confidence for so early.
"What's this?" I asked Julien.
"Assembly," he rolled his eyes. "Probably about Elijah."
It made me feel sick. I didn't want to talk about Elijah anymore than I already had. I didn't want to see his pictures and think of the faraway look in his eyes. I was kind of sick of it all.
"I'm going back to my dorm to sleep," I said.
Julien nodded. "Enjoy."
I watched him jog to catch up with a group of his other friends before turning to make my way to the girl dorms. I weaved my way through students who threw me either sympathetic smiles or sharp glares. Some thought I was a grief-stricken widow while others saw me as a murderer and the divide was clear within the student body today. I'd taken the day off yesterday which didn't help my case for either side, either too sad to carry on or too guilty to show my face, they had presumed.
I was neither, though. If anyone was heartbroken, it was Jackie. Good Jackie Keller who'd broken up with her boyfriend only for him to die a few weeks later. Some might have seen her as a killer too. It really could have been anyone.
I didn't want to think about it anymore, though. I walked gloomily past the rows of dorm doors, dragging my feet.
"There's an assembly," a voice called to me.
I carefully turned my head to see Nora Takahashi, clad in her signature brown corduroy jacket that looked far too big and far too old. She leant against her shut doorway with a sharp eyebrow raised.
"I'm not going," I replied. At my answer, I saw her eyes widen and witnessed the excitement swirl dangerously.
Nora Takahashi was one of the people I actively ignored in school. It wasn't because she was a horrible person - I barely knew her. It was because Nora was the school journalist and took the job very seriously. She had a knack for uncovering stories that were none of her business and pissing off everybody she spoke to.
She used to be quiet. Nora was once the type of kid who sulked in the back of the classroom and never dared to open her mouth. She wasn't much of a journalist back then, writing pieces about the culture of her half Filipino, half Japanese background, but nobody cared much for it which was a shame. They buried her stories at the back of the school newspaper, under mountains of nonsensical gossip and one day, she'd had enough.
She came back to Burton Abbey after the summer holidays with dark red hair, sharp eyeliner and a passion for journalism that refused to be ignored. Her new stories were in-depth and philosophical, exploiting people with dark secrets but always writing eloquently.
"Why not? The assembly is for Elijah, you know." Nora stood straight and smiled sweetly.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and instead made sure to think over my words not to trip up and have them plastered over the school newspaper tomorrow.
"Why aren't you at the assembly, then?"
Her eyes, coated in eyeliner that gave her face a depth I otherwise wouldn't have noticed, flashed with emotion.
"Nora, come on." She was interrupted by Jackie Keller who looked like a fresh breeze on a summer's day with her shiny blonde hair and perfectly rosy cheeks.
I never knew they were friends. It was an odd pairing.
"Hello, Charlie," Jackie waved shyly.
I nodded my head with my lips pulled into a straight line.
"Jackie lost her blazer, she's borrowing one of mine for the assembly. They won't let her inside without a proper uniform," Nora explained and Jackie's cheeks blossomed with scarlet.
"I'm not sure why I'm so all over the place this term," the blonde shrugged, kicking the carpet beneath her feet. "If you see it, you'll let me know? It's just a regular girl's blazer but the buttons are sewn in with golden thread."
Jackie's voice was soft but shaky, as she looked and sounded on the edge of tears. It wasn't just today, though. Every time I had spoken to the girl, she seemed close to sobbing and every word was vulnerable and quivering.
The pair continued walking closer and closer to me. Jackie brought with her a breeze of lavender that sparked nostalgia and calmness in my mind, I stopped myself from reaching out.
"Are you walking with us?" She asked, wringing her fingers anxiously.
I knew she was just being nice and wanted more than to see me walk away. Even before I got involved with Elijah, we weren't friends. But at least then we were civil. When he was alive, she'd send me tight-lipped smiles and her friends ignored me. Now, I sensed from her tense body language that she was uncomfortable with even the sight of me.
"I have a headache so I'll miss out on this one. See you later, though." Then, I turned down the corridor and fled from their heavy gazes that burned holes into my back.
X X X
A week ago, the school confiscated my kettle. It was a shame, really, since the only thing that helped me sleep was tea. Still, it didn't stop me from finding one in the school kitchen, hidden under other equipment that they didn't bother using or giving away.
I really needed the hot beverage as I'd slept through the whole day and now it was well past midnight. Mum had tried to explain to Hawthorne that I was responsible, that I needed the kettle, that I had issues with sleep but she didn't buy it. The school had a policy and apparently, kettles were very much against it.
I got up carefully and realised I was still in my uniform. Instead of changing, I pulled a sweatshirt over my head, grabbed my stuff to make tea and headed out into the corridors. This wasn't the first time that I'd snuck out but it was definitely the only time I'd snuck out for something so simple.
I squinted against the darkness and placed my hands along the wall to find my way easier. It was probably three am by now, the witching hour. Once, Julien and I snuck out of the school to attend a concert in the town. As we stumbled our way back to our respective dorms, he'd told me stories about the children who'd passed away at Burton Abbey's rooms who now returned as ghosts with vengeance. Tales of murder and suicide and accidents. None of it seemed real back then.
I saw stories of the past in the school but they only ever felt like stories. Like a book, I'd picked up and skimmed through. They never looked like real people, and their situations never seemed like real situations. But, that was before Elijah died.
Now, I almost wished to turn a corner and see him slunk back against a wall with puffed-out cheeks and shy eyes. But, I didn't believe in ghosts and knew I was most definitely alone. Would troubled teens of the future walk these halls and talk about Elijah as though he weren't real? Would they see his picture and write it off as a ghost story like I had when Julien told me tales of the other unfortunate souls?
It didn't take long to get to the kitchen which was not locked, thankfully. I wasn't sure what I would have done had it been. Straight away, I went to the kettle, filled it with water and left it to boil.
As I waited for the water to warm, I noticed movement from behind me as it reflected against the metal kettle. A split second of a head as it popped around the door before it disappeared and peered through again every so often.
I tricked myself into believing that maybe it could have been one of the many ghosts that wandered the halls but when the breathing was obnoxiously loud, I broke from the daze.
"You should just come and say hello instead of creeping," I called out loudly, before turning to face the door.
Slowly, the person revealed himself with a sheepish smile. He was miles taller than me with wild brown eyes and dishevelled black hair. His shoes were filthy and he'd obviously taken a stroll around the school grounds. I didn't recognise him.
"You shouldn't creep up on girls in the night," I reprimanded.
"You're right," the stranger answered. "I'm sorry"
He reached a hand up to smoothen out his curls and my head fell to the side as I observed him.
"Would you like tea?" I asked.
"Sure," he smiled.
"So, why were you creeping?" I queried and retrieved another mug.
He gave a half-smile, dimpled and lopsided, before letting out a long sigh and dropping an old leather-bound notebook onto the counter.
"I saw you run down here and I followed you," he shrugged.
"You assumed I was dragging a body to the river, right?" I rolled my eyes.
"Of course not, I knew you wouldn't-"
"You don't even know me," I interrupted as the kettle finished boiling.
"I know you're Charlotte," he grinned.
"Charlie," I corrected. "I go by Charlie. Sugar?"
"Two, please." I placed the sugar in our cups and then the tea bags.
"Well, I didn't mean any harm," he mumbled.
"Don't make me laugh as I'm pouring hot water," I deadpanned.
He huffed, "I'm Khaleel, by the way. Khaleel Rahim. I moved here this term."
I backed away carefully to the fridge. Khaleel Rahim, I recognised the name. He was handsome, I'd give him that. Perfectly soft hair and light brown skin.
"New kid?" I whistled lowly. "That sucks."
"I'm a writer," he explained. "Well, I want to be one, I mean. I'm just struggling with the biggest writer's block in the history of writer's block right now and reading that story that Nora put in the school paper sort of inspired me."
"The story about a boy who died, you mean? A real-life death of a kid inspired you to write about death?"
"You're very cynical, you know that Charlotte?" He shot back.
I scoffed and took the milk out of the fridge, wanting nothing more than to get back to my room and away from Khaleel as soon as I could.
"So, what? You're going to solve it now?" I provoked.
"Yes?"
I poured the milk in silence, not wanting to comment further.
"You can help," he then added and I sucked on my teeth to hold back any rude comments.
"You're crazy," I deadpanned while discarding the tea bags into the bin. "I'm already a suspect."
"But you knew Elijah. You can help me," Khaleel argued.
I stirred the tea, trying my best not to get too aggressive and spill it.
I pushed the cup over to Khaleel with a tight-lipped smile.
"I won't do it. I can't."
Then, I left with my tea in hand and half-moon marks on my palms from where my nails dug into the skin.