Act 1, Scene 7
Francis Zhao was an interesting sort of handsome. His face was cut sharp and eyes winged with disinterest. Nothing about him seemed casual, from his cold pale complexion to the way his lips set firmly to a look of indifference and as his dark hair fell straight and unruly, even that looked planned.
He stood tall, towering over me and exuviating authority. When he walked, he strutted. When he talked, it boomed. When he breathed, it was deep.
Like Beatrix was the beautiful damsel in distress, Freya the undeniable seductress and Elijah the handsome lead; Francis always played the cut-throat villain within our productions. Claudius in Hamlet and Tybalt in Romeo and Juliet.
I'd gawked too many times at his dominating figure to think that Francis Zhao was anything but a boy crafted perfectly and belonging with the statues of the gods in Greece. He was too perfect, even for Burton Abbey. They didn't make boys like him where I grew up and so I didn't stare for my own desire, but instead with fascination.
He was elegant, yet sharp. Unpredictable, yet calculated. And, ruthlessly beautiful.
"My dad always said that he hated the press and I never understood it until I met Nora Takahashi," he commented quietly and rubbed his temple. When he wasn't on stage, Francis was quiet, agile but quick. It was difficult to explain how even the wave of his wrist seemed calculated and forcefully elegant. And a beauty simmered under the danger that fascinated me.
"Her articles are so...awful. She's exploiting the whole situation," he frowned.
I nodded, agreeing instantly. Even Beatrix thought that what she had been writing lately had gone too far and she was all for creative expression.
"But then again, my dad's an arsehole and hates everyone," Francis commented bitterly.
"Even you?" I questioned lowly. I'd heard of Francis' father before. He was a cold and devious man. My father hated him. When first arriving at the school, Julien's father and mine had warned us very clearly about other students and Francis Zhao was one of them. He wasn't anything like how they described his father though.
"Especially me," he chuckled bitterly. "He's a dick. Cheated on my mum before I was even born."
I bit my lip, not good with emotions.
"Then, he married his mistress and chose her and her kid over us. It's alright, though. Whenever I get worked up about it, I remember that my mum took all his stuff from her house and set it aflame in the garden. Then, she kept his dog and told him to fuck off."
"Your mum sounds very cool," I nodded.
"She died last year."
"Oh, I'm sorry." I pinched the skin of my thigh, punishing myself for asking a question that brought that frown to his lips. I could hear as people began to leave the theatre when the morning bell rang in the distance. "Are you going to the party tonight?"
"Yes," he clipped.
"I'll see you, then."
Francis nodded hesitantly, grabbed his bag and left. Only then did I release a prolonged sigh.
I wondered if Khaleel was still here and whether he was waiting for me at the stage to conduct my 'magic'. The thought made me shudder but I knew I had to if he was there waiting.
I left a few more seconds pass to make sure the silence met my senses. My body slunk back comfortably as the buzzing quiet crawled down my ears and I shook off any thoughts until I absolutely had to get moving. Just as I had wondered, Khaleel was waiting on the stage for me.
With his legs swung at the edge of the stage, he leaned back onto his hands and looked out into the empty audience. The stage light was gentle now and it softened his features. If Francis Zhao was the moon with all his sharp edges and ice for eyes; Khaleel was the sun. Carefree and forgiving and bright. He shone with all the colours of the rainbow, from the twinkle in his eyes to the dazzle of his smile.
I sat beside him, instantly wrapped in his comfort though not quite touching at all. He had a way of making people feel comfortable and safe. It was a talent that I severely lacked but craved more than anything.
"You just have to catch me if I fall, okay?" I said after a moment, referring to the way I passed out often after the visions. He gave a soft smile in return and I slipped away.
I heard the faraway sounds of a record player in my head as it played music around the room. I felt the love surround me while somebody clutched my hands in dance. The roaring of laughter and kisses along my jaw.
I saw my face, as Charlie, between the mist, playing the violin with a small smirk and words whispered sharply in Elijah's ear.
"Tell her before I do, Elijah," the deep voice spoke. "You always keep the pretty ones to yourself."
Longing and guilt swirled in my gut from Elijah and then my throat closed up. Tight and sudden enough that I felt the panic. My dread, as Charlotte, ripped me away from Elijah's vision where the last thing I saw was his piercing blue eyes as they pleaded with me. I wasn't sure what Elijah was asking of me. The same feeling flooded my body as it did that night when he looked at me and I didn't understand. I didn't understand then and I still didn't now.
My body slumped against Khaleel's, completely immobile until he flicked my forehead awake. I breathed deeply, allowing my lungs to be filled with air. Khaleel rubbed my back slowly and I looked down to blink away the tears that I didn't want him to see.
"Did you find anything?" He inquired. His voice was softer now, as though we were talking to a baby bird.
"Not really," I choked out. "He was keeping secrets, though. Elijah was keeping secrets from me."
He hummed along to what I was saying and his fingers drew a pattern on my back. I focused on the trail of his movements to calm my erratic heartbeat.
"I- Uhm... I felt his death again. I saw it all when it happened from side stage last week but this time I felt it."
After a moment, Khaleel took a deep breath. "You can cry, you know ." It sounded as though he had to work himself up to say it. "You're allowed to be sad, Charlotte."
Carefully, I pulled away from his embrace so that his arm fell limp at his side.
"I'm not sad," I deadpanned. I wasn't greaving. I wasn't sure why everyone kept insisting that I was. You're meant to grieve when a parent dies - not a friend. I didn't deserve to grieve.
"Charlie-"
"Meet me in the library after your final class. I'll see you later." Then, I pulled myself up and walked away, not chancing a look behind me at Khaleel's dejected face.
X X X
As the school day dragged along slowly, I tried not to think too much about Elijah and what I'd felt through his eyes. I put up a wall in my head and flushed out all the thoughts that would trigger me to fall asleep.
Every so often, I watched as Nora Takahashi would weave through the corridors, sticking out like a sore thumb with her dark red hair and eyes that wouldn't leave mine. She put me on edge and I didn't like it. Several times throughout the day either Beatrix or Julien gripped my arm to stop me from marching over to her.
"She's winding me up," I grumbled to Beatrix who patted my head.
"She's doing it to get a story, Charlie. She wants you to stomp on over there and make a scene," Beatrix responded with a sympathetic smile.
"If she carries on like this until tomorrow then I'll personally beat her up," Julien teased.
"As if you'd beat anyone up, noodle arms," I rolled my eyes towards my cousin who feigned offence.
"I'll have you know, Lottie, I went to the gym last week," he retorted and flexed his barely-there muscles.
My cousin was popular within our year and I witnessed it first hand as people threw him smiles along the corridor. They grabbed at his arms or teased him with a smirk. Asking about his plans later and inviting him out to do things.
"Are we still sneaking around during the party?" He asked me quietly while a group of his friends waited patiently to take him away from my hands.
"If you still want to, then yeah," I replied.
"Great," Julien grinned and stalked off with the other group.
"What was he talking about?" Beatrix asked. She watched me with careful eyes.
"Don't you have choir right now?" I looked at my watch.
My best friend narrowed her brown eyes at me until I felt the fire behind her stare.
"You shouldn't try to-" Beatrix was interrupted however by another person calling out 'Mini Monet'.
Khaleel's roommate, Vincent ran down the corridor toward me. He was clad in his rugby kit, barely ready to brave the horribly cold weather outside.
"Where are you finding all these boys?" Beatrix muttered amusedly. I slapped her arm gently and Vincent pushed his sports bag behind his back when he stopped in front of us.
His boots were clean and uniform not yet dirtied, I assumed he was on his way to practise.
"Are you busy?" He breathed heavily.
"Uhm, no?" Although Vincent and Julien had been friends for a while and I'd briefly seen him around the school before, we'd never talked much.
"Can you walk with me?" He gave a small smile and gestured to the door leading to the courtyard.
Hesitantly, I nodded. His smile brightened and he offered me his arm. I walked in front, ignoring the proposal with a straight face.
He rushed to keep up and when I stepped outside, a shiver tore through my body. It was chilly with grey skies and large clouds that shadowed the school.
"I hope you're not too weirded out by this," Vincent began. He took his place next to me as we strolled along the path headed to the field.
"And what is this?" I stuffed my hands in my pockets and tried to ignore the cold as it bit at my rosy cheeks.
He shook his head and ignored my question. "You've been hanging out with Khaleel?"
"And you're rooming with Khaleel?"
He chuckled. "You're a tough cookie."
As we walked further and further away from the school, the crowds began to thin out until it was only us. The whistle of the wind kept us company and untucked my hair from my coat to dance around my face.
"Before he moved into my room, a couple of my friends did a sort of background check on the kid to see who was joining us. He was kicked out from his last school," Vicent told me with his voice on edge.
"What for?"
I'd admit, the news did surprise me. Khaleel didn't seem like the trouble-maker type. I couldn't imagine finding him in detention.
"Well...I'm not sure of that. But, it can't be-"
"You don't know?" I propped up an eyebrow. Either his friends hadn't done a very good job at background searching him or Khaleel was very good at hiding things.
"People don't just get kicked out of school, Charlie. He must have done some crazy stuff. Especially for his family to send him to a boarding school afterwards? I don't know, it seems suspicious. Don't you think?"
"Well, what do you think?"
He hooked an arm around my shoulders and I stiffened. If Vincent noticed, he didn't say anything. "I'm telling you this because you're Julien's cousin and I'd hate for something to happen to you if I could stop it."
I looked up at Vincent and watched his loose black curls as they swayed in the wind and his freckles stood out against the frost-bitten cheeks. I was surprised he hadn't shivered even once in his rugby shorts when I felt the chill creep deep in my bones.
"Don't you think it's weird that as soon as he joins Burton Abbey the killings start?"
I hated to admit that Vincent had a good point. A good enough point that my blood ran cold.
"I've seen how obsessive he is to write this story. As soon as I met the kid he was non-stop about this book he's apparently writing. You know what I'm talking about, don't you? It's a murder mystery, is it not? What if he was so obsessed with creating the perfect plot that he set up one in real life to play out. What if he's writing from the point of view of a killer and will stop at nothing to make the whole thing realistic?"
"That's a lot of 'what if's'-"
"He said it himself, Charlie. He loves Shakespear."
My mouth went dry and I saw that the rugby practise had already started in the distance. His teammates threw us waves as they ran across the green grass in shorts and t-shirts.
"Khaleel's crazy. You have to be careful. You're a vulnerable girl who just lost your friend, he probably sees your grief as an easy target and I think it's sick."
We reached Vincent's stop of our journey and his teammates approached with flushed cheeks and teasing smiles. Like Vincent, they were all tall with chests that poked out and thighs fit to tackle with.
"Getting it on with Julien's little cousin, Vinnie?" One laughed. "Don't worry, we won't tell."
Vincent flipped them off then turned back to me with a dark expression. It might have been the lighting that made his face look so grave or perhaps the information that he'd just relayed. Either way, when Vincent opened his mouth, I listened.
"I'm serious, Mini Monet. He's keeping something from you, I know it. You should stay away. Two people have already died, we don't want any more. And I especially don't want it to be you, okay?"
I nodded but expected there was more to the story. Especially from Vincent's closed-off body language and furrowed eyebrows.
"Just be careful."