10. The Skull Scene

CHAPTER TEN

The Skull Scene

T he next class with Professor Thorne begins with the rustle of papers and the crisp scent of books in the air. There's a palpable energy in the room today, a vibrating anticipation that makes my heart beat a little faster. I settle into my seat, my notebook open and ready, my pen poised like a sword ready to duel.

Professor Thorne strides into the room, her presence commanding silence from the chattering students. She sets her materials down on the lectern with a decisive thud, and then, with a dramatic pause that captures everyone's attention, she announces, "I have some exciting news regarding the Tempest Prize."

The room buzzes with interest, and I can't help but lean forward, hanging on her every word. "This year," she continues, "in addition to the prestige, the prize will include guaranteed publication by one of the best peer-reviewed journals on Shakespeare."

Whoa. Publication? My eyes widen, and I feel a surge of excitement. Everyone sits up straighter. Publication as an undergrad is almost unheard of. The prospect of winning isn't just about the prestige anymore; it's about the freedom. I think of my parents, their voices laced with condescension and cruelty, and how this prize could be my ticket to a life free from their grasp, proof that I belong here.

Professor Thorne's gaze sweeps across the room, pausing briefly on each of us as if to gauge our reactions. When her eyes land on Matteo, she gives him a nod of approval, her lips curling into a rare smile. "Matteo is doing exceptional work," she says, her voice carrying through the lecture hall. "I have no doubt he'll be a formidable contender for the Tempest."

The words sting, but I refuse to let them deter me. I glance at Matteo, taking in his designer clothes and the air of privilege that surrounds him.

He doesn't need the money.

Professor Thorne begins the lecture, which is about betrayal and its many representations in the play: Claudius's betrayal of Hamlet's father and Hamlet himself .

"Ms. Hill," she calls, her tone sharp and commanding.

The entire class turns to look at me, their eyes piercing me with the weight of their expectations. I sit up straighter, my throat tight.

Professor Stratford ran his class in a more casual way, almost like a salon where each person's contributions were valued. In contrast, Thorne runs her classroom as if it's always an oral exam. A student who is called on has only seconds to answer a specific question with a cogent, thoughtful response.

"Hamlet's response to betrayal," she asks, "would you say that it's melodramatic? Or that it's an authentic portrayal?"

What even is an authentic response to betrayal?

Stratford's betrayal is a fresh wound, a sting that hasn't yet dulled.

"Hamlet's actions are often described as being excessive. But perhaps that is Shakespeare's intention. To illustrate the depth of betrayal's impact, to demonstrate how it can drive a person to the brink of insanity."

I pause, my gaze meeting Professor Thorne's. There's a flicker of approval in her eyes, a brief acknowledgment before she nods and swiftly moves on to the next question, the next student. The class resumes its usual rhythm, but I remain stuck on the betrayal. Maybe I'm the one going insane.

The door to the lecture hall creaks open. Tyler stumbles in, his usual cocky grin replaced by a haggard expression. My heart clenches at the sight of him—his eyes are bloodshot, and there's a dullness to them that wasn't there before. He moves slowly, favoring his right side as he limps to his seat.

He's late, something Professor Thorne doesn't tolerate well.

"Mr. Levine," she says, her voice cold with reproval. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence. I do hope whatever kept you from punctuality was more important than your academic career."

"Sorry," he mumbles, his voice hoarse.

Thorne's red lips press together. "Don't let it happen again."

He nods, looking down at his desk, a flush creeping up his neck. Concern for him rises as he keeps his gaze down, not even bothering to pull out paper to take notes. What's wrong with him?

Class resumes, but I can't focus on Thorne's words anymore. I need to know if Tyler is okay. Ripping a page from my notebook, I quickly scrawl a message. What's wrong?

I slide it gently across my desk.

Tyler reads it, glancing at me with an expression that's difficult to decipher. He scrawls something quickly.

I expect something serious or at least playful, the way he usually is. Instead, he's written only a single word, Nothing.

It's obviously a lie. Something bad must have happened.

A problem at home? A fight with a friend?

My gaze flits back to Professor Thorne, who's now lecturing on the themes of loyalty and madness in Hamlet, of friendship and family, and the way they have the power to hurt us the most. I attempt to focus and take notes, so that maybe I'll be able to catch up later, when my brain can focus on what she's saying.

The class ends, and Tyler moves with surprising quickness despite the stiffness in his gait. I catch up to him, concern pushing aside politeness.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

He turns in the hallway, his face a mask of reluctance. "Leave it."

His words bite, but I'm not one to back down easily, not when a friend is in trouble. "It seems like you're in pain. Did you get hurt or something?"

His eyes dart back to me, surprise and a hint of fear flickering.

"Oh my God. You are hurt. What the hell happened?"

A long, blown-out breath. "It's the Society."

The Shakespeare Society. This was my fear. "The gauntlet thing?"

He doesn't shake his head or nod, just looks at me.

Anger tears through me. "What did they do to you?"

"You didn't go, so why do you care?"

I cross my arms, ready to face off with him. "I care because you're my friend. I care about you. Now, what happened?"

Tyler looks away, and I think he won't tell me, but then he sighs. "Fine, but you didn't hear this from me. It was supposed to be a crazy stunt, like just for fun. You know how in Hamlet, the skull scene."

"The one with Yorick?"

"Yeah, like that's fucked up. You're hanging out with a gravedigger, and then it turns out you're holding the skull of a guy you knew?"

"It was messed up to be hanging out with a gravedigger regardless, but sure."

He looks at me, his eyes dark with anguish he doesn't want to show. "That was the stunt. Some of us got shovels. And some of us got…buried."

Bile rises in my throat. "What?"

"I knew it was stupid. And dangerous. So blame it on me."

"I'm going to blame it on both of you, but mostly on them."

He gives an uneven laugh. "I thought the whole thing would be a laugh. And maybe there'd be an orgy at the end of it. But all the dirt, the dark. I felt like I was running out of air. I think I might have passed out."

"Christ," I whisper. "You need to go to campus health services."

"And tell them what?"

"How about the truth?"

He snorts, sounding slightly more like himself. "Hardly. I would be implicating myself, since this took place in the south quad. Somehow I don't think they got a permit. Besides, I'm not, like, harmed."

"You don't seem exactly healthy and hale."

"I've got some bruises, but it's mostly the mindfuck of it all."

"So get them in trouble. They deserve it for what happened to you."

Tyler shakes his head. "I knew the risks when I joined. I won't go to one of their things again, but I can't go up against them. They're too powerful."

"They need to be stopped."

"You know, I might finally agree with you."

"They can't just keep getting away with this."

His gaze locks on mine, and for the first time, I see a flicker of desperation. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, Anne, don't . No one can stand up to them. They know they can get away with anything. They have too much influence in the university. And they're out of control."

Anger bubbles up inside me, hot and acidic. "We can go tell Dean Morris," I say. "This has gone too far. People could have been killed."

Tyler shakes his head, adamant. "If I snitch, it'll only get worse."

"Worse?" I echo, incredulous. "Tyler, look at you! You're lucky to be walking at all. What if it had been worse? What if next time—"

"There won't be a next time," he cuts me off, his voice firm despite the pain he's obviously in. "I'm out. I'm done with the Society."

My thoughts turn to Professor Stratford, the man who introduced me to the wonders of Shakespeare, the same man who is deeply entrenched in the Society's dangerous escapades. How can he be a part of something so reckless?

How can he put his students at risk like this?

I feel a sudden surge of betrayal, not just for myself, but for Tyler and every other student who has fallen prey to the Society's allure. I believed that Professor Stratford's interest in me was genuine, but I've been fooling myself all along.

"Please report this. It's not just about you anymore."

"I said no," he replies, his voice pained but resolute. "I shouldn't even have told you that much. Stay away from them. I certainly plan to."

There's a finality in his words that tells me pressing further will only push him away. He walks away, his head down, steps still uneven. His body will heal from the Society's cruel brand of fun. Though it will take his mind much longer.