Winter Wakes

Tuesday morning I was back in the parking lot of Brown University. I only had two classes that morning: Psychology 101 and College Algebra. Both were just base courses, which measured out to annoyances. Simon vanished once again upon arrival; I watched long enough to see him heading off in the same direction as before.

I hate to admit, but he was really freaking me out at this point. He’d barely spoken to me after our extremely brief conversation about Katie on the ride home yesterday. He had barely acknowledged me. There were absolutely no snide or witty comments. No books tossed. Just a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ to some questions and complete ignorance to others. He had paced, sat in the window seat, and stared into the night with extreme intensity. I was almost to the panic level because of his seriousness, my confusion only worsening the situation. There’s only so much mind-fuckage a person can take before they snap.

There was one thought that kept plaguing me. I couldn’t escape it. It popped into my mind every time I looked at him or simply thought about him, which was the majority of the time now. Did this have something to do with his death?

I was at a college campus he had attended, was I not? The same one his mother was the dean of? So why not just ask around about Simon Dreyton? Certainly someone would have the details, probably the majority of the campus did. This was the dean’s son we’re talking about. News of his death and what happened probably were no secret. I considered asking about it, trust me, I did. But I had a sinking feeling about what would happen if I found out. Simon seemed intent on keeping the details of his death a secret from me, learning it from a fellow student would probably be a bad idea. I’m sure I would be unable to keep it from him that I knew, and I was scared of the consequences that awaited me if I did learn the cause of his death not from his own mouth. I figured it was better just not to press the issue too much.

But right now I couldn’t help it. The strange tension that surrounded him was driving me mad. He seemed like—pardon the horrible simile—a ghost of himself. I thought it had been bad that morning when he appeared to be on the brink of a breakdown. The vibrant, angry Simon was nowhere in sight. The only thing here was a spirit who appeared to be too lost in his own world to acknowledge anything else.

I shuffled into the classroom, my thoughts clouded by Simon and his strange behavior. It didn’t take me long to make my way into a seat in the far back corner. I could still feel the eyes on me though. This wasn’t like my previous three classes where no one had noticed the new girl, or had just paid her no mind. No, they noticed, and they looked. I kept my eyes down as I dug through my purse in search of a pen, or something. I just didn’t want a reason to look up and meet all those stares.

“So they did send a replacement after all.”

My fingers froze, tips dancing on the pen I’d been looking for. I couldn’t help it when my eyes drifted up to look at the source of the voice. I was met with a pair of scrutinizing cinnamon eyes that belonged to a guy who had freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose and short cut ginger hair. The strong jaw line, and the broad shoulders which were covered with a lavender polo with a popped collar (dear god who does that anymore?) immediately alerted me to the fact he wasn’t one of the nerdy gingers though. I had a certified frat boy on my hands. He looked like Simon’s type of person.

God? Please save me.

“Excuse me?” I replied, assuming the comment had been directed at me.

“I mean I get this is an Ivy League school and all, and I’m sure they don’t want to leave one little seat empty for even the shortest period of time, but I seriously didn’t think they’d fill THAT opening,” He smirked. He was talking AT me; not to me. Typical frat asshole.

I looked back down, “Right.”

“So, quick question. How did you get into Brown University this late?”

I tried not to cringe. Shit, I really didn’t know how to explain myself here. But I mean, was it really ‘that late?’ The semester must have just started a few weeks ago. Was my presence here really that inconspicuous?

“Who’s to say I didn’t drop a class and transfer into this one?” I asked, opening my Psych book. That is until it was ever so rudely slammed shut by a large freckled hand, I jumped slightly. I turned to give him an acid glare, only to be met with one in return. Generally that would have scared me, but instead I looked at it with these thoughts: Unlike Simon, I could hit this guy right back. His solidness made him seem less intimidating. Of course that probably wasn’t good reasoning on my part; he was a lot bigger than I was. A. Lot.

“Considering the cut off for class switches was this past Friday, I’d say the school, doll. Now really, how did you get in?”

I could see a few of our classmates over his shoulder watching our confrontation with growing curiosity; others were trying to ignore it.

“Connections,” I muttered in desperation. I just wanted to be left alone, not bullied by ginger-frat.

He narrowed his eyes at me, and started to open his mouth—

“Hey guys?” Both he and I’s attention snapped away from our current little chat and centered on the door. A middle aged woman in mostly brown attire stood there arms crossed. “Dr. Harper’s not going to be here today, he’s down with the flu. So class is cancelled.”

The relief I felt then was amazing; I immediately grabbed for my bags and my book, jerking it out from under the dickwad’s hand.

“And is there a Magnolia Walton here?”

I jerked my head in the woman’s direction immediately, all the other eyes in the class room settled on me, along with hers. Dear god.

“Dr. Harper left some papers in my office for you with the notes you’ve missed. Just follow me and I’ll get them for you,” She watched me through a pair of thick black rimmed glasses. I nodded once, standing up to leave the class with the herd of others.

“I’m going to kill you, Simon,” I hissed under my breath.

“Did you say Simon? As in Simon Dreyton?”

Oh fuck. I stopped at the front of the classroom, turning slowly to look at the ginger-haired frat boy behind me. I couldn’t explain the look on his face as he stood over me, I didn’t want to think about the horror written on my own either.

“Ms. Walton? Are you coming?” The woman at the door’s voice cut through the air.

“Hey, Mrs. Maylock? Could I bring her by in a minute? There’s something I want to talk to her about,” Ginger boy replied for me, his eyes never leaving my own.

Shit shit fuck fuck. This was not good. This was so not fucking good.

“Sure, George, whatever you say. Just make sure to bring her by.”

I turned in panic as I heard the door click shut shortly after she spoke. The classroom was empty aside from me and frat-boy George. Oh god. Why did I have to drop Simon’s name? How was I going to explain that?

“So Dreyton was the connection you were talking about, huh?”

I stood in mute panic, trying to think of something, anything to explain myself.

“Um. Yeah.”

Oh, great cover.

“Wait. Did she say your last name was Walton? Jesus, how did I not remember you? You were that girl who pulled Dr. Dreyton aside at Simon’s funeral and sent the woman into hysterics. The funeral director’s daughter.”

My throat felt dry; I couldn’t swallow. Where was Simon with his brilliant excuses when I needed him? I had no idea what happened there, I couldn’t really bullshit it either. I could feel the sweat beading up on the back of my neck.

“It’s—it’s all a blur really,” I was seriously scraping the bottom of the barrel here to come up with anything that sounded even remotely convincing. Nothing sounded right.

“So how’d you do it? Just what did you say to that woman to get her to let you into Brown’s? I sure as hell know you didn’t have ‘connections’ with that family before the funeral. But I’m sure it didn’t take that much, what with her nearing insanity thanks to a son committing suicide and—“

“What did you just say?” My hands were shaking, my mind feeling as though someone had just hit me as hard as they could with a baseball bat. That word, replaying, echoing: suicide.

“What? You heard me. You went after the woman when she was clearly vunerab—“

I whirled around, “No. What did you just say about suicide?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” He looked a taken back slightly; bewildered. “Your dad owns the funeral home and you’re telling me you don’t know?”

I shook my head slowly. No. I didn’t know.

“Simon Dreyton’s death was a suicide. He drank himself to death; alcohol poisoning,” The stunned look on George’s face remained as he watched me.

It felt like a kick in the gut; or that baseball bat I mentioned before bashing repeatedly into my skull. I was seeing stars; I was not processing the information correctly.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” My voice barely audible as I stepped back, away from George. “There is no way in hell… He couldn’t… He wouldn’t… Would he?”

I saw George step forward in my peripheral vision, “Walton? Simon killed himself. He did, okay? What the fuck is wrong with you? Does suicide freak you out or something?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” I could feel my chest heave as the stars and a flood of dizziness began to wash over me. Suicide? That’s how he died? Pure stupidity, he over drank himself? It didn’t seem right… It just didn’t feel right. Something heavy came in contact with my shoulder; it was a knee-jerk reaction to pull away, especially now. “I don’t believe you.”

I backed towards the door despite the dizziness and confusion that muddled my mind. The look the ginger in the lilac shirt gave me read nothing but ‘you’re crazy.’ If only he knew.

“Look. It was suicide. I don’t get what you’re getting so worked up about. The guy killed himself because—“

I couldn’t take anymore. I bolted from the room, stumbling over my own feet as I pushed through the doors of the nearest set of stairs. The heel of my boot caught just right, my balance lost completely. I saw the stairs coming at me, grabbing out desperately for the railing which did no good. The full weight of my body, including my bags jerked my hand away almost immediately. I tumbled down the stairs, comprehension of the situation beyond me, until I impacted the ground and felt a shot of pain through my wrist as I tried to stop myself from hitting the wall. All my weight fell on it, but I managed to prevent a body slam into the concrete barrier that would have stopped me regardless.

The pain didn’t quite hit me as I scrambled up, pushing through the exit door and into the wintry morning air of the campus. I walked hastily along the sidewalk, not sure where I was going, just certain my brain wasn’t going to stop replaying one thought: Simon committed suicide.