The Cult of Romeo

XI. One for Sorrow

Act 2, Scene 1

Danger Strikes at Burton Abbey
Once again, Burton Abbey Boarding school is proved a dangerous place for the vulnerable students as yet another threat is sent their way with only a matter of time before the nameless killer strikes again.
By Nora Takahashi

X X X

My eyes scanned through Nora's new article in the Burton Abbey Gazette with my face as the front page. When Beatrix handed me the paper this morning, I barely recognised myself. I was pale, far paler than usual, with eyes so wide that they bugged from my head. I looked troubled, a far cry from what I'd wanted people to see me as.

At that moment, I'd lost it all. I was already on edge from the phone call, then more frustrated than normal because of Vincent and finally, that led to the breakdown. Though I wasn't awake, I was told that after I'd dropped from exhaustion, the party turned to chaos. Julien had carried me back to my room, knowing that the visions had caused the passing out. Apparently, the other students had thought that maybe had I dropped dead.

Seeing me here, at Elijah's memorial practice in the school theatre, had shocked a few students. They were further unnerved to see the Burton Abbey Gazette in front of me, reading the article about the threat made against my own life. I'd spent my weekend cooped up in my dorm room with Beatrix as we talked about her crush on Lola Abernathy, listened to Fleetwood Mac and spied on people through the window. Honestly, I didn't remember half of it, so drunk on vodka and desperation that I almost forgot about everything that was going on outside.

Being missing for those two days had most definitely sparked rumours among my peers, further pushing the theory that I'd been poisoned, to a truth.

"Hey, you're okay," a relieved voice spoke from behind me.

My heart picked up as I turned, before falling in disappointment to see Francis. I'd unconsciously been searching for Khaleel all day after going a whole weekend without hearing from him at all. I wasn't sure why he was ignoring me again but it was a habit of his to run away from his problems. I half wanted to actually poison myself to spite him but knew it was unethical.

"Yeah, I'm good," I answered distractedly.

Francis continued to stand behind me, running his hand through his hair as though waiting for something. I shook my head and forced myself to assess him. I'd been so distracted all weekend that I wondered how many things had passed me unnoticed while too stuck in my own head to pay attention.

While looking Francis over, it occurred to me how fascinated I was with how quickly he could switch from this fantastically awkward boy to the cunning evil he played on stage. In character, he was someone you couldn't rip your eyes away from. He held himself tall and proud, his voice booming and cut sharp. Now, though, he was softer and more in his head than I'd ever been. Not making eye contact and a neck that was far too stiff.

I felt bad for him; the only time I found Francis Zhao interesting was when he played a character.

"Charlotte." I knew it was D'Angelo who'd called out to me because no one else said my name quite the same. It was between a whine, a demand and a question. "Where is your sheet music?"

"Wherever you put it," I dismissed, turning back to the newspaper.

He huffed. "You mean to tell me that the memorial is in four days and you still haven't practised the piece?"