The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Two

It's Monday and the school has a sudden eerie feeling to it. Maeve's friends walk throughout from class to class in silence. People stray away from them in fear they'll hiss and pounce on them as an instinct for survival. They're feared now. 
It's lunch now and what was once Queen Maeve's table is now full of girls with bare faces and swollen eyes and guys who fill the air with grief. 
“So,” Keller says. I look at him, slouching in his seat. He lifts up his spoon of banana pudding and lets it drip on his tray. “We still on for the movies tonight?” 
He tries to stay positive, looking for any slight reason to be happy. But I know it. Everyone who was at that party knows it.
Keller was hopelessly in love with Maeve. His reddened eyes show just how much her death affected him. It's obvious he was crying when he trudged into the restroom last period. 
“How about a good night of binge watching crime shows?” I say, looking at what used to be Maeve's table. 
Mia Gulinski-- last year's homecoming queen. Everyone loves her. She has skin as white as porcelain and hooded eyes that turn up like a cat's. Her pitch black hair is always tied in a braid that hangs on her shoulder, but today she's different. Today she's dressed in sweatpants and her hair is left unbrushed, sitting on her shoulders. 
Then there's Brandon Hamilton. He slumps back in his chair with his fake, round glasses perched up on his nose. His beanie rests on his head, nearly slipping off his chocolate hair. 
Brandon sits next to Jessie McFall, lacrosse goal-keeper. He's got this perfect jawline and blonde hair that frames his facial structure even more. His arm is wrapped around Mia Gulinski. Next to her, sits Riley Anderson, Maeve's best friend.
Riley's dark hair is thrown in a bun and her perfectly, clear brown skin is makeup-free, showing what little flaws she has.
They’re perfect. 
They used to be perfect. 

            I come home with Keller after school and my mom is watching the local news with Dad as he sips a bottle of beer. On the news, it has the most interesting things happenings displayed at the bottom of the screen. 
           “Remember teens,” the news anchor says. “Drive safe. It was a true tragedy last night.” 
            I don't need to hear it anymore. I've heard enough… Her story doesn't need to be plastered everywhere. 
            “Hey Keller,” Dad says as Keller passes by the hallway. “How's school.”
            “Dave,” Mom tries, reminding him what happened. 
             I give a half smile, forced by the need to please my parents then make my way back to my room. 
             When I enter my room, Keller holds a jar of cheese puffs and scrolls through the Netflix suggestions-- all crime. He's looking at the screen, but his eyes are distant… like he's not fully there. Slowly, he reaches into the jar and pulls out a single cheese puff. He crunches it in his teeth, not taking his eyes off the screen. 
            “Keller,” I say, sitting next to him. I wrap my arms around him, feeling the need for love between my arms now. He's so alone… he needs someone-- and that someone is dead. He finally had a chance; he had one night of fame and now it's gone. He can't ever get her back. 
            “It just doesn't make sense,” he says, clicking on an episode of CSI. “Why wouldn’t the person stay?” He brings his head down to the jar  as the show starts. 
            “Hey,” I say, releasing from the hug. I rub his back in an effort to provide any kind of comfort. “What are you talking about?” 
            “The person. They just drove off… didn't even stay. They didn't care, Quinn! How can someone just not care!” he exclaims, throwing my arms off. Tears start streaming from his eyes as he knocks the jar of cheese puffs over, making them all scatter across the carpet. 
           I didn't know that. That's insane-- how could someone just do that? People are cruel, sadistic humans. This world is turning evil. 
           “Keller,” I say, grabbing his hand. He wipes his tears away and looks at me, calming down. “It's all going to be okay. Time will heal, I promise.”
            After that, we fall into silence and awkwardly watch the show full of mysterious murders.
           This episode is about a girl whose murder was staged as suicide. It's little things that don't add up in her case-- She was left handed but held the gun in her right hand, she fell towards when the momentum would've shoved her backwards, there was no injury from the fall on her head, and the note was already dripping in blood, but half way across the room. 
           It's the little things that no one would catch at first glance. 
           But the little things always come to surface eventually.  
***
            Maeve is dead. 
            It's late at night and Keller is long gone. It's just my laptop and I, alone in my room. The screen radiates light into my room, burning my eyes. 
            I've found a new obsession-- finding incidents like Maeve's. It's so strange… no one would just leave a scene like that. Maeve's car was demolished, ran off the side of an empty back road. 
    Nothing adds up here. 
    At least, nothing adds up to the matter of an accident. That leads me with one thought; one vicious, unbelievable thought.
    The event that took place last night was no act of reckless driving. It was an act of murder. 
            No. No, I'm just going crazy. It was an accident; some cruel person committed an incredulous act and simply didn't care. It was totally an accident. Maybe they got scared and thought it would be best to flee. Maybe… maybe they didn't even know-- no-- now that's impossible. 
            Images of Maeve flash through my brain, making my hands clench up in fists. She would've been screaming with a pounding heart. Her head would have flown in different directions as the car impacted her before her S.U.V rolled up like crushed garbage can into a ditch-- her body, all mangled and contorted. She would’ve died instantly.
           Sudden impact. 
           My knees fall back into my chest with my arms wrapping around them as I stare at the computer screen. 
           Henry Raven; he was thirty-seven and an accused criminal. Someone recognized him at a grocery store and followed him outside, onto the road, and finally decided it would be best to kill him-- to let his death be thought of as an accident for years. 
           No one would do that to Maeve. No one would ever have a reason. She was perfect-- unreservedly perfect. She had the looks, the grades, the wild side with the ability to make smart choices. Like Wesley said, she even had boys lining up for her. I’d kill to be her. 
    Still, everyone has weaknesses. 
    I remember the third day of school, opening the door to the guidance office- my schedule desperately needed changed- and the second I opened the door, another one was shut. I waited in the room just outside Mr. Milgram's office for half an hour. Eventually, Maeve opened the door as she precariously tried to cover her tears. 
    That’s when I realized that not everything is as it seems. Everyone has issues. 
    The memory floods my thoughts. 
    “I’ll see you again tomorrow,” Mr. Milgram had said as he approached the doorway. She discreetly turned around, wiping the tears off with her sleeves before sluggishly walking out of the room. 
    “Ms. Taylor,” he said, making me swing my head up at the sound of my last name. I was in a daze, seeing Maeve be something short of perfect. 
    Depression, maybe. That’s a long shot. She seemed so happy… but people sure as hell can hide it. Anxiety? School tends to do that to people. Whatever the reason, it opened up a new light for me.
            Who-- that's the question. Who would do this? 
            Quickly, I roll over and flick the lamp on, making my room ignite with light. Then I pull open a drawer on my bedside table and pull out a paper, pen, and a tac. After gathering the things up, I walk over to my closet, open the door, and stand there, staring at the empty wall at the end of it. 
            In fear of being seen and ridiculed, I silently shut the closet door, secluding me from the outside world.
            I need to stop trying to convince myself it's an accident. I'll go to the police. I'll tell them myself… but they won't believe me. I need hard evidence. There's just a sickening feeling I have telling me she needs justice. Someone has done an awful, unforgivable thing. 
            I wrote the letters down on a ripped piece of paper and pin it to the bare wall. There it is-- the start of a long journey. 
            Maeve's name is written and attached to my closet door, signifying what the next portion of my life will consist of.