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"Shit," I groan, never having walked through the Court at night by myself. Everything is shadows and sharp silhouettes. I know there isn't a flashlight feature on the Blackwood phone, having searched for it when a lipstick rolled under my bed and I couldn't find it.
The cobblestone path emits a spooky, radioactive glow, but as Ashton translated during our tour, it won't show me which way to go. I scan the rooftops across the Court, trying to find the peak of the girls' dorm, but it's impossible to distinguish among the identical possibilities. So I start in the general direction that I think it's in. I can't even keep the presumed building in view because I'm too busy watching my footsteps to stay on the path, occasionally getting swatted in the face with a branch.
I'm going to be late for curfew. I know it. But maybe they'll see I'm in the Court when they track my phone and come get me. At least I hope they will.
I hear a rustling somewhere close by and freeze mid-step, listening for voices.
"Hello?" I say loudly, wanting it to be anyone, even Dr. Kendall or the rock-head security guard at this point.
No one responds. But the distinct sound of a branch breaking sets my hairs on end.
I rush down the path that starts veering away from the direction I want to go until I'm about to walk into water. I stop abruptly, teetering on one leg. I notice a glowing spot sticking out of the water, a couple feet in, on the left. Then another to the right. I wonder if this section's been flooded. But as my eyes adjust to the moonless night, I can see that there are swings dangling above the water, and logs immersed, intended to be sat on. Large reeds and water lilies blossom out of the water, along with round balls of what looks like moss. This is a garden with everything strategically placed to be stepped and balanced on to explore and navigate.
Fricken fantastic. I never want meet the geniuses who designed this place.
Although each garden I've discovered within the Court is fairly small, it still surprises me every time I discover a new one. Regardless of how vast the space, it's curious that they all fit. I'm beginning to suspect that they change the Court a little every day, whoever they are. Because just yesterday, when I thought I was about to enter the garden with the mermaid fountain, I found myself in a small field of plastic pink flamingos and pinwheels, a vivid display of color and sound. It was peculiar and awe-inspiring at the same time.
But if they're always working on the garden, changing it, when are they doing it? I've never come across a single gardener, although the hedges are perfectly trimmed and the grass is mowed. Then again, I've only been here a week, and I work off-campus. I suppose there's time for them to maintain it without being seen. But a reconstruction seems almost impossible to conceal.
"Lana, who cares!" I say out loud, knowing this isn't the time to contemplate the mystery of the Court's construction. I take a breath and step onto the glowing footpa
th, balancing on one foot, then the other as I search for the next stone.
The water splashes.
I almost fall over. It sounded small, like someone tossed a stone in the water. "Hello?" I call out again, balanced in the middle of the pond. I wait. Silence. My heart is pounding. When no one responds, I hop to the next stone, wanting to rush across. I'm even tempted to walk through the water, but I can't tell how deep it is, and fear what may be on the bottom.
When I finally reach the dry path, I search for the rooftops again and try to figure out which building I thought was the dorm. At this point, it doesn't matter. I'm passed curfew.
Wait.
I pull out my phone from my messenger bag. Frustrated with myself for waiting this long to use it to call for security. But when I press the button to light up the screen, nothing happens. The battery's dead. I swear I charged it at Lily's last night. Unless ... in my drunkenness, I plugged in the wrong phone, that is somewhere on my bed right now.
"Dammit!" I cry out, tempted to throw the useless phone in the water. I shove it back in my bag and continue to follow the glowing cobblestones. When I come to an intersection, I choose the path that looks like it'll lead to the closest building.
Until the path starts curling away again. No wonder students have breakdowns and start crying when they lose their way in the dark. I'm on the verge of being one of them. This place is maddening!
Someone coughs behind me. I whirl around. Or at least, that's what I thought it sounded like. This time I don't call out. I'm either being paranoid and hearing things, or someone's following me. I'm wishing for my pink switchblade right about now. Out of habit, I reach for it in the small tear in the bottom seam I made to hide it when I'm at school. It's empty.
I continue to walk, but with each step, I'm shrinking, or everything's growing. The hedges on either side appear to be getting taller and taller until I'm swallowed by the dark. Even the glow of the cobblestones becomes so faint I can barely see where I'm walking. Which explains why I collide with a wall of branches, walking into a dead end.
"You've got to be kidding me!" I holler, sputtering out needles.
On the other side of the hedge, I hear the pounding of footsteps. Someone's running, coming closer and closer. I back into the corner of the hedge, seeking safety within its solidity, and listen as they approach. It's like they're running right beside me--if I reached out my hand, I could touch them. And just as quickly, they're gone, the pounding rhythm gradually fading.
I'm not alone.
When it's silent again, I feel for an opening, some passage to allow me to slip through the hedge without backtracking. That's when I discover what I thought was a wall is actually two overlapping lines of hedges with a narrow corridor between. Whoever was running really was right next to me.
As much I don't like the idea of following in the same direction as the runner, this path brings me in the direction of the closest buildings. And maybe, the runner is lost too and not trying to torment me. But that doesn't explain why they didn't respond when I called out.
Whatever. I can speculate all I want. It's only going to drive me crazy because I'll never know unless I find whoever it is. Or they find me. And honestly, I'd prefer neither of those things to happen.
I run my hand along the hedges, feeling for another faux wall, when a stinging pain forces me to pull back. Thorn bushes are woven into the wall, making the narrow passage even more treacherous to navigate. This school really is twisted. How is any of this making me into a better person? If anything, it's making me angrier.
When I'm finally free of the thorny corridor, I find myself in an open garden with beds of flowers planted around a massive tree with a twisting trunk and thick boughs that split and twist off wildly from the center, forming an expansive canopy of leaves. I follow a path of thick grass that parts the flowers and encircles the tree. I feel insignificant beside it. The tree must be a hundred years old. It has that majestic feel to it, like it's been on this earth longer than any of us and has seen and heard many secrets in its lifetime. Secrets that are now confined within the rings of its smooth, twisted skin. I rest my ear upon it, wondering if it'll whisper them back to me.
The breeze picks up, and I hear an indistinguishable voice rustle through the branches. My legs tangle and I trip clumsily, circling and searching. A light gust sweeps through again, and I swear I hear it. A low whisper, like a buzz of bees. I can't quite decipher the message being carried to me in the wind. I wait for it to speak again. My pulse races in anticipation.
