Winter Wakes

I watched Felicia Derby exit the science building with her usual saunter. There was haughtiness, a swing in her step that reflected an immense self confidence. It was a stark contrast to the prevailing helplessness and uncertainty I felt as I shuffled cautiously in her direction. I was shaking, exhausted, with biting hints of fear nibbling at the pit of my stomach in that instance. I did not want to go any where near Felicia, in the truth of it all, but by that point I felt there was no other choice. Things were spinning out of control, and I was finally able to admit to myself that the secrets were getting to be more than I could bear.

Simon’s words nights earlier had pushed me to the edge; echoed in my unstable, haunting, and chaotic dreams. He hadn’t been there when I woke up the next morning; and perhaps, I realized, that was for the best. But as the day slipped on, and classes passed, he didn’t appear. I had driven home anxious and annoyed; more with myself than him. Rehearsing my lines for the play had been next to impossible; I waited by the window for his return. Dinner that night had been with my father for a change. I hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of being alone, and for once he was free of his duties for an evening. I relished his presence, no doubt. That was until he had brought up Chassie’s appearance at our door days earlier. I brushed it off as best I could, until he commented on my sudden change in demeanor. She had turned out to be a useful alibi for my lack of appetite and obviously high stress level.

By the next day there were still no signs of the ghost I would have killed for a chance to escape in earlier weeks. The room felt barren and lifeless without him; it was then I realized that perhaps I had pushed too hard while trying to keep him safe. Maybe, I had completely destroyed any faith he had in me; maybe I had lost him for good.

This was day three; Simon was still missing. I had thought of searching for him, but I always stopped short of actually doing it when I started to consider just what I would say to him when and if I found him. I wouldn’t be alright with presenting him with the truth, not when I wasn’t certain of it myself. But I was beginning to think that wasn’t the full truth of the statement. In reality, a major part of me just didn’t want to face it. Why? Because I was afraid of losing Simon to it. But Simon wasn’t there, so maybe I’d already lost him. There was nothing to hold me back from confronting those who I knew held the keys to the truth. I hoped perhaps that in doing so, I could bring him back as well.

Facing Felicia was the first key to this. The blonde beauty had always seemed to know more than she let on, not to mention her obvious intellect and choice of major put her in an interesting position in my mind when coupled with her prior level of closeness to the deceased.

The knots in my stomach tightened as I drew close to intersecting her path. My speed remained the same; her pace noticeably slowed as our eyes met. Cutting between two large boys I found myself by her side, steps slowing to match her own. Her shoulders were rigid, eyes blank as she looked straight ahead.

“I need to speak to you,” I managed, just loud enough for her to hear.

Felicia continued walking; my presence was completely ignored, as if I were the ghost, or a voice in the wind. I noticed a small increase in her pace, not hesitating to match it. I could feel the irritation radiating from her direction; while before that may have deterred my course of action I didn’t have time to play those games any more, I didn’t have the patience.

“Look, if you don’t talk to me, George will, and I swear to you he’ll tell me a lot more than you want him to. He always does, Felicia. He told me who was behind Simon and Oliver’s situations, and I’m sure I can get him to confess the truth about your involvement. And unlike you, I can get him on record saying it. Is that what you really want?” My threat was low, littered with jagged pieces of frustration and malice. I watched Felicia’s eyes widen momentarily before they shift quickly to me. The hate in her glare was unrivaled, bitter, and rabid.

“I thought I told you to stay the hell away from me,” She hissed.

I rolled my eyes, shooting her a spite-filled look to match what I was receiving. “Do I look like I give a damn, Felicia?”

The air was electric, hate and frustration snapping and popping like fireworks on the Forth. Felicia gave a short jerk of a nod to the left. I followed as she made a quick turn at the fork in the path.

“So you are going to talk, then?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and I watched her suck in on her lower lip as she inhaled heavily. A long puff of white trailed from her nostrils before she looked down and began digging in her purse, producing a pack of menthol cigarettes and a lighter shortly there after. I watched her light it, sucking at the stick of tobacco like her life depended on it. The exhale then produced an even thicker trail of white; smoke wafting lazily away.

“I trust George’s mouth about as much as I like you,” She replied curtly. “I guess this means I’m missing my lunch with Daniel.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll find some other girl to bang in a science room while you’re occupied,” I stated, surprised at the level of malice in my comments. Simon’s disappearance was affecting me more strongly than I thought. Felicia even looked a little shocked, before morphing back into her previous state of tangible hatred. I sighed, pulling the corners of my black beanie down a littler farther over my ears. God, this had to end soon.

“I didn’t realize you had it in you to be such a bitch, funeral girl.”

“You’re not the only one,” I mumbled. “So, I don’t feel this conversation is coffee-shop appropriate, and I’d prefer not to find myself in one of your ‘tutoring’ classrooms. How about we go for a drive?”

Felicia scoffed, shooting me a sideways glance. “I’m not riding anywhere with you. If you wanna talk, why not my sorority house? There’s a lounge for meetings; no one’s going to disturb us.”

I paused, debating her offer. I could see why she wouldn’t want to ride with me, of course I still wasn’t too fond of chatting with her alone. But I honestly had no options. I nodded slowly; she just finished her cigarette, flicking it away without a second thought. The rest of the walk was silent, until we came to a row of houses that looked vaguely familiar. I recognized the lawn of a house that was painted a baby-pink, greek letters hanging large and bright over the front door; that was where we had parked when Katie and I came to the party before. It was the next house over, though to where we retreated. Bigger than the other, it was painted a starch white, impeccably neat on the outside, equally so on the inside as we slipped in. A pretty brunette slipped through the entrance hall as we entered, waving cheerily at Felicia.

“Hey, Cass. Could you do me a favor?” Felicia called to her; I watched the girl slow, giving her a bright smile in return.

“Of course, Felicia, what’s up?”

“Could you keep the girls out of the lounge until I’m done? This one’s having some personal issues and she needed someone to talk to.” Felicia lied as smoothly as I had learned to, kind smile plastered like the perfect mask on her face.

Cass nodded, tossing me an understanding look. “No problem. Oh, and whatever it is, I’m super sorry. Any of us are here to talk if you ever need it. Especially Felicia. Isn’t she wonderful?”

“There are no words to describe her,” I replied, tossing a disbelieving look in the blonde’s direction. Cass waltzed off, I slowly followed Felicia through their living room, into a smaller, more business like one. A few tables were set out, chairs pushed neatly under. At the front one faced the others; it looked more like a classroom than a lounge, with the same stuffy uncomfortable air.

Felicia walked to the front, setting her bags on a desk as she turned to face me. I hovered by the door, shutting it slowly. I took a seat near the back, feeling her gaze on me the entire time.

“So, let’s get started. What do you want this time?” Her voice had lost all the cheer and kindness it had when she spoke to the girl at the entrance. Now all I could hear was the cold hatred we undoubtedly shared for one another.

“If I remember, from the last time we spoke, you were never ‘with’ George, were you?”

“Didn’t I make that clear?” She snapped.

I nodded. “And you never genuinely cared for Simon, right?”

This time there was no response, just a glare. She shift from her seat on the desk, crossing her legs as she leaned back, placing most of her weight on her arms.

“If you don’t answer I’m just going to take that as a yes.”

She scoffed. “Everything comes back to Simon with you, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what we’re here to talk about, Felicia. What part of that didn’t you get?” I smiled. “He didn’t kill himself. I know that, and I know you do as well. And I think you know what really happened to him on the night he died, right? College kids drinking themselves to death isn’t that unusual. It happens, and it was simple to make it look like an accident, am I correct, Felicia?”

She just watched me, there was something in her face, something she was trying to suppress, and it was clearly becoming more and more difficult to control. The inner corner of her lip suddenly moved, sucked in. I watched her jaw move; closing down tightly on it.

“If you don’t talk, I’m sure George will. And again, I can get him on tape, Felicia. He’s not as smart as you are. He can’t control himself. I know how to push his buttons, and I know how to get him to admit what I want. But I thought I’d give you a chance to tell me first hand what happened, not be accused by that bumbling ginger.”

“He drank himself to death, and that’s all there is to it.” She snapped.

I shook my head, toying with the strap of my purse. I could feel the irritation bubbling up. I was sick of Felicia. I was sick of the lies.

“Stop it,” I stated quietly. “Just stop it. Simon did not drink himself to death. I am so tired of you people trying to play it off like that. You’re disgusting, and you’re all fucking monsters. It’s sickening, and I don’t give a damn what you people say, he did not deserve that. He didn’t ask to be the son of the dean, and he didn’t ask to be used by you people. He just wanted friends, but you didn’t care, right? Get in good with him, you could maybe use him to get a scholarship here or there, a grade boost in a class you fucked up a little, right? Unfortunately it didn’t turn out quite the way you wanted, did it, Felicia? Something went wrong. So you lied, you all fucking lied, and said he drank himself to death when really it wasn’t near that simple.”

I was shaking, unable to look at her. I could feel the rage building; a twisted, gurgled chuckle escaped my lips. “It’s nice being a Chemistry major, isn’t it? Especially then, in your position. I did a little research of my own; alcohol and drugs don’t really mix well, do they? Sometimes they can even be fatal. So I’m just wondering, what exactly did you put in his drinks?”

Simon had drank the night of his death, that much I knew for sure. He also admitted just how much he drank; and he was correct. It wasn’t enough to kill someone. But what if there had been something else in those drinks?

“You have no proof of anything,” She stated, voice holding a slight tremble. I looked up, bitter smile all I could muster.

“You’re right, I really don’t. Which is why you should just tell me. I can’t do anything. This is all speculation. No one is going to take me seriously. More than anything; this is just for closure. I have to know. And I’ll find out one way or the other. Wouldn’t it just be easiest to do it this way?”

Felicia and I watched each other, the air again thick with tension. She stood slowly, circling around the desk. Her long blonde hair trailed down her back, thick waves shifting as she sighed.

“I hate you, I’ve never been able to genuinely say that before, but I sincerely hate you,” Felicia’s voice was a little higher, more strained. “Do you have any idea what barbiturates are?”

“No.”

I watched her shake her head, scoffing, “Of course you don’t. Why would you? They’re a type of depressant, mix them with alcohol and you can get a lovely lethal effect if given in the right dose. They attack all areas of your central nervous system, that includes the areas of the brain that regulate respiration. I’m sure even with your limited knowledge of Chemistry and how the body works you can appreciate just how deadly overdosing on those could be. All the while, most people are none the wiser. He loved to drink, so who really would be surprised if he drank himself to death given his situation? He didn’t even know what hit him; George and I slipped some Seconal in his drinks and he had absolutely no idea. He just passed out, and he never woke up; it wasn’t painful, it just happened, with him none the wiser.”

I had come to Felicia for an admission, and I had gotten one. Her words struck me like hot coals though, burning, and irritating, hissing and stinging. My chest had never experienced such a ferocious fire; it burned like an out of control blaze, setting a completely new pain to work on my heart. My hatred for Felicia was tenfold what it had been minutes earlier; feelings towards George tumbling quickly in the sadistic direction. I wanted to see them both suffer; I wanted to see them both destroyed.

She had spilled the truth so calmly, there was no trace of remorse, guilt, or regret lingering in her words. They were just facts; nothing more. Just like to her the statement “Simon was alive; but now he’s dead.” Was merely a truth. Not one that hurt, or haunted her in her sleep; it just was.

I felt sick to my stomach, the strap of my purse in my hand was squished under the pressure of my hand, my nails stung as they dug into my palm. But it was nothing compared to what I felt inside. The hot tears welling up in my eyes was a combination of pain and rage; blurring my already reddening vision.

“You’re an awful person,” I whispered. “You’re fucking heartless.”

“No, not really. I’m just selfish.” She stated matter-of-factly. She was; she sincerely was.

“What about Oliver? You had something to do with his condition, too, didn’t you?” The quiet fury in my voice felt noticeable to me. Felicia didn’t move; she didn’t turn to face me, she just shook her head.

“Actually, no. I had nothing to do with what happened to that boy. If you want to know about Oliver, you’re going to have to talk to George. I can honestly say that. I was only involved after that happened.”

I sighed heavily, closing my eyes as I tried to push back the tears. “Could you at least tell me why you did it? Why this happened?”

I heard Felicia turn this time, and I opened my eyes to see her leaning forward against the desk, blonde hair hanging in front of her face as she stared down at its surface. Her voice reached me, quiet and void of any emotion, “I was never told why. I was just told what to do. And honestly, I don’t think I want to know. I wasn’t left a choice, Maggie. If I didn’t…”

“You had a choice,” I snapped, grabbing my bag as I stood hastily. “You just fucking chose to end his life when he didn’t deserve it. I hope you suffer for what you did to him; I hope it starts to eat away at you one day until you can’t live with yourself any more.”

I turned and marched towards the door, ready to escape the presence of the soulless, morally void monster of a girl. I had gotten my confession, Felicia had given me part of what I wanted. She had at least admitted her part in Simon’s death. But there was still the question of why; why did it happen to him, why did a similar fate befall his brother?

“Can I ask you one question, Maggie?”

I slowed my walk, not even looking over my shoulder.

She cleared her throat, falling silent for a moment, and then, “How long have you been in love with him?”

I stared blankly at the white door, her words ringing in my ears. Slowly I turned, shocked, unsure of what had just happened.

“What?”

“It’s obvious you know,” She stated, brown eyes boring into mine. “The way you talk about him, how upset you get, that gleam in your eyes. Why else would you be doing this? You were in love with him.”

I said nothing; I didn’t know how to respond. A blank chaos had taken up residence in my mind as I stood facing the girl who had slipped the drugs into Simon’s drink; all I could think in that moment was how? How could I be in love with him?

My body worked on its own, legs mechanically turning me, walking me out of the lounge, and out of the sorority house. I was on auto pilot as I walked slowly along the paths of Brown’s, I was unfazed by the breeze that pulled strands of my hair into my face; eyes fixed almost blankly on the path in front of me. I felt broken; overwhelmed. Felicia’s confession and her accusation struggled for complete control of my thoughts. Only one other recollection broke their stream of continuity: auditions for the play were in thirty minutes.

I made my way numbly to the theatre building, fighting Felicia’s words the entire way; pushing images of Simon from my mind as best I could. Part of the puzzle of his death was solved; but it wasn’t enough. I still didn’t know why this had happened, and I still had no idea what exactly had happened to Oliver. George had the answer to at least part of it; yet another confrontation with the red-headed oaf I didn’t want to partake in. But I had to. The whirring insanity of my mind had stepped up another notch; I had a feeling that it wasn’t long until it came completely unhinged, and pushed me over the edge. I was near enough it as it was.

I didn’t even look over my lines as I sat in the theatre, waiting for the audition to begin.

“How long have you been in love with him?”

I closed my eyes, rubbing my forehead with sweaty fingers. It was a broken record, playing over and over in my mind. Did that explain the intense pain I felt at the thought of him? Was that why his lack of presence was driving me so absolutely insane?

The theatre eventually came to life, all those trying out taking their seats, prepping for their turn. When mine rolled around we performed the scene in which the sisters attempted to explain to their father just how much they loved him. The eldest two lied, trying their best to out do the other. The youngest—my character—admitted she couldn’t say just how much she loved him; that it was impossible.

Somewhere in the back of the theatre, a flash of blonde hair caught my eye for a second; but as soon as it was there, it vanished. My heart pounded viciously against my ribcage, as a fresh wave of pain crashed into me like a tidal wave.

In that instant I began to wonder, just how big of a difference was there between “How long” and “How much?”