Winter Wakes

Outside my car window, the world whizzed by in a blur of white and brown. The tree trunks were a muddled blur, crowned and shoed in snow. The mid-morning sun just barely crested their tops, casting thick, globbed, inconsistent shadows on the two-lane road. A car sped by in the opposite direction as I tucked a few messy strands of my hair back in between my ear and my hat. The clock on the dash read 11:30 AM. Psychology started thirty minutes ago. I’d only been up forty-five.

I let out a yawn, shaking my head. At my side, Simon released an amused chuckle.

“This could have waited, you know. If you needed to sleep you just should have stayed in bed. You look exhausted, Maggie,” He said.

I sighed, glancing over at him for a very brief moment. Both of his eye-brows rose as he gave me a you-know-I-have-a-point look.

“No, this has to be done today,” I countered. “Besides, I slept better last night than I have in a while. Compared to the past few days, this is good.”

“If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t work at all.”

I let out a sigh, rubbing my hand against my forehead. Of course it hadn’t. If anything what I’d done was add a trace of guilt to his conscious. I needed to be more careful with what I said.

I frowned. “That was a bit thoughtless.”

“Did it really bother you that much that I was gone?” He asked, I didn’t disregard his wistful tone.

“Honestly?”

“If you can’t tell me the truth about other things, then yes. At least give me the earnest answer to that, please,” He scoffed.

I bit my lip, staring at the straight, wood-lined road ahead of us. I owed him that much; a little truth. “It was awful, if you must know. I felt horrible, because I pushed you away, and I didn’t think you were coming back. I thought you hated me. I was worried, I was losing my mind. Going from your near-constant presence every day to being completely and utterly alone was beyond words. I think I was genuinely scared, Simon.”

“Were you?” I looked over, only to barely catch a sad smile from the ghost-boy. “I was never that far, you know. Never.”

I said nothing for a moment, glancing idly at my gas gage for no apparent reason. A thought struck me like a bolt of electricity.

“The day of the auditions, in the theatre…”

“I was there.”

“Why?”

“Because regardless of what happens, I’m going to be there for you,” He stated immediately. “Your performance that day… it was different from when we practiced. It was a bit more raw. Did something happen? Or was it because I wasn’t there?”

Oh. This wasn’t the conversation I wanted to have. This wasn’t something that was supposed to be up for discussion. I knew why I had acted as I had; Felicia Derby had struck me with an emotional lightening bolt, burned me to the core with a realization I had been ignoring. But that wasn’t something I wanted to discuss with Simon; it wasn’t something I rightly could. The entire idea was absolutely ludicrous. How could I tell a dead boy I was in love with him? How could I explain that? Nothing good could come of it. It wasn’t mutual—and even if it was—what could be done about it? Nothing. Why talk about something that could never be? Why chase a phantom idea I would never be able to grasp? The idea was the same as the boy at my side; untouchable.

“You could say I had an epiphany,” I scowled.

“What do you mean?” He asked lightly.

I shrugged it off, focusing on the road as best I could. “I don’t really know, Simon. Look, are you sure we’re going the right way? The junkyard they took the car to is this far out?”

“Yeah. It’s owned by a man nicknamed ‘Jack the Ripper.’ You think I’d forget a place like that?” He replied shortly. There was something offputting in his tone. I think he’d caught on to my desire to avoid the subject.

“Um. Why do they call him that?”

My desire to drive to a run down junkyard—by myself—that was owned by a man nicknamed after a notorious serial killer was dwindling near none. There was nothing comforting or pleasant about that. Why couldn’t it have been something like Jack Sparrow? Or Jack Skellington? Both were much more pleasant, amusing nicknames. But Jack the Ripper? I felt a prickle on the back of my neck at the mere thought.

“His real name is Jack Ripner.” Simon stated. “It’s just a nickname he’s had ever since he was a kid. I asked the same thing. He’s nice, so don’t worry. He’s not going to chop you up and hide your body somewhere in the junkyard.”

“Oh,” I frowned. The lack of story behind his nickname was a little depressing, but reassuring. At least I didn’t have to worry about disappearing before I was able to confront George Max. On the other hand, that may not have been a bad thing. Who knows how that encounter was going to go? George had a violent side, he’d shown it on more than one occasion. I shivered; his threats that I ‘wouldn’t survive the semester’ lingered heavily in my mind. What kind of effect would our next confrontation have on him? Would I come out of it unscathed, if at all?

“Where’d you go, Maggie?”

Simon’s voice pulled me from my thoughts; I looked over, still slightly dazed. He watched me with a reserved stare, the concern he tried to hide reflecting in his eyes.

“You had that look again,” He muttered, crossing his arms.

I shook my head. “What look?”

“It’s the look that tells me you’re over thinking, or worrying. The one I generally can’t do anything about because I know you’re probably not going to tell me what’s really on your mind.”

My forehead crinkled, glancing from the road to him a few times over. “I have a look for that?”

“Yes. You do, Maggie. Then there’s the one when you’re angry, just before you snap. And when you’re baiting people for information, or to tell you something that they wouldn’t before, your voice gets softer. But it’s not a pleasant soft. It actually pisses me off; it pisses them off too, and I think you know that. It’s like you’re taunting them, just waiting for them to snap. You’re good at that, you know. You used it on me, more than once, you used it on George, too.” He paused for a moment.

I gave him a brief once over, part of me elated, part of me writhing in pain as I let out a soft laugh. “Wow. Creep, much? I didn’t realize you paid me that much attention. Kind of scary, you know.”

“And then there’s that one,” He started softly.

A sign came into view suddenly on the right, I braked, taking the turn onto the side-road sharply. Jack Ripner’s junkyard apparently sat just over a hill, an abrupt turn for those who didn’t know any better. My heart was pounding against my chest as I parked in front of the mesh fence, turning my car off. Part of it due to the shock of the unexpected turn; part to blame on Simon.

I threw my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes. “Again, what look, Simon?”

“It’s when your eyes lose their spark. You could be smiling; but it’s your eyes, Maggie. They dull, like they did just now. There’s no fire, no twinkle, no determination, but they’re not empty. It looks like something inside of you is cracking, or falling apart at the seams. The day at the hospital you were with my father, they had it then when we spoke. You had it the night we caught Chassie and Darren together. You had it just now,” He paused. “It looks like you’re breaking, or your heart is. My own may not be beating, but it would shatter every time I saw that look if it was.”

I kept my eyes closed, swallowing hard as I sat in silence next to him. He could tell things about me he shouldn’t; things any other person couldn’t. I wanted him that close, more than anything. But under the circumstances, it was unfortunate, painful. The mere fact my sadness hurt him was a bittersweet revelation. He cared; I couldn’t deny that, and I doubted he would if I asked him about it. Anyone who didn’t care wouldn’t have noticed such subtle things. But there was always the impasse; he was something I could never have, never touch.

“Did you miss me?” I asked, voice cracking.

“I was hurt, I was furious, I was confused,” He rattled his feelings off in quick succession. “But despite that, yes. More than I care to explain.”

I didn’t look over at him as I unhooked my seatbelt, opening my car door. An older man stood in the doorway of a small metal building on the other side of the fence. He offered a starch nod as I waved.

I sighed, exhaling a puff of white air. “I don’t think you missed me near as much as I did you.”

A vibration resonated from my pocket. I fumbled with my phone, pulling it out as a white envelope lit up the front screen. I opened the text; a lead brick settled into my stomach. Katie’s name was scrawled across the top of the screen underneath it a short, two line text:

Dr. Pearson; Room 209
Tuesday and Thursday at 4:20

***********

The eyes that bore into me with such vivid disdain hovered at a distance; the figure they belonged to rigid and still. I hovered a length away, next to the stairwell they used to escape onto the campus. Their 5:35 release promised they’d be set free into the twilight of the day, a vivid orange sky coloring the world around them. A sky that was the same color as George’s hair; my least favorite, most abhorred shade. He watched me like a rabid animal ready to fly from defense to offense at any moment. I merely watched him, waiting as the other students from his class filed past me, away from the frat boy.

I stepped forward as a few late stragglers exited the classroom, a middle-aged man with a ridiculous amount of facial hair in their midst; Dr. Pearson I presumed. George tugged his arm lightly, muttering something I couldn’t hear. The man merely gave a short nod before holding the classroom door open for him. After that he continued on his way. The ginger merely stood there, watching me near, waiting.

“You don’t seem too surprised I’m here,” I stated, stepping past him. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, warning me of the impending danger that came with standing in his presence. There was no fighting it, it was completely pointless. I was scared, but this was too far in to back out.

George’s voice was a low growl behind me. “Felicia told me you would probably hunt me down. Of course, I wasn’t the only one she warned, you know.”

I bit my lip as my fingers trailed along the cool surface of the desk I stood beside. I heard the click of the door as it shut, heart racing as I stared fixedly at the dark gray carpet below me. My senses were more on edge. Every noise seemed to catch me off guard. George’s words weren’t anything I hadn’t expected; but that didn’t mean I wasn’t shocked, or nervous. He wasn’t the only one Felicia had spoken to after our encounter. My knowledge—my movements—were no longer a secret.

“So I guess you know why I’m here, then.”

“To sign your death warrant for good.” He stated.

I turned; he stood, arms crossed in front of the door. Bulky arms, hateful glare, obvious intent to not let me leave; everything about him was sinister. And I had put myself in this situation. I had thrown myself to the wolves.

“Probably,” I nodded. “Actually, I brought you something.”

I reached in my bag, producing a small white envelope. I set it down on the desk in front of me before stepping up to the blackboard at the front of the room. I leaned back against it, watching George stare curiously at the envelope, then at me.

“Open it.”

He approached slowly, like a predator uncertain of if it was up or down a notch on the food chain. He had a right to be concerned; but, so did I. He tore it open, pulling out a small stack of photos. I watched his face harden as he flipped through them, a crease forming in between his eyebrows. After a few seconds he looked up, staring at me with an almost panicked, more enraged look.

“What the hell are these?” He asked, throwing the stack down on the desk at the front of the room. There was a small flurry as a few of the pictures slid off the table, fluttering and flipping to the ground. One landed beside me, the image of a totaled white SUV on the paper. I bent down slowly, picking it up as I examined it.

“Oliver’s car. But you knew that didn’t you? And you see these paint stains here on the driver’s side? The red ones? You recognize those too, right?” I pointed at the long red marks that highlighted the indentions on the driver’s side of the smashed car. The frat boy refused to look at the picture, staring me down, rage boiling in his eyes, face becoming flushed.

“Where did you get these?”

I shrugged. “The junkyard. I took a trip there today specifically to get them. Question, where exactly is your car? I didn’t go to class today, so I had a bit of free time before I came to find you. It wasn’t at the frat house, in fact; a few of the guys there said they hadn’t seen your car in a couple of weeks. Isn’t that strange?”

“It’s in the shop; the alternator went out, and the radiator was shot. They know that,” He replied, voice dangerously low.

“It needed some body work, too, right?” I asked. “I mean, I’m sure after ramming your poor red Toyota into another SUV it had a few dents of its own. How’d you explain that one to your parents? Side-swiped another car after one of your drunken parties? Because I’m positive you didn’t tell them you used it try to commit vehicular homicide.”

“What do you want, Walton?” He snapped, grabbing the pictures, as he squeezed his hand into an angry fist. I watched him crush the images in his bear-paw of a hand, wondering how bad it would hurt of that was my hand, or arm he had grabbed instead.

“First, there are plenty more where those came from,” I pointed out. “Second, I know you were the one who ran Oliver off the road. Sad truth, you’re the only person close to Simon with a big enough red automobile to try to take on Oliver’s BMW. And Felicia dropped your name with his incident. So I want to know why. Why did you do it?”

“You are a nosy little bitch, aren’t you? Don’t you think you’re in way over your head here? One of them is dead, the other’s in a coma, and you’re trying to expose why? Don’t you think that’s going to put your life on the line? Don’t you think you’re going to be next?” He threatened loudly, stepping forward. I pressed myself back against the board, picture still in hand.

This time there was no Simon to bail me out if George went postal. I had told him not to follow me; pleaded, begged, told him I would explain everything later. He had begrudgingly stayed, staring coldly out the passenger window of my car as I exited, not even gracing me with a glance or a goodbye.

For now, I was on my own. If something went wrong, I had to save myself, if I was going to be saved at all.

“If I’m going to be dead soon, anyways why don’t you just go on and tell me why you did it?”

“Because, Walton, I don’t fucking know why it happened. I know that I was told to do it, and I know that if I didn’t, I was done here, or hell, I’d be the dead one. You seriously think I was going to risk that? There were papers, some goddamn papers that were supposed to be in that little faggot’s car. But they weren’t there, okay?” He shouted. His eyes went wide as I stared at him. He’d said something he hadn’t meant to, we both knew it. Then, suddenly, the floodgates opened. “We thought it was Simon in the car. He was supposed to be borrowing the SUV to go pick up some equipment for the lacrosse team. He’d grabbed some papers when he went to pick up the check. But apparently he’d switched back with Oliver at some point. But they weren’t there, and when I got back to the dorms Simon and Lewis were unloading equipment from Lewis’s XTerra. Fuck, we didn’t know it was Oliver until then!”

“What kind of papers, George?” I asked quietly, awestruck by the sudden admission.

“I don’t fucking know, goddammit! All I know is there was supposed to be a manila envelope in the fucking car but it wasn’t there! And once Simon was gone I thought all this shit was over, and I could go back to a normal life. But then you showed up, and just had to stick your nose in everything!” George’s rage was horrifying, it scared me, my mind spinning out of control enough already. I shook my head, slowly sliding towards the door, away from the frat boy. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

I paused, cautiously looking in the direction of the lumbering ginger. “You told me all you knew, so at this point I don’t have any other choice but to go to the source, do I?”

He let out a strangled laugh. “You honestly think I’m just going to let you waltz out of here by yourself after telling you that? Are you stupid? You wanna go to the source? Fine. But I’m going with you, because I know once you’re there you won’t be able to just walk away like you did from Felicia, or from me the first time. Once you go there it’s over. So, Funeral Girl, why don’t we take a walk?”

George stepped up beside me, large figure not something I even wanted to consider running from. He’d have me on the ground in a heartbeat. For the first time, I was beginning to realize that maybe I truly was in over my head. And this time, I was completely alone. There was no Simon; just me and a boy who wanted my existence erased from the Earth.

Out of the room, and down the flight of stairs, George and I exited the building to be hit with the harsh winter air. The glowing orange of the world made me sick; almost as sick as the thoughts of what may happen from that point on did. We passed building after building along the deserted sidewalk, air between us ripe with a raging silence.

I shivered as we approached our destination, fear and anger welling up inside of me. The resolve was coming; sooner than I had intended. With it, probably came my end. A jolt of pain shot through me as I thought of something; like everyone else I was going to end up lying to Simon. I had promised him I’d tell him what was going on, give him the truth once I had it all figured out beyond the shadow of a doubt. If things were to end as George said, I wouldn’t have that chance. Simon would be stuck hovering alone, never knowing the reasons behind what had happened to him and his sibling. He would also never know the truth about how I felt; never know that despite all the lies and false friendships he had endured there was one person who genuinely loved him, and wanted nothing but happiness for him.

I didn’t notice the two sets of eyes watching me from respective distances; one wanted nothing more than to finally know the truth; the other wanting nothing more than to end me as soon as possible.