Episode 2: Curtain Head
1391 Words
*BLACK CHAIN: A Hudson University Werewolf Saga*
*Hudson University, Morningside Heights. West Hall Basement. School Lounge. Tuesday, September 9th. 7:13 AM.*
The steam pipes knocked. 6:15 AM. 7:15 AM. Every hour. The lounge had a heartbeat.
Alexsander “Alex” Williams was already on the floor. Push-up 412. Sweat dripping onto cracked tile. Black tank top. Locs tied back for once, scar on her jaw exposed. The chain was cold. Always cold.
*Maya Woods* rolled off the broken-spring couch. Copper braids a mess, gold hoops on the floor. Howard hoodie on. “Lex, if you don’t stop slamming your body into the ground, you’re gonna wake the ghosts.”
“There’s no ghosts here,” Alex grunted. 413. “Just rats.”
Maya grabbed Alex’s ketchup hoodie from the corner. The clean one. The one with the black feather that Alex threw there yesterday. “So we’re not talking about this?”
“No.” 414.
“Because Vanessa didn’t clean your hoodie. Vanessa would set it on fire and post it.”
“Maybe Dez did it.” Alex stood. Grabbed her baggy black hoodie off the pipe. Pulled it on. Hair down. Curtain closed. “He stares enough.”
Maya snorted. “Dez is scared of you. This was… I don’t know. Stalker-y.”
Alex shoved the feather in her cargo pocket. “Whoever it is, I’ll break their fingers.”
*Hamilton Hall. 3rd Floor. 8:00 AM Sharp.*
Rain again. Hudson was drowning this week. Gargoyles vomited water onto the quad. The 1 train made the windows rattle.
Room 312. American Lit.
Alex walked in. Didn’t look at _him_.
*Lucian Mark* was already in _her_ seat. Window seat. Third row, left. Black tee. Black noise mask. Ice-blue eyes on the rain. Blond hair damp. He took up too much space. Desk looked like it was gonna snap under his shoulders.
She hated him.
Not for any wolf reason. She didn’t have wolf reasons. She was human. She was just pissed. He was a rich transfer stealing her spot. Probably Carter Prep. Probably never worked a day in his life.
She dropped into the desk behind him. Slammed her duffel down.
He didn’t turn.
*Dr. Elias Thorne*, storm-gray eyes, scars on his forearms, started talking about _Moby d**k_. “Obsession. The White Whale. What destroys a man…”
Alex wasn’t listening. She was staring at the back of Lucian’s head. Wanted to shove him out the window.
11:47 AM. Bell rang.
Lucian stood. 6’4”. Didn’t look at her. Walked out.
Alex waited 30 seconds. Then followed.
*Training Spot #2: Hamilton Hall Roof. 12:03 PM.*
Fire escape behind the History building. Rusty. Screamed when you climbed it.
Roof: gravel, old AC units, view of the entire city. Hudson River gray. Storm clouds eating the sky.
Alex went there when she needed to hit something.
She didn’t have a punching bag. So she hit air.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Uppercut.
Knuckles split on 47. Blood on gravel. She didn’t stop.
This was why she was strong. Not magic. Not wolf. _Work_.
125th Street gym every Saturday. $10 to get your ass beat by guys named Tank. She won sometimes. Lost sometimes. Went home, iced her ribs, told Maya she “fell.”
The chain bounced against her chest. Cold.
“Stupid,” she muttered. To the chain. To Lucian. To Vanessa. To Hyd.
*The Den, Cafeteria. 12:45 PM.*
Back table. Dish return. Safe.
Maya was already there, tray of fries and a Diet Coke. “You’re bleeding.”
Alex looked at her knuckles. “Roof.”
“Lex—”
*Click. Click. Click.*
*Vanessa Crowe*. White jeans. Pink crop top. Ponytail so high it defied physics. Acrylics today were chrome. Diamond tennis bracelet. Flanked by *Kayla Benton*, redhead, freckles, phone out, and *Tiana Ross*, silent, cheekbones sharp. Behind them: *Priya Shah*, glasses, bio textbook clutched like a shield, and *Jessica Lane*, fake tan, St. Agnes smirk.
“Look who it is,” Vanessa said, loud enough for half the Den to hear. “Curtain Head. And her little charity case.”
Maya stood. “Say it to my face, Barbie.”
“I am.” Vanessa smiled. “God, what is that smell? Wet dog? Or is that just you, Williams? Did you roll in the quarry mud visiting your inbred family?”
The Den went quiet.
Hyd. The quarry. Bobby Klein.
Alex stood. Slow. Chair scraped.
“Shut up about Hyd,” Alex said. Voice low.
“Ooooh.” Vanessa stepped closer. “Hit a nerve? What, your mommy tell you to stay away? Is the big bad wolf gonna get you?”
Alex’s fists clenched. Chain burned cold.
Kayla was recording. “Fight fight fight!”
*Dez Knight* watched from two tables over. Dreads up. Notebook closed. Frowning.
Vanessa leaned in. “You know what your new nickname is? Not Curtain Head. That’s old. After yesterday? You’re _Ketchup Girl_. 500K views. You’re trending, babe.”
Maya grabbed a fry. Threw it. Hit Vanessa’s forehead.
Vanessa gasped. “You little—”
Then she smiled. Evil.
“Bell tower. 3 PM. Alone. Or I send this video to your mom.” She held up her phone. Video of Alex sleeping on the lounge floor, taken through the tiny basement window. “Illegal housing, Williams. Dean Morrison would _love_ to see this.”
Maya’s face went white. “You b_tch—”
“3 PM,” Vanessa said. “Don’t be late, Ketchup Girl.”
She walked off. Kayla and Tiana laughing. Priya looked sick. Jessica smirked.
Alex sat. Hands shaking. Not scared. _Rage_.
*Hudson University. Bell Tower. 2:58 PM.*
The bell tower was closed. Had been since 1987 when a student fell.
Rust. Pigeons. Graffiti from 30 years ago: _Class of ‘92 Rules_.
Stone steps spiraled up. Narrow. Dark. Smelled like mold and bird sh_t.
Alex took them two at a time. Hoodie up. Hair forward.
Top of the tower: huge brass bell, green with age. Arched windows open to the storm. Rain coming in sideways. Whole city below.
Vanessa was there. Alone.
“You actually came,” Vanessa said, twirling chrome acrylic. “Stupid or brave?”
“Where’s your crew?”
“Don’t need them.” Vanessa smiled. “Lock’s on the outside, Williams.”
Alex heard it. _Click_.
Vanessa was suddenly at the door. Slammed it.
Heavy wood. Iron lock. 200 years old.
Vanessa’s laugh came through the wood. “Have fun! Storm’s getting worse. No one comes up here. Maybe you’ll die like that kid in ‘87!”
Footsteps running down.
Alex was alone.
Rain hit her face. Wind screamed.
She was human. No powers. No wolf. Just mad.
She kicked the door. Once. Twice. Shoulder.
Wood didn’t budge.
“F_CK!”
She paced. Bell. Windows. 100-foot drop.
She looked at the lock. Ancient. Rusty.
She looked at her boot. Steel-toe.
She remembered 125th Street. Tank teaching her how to break a padlock with leverage.
She pulled the black chain from under her hoodie. Wrapped it around her fist. Not for magic. For _grip_.
She kicked the lock.
Once. Twice. _Ten times_.
On the eleventh, metal screamed and the lock _shattered_.
Door flew open.
Alex stumbled into the stairwell. Breathing hard. Knuckles bleeding again.
She looked at the broken lock.
On the ground, next to it:
A black feather.
Same as the one on her hoodie.
She picked it up. Crushed it in her fist.
“I’m gonna kill you,” she whispered. To whoever.
*West Hall Basement. School Lounge. 9:47 PM.*
Maya paced. “You’re _sure_ it was locked?”
“Yes.” Alex iced her knuckles with a bag of frozen peas. String lights made the lounge gold. “And I’m _sure* I broke it.”
“Lex… people don’t just… break bell tower locks.”
“I’m strong.”
“You’re human.”
Alex didn’t answer.
She pulled the feather from her pocket. Two now.
She set them on the mini-fridge.
“Whoever’s doing this,” Alex said, “they think I’m scared. I’m not. I’m gonna find them.”
She didn’t know Lucian Mark was standing in the rain, three blocks away, staring at West Hall.
Black noise mask on. Ice-blue eyes on her basement window.
He didn’t move.
He just watched.
And the feather in his hand matched hers.
- Writer
