Obsession

Reverie

The halls were always silent this early in the morning. It’s how it should be, really. No one has any business striking up a conversation at 7:30 in the morning… unless they’re the D’Angelo twins. But, then again, there are a lot of things those girls could do that wouldn’t bother me in the slightest. They could probably burn this building to the ground, and I’d thank them for bringing some light into this dull boarding school where I spend every waking minute. Maybe that’s an absurd thing to say. I don’t believe it any less, though.

“Rev? Are you okay?”

It takes about four blinks before I snap back to reality, eyes focusing in on the pristine Mary Janes directly in my line of sight. I don’t remember sitting on the floor, but I obviously am now, because I have to look up to see who's just spoken to me – Esmeray Hathaway. I don’t remember sitting on the floor, and I don’t remember seeing her walk up to me, and I certainly don’t remember her grabbing her stack of books from the locker beside where I’m curled up. All of these things must’ve happened while I was lost in thought, because I’m currently sitting on the floor, looking up at my friend Esmeray, who’s holding her stack of books and looking down at me with cerulean eyes full of concern.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good,” I finally speak after a beat of silence, wanting to wipe the worried look from my friend’s face. “Sorry, you know how I am… Are you ready to walk to class?”

A nod is the only response I receive, before Esmeray shifts her hold on her books to free one of her hands, and offers it to me. Once I’m standing, the two of us begin our trek across the dim, chilly halls we’ve walked every morning for as long as we’ve known each other, which isn’t a very long time, but is long enough to be significant.

“Did you do the math homework?” Esmeray asks after a moment of silence, her voice carefully soft, as if afraid to break the heavy silence of these never-ending halls.

My response comes a bit firmer than her words, a grimace pulling at my lips. “Yeah. It sucked, but I of course got it done. I’m on my final warning with the dean, so I can’t keep skipping assignments.”

Esmeray hums, giving a slow nod. I’m just about to ask her if she finished hers, when a shrill sound suddenly explodes through the hall, shattering the previous silence like glass, and vibrating through my bones, cooling my blood to a slush.

I know that sound.

I’ve cataloged every sound that I’ve ever been blessed to hear leave the vocal chords of either of the De’Angelo twins, and this sound is one I’d only heard once, two months ago, when Delilah De’Angelo found a spider in her locker.

A scream. A shrill, bloodcurdling scream. Except, this one is deeper, rawer than two months ago. This one has Esmeray flinching and dropping her books, heads turning towards the source, about thirty pairs of wide eyes fixed on the door to the Science Lab all at once. Standing in the doorway, just as I thought, is Delilah. She’s only there for a moment, though, before she’s running into the room, and another one of those bone-chilling screams are leaving her throat. I don’t even need to catalog the sound. It’s tattooed itself into my brain without permission.

I’m moving. My legs are suddenly pumping with speed I didn’t know I possessed, and I’m pushing past other curious girls who seem to crawl toward the Lab compared to my speed, and I’m in the doorway to the Lab in record time, and…

No. No no no no no.

That’s not Dalia, is the first thing I tell myself. It can’t be, right? Someone so perfect, so ethereal, so untouchable, certainly can’t be lying frozen on the floor, vibrant ivory skin now paler than a sheet. But, then the logic floods in. It has to be her. Those are her emerald green eyes, eyes that used to hold worlds of emotion, now staring blankly up at the ceiling, emptier than a pause between the music notes her slender fingers played on the piano only a day before this very moment. She was so alive, only a day ago. How is it that now, her lively body is devoid of movement, cold against the linoleum floor?

Delilah – who’s currently knelt beside her sister, shoulders shaking with what I assume to be sobs – seems to be coming to terms with this fact just as I am. She keeps murmuring the word ‘gone’ over and over, smoothing her sister’s blonde locks away from her forehead, rocking back and forth. “Gone, gone, gone, gone,” she murmurs to herself, body shaking harder with each word. I’m just about to go up to her to see if she’s okay, but before I can move, I hear a sharp gasp behind me.

“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME IS GOING ON IN HERE?”

I, and all the other girls who have crowded by the doorway, whip around to find the dean – Octavia Mortensen – pushing through the dense cluster of bodies, going pale-faced when her gaze lands on the scene unfolding in the science lab.

“Oh my…”

Those are the only words she can manage, before her eyes roll to the back of her head, and she crumbles to the ground. This seems to snap everyone else out of their trance, because suddenly everyone is moving, screaming, fleeing, keeling over to vomit, or scrambling for a phone to call the police. I don’t move, though. I can’t stop looking at Dalia’s lifeless face…

Esmeray

She was laughing. Her sister was dead on the floor, and she was laughing. I’d noticed it the day of the murder. Having been standing right behind Reverie in the moment, I had a front seat to Delilah’s apparent mental breakdown as she knelt beside her sister, murmuring the same word over and over like some kind of lunatic. Reverie insisted she was crying when I brought it up to her that night, but I saw it with my own eyes. I saw her wide grin in the reflection of the stainless-steel cabinet in the science lab. Blurry, distorted, but undeniable.

Knowing this, I still devoted an entire week of my life to looking for Dalia’s killer, per Reverie's request. The entire week, I told myself, maybe I was wrong. Delilah genuinely looked like she wanted justice for her sister… maybe it was just the shock from her death that made her a bit hysterical. Besides, I couldn’t leave Reverie to obsess over this on her own.

That reasoning had carried me through the week with minimal complaint, and with the authorities finally only a days travel away from our remote boarding school, I’d thought I’d just be able to put this entire situation behind me sooner rather than later. That was the plan, at least.

Until I stumbled upon this.

I wasn’t trying to snoop around in Delilah’s personal things, not really. I just stumbled by her dorm room, and noticed that the door was open, and all my suspicions suddenly rushed back to me, and now I’m in her room. The first thing I notice is the smell. Not the usual teenager BO that lingers in every dorm room, proof of the generations of high school girls who’d lived here before us. It’s much, much worse. It’s a deep, almost sour smell that makes my stomach churn. My body convulses as I gag, covering my mouth and willing the nausea away.

Maybe this isn’t a good idea. That’s what the logical part of my brain keeps screaming at me. Despite it, my legs keep moving, dragging me further into the room. The smell gets worse the further I go, and I gag about three more times before I make it across the room, stopping in front of the closet door. It’s especially sickening here, so this must be where the smell is coming from, which terrifies me more than I’d like to admit.

I should turn back. I know I should turn back. But, against my better judgment, my hand is moving toward the closet door handle, shaking fingers curling around cool metal, wrist twisting with tantalizing slowness. I don’t even get the chance to fully open the door before it’s being pushed open against my will, and I scramble back just as whatever forced open the door crumples to the ground.

Dalia.

A shriek is halfway out of my mouth when a hand clamps over it, my body freezing in fear as another arm wraps around my torso, holding me still.

“You know that saying, curiosity killed the cat?”

My eyes search for the source of the voice in a blind panic, before the room lurches as I’m abruptly turned, suddenly met with the sight of Delilah standing by the door, lips curled up in a smile.

“I asked you a question, Hathaway,” Delilah snaps, her grin suddenly turning into a snarl, eyes wide and bloodshot. “Do you know the saying, curiosity killed the cat, hm?”

Tears blur my vision as I give a frantic nod, a muffled sob tearing from my chest along with the answer. Delilah seems delighted by the sight, her smile returning.

“Ah, amazing. So, I have no need to explain what’s coming,” she says, a crazed giggle following her words. When I give nothing but another sob in response, Delilah makes an expression of mock sympathy, before giving a nod to the person holding me captive and instructing, “Go ahead. Now’s your time to prove yourself.”

The person behind me doesn’t hesitate. The last thing I hear before the end is Delilah’s laughter.

Reverie

Delilah seems happier now. It was revealed that Esmeray was the one who killed Dalia, and she was taken away last night. Justice has finally been served! I could’ve sworn Esmeray was with me when Dalia was murdered… but I think I’m remembering things wrong. It was a traumatic event, after all. Delilah told me that sometimes, after a traumatic event, our brains like to tell us a different story to protect us, even though it may not be true. I believe her. How could I not, when she says it with such a confident look in her emerald eyes?

The halls aren’t silent anymore, at least not for me. I’m a part of Delilah’s ‘clique’ now. I’m not sure what clique means, but I’d always dreamed of being Dalia Delilah’s friend, and now that dream has come true. Now, I walk with her to class, and listen as she chatters about the dream she had last night, or what she’s going to have for lunch, or this new song she’s learning on the piano. I didn’t even know she played piano. Dalia was the only one who played piano… at least I thought so. I also never saw Delilah wear as many dresses as she does now. That was Dalia’s thing before she died… or maybe not. I don’t remember… But Delilah says that's normal in situations like this. Dalia Delilah says everything is going to be okay. Dalia Delilah says to trust her, and I do. With all my soul, I do.

I’d kill for Delilah. I feel like I already have… but I might be remembering that wrong too.