Chapter Text
Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Sophie studied the hypnotic pulse as it swept through the frosted windows, washing over the group of uniformed officers. They were grouped together, just inside the dormitory's double doors, their haggard expressions accentuated by the contrasting hues. Sophie tried to focus on deconstructing the colors, mentally tracing the contours as she imagined painting the faint glow surrounding the shadowed figures—something, anything to distract her from the gaping void in her heart. She could hear garbled radio calls mixing with the muted rumble of conversation, barely obscuring the sound of a woman's low sobs. Sophie pulled her knees to her chest, huddling in the corner next to the Calvert Hall reception desk. Warm. Cold. Red. Blue. A hint of grey, and dark maroon. The tile floor was cold and hard, but she could barely feel it. She couldn't feel anything. Shrinking even lower, she buried her face in the trim of her hooded parka.
Jamie was gone—had been gone for weeks and she couldn't help but blame herself. Those unanswered calls...she was supposed to notice stuff like that. She knew her brother—knew when he needed help, but the warning had just slipped by, buried in a haze of meaningless teen drama. The failure felt like a lead weight, sinking in the pit of her stomach. She thought of Jamie's room...the sharp rush of cold as they'd forced the door open, revealing what might have been a post-apocalyptic ruin: heaps of snow forming a solid blanket over scattered papers, discarded clothes, upturned books, toppled trinkets, and torn posters. Sophie had been to her brother's dorm on several occasions, mostly to kick him out of bed after the breakup. She recognized his possessions: his computer, his photos, little mementos from home, familiar objects that made it impossible to ignore the gravity pressing down on her shoulders. Gone. He was gone—or worse…
A numb haze flooded her mind, distorting the thought and shielding her from its jagged thorns. This was a useful state of mind, but it affected Sophie's perception of time. She vaguely remembered the dormitory manager holding them back as he dialed 911, but after that, everything seemed to meld together, dripping and distorting like the gentle madness of a surrealist painting. The police searched the dorm, taking statements from the residents who had stayed over break. Most were still hovering in the lobby, their whispered speculations echoing off the painted concrete like a savage undertone. Jamie was gone. There was no body. He had left almost everything: keys, wallet, coat, shoes—all behind a locked door. That, of course, only left the open window.
The only substantial thing missing was his phone. Sophie compulsively pulled an outdated flip phone from her bag and dialed him again, listening to a half-hearted greeting as the call went to voice mail. She folded her arms around her knees and hugged them tight against her chest, trying to bury her fear in a sea of white noise.
"We cleared the snow from around the window, ma'am." A tall officer said, tapping white powder from his shoes as he pushed the glass door open. "I don't see any signs of a jump, but the ground's frozen solid. The captain's checking with the hospital in just in case."
"I just..." Ms. Bennett looked up from her seat by the window, red eyes barely focusing on the man. "I don't..." She choked on sob and brought a hand to cover her mouth, her whole body shaking as she tried to suppress her tears.
The officer pulled a pack of tissues from his breast pocket and handed them to her. "Honestly, Ms. Bennett...you should take your daughter home and get some rest. There's not much you can do here. If your boy's got his phone on him, he shouldn't be too hard to find."
Her mother exhaled in staccato, chin-length hair falling over her face as she clutched the tissues, her shoulders hunched and shaking. It was unsettling. Sophie expected her mother to be stubborn, overbearing, even self-righteous, but seeing her broken and grieving…It made the whole world seem a little darker.
With a deep steadying breath, Sophie dropped the phone back in her bag, pushed herself off the floor, and shuffled over to the window, sliding an arm around her mother's shoulder. "He's right, Mom... Let's go home. I'll try Monty again, okay?"
Jamie didn't have a credit card, so it was possible he'd just left Monty's account registered on his iPhone. She knew he wouldn't buy anything. He hated handouts. Heck, she did, too. It was kind of humiliating when your friends had to spot you cash for a ten dollar movie ticket. But if Monty's account was still active, there was a chance they could log into his iCloud and bypass all the bullshit the police would have to go through to access Jamie's GPS signal.
"I'll bring the squad car round." The officer gave her shoulder a pat and slid a set of keys from his belt. "Can't let you ladies drive in this mess." He added and disappeared through the double doors.
"We'll find him, Mom." Sophie promised, but Ms. Bennett barely seemed to hear.
It started snowing again as the cruiser pulled onto the highway. By the time they turned onto Crescent, they were driving through a wall of white. Under different circumstances, Sophie would be overjoyed. There was something seductive about snow this close to Easter. White blankets enveloped the first signs of spring like a winter lullaby, coaxing Mother Nature back under the covers for an extra few minutes of rest. For a moment—just a moment—the earth stood still, giving humanity a teasing glimpse of eternity. Any other day she would be itching for a fresh canvas, barely minding the cold as she let her hands move to the rhythm of shifting hues. Today she felt she'd rather die than pick up a brush.
The car stopped at the turnoff to their cul-de-sac. It had been plowed that morning, but thanks to the blizzard it was once again impassable. "I think that's the best I can do, ladies." The officer said. He must have given them his name at some point, but Sophie honestly couldn't remember. Putting the car in park, the tall man hopped out and opened the rear door, whistling as it scraped the wall of frozen slush bordering either side of plowed track. "This snow's really something, huh? I can't remember the last time we got this much so late in the season."
There was a pause, and Sophie muttered a flat, "Yeah, sure," when she realized her mother wasn't paying attention to the small talk. Ms. Bennett's eyes were glazed and distant as she stared at the box of things she'd taken from Jamie's room. It wasn't much. Most of the books and papers were beyond saving, but she had taken his wallet, keys, a few photographs, and the bunny. Jamie's bunny. Sophie hadn't seen it for years, but she wasn't surprised he'd kept it. Her brother was good at hiding things. "Thanks for the ride, officer…"
"Harris." He smiled and passed her a card. "We'll be sure to call if we hear anything about your brother. Keep warm and stay safe."
Sophie nodded, hoisting the box onto her hip as she helped her mother out of the car and started the long trek through the snow. By the time they reached the house, her feet were numb. She stomped on the front porch, brushing clumps of snow from the hem of her skirt.
Ms. Bennett was near catatonic. She sat on the foyer stairs, staring blankly at her knees, the cordless phone sitting expectantly in her lap. Sophie brought her a cup of coffee spiked with a generous helping of whiskey, but the woman barely registered the gesture. Was this how it had been with dad? Sophie wondered as she stirred a few marshmallows into her cocoa.
Her mother wouldn't talk about the accident, but Sophie had worked out most of the details on her own. Mr. Bennett had gone out for milk and diapers a few weeks before her first birthday and he just…never came home. By the time the police started looking, it was too late. They found his truck wrapped around a tree on the side of the interstate, his lifeless body tangled in the underbrush several yards from the cab, grocery list still tucked in his coat pocket. The insurance company had done a thorough investigation, but the cause was never confirmed. Everyone just assumed the truck had slid on a patch of black ice.
Sophie wrapped her fingers around the warm mug, staring down at the fading beads of white fluff. There was that question again, the unbearable question that must be tearing her mother to pieces. Where will they find Jamie's body? Sophie could brush it away because it was irrelevant; she couldn't allow it to be relevant—but, as she pictured the drawn look in her mother's tired eyes, Sophie couldn't help but wonder what kind of call she was expecting.
A cheerful melody filled the kitchen as though mocking her train of thought. Fishing the phone from her discarded bag, she flipped it open. Monty's number. Hope tickled the walls of her stomach as she raised the phone to her ear. Please—oh please, please.
"Hi, Monty. You got my message?"
"H-hey, Soph…" Monty's nasal voice stuttered from the other end of the line. "Yeah, I did. I-I can't believe...I'm so sorry. Is your mom okay? Are you?"
"She's coping." Sophie lied, glancing toward the stairs. "I'm fine, too. Thanks."
"God, I can't even—" There was a bang as Monty hit something. "I knew he was acting weird! Caleb said he missed the sociology midterm and Jamie would never do that! But everyone was so hung up on graduation and that stupid fight about spring break—you know how he is about money and he won't talk to any of us!"
"I know." Sophie sighed and leaned back against the counter. Jamie's rabbit sat on a towel next to the sink. Dingy, threadbare, and damp with melting snow, the pitiful creature continued to smile, patiently waiting for its owner's return. "That's just how he is. He doesn't trust anyone."
"Why not!?" Monty exclaimed, "We've known each other since kindergarten! We were best friends! What did I do? I get why he doesn't trust Pippa. I get why he can't relate to the twins. But what did I ever do to make him push me away?!"
"Monty..." Sophie felt her voice waver. "You know I can't answer that..."
"I know...I just..." He took a deep breath before continuing, "It hurts, okay? I knew something wasn't right and I left him there. I left him. No wonder he doesn't fucking trust me."
"This isn't your fault." She assured him, doing her best to ignore the cold weight of her own guilt. She knew exactly why Jamie couldn't confide in his friends. It was the reason he never came home, the reason she saw fear in his eyes when she visited his dorm. He never said it, but she knew he was watching carefully, waiting for the day he would have to stop talking—the day she would forget everything and leave him behind. "This isn't anyone's fault. Let's just find Jamie, okay? Did you try logging into his account?"
"Y-yeah, wait a minute—let me get my laptop." He stammered, and Sophie could tell he welcomed the change of subject. There was a rustle of cloth followed by the soft hiss of a zipper, then, a light thump as his laptop came to rest on a hard surface. "I haven't checked, but I know he's still using my account. He gives me cash when he wants to download apps and stuff. I don't think he even knows iCloud exists."
"Can't say I'm surprised." Sophie remarked and took a sip of her cocoa.
"Okay..." There was a flurry of typing, then a sharp click. "Yeah, got it. Jamie's last recorded location puts his phone in or near the dorm on…on the sixteenth…" Monty paused and swallowed. "That's—that's the day we left. You're sure his phone wasn't in his room?"
"Yeah." Sophie made sure her voice was level. "The cops were pretty thorough."
"Well, this program isn't perfect; there's a pretty wide margin of error, but unless someone turned it off and took it, the phone should be somewhere within fifty meters of the building."
She hesitated, aware of the implication. "You think he's in the woods?"
"No." Monty paused as though considering the question. "No, this can't be right. Jamie's window was open when we left—I remember that. If he's been gone since before midterms..."
Sophie froze as it hit her. Who took his phone…? "Monty, the door was locked with the keys inside. Are you seriously saying someone climbed five stories just to take my brother's phone?" She groaned and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. "God, I hate this Sherlock bullshit."
"Sophie…" There was a moment of silence on the other end. "This is really weird. I…I think I'm going to try and catch a flight home…I can't stay here."
"I'm touched, but Burgess is kind of buried in an apocalyptic blizzard." She muttered, lifting the curtain to stare out at the falling snow. "You'll just get stranded."
"Shit…" He closed his laptop and made a frustrated noise in his throat, trailing off into a ragged sigh. "Sophie, did Jamie ever talk to you about Jack Frost?"
"What?" Her brows furrowed. "Of course he—wait, hang on." Checking to make sure her mother was still on the stairs, she opened the hall closet and pulled on a fresh pair of boots and an old coat before stepping out the back door. Her feet crunched in the snow as she pulled the door closed. "Of course I know about Jack. He's probably laughing his face off about this blizzard, but I don't see what that has to do with—"
"I saw him." A tangible silence followed the statement. "I saw him fly out of Jamie's room the same day we left for Rio, the same day his phone disappeared. Go ahead. Tell me I'm crazy. I spent ten hours trying to convince myself I was seeing things—caffeine, lack of sleep, and all that—but the image keeps getting clearer. I tried calling Jamie, but obviously he didn't answer and I—Sophie? You still there?"
Sophie hesitated a moment longer, trying to ignore the prickle of cold against her nose. Monty was serious. If she told the truth, he might actually believe her. Jamie could get his best friend back…but at what price? The truth had brought her brother nothing but heartache and countless hours of therapy. What would it do to Monty? Sophie chewed her bottom lip as she stared out at the snow, forcing herself to weigh her brother's safety over his best friend's future. A sigh drifted from her lips like a puff of smoke. It wasn't really a choice.
"…You're not crazy." The teenage girl held her palm out as she spoke, watching the puffy white flakes melt against her skin. "I believe in Jack Frost. I believe in all the Guardians."
"The Guardians…" Monty repeated as though lost in a memory.
"Yes." Sophie reassured him, closing her fingers around the melted snow. "Jamie believes in them, too. We always have." She inhaled a lungful of frozen air. "They're real."
Monty went quiet and she could only hope he was considering her words.
"I'm not joking." She hopped down off the stairs, legs disappearing as she kicked her way through the snow, passing the line where their old fence had been and making her way toward the unplowed street. A crop of large rocks sat a few yards back from the faint line of the road, piled on top of each other like a giant's grave. She had played on them as a child, climbing over the mossy boulders as though they were an impossible mountain—the last obstacle at the end of a great adventure. "Look, you get gifts on Christmas, right?"
"Well, Dad's Jewish, but Mom gets me stuff, yeah…" He hesitated. "She writes Santa on the label, but I'm not stupid…"
"That's usually how it works, but here's the thing." Sophie climbed onto the lowest tier of rocks, brushed the snow away, and sat down, resting her back against the curved surface of the largest boulder. "Mom stopped celebrating Christmas when I was nine. Jamie's therapist told her to get rid of everything—the tree, the lights, the gifts—all of it."
"Yeah, I remember that…You got presents, anyway, right?"
"Mom was furious. You should have seen the way she let into Jamie, asking him how he could stand there and lie to her face. She accused him of stealing, because there was no way he could've paid for the X-box."
Monty whistled. "Damn…"
"Yeah. Mom made him return everything and donated the money to charity." Sophie said, swinging her leg as she stared out over the fields of white, trying to discern the faint contour of the lake. "Jamie didn't leave those gifts, though. He never does. Mom thinks we're both out to punish her or something—that we blame her for…for being poor…"
"Sophie…"
"They're real, Monty." She stated with a conviction people usually reserve for religion. "If you saw Jack, it's not a coincidence. It means something."
"I…I need to think about this…" He sounded tired, even a little resigned. "I emailed you Jamie's ID and password, but I'll keep an eye on his account. It's the least I can do."
"Thanks." Sophie smiled. "I'll call you if I hear anything. Try to enjoy your vacation."
"Yeah, right. Pippa's friend keeps trying to lure me out to the club—like I've ever been into that. I just want to relax by the bar and work on my development portfolio."
She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Okay, forget what I said earlier—you are crazy. Take her out! It won't ki—"
"Goodbye, Sophie." Monty sighed.
"Bye..." A muted beep interrupted her as the call ended.
Sophie stared at the blank screen for a moment before sliding it into her pocket. She leaned back, letting her head rest against the rock. Snowflakes stung her cheeks like dull needles as she gazed up at the speckled black sky. Silence. The cold burned, but she didn't want to go inside. Not yet. Monty's call had made her feel much better, but Ms. Bennett's despair was infectious. The dark aura gnawed at Sophie's heart, leaving little pockets of doubt and sorrow. She wanted to believe Jack Frost had something to do with her brother's disappearance. It was a comfort strong enough to keep her darker doubts at bay. But if she went back in the house, she'd have to face her mother, the dead look in her eyes...the way she stared right through the phone, waiting for the call that would end everything. It was too much. She didn't know what to do, what to say. Most of all, she couldn't handle the worst case scenario. Jamie had to be alive. The alternative was too horrifying to imagine.
A gust of wind blew across the lake, ushering a chorus of creaks and groans as tree branches strained and snapped under the massing snow. Sophie shivered. She had to go back in. Maybe if she climbed the front porch, she could retreat into the safety of her room without having to pass her mother. The risk almost seemed worth it.
Sophie had barely started calculating her chances when a loud snap cut through her train of thought. The sound was followed almost immediately by a heavy whump. She tilted her head, straining her ears and focusing on the sound. She wanted to write it off as a fallen branch, but something about the noise bothered her. The crack had seemed too close, too low. Her next guess would have been footsteps, but there was no sign of anyone out in the blizzard. Lifting herself off the rock, Sophie turned, crouching on her knees to peer over the boulder. Another inch or so had accumulated since she'd left the house, but there wasn't a sign of anyone in the snow. The neighbors had abandoned their sporadic shoveling, surrendering their driveways to the storm. Yellow squares of light winked from curtained windows and a hint of chimney smoke lingered in the air. Burgess had collectively shut its doors, blocking out the storm.
She doubted anyone else would be dumb enough to be out in this weather. But there was always a chance someone might be stranded or lost. Involuntarily, she pictured Jamie: stumbling out of the woods, half frozen without his coat. But their house was too far from campus for that to even be a possibility. Squinting against the wind, Sophie let her eyes scan the drifts, searching for some sign of movement, something out of place. There were several pine trees between the rocks and the street, but nothing lurked beneath them.
Everything was white, everything except—there: a rock, similar to the ones she'd grown fond of as a child, but quite a bit smaller. It was round, perfectly oval in shape, with eerie carvings etched across its surface. The rock itself wasn't alarming. There were tons of them, after all. It wasn't even that strange to find it separated from its companions. Local kids tried to take them, all the time. They never got far and the ones that were removed usually found their way back.
The strange pile of ovals had achieved notoriety thanks to her brother. Jamie and Monty had posted pictures on a paranormal enthusiast blog, hoping to prove they'd seen the Easter Bunny. No one believed them, but the post went viral, accumulating a new story as it circulated the web. What started as innocent speculation quickly escalated into a dark tale of the chicken strangler, a preteen serial killer, who was determined to haunt his egg-shaped grave until he took a human victim. That was Bullshit, of course. Sophie knew these rocks, and there was nothing nefarious or evil about them.
Anyway, this particular oval caught her eye for a different reason. It stood out like a dark blotch of paint on a white canvas, completely bare of snow, thick green moss still clinging to its surface. Where had it—
Something tapped Sophie's leg.
She jerked back, barely managing to keep from falling. Intent on the distant shape, she hadn't even noticed the rising steam. The snow was melting, evaporating from the rocks. She could feel heat under her palms, pleasant and comfortable like an electric blanket. Green moss blossomed over the weathered carvings, spreading over their cracks and crevices like a spectacle of time-lapse photography. A single egg sat next to her right leg, nestled in a cluster of tiny purple flowers. It was small and white, completely unremarkable aside from the mystery of its existence. Sophie blinked rapidly, rich laughter echoing in her memory like a forgotten dream, familiar and comforting, but so far away.
Lifting the egg, she held it in her palm. It was larger than a chicken's egg, but it felt light, almost weightless. She turned it in her hands, smoothing her thumbs across the textured surface. There was no latch, no seam. As far as she could tell, it was a real egg. She shook it and heard a muffled rattle.
Well, there was only one way to open an egg. She tapped it against the rock until it cracked, Sophie peeled off the shell, revealing a layer of smooth and miraculously un-melted chocolate. Her heart skipped, her eyes burned, and she realized she was on the verge of tears. She knew who had left this egg. There was no question about it. Fingers shaking, she broke the second layer open, revealing a single malt ball and a folded scrap of paper. Her heart lifted and she forced herself to eat the chocolate as she unfolded the paper. It was a simple, short message in an impatient scrawl that maintained a hint of past elegance.
"Thank you…" Sophie breathed into to the wind.
He was safe. Jamie was safe. It didn't matter that the note didn't mention names. She knew exactly who it was from. Feeling better than she had all evening, Sophie refolded the paper and hopped down from the rocks. Keeping her fingers tight around the note, she headed back inside. Everything was going to be fine.
Monty threw his phone on the bed with a disgruntled sigh. He felt bad for hanging up on Sophie, but the last thing he needed was dating advice. He'd already had more than enough from his friends, his mother—even his grandmother seemed overly invested in his personal life. He frowned and sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he sank back down in the chair facing the hotel desk. Jamie. His internal voice spoke the name with less frustration than usual, but it still held a hint of bitterness. He stared at his laptop, eyes fixed on the tiny dot hovering over Calvert Hall. Sophie's words echoed in the back of his mind, stirring his memory like a forgotten cup of tea. The Guardians…Jamie believes in them, too. We always have.
Pulling off his glasses, he set them on the desk and leaned back in the bamboo chair, pressing his palms against his eyes until spots danced on his eyelids. The Guardians… He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to drop his guard and open his mind to the reverberations. Bit by bit, the walls around his thoughts began to ebb away, melting in uneven rivers like a candle in a draft. Distorted images spilled over the deteriorating structure, collecting in pools of fragmented memory. It wasn't difficult. This was just basic data recovery—a digital séance to salvage lost files and deleted information. They were just flashes at first. Still frames: a battered scrapbook, pictures of tiny footprints in the dirt, a narrow path of ice stretching out across a black lake. Then, the images began to move. Jamie was grinning, sliding across the snow as he pitched snowballs at imaginary foes, his childish laughter bright and clear as a bell. Monty felt the picture shift and it was a different voice—different laughter, deeper, older. He was running, slipping down the street on a river of ice, lungs burning as he struggled to keep up with the others. Damp socks stuck to his feet, barely shielding his toes from the cold—but he didn't care because they were real.
They were real.
Suddenly, he was standing on icy pavement, fear compressing his lungs like an airless void. Nightmares rose high in the air, blocking out the sky, the moon, the stars. All he could see were those piercing gold eyes, glittering in the night like the last flicker of a dying universe. Jamie was pushing past him, stepping boldly forward, one solitary figure against an ocean of fear. His best friend stood, fists balled, shoulders squared, and suddenly he knew. He remembered.
He was there on the street, standing side by side with superhuman heroes, but his body was frozen, feet glued to the pavement with shock and fear. But as Jamie stood there, surrounded by those awful terrors, he felt a flash of awe shoot through his core, an infusion of courage urging him forward despite his fears. His best friend was fighting, and he wanted—needed to help. If he could only move—move—move! For the first time in his life, he won. Bravery burned in his heart, thawing his limbs, and allowing him to stand with his friends—with Jamie. How could he ever forget that moment? The one time he'd felt at home in his own skin. The days before impossible realization—the awful truth that scared him more than any bump in the night.
Monty's hands fell to his lap. Spots lingered on the tan ceiling like flecks of golden sand. In his mind, he saw dinosaurs marching across Burgess, stingrays soaring over power lines, horses galloping around them like schools of equine fish. He could almost feel the tickle of sand rushing through his fingers. He had touched the fabric of dreams…that truth was so spectacular, it was almost frightening. What dreams would the Sandman send him now? A pang of wistful sadness pricked Monty's heart as he watched the ghostly figure jump from Jamie's window one last time. He had forgotten. Jamie had not. Monty swallowed the bitter realization, his fingers twisting into fists on his thighs. The thought of Jack Frost somehow made things immeasurably worse. It was stupid, pointless, and vile, but he allowed himself to wallow in resentment, after all, there wasn't anything constructive to do if he was stuck in this damn hotel. Maybe he would meet Pippa's friend for drinks. At least the alcohol would distract him from the futility of his worthless existence.
"Monty?" A voice spoke from the doorway.
Monty jumped, fumbling for his glasses as he turned to face the blurred figure. It was Pippa. She was standing inside the room, a hand resting lightly on the doorframe. Her hair fell in wind tossed waves, cascading over her shoulder in a way that flattered her subtle curves—the perfect picture of femininity, as always. Speaking of bitterness…but he wasn't going to be that guy. He was going to move on with his life, away from everything. Texas was his new beginning, his escape.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to barge in on you…I was just—I was kind of worried." She flicked her eyes down to the carpet, carefully closing the door behind her and taking another step into the room.
Monty wasn't exactly surprised to see her. His parents were well off, but they clung to their money like it was the last ticket to salvation on a ship bound for hell. He'd managed to talk them into covering most of Jamie's flight, but the hotel was a different story. Naturally, they were expected to bunk together. It was only fair. He'd fought the hardest for his friend's inclusion, so he wasn't about to complain about sharing a room. Besides, it would've been his last chance to—but that didn't matter, anymore.
The upset in their travel plans should have left him with Pippa's single room, but the polka-dotted suitcases and line of mysterious toiletries in the bathroom spoke otherwise. He didn't understand the change, something about Rachel's late party hours and Pippa's beauty sleep, but it was making him severely uncomfortable. The room was large enough, of course. It was pretty standard: double queen beds, unit bath, plasma TV, stocked mini-fridge, and complimentary mini shampoos. Apart from the ridiculous tropical décor, the only thing that hinted at their location was a bay window overlooking the Brazilian coastline. Even with separate beds, Monty felt awkward, like he didn't belong. He'd been raised to respect a woman's privacy. Being confronted with Pippa's toiletries, her razor on the shower caddy, that floral smell that lingered in the bathroom after she showered… It felt…wrong.
"I haven't seen you all day." Pippa lifted her gaze. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I just…" He paused, wondering if he should say something about Jamie. It was kind of spiteful, but he really didn't want to. Pippa didn't deserve to know. A huge chunk of this mess was her fault, and her friend had taken Jamie's place. He rose from the chair, reaching out to close his laptop. "I got caught up with work and missed dinner. You're right, though. I'll try to be more sociable."
"No," She fidgeted with her hair, combing her fingers through the waves as she spoke. "I don't mind. It's nice, actually…professional. You're serious about your dreams and you've got the drive to achieve them. That's pretty extraordinary for someone our age. I mean, I'm going to grad school, but I still don't really know what I want to do with my life. I mean, yeah, psychologist, great, but that's just a job. It's not something I'm passionate about."
Monty's eyebrows furrowed. "I thought you were majoring in philosophy."
She shook her head and shifted her weight to her other foot. "No, I switched to psych in the middle of junior year." Pippa looked away, again. "You know, after…"
An awkward silence stretched between them, skirting the proverbial elephant.
"Yeah, I know." Monty said, hoping that would be the end of this particular conversation.
There were several topics he refused to talk about and they were dangerously close to one of them. Monty hated taking sides, but if he had to choose between his friends, it wouldn't be much of a contest. Jamie had been his best friend since preschool and Pippa was…well, Pippa. He'd liked her well enough before she started dating Jamie, but now… Well, now he didn't know what to feel.
Pippa's major wasn't the only thing that had changed over the past year, though the switch certainly exemplified those changes. Did that had something to do with the Guardians, as well? If he'd forgotten, what about the others? He was pretty sure Caleb and Claude would fall over laughing if he mentioned Santa or the Easter Bunny, but they'd barely believed to begin with. No one had heard from Cupcake since she moved away. That left Pippa.
Monty thought back to the sudden fight, the break that had sent everything crashing to the ground, the silence. They'd never heard Jamie's side of the story. Was that the reason? Had Pippa held on for that long?
A jealous twinge pulled at Monty's heart, but he shook himself, banishing the sensation. No. Pippa might have been the last to forget, but she'd lost her fight in the end. Now, by some miracle, he'd been given a second chance. He couldn't afford to wallow in spite. He had to do what he could for Jamie, and that meant privacy. Turning back to the desk, he picked up his wallet, checked to make sure his hotel key was still wedged in the outer compartment, and tucked it in his back pocket. The first step would be to find Rachel and insist on switching rooms. "I think I will go out for a while. I'm starving."
"Monty, wait, I—I need to talk to you…" Pippa put a hand out to stop him from passing.
He hesitated, confused by the anxiety in her voice. "If it's about Jamie, I can't really—"
"Don't!" She pressed herself against him and his back hit the wall.
All function in Monty's brain ground to a complete stop. Numbly, he registered her warmth, the surprising softness of her curves, the pressure as her fingers twisted in his shirt.
"Don't talk about him. Please. I can't. It's over. It's been over."
"P-Pippa, I—"
"When will it be enough? When!?" She pounded a fist against his chest and sobbed into the folds of his shirt. "I know he's your friend and I hate myself for hurting him, but it was over! I tried so hard to reach him, to make it work, but he was just…going through the motions. I—I don't even think he realized. He just…stopped. He never made plans for the future. His future. Our future. He was just drifting from day to day and I couldn't—" She broke off and looked up at him, puffy eyes brimming with tears. "Seven years, Monty. Seven years. That's longer than some marriages. I want a life. I want a house and kids and a future I can count on—and I can't…I can't wait anymore."
The kiss was so sudden, so unexpected, he barely registered what was happening. Her lips were pressed against his, her hands sliding up his chest to caress his neck. A single, ear-splitting decibel shrieked across his brain like a hospital flat-line. His body stiffened. Panic shot through his veins. This wasn't happening. He wanted to back away, to escape, but she had him pressed against the wall. His limbs felt like pieces of dead wood. He couldn't move. Pippa put her arms around him and the touch made his stomach turn. He had to…had to…how could he say no without telling her why? He fought himself, screaming internally at his weakness, his inability to speak out even against this madness.
A loud crack split the silence and Pippa jumped, blushing fiercely as she searched for the sound's origin. The sound jolted Monty like a defibrillator. His muscles relaxed and he was free. He turned, stepping toward the door, his eyes following Pippa's gaze to the bay window. A thin fissure had split the largest pane of glass like a bolt of lightning. There was something odd about the cracks, but his brain was still struggling to reboot, scanning his short term memory for potential errors. Pippa had kissed him. Pippa had kissed him? What bizarro universe was this? He couldn't remember her ever expressing the slightest interest in him, apart from the niceties required by friendship. Or was he just so clueless he hadn't noticed?
"What the hell…" Pippa hugged her arms against her chest and stepped back from the window.
"It…It was probably just a bird." The explanation spilled out automatically, but he couldn't shake the feeling he was missing something. A vague sense of foreboding tugged at Monty's gut and he was sure it had nothing to do with Pippa's advances.
"Y-yeah…" Pippa turned and stepped toward him. "Should we call the front desk?"
"In a minute." Monty raised his hands, keeping her at arm's length. "Pippa, I—I need to say something. I'm flattered, really, I am. I just…I'm not—" Now. He had to say it now. Before he lost his nerve. Before things got any worse. No matter what happened, it would be over. He'd be free. Blood pounded in his ears, urging him on. "I'm not…into girls, Pippa."
She blinked and stood there, staring at him with a small crease between her eyebrows as though struggling to find some other meaning to his words. She opened her mouth, closed it, then pressed her lips together in a small frown. Monty flushed and took his glasses off, rubbing the thick lenses to escape her scrutiny.
"Oh…" The resigned syllable bridged the space between them like an ocean breeze. "Oh…Monty, I didn't…You never…" She swallowed, staring down at her sandals as though trying to cover her embarrassment. "I…I wondered why you didn't date…I mean, you're still a bit of a geek, but you're cute and you've got a promising career…I actually—God I feel so stupid. I thought…I thought you might be waiting for…for me…" She let the sentence trail off, her voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner.
"I'm sorry, Pippa." Monty said, rubbing the back of his neck. God, he was obtuse. He should have known something was wrong when she insisted on switching rooms. After all, hadn't he been daydreaming about a similar scenario involving Jamie? "Look, don't—don't tell anyone, okay? My family doesn't know and they're not exactly….I'm not ready to tell them."
"Yeah…No, I won't…I'm sorry I—" Pippa made a vague hand gesture that could have meant anything or nothing, but he assumed she was referring to the spontaneous assault on his mouth.
Monty blushed and let the fractured apology slide, slipping his glasses back on and straightening them compulsively. "It's okay. Could you maybe get Rachel off my back, though?"
"Without telling her you're gay…? That's a tall order. But…" She sighed and the he could almost see the tension drain from her shoulders. "I'll see what I can do. Let me call the front desk, though. If that crack messes with our AC, I'm going to raise hell. It's like ninety degrees and I refuse to drown in my own sweat."
"Yeah." He smiled and inhaled deeply, feeling a bit lighter, a bit bolder, and a little less afraid. The worst of it was over.
He'd said it, spoken the words aloud and accepted that part of himself he'd been suppressing since grade school. He might not be ready to tell the world, or even his family, but he was ready to stop hiding from himself. Then, someday, when he felt safe and comfortable, maybe then he would tell his family.
Maybe.
"I'll be back in a bit." Monty closed the door behind him and continued down the hall to the elevator, leaving Pippa to harass hotel management.
The elevator doors opened and closed with a soft chime. As if on cue, a door clicked and swung open. Shadows spilled from the dark interior, disregarding the laws of light and form as they stretched over the opposing door like a malignant curse. The hallway lamps flickered and dimmed.
A man in black stepped from the room, standing in the dim light. The shadows stirred beneath his feet, wavering and flickering like a perversion of candle light. The man was young. His face could almost be described as gaunt, and his eyes were shadowed with more than lack of sleep. Despite the sweltering heat, he wore a long wool coat that seemed vaguely old fashioned. He wasn't especially tall, but his ridged posture and cold expression made him appear quite intimidating.
Brown eyes glinted with gold as they stared fixedly at the elevator. Jaw tightening, he turned to face the door to his right. Inside, a woman's voice spoke in raised tones, easily audible through the coated wood—something about a window and the temperature.
The man studied the lock for a moment before reaching out to turn the handle.
It opened.