Chapter 8: The Invisible Girl in Room Thirteen by Stephen Simpson
As we walked down the stairs away from the library, Oliver
asked, “Are you going to phone and ask your mum?”
I shrugged. “They’re on a retreat somewhere. No phones
allowed.”
As we approached the large, imposing building, I looked up
at all the neatly spaced, square windows and my eye caught the little gargoyles
on top of the roof looking down at the garden in front of the building. The
pathway to the doors had a neatly trimmed hedge on both sides.
He walked with me to the front door. “We could’ve gone into the city to watch a movie maybe or go have a bite to eat that doesn’t resemble mass production, but I have a rugby match this afternoon.” He gave me a hopeful look.
It sounded like an invitation, but I said, “I’m a little
tired, but maybe I’ll see you there.” I smiled and nudged his shoulder. “See if
you have any talent or if you’re just wasting your time.”
He chuckled and pushed his hands into his jean’s pockets.
I took a step closer to the door. “So, I’ll see you later?”
He nodded his head, turned around and walked away.
I walked up to my room and then lay down on my bed. I was
not sure if I fell asleep but after laying on my bed staring up at the ceiling
for a really long time, images started playing on the matte white paint above
me.
Lily's large eyes looked haunting in the centre of soft pink
eyeshadow and up close, her white skin seemed to give off its own luminescent
glow. Her blonde hair was ruffled by the wind blowing over the surface of the
lake.
She was wearing a long, white, old-fashioned night gown and
the light from the full moon silhouetted her legs through the material which
hung to her ankles.
The mist on the lake swirled toward her as she walked closer
to the water and the large grey boarding house loomed behind her, while the
gargoyles on the roof seemed to be focused on her movements.
At the edge of the lake, where the wind was making small
ripples on the surface of the water, creating tiny waves, she stopped for a
moment.
She started pacing and ranting, “I guess he just didn’t love
me enough. One and one makes three.”
Then, the mist embraced her and welcomed her to a refuge of
lost souls. It coaxed her to take another step and then another. I watched her
walk into the water until she disappeared in the mist.
The image faded and I stretched lazily.
Sunlight was filtering through my window and the sky was a
deep azure blue.
The earlier grey clouds from this morning had all rushed
away to go and spread their dreariness somewhere else.
Deciding fresh air and being social would probably do me
good, I got ready to go to Oliver’s game. I was sure most of the girls were
already there and that was why the boarding house was so quiet.
To the side of the boarding house, there was a clump of
trees and I decided to take a shortcut through the little forest to the other
side where the boy's school’s sports fields started.
It was so quiet I could hear the birds tweeting in the
treetops and far-off I could hear a crowd cheering. I hoped it was Oliver who
scored a try.
I walked a little faster to get there quicker and then I
heard a sob. My head spun in that direction, and I recognised Belinda, who
stayed in the room opposite me.
Instead of walking on and ignoring them, something compelled
me to duck behind a tree and to watch them.
Barry was leaning against a tree trunk, with his hands in
his pockets, while Belinda was standing in front of him.
Belinda pouted. “You said you loved me.”
The boy smiled. “I meant it.” He reached for her.
“I can’t, Barry,” she said.
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to
him. “I care very much about you.”
Then they kissed.
Belinda pulled away from him, “Does Zelda kiss as good as I
do?”
“I wouldn't know,” he said while holding her face between
the palms of his hands.
Barry dropped his one hand and cupped her breast over her
T-shirt.
Quickly she reached up and took his hand off her breast,
shaking her head.
“Belinda...”
“Somebody'll see.”
“No, they won't. They’re all at that lame game.” He lifted
the edge of her T-shirt and slowly glided his hand up her waist.
When Belinda opened her mouth to protest, he sealed her lips
with a kiss.
In a husky whisper, she murmured, “Somebody's going to see
us, Barry.”
“Come on, Belinda,” he begged.
“I’m not comfortable doing it here.”
“I need you so much, Belinda,” he said as he unhooked her
bra.
They were so oblivious, so lost in their passionate kiss
their eyes were closed and perspiration streaked their flushed skin until…
I stood up from the ground and rubbed the dust off my jeans.
Then, my hands were pressed against my temples and my throat was filled with
silent screams of terror.
It looked like a vandal had come along and thrown red paint
everywhere. Drops of red goo were dripping from the tips of leaves. Barry’s
throat was slashed, and Belinda’s bloody body laid sprawled across him.
I must have blanked off from shock.
I turned on my heels and ran as fast as I could back to the
boarding house and back to my room. Phoning the police was not an option. They
would think it was suspicious if I was the first one on the murder scene again.
Instead of asking me a few questions, they would probably
arrest me, and I would be locked up in jail. If they asked me questions, I
would be unable to answer them, which would make me look even more guilty. All
I remember was feeling bad for watching them, feeling rage built up in me until
it exploded and then nothing.
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