Her face can melt off for all I care! Ginny’s tantrum stalks the shadowy edges of the lampposts. He should be inside doing his homework, but one thing Conor knows, is his job isn’t done. As a teaching assistant, Gwen lives in a smaller dorm behind the library with the rest of her cohort. Even though she isn’t assigned to any of their classes it doesn’t help.
In all honesty, her influence is hard to escape. At school there’s enough activities and people to ensure him and his sisters have their own hobbies. But Gwen is different. Her shadow follows him everywhere; even at home. His dad always compares them; ‘why aren’t your marks like hers? She was top of the class and look where she is—on track to a respectable job’.
He sighs, feeling a sense of defeat wash over him. The only problem is he can’t compete in rugby and surpass Gwen’s academic success. She poured every waking hour into studying while he’s teetering between enough sleep to run and staying up to finish homework.
Of course, maybe if he swore off his family, he’ll have enough hours in the day to get everything done. Dad would love that, he snorts. Hell will freeze over before he travels to deal with Ginny and Gwen on his own.
He tugs his jacket collar around his neck to combat the icy wind. Making his way through the overgrown path he reaches, what the teaching assistants call, the Cottage. It’s two floors and holds a half dozen apartments. They’re allowed to cook, shop in the local village, and have their own room.
It’s a level of privacy he can only dream of. The cottage looks like it’s from a fairy tale book. Rusty brick covered in creeping ivory and sheltered under giant evergreens. Pulling the squeaky aluminum door, he walks inside, and enters the common room.
Sitting under a bright lamp in a plush chair is Gwen. The fireplace beside her crackles and there’s a thick book laying open on her lap. Her dark eyes meet his and a small smirk teases her lips. It’s the look of a hungry cat cornering a mouse. His palms sweat under her gaze. Remember, you’re here for Ginny.
“Predictable as always; white knight Conor defending the damsel in distress.” Her voice oozes contempt. The bell on her bracelet chimes as she brushes her wavy black hair around her ears. But her familiar scowl and furrow brows remain a permanent fixture on her otherwise pretty face.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I am not affected by her petty insults.”
“Seems like you are.” Her face reddens but she brushes it off.
“I couldn’t have her living with a false perception of herself.”
“So, you insulted her and turned your pack against her instead?”
“We aren’t wolves, we’re educated women.”
“So, a pride of lionesses then? Gwen be the bigger person. You had no right to seek out her personal records and humiliate her like that.”
“She’s too sensitive, and by the way, I didn’t humiliate her. No one else saw her marks but her and me. I am basically a teacher, so it isn’t a breach of policy. It was ‘an educator’ educating a ‘student‘. Our training includes recognizing our student’s strengths and shortcomings. We have an obligation to assist students, and ourselves, from wasting valuable time.”
“Ah, so tell a struggling student they suck so they’ll stop trying. Ginny may not have your accolades but that doesn’t mean she’s less than you.”
“As teachers—”
“Gwen, stop!” He barks. “She’s not your student, you’re not her teacher… you’re her sister!”
For someone so smart it’s a concept she fails to understand. His breath is ragged and his shoulders pull backwards as she rises from her chair and tosses her book on the seat. Her smug face twists into a snarl.
“Not by choice! Besides, familiarity does not give her the right to be a brat! It doesn’t matter what she does to me or how she makes me feel; I’m always the monster. Why do you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you,”
“She lies all the time! Remember she lied about who broke the vase? She blamed Anne when she knocked it over! She even lied about who pushed Alex—”
“Don’t! Don’t you dare bring his name into this!” He clenches his fists at his side. His nails dig into his palms and he knows she sees the white knuckles. Her mouth slams shut, and she takes a step back.
“You and I used to be close. I took care of you when you had those nightmares. Who held your hand the first day of school? She doesn’t care about you like I do. Don’t you see, she’s jealous of us. She wants nothing more than to tear this family apart!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Good night, Conor. I have classes to prepare for. I hope you like your new family, because if Virginia gets her way, she’ll make your life a living hell. And I for one won’t be around to save you.” She turns on her heels and storms from the room.
The door slams behind him, rattling the windows while he sprints over the stairs. The dirt crunches under his feet as he shoves his shaking fists in his jacket. His feet pound the path, trying to force her accusations from his mind.
Keep it together, she says those things to hurt you. His teeth grind together until his jaw aches. But why?
The words scream in his head. A scream rises in his throat, but he forces it down, and buries it away. Owls shriek in the distance and he pretends their outburst is his own.
She was there for him, every step along the way. When the woman haunted his dreams, when he woke crying, she was there. She was also there when Alex… He can’t utter it; he can’t let his mind go there.
It’s an unwritten rule, that no one speaks of him. Everyone knows it. But she does it to hurt, punch, and cut right to his core. His hands float from the pockets, the adrenaline coursing through him makes it hard to think. He cracks his knuckles, trying to regain his focus.
But his body shakes; anger, hot and all encompassing, sends him into a rage. His fists, white knuckled and ready, swipe at the darkness. Over and over; faster and faster. Each swing summons a squawk from the branches. The rustling, the caws, all in time with his heart slamming against his ribs. His hands swings between pockets of light.
He imagines a face; indistinguishable from any other, unremarkable but it fuels his hatred. Muscles, tense like stone, unleash a flurry of punches whizzing through the air. With his last bit of energy spent his fists fall to his side and he stands alone panting under the dim moonlight.
Shuffling over the path he continues to the dorm with the flock of birds following from tree to tree. With the fury dissipated; he’s left to dwell on the past. The ancient branches creak as he passes; forced to dance by the governing wind. Is that what he’s supposed to do? Pretend everything is okay, make excuses Gwen’s behavior, and put on a show for the world?
She didn’t mean it like that.
You’re reading too much into it.
Sleep on it and it’ll all blow away tomorrow.
‘They’re women, son, either they’ll forget about it or stop talking to each other. Problem solved.’
A soft ring of light surrounds the moon and acts as a beacon through the path. He takes his time, trying to will away the bubbling emotions before he returns to his room. Turning the corner, he faces the back of the building where dark windows greet him. Dammit…curfew.
The front door is out of the question; the building seniors on night patrol will rat him out without a second thought. His only chance is the broken emergency exit in the rear of the building. The custodian hasn’t bother to fix it yet, and he doubts the students care to remind him. After all, no one wants to be the kid who ruins the senior’s fun.
The orange light above the steps is his salvation. A few more meters, through the door and up the stairs to his floor and no one will be the wiser. But whispers from the stairs brings him to pause and crushes his hope.
He crouches behind a fat evergreen and spies three older students sharing a cigarette beside the door. The smoke slithers into the night as their voices lower. One drops ashes over the shoes of the one with greasy curls, then inhales a long drag. When the amber light fades, he stomps it out on the cement.
Hurry up then. Someone will notice him gone and he doesn’t want a discipline meeting with the headmistress so early in the year. He’ll never hear the end of it; not from Gwen or his dad. His foot taps over the layer of pine needles, counting the seconds until he hears the door click and shut behind them. Counting to sixty, he emerges from his hiding place and slips inside the dorm.
The metal door shuts behind him with a heavy finality; shifting the familiar entrance into an eerie space. The darkness permeates the stairwell, absorbing the weak light from the single lightbulb dangling high above the stairs.
At the cusp of the silence, he hears breathing. It’s faint, barely audible, but it sends a wave of fear shuddering through his body. The warped worn wood creaks under his weight. Each step signals his existence, screeching its position, and sends his heart further in his throat. He reaches the first landing and pauses as the light above hums. The bulb flickers, summoning twisting shadows at the edge of his vision. His body freezes at the base of the next flight. Waiting with bated breath for his inevitable fate.
A creaky step shatters the stillness; turning his mouth to sandpaper. He waits between the flickering for a person to descend. Counting each painful second until he’s discovered. Another creak prickles across his skin. The bulb flashes then exploded, raining glass over his head, and casting the stairwell in darkness. As his eyes adjust his breath floats above his face. The hair on his neck stands on end as his gaze lands on the nightmare six steps above him.
White eyes stare from the emptiness. A slender form dressed in moonlight blocks his path. Her tangled hair falls from her head, dancing over the steps. As a pale hand beckons him an artic wind blows through his body. Her shimmering shape turns to climb the stairs, but her eyes face him as she ascends the creaking steps.
His throat tightens, unable to scream or run, he watches. Watches as water drips over the steps as her hair slithers behind her. Watches the blank dead eyes stare into his. Her thin lips mouth words he can’t understand. Finally, he watches her formless figure until it evaporates into the shadows.
A shiver shoots up his spine. Springing to life he climbs the steps two at a time. He reaches his floor, fumbling with the doorknob before flinging it open. The light above the bathroom glows like a beacon. He exhales slowly, loosening his clenched jaw, and listens to the snoring vibrating from behind the locked doors.
The bathroom light draws him closer. Begging him to glance inside; desperate to prove or disprove his suspicion. But he stares at the doorplates instead counting the numbers until he reaches his. His shaking hand grips the doorknob, but his icy breath floats in front of his eyes. He can’t live in suspense; taking a deep breath he turns and chances a glimpse. In the glow of the blinding orange light stands her lanky white form. Dripping wet in a white night shirt. Snakes of black hair rush over the floor. A click, and his door opens; he pushes himself inside.
Bracing the door, he listens for the impact. The slamming against the hollow wood. The nails clawing at the frame. But nothing. The blood pulsing in his ears slows. His racing heart returns to normal. But, from under his jacket, his mark burns. And somewhere outside a raven calls out to his brethren.
- Next Chapter: A Surgeon’s Fatal Cut
- First Chapter: His Dancing Mistress
- Scriptorium (Home)
The Scribbling Scribe 