Ten Fifty-Seven

By M. K. Lazar

“We’ve got a 10-57,” said the deputy sheriff, switching the radio off.
“A 10-57?” asked the recruit nervously.
“Yeah, it means missing person.”
Lima Skylar has been missing for three months now. Her family and friends grow increasingly unsettled as each day passes, and it isn’t long before they start assuming the worst. Each has their own conspiracies about what happened to Forrest High’s infamous girl. But it isn’t until an anonymous tip heads off the Forrest Hill sheriff’s department that their suspicions are finally confirmed: Lima Skylar didn’t go missing after all…
Hidden deep in the forest, they find Lima’s body, accompanied by empty eye-sockets and a light buzzing sound coming from somewhere inside the pretty rotten corpse…
Uncover the letters that piece together the mysterious disappearance of Lima Skylar in this five-part epistolary. Ten Fifty-Seven takes you on a psychological roller-coaster through the five stages of grief: denial, anger, guilt, depression and, finally, acceptance.
One jealous friend.
One heartbroken lover.
One overshadowed sister.
One misused pawn.
One dead girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781528969956

M. K. Lazar

M. K. Lazar trained as a classical pianist from the age of seven. His curiosity for creative writing became apparent during his early childhood when he wrote a series of short stories, which included an F5 tornado, a house that smelled horribly like cabbage, and a cat named Mr Whiskers. Since then, M. K. Lazar has worked on numerous writing projects, including a line of young adult books and several novelettes. He has also undertaken postgraduate training in clinical psychology at the University of Melbourne. He currently lives in Melbourne, Australia. Ten Fifty-Seven is his debut novel.

Book preview

support.

October 9th, 1997

To my darling,

So, Forrest High finally has its very own counsellor. His name is Colin Smith, and he’s asked me to call him whatever I ‘fancy’, as long as it is ‘appropriate’ of course. Mr C has a strong English accent, and I’ve never caught him at a time when he isn’t drinking, holding, or on his way to get some tea. Which, if you ask me, only strengthens his stereotype.

Mr C keeps asking me funny questions, and sometimes I simply sit and stare in his direction, but not at him. Does that make sense? I will stare at him for a good ten minutes, possibly. No, definitely. I know this because he has told me I’ve done it before, just staring, my mind wandering elsewhere. Mr C will stare right back at me, sipping his tea, slowly, without saying a single word. The first time it happened, he looked mildly interested. I asked him if it happens often, or just to me.

Mr C told me it’s perfectly normal to daydream, as long as I wasn’t doing it forcefully.

I’ve noticed that after I break my, well, what should I call it, trance? After I’ve broken my trance, it takes another minute to remember where I am and to familiarise myself with my surroundings.

And when I do notice Mr C eventually, he’s always staring at me funnily, and I start to get the tingles, as though he knows what’s been going on with me, as though he knows exactly about everything that’s happened with Lima.

Tell me more about your classes, Mr C would say.

Well, there’s not much to say. They are what they are, the same as always – more or less ­– aren’t they? I replied, scratching my nose.

"Anything new with English? I hear Mr Robinson particularly liked your essay on ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’, which, between you and I, is saying a lot." He winked, whispering the last part, a hush almost, as though Mr Robinson was about to barge into our session, furious that we had dragged his name through the halls in a negative light. In dirt and mud.

It’s kind of Mr C to try and cheer me up. One thing I really like is his honesty. He’s promised to be one hundred per cent with me as long as I agree to come to the sessions for fifty minutes every Thursday, after lunch. There I can talk about my day, work on any homework I needed help finishing, or have something to eat or drink. As long as I take regular breaks to keep talking.

I really admire Mr C’s office. Maybe because it’s far from what a typical office looks like? Mr C, of course, sits in his egg chair which is made of a light brown fabric and is very deep, with a plush cushion that is always perched against the lower back, hidden from view. It is the same colour as the egg chair.

The egg chair looks exceptionally comfortable and whoever isn’t sitting in it is generally envious. I’m allowed to sit in it if I tell Mr C something new, something I’m feeling momentarily or something that might bother me from the past. Like Lima’s death or whatever. Somehow, he always knows when I’m not telling the truth.

Mr C has other cool things in his office. A round, polished table in the middle, four bean bags, two across from each other in one corner, a desk, a few magazines that litter the coffee table, water and an espresso machine. I even convinced him to add a little mini bar fridge, for soft drinks and water only, of course.

One day, as we were talking, he asked if I was thirsty. I asked for water and so he went to the fridge and got me one. I remember thinking how cool it must be to have his job. I think that was when I started to respect him a lot more. When he began taking me seriously. When he said I could go and see him alone without having to speak at ‘The Talks’.

Sometimes, Mr C would tell me about his day or general life. He isn’t married, but he’s still young for it. I asked him if he had a girlfriend or a fiancé and he just said no. He didn’t brush it off or anything either. He was honest and there was nothing more to it. I feel as though Mr C has just gotten out of something a little serious, before starting to work at Forrest High I mean, and so probably he’s still adjusting to life without a partner. Either way, I’ve decided not to ask or push the matter further. I respect him way too much for that now.

What about your extra-curricular activities? Have you been making friends how we’ve been suggesting?

I replied, No, not really. I don’t really have the time to make new friends. I usually go home after school and I feel too tired to go out.

This was a lie, and I’m sure Mr C knew. I’ve been starting to go to Forrest Hill Station more and more often after school. I stared at the carpet and thought about how good it would feel to have the Express rush pass me. I shifted the thought from my mind and looked up. Mr C was writing on his little notepad. He’s started doing that more and more often now. Especially when he’s asking me about what I like to do with my spare time. I mean, does he expect me to just open up to him? Divulge my thoughts and weekly schedules for the rest of the year? No. I can’t do that. Not because I don’t want him peeving, it’s more because I don’t know what I’m doing myself. I can’t exactly tell him that I plan to go to a train station, can I?

And how are things at home? Do your parents and siblings spend more time with you? I know you mentioned that you wanted to spend more time with them. Can you tell me more about what you mean by, ‘get to know them better’?

Well, it’s just that, even though I live with them and they take me everywhere and stuff, even though we eat dinner together and go places together, it’s usually a silent experience.

There was a pause where the air hung silently, aloft, a retrospective shift of mood in the conversation. Mr C waited a moment to see if I had more to say. When it was apparent that I was done talking, he continued.

I think it’s good that you want to expand on your relationship with your family; however, I also think it’s important for you to start making friends again. I know Alec Wilbur still cares about you. He’s come to me and asked how you’ve been. He’s under the assumption that he’s not allowed to approach you. Is that true? Mr C raised his eyebrows.

I wouldn’t put it that way… I started getting hot, I just don’t think we have any interests in common. I fiddled my thumbs together, sweaty palms brushing each other.

How could you lose touch with someone who has meant so much to you since childhood? Someone who has been like a brother to you. Someone you’ve grown with. Someone who still loves you.

We just – I lost my tongue for a moment, distracted by his ability to make my inferno bubble.

Just what? Mr C interrupted – No. He implored.

We just don’t like the same things anymore, all right! I shouted.

I would like to say that I was shocked to discover the ferocity in my voice, but I wasn’t. And neither was Mr C. He just stared at me blankly, without blinking. Like how he always does, and when my chest stopped heaving, he opened his mouth, but not before taking a deep breath.

It doesn’t make sense, Alastair. Why are you being stubborn? Why are you closing yourself from the rest of the world? Why do you not want help? I’m here to help you, not hurt you, and you keep pushing me away. We’ve come so far, but whenever we start talking about the people you’ve cut from your life or what happened before the summer, you change the subject, and your mind disappears for a few minutes. Where do you go to when your mind wanders? Where is your haven? What is it that you can’t bear to remember? I see exactly what’s going on with you. I see how you flinch when I ask you about Lima or when I address anyone else who went to her party that night. Why does that bother you so much? I know exactly what happened, Alastair, so tell me, where did you hide the body?

I snapped back to reality.

Alastair…? Mr C watched me intently, his eyes puzzled. My eyes felt dry.

Where did your mind go just then, Alastair?

Nowhere, I said. My breath increased and I licked my lips, realising just how dry my mouth really was.

Mr C continued staring; I watched as I saw a flicker of hunger in his eyes. He scribbled words quickly onto his little notepad, and I felt my heart race.

I could have sworn he wrote ‘unstable, mentally unhinged, killed Lima Skylar’.

Well, that’s a wrap, Alastair. Unless you have something else to add, we’ll continue things next Thursday?

I said goodbye and walked out of his office. I leaned against the wall and panted and cried and felt unimaginable pain hit my chest. It was like the Express was rushing towards my heart, repeatedly. The world got taller and I started sweating uncontrollably.

I remember thinking I was going to die in the corridors of Forrest High and never see the light of day again. It was my first panic attack.

Things are getting out of hand now. Mr C may not know what’s going on with me, but he is definitely on track, and it scares me to think he may suspect the truth.

From the way I talk to the way I hold myself; he’s been critically analysing me from the beginning. It would be stupid to tell Mr C what I know. It’s too late, anyway. Because if he knows, then so will the others. I don’t know if I can trust ethics to save me on this one.

My first plan of action is to befriend Alec again. I don’t want to, but it’s crucial that I do. This way, Mr C will stop worrying about me, and then things will all go back to normal, and I’ll be able to forget about everything horrible that’s happened over the break, right?

Let me know what you think.

Thanks for nothing,

Alastair

Part One

Alec

September 26th, 1997

To the fortunate few,

Hi, I am not going to bother with lengthy introductions. You can call me Alec, it’s what my friends call me.

Lima Skylar was the school’s It Girl.

I know what you’re thinking. Was? Well, I’ll get to that, but first, you need to know more about this It Girl. The one who got spoken about when people needed a new conversation starter, yet in a good sort of way, if that makes sense?

What she did, who she did it with and even when they did it. Anything and everything about Lima Skylar was public knowledge, and she loved it.

To be honest, I don’t agree with that at all, but it’s what everyone else probably thought.

I could tell Lima hated being the most popular girl in school. Not the attention, because who doesn’t love attention? No, it was the load. The seemingly everlasting craves Forrest High had for her. There was no room for imperfections. People who adored her always surrounded her. I guess you could say she felt that her beauty suffocated her. And I mean that literally.

You see, Lima Skylar suffocated not only mentally but physically as well. She disappeared three months ago; only recently an anonymous tipper has aided in the discovery of her body, which was found buried deep in The Forrest Hill.

Everyone expected her to be perfect, and no one is perfect. Not even Lima Skylar. So when they found her pretty rotten corpse – her mouth hung open and eyes missing from their sockets – the detectives noticed something that still makes me cringe at the mere thought. The truth, that Lima Skylar didn’t go missing after all. Well no, she did go missing, but not the way everyone thought.

Lima was, in fact, murdered. In cold hard blood. There’s something else too, a rumour I heard involving me and Lima, but I don’t want to talk about that, so please don’t ask me.

Lima never really showed signs of distress. I mean, she wore that pretty little smile so, so well. Then again, I don’t think people liked to linger on her weaknesses. Who would want to? Not that she really had any; they were all too obsessed with her attractiveness, you see.

It was not only Lima’s ability to capture your attention which made her popular, like when she battered her eyelashes or laughed candidly, but for other reasons too. For one, Lima always seemed to get her way. Some would go further and say she was a master persuader, but not me.

Lima Skylar was a smart girl, but she was weak, and I don’t mean physically.

I can only guess, but from what I saw, Lima was just a girl who tried to handle everything on her own, and it’s not healthy to do that. She was justice, balancing scales with arms far too frail for the weight they carried.

Maybe it was all too much? What if Lima did get sick of all the attention and the fame and the unbelievable standards she set up for herself? Maybe, just maybe, she woke up and said, fuck it?

That’s what I thought happened when Lima Skylar went missing. I thought she wanted to leave Forrest Hill forever. Who knows? Only Lima Skylar does. Or did, I guess.

But the thing I just can’t get off my mind is the fact that someone did know. Somehow, the authorities found Lima’s body. Who told them, and how long did this anonymous tipper know for? Why not speak up sooner?

When they found Lima’s body, they started making everyone in her class go to ‘The Talks’. The first session was compulsory, but I’ve found myself going to more and more of them. Maybe it’s because I get out of class when I do go? Maybe there’s another reason? I couldn’t tell you for sure.

We say our names and what’s bothering us and then get some pathetic clap as though we’re some war heroes to be congratulated on our return home from service.

It’s the weak supporting the weak if you ask me. I can already see the cracks appearing in the wall of assurance that they’ve tried to build ever so strong and tall.

And boy, can I not wait for the wall to crumble.

I keep telling them I’m fine, but they just won’t seem to listen. So, I make things up, keep myself entertained during the sessions. Let them know of my valiant victories and how I rose above the pain to become the master of myself.

They make us do it in case any of us feel like killing ourselves. Because of what happened to Lima. That was really horrible.

I think Todd’s the most stupid of the lot. He’s the school’s career guide. My school is so cheap they can’t even afford a real counsellor. I think they claim that Todd is like our counsellor, but everyone knows that’s a pretty little lie. It’s all very hush-hush, you see. All it takes is a few letters to be stuck up onto an office door and a few words at Assembly or over the speaker from the Principal, and you can become someone.

Someone to listen to? Possibly. To idolise? Definitely not.

I know I might not be making much sense so I’ll try to keep everything as plain and straightforward as can be.

I walked into class late on Monday. I think it was Monday. No, it was definitely Monday because I missed my bus that morning. I realised the last minute that I had two left shoes on, so Mom had to drive me to school, which made her late for work at the Diner. I remember it was Monday because she yelled at me on the way but still kissed me goodbye and gave me some lunch money and told me to have a splendid day. I walked in late to the first period just as Mrs Needle finished addressing the class. No one looked at me, which was odd, and everything was really silent, almost eerily. I walked to the empty desk at the back of the class. I looked for Alastair Knox; he was sitting two rows in front of me. I felt my heart race and throb until it hurt. Until Alastair’s cousin, Julie Knox, leant over…

Alec… oh my God, you haven’t heard yet, have you? Julie sounded eager.

What are you on about? I whispered.

You won’t believe it… they found her, Julie stirred excitedly. Who ‘they’ were was beyond me; what Julie meant by ‘found’, I did not know either. As for ‘her’, Julie had me completely confused.

What’s happened? I repeated.

And then she told me.

Julie’s eyes lit up when she saw that I was in a state of shock. Disbelief. Denial.

Julie seemed happy to be divulging the news to me. I don’t know, maybe it was just the way Julie said it, but something about the way she told me suggested she was glad Lima was gone. Like Lima was a tragic, random suicide announced on the news at five.

All I could think of was how? Who? And even more, why?

As I sat there staring at the back of Michael Miller’s head, my mind raced with a million thoughts and questions, and yet I didn’t speak a single word. Julie seemed a little peeved at me, but only because I didn’t acknowledge or thank her for what she considered ‘news’.

I didn’t cry if that’s what you’re thinking. Not in front of anyone at least.

Alone at home? Yes.

I waited for the bus after school as I always did. I took an empty seat at the back and zoned into oblivion. I swear I would have kept going if Gregory Monteith hadn’t nudged me and asked if I was getting off with him at our stop.

When I got home, I hid away from the windows of the house. I remember collapsing on my bed that night and waking in the darkest hours. I think I had some sort of semi-sleep paralysis. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything except think about Lima and what her lifeless body might look like.

Had the rumour of Lima’s death manifested and triggered the onset of this surreal experience, or was it purely coincidence? All I know, for certain, is that I lay awake for what felt like forever, until sunlight crept its way into my bedroom. It was slow and I watched it get closer and closer until there was a tingle of warmth on my arm.

I didn’t eat yesterday. All I wanted to do was sleep and that came willingly. All I keep thinking is how? Who? Why? Over and over again. Lima meant so much to Forrest High. Maybe she was sending a sign to the other kids? A sign directed to me?

I remember hoping Lima would burst into class laughing, right after Julie had told me, and then everyone would turn around to me and laugh as though it were some big prank.

That prank has lasted too long to be funny anymore.

No. It had to be true. Julie would never lie about something like that. That would make her really mean, and yet, I can’t help looking for a reason to rule her out as an inadmissible witness. If only I could put Julie on the stand and force her to take an oath. I’ve tried thinking of a past time where Julie’s credibility has failed her, and yet, I can’t.

Julie is a reliable source, and I hate her for it.