Sequel: Summer Shadows

Winter Wakes

Twenty Seven.

My pencil tapped with a steady rhythm against my desk as I stared at the clock in the front of the room. My nerves were on edge as it steadily slipped closer to the time that marked our freedom from Dr. Harper’s droning voice. Doctorate degree or not, the man was more boring, and stranger than any teacher I had encountered at either college. Not only was he an expert in Psychology, he also believed he was a playwright. The class period had began with him informing us he had given one of his plays to a member of the theatre department for review; the play’s title? Space Pirates and Robot Hookers from the Sixth Dimension.* If only I was joking. He had a few extra copies and had allowed some “interested” students to take a gander at it during the first ten minutes or so of the class. One or two had covered their mouths as they tried to hide their chuckles of amusement at his odd play. Additionally every class period was started with the recital of a limerick he had written. Those were just as bad as I imagined his play to be.

During that time I had vigorously ignored the cinnamon eyes fixated most unpleasantly on me. It was a hard task not to turn and return his persistent glare or flick him off. But if I wanted things to go the way they were supposed to, for the time I had to pay him no mind. Unfortunately each second of the class ticked by with the feel of an hour. I didn’t like it; not one little bit.

Harper droned on; my mind danced everywhere but on his lecture. Darren’s car, totaled, and on the back of a tow truck hung there, it was sickening, baffling. On the news the night before a missing persons report had been issued for him; it made my gut sink.
But in honesty my thoughts flicked mostly back and forth between George Max and Simon Dreyton. They were tied in much more than the “friendship” the ghost believed had existed between the two; death was a fairly deep bond that had consumed one possibly at the hands of the other. It was something Simon needed to know, something I needed to know.

But for me it was more than that. My grip tightened on the pen that I had been striking lightly against the desk. Why? That was the real question. But with me it had always been why. Why was Simon dead? Why did I get a scholarship to Brown’s? Why could I see the ghost boy when no one else could? And, right now, why did George Max know about Simon’s not-so-accidental death? More importantly, just what did he know?

I glared acidly at my desk. I was going to get my answers, that, I was damn well sure of.

“Okay guys; don’t forget you have a test coming up. And John, I want my play back next class as well. You’re free to go,” Dr. Harper commented, placing a few papers in his folder before shoving it into his overtly messy bag. The writhing and twisting in my stomach I had been so able to ignore during class exploded then. It was nearly like the excitement before a performance, or the sensation felt when you hit the first drop of a roller coaster. After waiting all of that time, I suddenly felt unprepared, anxious, a slight trace of fear racing through my veins.

I was careful to avoid eye-contact of any form with the daunting fraternity brother at my side as I packed my things. One way or another we were going to chat. Whether by my hand or his, conflict was undoubtedly unavoidable. I bit the bullet.

“Hey, George?” I looked over at him innocently. “Can we talk?”

He glared back. His movements seemed deliberately slow as he stood, tossing his bag over one shoulder. The only other two students were leaving the classroom behind him. “What, Walton?”

There was a purple-ish splotch on his left cheek, right below his eye. I couldn’t stop the contortion of my face as the features became lax, my eyes widening. Something Simon had said in the hospital practically screamed within the confines of my mind; he had punched the ginger-frat. I had believed his words about what had happened the past Friday with ease, perhaps a touch of shock, but nothing more. With physical proof before me, things were different. It was more than a slight trace of alarm that rendered me motionless. It was full on fear.

“I—I need to talk to you about Friday night,” I muttered, noting the distinct drop of confidence in my voice.

“What about it?”

I tried to breathe steadily. “Can we go somewhere else and talk? There’s going to be another class in here in five minutes.”

He didn’t say anything as we locked eyes, both probably contemplating just what the other was thinking, wondering just what the other knew. It wasn’t a fun game. And at least for me, it wasn’t a safe one.

“Just what do you know, Walton?” He muttered darkly.

I gave him a bitter smile. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the door, I followed him out. In the corridor students shuffled past. Some hastily and alone, others took their time as they strolled with friends, laughing or entrapped in a serious conversation. But he stood apart against the wall of the class room I exited. He watched silently as we walk past him, blue eyes frigid with hate as they followed the boy in front of me. I assumed he was behind me.

“Please tell me you’re okay. You look a little pale. I mean pale for your usual level of pastiness.”

He was following alright. I turned to give Simon a brief scalding glare he met with a smirk before I turned back to follow George. There was something about the fact that he had the nerve to ask if I was okay in that instant. Who in their right mind would be okay?

“If we go with the plan everything should be fine. I’ll be there with you. Just breathe,” His voice carried up to me over the squeals of a chubby red-head who passed me by.

It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who stood the chance of physical harm. All he had to do was sit back and watch, well, basically. If things did go wrong he was responsible for getting me out of it. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, and if it did, that he would pull through.

“You know, Walton, I don’t like you very much.” George interrupted my mental tirade.

“Hm.” I walked past him as he held open the door to an abandoned classroom, feeling desperately nervous. “It’s mutual, trust me.”

I saw Simon from the corner of my eye slip past him as I placed my bag and purse onto one of the desks. “I must say, that is quite a nice bruise on his face. I think I want to do that again.”

“Please, be my guest,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Did you say something?”

George pulled the door closed behind him; I left my bags behind and pulled myself onto the desk at the front of the classroom. My legs swung back and forth a little. It was my way of fidgeting. “Talking to myself. That’s all.”

“Well you’re here to talk to me, not yourself, fucking weirdo,” George snarled as he chucked his bag on the floor. Simon’s slightly amused behavior had darkened as his ex-friend had shut the three of us in the room together. I could feel the anger radiating from him as he positioned himself near my bags, eyes fixed on the living boy. Could George feel it as well?

“Alright then,” I sighed. “Where should we start?”

Simon glanced away from his friend only briefly to look down at my bag; he flicked a switch of the small machine in the side-pouch closest to him. A tape recorder was a college student’s best friend, especially those who really cared about their grades. If you missed a word or two in your notes, it was there to save your ass, with every single syllable the professor had uttered recorded perfectly. If you dozed off in class because the teacher’s lectures had the power to induce comas, it had your back, and unlike copying the scratchy writing of fellow student, it was always accurate. In the current situation it was the perfect tool to use against George Max if need be. If he confessed to anything, there would be proof that he would be unable to resist, if he decided to be difficult and spewed even the tiniest bit of information, it could be used as blackmail to get bigger secrets out. The little black machine was easily the most vital item involved. George Max had no idea it was even on.

“What do you remember about Friday night?”

My fingers tapped lightly on the top of the desk as I tried not to reveal a bitter smirk. “I remember how you got that lovely bruise on your face.”

“Cut the crap, Walton,” He snarled back.

I could nearly see a vein pulsing in his forehead as he glared daggers at me. I enjoyed seeing him writhe in uncertainty and probably fear, resulting in a ridiculous outward display of anger. It merely proved he had something to hide.

“Maggie, as much as I enjoy seeing you torment the asshole, I think I’d prefer you not shoot him into ape-shit crazy mode before we get anything out of him,” Simon commented, seated on the desk next to my bags.

“Fine,” I sighed, rubbing my fingers over my forehead. “I remember waking up in the hospital to be informed by a very disturbed doctor that I had, what did she say exactly? Oh yeah, ‘a mild dose of rohyphnol’ in my system. It’s fuzzy, but, weren’t you the only one to give me anything to drink at the party?”

“Anyone could have put that in the drink. I just grabbed it off of the counter. Don’t make accusations you can’t back up, Walton.”

The increasing tension in the room was becoming unnerving. His defenses were high, while my comfort and confidence over the situation was buried somewhere far below us. I looked to the third figure whose presence only I could fully notice for any support. Simon sat stiffly with his arms crossed in front of him, still fixed maliciously on George. Luckily he caught my gaze. I knew there was a pleading look in my eyes, and he noticed with an appreciated speed. He seemed to soften as his cool blue irises locked with mine.

“Breathe, Maggie, just breathe.” His voice was surprisingly calm. He shook a few pale curls out of his face. “I know I just said not to, but I think you’re going to have to push his buttons a little to get anything out of him. If anything happens I’m here. Trust me; I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

His words were all I had to keep me going, they drift across the room bringing a soothing feeling as they slid softly into my ears. My trust in him was the only thing there was to hold on to.

“Is that how frat boys get girls these days, George? It’s kind of fucked up if you ask me. I mean, is that what you two did when he was alive? Was that the only way you guys could get laid?” I fired my insults off with a soft cruelty wrapped around every word. If provocation was what it took, I could damn well dish some up. As it was, George was a very easy target. Simon was like an injection of courage, just merely offering me a few supportive words was all it had taken to bring me to spill the thoughts that had been hanging at the forefront of my mind.

George’s chest began to swell and sink as his eyes gleamed with abundant anger. “Don’t start that shit again. So help me, you’re going to fucking regret it if you do. I was not friends with that motherfucker.”

“I’m sure you didn’t say that when he was alive.”

“Shut. Up.” The two words came from between gritted teeth; an intense furrow took up residence on the ginger’s brow as his gaze became more and more menacing.

“How do you think he would feel if he heard you say that?”

“Walton…”

“I think he’d be pretty upset, don’t you?”

“Fuck you—“

“I mean I know he liked you as a friend, but you probably knew that too, didn’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Walton!”

I felt a wry smile creep on to my face. “Hey, George, do you even care that he’s dead?”

That was when the floodgates to the boy’s rage exploded. His right fist impacted the top of the desk he stood beside heavily, before quickly grabbing its edge and ferociously chucking it onto its side. I jumped, nearly frightened enough to move myself farther away from the enraged fraternity brother. His face was contorted in a way that made him resemble a furious and provoked bear just before it attacked.

“Those assholes got what they fucking deserved, both of them! No one liked Simon and his brother was a fucking fag! I’m glad he’s dead, everyone is glad that bastard is dead! If he hadn’t been such a meddling motherfucker maybe he’d still be alive, maybe his brother wouldn’t be in a fucking coma! He brought it on himself, Walton, did you know that? He brought it on Oliver, too. With those two gone, everything was going to be fine; no one would have to worry anymore.” He slammed his fist into another desk before leaning against it. I stared flabbergasted, and then he lift his head, meeting my eyes. “And then you showed up. You’re worse than he was, and you wanna know something else? You’re going to be next. You’re too much goddamn trouble. What the fuck do you know, Walton? Jesus, I could have gotten rid of you the other night; I should have gotten rid of you the other night.”

There was a nearly inaudible “Fuck” from the direction I knew Simon to be in as I found myself unable to peel my eyes away from George Max. There were a few drawn out seconds of quiet before he moved, stretching himself to his full height and marched purposefully in my direction. I scrambled hastily off the desk, away from the oncoming male whose sudden movements sent my mind into a frenzied state. Glancing to my left, I found Simon no longer at the desk with my bags. He had simply vanished. That was when panic truly set in, as I fumbled and tripped my way towards the classroom door, George close behind, with a look in his eyes I could only describe as murderous.

“It’s going to happen eventually, Walton. You’re not going to survive this semester, just like Simon didn’t. If I don’t do it now, it’ll just happen in a few days. You know too much, just like he did. It may not be me who does it, either. You wanna hear the really sick part about what happened to those guys, Walton? No one would believe you, anyways.” With a twisted smile, George hovered above me, with a horror-filled fascination I could only look helplessly up at him. “The one who had them taken out…”

**

I stared almost blankly down at the small tape recorder in my hand. The little black rectangle that held what could possibly be deemed a confession from George Max felt like a brick of lead. It only stared back at me, with an equally empty expression. It probably was suffering from the same heavy shock that I was.

“He just said you’re going to be next?” The voice of Daniel Adriens was becoming a little more familiar. I nodded mutely, not daring to glance up at Simon’s blue eyes in the skull of another boy. It felt off, not right. Of course at that moment, everything felt off. From the corner of my eye I noticed his shoulders slouch, forehead seeking to rest itself in the palm of his hand. “I’m glad I got back when I did. Fuck, I’m scared to think of what he would have done to you if I hadn’t shown up.”

I too, was glad Simon only showed up at the exact time he did. Any earlier and it could have been bad. The ghost boy, clad in the skin of Daniel Adriens, president of the deceased’s former fraternity had stumbled into the door of the classroom where the confrontation had been taking place with a tall brunette attached to his shoulder. He had apologized to George profusely for interrupting his “quickie” before asking if he and the girl could use the classroom for the same purpose. George had ceased talking then, leaving without so much as a word in my direction, merely a long, cold stare. Simon shortly after had bailed on the girl, following me out of the room and from the building, towards the bench between the alcove of two buildings. The same place I had found myself after George informing me Simon’s death had been a suicide.

“And that you and Oliver’s incidents were tied,” I quietly reminded him of the specific bit of information George had spilled. There were other things I wouldn’t dare to tell him, I couldn’t bring myself to say because I found myself not wanting to believe them. Things he hadn’t been there to hear. The tape recorder could though; the tape recorder could tell Simon what I couldn’t. But I didn’t want it to do that. I couldn’t bring myself to say it, or to let it spill the secrets I couldn’t. It was disbelief that held me unable to reveal to him what the tape recorder and I both knew, but he didn’t. I wanted proof before I brought it up. I needed proof. It was a horrid accusation, one that caused bile to roll dangerously in my stomach. It was something I couldn’t imagine. I wanted to look for proof namely in the hopes of disproving it, but something in my gut told me that I would only find more evidence to support George Max’s accusation.

What I did believe was that George was just a pawn. It wasn’t his idea to off the brothers, he wasn’t bright enough. But I had to know why the accused would have wanted it, what had Simon done that was horrible enough to deserve a death sentence from that person?

“Somehow, Oliver’s situation was my fault. He said that too, didn’t he?” His voice was weak, muffled against his hands. I sighed heavily, a large puff of white air escaping into the wintry air. My fingers clenched on the small rectangular box as I closed my eyes. That was going to plague him; there was no question about it. Simon was going to shoulder the weight of George’s words like Atlas carried the weight of the world. It was eating away at him, clinging tightly to his thoughts with no intentions of releasing anytime soon. He was going to suffer. Emotionally those words were going to tear him to shreds.

That was another reason I couldn’t do it. I knew how merely hearing George had believed he had killed himself initially had affected him. His outward display had revealed he wasn’t as emotionally strong as he put on. I managed to find the will to glance over at him. His head was still buried in his hands, knuckles white as they clutched the stiff gelled hair of Daniel. His shoulders heaved slightly with heavy breaths as he sat silently beside me. It sent a pang of sadness through me, my teeth clamping down hard on my lip. Slowly, I let my hand move towards him. I hesitated only briefly, half an inch away from his shoulder. I could feel the heat radiating off of Daniel’s body, something strange to experience while dealing with Simon. Then, gently, my fingers brushed the soft fabric of his coat. To my surprise, and his, he jumped with a sudden jerk of his head; I pulled my hand back quickly.

“I—sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I muttered rapidly, startled by the shocked look on his face; the blankness of his blue eyes. He didn’t move for a few seconds, finally, very slowly he shook his head.

“No, no, you’re fine,” There was a fight going on behind his ice-colored irises, shock and pain were battling for control. “That was the first time someone’s touched me since I died.”

Pain KO’ed shock two seconds in. He turned back towards the path in front of us heavily. With his elbows on his thighs his head dropped, hands finding their way to the back of his neck. The one time I could physically comfort him I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I watched him, I yearned to place a hand over his own and give it a squeeze. Something though, was stopping me. Maybe it was because even though underneath the flesh of Daniel it was Simon in control, it just didn’t seem right. It almost felt like I would be comforting a puppet. I fought the ridiculous thought with all of my might. Once again my fingers were outstretched towards him. I didn’t let them stop or hover. They found their mark on his thigh, giving it a very gentle squeeze.

I tried not to jerk as his warm hand covered my own, wrapping around it. “What did I do? What did I do to cost me my life and put Oliver in a coma?”

I could feel him breaking, with every word the boy seemed to shatter a little more. What Simon didn’t know was that he was breaking me, too. Simon’s suffering had always been more painful to me than my own misery. Why? Because he had no choice, he had no escape. He was a soul lingering in a world where his existence was cloaked and hidden to all but me. He was learning things he couldn’t face, discovering mortal demons he was unable to confront. All he had was a girl who could see and hear him but could offer no other sorts of contact, and a curse-like ability to possess the living; one that seemed to become more difficult to control, more draining with every use. Looking at him in the skin of Daniel Adriens my panic level began to rocket. How would this affect him? Would he be able to get out this time? What if he couldn’t?

My fingers tightened their grip on his. I couldn’t add to the burden the ghost-boy carried. Not then, not what George had told me. I needed time to figure it all out. The puzzle pieces were starting to come together, but there were a few that were missing. There were questions I had to have answered before I could even think about revealing anything to Simon. I added more to my list of secrets I was keeping from him. I could feel their weight pulling down on my soul. For his sake I had to keep them to myself. I had to protect the one that was truly and sincerely vulnerable. I had to keep him safe.

My left thumb slid slowly to a button on the side of my tape recorder. “I’m going to find out, Simon, I swear that to you right now.”

With a single, unnoticed click I cleared its memory.
♠ ♠ ♠
No matter how many deaths that I die, I will never forget
No matter how many lives I live, I will never regret
There's a fire inside this heart and a riot about to explode into flames ...

- 30 Seconds to Mars

*I had a teacher who actually wrote a play by this title. It was... Weird.

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Oh, and, new story if you're interested, give it a read: Whispers and Wishes.