One of us is gone, p.1
One of Us Is Gone, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Shauntel Anette
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The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Miblart
For my dad.
one
Cleo—Present
Opening my eyes to the pale cinder block, barred windows, and the musty smell of cheap paint and mothballs frightens me. I hit snooze on my alarm and let out a disgruntled groan. Here we go again.
“I refuse to wake up every morning to that sound, Cleo,” my roommate growls, snatching the pillow beneath her head and covering her ears. She seldom speaks to me unless she’s expressing how my aggressive routine annoys her. Always up too early. Never in bed on time—I imagined a ‘Katie’ being more high-spirited.
I leap down from the heap of bricks that Kensington University calls a bed and prepare for class.
Ten minutes go by before I look at my watch, and on the dot, a knock sounds at the door. I chew on my lips in anticipation and stare up at the old, chipping wood before turning the metallic handle. My face falls when only my best male friend, tall, dark, and handsome, awaits.
I join Milton in the hallway, tilting my head and pursing my lips on the way to the elevator. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but where is Sarah?”
“She usually beats me to your door. I don’t know,” Milton shrugs.
“Should we go get her?” my finger lingers on the button for the fourth floor.
“No, we gotta get to gettin’,” Milton says, pressing the illuminated number one. “She’s gonna make us late; I’ve already overslept too many times before this class.”
I nod and consider sending him alone, sacrificing myself once more to retrieve Sarah, but he’s right. This time, she’ll have to suffer the consequences alone.
We skip to class on the yellow brick road, ducking and dodging students pedaling ten minutes late on their bikes. Though, in reality, the brick road is a chalky iron gray. The only thing that keeps my mind off the shooting pain in my backside inflicted by handlebars is the shining Georgia sun, which blankets the goosebumps forming on my arms. Serves me right for going out in the dead of fall without a jacket.
“You think she’ll even make it in?” I ask.
The three of us have been inseparable for as long as I can remember. Milton thinks he has a choice to be our ride-or-die, but if one of us goes down, we all do. But the older we get and the more severe our life choices and situations become, the less appealing that all sounds.
“She usually does. Doesn’t she have an agreement with Professor Finch? He doesn’t seem to mind her tardiness,”
I slide my phone into my back pocket to prevent myself from refreshing the group chat.
Milton throws his arm around my neck and pulls me in as we stroll. “What would she do without you?” he says, laughing while tousling my curls.
I’m struggling to decide whether to be charmed by him or punch him in the gut for ruining my hair. “She’d do just fine,” I say, reclaiming my personal space and styling my afro back to my desired shape.
We enter the English building five minutes before class, partially unscathed. I watch as students trickle into the classroom. My heart jumps whenever someone with curly, long brown hair crosses the threshold. But then I’m let down when I register their faces. Where is she?
Class begins, and there’s still no sign of Sarah.
“Blaze,” Milton nudges my shoulder, “what’s up?” his words morph into a whisper as the bustling dies down and Professor Finch prepares to start the lecture.
My eyes scan the group chat for messages from Sarah. The last one has a timestamp for Yesterday at 12:53 PM. It reads Max! If I could kiss you right now, I would!
Max is a friend we made shortly after enrolling; he’s on the football team with Milton.
I remember following the messages as the thread grew longer within seconds, thinking, what does she see in this guy? He offered to pay for her ticket to the game this Friday. Big deal.
“Blaze,”
My childhood nickname rips me away from my phone, “What?”
My nostrils can’t help but flare as if Milton interrupted something important.
With his hands raised in surrender, Milton pays attention to the front of the room. Professor Finch flips the light switch, plunging the classroom into darkness. He becomes the only one still animating in the gloom.
My eyes flit back toward the door and then down at my watch. Twenty minutes. Sarah’s never been this late before. I can’t help but think she’s doing this to spite me. I should’ve checked my temper before saying the things I did.
Fragments from the last time I saw Sarah flash before my eyes and distract me from today’s lecture. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Sarah is always late. I remind myself.
Before I know it, we are at the end of the two-hour lecture. I hadn’t realized I shut my eyes the entire time, repeating the exact phrase: Sarah is —
A jolt at the point of my shoulder.
“Cleo, I don’t know what’s going on with you today, but you need to snap out of it,”
Milton slides his notebook over to me. The front page reads ‘American Literature Notes’.
“You don’t gotta do that. I’ll figure something out,” my face flushes with shame. I’m usually the one who lends my notes, “Did you notice that?” I peer at Milton, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
He looks around the room, down at our table, up to the ceiling, and nothing. “That class is ending, and we’re still sitting here?”
“We shouldn’t leave until the bell, anyway,” I roll my eyes. “Sarah didn’t show,” I say with a blank face, unamused.
“Okay,” Milton sighs and pulls out his phone, “let’s call her. She’s gotta be awake by now.”
I scoot closer to him and watch as he dials her on speakerphone, the volume low. We both glare at her caller ID and assigned contact photo of when we were all twelve. Sarah is in the background, using both hands to give Milton and me bunny ears. Milton had slumped his lengthy arm around my neck, and I could tell by the way I smiled, an inch too wide, that he had a hold over me even then. Despite going through puberty, he has stayed the same. Milton was and is devilishly handsome. His skin is smooth and dark, like chocolate. You could almost taste it. And that smile, all sly and raised more to his right side, will get me every time.
“No answer,” Milton lowers his phone.
“Am I ridiculous?” I push my short, coiled curls from my eyes. “I had a nightmare about her. It has me spooked, I guess.” I conceal why I’m so worried. The last time I saw Sarah, we fought.
I hide my concern with a smile, the one from the contact photo returns to my face. I’m twelve years old again, shy and embarrassed, looking for a rock to crawl beneath.
“Well, you sound like you always do when it comes to Sarah,”
I sense jealousy or disappointment in Milton’s tone, “I’d do the same for you.”
The bell rings. Everyone stands and rushes out of the classroom as if it were the fire alarm.
Milton packs his backpack and leaves out his notes, “I won’t be around to save you in every class today. But, if you need to, go check on her.” He says before blending in with the mob of students.
I give his notebook a death stare before stuffing it in my backpack and flying out of the door. In a race back to Carriage Hall, the worst plausible scenarios run through my mind—different versions of our argument that kept me tossing and turning all night.
I scan my badge and take the stairs, not having the patience to wait for the elevator. The hike up the four flights is short when lunging two steps at once.
When I approach Sarah’s door, I freeze, my fist mid-knock. My heart echoes in my ears with loud, demanding thuds. It’s hard to breathe. I have the sharp sensation of taking off my backpack and the rest of my clothes as if they’re behind this restriction spell.
I close my hand around the doorknob and twist. The entrance swings open, revealing the destruction of what used to be Sarah’s room. The pale cinder block, barred windows, and the musty smell of cheap paint and mothballs remains. But there are balled-up pieces of paper littering the floor like confetti. Both beds are thrown, leaning on each other for support. Taking a step further inside, I notice Sarah’s bin of clothes across the room, partially emptied.
Something went wrong in this room.
two
Sarah—14 Days Before
“Yoooo,” I say, shouting from outside Cleo’s dorm. She’s the least high-maintenance of us all, yet she’s never ready. “At least let me in.”
There’s lots of hustle and bustle in the hallways right now, but I won’t disagree if I’m the most thrilling thing here. Most of the other ‘thrilling’ kids are already at the party in one guy’s dorm next to mine. We don’t have an RA yet, so most of the liveliness happens there.
Cleo is lucky I scaled an extra floor to retrieve her, but this is how she repays me: I’m left in the hall straggling like hair in the wind.
“I’m coming,” Cleo says, followed by tumbling as if she’s tripping over everything on her way to the door. I tap my fingers against the exposed skin of my hip until the door opens.
“You know we’re already, like, two hours late?”
“It’s a college party with no RA. Why would anyone cut it short?”
I don’t have an answer. I can’t quite explain to Cleo my natural urge for wanting to get to the party fast enough.
“Is there someone there you want to meet?” Cleo asks, nudging my shoulder.
Again, I don’t answer.
The elevator doors open to the glorious temptation of the fourth floor. We find the dorm where the party sounds of mingling college students emit and enter. But more notably, from the number of students that spill out into the hallway. Everyone wants to attend a party in a two-hundred-square-foot room, even at the risk of getting caught.
A few people look at us, at me, noting our arrival before resuming their conversations. A hint of sweat and alcohol lingers in the air. I take a deep breath. That’s the scent of a great time.
This dorm is the envy of the floor, no competition. There are strip lights lining the ceiling, pulsing a different hue every few seconds. More string lights hang off the red curtains that someone taped up to the window. The beds are bare, though. No pillows or bedding in sight. It’s almost as if they didn’t want anyone to spoil anything they invested in.
I glance over at Cleo, who usually needs all the help in the world dressing for a party, but she looks… nice. She trimmed her curly hair into a trendy heart shape. It’s slicked down without frizz and almost air-dried with a light layer of moisture. She’s finally wearing the red leather jacket I gave her and even put on lipstick to match. As a lifetime friend of Cleo’s, I’m beyond proud of her out-of-the-box attire tonight.
I catch her searching the crowd before focusing on our boy, Mellow. Cleo blushes after being caught red-handed. I’ve always suspected she’s had a thing for him, but she preaches that our friendship is more important than lust—and I agree. Cleo gets too involved, and I don’t want to pick up the pieces when things go south.
“Hey,” Aubrey says, strolling over in a way that reveals she’s emptied her red cup too many times. She slurs the one word. One. The odds of messing that up have to be lower than low.
Her long, black hair slips past the rim of the cup. If it goes any further, she’ll ruin her silk press.
We all agreed that someone should monitor Aubrey when consuming alcohol, though she’s alone now. I search for another one of our friends, eager to assign someone to babysit her so I can give my worries over to the punch bowl. Milton is mingling with some sophomores, but Max and Mika are MIA.
I draw in a long breath to stay calm.
Aubrey doesn’t even like me. No way will I be the one stuck with her, “Hey, babe, here.” I say, taking her cup and handing her off to Cleo.
Without me, someone will end up lost or, worse, dead.
Cleo hesitates to take Aubrey’s hand before they both walk over to join Milton and the sophomore.
I sneak out of the party through a sea of people waiting for their turn inside. I slip into the dorm next door. My buddy, Aris, has the good stuff for letting loose. I never did drugs before my senior year of high school, and I still don’t make a habit of it as I’ve seen the horrible effects of addiction in my parents. But tonight, all I want is to have fun.
“Aris,”
His door is always wide open to all his clients.
“Sarah,” Aris grins while playing an imaginary drum set to celebrate my arrival.
I don’t come here often, so when I do, it’s like our first time all over again.
“Please tell me I can help you out tonight,”
“You should know by now that I don’t come by for just anything,” I hug him like he’s an old friend. We’ve got a flirtatious thing going, but nothing ever happens between us. It’s business.
“Do you want the hard stuff?” Aris jiggles his flannel pocket.
“I’m not there yet,” I chuckle while shaking my head. With stepping further into the room, the faint aroma of weed threatens to infect me.
“Fine, here’s your usual,” He grabs an edible from the top of his mini fridge.
I take two chocolate chip cookies and slip him twenty dollars.
“I gotta go now,” I turn to flee before my friends detect my absence. Cleo especially. But before I can cross the threshold, Aris intercepts, blocking my exit.
Because of the impact of colliding with Aris’s chest, my trembling hands almost drop both cookies. My heart sinks as I stare back into his grave eyes, and for a split second, I must ask myself, am I in danger?
three
Cleo—Present
Mellow, you need to see this! My thumbs tremor at the thought of something happening to Sarah. Then, after I hit send, I fire another text into the group chat: Has anyone seen Sarah?
The responses come flooding in. Most of them are snarky. I can push past the sarcasm; their antics are so childish in the face of our situation. Mika is first to reply, then Aubrey, and last, Max. No one has seen her.
My phone rings, yanking me from my destructive train of thought. “Hello?”
“What do I need to see?”
“Mellow, listen. I know you don’t exactly have time, and frankly…”—I look down at the old watch Sarah used to tease me for owning—“… I don’t either. But Sarah’s room is obliterated.”
“No cap? Obliterated?” Milton repeats with a humorous pitch to his voice.
“Yes, in the worst sense of the word. I’m not exaggerating this time, Mellow.” I try to find any sign that I’m, in fact, in Sarah’s room, but there’s nothing that belongs to her. The most I can identify are scraps of clothing and textbooks that could’ve been hers or her roommate’s.
“Okay, calm down,” He breathes hard on the other end. “I can’t exactly talk right now, but we can meet up after our classes, okay? We’ll decide what to do then.”
Is it possible for my heart to beat this rapidly and continue my day as if nothing ever happened? “I can’t make any promises,” I hold myself back as requested, biting small holes into my bottom lip.
When we’re off the line, I rifle through the mess on the floor. The scraps of paper littering the stained carpet could hint at Sarah’s whereabouts, or a scribble miraculously addressed to me, something.
The first five pieces of paper I unravel are blank, each time delivering a blow to the pit of my stomach that aches more than the last. The sixth one reads: don’t trust anyone, not even me.
Was this a note given to Sarah? Or one that she wrote herself? I can’t tell, as Sarah has the most generic handwriting ever. Her penmanship alone could match five other people on this floor.
My phone keeps sounding off with messages from the group chat, but I don’t read them. I’m finding it extremely difficult to care about anything, even my next class, which starts soon.
I tuck the note into my pocket and fight the urge to keep searching. Milton has a point. We should decide what to do and how to move forward as a group. This is the only way to guarantee that we have the same understanding.
With my jaw clenched and shoulders tight, I flee Sarah’s room without another thought and head to my next class. It’s at least a fifteen-minute walk from Carriage. I only rush to get there because Aubrey and Max have this class with me. I may get a more definite answer in person if they arrive for class early enough to talk.
“Good morning,” I greet my professor. Even with my side quest, I’m the first one here. I was certain I was up against the clock.
When Aubrey and Max arrive, the professor is already five minutes into his lecture. Aubrey makes eye contact with me on her way in and shrugs when she can’t decipher the urgency behind my facial expression. They both head to the back of the class and take their seats.
I swallow my frustration with them and their lack of discernment, especially Max. He acts as if he knows precisely where Sarah is and that I’m concerned for no reason. They all are. No one disappears and leaves a room like Sarah’s and is okay.
