My Red Queen

My Red Queen

"You coming, Jack?" she asked lightly, his face relaxed at her voice and he even smiled.
    "No. Detention. Go with Sarah. I'll call you later," he said, holding her arm. "Bye." The word was torture.
    "Bye," she hugged him briefly and walked off with her sister, her dark red hair rippling down her back. Jack's jaw clenched and he watched her walk away from him.
    "Late!" the teacher bawled as he arrived, out of breath.
    "I'm sorry, Mrs. Goldman, I was..."
    "How about same time tomorrow? Maybe then you'll finally learn your lesson," she said with an air of satisfaction at his anger. He crashed down at a desk and glared straight ahead. Now how would he ever spend any time with Amy?
    When he finally got home it was past 6. Too late to call her. Her dad didn't let her talk to boys at this time. Ridiculous rule, Jack had always thought. With nothing more to do, he ate and went to bed.

"No. NO." Mrs. Goldman's terrified face drifted through his subconscious. The moon glinted off the hilt of the silent silver knife as it drew across her throat and she began to choke on her own screams. To drown in her own blood.
    Jack woke with a start, sweating slightly. He rubbed his eyes and caught his breath. "Just a dream," he panted.
    Walking to school, he struggled to keep the images of his dying teacher from his mind, but failed miserably.
    "What's up?" his best friend asked him, looking up from a book, as he went into registration. "You look weird." Jack shook his head absently and stood up as a teacher entered.
    "Something awful happened last night," the teacher explained, eying them. "Mrs. Goldman passed away in her sleep." Simultaneous gasps rang through the room, and terror ripped through Jack's heart.
    "Wow..." Mark whispered to him. Jack didn't answer, just shuddered. "Well, at least you don't have her detentions any more, right?" he attempted a feeble laugh. Jack tried to laugh back, but it came out like a hysterical wheeze.
    Was he psychic?
    It certainly seemed that way. But did he want to be psychic? To watch people in his sleep as they took in their final breaths, as they passed silently away. Or not so silently. Mrs. Goldman had been murdered. He was sure of it.
    "So. No detention today," Amy said, slipping into the seat next to him at break. He breathed her in gratefully. "Wanna go somewhere?"
    "Yeah," he said, meaning it more than she could know.
    So that day, after school, they went shopping. Jack had always hated shopping, but he was certain that he had never been happier in his life than he was that afternoon. Until her dad called. Jack could hear his furious voice from where he was.
    "Where are you? ... What do you think you're doing? ... Didn't think to tell us... Well I can tell you one thing... you're never seeing that BOY again." Jack's eyes widened in horror as Amy calmed him down through the phone and turned to him again.
    "I have to go. I'm sorry," she kissed him on the cheek. "Maybe you shouldn't call for a while." And she was gone.
    Before Jack knew it, he was at home again. He moaned about it with Mark on the computer for a while, then went to bed again, having forgotten about his supposed psychic abilities.

Amy's dad was a terrific snorer, but had a surprisingly quiet death. Two hands wrapped around his head, smashing it with amazing force against the headboard and he was dead.
    Jack woke with a start for the second morning in a row. He took a deep breath. "No..." he whispered. "No no no."
    It was true he didn't like Amy's father, but he loved Amy, and it would kill her to know that her father was dead. He had to get to school and see if it was true. He had to...
    "Hey," Mark greeted him, turning a page in his novel.
    "Where's Amy?" Jack asked immediately. Mark looked at the ground. "I mean... hi." Mark nodded slowly. "Where's Amy?"
    "Didn't you hear? Someone died. I think it was her dad. Everyone's talking about it," he answered, and went back to his book. Jack sat down, panicked.
    "Uh, what are you reading?" he asked in an attempt to make conversation.
    "It's called the Red Queen. It's about this woman, and she's perfect in every way," he answered.
    "But that's impossible," Jack said.
    "I bet you think Amy's perfect," Mark answered without batting an eyelid.
    "But... she is," Jack said quietly.
    Amy didn't come into school at all that day, and neither did her sister, so instead Jack walked home with Mark.
    "I've hardly talked to you since you started going out with her," he said.
    "No," Jack said, distracted. "Listen... what would you say if I told you I was psychic?" Mark looked at him, expressionless.
    "I'd ask you to elaborate," he answered.
    "Whenever I have a dream someone dies, they die," Jack said. "Mrs. Goldman, and now Amy's dad." Mark looked thoughtful.
    "Mrs. Goldman kept giving you detentions, and Amy's dad wouldn't let you see her."
    "I know."
    "Coincidence?"
    "What?"
    "People that are keeping you away from something," Mark said. "They're dying."
    They didn't speak for the rest of the walk.

A week later, and still no sign of Amy. Jack sat at home sadly one day, wondering if she was ok. He knew he wasn't allowed to call her, even if the person who had made that rule was now dead. He sat alone, thinking about her, looking at the pictures of her stuck on his wall... when suddenly, the phone rang. He snatched it up.
    "Jack?" the voice at the other end was both tear-jerkingly beautiful and heart-wrenchingly sad.
    "Amy," he breathed.
    "I can't talk for long. I just have to tell you something," she said.
    "Anything," he said.
    "We can't see each other any more, Jack. I'm sorry."
    And then the whole world crashed and burned around him.
    "Why?" he managed to say.
    "I'm sorry. Bye, Jack." And she hung up. He sat, even more alone than before, and, with a shuddering breath, began to cry.

That night, Jack had his most horrific dream yet.
    He was in Amy's room, watching her sleep. He knelt beside her bed and stroked her lovingly. He drew a small silver knife from his belt, and shook her softly.
    "Wake up, Amy," he whispered. She opened her eyes slowly.
    And screamed.
    But it was too late, her screams turned into gargles as the knife sliced cleanly across her throat and blood blossomed through her pristine bedcovers. Jack pulled her close and stroked her auburn hair for the last time, yanking out a lock so he would remember her for always.
    His Red Queen.
    Now she would remain perfect forever. A dead girl could do no wrong.
    Now there was nobody to keep them apart.

Jack woke up, drenching in sweat, gasping. He remembered his dream and went deathly pale.
    "No," he cried, and buried his head in his hands, but what was that? A lock of auburn hair threaded carefully between his fingers brushed his cheek.
    The souvenir of the perfect romance.