Cellar 33

Alice wouldn’t have noticed him walk through the door if it wasn’t for the burst of cold air from the hallway when the door opened. The door slammed closed behind him and almost every girl looked at him for a split second, but Alice just stared. I’ve seen him before, Alice thought as her pen fell out of her hand. The only thing was that she couldn’t remember was where it was.
His eyes met her gaze but not for long. Before Alice could inspect his features, he looked away as if afraid of being known. There was nothing she could do to get his attention. He was looking away from her, talking to the teacher. She could feel the air grow mysterious as he talked.
Alice leaned forward on her desk to listen to his voice. His accent was distinctly from the south, maybe North or South Carolina. Have I seen him on vacation? Alice thought to herself. She tapped her pen on the edge of the desk, waiting.
“Son, what’s your name?” Miss Newell said in an all too demanding voice. The boy looked scared, like he was going to run away. Alice tilted her head to the side and thought, he’s strong why is he so scared?
He glanced over his shoulders, meeting eyes with Alice for a split second. “Randal Stadler,” he whispered, hoping that Alice wouldn’t hear him. He was sure that once she heard that name she would remember him – and he didn’t want to be remembered.
Randal Stadler, Alice thought to herself, trying to pinpoint that name. Then she remembered where she saw him before – her old school in South Carolina, but she only went there for a year before her family moved her up to a small town surrounded by trees in the middle of Pennsylvania. She did remember him, and that scared her.
“Well Mr. Stadler, take a seat right next to dear Alice Turner. . . Alice, deary raise your hand for Mr. Stadler to see.” And she did so, but not as high as Miss Newell wanted. Randal spun around and didn’t even have to look at Alice to know who she was. He took the seat in silence, wanting to be alone.
Alice stopped tapping her pen and twirled with the hair hanging over her left ear instead. “I never thought I would see you again,” she said. Her mind was only on one thing – getting Randal to talk to her. She missed the way it was back ‘home’ and it’s been a long time since she seen or heard from anywhere back in South Carolina.
“Well hello to you,” Randal said his voice straining the vowels like a true southerner. Randal looked around the room, analyzing every seat, window, and nail. The desks were in rows of four and columns of seven. Miss Newell’s desk was at the front facing them. There were window on his right, letting sunlight burst in. “I was hoping I wouldn’t see someone I knew here. Trying to get away from the norm.”
Alice looked at him with curious eyes. Her mind was racing with memories from that one year she was in class with him. The bell was about to ring so she had to think fast, she knew that Randal wouldn’t talk to her again if she didn’t. “Well I could always lead you to your next class if you want.”
Randal looked her over; he couldn’t help but notice her honey colored hair and blossoming green eyes, just in time for the spring. She was what he was looking for, but it was still a dangerous line for him – familiarity was to be avoided, he kept telling himself. “Fine, but don’t expect me to accept in the future.”
It was like a bomb went off in Alice. She glowed with joy at his answer. It wasn’t that big of a deal though. She already had a boyfriend, Andrew Easton – a tall muscular boy with crisp dark brown hair. Pictures of him ran through her mind, almost losing herself. Luckily, the bell rang before she could go into her well-known dreamy-like state.
“I’m going to,” Randal started, looking at his schedule, “room 323 . . . calculus.”
Alice’s eyes flew wide open. Oh no, she thought to herself. “Oh well, that’s just great,” she said, her voice wavering. “I’m in that class too; can I see your schedule?” Randal handed it over – the polite thing to do, he reminded himself. She looked over the schedule, remembering hers at the same time. “We’re in all the same classes.”
“Really?” Randal asked, his voice was filled with amazement, but his mind was filled with dread. He didn’t want to relive the past, especially after what he’s been through. Familiarity caused his father to die and his mother to kill herself. He didn’t need anything that was familiar in his life, especially when he was trying to start a new life in this small town that he didn’t even know the name of and he really didn’t care either. He just had big plans wherever he went. “So I guess I can just follow you around all day then.”
Alice stood up and handed Randal his schedule back. “Yeah I guess so.” Not that Andy’s gonna like that too much, Alice thought to herself. There was something about him that seemed mysterious. Something dark that was deep below his skin. She wanted to figure it out – that was what she was set on.
They walked through the halls together, Alice noticing nothing and Randal analyzing every inch of tile. He was always the fine details type. He could see the slight green tint to the blue tiles on the floor. The walls looked white, but he could see the small hint of black in some small dots along the way. The doors all looked the same, to the normal eye but for a reason Randal could see that each was a different type of wood, some bamboo and even maple . . . Sometimes he thought this was a gift, but usually it was a curse – a curse that caused his parents to die.

It was mid morning when he was in the car with his father. Randal stared out the window watching the highway fly by when he noticed it - a small speck of dirt on the windshield. Along with his ocd to keep things neat and clean, his ability to see the smallest details hurt him all the time.
“Father, don’t you see that?” Randal pointed at the speck. At first his father didn’t look but then he did for a split second and didn’t notice anything. “Father, please, clean it off.” His father shook his head and kept staring at the road.
Eventually Randal got outraged and reach over to spray the windshield. His father fought with him to stop, but it was too late. He drifted into the other lane on the highway right into a large truck. Randal was able to grab the wheel and save his own life, but it was too late.
He watched his father’s blood drain from his body before he even attempted to call 911. It was too late, Randal thought; nothing they could do would save him. I killed my father . . .
That image of his father lying motionless, because of him, never left Randal’s mind.

“Randal, Randal? We’re going to be late,” Alice said before pulling his body down the hallway.