Chapter Thirty-One
It was with an eerie sense of déjà vu that Rebecca walked down the deserted corridor toward the auditorium. The clock was creeping towards midnight, and the school was deserted, except for whoever was still downstairs at the after party. The rest of the school was empty. It reminded Rebecca of the first time she met Justyn in the gym, except that it was a lot later and a lot darker. The only light was the subtle red glow of the exit signs. And it only got worse when she stepped into the auditorium.
It was very nearly pitch black in the large empty hall. Somewhere behind the stage, a dim light was flickering, giving her at least a beacon to guide her way. Most of the props had been pushed offstage at the end of the show, but Rebecca saw something hanging from the rafters. She heard the creaking as it swung slightly back and forth, like a tree limb being blown by a gentle breeze. She wondered what it could be, but it was too dark to make out any distinct shapes so far in the distance. She dismissed it. She concentrated, instead, on weaving down the empty aisles without getting too many bruises on her shins as she stumbled in the dark. Once she got backstage, she knew where the light switch was, and she could flip it on before she sustained any serious injuries.
Each step she took echoed in the total silence. Each footstep made a light thump against the hardwood floors. There was no other sound except for the slight breeze blowing through the empty hallway—until she heard a soft groan.
It was a low muffled sound, but very distinct. It was definitely the sound of someone in pain, definitely a guy. She started to move a little faster, no longer concerned with whether or not she tripped. Someone was hurt. Someone needed help. Maybe Justyn! Rebecca silently cursed herself for leaving her purse, along with her cell phone, back in the cafeteria with her mother. Now she didn’t even have the option of calling for help if she needed to.
“Hello?” she called out. Her voice was so scared and small she could barely hear it. She did her best to pull herself together and made a more valiant effort. “Hello? Is anyone there? Justyn?”
Of course, there was no answer. There was only the creepy echo of her own terrified voice as it bounced back at her off the high ceilings and the continuous creaking coming from the stage.
As she got closer, and her eyes became more adjusted to the light, she thought she saw a pair of legs. There was a short moment of panic before she realized it was probably just the dummy that they used during the play, a stand in for Joseph Buquet, the stagehand who was murdered by the phantom. The crew had probably thought they would give a scare to the new janitor, who was by no means any more mentally stable than poor Mr. Russ had been. Apparently, being mentally challenged was a prerequisite for a high school janitor.
The silly thought made Rebecca giggle to herself. She realized that she was just being overly dramatic. She was getting scared in the dark just like a little girl, hearing things and seeing things that weren’t really there. She hadn’t heard any more groans. She had most likely imagined it the first time. No one was hurt. That was impossible. This was her perfect night, and her perfect man was waiting for her just beyond that curtain. There was nothing in the world for her to be worried about.
At least she hoped there wasn’t. Her heart started to pound with an anxiety that she couldn’t hold at bay. Why hadn’t Justyn answered her when she called? Maybe he was running late. Or maybe he was too far back behind the curtains to hear her. Either way, she needed to see him, to make sure that he was all right. That was a better reason to rush backstage than the possibility of finding an invisible groaner.
Rebecca paused at the stage steps when she heard it again, louder this time. Definitely a moan of pain. No doubt about it this time. No wishing it away or making lame excuses. Someone was hurt. Someone needed help. And she was the one that was going to have to help them. But first she had to remember how to walk.
A slow, steady panic started to creep into her heart. It traveled like a slithering snake down her arms and into her legs, making them feel weak and useless, before finally settling as a tight knot in her stomach. Rebecca’s mind was doing an instant replay of the last six weeks. The curtain falling at the first rehearsal, the notes, the calls, the flowers, Wendy falling into the mirror, Mr. Russ, Jay’s accident. Some awful precognitive sense was telling her that all those events were leading up to this moment. This was going to be the climax of her own personal play. And for better or worse, it was going to end here. The villain would be revealed, but would the hero show up? Or would she, the heroine, wind up on the wrong end of a body bag? She wasn’t naive enough to think that every story had to have a happy ending. But would hers?
She probably should have run away then. If her life were a B-rated horror movie, this would be the part where everyone in the audience would be screaming at the television set for the stupid girl to run the other way. But those people didn’t understand the full power of morbid fascination, a thing Rebecca had become overly familiar with in recent weeks. They didn’t understand the driving force of the need to know. To know why. To know who.
With more bravery than she knew she was capable of, Rebecca flipped on the overhead lights of the stage, flooding the small area with brightness. Her eyes needed time to adjust to the sudden change. She blinked a few times, and her vision focused. She was finally able to see the stage, and the scene that was set there. She was able to see everything clearly. A little too clearly
Rebecca started to scream.
She screamed and screamed and screamed until she had no voice left to scream anymore. No strength left to stand either. Her legs turned to Jell-O and gave way, and she slipped into a helpless, blubbering puddle on the floor. Her stomach heaved and she knew that if she hadn’t already emptied it earlier, she certainly would have then.
She wanted to tear her eyes away, but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t stop gawking at the grotesque scene. She couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t force her eyes to close or her head to turn the other way. Couldn’t stop herself from memorizing every single, terrible detail. The wide, unseeing eyes. The awful bloated tongue. It wasn’t like on television, where it looked so clean. Not like the movies where a hanging body still looked vaguely human, as if the victim had just fallen asleep. This was nothing like that. This was so, so much worse.
If not for the blond hair and the designer jeans, Rebecca wouldn’t have even recognized the person whose body hung limply from the stage rafters. There was no beauty left. No cocky grin. No malicious glint in the eyes. Rebecca would have given just about anything for one nasty, resentful comment to come out of those swollen lips at that moment. But there was no way that those lips were never going to open again. Just like there was no way that Rebecca was ever going to forget the horror of what she had seen.
Wendy hanging. Wendy dead. Wendy murdered.
Rebecca started screaming again.