Act 2, Scene 6

Khaleel walked the edge of the pavement like a tight rope as his body swayed back and forth in the wind with his dark curls tousled and cheeks tinged pink. His arms were poised, as though ready for flight and every step was dramatic. 

When I told Khaleel about the words on the table, he seemed unbothered. In a way, I understood the flippancy. Burton Abbey was known for the drama department and the number of thespians who came in and out of that classroom who could have written Shakespeare's words was too many to count. 

Still, it put me on edge. When you'd had as many threats as I had, not much was enough to ease the anxiety. 

The rain had held back long enough for the clouds to turn an angry grey over our heads and the sweet melody of birds was somewhat comforting. I'd walked this way many times before with many different people and it was a journey I'd mapped out in my head well.

Burton Abbey Boarding School was located in the middle of nowhere with only a small village nearby. We passed the towering trees, walked along mostly empty roads and finally began to see the steady flow of locals as they finished work and returned to their homes. 

Khaleel's eyes were wide as he inspected everything around us. When the village children rushed past on their bikes, bringing with them boisterous laughter and a gust of wind, he gasped. 

"Do you come here often?" Khaleel wondered, finally falling back into step with me. 

"We haven't had much time lately." 

The cafe was one we cherished. It was one of those rare times that Beatrix and I got to escape the boarding school.  Where we could sit and drink tea and pretend we weren't students in an elite boarding school. We were hidden in plain sight, in a world where Shakespeare's quotes weren't painted onto the forefront of our brains and the village was free reign to explore. 

A warm glow emitted from the cafe, framing the building as a safe haven against the murky skies and cold air. The warmth immediately hit my face when we stepped inside and the silk that draped from the windows and tables created a soft atmosphere in the air. 

We ordered from the counter and the owner shot me a welcoming smile. Beatrix was already there and reading a script aggressively whilst her lips moved to murmur under her breath. It was a sight I recognised well, especially on days near to the shows. 

I greeted my best friend while placing my steaming mug of tea onto the table. Beatrix looked up and pushed her braids behind her ear. Her body thrummed with stress and she smiled uneasily at us both. 

"You shouldn't let D'Angelo mess with you," I said, "you know the words already." 

She ran her hands down her face. "I know, I know. I just can't help myself. He's reblocked the whole thing to be completely different and now I don't know where I start and where Juliet or Calpurnia or Ophelia ends. It's just- it's getting in my head." 

I frowned at her desperation. I was pretty sure it wasn't just D'Angelo that was stressing her out but the thought of this being Elijah's memorial too. While the pair were never together in real life or particularly good friends, they were close enough. They were close in the sense that every time we did a play, they were cast as a pair. Elijah as the handsome lead, Beatrix as his beautiful love interest. Their characters often died, but they died together. 

Now, Elijah had passed but it was real life and Beatrix couldn't do anything about it. There was no closing of the curtain, or rewrite in the script. Elijah was gone and gone forever. I feared that Beatrix had lost a part of herself that night too. Watching her friend die, not knowing whether it was real or fake. Not knowing when to slip out of character. It was difficult for Beatrix to leave behind her characters after finishing a play and she carried a piece of them around with her long after the final bow.

I sometimes wondered whether she'd ever broken character since that night. 

"So, Khaleel. Have you had a proper tour of Burton Abbey yet?" Beatrix spoke over my thoughts. 

He smiled, nice enough, and nodded. "Yes, Mrs Hawthorne showed my father, my sister and me around when we first got here. I was afraid of getting lost but I think I'm better at finding my way around now." 

"Has anyone from form six shown you around, though?" 

He furrowed his brows and scrunched up his nose, seemingly confused as to why that would make a difference. 

"You have to be shown around by a form six! It took us six whole years to figure out all the nooks and crannies around here and we still haven't seen most of it. You don't see old tunnels or the secret drawing rooms from a tour with Hawthorne." 

His golden eyes lit up like a child.

"Charlie and I will show you!" She declared with a grin. "In the new year, come to school a day or two before classes and we'll spend the whole day looking around. Maybe we'll find some more secret rooms too while we're at it." 

I blew on the steam in my teacup and glanced at Beatrix's script. It was highlighted and graffitied with black ink as a simple smiley-face occupied the corner. Before I could have added to the conversation, a chair pulled up to our little round table.

I glanced to the side and saw the familiar brown corduroy jacket and sighed. 

"Hello!" Nora Takahashi grinned with her voice sweet like honey. To even look into her dark eyes brought me back to the night and instantly, I saw the dummy swaying back and forth from the doorway. 

I heard the whispers and felt that pressure sat against my chest so heavily that I could barely breathe. The feeling of Khaleel's large hand as it gripped my shoulder ripped me from the thoughts. 

"I was wondering, Charlie," Nora began with a quiet smile. "If you'd like to do an interview for the Burton Abbet Gazette? Everyone thought you were dead for a few days, you know, and it would be nice if you just came back swinging. A nice interview, a nice smile, and a nice place for me in the paper again. You up for it?" 

Beatrix looked at Nora with her mouth agape and a wave of anger hit me blindly. 

"Get lost," I spat to the reporter. 

She pulled her lips into a thin line and exhaled deeply through her flared nostrils. "I get it," she shrugged. "It was traumatic. You don't have to do an interview if you don't want to." 

I waited with bated breath for a few seconds, expecting her to add to the statement. She didn't. Nora sat perfectly still, her deep red hair pulled into a low ponytail with a cream scrunchie and eyeliner sharper today than I had ever witnessed it. Khaleel and I shared a suspicious look, confused as to why Nora had not yet moved away.

What was she waiting for?

"Mr Donahue is here," Beatrix cringed against her words that she aimed at me. It was always an embarrassing experience to see teachers out in the real world. Sometimes it was difficult to believe that teachers, especially Burton Abbey teachers, existed outside of the school's stone walls. 

"Oh, I hate that guy," Nora groaned. With her elbows on the table, she leaned over with wide eyes as though she was about to tell the best story around the fire. Unintentionally, we all leaned in. 

"So, I used to take Latin last year and he was my teacher. I forgot something in the class and went to get it. Mr Donahue had dragged his chair right next to the window at the side of the class and was just staring out. I found out a few days later that he had a direct view of the girl's wing," she whispered loudly. "I found clothes in the man's storage cupboard in his classroom that most definitely didn't belong to him. He put his own curtains over every window in his class. I looked at the logs and saw he took trips out of the school very often."

Beatrix grimaced but I tried to keep my face neutral and instead searched Nora's body for a sign of a lie. She kept steady eye contact with my best friend and blinked at the appropriate times.  Her body language was open, shuffling her feet at the right times and looking away when needed, too. 

 "Then, after I'd gathered all my research to report on it for the paper, the school wouldn't let me," she shrugged and that brought her story to an end. 

Beatrix had leaned in so far that she was practically lying across the table. Her eyes flashed with pity and disgust and I knew that my friend believed her. Khaleel was harder to read. His body language was open but his eyebrows crossed in suspicion. 

I glanced for a brief second to Mr Donahue who was now walking out of the shop with his cup to go. His round glasses steamed up when he got too close to the hot tea that he cradled in his hand. The lines of stress plagued his forehead and his usually well-kempt beard looked especially unruly today. He seemed more homeless than poetically tortured. 

"Anyway, I should go," Nora smiled. The sound of her chair echoed uglily as the reporter dragged it along the floor and stepped away from us. While a second ago, her eyes had been filled with the sparkly comfort of friendship, now they were blank. Two doe eyes full of absolutely nothing and the change was enough to give you whiplash. 

"Good luck on your show," she said and left. 

"She confuses me," Beatrix sighed. "Every time I feel like I'm developing a crush, she gives me that blank look." 

"There are plenty more fish in the sea," I shrugged. "A lot more girls who will not exploit your private business in the papers. Keep your chin up." 

She dropped her head onto the table and sighed dramatically while crushing the papers beneath her. My head ached like a splitting pain to my skull and Khaleel threw me a sympathetic smile. 

From the reflection in his dark eyes, I saw myself spiralling. I felt my mind become more and more detached and failed to grasp the pieces of my sanity before they slipped through my fingers like water. 

Being honest with other people was difficult but to be truthful with myself seemed almost impossible. I felt the way my heart screamed out in agony but ignored it. I wasn't supposed to lean on others for help because it was a distraction from seeing the past. How could I solve this mystery, or stand up to these people if I couldn't even consult myself first?

I wasn't fit to fight the crime but I'd already told Khaleel I would. I needed to prove myself. 

Just as I was feeling my breathing slow, a waitress brought tea to our table. 

"I was told that this was for you," she murmured and looked at me with hesitant eyes. 

It was a fresh paper to-go cup and I wasn't sure how long the beverage had been waiting to be served but by now the tea was lukewarm when I pulled off the cap. 

Frowning, I turned to the waitress to tell her that I hadn't ordered it but by then she'd left. Beatrix and Khaleel peered at me with curious eyes but I ignored them. 

Only as my gaze racked down the cup did my breath catch in my throat and I pushed it away so fast that it fell onto its side and spilt onto Beatrix's lap who jumped up with a yelp. I couldn't get it away fast enough, I felt betrayed as if the weavers of fate had it out for me. 

'It'll be you hanging from room 7 next time'

Hanging lifelessly like that dummy, except next time it wouldn't be my photograph. It would be me.