Caitlin purposefully bumped into Dahlia in the busy hallway before classes began, hard enough to warrant a few questions. Dahlia stopped in her tracks after regaining her footing, and faced Caitlin with her brows furrowed, waiting an explanation. The aggressor spoke. "Natalie's condition got worse. She punched out a doctor and went crazy before they relocated her to another hospital. We're not sure where or why yet."
The subtle shift of Dahlia's facial muscles might have indicated some degree of remorse. But still, she asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
Caitlin closed the gap between them, inches away from her face, with a mean glare in her eyes. "Because I think you have something to do with it, bitch."
Immediately, Dahlia knew she wasn't ready to get pushed around again. She simply wasn't in the damn mood.
Hissing back, she threatened, "Keep spreading lies, and then see what happens to you next."
Before a reaction could come, Dahlia barreled her shoulder into Caitlin's and shoved through, nearly toppling the girl in the process. She didn't turn back when Caitlin shouted with frustration.
Dahlia must have been standing around Crane's front door for ten minutes without knocking. Maybe it was anxiety, or maybe it was suspicion. Either way, it nearly made her nauseous with stress. The door suddenly opened and Dahlia's eyes shot up in surprise.
"Miss Rhodes? How long have you been standing there?"
"Uhhhhh." She muttered. "Not long. Sorry, I ... uh ... I felt jittery for some reason."
One of Crane's eyebrows peaked with curiosity, but he thankfully didn't ask. He waved Dahlia in, then glanced outside the front door before closing and locking it. He motioned her to take a seat in his living space. Once again, Dahlia chose the furthest seat. She kept her back rigidly upright and carefully smoothed the bangs over her forehead.
Crane chose the seat next to her. "You seem on edge tonight. Is something bothering you?"
Dahlia couldn't hide her concern well enough. It must have been obvious, and he was probably being polite. What was there to be nervous about, really? Didn't they build a modicum of trust with one another? She smiled defeatedly and looked downwards. "I'm okay, really. I've just never been studied before." A chuckle, and then, "Not that I'm aware of anyway."
"Hm. Would you like water, or tea?"
"No, thanks. I'm alright."
Crane nodded slowly.
Then he glanced towards one of the doors leading to another room. From her peripheral, Dahlia figured it was a guest bedroom. Crane said, "I need to prepare a few things for the study. Would you mind waiting here a few minutes?"
She didn't know why that sounded ... uncharacteristically unprepared. "No, that's fine. Take your time."
Crane threw her a smile with the comment, "It'll only be a moment or two." And then he headed down a back hallway into a room hidden from her view. She heard the door quietly shut.
It made her measurably uneasy, waiting alone. She didn't know what to think and felt guilty doubting him. But she couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling that something wasn't quite right.
Up until that point, Nightmare was keeping rather quiet. Dahlia barely noticed her. It wasn't too often that she got to see a domestic crow up close and personal. Smiling, she stood and slowly approached, hoping to distract herself. "Good evening, Nightmare." She said sweetly. The bird made only a quiet squawk. After feeling comfortable enough, Dahlia reached out slowly to stroke her breast. She really didn't know how to gauge a bird's temperament, but she assumed it felt nice.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of a nearby door closing. Dahlia straightened out like a meerkat, heart suddenly pounding. She didn't know why it scared her. She nearly shrieked in surprise as Nightmare then cawed loudly and took off from her perch onto the top of a bookcase.
Why did she feel like something. Wasn't. Quite. Right?
The sound didn't come from the back of the house, but rather she thought she heard it come from that same guest bedroom. The one near the bookcase Nightmare was perched upon.
It didn't seem like the most polite or rational thing to do, but Dahlia felt herself being compelled by an inescapable curiosity. Taking a few breaths to steady herself, and a moment to assess if she could hear Crane moving around nearby, she dictated it discreet enough to proceed.
She stepped into the guest bedroom carefully, like a cat exploring an unfamiliar territory. It was mostly empty besides a twin-sized bed and some small furniture. Nothing to note. As she looked back towards the entryway, she noticed a door on the corner wall, presumably leading to the closet.
She didn't think anything of quietly turning the knob to check inside.
How unexpected it was, that this wasn't a door to a closet, but a door to the basement.
And an awe-inspiring sight to witness.
It was a massive space, far larger than she ever would have guessed could fit under his house.
The door led down to an industrial steel mezzanine, with matching steps leading yet further down to a wide spread of dirtied white tables. So many large vats, steel containers, chemistry knick-knacks, a few clipboards, and several piles of hand-written notes. Dahlia thought the place looked like some kind of laboratory. And although she couldn't begin to guess what was occurring or being manufactured, she was able to distinguish a pattern in the arrangement. The tables nearer to the stairs were cleaner, and had much smaller vats and canisters neatly sorted. It came across as a study or observation area.
She was compelled to further investigate.
After descending the sharply-treaded stairs, she more closely examined the thumb-sized canisters. There were different varieties, some that looked like tiny oxygen tanks and some with short needle-like attachments. Never before had she seen something like this. What was Crane doing, making injectables or something?
Dahlia reached out to the nearest vat, cautiously and quietly. After a few moments of figuring out how it was sealed, she opened its top-loading door and peered in to see a white powder. Jesus, was it heroin? Cocaine? She was too sheltered from any drug to be able to tell. And it was odorless. Is this why Crane was getting chemicals at the university?
... Jesus, did the dean know? Did anyone? Should the police have known? What was he doing with this all? She felt as if she were going to have a panic attack. Without a moment's pause, Dahlia closed the vat and began to rush up the stairs, her breaths becoming more rapid. She needed an excuse to leave, and fast. Maybe she got food poisoning? Maybe she just got cold feet, or perhaps she was needed at home?
She was so fixated on not tripping over the steep steps that she didn't notice the person standing in the doorway.
And clumsily, she smacked into them. Eyes darted up to meet a scarecrow.
She screamed.
She nearly tumbled back down the steps in fright, but it grabbed her around the torso, and lifted and pulled her backwards into the spare room. She flailed her legs and continued screaming, but she couldn't muster more.
In her thrashing, Dahlia got one free elbow to strike at the torso. The scarecrow tilted and lost its balance with a grunt, but held even tighter. The two tumbled to the floor on their sides. She tried to wriggle free but it didn't let go! All those self-defense classes for nothing. She couldn't feel or do anything but panic.
It was too severe to take and Dahlia began to feel her body weaken and become slow to respond. Like in a dream, she wished to take action but was becoming sluggish. Her muscles were paralyzed. Her heart felt like it was on fire and beating outside her skin. This pain was too much to handle. She couldn't get enough air.
The scarecrow sat up and maneuvered its torso above hers. Then it said something, muffled and distant.
But Dahlia could only hear a void.
It said something again, this time a bit clearer.
"Don't be afraid, Dahlia."
She was crying. So many tears. Finally the void faded.
"I want to help you."
The scarecrow didn't move but to take off its mask, revealing tousled brown locks of hair and bright blue eyes.
Her throat felt ravaged by glass. She could only manage a faint whisper.
"... Professor Crane ... ?"