Chapter 13

As the weeks rolled on, massive bristly pine trees ripe with shiny glass bulbs appeared on campus, peppering the grounds with holiday spirit. Though the handmade tinsel draped over the headless angel every morning had usually been pulled down by lunchtime, so it was clear exactly how much tolerance Stacy had for yuletide glee.

I’d started tailoring my crochet projects to be gifts. A fun little hat for Arlie and special gloves for Stacy that could fit her unique hands. I also started making a sweater, though I wasn’t admitting to myself who it was for. I probably wouldn’t even give it to him.

Since sleep was officially out of the question, I had plenty of time to work on it. Every attempt had me shooting up out of bed after a few minutes, my body ready to run for its life. The experience was a net loss, energy wise, so I spent most of my nights amusing myself, trying to avoid feeling alone.

When I wasn’t working on things for school, I would wander the halls, usually coming to settle in the abandoned lounge. The dusty arcade games called out to me. After powering them on, my heart leaped at the familiar mechanical tunes. I realized slowly I actually knew how to play most of them, though I was better at some than others.

Often, I’d bring my bag with me to the lounge so I could head right to class in the morning. But I missed the solitude of my room. I didn’t want to feel like I was hiding. So, I tried to make myself feel better.

Before tutoring one day, I grabbed the toe tag out of the drawer and shoved it into the bottom of my bag. I was so distracted by the pull of its presence that I struggled to concentrate the whole time.

“Is something wrong?” Professor Faun asked after my fifth failed attempt to reach Stage Four transparency.

The rest of my peers were catching up to me, despite all the hours of practice. Unfortunately, I knew the source of my distraction. I just hoped he was somehow clueless.

“No.”

The word came out too fast, sounding almost guilty.

He cleared his throat. “Does it have something to do with school or . . .”

“No, it doesn’t. Trust me, you wouldn’t care.”

“It’s not about whether I care. It’s about whether it’s something I can help you with.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If it’s interfering with your studies, it matters.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, because that’s the only thing that matters.”

“I didn’t say that,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “But I might remind you it is technically the main purpose of your current existence.”

“Yeah, I get it.” I waved off the idea completely, deciding it would be a massive waste of time. “Never mind.”

“Something’s clearly been bothering you for a while. If there’s a way to get past it, I would love the opportunity to help.”

A rare hint of warmth, almost familiarity, laced the words. The awareness that he’d been paying attention had me feeling fluttery, like I’d been granted something special.

Sighing deeply, I felt myself bowing under the weight of his interest. I reached into my bag and pulled out the toe tag, placing it on the table between us. “Do you ever think about your life?”

Raising a brow, he lightly placed the tips of his fingers on the thick paper and slid it closer to himself. “Not so much anymore. Why?”

“I feel like it doesn’t bother anyone else as much as it does me. It’s haunting me, no pun intended.”

He let out a quick nasally laugh, his posture slackening. “Rest assured, it’s much more common than anyone might admit.”

“The nightmares haven’t stopped.”

That seemed to get his attention, his eyebrows curving in surprise.

I nodded. “It’s a mercy that we don’t require sleep. Otherwise, I’d be properly loopy.”

He pondered his words, fingers still resting lightly on the toe tag. “You believe keeping this has prompted these nightmares to continue?”

“I was hoping you would be able to shed some light.”

“Have they changed?”

“No, I still wake up disoriented and confused, like I’m halfway through a fight.”

“But you don’t remember anything?”

“No.”

“Does it make you not want to know your history, then? Because no one is going to make you read it.”

“No,” I said abruptly, making him blink in surprise. “It’s going to sound stupid.”

“I’m a teacher. It’s my job to correct stupidity.”

“Even if I find out what happened, what if I never understand why? Why someone killed me. Why no one was looking for me. What if I deserved it?”

The last question had him leaning forward, arms resting on his knees.

“Of course you didn’t deserve it.”

“What if I was a bad person? What if that’s the reason no one looked for me?”

My voice came out small, withering under the strain of the words.

With an odd lurch, his hand lifted from his knee, hovered between us momentarily, before coming to rest of the edge of the table.

He rubbed the wood, as if trying to wipe off the impulse to touch me. “Being murdered is not equivocal to being a bad person. If it was, then it would be much easier to get away with.”

I scoffed. “But being thrown away like a nameless piece of trash is.”

“But you do have a name, Agnes. What happened to you doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means something to me,” I said, fighting to keep my voice from rising. “I can’t stop wondering if there’s some kind of inherent awfulness lying dormant inside me. I’m afraid that I’m freely befriending people who I’ll, one day, hurt or betray because of my own negligence.”

He sighed, and I watched the gears turn behind his eyes. His fingers were still worrying at the desk, and I began to fear for the varnish. “You’re not a bad person, Agnes.”

His words came out so hesitant that I laughed. “Well, don’t sound too convinced. I might get a big head with all this flattery.”

“I’ve never seen a student thank Stacy, and very few of them even treat her like a real human. Granted, she’s not exactly warm and cuddly, but that didn’t stop you. When you felt bad about screaming and running from my class the first day, it was because you were worried you’d embarrassed me, not yourself. These are not things that fundamentally bad people do.”

Despite smiling, I felt my face heat. “Now I’m really at risk of being full of myself.”

“Don’t get used to it. This is purely my academic assessment. And if you continue snooping and scheming in the way that you do, you’ll upset the whole balance.”

“Do you seriously have no explorative drive? No sense of curiosity?”

“I never said that.” He sniffed. “I just know the price you pay.”

“Interesting.” My eyes went wide. “Are you about to share something personal with me?”

“In your dreams.”

I snorted. “I wish that’s what I dreamed about.”

It hadn’t struck me as an odd thing to say until the moment it left my lips. He had to know it was an allusion to the nightmares. But I was worried he would read into it, like a single wrong word would unmask me as a salacious minx trying to manipulate his good favor. The worst thing about me was that, even if that were true and I was some terrible seductress, I wanted him to be the last to know.

The only indication that my words had thrown him was a small pause in conversation, where the air grew too thick to breathe.

Clearing his throat, he picked up the toe tag, holding it out to me. “Take this.”

Careful to avoid brushing his fingers during the exchange, I grabbed it. But when I bent over to place it in my bag, he stopped me.

“No, hold on to it.”

“Why?”

He nodded to the fireplace at the far end of the classroom, where warm orange flames licked at the dying sunlight. “Because you’re going to destroy it. You don’t need to keep having these thoughts.”

“Right now?”

“If you’re really speedy, we might actually be able to get something useful done before the hour is up.”

If he hadn’t said them with uncharacteristic humor, I might have been hurt by the words.

When I got to my feet, I circled the desk before stopping. I don’t know why I’d expected him to come with me, but it felt wrong to do it by myself.

He looked up, reading the question in my expression. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound sour. “Give the cripple a head start.”

I wove through the desks, feeling the heat of the fire grow until I stood in front of it. The fireplace was curiously large. The mantle was so high that, if I put something up there, I might not be able to get it down again. But it seemed to require a decent amount of power to keep the whole classroom toasty.

“Are you ready?” Professor Faun asked, walking up behind me.

“As I’ll ever be,” I said, trying not to notice his amused expression. “Is this fun for you or something?”

“Oh, no, dreadfully boring. I just enjoy the heat.” He leaned toward the fire, wincing as the hot air seemed to scald his cheek.

“I guess I’ll make it quick, then,” I said, flicking the bit of paper into the fire before I could second-guess myself.

An odd pang twinged in my chest as the paper spasmed, curling around itself before promptly dissolving into ash among the Everwood logs.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

I shrugged, not sure how much he would judge me for seeming too upset about the whole thing. It was embarrassing enough that I’d kept it so long as it was.

“I have something that might ease the blow,” he said, making me wince. Then he stooped down on one knee in front of me.

I was so surprised I went rigid, refusing to look down as he pulled something from behind his back. The pressure of his fingers against the top of my foot singed me through the leather loafer.

The movement was quick, precise. It was clear he didn’t savor it. And before I knew it, he was back on his feet, awaiting my reaction.

Looking down, I tipped my head to the side to read the sticky note he’d stuck on my shoe. It said only two things: Agnes, scrawled in his curiously elegant handwriting. Below that, he’d written good person next to a little box which he’d hastily checked, as if I’d completed an assignment.

Trying to play it cool, I left the note on my foot as I carefully walked back to the desk to finish the practice. When I pulled it off my shoe, I stayed casual as I tossed it in my bag, as if I were trying not to litter his classroom.

The moment I left Corporeality Hall, I made my way directly back to my dorm. Usually, I’d go straight to Stacy’s, but I couldn’t take the chance. I went to my room and extracted the note, placing it carefully on my desk where nothing could happen to it. Looking at my name scrawled in his handwriting had my heart thumping.

That was the moment I knew I was doomed.

***

That Friday evening, I was readying myself to leave Stacy’s cozy abode, but the fireplace was keeping me on a short leash.

Until that day, I’d had to hold myself in the chair for as long as possible to avoid running right for my room, where I could stare at the note in peace for hours. But I finally memorized it enough to appease myself, every loop and curve embedded in my brain, allowing for a sort of satellite viewing as I worked on other tasks.

There was a release in staring at the note so unabashedly.

When I was around him, I had to be on my guard to avoid showing my hand. To him, I was still only a student. He hardly even looked at me unless I was the only piece of non-furniture in the room with him. And even then, it was touch and go. So, it was only spare sleepless moments at night when I allowed myself to think about it. Because, even with the toe tag gone, I was still petrified of sleep. But at least the note gave me something that I enjoyed obsessing over.

“You’re overfilling those bags,” Stacy croaked, breaking me out of my reverie. “You’re gonna make the tea taste like shit.”

I couldn’t work on her gloves in front of her, nor could I convince myself to work on the sweater, lest she ask who it was intended for. So, I’d taken to collecting the mouse bones from the trays and filling up the small tea bags while she carved up a new wooden mouse. I already had a colony living on my windowsill, but when she offered it to me, I accepted. It was nice having things to decorate my room with. It made me feel like a real person.

“I thought it always tasted like shit,” I said, digging a finger in the mesh bag I was holding and scooping out a few bones.

“More like shit, then.”

“I need to pick up some stuff before I meet Arlie anyway, so I should probably scoot,” I sighed, pulling my blazer back on.

“Very well, have a good weekend,” she said, scraping the wood shavings into her palm and tossing them in the fire.

I got up, but just as I passed the small bookshelf by the door, I noticed something strangely familiar. It was a drawing of Stacy’s tree, well done—or, rather, suspiciously well done.

“Stace,” I said, picking up the crisp square of paper. “Where’d this come from?”

“One of the other students made it for me. Nice boy.”

“Was it Rigel?” I asked, and when she shrugged, I elaborated. “Tall, cut under his eye.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the one.” She smiled. “He said he liked my carvings.”

“Do I have competition?” I asked with a crook of an eyebrow.

“Don’t be greedy, love.”

I had to duck away from the cold as I stepped outside. It was already dark, and the sky was swimming with stars.

“Agnes,” someone called from the darkness.

Almost everyone was inside, since the weather made it unbearable to do anything else. But when I looked up, I spotted a familiar silhouette in the distance against the white snow, and my stomach dropped.