Act 1, Scene 8
I sat at the corner of the library and away from the window this time, paranoid that somebody could have been looking in. I'd probably drunk more today than I had in a whole week. Whenever I felt that prickle of eyes on the back of my neck, I chugged the Jack Daniels from my flask, even going back to my room to refill it at dinner time. It wasn't the best way to deal with it all, but it was the only way I knew how.
When I was anxious, I lost control of my visions, plucking at every person's memories who even scraped against my skin. I couldn't deal with that any longer and so I drank. I drank until the storm clouds of fear in my mind cleared to a mist that fogged over everything to a dull throb. My shoulders were rolled back and relaxed, my mind free from filters and skin buzzing to do something.
A wooden chessboard sat proudly in front of me on the table with its pieces settled in different positions. My brother taught me how to play when I was young. He was very good at it and needed somebody to win against to boost his confidence before tournaments. I didn't mind that I never won, I was just happy to be involved. Recently, I had been playing the game by myself, and even while I was at home I'd coop myself in my room while my cousins explored the woods beside our house without me.
Sometimes, Julien would creep into my room and try to play with me but it was never the same. Julien hated silence and he would never shut up long enough for me to think. When I played with Henri, he'd scold me if I even breathed too loudly saying chess was made for silence. The habit dragged along and even now as I played against myself, I made sure my breaths were silent and eyes wide.
If I thought hard enough, I could imagine Henri was sitting opposite me. Leaning back in the seat with his arms crossed and smirking at my frustration. I moved the white rook forward and somebody tutted behind me.
I jumped around to see Khaleel as he shook his head. He reached over me and shifted the black piece to counter the move.
"Stop, I have a clear plan up here," I pointed to my head and swatted his hand. "I have it all sorted out, don't you worry. I'm basically a grandmaster. White will win, black will lose. And the game I played before this one, black won. See, they take turns, it's fair."
As amusement danced in his eyes, at the words I spoke messily. Khaleel rounded the table and sat opposite me. "Go on then, show me."
I hesitated for a moment and just let my eyes travel the area of Khaleel's face. For a second, I was stone-cold sober. After what Vincent had told me about Khaleel, it was difficult to see him any other way than that of a kid who was kicked out of his old school and was eerily fascinated by the death of another student.
It perplexed me, though. My brother, Henri had taught me that things weren't always just black and white. People had different sides to them. Good people did bad things and bad people did good things. Even though he looked good and kind and beautiful, he could have been hiding a deep dark secret. On the other hand, although the evidence against him was pretty dark, Vincent could have misunderstood it.
I wasn't sure what to make of him. It wasn't as though I trusted easily, either way. But the thought that I could have been talking to a murderer irked me. He couldn't have been a murderer, that wouldn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.
Leaning over the board with my eyebrows furrowed from concentration, I threw myself into play. With eleven moves, six for black and five for white, black had won.
I sat back down with a triumphant grin.
"I didn't know you could play," Khaleel commented as he brought his bag up onto his lap to open. I had to decide quickly whether or not I trusted Khaleel because what we'd entangled ourselves into couldn't be a half-in, half-out situation. I either had to trust him fully or not bother at all.
"Are you hungry?" Khaleel asked. "I have sandwiches."
I shook my head, no. "I was, but now I'm not. Isn't it weird how that works?"
He propped an eyebrow in question and began to rummage through the mess in his rucksack before pulling out a familiar notebook. Khaleel pushed the chessboard to the side and placed the book onto the table between us. He opened it up onto the page that read:
4/12/1982 - elijah: romeo; peanut oil.
8/12/1982 - jackie: juliet; dagger
It was the notebook we'd found before running after Jackie. Seeing my crossed-out name still sent chills through my spine.
Khaleel turned it to face me before flipping through the pages. Sketches occupied every page. They were done in black ink with soft strokes to create beautiful birds sitting on tree branches. They were lively and elegant. If not made by a killer, I would have drooled over the precision.
"I thought we could call the telephone number," he suggested and reached into his pocket to take out the card I'd found beside Jackie's body with the telephone number in black ink scribbled messily.
I gestured with my head to the telephone that was hooked to the wall by the library door and Khaleel stood, waiting for me to follow. Hesitantly, I did. He hadn't given me a reason not to feel comfortable yet. Sometimes, people got kicked out of school for silly reasons, right? Maybe Vincent was telling me all that to push me off my game. Or perhaps, he didn't like Khaleel and wanted everyone to feel the same way - especially Khaleel's only friend at the school.
We surrounded the telephone and Khaleel pushed some money from his pocket into it. He punched in the numbers, murmuring them back to himself as he went along. I bounced on the heel of my feet, back and forth as the buzz of alcohol powered me through the nerves.
"This- uhm... This could be the killer," Khaleel whispered. "We could be put into direct contact with the killer."
I didn't answer and all I could hear was the blood as it rushed in my ears.
"We might have solved all this by the time the phone call ends," he continued before all the numbers had been pressed and it began to ring lowly. He held the phone between us as I bunched up so close I could feel the heat that radiated from him.
I held my breath, grabbed onto the wire of the telephone and twirled it around my finger in anticipation. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
Nothing.
The telephone cut out into long beeps as the person hadn't picked up.
Deflated, I pulled back.
"It might not have been the killer anyway," I mumbled.
"Maybe," Khaleel replied, obviously just as disappointed.
Before we turned around, it called out to us in a loud ring. Khaleel scrambled to answer and we were back in our previous position. Except this time I'd pressed myself so close as the sound on the other side of the phone was faint.
My heart raced, my stomach flipped and felt the bile rise. With one word, it all came crashing down.
"Hello?" The person on the other side called. I recognised it.
It was Nora Takahashi.
X X X
The party was boring - they always were. Teenagers stood awkwardly along the corridors of the boys' wing where every door was wide open. Music bounced against the walls but depending on where you stood, it could be faint and unintelligible. A few boys had snuck in cans of beer and bottles of fruity stuff and kids stumbled along the carpets pretending to be drunk while leaning on one another.
I introduced Khaleel to a few people as we passed and even grabbed him a can of Carling which he stuck his tongue out at but gulped down anyway. I caught glimpses of conversations as we weaved our way through the people and I kept my eyes peeled for Julien.
As always, he was surrounded by a group of people. They pushed each other around and laughed boisterously over the already quiet music.
"Jules," I called to him. He excused himself and made his way over to me with an eager smile.
"I'm so excited about this, Charlie!" He grinned and elbowed my side. "I haven't been able to stop shaking."
I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway.
"Are you coming with us, Rahim?" Julien asked.
Khaleel shook his head. "I'll stay here, and who knows? I might make some friends while I'm at it."
"Well, good luck, son," Julien replied before clapping his hand to Khaleel's back.
"Charlotte!" Francis Zhao smiled a toothy grin at me as he neared. From his fluid body movements, I could tell he was already severely inebriated. "Do you want to dance?"
I bit the inside of my cheek uncomfortably. "Julien and I are heading out for a second, right now. Maybe later."
His face dropped as disappointment swirled in his eyes. He shrugged but it seemed forced. "Hey, that's okay. I'll wait."
"Why don't you look after our mate, Khaleel here while we're gone. Poor guy doesn't really know anyone but us so maybe you two could chat for a bit, yeah?" Julien suggested.
Khaleel looked scandalised while Francis nodded vigorously. "I'll look after him," Francis declared.
"Thanks," I mumbled and slipped away with Julien right behind me.
I pulled the flask from my jacket and tipped my head back, feeling the warmth in my bones as we escaped to the outside, cutting across the building to get to the drama block quicker while the rain poured down. It was beside the theatre and currently, the office Julien and I were running to, belonged to Mr Donahue. D'Angelo was quite unorganised and as the teacher volunteer for the theatre club, Mr Donaue was now in charge of all the little things.
The rain droplets prickled at my skin and caught on my eyelashes. The mud stuck to my shoes and flicked onto my clothes. When we settled in the corridors of the drama block, the whole place was eerily quiet. It unnerved me how our footsteps echoed along the stone floors and the rain threw itself so nastily against the windows that it sounded close to shattering.
"We haven't snuck around the school in a while," Julien grinned as enthusiasm thrummed along his body that bounced next to me.
"Yeah, it's been a while. We used to always sneak around Grandma's house."
He laughed aloud. "Henri taught us, of course. He was always better than us at everything."
I avoided Julien's eyes and instead quickened my pace. D'Angelo's, or rather Donahue's, office was just down the hall and his door stood tall.
"What if it's locked?" My cousin asked. His voice was quieter now and I thought that maybe the intensity of it all had finally dawned on him. There was something so unsettling about walking down a dark corridor where the silence was echoing and rare sound deafening.
"D'Angelo never locks his office. He couldn't care less if somebody broke in, he'd enjoy the drama of it all," I said.
"And what about Donahue? He practically lives there," Julien quipped.
I shrugged. "Donahue couldn't care less about D'Angelo and his stuff. If the stuff got stolen, Mr Donahue wouldn't have to do these productions anymore and I think he'd be glad for it. I'm pretty sure it's unlocked."
We finally reached our destination, cowering beside the tall door as the handle practically glowed, begging to be opened by us. It was an old wood with old bricks and old spirits that piled and piled around us with swirling memories that I tried not to look through.
"Let's go then," Julien murmured gravelly before opening the door.