Who Killed Romeo

Chapter 1

Cosima Memphis Boarding School Theatre, Opening Night, 1982

It was the morning before the opening night of Cosima Memphis’s production of Romeo and Juliet and somebody had written a threat on the mirror in bright red lipstick – how horribly cliché, and a waste of lipstick.

‘Nessus’ Revenge is Imminent. Good Luck, Heracles

-Deianira.’

It was a clever Greek mythology styled threat. My favourite kind, of course.

The words were skewed slightly with the ends of curly letters trailed to the left. We had a lipstick stealing, drama enthusiast who was left-handed. An empty pack of cigarettes lay face up in the bin. The only people I knew in the drama club who smoked were Francis and Jude, both of whom were not allowed in this dressing room.

The rug was folded over in the corner next to the bin causing me to believe that whoever had been in here made a quick getaway. Judging from the burn mark left on the wooden desk, and a flung cigarette just beside the bin, this person was not expecting visitors and panicked.

The smell of smoke still lingered in the air meaning our guy had only just recently left.

“Do you know what it means?” Asked Archer Carlisle who had stood back while I inspected the room. He leaned against the doorway with crossed arms and a nervous pout. “I mean, it’s English but just words to me. None of it makes sense. I can’t tell if it’s actually wishing me luck or threatening me.”

I tilted my head to the side and squinted at the words. “It’s Greek mythology,” I told him.

He smiled slightly and pointed a finger. “See, Yves told me you’d know exactly what it meant. You are Eleanor Monet after all, I should have gone straight to you.”

I nodded along. Of course, my cousin, Yves had been right.

“So…uh, what does it mean?” Archer continued. He stood straight and ran a hand through his golden blond hair.

I should have told him to figure it out himself, that I was busy; but, the look on his face made me stay. He was too pouty and too innocent, to let suffer. Perfect for drama and perfect for the role of Romeo, too.

“Heracles, or Hercules as you’d probably recognise him, was a demi-god in Greek mythology. Nessus was a centaur who Heracles had killed. While on his death bed, he tricked Heracles’ lover, Deianira into believing his blood was a love potion. When she got jealous a few years later of the beautiful Princess her husband was travelling with, she sent him a tunic with the centaur’s blood on to wear home. What neither knew however was that his blood was poisonous. When Heracles put on the tunic, his skin began to burn and he was unable to take it off. Soon, Heracles died from the poisonous blood and at the hands of his jealous lover.”

Archer’s mouth lay agape as his eyes flickered from the pretty letters on his mirror to me.

“Uhm- So, what should I do?”

I shrugged. “Don’t accept tunics from jealous lovers?”

Archer quickly regained his composure. He stood straight, lips pulled into a soft smile and child-like face back to its gentle innocence. He was good that way, never letting others onto what he was thinking. I judged from the twitch in his left eye and slight clench and unclenching of his fists though that he was either frustrated or nervous.

“I’ll let security know not to let Hazel anywhere near the theatre then,” he joked.

I pursed my lips. I would agree that Hazel Lowell, his ex-girlfriend, was a piece of work but I doubted she wrote that on his mirror. A girl like Hazel Lowell didn’t need to threaten people back into her life, they simply fell to her feet. I would have fallen to her feet too had she asked for it.

“And no tunics on stage, either,” he continued with a large smile. “Unless, of course, Eleanor you’d like to gift me with a tunic.”

“I don’t have a tunic,” I told him.

Amusement flickered in his green eyes.

“Alright, they need you on piano, Lottie,” my cousin Yves interrupted us. He bounced into the dressing room, passed Archer and patted me on the head. “And I don’t know why you insist on hitting on my cousin, Carlisle. You know there’s no chance.”

Archer’s cheeks burned crimson and I almost felt bad. Every time I turned down his advances, I felt myself stray further and further away from the light of good. Because that’s what Archer was; he was good.

He was the love-struck handsome lead in every piece of drama we did at Cosima Memphis. The one who got the girl, and stole the attention of every audience member, every student and every talent scout in his vicinity. And the worst part: he did it with a humble air and a kind smile. He never spoke bad, he always lent a helping hand and was continuously and effortlessly good.

“Right, well, thanks anyway, Eleanor. I’ll make sure not to put on any poisonous tunics any time soon,” he smiled.

I nodded and left with Yves hot on my heels.

“So, what do you really think?” He whispered when we’d walked far enough down the corridor that Archer couldn’t hear.

It was busy backstage, though and no room for privacy. People passed us on our journey, traffic piling along the narrow corridors and costumes, scripts and pieces of music laying on the floors. If somebody had been in Archer’s dressing room only minutes ago, they’d be long gone now – swallowed by the crowd of eager drama kids.

“I think we’re surrounded by pretentious theatre geeks who think Greek mythology is the epitome of intelligence. I think someone was eager to show off,” I answered.

Yves remained tight-lipped while attempting to keep up. He brushed past people and we only stopped when reaching the grand piano at side stage. I watched students gawk at her beauty and caught myself making the same face too sometimes. Perfect ivory keys all lined up for my disposable and a shining black surface that dazzled under the blinding lights of the theatre.

“So, you don’t actually think he’s going to be attacked by Hazel?” Yves continued.

I fell to the piano bench and opened her up carefully. “Why should I?”

Yves sat beside me and turned to watch my hands. “I heard that she’s planning a grand scheme to make their love last forever and ever and ever-“

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but does leaving anonymous, mysterious threats on mirrors usually win you an eternal love?”

He quirked a smile. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Yes, well I usually am.”

“I heard her and Mr. Puma had a thing going on anyway. She wouldn’t want Archer after that.”

I grimaced at his words and allowed my fingers to skim over the keys as a beautiful sound travelled from the instrument. It was a deep and moving melody that echoed around the walls. I let the notes wrap around my form and as the progression picked up, my body weaved with the sound.

“Are you going to Grandma’s for the half term?” Yves spoke over the piano.

I shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

My eyes strayed to the people running around the stage, setting up props and doing last-minute fittings for the main cast. I wondered if William Shakespeare pictured this while writing his scripts.

“I’m excited for this to all be over with by tomorrow,” my cousin muttered. I agreed with him. In just a few hours, I wouldn’t have to spend endless amounts of my spare time cooped up here, designing props, playing instruments and being shouted at by stressed-out students and teachers alike.

“Just a few more hours,” he murmured like a mantra to us both as my hands continued to play the piano keys delicately.

Just a few more hours. But, the hours dragged along slowly. I spent it tidying and organising the props with names of characters and where in the script the prop would be needed. I made sure I had all my sheet music ready and that the violinists all still knew what they were doing. I avoided Archer as best I could, along with the angry director, the frantic costume team and set designers.

And finally, it was showtime. The stage was dark and the curtains drawn as an uneasy feeling of excitement and anticipation blanketed the cast and crew backstage.

Archer was beside me in a second. He stood there as handsome as always, in full costume and hair carefully parted and groomed. He looked fresh from a film set with pink cheeks and a small dimple that really sold him as the part of a lovesick fool.

“It’s showtime,” he grinned.

The sound of the crowds piling up in their seats crawled slowly to our ears and it put me on edge.

I wondered if Archer was nervous about the play, or the crowd or even the threat on his dressing room mirror from this morning.

I’d told him not to worry about it but if I had received such a thing, I wouldn’t be so calm.

“Goodluck with the piano tonight. You’re very good, Eleanor, I know it’ll sound beautiful,” he complimented hesitantly.

“Thank you. Break a leg.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his musky scent for a half hug that I instantly hated.

“Are you going to the party after this?” He wondered.

“No.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll probably see you for the next play then.” He let go of me and his hand raised to run through his golden hair.

I grabbed his elbow. “Don’t ruin your hair. You look too Romeo right now to mess it up.”

His face flamed, eye twitched and a sheepish smile pulled at his lips. “Right…”

Somebody called his name and he ran off to not miss the cue. Little did I know that that would have been the last words that Archer Carlisle and I spoke to one another before the threat on his mirror came true in the worst way imaginable.

I watched the drama unfold smoothly from the comfort of my piano. Actors and crew kept busy as it buzzed with life backstage, voices from their mics boomed from the speakers and I heard every breath and every sentence that Shakespeare had written.

I felt engulfed by the play and soon found myself hanging onto every word. Every poetic line and graceful movement had me hooked. I watched the dance while my hands instinctively played a simple tune on the piano. I listened to their romantic spiels and dramatic announcements. There were the loud and vicious fights, the beautiful intimate moments and heartbreaking deaths. Until finally, the climax.

Sadie Addison, my best friend, was laid prettily to rest at centre stage. In her beautiful gown and mass of dark braids pinned out of her face. She was born to be an actress and the only reason I’d joined the drama club. With all the beauty and grace of a Hollywood Starlet, Sadie was the only reasonable option to play Juliet. She did a brilliant job too.

When she stood on that stage, her dark skin dazzling under the spotlight as countless eyes watched her spout poetic nonsense, she was at home. She belonged on the stage and in front of people.

Archer, as Romeo, ran through his words making them sound so real and so pure. He dropped to his knees and took the navy bottle from his pocket. The bottle that I’d painted myself and carefully written ‘Poison’ in block letters, clear for the audience.

He dramatically pulled off the cap and brought the bottle to his lips before his eyes met mine for only a half-second. My throat closed up at the intensity of his stare. At that moment, as he lay on his knees under the harsh white light, he didn’t look so young and pure anymore. The normally soft curves of his face were cut sharp and the shadow under his eyes was dark and haunting. His eyes conveyed a story to me, a story in a language I did not yet understand.

Then, for the audience, he spoke his final words before kissing Sadie on the cheek and collapsing beside her. As everyone’s eyes were on Sadie for her own climactic death scene, they didn’t see Archer.

They didn’t see as he began to wheeze or when his eyes bugged from their sockets though his character was meant to be dead. They missed the way his chest rose and fall erratically and his tanned skin turned a deep red under the light. It wasn’t the same colouring of red he got on his cheeks after he’d been caught flirting, or the flush of adrenaline when he’d just finished a show. It was red like a bright warning sign.

He convulsed along the stage, gasping for breath as his lips turned blue and he clawed at his throat. The sound of his choking echoed tauntingly around the theatre from his mic. They pulled the curtain down and ran to his side quickly as the audience watched, confused. Some clapped while others yelled but Archer stayed in his trance on stage.

It all passed in slow motion in my head, like I was watching through a tinted lens with lost frames. The music silenced, the audience applauded and Archer, who had lost his Romeo charm, spasmed across the floor.

He pleaded for air, throwing his head against the stage floor in one… two… three heavy stomps until it all finally stopped.

Until his breathing evened out. Until eyes fluttered shut. Until Archer Carlisle was pronounced dead on the stage, still in his Romeo costume with Sadie’s fake blood sprinkled on his tunic.

How horribly cruel and a waste of a good night.