Chapter 4
Lamb of God – Sepsis blasts through my headphones as I replay the riff on my unplugged electric guitar.
Every time I’m caught in the heat of inspiration, I pause to jot down a few lines of lyrics for my own thrash metal songs.
It really sucks being practically on the other side of the country from band members, but at least we stay in close contact and can hold our practice sessions over Zoom.
My phone lit up, Ez, and I took off my headphones to answer, “Yep.”
“Are you in?” he asked, cutting to the chase.
“Yep. It’s quiet, so it suits me fine,” I replied as I stood to look out the window, but I only saw my own reflection because it’s so dark outside.
“I’ll send you a pic of her,” he added. “Are you coming to dinner?”
“Nah, you know I fucking hate socializing with you spoiled motherfuckers.” I was never backward at coming forward, and Ez appreciated it.
“You gotta eat, bro,” he said, irritating me with his pretend-to-care BS.
“I’m eating,” I snarled. “I’ve got the lemon cupcakes and picked up a TV dinner that I’ll chuck in the microwave downstairs. Stop fussing. You’re pissing me off.”
“You don’t seem like a lemon cupcake sort of guy,” he chuckled and swiped off before he had the chance to say anything else.
I swiped off before he had a chance to say anything else, and I headed out the door to the kitchen downstairs to heat my frozen dinner.
Lasagna, I think. There was a grocery store, café, and burger and pizza joints behind that giant castle.
I suspect my grandfather was overcompensating for something when he built that tall castle.
We never saw any of his mega wealth as it was squandered away over the last several decades, leaving my mother in poverty.
But, hey, we got by. My mother was gifted at making a small amount of money or food go far.
I still carry his surname, though, Ashthorn.
My mother wanted me to keep it, rather than changing it to hers, so I did.
I heard friendly chatter echoing down the hall as I approached the kitchen and paused to turn back.
I didn’t want to make conversation with anyone, least of all, the sons and daughters of the privileged and wealthy who look their noses down at our rotten society and decide that they know what is best for us.
No, you don’t.
Empty vessels who regurgitate soundbites and memes to make them sound intelligent should have no say whatsoever in the lives of the working class. Our struggles are not your struggles.
Once back in my room, I blocked out the world with thrash metal and started writing more lyrics before putting on Knocked Loose and zoning out for a bit. Until hunger pulled me back into reality, and I threw off my headphones to realize I had already eaten the lemon cupcakes but still needed more.
Fine. I’ll ignore them.
Footsteps tapped along the wooden floor, and I cracked open my door slightly to see a swinging black ponytail under a black cap. The girl’s got a black-on-black vibe. Hmm, I like it. AC/DC or Black Sabbath might be on her playlist. Or maybe not.
I took note of which room she went into, number four, “number four,” I grabbed my phone and scrolled back the instructions he sent. Yep, she’s in room number four—the girl Ez and Sickle asked me to watch over. I didn’t see her face, but from the back, it won’t be hard to look at her from behind.
I was relieved the kitchen was empty when I arrived, with a faint lingering smell of salty roast chicken and sweet perfume, which was strangely a tantalizing combination. Her perfume. My dinner was in the freezer with DON’T TOUCH written on it with a black marker.
The freezer and fridge were empty apart from the usual coffee, tea, and milk left by the faculty, and I was pissed that two plates were left in the sink with chicken gravy smeared over them.
Can’t those brats clean up after themselves? Typical. I chucked my frozen lasagna into the microwave to defrost it as I turned the faucet on to fill the sink up to wash their plates. Let the poor boy clean up the slime of the rich, while they wank on about their non-existent problems.
I found a towel in the second drawer to dry the dishes, then rested the plates and cutlery on the bench, before placing my defrosted meal into the benchtop stove.
Number four. That girl, whatever her name is, sleeps in number four, just two doors away from me.
So, if I put on Slipknot and turned the volume up, would she mind?
Probably not. She’ll come tapping on my door to whine about the noise, interrupting her beauty sleep, and I’ll ignore her.
Once my food was heated, I took it back to my room while Ez sent a message with a picture of my target. Unsurprisingly, it was the girl in number four—long black curly hair, a pretty face, green eyes, or are they brown? It’s hard to tell in this picture. Heart-shaped face. Pretty. Natural.
Her name is Adina Boleyn. Ah, she’s a Boleyn, one of the Warwicks’ enemies.
They have several enemies because they’re particularly good at pissing off crime families, just for fun or to grow their wealth and territory.
These fuckers need to lay down their arms and retire into a normal life, but they probably don’t recognize normal even if it smacked them in the face.
After about an hour, I started feeling restless and needed to walk in the dark, sticking to the shadows where I felt most at ease.
As I was leaving, my eyes drifted to her room down the hall, and I thought about introducing myself so I could get a decent look at her. For research purposes, let’s say.
But being nice to her wasn’t my reason for being here.
Instead, I quietly walked to her door, knocked twice, and then ran down the stairs.
Jeez, what a fucking chump. Like a damn twelve-year-old trick, but that’s what Ez and Sickle pay me for.
They hired a hitman — not to kill her yet, but to terrify her first. I suspect they’ll drag it out, then kidnap her and offer her on a plate to her father for money or territory.
It might not go as they planned because I doubted Mr. Boleyn loved her as much as the boys hoped.
What father in his right mind would send his precious daughter to this place, knowing that Leon Warwick sent his sons here?
Unless he didn’t know, but I thought everyone with half a brain and knowledge of the criminal gangs did.
I pressed my ear against the wood of the door and heard coughing followed by friendly chatter, but it sounded like she was talking to herself. She’s not the only one. Sometimes talking to yourself is more worthwhile than talking to a bonehead, or a jock, or a swifty. God, anything but a swifty.
I bet she likes jocks. Yeah, they always do. Predictable.
Internally, I counted to three before banging hard on the door. I heard a little shriek in fright, before I fled down the stairs, feeling like a reckless little kid scaring the girl I had a crush on. Completely immature, but worth it.
Her room was at the back of the hall, so she wouldn’t see me escape, but as soon as the door closed behind me, I realized I had forgotten my keycard.
Fuck. I kept running, though, and didn’t stop until I was in the gardens by the stone water feature of the minotaur pouring water out of a vessel.
He had glowing red eyes to frighten unsuspecting passersby in the dark, but I found it hilarious.
Last school season, I spent the warmer months sitting out here at night listening to the screams of students while smoking pot. Every scream was like magic to my ears. Further along the garden path were more statues and art features that during the day seemed normal, but at night came alive.
Perhaps my great-grandfather and I had a similar sense of humor because if I were mega-wealthy with plenty of time on my hands, I’d build a house of horrors without telling anyone that they were inadvertently inside. To hear the screams would make it all worth it.
Yeah, I wonder if we’d get along if we met, or maybe we’re just too similar to be on friendly terms. I also hadn’t met his son, my grandfather, so no old family stories had been passed down to me.
Everything I knew about Ashthorn was from what I read in library books, written by historians and architects, which featured his taste in architecture and macabre art.
Even though I forgot my keycard and my phone, I did manage to bring the most important items —a joint and a lighter —in my jeans’ pockets.
I lit the joint and lay back on the mowed lawn staring up at the starry night with a crescent moon indicating that it’s a week too early for the werewolves to come out.
Joke. There were no werewolves around here, only men who dress as werewolves to scare the students for fun. If it’s not fun, then there's no point.
As I took a strong drag on the joint, my body began to relax into the soft grass while the world above seemed to come alive. Moving lights, an airplane heading south, trickling water from the fountain, then a waft of sweet, sickly scent of roses from the nearby garden.
Not a fan of roses. I bought a chick a bouquet of red roses once, and they stunk up my car until I could offload them at her house. That chick was nuts in the end. More nuts than me, if that’s possible.
I heard the loose cackles of incoming students and waited for them to stumble across the minotaur with the red eyes on three, two…one.
Screams belt out into the night sky, and I laugh behind my hand, followed by a second bout of screams, probably scaring themselves. If they’re smart enough, they’ll remember this spot in the garden and know there is a towering monster in the dark.
I listened to the echoes of their excited voices as they faded away, heading back toward the streetlights. That’s right, girls. Go toward the lights.
Silence fell as I took a pull of my joint and fixed my eyes on the sky, snorting once when I thought about the screaming girls, before my laughter settled.
Another sickly waft of rose scent passed by my nose and my stomach a little.
It was so strong that I could smell it under the green I was smoking. If it keeps up, I might have to move.
Blowing smoke into the air, I let myself become mesmerized by its twisting and writhing against the backdrop of bright stars. I was definitely getting stoned if the smoke was starting to look like a dancing woman, with curves.
Something solid smacked my leg, and I bolted upright to see a stone bouncing onto the grass. Then I saw the girl who threw it.
“Ah, the girl from number four,” I grinned, but she looked mad. I couldn’t think why.
“Why did you bang on my door like that?” she stood four feet away, hands clenched into fists, cap on her head that shaded her eyes, making her seem more sinister than she actually was.
I cleared my throat, “Did I scare you?”
“You intended to scare me, you drongo.” Her snarl was so cute. “Or else you wouldn’t have done it.”
“Drongo? C’mon, give me something to work on,” I chuckled, finding my mood uplifted by the very presence. It’s a pity she was my target because things could’ve been different. “Drongo is hardly an insult, Number Four. Isn’t a drongo a bird or something?”
“I’m going to ask admin to move me into another dorm,” she threatened in an assertive tone. “Where students actually act their age.”
“O-kay,” I went along with her little tantrum, knowing that the admin would not move her.
The plan was for her to be placed in Morgana, and for me to spend time freaking the shit out of her until she lost her fucking mind. I must admit that banging on her door was a major slip-up, and I need to do better next time.
She turned to walk away, then paused to look back. “If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was talk to me, you know, like an adult,” she stated flatly. “And…” She exhaled as if the next part was difficult to say, “Thank you for washing our plates. I was planning on doing that myself-”
“Sure, you were,” I cut in. Even though I couldn’t see the expression on her face under the shade created by the visor, I knew she was annoyed, but also intrigued.
“I was,” she asserted hotly. “Besides, we didn’t know anyone else was in our dorm.”
Jealousy stirred in my stomach, surprising me slightly. “We? There is another one like you?”
“No,” she replied, baffled by my question. “Another roommate. Here. In Morgana.” She seemed to be running out of words to join her sentences together.
“Oh, good, I don’t know if I could handle twins,” I hit back sarcastically, and she huffed and puffed in confusion. “One of you is enough.”
“What does that mean?” she barked as her fists kept clenching, then relaxing, like she was imagining punching something. Maybe me.
“Nothing,” I laughed casually. “I’m fucking with ya. I promise you won’t see me for dust around these parts.” It was a lie, she will see me. Mere flashes in the dark or in the back of her mind. But she’ll mostly feel me. Or hear me.
She hesitated for a few moments to let a group of students pass by on the road under the safety of the streetlights. I could tell this one didn’t like groups, being sociable. It takes time to make friends when you’re new to the madhouse.
“Bye,” she suddenly said, and my heart sank because I would’ve liked her to stay and talk some more.
“I don’t suppose you can let me in when I’m done,” I called after her.
She paused and turned back, half her body smothered in the dark and the other half in the light. Interesting. “Why?” she pressed as her right hand unclenched and rubbed her chin nervously.
“Because I forgot my keycard,” I confessed.
“You forgot…” a snort rattled through the dark as her body shook. She was laughing. “You rushed out so abruptly after banging on my door that you forgot to take your keycard with you?”
I cleared my throat, not finding this embarrassing in the slightest. “Yes.”
More laughter, like cute giggly shit that kinda lit me up inside. “No,” she spat. “You can stay out here as punishment.”
“Okay, fine,” I said, lying back with my hand behind my head. “No problem. It won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last.”
She hesitated, realizing that I cannot be beaten, turned her back again, and walked off. I watched her go until I couldn’t see her anymore, expecting her to return in three…two…one.
Nothing.
I’ll give it another few beats before she’ll reappear in three…two…one.
Still no sign of her.
Huh, it looks like I’m staying here the night.