Necromancer

Witnessing

。O  。

That week I was hanging out with Simon at any opportunity. I was still doing theatre club and he was still playing chess – as far as I knew – but when both of us were free we hung out in the library together. The library wasn't my choice, I usually didn't spend a lot of time there. If you raised your voice any higher than a whisper you got a stern look from Mrs Webber, the skeletal frizzy-haired librarian. The look was enough to quiet kids down, she wasn't the type to give warnings. If she heard you again you'd be asked to leave.

So it wasn't like Simon and I could really talk. But he chose the library, which he'd admitted he didn't like before. It was for his new project: his obsession with the current mystery of Scone. Simon looked up websites on the outdated block computers the school still hadn't replaced. He looked up monster lore, as well as movies and historical accounts. He borrowed books about the supernatural, and learnt the history of Scone since its foundation. He learnt what he could about Tommy Phelps and Angela Preaker as well. He was relentless.

"...If Tommy Phelps was murdered, then the killer had something against him." Simon murmured through a pencil. He had a habit of writing down useful websites for later.

"They murdered him just to bring him back?" I replied from where I slouched on the nearby sofa-chair. We made sure to keep our voices low.

"Bringing him back was the main goal..." Simon's eyes were glued to the screen as he scrolled. "They were either opportunists. Or they were aware that they could kill someone with magic. So they made a choice and it was him. A newly departed soul and body, which is what they needed. So whoever killed him probably had a reason."

"Lots of people would've had a reason to kill Tommy. He was a jock. That doesn't exactly narrow it down. Didn't they prove he was mentally unwell?"

"So maybe they chose him because he'd be that more vulnerable."

"Or maybe he killed himself because he was mentally ill."

Simon gave me a look before resuming his studying. He actually enjoyed compiling notes. He liked the challenge of the mystery. If he applied himself like this to university, he'd be very successful. But maybe real-world things weren't so interesting for him. As close as we'd become, it still felt too intrusive to ask things like that.

Ms Worrall wanted everyone in the production to spend both lunches in rehearsals now, which I wasn't going to do. Melanie and Erin were miffed by my absence. I still sat with them in the classes we shared, and once Erin had asked about Simon in Ancient History. Jane still regularly went to the councillor. I guess what she'd seen had really shaken her up. Simon's encounter had been what led to all his lunchtime research. It must be something to come face-to-face with this stuff yourself.

Even though Simon and I couldn't talk much at school, I still drove him to and from his house. He still let me come inside and hang out. Listen to music and eat snack food. Play board-games and just chill. He relaxed with me, but didn't give me the impression he wanted to be more than friends. It was weird, seeing how open I'd been about my feelings. But I'd let things move slowly that week, and it wasn't until Friday that I kissed him again.

I'd been thinking about his smooth, dark skin. His dark, shrewd gaze. The nape of his neck and line of his jaw. At night in my room by myself I'd been thinking of him, sexually. My feelings for him were so intense. My attraction was deep-seated. I'd rubbed one out, jolting and gasping in bed, toes curling as I thought of my crush's slim body. Immense satisfaction... followed by the unhappy longing for what could be unrequited feelings.

"If you're spending your lunches in the library now... are you not seeing the councillor anymore?" I was sitting on the floor, chin in my palm, elbow against his sofa. Simon hesitated as he cleared away the wooden chess pieces into his board.