The Fateful Call

On a Friday afternoon in late September, the sky over the Blackthorne Valley swirled in a dark, bruised thunderhead. The storm clouds sagged so low they seemed almost close enough to touch the grim, gray stone spires of the academy. Wind howled through the narrow crevices of the ancient stone walls, creating long, mournful shrieks like human wails. The rain had not yet broken, but the air was already thick with the smell of damp earth blended with the sharp metallic tang of impending lightning.

Cassian stood by a second-floor hallway window, his eyes glued to the brick courtyard below, where gusts of wind swept dead, rotting leaves into swirling eddies. Pulling his gray cloak collar tight, he felt the rapid, fluttering pounding in his chest.

Today was his scheduled call back to Mercy Hospital with Nurse Dana, part of their bi-daily routine. It was the sole anchor keeping him from being swallowed whole by the gloom and bizarre nature of this academy.

As Cassian turned to head toward the West Wing library, Ronald Fisk suddenly stepped out from around the corner. Glancing nervously around, Ronald quickened his pace to walk side-by-side with Cassian, his face filled with undisguised curiosity: "Hey Hale, every Friday afternoon you secretly disappear for an hour. Where do you go? Back to old man Pike's?"

Cassian stopped dead, turning to block the narrow corridor. Staring straight into Ronald’s darting eyes, he spoke in an ice-cold voice: "Where I go is none of your business. Go back to the room, Fisk."

"I'm just asking!" Ronald hesitated, taking a step back from the razor-sharp gaze of his roommate. "I was the one who tipped you off about old man Pike anyway... You're planning to call your mom, right? But this afternoon might not be a good idea."

Cassian narrowed his eyes, the veins on his wrist tightening slightly: "What do you mean?"

Ronald leaned in close, dropping his voice just low enough for the two of them to hear: "Lately, the Prefects have been loitering around the library building a lot. I saw Silas Ward heading in that direction earlier this afternoon too. His face was stone-cold. If you head over there right now and happen to get caught in trouble, then what?"

"I know what I'm doing," Cassian cut him off in a flat tone, turning to walk away faster.

He hurried through the bone-cold stone hallways, not daring to look back. Even though Ronald was the one who had told him about old man Pike, in this slaughterhouse disguised as a school, Cassian understood he couldn't afford to drag anyone else into trouble. The fewer people who knew he was holding a phone or interacting with old man Pike this afternoon, the lower the risk of exposure—a minor mistake or a slip-up at the wrong moment was enough to cost both him and old man Pike their lives.

However, just as Cassian placed his hand on the edge of the library's heavy wooden door, a frail, hunched figure stepped out abruptly from the dark corner of the side corridor leading to the archives.

It was old man Pike.

The old mailkeeper wasn't sitting behind his familiar oak counter like usual. He wore an old, ragged trench coat covered in paper dust, his reading glasses slipped all the way down to the base of his nose. His footsteps were unusually fast and hurried, completely unlike his usual sluggish, withered demeanor.

Pike grabbed Cassian by the forearm, dragging him violently into the deep shadow behind a massive stone pillar. His thin, freckled, vein-riddled hands trembled slightly.

"Mr. Pike? What's going on?" Cassian whispered, an overwhelming sense of dread rising in his heart.

Old man Pike didn't answer immediately. His clouded eyes darted around the empty hallway, his breath coming in ragged gasps as if he had just run a long distance. Reaching deep into his trench coat pocket, he pulled out a black flip phone—the device with the best reception that Cassian always used to call Iowa.

"Take this," old man Pike dropped his voice to a bare whisper, his raspy voice sounding like dry leaves scraping together.

Cassian looked in confusion at the phone resting in the old man's thin palm: "But... it's not my break time yet. I still have five dollars..."

"I don't care about your five dollars right now!" Pike gritted his teeth, cutting him off, his voice cracking with a rare sense of panic. "Ten minutes ago... that nurse named Dana from Mercy Hospital called this number twice in a row."

It felt as if a heavy punch struck Cassian square in the chest. His blood boiled, his heart pounding erratically as if trying to leap out of his chest. Dana had never initiated a callback to this prepaid phone unless something massive had occurred.

"My mom... How's my mom, Mr. Pike? Did she say anything?" Cassian grabbed the old man by the shoulders, his eyes bloodshot, his voice cracking completely.

"How could I dare answer?" Pike shoved Cassian's hands off, his clouded eyes locked onto him with utmost gravity. "How could I stand there answering a phone in the middle of the library when the monitors and those Prefects are prowling around the bookshelves like ghosts? Do you know Silas Ward just walked right past my counter?"

"Then... can I call her back right now?" Cassian urged eagerly, his hand already reaching for the phone.

"Are you insane?" Pike glared, his hollow cheeks quivering. "There are only twenty minutes left until curfew and the seventh bell! The library is about to be locked up. The monitors are checking every corner of every room. I can't keep this phone here tonight, and I can't stand here letting you make a call!"

Pike stood frozen in deep debate for a long beat. He looked at the black phone, then at Cassian's thin, completely bloodless face. The conflict showed clearly in the deep-set wrinkles on his face. After taking a deep breath reeking of cheap tobacco, he pressed the phone hard into Cassian's hand.

"Take it back to your room," Pike instructed, his voice gravely serious to a terrifying degree. "Listen to me carefully, kid. Do not, under any circumstances, turn it on or make a call tonight. The school's network and phone signal monitoring after curfew are tracked by the Student Council's frequency detectors."

He squeezed Cassian's wrist tight, his grip surprisingly formidable for a hunched old man: "Wait until tomorrow morning, after the six o'clock bell. When everyone in the room gets up for morning hygiene, the running water from the stone basins and the morning wake-up bell will drown out every sound. At that moment, sneak into the bathroom, call the nurse for exactly two minutes, then bring this machine straight back to me in the kitchen area. Do you understand?"

Cassian squeezed the cold phone tight in his palm, his mind in total disarray, but he nodded frantically nonetheless: "I understand... But why not right now? Just one minute..."

"I said no!" Pike growled through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing behind his thick lenses as he pressed his face close to Cassian. "If you mess up... if you fiddle with it, turn it on, and call tonight and get caught, I will be punished along with you. Do you have any idea what 'being punished' means in this place called Blackthorne?"

Pike paused for a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, a vague look of sheer terror flashing across his eyes: "I've lived and worked in this school for forty years. I've seen plenty of kids vanish after curfew. But I don't know where the ones caught after the seventh bell are taken either. Not a single person has ever come back to tell me. And that... is what scares me the most. Don't make me regret taking pity on you, boy."

Cassian stuffed the phone quickly into the bottom pocket of his faded jeans, sprinting along the dark stone hallway to return to the dormitory block.

The moment he stepped through the door of Room 104, the seventh bell crashed down violently from the black stone chapel tower.

DONG... DONG... DONG...

The low, furious sound echoed in harmony with the roaring thunder outside. The storm officially broke over the valley. Rain slammed hard against the iron-barred arched windowpane as if trying to shatter the room. The oil lamps in the hallway blew out instantly. The murky darkness swallowed Room 104 whole once more.

Cassian bolted toward his bed, hurriedly shoving the flip phone underneath his straw pillow before throwing himself down.

His chest heaved violently. The rigid phone lay directly under his neck, radiating an agonizing pressure. Could his mother have fully woken up? Or had her condition taken a sudden turn for the worse? Why had Dana called twice in a row like that? A thousand questions pierced Cassian's mind like slashing knives.

"Hale..." A whisper rose from the opposite bed.

Ronald Fisk poked his head out from under his blanket, his eyes narrowing toward Cassian in the dark: "You made it back just in time. The rain is so heavy... Did you see old man Pike this afternoon? Any news?"

"Nothing. Go to sleep, Fisk," Cassian replied curtly, his voice raspy, trying to keep his breathing steady.

In the corner of the room, Albert Sterling sat with his knees pulled up on his bed. His near-sighted glasses reflected the pale gray light from the lightning outside the window. Albert wasn't praying like he did every night; instead, he quietly fixed an uncomfortable, suspicious stare directly at Cassian's pillow.

"Some people... have been acting real shady lately," Albert scoffed coldly in the dark, his voice sarcastic through gritted teeth. "I'm warning you, Hale. Don't let your stupidity drag this whole room down. If you bring trouble or the monitors over here, I'll be the first one to report you to the Prefects."

Karl Brandt, lying on the adjacent bed, merely cleared his throat in a warning tone: "Shut your mouth, Sterling. It's pouring tonight, and the monitors are patrolling much heavier. Nobody wants to be dragged out of this room at this hour."

By the window, Leo remained like a silent phantom. Lying on his side, his eyes wide open, he stared out at the blurred veil of rain outside, exhibiting no emotion whatsoever, though his hand moved slightly as if listening to the faintest noise in the room.

Cassian lay pressing down on the straw pillow, both hands clutching the edge of the rough blanket. He heard loud and clear the chaotic pounding of his own heart blending with the harsh clatter of rain beating against the roof and the bizarre hymn beginning its mournful rise once more from the chapel tower.

The crumpled paper with the ICU number and old man Pike's flip phone lay directly under his head. Its cold plastic surface seemed to radiate a bizarre pull, scorching Cassian's every nerve.

Pike's strict warning echoed in Cassian's mind: "Only call early in the morning... If you mess up, I will be punished along with you."

Yet Dana's excited voice from last week, the image of his mother lying alone in that hospital bed tangled in wires, and the agonizing question surrounding those two rapid calls this afternoon kept tearing at his heart.

Could she have woken up and been calling his name? Or was her life in immediate danger without him knowing?

Every passing second in the silence of Room 104 felt like an eternity to Cassian. His hand inside the blanket slowly reached up beneath the pillow, his fingers touching the folded edge of the phone.

He squeezed the phone tight in his fist, his breathing growing rapid. The fork of survival rested directly in his decision tonight.