The Cult of Romeo

III. Poetic Injustice

Act 1, Scene 3

The room swallowed me in silence. I wasn't sure whether Jackie was alive or not, but all I saw was blood and lots of it. Buzzed from the vodka and swaying with guilt, I crept closer to her body.

She seemed perfectly placed, like a prop on the stage, and that swirling of culpability deep in my gut made me feel sick. If I'd been quicker, if I'd told Khaleel sooner about the creep watching us, if I'd taken the dagger myself then none of this would have happened.

Flashes of Elijah, motionless and cold, on the stage passed by my eyes and I gulped down my fear.

Over the high pitch ring in my ear, I briefly heard Khaleel call for help behind me. Footsteps reverberated against the floor and it was as though the whole room swayed for a moment. I ignored everything else and instead my eyes zeroed in onto a piece of paper beside Jackie's hand.

Clean from the scarlet blood that pooled around her body, I picked it up in between my fingers just as the door slammed open once more.

Mr Donahue, my Latin teacher, practically slid along the floor and dropped to his knees beside Jackie. With his cheeks flushed and body quivering, he pressed both hands to her wound to stop the blood that gushed.

"Who did this to you?" He pressed, eager and desperate and on the verge of tears. Her lips trembled and eyes fluttered open and closed, she looked frail and exhausted, knocking on death's door, but miraculously still alive. It was difficult to tear my eyes away and as the tense atmosphere blanketed us heavily, I felt a phantom hand grip my throat tightly.

With his trousers drenched in the blonde girl's blood, Mr Donahue turned pleading eyes to behind me where Khaleel stood stiffly.

"How long has she been like this?" He demanded but his voice was weak and unsure.

"Oh, I don't know, let me ask the audience," I quipped sarcastically and a strangled sound escaped from Khaleel's throat.

More teachers filed into the small room and I felt claustrophobic. I wasn't sure how much time had passed while I stood there, shoulder to shoulder with Khaleel, as the adults fussed, their chests breathing deeply and some even swayed queasily at the sight of Jackie who lay helpless and dying.

Soon, the paramedics arrived and it all got too much. Had I not been half-drunk, it might have been easier to wrap my head around the situation. They pulled her limp body onto a stretcher and hauled her out the door.

Jackie caught my eye and her mouth opened a fraction, releasing a weak breath. Her gaze held a story, a whole novel of statements and questions and dead-ends. I reached my hand out hesitantly and the world slowed to a stop around us. I had to stop myself from pulling her into my grasp and demanding answers. Her expression reminded me so clearly of Elijah's that my heart stopped.

Jackie's hand jutted out too but her stretcher was whisked away before I caught her hand. For a fraction of a second, the hairs of her arm brushed against mine and I was enveloped by the visions that clouded the world around me until I fell into Jackie's memories.

I felt the rush of wind through my hair, a whimsical giggle in my ear, the playful pinch to my sides, the stray name and suddenly a pierce straight through my stomach like a dagger. Slumber stole my mind and I fell to my knees as Khaleel caught my head before it crashed to the floor too.

"Are you okay?" He demanded as his voice leaked with even more panic.

I ignored his worry and thought back to what I just experienced in Jackie's final moments. Comfort and betrayal.