Trigger Warning: suicidal ideation

The vast, frozen landscape of Wickford stretched out from the window, wreathed in fog and frost. Millie sat at her writing desk, staring dead-eyed into the grey abyss.

It had been weeks since Petra had left this world, and Millie was lost. She still struggled to believe it had even happened. But the bare, empty bed on the other side of the room was proof enough that her friend was gone.

And that she was alone... again.

There was a blank sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. It was supposed to be a letter, but Millie was having difficulty thinking of what to write. She didn't know how to muster the right words that might convince someone to come and save her from this hell. She had been unsuccessful so far.

After a moment, Millie sighed and picked up the pen.

Olivia, she began.

Things are so much worse. I can't be here anymore. Please help me. I need to come home, or I will...

The pen began to tremble in her hand as she tried to finish the sentence. She wrote a 'k', then an 'i' and an 'l' but stopped there. Her tremors became too much to continue, and ink pooled against the paper.

She shook her head and then scratched the last word out and continued on.

...I will go mad, I'm sure of it.

Mom and Dad aren't answering my letters. I know they must think I am just being a petulant child, that this is all just dramatics, but I'm serious. I can't stay here another moment. I need to come home. Please help me convince them. I'm begging you. Please. Please.

Please.

Millie

It was short, but Millie hoped it would be enough. She folded the paper up and stuffed it into an envelope already addressed to Olivia Cunningham at St Thomas. Next to it was another envelope, already sealed, addressed to Mr and Mrs Cunningham.

Once finished, Millie scooped up both letters and exited the room.

The path to the office was no different, but Millie's heart began to race as she stepped into the hall. It was the stairs that haunted her. Every day she was forced to walk up and down them, and every day she saw them splattered with Petra's blood all over again.

As she reached the landing, she paused. Below, a group of girls had gathered at the foot of the stairs, standing close and whispering together. Millie began her descent, and their heads all turned at once to look up at her. For a moment, they stared at her, silent, before they exchanged worried looks and scattered, each of them headed in a different direction.

Millie fought the stinging in her eyes. The other girls had avoided her before, but it was so much worse now. Now the other students treated her like she was dangerous rather than just repellant—as if she was somehow to blame for Petra's death.

Millie shook her head. What they thought didn't matter—not anymore.

She hurried down the stairs and headed into the office.

The secretary, as always, was behind the desk. She was doing paperwork, her half-moon spectacles low on her long nose. Millie paid her no attention and swept past, heading for the cubbies. She tried not to hope as she checked her own, but as she found it empty, she felt her shoulders droop down.

"Don't fret, dear."

Millie turned. "Huh?"

The secretary was watching her. She pushed her spectacles up. "The war has interrupted all sorts of things. I'm sure your mail is just delayed."

Something stirred at the back of Millie's mind. She narrowed her eyes.

Deja-vu.

"You've said that before."

"Have I?" the secretary said, her thin, white eyebrows raising across her wrinkled forehead. "Well, all the same, I'm sure they'll come."

Millie did not respond.

Awkward now, the secretary averted her gaze, and it fell on the letters still in Millie's hand.

"Oh, why don't I take those for you?" the secretary chirped, holding her hand out. "I've just emptied out the box for the mail pickup today. They'll be here soon, maybe they'll have a letter for you then."

Millie didn't believe it, but she handed over her letters to the secretary, and she laid them on the desk, next to her paperwork.

"Keep the faith, dear," the old woman said, giving her a gentle smile as she went back to her work. "Your letters will come."

The empty promise of 'faith' made Millie's insides twist like knotted snakes. She must've worn her distaste on her face because the secretary's smile fell away. All the better. Millie was no longer interested in this inane conversation.

She turned and left the office.

As she stepped into the hall, someone slammed into her.

"Oh!"

Millie staggered back, ready to snap—but stopped herself as she saw it was the new teacher, Miss Brodie.

Miss Brodie's dark, magnified eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"Miss Cunningham! Just the person I wanted to see."

"I am?" Millie said, recoiling. "Why?"

Miss Brodie stopped to look around, then pulled her aside, out of the way of the office door, into a corner of the foyer. Icy air was drifting in from the gaps beneath the main door, cutting right through to the bone and making Millie shiver.

When Miss Brodie spoke again, she kept her voice low. "I wanted to see how you've been holding up."

Millie just stared at her. Her gut gave another twist. The past few weeks had whittled Millie down to almost nothing. Dark shadows clung under her eyes, and her clothes hung much looser on her diminished form.

"Oh, I'm doing great," Millie answered drily, her words sharper than she meant them to be.

Miss Brodie didn't mind her sharpness. She kept her expression placid, almost as if she understood. She reached out and wrapped her stubby fingers around Millie's narrow wrist, and gave it a little squeeze.

"I do hope that's true, but if you aren't," Miss Brodie said, then paused to look around again, before leaning in close and dropping her voice. "If you ever need someone to speak to, please don't hesitate to find me. You can talk to me about anything, anytime. Anytime. I mean it."

Millie's lip began to tremble. It was a kind offer, and it felt like forever since someone had been kind to her. Not since Petra...

"I—I don't know."

"You don't have to say anything now," Miss Brodie continued, giving her wrist another squeeze, "but just know that I'm here if you need me—"

Millie sputtered. "Well, I-I..."

A shift of movement over Miss Brodie's shoulder drew Millie's eye.

Sister Marion was there, standing at the foot of the stairs, right on the spot where she and Petra had come to rest on that fateful night. She was watching the two of them, her heavily lined face furrowed, as though she didn't like what she saw.

The students weren't the only ones who seemed to blame her for Petra's death.

Millie felt a hot flare of anger, though her expression turned cold. She ripped her arm out of Miss Brodie's grip.

"I don't think there's much point. There's nothing you can do to help me."

Miss Brodie's face fell. "No, wait—"

She tried again to take hold of her as if to keep her in place, but Millie stepped back, out of her reach. Millie glanced around, searching for an escape. With Miss Brodie in her way and Sister Marion at the stairs, there was only one way out...

Through the front door.

"Millie! Wait!" Miss Brodie called.

But Millie ignored her, shooting Sister Marion one last hateful look as she pushed open the door and slipped outside.

Outside, the weather was as bitter as ever. A sharp wind whipped at the grounds of Wickford, stirring the dense fog and tossing shards of frost into the air. Millie winced against it but pushed on, pulling her cardigan tight around her. It did little good against the cold, but there was no way she was going back the way she came.

Millie walked along the front of the house until she reached the corner. She leaned against it, wondering where to go. Her fingers were already going numb, and her cheeks were burning. She thought of going back inside but quickly decided against it. She had enough of being people's target for one day.

Her eyes drew forward. Ahead, the Chapel rose above the fog, its steeple sharp and proud. With nowhere else to go, Millie headed for it, letting the fog swallow her up. As it swirled around her, it felt as if Millie was standing in nothingness. She didn't know where she was going, exactly, but she followed the gravel path underfoot and let the steeple in the distance be her guide.

Petra's words, back from when Millie was giving her a tour of Wickford, echoed through Millie's head.

"Freezing to death is peaceful," Petra had said. "You just lie down and go to sleep."

Millie thought about it. It no longer horrified her as it had when Petra had first spoken of it. She wished now that Petra had gotten what she wanted. Her actual death had been anything but peaceful. 

The image of her friend's bloody, limp form rose again in her mind, cutting at Millie from the inside. As she pushed on, heading deeper into the fog, Millie wished for peace, too.