Authors: Wendy Potocki
“Melissa! Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. Nature calls and all that.”
Raising her hand, she took a few steps backwards. Squinting, the light was hurting her eyes.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked, taking her by her arm. “You don't look so good. Did you have too much to drink?”
It was the one thing he shouldn't have said. While it was unreasonable to expect him to know the deep gorge he'd stepped in, she didn’t care she was being childish and unreasonable. He should have known. Somehow he should have known.
Yanking herself free from his hold, she began shouting hysterically.
“Get away from me! Get away and leave me alone!”
“What? Melissa, what's gotten into you? It's me, Jeff. Just calm down. I can't leave you here alone like this. Now come on.”
“I'm not alone! I'm not! I'm meeting someone. Now get the hell out of my way!” she demanded, stumbling further into the woods.
“Melissa!” he called, running after her.
“Get the hell away from me, you loser! You'll never get a job! Never! You're the worst partner I've ever danced with and everyone hates you! Now get away!”
The hurt on his face told the entire story; she'd hit him where it hurt.
“Okay, okay,” he responded, surrendering quietly, “I'll leave. Goodnight and I hope whoever it is that you're waiting for shows up, but I guess that’s not really my problem.”
His flashlight gone, the deathlike grip of midnight took hold. While he rapidly made his way back towards the academy, she was regretting cutting her own throat. With no light, it was pitch-black. Light-headedness overtaking her, she crumpled like a paper doll. Her knees hit the soft dirt, her upper body tumbling forward. Zoe's story came back to her. She must have been drugged—just like Barbara Moore. She’d never thought of that until now—when it was way too late.
Lying on the ground, she was shaking in fright. Not wanting to die, she didn't want to end up another statistic. Imagining her body slit open on some autopsy table, she tried to crawl back. Her hands digging into the dirt, she attempted to scream, but hadn’t the strength. Her body shutting down; there was no more fight in it. The cover of night pulled over her eyes, she withdrew into a fitful dream.
* * * * *
“Well, you still shouldn't have done that!” Collette screamed, challenging the cruel remarks.
“Done what?” Zoe asked icily, her expression masking her guilt.
“You know what! Accusing her of being drunk, and bringing her into that goddamned story! She is anything but plain! Anybody with eyes can see that, so why can't you?” she queried, a knowing smile crossing her lips. “Unless you do notice? You're flat out jealous, aren’t you, you bitch? Is that what this is about?”
“Jealous? Of a second-rate little nobody who can't even manage to get to dance a variation in
The Nutcracker
? I think not.”
“I agree with Collette. I think you're jealous,” Tina accused, joining in the fray. She'd had it with Zoe's attitude. Overhearing her tear other girls apart, the snarky attitude had become personal by zeroing in on her friend. “Look,” she said addressing Collette, “we can hash this out another time. Right now, we need to find Melissa.”
“You're right. Let's go,” Collette said taking hold of her hand.
“You're wasting your time. She's with Jeff,” Zoe lied. Seeing Jeff walking on the path that headed to the dance academy, Collette and Tina had been turned the other way. While the falsehood effectively stopped Collette from pursuing the inquiry, Tina wasn’t won over.
“Jeff? How do you know she's with him?”
“Because I had a talk with him and he said he was meeting her for ...” Zoe continued, clearing her throat several times to indicate sarcasm, “... a ‘
date’
. Seems Melissa's got the hots for him and wants a little one-on-one action. She's a slut as well as a lush.”
“She's not either!” Tina defended. “And you upset her with that remark about her mother! Now she's in the woods ...”
“Getting laid,” Zoe interjected, finishing her sentence. “Well, my bad, but she didn't leave because of anything I said. I just told you what she's up to. She's not the first girl to want a little piece of her partner.”
“Collette, come on. We need to check this out. She hates Jeff,” Tina argued, flicking on her flashlight.
“People change their minds!” Zoe persisted. “And if you do go hunting her down, you may interrupt something that you really don't want to see!”
Collette was thoughtful, mulling over the implication.
“I hate to say this, but I think Zoe’s right. If you wanted to spend some romantic time, you wouldn't want your friends busting in on you.”
“Collette, this is ridiculous ...” Tina argued.
“Look,” Zoe interrupted. “The crowd is leaving. If Melissa wants to stay and get busy in the woods, it's her problem not ours. Right? Now let's go!”
Skittering away, Zoe waved at them to follow. Catching up to Justin, he playfully wrapped his arm around her, waiting for the trio to decide.
“What do you think we should do?” Tina asked, concerned about leaving Melissa alone.
“You heard her. Melissa is with Jeff,” answered Brandi.
“Yes, but how do we know that?” Tina pressed.
“Well, do you see him around?” Collette asked.
“No.”
“Do you see her?”
“No.”
“Well, then?” Collette asked.
“I don't know,” Tina allowed, shaking her head.
“Well, we do,” Brandi said. Tucking her arm through Tina's, she tried to lead her away.
“Come on!” Collette urged, pushing from behind.
Resisting at first, Tina gave into the pressure. Catching up with the group ahead, it was safer staying together.
* * * * *
Melissa came to. Still dazed, she had no idea how much time had passed. Feeling woozy, she hovered between staying awake and being seduced back into slumber. A heat near her head, the trees were illuminated by a soft light. Struggling to keep her eyes open, she was back in the clearing, next to the fire, a heavy woolen blanket covering her body.
Scrambling to make sense of what had happened, soft music reached her ears. It was such an unsettling sound. Panicking she remembered the story. It must be The Innocents! She was going to die! She had to run, but her body seemed paralyzed by something other than fear. Her eyes rounding, they fixated on a figure in the distance. A man dressed in black was dancing in the forest. Moving with a mania found in those possessed, his foot speed was volatile. His turns frenetic, he launched into a series of dazzling leaps. Suspended in the air, he defied gravity.
Attempting again to lift her head, she couldn't. Certain that she was going to die, the artist in her would not be denied. Drinking in the miracle of genius, she was overwhelmed. He was everything she’d tried to be, but had failed at achieving. Embodying perfection—it was the kind that others assured wasn’t possible to achieve. Yet there he was, living proof to the contrary.
His sleeves billowing, the curtain of his robe spread out around him adding kinetic excitement. It was as if that, too, were choreographed. His legs beat out a series of boile de voiles. Circling the fire, he launched into a series of triple entrelacés. Not believing what she was seeing, she let out a soft groan that brought the performance to an abrupt halt.
Inadvertently attracting his attention, she wanted to run and hide, but all she could do was watch him near. The hood worn over his head obscured his face—his identity hidden within its folds. The fire keeping him at bay, he jumped over the blaze with no discernible preparation. Landing silently in front of her, he crept as if on cat feet. Kneeling down, she expected to see a face, but there was only a skull.
The Angel of Death had found her. He leaned over, five fingers not wreathed in flesh reaching out for her. Struggling to scream, she couldn’t make a sound. The cold bones brushed the side of her face, her eyes closing for perhaps the last time.
“Momento mori, Melissa,” he murmured lovingly.
“No,” she whispered, succumbing to a frigid darkness coated in fear.
Chapter
Fourteen
“Melissa!”
The morning light let her know that she had survived the night. The male voice shouting her name vaguely familiar, she was incapable of responding. Her eyes opened only long enough to ascertain that she was still in front of the fire. The flames fast expiring, snatches of her ordeal passed through her mind like paper rushing down a sewer.
“Melissa!”
The voice persisted, but this time it was accompanied by a strong pair of hands. Snatching her around her shoulders, she looked into the comforting face of Todd Cavanaugh.
“Melissa, can you answer me?”
“I think so,” she muttered softly, energy beginning to seep into her weakened body.
“Are you alright? Did you fall? Are you injured?”
She grabbed the top of her head. It throbbed—a crushing pain behind her eyes.
“No, no, not injured.”
“Then what happened?”
“I fell asleep,” she mumbled, her head rolling to the side.
“She's over here!” he screamed. Standing up, he waved at the EMT’s to hurry. Kneeling down again, he felt her face, and hands. While cold, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, but that was most likely because of the fire.
The paramedics arrived, asking a slew of questions. Lifting her onto a gurney, she was immediately transported to the hospital. Treated for dehydration and mild hypothermia, she spent the day regaining her health. The intravenous fluids rejuvenated her, the rest in the comfortable hospital bed making her feel like her old self. By 4:00 PM, she was anxious to leave, arguing with the doctors and bucking their advice of an overnight stay.
She was certain that they couldn't hold her without her consent, but waited patiently for an official release. If it wasn’t forthcoming, she'd just walk out. After the night she’d had, she wasn't about to argue. She just wanted her way, and was determined to get it. Changing into her clothes in anticipation of the discharge, she smoothed her hair back into her usual bun, a knock at the door alerting her to a visitor.
“Come in,” she called out, ready to sign the release and hear the dire warning that she was leaving against medical advice. “Todd!” she exclaimed, surprised to see him.
Taking off his hat, he walked in, the door swinging shut behind him.
“Mind if I have a few words with you?”
“No, not at all. I'm so sorry about all this trouble. The whole thing was so stupid. I don't know what got into me,” she said sitting down in a not very comfortable chair.
“Drugs,” he replied, placing his hat on a small round table, “or so they tell me.”
“What?” she blurted. Shaking her head, she must have heard him wrong.
“You asked what got into you, and I said drugs. A fancy kind of prescription sleeping pill. You want to tell me how?”
“I don't know. I have absolutely no idea.”
“Then they weren’t yours?”
“No!” Getting up, she started to pace. Distracted by remembrance of the ominous whisper in her ear, she was unsure of what to say. Drawing upon Zoe’s story, she formulated a response. “They were put in my drink,” she uttered, not stopping when she should. “They were put there by The Innocents. That's this cult that haunts the woods. They murdered this girl, Barbara Moore. I think that's what your father was trying to tell me, but Zoe did … last night. She told us the whole story about how they drugged her, and cut her head off with a scythe.” She hesitated, noting his skeptical expression. “Why are you looking at me like that? You have to find them! You have to make sure this doesn't happen again!”
His piercing eyes softened. Grasping her hands, he sat alongside her, keeping his focus locked on her.
“You want to tell me how you know about Barbara Moore?”
“I just told you.”
“So Zoe told you?”
“Yes, Zoe Ryan.”
“Zoe Ryan?” he said, fishing out his notebook. “Is this the same Zoe that told your friends that you were meeting Jeff last night?”
“Meeting Jeff? What are you talking about?”
“I'm talking about the fact that she appears to have told,” he paused, referring to his notes, “Brandi Cappella, Christina Rohms, and Collette Bradley that you were romantically involved with Jeffrey Brunner, and that you were staying to ... consummate that interest. It's why they left you alone.”
“But that's not true! I don't like Jeff and ...”
“We know. We talked to the horse's mouth himself and he assured us that’s there’s no interest … on your end, anyway,” he said, tucking his notebook away. Unzipping his jacket, he clasped his hands over one thigh. “Why do you think she said that?”
“You mean, made up the story?”
“Yes.”
“Obviously, to make them think I was with Jeff so they would leave.”
“Exactly, but why? How could she be so sure you wouldn't have simply walked home on your own? Or shown up to confront her? Or ...”
“So you think she spiked my drink?”
“Let's just say that she's a person of interest.”