Capitulum XIX

I picked it up, flipping it over in my hands for any more clues about what it was. It was taped shut but clicked every time I moved it, as if something hard was floating freely inside.

"Ah-ha! Gotcha!" Stacy announced from somewhere deep in the piles, and I quickly shoved the small box into my pocket.

I scrambled to where I'd found my foot as her lantern bobbed toward me.

Rounding the corner, she grinned, holding up a flailing possum by the tail. "Little bastard was hiding in the sheets."

I led the way out, trying not to seem preoccupied with my new discovery while I held the door for Stacy and the angry marsupial.

~

When I got in, my dorm ceiling was thundering. I tossed my foot on the bed and slumped into my desk chair. Pulling the little box out, I shifted it between my fingers, feeling the mysterious contents sliding around.

I should give it to him. It wasn't mine. But he was being such a massive asshole. Maybe he didn't deserve my help. But if it was important, what did it make me if I kept it from him? Perhaps he'd stop the nightly disturbances, which were progressively getting worse than when he was with Lindy.

I strapped my foot back on, happy to have it back. I'd never been to the second floor of the Iudex dorm, but all I had to do was follow the sounds. It was easy to find the door, which was clicking on its hinges.

The first time I knocked, the sound was swallowed up in the flurry of movement on the other side.

"Rigel!" I yelled, using my cane against the door, hoping it would make a more jarring sound.

There was a hiccup in the noises, followed by a hushed discussion. But still, no one answered.

"I need to talk to you," I yelled, smacking the door with my cane even harder.

Then creaking and fretting gave way to approaching footsteps.

The Iudex girl who answered the door was wrapped in a sheet and clearly peeved at my intrusion. "He doesn't want to talk to you."

I rolled my eyes, looking past her and yelling into the room, "It's important, Rigel. Stop being a tit."

There was a long draw of silence.

"See?" she said. "Can you fuck off now?"

"Rigel, you'll want to see what I have."

Still no reply.

"Satisfied?" she asked, and before I could say anything else, she slammed the door in my face.

Back in my room, I spent the night staring into my fireplace, little white box in hand, debating whether to throw it in. But the box refused to leave my palm.

~

For our end-of-term assignment in Collaborative Interpersonal Exploitation, the class periods were combined to allow us to form groups of three or four as long as we were all in different houses. This meant Arlie, Connie, and I were allowed to group together for an assignment.

We were all pretty sure it was just an excuse to forgo our regular class periods until the following semester so that Professor Beck didn't have to stand outside in the snow all day. Everyone was pretty excited.

The case was someone who'd suffered a mental delusion while at work. As a result, they had poisoned people at an office party, resulting in illness and a few deaths. We had to balance the more sympathetic parts, between being mentally unwell with the cold reality that they had, indeed, killed people and gotten away with it.

"I feel like being haunted by the people they killed is a bit on the nose," Connie said, tracing the tip of her fingernail across the graffiti scratched into the library table.

"It's maybe a bit much," Arlie agreed. "I feel like there has to be something a little less brutal. How bad did he feel afterward?"

I grabbed a history stacked on the library table between us and flipped to the page I'd tabbed. "Hmm, he felt bad for a while, but I don't know exactly how fast someone should be forgiving themselves for killing people."

A sudden flash of Cass's weight pressed down on my back, his belt around my neck, and I shivered.

"Someone walk over your grave?"

I cleared my throat, trying for a wry smile. "Probably. I'm pretty sure I was chummed and used as fertilizer for some government-subsidized industrial farming."

"Gross," Arlie whined.

"What? Too grim?"

"For a Thursday afternoon? Yes, shockingly."

I smiled, but in my head, all I could see was Cass sitting in the camping chair, sucking a cigarette like a snorkel and staring off into the distance. When would he forgive himself? Which answer did I like?

I didn't particularly want my daughter growing up with him as it was, but if he continued to pickle himself in his own tears, the situation would only get worse. It was bad enough he'd murdered me, but allowing it to ruin her life as well would be the ultimate betrayal.

"Maybe I don't have him be haunted by the people he kills, then," Connie continued, snapping me back to reality. "What about being haunted by pies?"

Arlie chortled and was promptly shushed by the librarian dangling from the catwalk overhead to shelve the hard-to-reach tomes.

"You're a visionary."

"I'm serious," Connie said, face going red. "Like, as a looming reminder, nothing gory, just... unnerving."

"Yes, very abstract. We should start calling you David Lynch."

"Is that one of your friends I should know?"

Arlie groaned. "We should convince Mortal Media to screen Twin Peaks ."

I shook my head, flipping through another history for inspiration. "Don't torment the poor girl."

"What?" Arlie asked. "If she wants to haunt people with evil floating pies, she'll love Twin Peaks ."

That had me chuckling, while Connie's face was growing ever more scarlet.

"You ladies are just being mean at this point."

"I'm sorry, Con," Arlie said, squeezing her arm. "How about this, to make up for my transgressions, I'll time-warp back to whatever year you died and turn into a demented lamb to haunt the person who fed you those rotting lamb brains."

Connie laughed, "Yes, it's best you direct your torment to the humans. I fear the sheep themselves would be nonplussed."

I laughed. "I thought it was pig brains?"

Arlie blinked. "Wait, that's right, it was pig brains." She turned to Connie. "Why the hell did you let me miss the joke that bad?"

"Oh, I uh..." Her eyes darted around the room as if the answer was an insect buzzing over our heads. "I just didn't want to embarrass you."

"But you even agreed that it was a sheep. You didn't flinch."

"What's with this interrogation?" she asked, her voice spiking into shrill territory. "What are you accusing me of?"

Another loud shush came from overhead as the librarian fumbled with the book he was holding.

"Calm down," I whispered, peeking up through my hair at the glowering librarian.

"You're treating me like a criminal."

"Maybe because you're currently acting like one?" Arlie asked, making me groan.

Without another word, Connie shot to her feet, not even pausing long enough to shove her things in her bag before stomping out of the library.

Arlie and I exchanged looks.

"What was that?" the librarian asked, swinging down from his perch and landing on the table between us.

"Oh, come on, sir. She's like three hundred years old. It's really anyone's guess," I said, feigning nonchalance.

His eyes flicked between us before narrowing. "You need to be quiet. You're disturbing the other students."

"Yes, sir," we said in unison, despite the fact that there were no other students nearby.

At least none we could see. Most of the school was out on the grass, enjoying the unseasonably nice day before winter finally took hold.

We silently gathered our things and slipped out of the library.

"What the hell was that?" she whispered once we were outside, the question forming a small cloud between us. "Why is she lying?"

"I don't know," I said. "What do you think she's hiding?"

"Whatever it is, she really doesn't want us to know."

I wanted to accept it as a Connie quirk, but something in my gut told me it was important.

Connie was clearly upset because she didn't attend Mortal Media that night, which was unprecedented, as each film, no matter the quality, bordered on a religious experience for her. On the positive side, we convinced the president to screen the first two episodes of Twin Peaks .

"You think this will be enough to guilt her into forgiving us?" Arlie asked on our way back to our dorms.

I shot her a wink. "I have an even better idea."

~

It took weeks before Twin Peaks was scheduled, and Connie deftly avoided us in the interim. I had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't just because she was upset. She was hiding something, and it meant we'd need to have the opportunity to get her alone.

Since the club ran on volunteer labor, we were able to tell the organizers it was partially her idea, which obligated her to help out. That way, she would have no choice but to talk to us lest she get thrown out of the club.

It was a perfect plan aside from me having to do all of it, as Arlie wasn't exactly known for indulging in petty labor.

A few days prior, I'd held my breath and visited the dining hall after regular meal times. It took forever for me to find who I was looking for until I saw something moving high up in the rafters, accompanied by some soft grunting. At first, I worried I'd walked in on something private, but she was doing pull-ups. I watched her bare feet bobbing overhead with rapt curiosity before remembering why I was there in the first place.

"Um, hello?" I called, flinching at my voice in the quiet space.

Even the animals had gone to roost.

No answer, not even a break in her rhythm, but when I tried again, that time a little louder, I heard an irritated snort, and her feet finally stilled.

"What?" she barked.

"Sorry," I said, sensing the conversational shift toward sourness. "I just had a request."

She groaned loudly before swinging onto the nearest rafter and tightlining all the way to the thick vines clinging to the wall. She spidered down the foliage and walked across the tabletops in one deft movement before landing before me.

"Shoot."

My throat already felt dry under her intense gaze.

"Do you know how to make donuts?"

"Do I look like a short-order cook to you?"

"I don't mean it like that. I could even make them. I just don't know how. If you had a recipe book..."

"You will not be going in my kitchen. No one goes in my kitchen."

"Okay, that's fair."

"What do you need them for?"

"Mortal Media. We're watching this—"

She put a hand up to silence me. "That's enough information."

"Sorry."

"Whatever, I'll give it a try."

I couldn't help but blink in amazement. "Really?"

"I'm not a killjoy."

"Do I . . . I mean I can pay you . . ."

That made her laugh.

"What do you have to pay me with?"

"Free labor?"

She snorted. "You're barking up the wrong tree. I'm all full up. If you want to hand out labor, I'd try plying Professor Arnold. That bastard can't keep an aid to save his still-living keester."

"Noted," I said, "but thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Don't look at me like I'm a dick."

I was about to refute that statement when her attention shifted. Her eyes went down, and she pressed a bare toe to the top of my loafer, leaving an oily smudge on the polished leather.

"Finally found your foot, I see."

"Oh," I said in realization. "You were the one who found it?"

"Who the hell else?"

"I just figured it would be a student since..."

"I ain't a snitch." To my surprise, she winked. "I've caught him back there plenty, though I was a little surprised to see you."

That made me pause.

"Who, Rigel? Really?"

"Yes, with Lindy." Her voice clipped, like she'd choked on the name, before she cleared her throat. "She used to help me with the animals."

I was taken aback, having never pinned Lindy as invested in her time on campus, even though she was an RA.

"Anyway," she continued. "I don't give a shit if you kids want to risk your own skin for some cheap thrills. More power to you."

"Oh, well, thanks."

"For the donuts or the fact that I didn't rat you out for sneaking out with the spindly boy?"

"Both."

"Right answer." She smiled. "Now, don't ever fuck with my animals again."

~

A few hours before Mortal Media Society, I stopped by and picked up a few dozen of the most shockingly impressive donuts I'd ever seen. Hefty cake donuts smothered in glaze and perfect jelly-filled pucks glistening with oil.

"These are great," I said, stacking the boxes into what was hopefully a stable column.

"If you drop even a single donut, I swear — "

"I've got it."

She eyed my cane skeptically before opening the door. Head whipping around, she landed on someone and nodded for them to come in.

When Professor Faun appeared in the doorway, I very nearly did drop the donuts.

She scoffed as I scrambled to keep the boxes upright. "Typical." She then turned to Professor Faun. "Don't just stand there."

It was clear he regretted following her directive as he walked up to me, carefully handling the stacked boxes while taking extra care not to touch me.

I led him out of the dining hall and toward the stadium while he made a concerted effort to keep as much distance between us as possible.

"Do I smell?" I muttered.

He turned in closer to me. "I'm impressed."

"With the donuts?"

"No, I'm just glad you seem to be behaving yourself for the first time in your afterlife."

"You don't know that," I said, trying to sound coy. "You barely seem to register my existence half the time."

"Don't be daft. It's unattractive."

"In that case, I'd assume you'd want me to be stupider, even."

"It's far too late for that," he sighed. "If your past insistence on risking your life weren't enough to put me off, I fear there is nothing that could dissuade me."

"Is that a barefaced compliment from the inscrutable Professor Faun?"

"It's nothing you weren't already aware of, I'm sure. And you have to admit, you seem much happier partaking in normal student activities with your old friends."

" Old friends? Is that a purposeful distinction?" I tsked. "Petty."

"It's not petty if I'm right in my assessment. You've disengaged, and your life has drastically improved. Who would have guessed such a thing?"

"You don't fool me, Professor," I whispered with a smirk. "I know you have a particular objection to his being in my company."

"A reality that changes nothing."

When we arrived at the stadium, we dipped into the side room, where everything for the clubs and classes was stored. It housed a table and a deconstructed kitchen setup for preparing food spreads.

He set the boxes down and turned to me as I leaned my hip against the laminate countertop.

"This is behavior I can expect to rely on, correct?" he asked, tugging on the ribbon around his neck.

"I make no promises."

He grinned at me, and I debated sneaking in a quick kiss just as the top of one box lifted in midair, making me jump.

Arlie appeared behind us. "Boo."

"You scared me," I said, gripping my chest.

"That's the idea. Duh."

"I'm impressed," Professor Faun said, cheeks ruddy with guilt. "Your talent for concealment is unprecedented."

"Cheers, Professor. Wait until you see this." She pushed the boxes to the side and leaped up onto the counter. Picking up a jelly donut, she placed it next to her, before closing her eyes.

"Arlie, I don't . . ."

Already shrinking, her limbs furled into her abdomen like lizard tongues, jaw fusing with her shoulders until she was sitting, fist-sized and crushed like an old can.

"That's very good," Professor Faun said, but she clearly wasn't finished.

Her skin became waxy, and her dirty blonde hair blurred into glaze. When she was done, she looked—very vaguely—like the donut next to her.

She held it briefly before springing back into her original shape, smiling.

"Hold your applause."

"Very nice," Professor Faun said, slowly approaching the exit.

"It was good," I added with a smirk. "If not a bit... fetal."

She frowned. "I'd like to see you do better."

More shuffling preceded Professor Faun's exit.

"He's so skittish," she mused before biting into the donut and scrambling to keep the raspberry jelly from sliding down her chin.

I turned to the boxes, fiddling with them to avoid letting her see how pink my cheeks were.

"You ready for Connie?"

"Ready to do what to me?"

We both jumped as she appeared in the doorway.

Connie looked nervous, like we were planning to dump pig blood on her or something.

"Hey, Connie," I began, trying not to sound like I was attacking her but inadvertently making my voice so high it was borderline shrill. "There was something we wanted to talk to you about."

"About Mortal Media?"

I could already feel her tensing up.

She walked past us, taking drink cups down from a shelf and setting them on the opposite end of the counter.

"It's nothing bad," Arlie assured her.

She kept her eyes on everything but us. "Oh?"

"We just noticed that your stories are a little... inconsistent."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Sighing, I limped up to her side, dropping my voice. "If you're struggling with something, we can help."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Oh, come on," Arlie whined, clearly gunning for a very different approach. "We're friends. I had to shun Agnes for being a secretive little wench, and I'll do it again."

"We're not going to shun you," I elaborated when her eyes shot open in alarm.

"You swear you won't tell anyone?" she asked, voice barely audible.

We nodded.

She fished an old bag of flour from a cabinet and dug out a handful, blowing it all around the room, checking for any invisible lurkers.

Smart. Something that hadn't even occurred to me.

Once she was satisfied, she waved us in close. "You absolutely can't tell anyone."

"Mum's the word," Arlie insisted, eyes alight with excitement.

She looked around again, leaning in so close I could feel her breath on my face. "They never gave me my history."