Gossip buzzes like a hive throughout the meal hall. Piecemeal theories among the tables invoke a danger she hasn’t felt since the Wardens implemented their tattle tale policy. Those who had the revered information held treasure fit for royalty. No one trusted anyone, no corner of the building was safe from prying eyes. Most wanted to keep to themselves, but others enjoyed watching the world burn.
Skipped medication, a negative comment against the doctor, or a disturbing complaint against a Warden sent the victim to isolation. She claims her chair across from Anne, watching the lips of her possible condemners. The judge and jury of the next scandalous reveal sit primed over a breakfast of eggs and bacon. The doctors safeguard Siobhan’s fate, but the perpetrator walks among them.
“Hey Anne!” The empty chair besides her slides back and Conor slaps his tray on the table. “Anne, are you okay? Oh Natalie, you know Anne?”
“She is my painting partner.”
“I joined art club yesterday…” she mumbles.
“Sounds fun, I guess… for you two.” Dark rings decorate his dull eyes, did he sleep last night? “I heard about Siobhan…I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You weren’t outside last night, were you?”
“You won’t catch me outside after dark, not here, not with the bears. I finished my readings and worked on the puzzle.”
“I spoke to Ginny, and she says she was in the library last night and watched Siobhan leave. That was the last time she saw her.”
“Did she seem unusual to her?” she asks.
“She said she seemed normal enough, told her she was heading to her room.” He chomps on a slice of toast.
“Natalie said she didn’t see her, that she didn’t return last night. She’s Siobhan’s new roommate, isn’t that, right?”
“Oh….” he swallows, “what was she doing outside after dark?”
“I dunno,” she shrugs cutting her eggs in bitesize pieces. She only met her the other day, how is she supposed to know what’s normal or not.
“How is Lucas taking it?”
“Lucas, the guy from tutoring?”
“He’s her boyfriend,” Anne responds.
“He’s taking it hard; he didn’t know until the headmistress told us. She said the police wanted to speak with him, so he stayed behind, and I came here.”
“What do they want with him?”
“I guess to see if she told him anything that could help. He’s a mess, he loves her.” But Anne snorts, “what, he does.” She looks skeptical, and for once Natalie agrees. If her vision is true, then he isn’t as honest as Connor believes. “Whatever, what do you know about it?”
“I know the detectives in G.K Chesterton stories, always suspect the lover.”
“Lucas wouldn’t hurt anyone,”
“I guess so, he’s your roommate after all. I bet he was with you all night.”
“Yeah, we were studying, we have Mrs. Ashwood’s paper due.” Her spoon slips from her hand, clanging on the plate. He glares in her direction.
“Sorry, fingers slipped.” He returns to his plate without a word. She doesn’t know Lucas, but she knows the tutor with the gum isn’t in their English class.
The dorm bustles with activity as men in blue hurry between the building and parked cars lining the road. Orders, spoken with gruff urgent voices, carry through the empty common room. A wiry man in a suit brush past her on the stairs and she avoids a second one as she reaches her room. Students cram behind strings of tape in the hallway while officers stick more yellow tape across her door. The pop and stinging flash of a camera bulb lights the space, and her eyes struggle to adjust. A man in a grey suit and hat scribbles on his notepad. The Headmistress, with arms crossed, watches from across the hall.
“Miss Barker, is it?” She surveys the men with sharp eyes.
“Yes, Ma’am,” she stares at her shoes.
“I am sorry about your roommate. It must be a difficult week for you.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,”
“If you need anything, please see me, I’ll do what I can to help.”
“Thank you,” she knows she’s one rumor away from returning to Ivory Cross and her condemnation will seal her fate. But her sentiment is nice, nonetheless.
“Is this the roommate,” barks a man in a long grey wool coat. He wears a black hat and shiny black shoes.
“Natalie, this is detective Morguard, he’s here to investigate the attack.” The way he stares makes her skin crawl. He regards her, not with sympathy like the other adults, but like she’s a rat in an experiment.
“I would like to speak with you if you don’t mind.”
“Am I in trouble, sir?”
“Depends, did you do anything wrong?” she shakes her head; he towers over her and blocks the sun shining from her window casting a shadow over her face. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”
She follows him to a small room on the first floor. There’s a narrow desk with two chairs on either side. The walls are bear with dusty floral wallpaper peeling at the corners. The air is stale, and the dirt of the single window obscures the trees outside. He directs her to sit in the chair by the window and sits across from her. His partner, a short balding man, carries a stool and squeezes into the corner. She sits straight, like the Warden always liked, and folded her hands on her lap.
“Alright Natalie, I want you to meet my partner, Lou.”
“Hi Natalie,” he gives a small wave.
“You’re not in trouble Natalie, we’re like you, we want to know what happened to Siobhan.” Moreguard pulls a notepad and a pencil from his coat. “How about we start with some simple questions. What kind of girl was she?”
“I only met her Monday, but she seemed nice.”
“When you spoke, what did you talk about.”
“Homework, where places were on campus, and dorm rules.”
“What was her schedule like?”
“She woke up early and showered while there was hot water. She went to breakfast with her friends, went to class, studied, and did homework.” He writes her answers down.
“Have you met any of her friends?”
“Her best friend got sick, and her parents removed her from the school which is how I ended up here. I met her friend Delilah yesterday.”
“Did you meet Lucas, her boyfriend?”
Not in the way you think.
“No,”
“Did she ever talk about him?”
“Not to me, I didn’t know she had a boyfriend until today.”
“But you’re her roommate,” Lou emphasizes.
“Roommate of three days, we’re still strangers.”
“Yet you searched for her last night?”
Who else did he talk to? Don’t lie Natalie, lying isn’t going to help with anything: except that time, it did…
“I’m terrible with Math and I needed help with a few questions.”
“Barbara said you looked scared when you entered Delilah’s room.” Barbara, was that her name? “She said you looked pale and disoriented.”
“I had just woken up; it was dark, and I was alone in my room.”
“You’re first thought after waking up was Math?”
“I fell asleep studying, when I woke up, I saw how late it was, and I panicked. I still needed to do my homework and Siobhan said she’ll help me.”
“When did you fall asleep, Michelle said you asked for her after eight. Why were you so tired that you slept most of the evening?” Her hands fidget with her gloves, yanking at the bottom lace. The knot twists in her stomach. People like them don’t believe people like me.
“I was… I got tired after Art Club… so I laid down.”
“You don’t have to lie, Natalie. We aren’t here to get you in trouble. We only want to know where you were.”
“I was asleep, in my room.”
“But people report Siobhan leaving the common room at—” he flips through the pages, “–at seven o’clock and heading upstairs. No one saw her after that. And an hour and a half later you appear—from the room you share—looking for her like a frightened doe.”
“I told you; I didn’t see her.”
“Didn’t hear her come in?”
“No.”
“Must be a deep sleeper huh?” He lays his notepad down and rubs his eyes. She squeezes her hands hoping to keep them from shaking. Last time she was in a room like this, with men like them… “Here’s what I think happened, Miss Barker,” tapping the notepad on the table. “I wager that when Siobhan returned to your room, she caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing. Whether it’s copying her assignments, stealing her possessions—or what have you, you got angry. Based on your past I assume, in a deranged fury, you hurt her. After you did, you left her outside and snuck into the dorm with no one the wiser. You played the hapless roommate—running through the dorm claiming to search for her—and set up an alibi.”
“My past?”
“Natalie don’t play those games; I saw your file. There’re only two types of people who get sent to places like that. Since we’re both sitting here, you must’ve been the sick type then? Your school contact list shows your parents recently moved. They rent a small apartment in Brockville now. Did they sell their house for your medical bills? Being sick that long, losing all your nice things can make a kid want those things back.”
“I’m not going to steal her stuff, I’m no thief. So, what if she has nice things. Doesn’t mean I want them.”
What would I, of all people, want with more items I can’t touch?
“Pretty girl like you doesn’t want a new necklace or shoes?”
“Ma bought me new clothes for school. I bet most of the girls here have double or triple what I own. But after everything I’ve been through, having half of that wardrobe is more than enough.”
“Pretty defensive for an innocent girl.”
“You called me a thief sir, and that doesn’t sit well. Did you search my stuff?”
“We did.”
“Did you find anything that isn’t mine? Did you see where Ma wrote my initials on my clothes?”
“We did, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt her. I bet that necklace causes quite the scratches on a person.” He holds out his hand, but she clutches the key to her chest. Rosie’s scared face flashes over his. “Natalie, give me the necklace. If you don’t, I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police investigation.”
“Give him the necklace sweetheart, you’ll get it back.”
The day she found it; Rosie refused to hold it. And the nurse who inspected it was wearing rubber gloves. She doesn’t know what it does in someone else’s hands. But they offer no alternative, she slips it over her hair, fold the chain and lay it in his hand. The absence of its weight against her chest is liberating but it’s short lived as her eyes follow the key.
He inspects it, rolling it over in his coarse dirty hands. His pudgy thumb touches the ruby causing the rest of the key to smolder with a white smoky light. She looks to Lou who is writing in his own notepad. Moreguard stares at the cracks in the glass but seems to ignore the glow. His short finger traces its length. It shimmers and the light reflects across his face.
Whether they can’t see it or they’re pretending it isn’t there, she doesn’t know. Inside the narrow stem she sees broken images of a man hugging a woman. The image is tiny, but she sees them smiling. The key flashes black, and in the white light her face changes. She screams as blood flows from her forehead. Her agonising face, reflecting in each piece, shouts at her. Her palms grow warmer under her gloves, and she struggles to keep her face straight. She needs to pretend this is normal or they’re going to send her back. Her heart slams against her rib cage. She can’t let Doctor Yves be right. The scene replays until he drops it into her open hands. The weight falls like an anchor, her destruction and savior.
“Either you cleaned this too well or this isn’t the weapon.”
“Or I didn’t hurt her at all.”
“If you didn’t, do you know who did?” the way he taps his notebook drills into her skull.
Whatever name she gives him will go into his notes. Like the Warden’s tattling list, the people she names will face the authority of the lawman. And whatever sick justice they consider appropriate. She didn’t like the vision with Lucas yelling at Shobhan. But lord knows when that was. Should she smear his name for that? Then there’s Conor who lied about Lucas doing homework for a class he isn’t in. She understands how the snitches as Ivory Cross felt. The sought after knowledge in her hands. What could she trade for it? What if she made the wrong choice. What if the wrong person suffered. But the being executioner for a poor soul’s life was too much.
“I’ve been here three days, sir. Its not enough time to know.”
The Scribbling Scribe 