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SEVEN
Connecticut Hall, Yale
New Haven, Connecticut
Friday, September 8, 2006
12:04 AM
Amy was having a hard time following Bailey's train of thought as her friend went over and over the same subjects again, repeating the story of the Red Key that had apparently come from a nineteenth-century horror novel, one that outlined subjects such as evil spirits and ghosts bent on revenge. It was as if the girl had gone insane, rambling on about the abnormal and the supernatural as if those things were fact rather than fiction, pointing to events that had happened on campus a hundred years ago as a contributing factor to both Rachel and Celia's deaths as though the same thing had been behind the "murders", explaining them off as some sort of crazed spectre trying to reenact whatever had gone on a century ago for vengeance's sake—or something.
So far, Amy had only been able to catch a few other things than that, such as the fact that the reason Bailey believed the two girls' deaths were more than accidental being that the same thing had happened on campus around the same time in 1906, which she repeated often. According to Bailey, Whitney and his friends, four total, had all jumped from their windows on the same night of separate weeks, mirroring what had happened at both McClellan and Connecticut Halls almost exactly. Not only that, said Bailey as she continued speaking in a fevered fashion, but there had been more similarities to prove it to be more than mere coincidence. All of the deaths had happened from the top floor of the building, all had been in the same year of school, and lastly, the deaths had all been gender-specific—the first time guys and this time girls, though the gender-bend had yet to be explained, along with why the hell Bailey had jumped straight to ghosts in the first place. Amy had been given nothing to convince her of the sort except for odd similarities and not much else, no matter how long the other girl continued to talk.
However, the more Bailey prattled on about how sure she was a ghost was behind the "murders", the less Amy was convinced of her friend's sanity. It seemed as though Bailey was absolutely certain she was right about what had happened, trying to make an incident from long ago fit her criteria, and was attempting to make Amy sure of it as well as she hammered the obscure idea into her head. Ultimately, none of it was sinking in, with Amy becoming stuck at the idea of a poltergeist, or whatever, attacking people she knew for some reason unknown to her. In all honesty, she had never believed in spirits or aliens or witches or whatever else the young-adult fiction section could throw at her. While she was interested in the topic of the supernatural, there was a line between honestly accepting it as reality and reading books about it for fun, and it seemed as though Bailey was seriously crossing that line as she attempted to drill in what she deemed absolute truth into her friend's mind.
Unfortunately, mainly due to the fact that Amy was drained of energy and just wanted to curl up in bed, she had no idea how to shake off Bailey and her conspiracy theories. In the time that they had been sitting in the common room of Amy's suite, she had attempted to get up, walk around, plug in the television, and make a pot of coffee while Bailey continued on, not picking up the hint that Amy was trying to find a nice way to tell her friend to leave. As she rambled about spirits and smells and whatever else she had managed to convince herself of while at the university library, Amy stared out the window, focusing on the crack she had pushed into the single pane of glass the night before. It was only a sliver, but in the light reflecting off the night sky, it was noticeable from across the room.
For some reason, the idea that she had been angry enough push out the energy to fracture a window bothered her. After she had returned from the scene of Celia's death, Amy had been so preoccupied with the thought of someone shoving her friend to her doom that it angered her into taking it out on an inanimate object. However, she didn't think her fury would result in cracking a window, no matter how hard she pushed; although, she had to admit, there had been something more to the rupture in the glass than just that. Something had come out of her, almost like a punch, tightening her grip on the surface until it broke. It was a strange sensation, one she hadn't felt before, and not one that she wanted to feel again.
Sighing quietly, Amy turned her attention away from the window to look back at Bailey. By now, the girl had settled down on the coffee table, staring intently at her friend as though dissatisfied with her lack of concentration. Slumping her shoulders, Amy suddenly felt sorry for the way she was treating Bailey and the fact that she was blatantly letting it be known that she was disbelieving in the idea that a ghost had murdered Celia. Resigning, Amy slouched back into the couch, softening her eyes as she looked at her friend, hoping the look would convey her apology. A moment later and Bailey was on her feet, the excitement she had walked in with, which had temporarily vanished during the glare, now returning full-throttle. Heading for the door, she pivoted to look back at Amy, biting back a smile as she reached for the handle.
"Come on. I'll prove it to you."
Furrowing her brow, Amy bunched her jaw before joining her friend at the threshold, locking her suite behind her prior to trailing down the hall behind Bailey. As they walked, trying to remain as silent as possible, Amy wondered where they could be going that would back Bailey's claims, hoping that it would be somewhere inside the building to keep them from being asked by campus police where they were going at this time of night. Ever since Rachel's fatal "accident", security had been buffed up and patrols had been lengthened, with the officers scanning the area suddenly becoming more and more enthused with their job. According to a few conversations Amy had overheard in class, the cops roaming the grounds on golf carts were acting as though they were searching for criminals, picking up students as if they had just walked in on a drug bust. Apparently anyone caught walking around after dark was automatically suspected of something mistrusting, causing Amy to wonder, now that Bailey seemed to be under the impression that the deaths hadn't been an accident, whether or not the staff knew more than they were leading on.
Hell, Amy thought with a smirk, following closer, maybe this is some ghost thing.
While they walked, ducking behind columns and trees every time a pair of headlights came in their direction, Bailey continued on about what she had learned in the library and how that corroborated with Red Key by Edith Wharton.
"The book is so named b'cause the key is covered with blood," Bailey whispered. "I mean, I know it sounds all cryptic, but that's b'cause it is. In the story, this woman enters the house of her lord, basically her husband, to find him dead, with a ghost standin' over him. Then, after this really eloquent fight with the damn thing, she sprays salt all over the place until it disappears. I know you reckon it sounds really ridiculous, but there's enough information on the subject to back it up. Apparently salt is a really pure mineral that—"
Stopping a moment to glance around before pulling the thick wooden door open to Connecticut Hall, Bailey paused before turning to Amy, as though making sure the girl was still behind her. Frowning, Amy wondered what they were doing here and how they were going to get into Celia's former room, especially since it was almost certain the other girls left behind had probably beefed up security as well. Taking a deep breath and nodding, Amy allowed her friend to lead the way. As they continued inside, so did Bailey and her speech, chattering on in hushed tones as they hurried for the elevator and tapped their feet impatiently as the lift rose to the fifth floor. By the time they got to suite three, it was clear that the room had been taped off, with a note on the door listing the relocation of the other students inside. According to the note, Taylor had been placed in an isolated room in Dwight Hall, whereas the other two girls had been situated across campus. Sighing in relief at the idea of not having to ask for permission inside and not having to explain themselves, Amy waited for Bailey to turn the knob, wondering if it would open. When the sound of metallic shuffling hit her ears, signaling that they were locked out, Amy bit her lip, ready to turn back and head to her own suite. Unfortunately, before she could do so, the door swung wide in front of them, causing both girls to jump.
In the threshold stood Taylor, looking weary and exhausted, her eyes narrowed in the darkness and hair tousled as though just having woken up. Biting her lip and grimacing, Amy quickly apologized, hoping Taylor wouldn't start to cry or shout, judging by the frustrated look on her face. Instead, she just stared, her eyes switching between Bailey and Amy every now and again as though silently wondering what was going on. After a long moment, she stepped aside, grabbing the yellow caution tape from where it had loosely hung from the doorframe and throwing it onto the ground. Following her in, Amy shut the door behind her as Bailey automatically looked for the broken window, seeing only that the one in the living room was still intact. Heading into the bedroom nearest them, she disappeared inside, leaving Amy and Taylor alone to talk for the first time since Celia's accident.
"Are you okay?" Amy asked softly, reaching a hand out to place on her friend's arm.
Pulling away, Taylor took a step back, keeping her eyes on the open archway Bailey had vanished through. Taking a moment to glance back at Amy before returning her stare, Taylor nearly growled. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Bailey had this… idea," Amy sighed, running her fingers through her hair as she spoke, hoping she could explain the situation without making it appear as though she was just as crazy as Bailey was becoming. "Apparently she thinks ghosts did this."
Raising an eyebrow, Taylor scoffed. "What the fu—"
"Amy!" Bailey's frantic voice shouted from the other room. "Come here!"
Jumping in surprise, Amy headed into the bedroom, Taylor not far behind. At the sill of the broken window stood Bailey, one of her hands reaching forward to swipe dust onto her finger. Lifting it up to take a look at it, Bailey shot the two girls in the doorway a wide-eyed stare, causing Amy to cross the room to see what was happening. On the tip of her friend's index digit sat a yellow powder, shadowed and muted in the moonlight. Reaching forward to mirror Bailey's movement, Amy touched the residue, rubbing it in her hand before smelling it. The odor was foul, seeming a mix of rotten eggs and tar. Brushing her fingers off through the open window, Amy turned to look at Taylor, wondering how her friend was doing.
"Sulfur," Bailey interrupted suddenly, causing both girls to look at her. "I was right."
"Right about what? About ghosts?" Taylor laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, save it for the crazy ward, Sherlock Holmes. That stuff was probably left there when they were dusting for fingerprints. Nice try, though. A for Effort or what have you."
Grimacing to herself, Amy looked between Taylor and Bailey, noticing that the two were currently engaged in a staring contest. Stepping between them, Amy broke up the heated glares, waving her hands to get both of their attentions. As her friends snapped out of their glowers, Amy glanced from one to the other, trying to make peace for a moment while they figured out what was going on. The powder in the window certainly wasn't from any sort of forensic evidence kit, nor was the idea that a spirit was behind the deaths plausible. However, if there was some sort of dust in the sill, what had left it and why had it stayed for so long? The window had been open for two nights, with a breeze strong enough to blow it away. As far as she knew, sulfur wasn't any denser than any other powders.
"Let's just think about this, okay?" Amy said finally, leaning against the edge of Celia's left-behind bed. "There are two ways we can go here: conspiracy theory or accepting the cops' ruling that this was a suicide. Knowing Celia, though, the last one isn't likely."
"Exactly what I've been saying!" Bailey piped up.
"But what does it matter?" Taylor groaned. "It's not going to bring her back."
"No, but there could be more lives at stake!" Bailey argued, stepping away from the window as a strong, warm breeze carried into the room. "Something similar to this happened in 1906. If what's happening now goes in any way like what was going on then, then we have to stop it before someone else gets hurt."
Frowning, Amy looked at Bailey. "Why is that our job?"
"Exactly," Taylor scoffed. "Amy and I are already down two friends. How does that suddenly make whatever you think is going on our responsibility? If you want to go outside and play Wonder Woman with your kindergarten pals, that's fine. Just leave us out of it."
Biting her lip, Amy glanced down at the floor. While she agreed with what Taylor was saying, she also felt bad leaving Bailey out to dry like that. Though she didn't exactly believe in what her friend was saying, she could at least lend a hand—for something to do, if nothing else. While the theory was whacked-out and overall crazy, the distraction could help her deal with what had happened in some odd way. Maybe pretending something out of the ordinary had killed her friend would ease the mourning process in some way. Unfortunately, it was also possible of the opposite, that investigating would do more harm than good.
Taking a long breath in through her nose, Amy turned away from Bailey to change the subject, instead focusing on the fact that her friend was back inside her old dorm rather than residing in her new one. Asking her about it, Taylor shrugged off the question, muttering something about not wanting to leave. Slumping her shoulders, Amy sighed, offering the pull-out loveseat in her suite as a temporary place to crash. Refusing it, Taylor rolled her eyes, nodding her head toward the door. Silently, Amy obeyed the motion, trailed closely behind by Bailey. After a long second, they were both out in the hallway, followed quickly with the heavy slamming of Suite 3's door.
