The Diary

A week has passed since my last entry, and I have spent it holed up reading the diary. I made copies and sent the original back to Michelle (no sense i getting stuck with that).

She is right, by the way. It is an old one, starting in 2005, which would have been her sophomore year, an in total is only about eight pages long... But what they say, I think, speaks volumes.

Oct. 21, 2005

"The saddest part, about the drugs anyway is that I have been like this since I was 13! But I'm trying to get clean now, and I think that if I really want it I can stop."

Oct. 30th, 2005

"Fuck it, did acid again. Me and XXXXX* decided to stay in the room. At first I though we got ripped off again by XXXXX, but after an hour it came on real strong. I remeber looking out at the windows on the University Ave house and they were eyes and I though they were trying to look for my soul, but they couldn't find it...I thought maybe I had lost my soul..."

Nov. 2nd 2005

"Satyed home this week. Told mom and dad I was sick and spent the last few night in the bathroom, they think its the flu. It hurts so much not to be able to say anything. I flushed all the shit down the toilet. It was right, but now I'm cold and shaking and I fucking want it..."

Nov.3rd,2005

"Can't do this, too tired. Found enough coke for a couple lines. I'm smoothed out now, going to find XXXXXX later, to get more...I really don't think I can do this double life thing anymore, one is gonna win out, I think but I don't think I'm strong enough to do this. I can't."

Nov.16th, 2005

"Went to a rave in LA, some warehouse XXXXX gets some Ex and some weed and we get faded and drive there. Met some guy from UCLA and he hooks us up with some speed...I started puking all over him and ran to the stinky bathroom. It smells and I cry in a stall till XXXX comes to find me. I don't remember doing it but she says I was screaming at the mirror. all in all kind of a downer night."

Nov.23rd, 2005

"I know I need help. I know it. I knew it when I sat down to write a suicide note last night. I was fcked up, but still... again can't tell my parents and can't tell the school. I'm the "good girl" the "community leader" and stuff and it makes me happy but this habit leaves me empty. I fill the void, I guess, with school stuff but all the time I have this sinking feeling in my stomach, cuz I know that when everyone goes away I will be getting fucked up on weed or acid or speed or coke or whatever else I can find and XXXXX and Michelle are the only ones who really know. I can see in their eyes that they are afraid or waking up one day and finding me dead. They worry so much but don't say a thing. I think the truth is that they would be better off with out me here to worry them so."

????(no date here) 2005

Some times I feel

Like an empty house

With empty rooms

My eyes like windows

full of light

To mask the void behind

What will the neighbors say?

When the bulbs BURN out?

When the paint begins to peel?

And they see

I am

Haunted

Dec.3rd, 2005

"Began my volunteer service at the shelter in Oxnard this week. I like going there because I think I understand some of the girls. I can't really tell them, but on a level. They know I think they can tell. I spent most of my time with a girl who is a cutter, and has awful scars on her arms. She is doing well, and I think 'at least I'm not that bad', and as bad as it sounds, it gives me hope cuz if she can get her life together. Maybe there is hope for me."

* The names here were blacked out, I assume by Michelle, but I can't be sure.

And that's all there was, only eight pages, but eight explosive ones nonetheless. NO ONE knew save Michelle and a few other souls. Who would have thought that Rose Cohen was a "troubled youth"? I had seen it before, you know the pregnant prom queen, the star jock with a bad meth habit...but Rose Williams-Cohen?

But it makes sense doesn't it? The money, the family, and add to that the stress any normal kid has in college and I suppose it can happen to anyone.

So why did Michelle show this to me? Dose she think there was something more to Rose's death?

There is still no official report on the fire, by the way and they are still working on Room 312. Campus is buzzing with rumors about who will or will not live there next. I'm still sniffing around at the office but NO ONE IS TALKING...

Yesterday, I was making copies of the pages in the Archives Warehouse for the Star, when the phone rang. Expecting the receptionist to answer, I ignored it. But it rang and rang and rang. Thinking maybe she was at lunch I cursed under my breath as I attempted to answer it.

ring

ring

ring

I try to navigate the massive maze of old, musty stakes of yellowed news print. The air reeks of mold and concrete is damp and cold. I take a series o rights and lefts, moving ( I hoped) closer to the phone...

ring

ring

ring

I hit the back aisle and the long fluorescent light is on the fritz. It flickers and twitches and phone keeps ringing.

The phone is at an old oak desk and the whole thing is covered in a fine layer of dust. I caught and pick it up anyway, sending the particles dancing in the strobe of the hinky lights.

"hello, archives."

"Mr. Lewis?"

"Uh yes?" I say. I haven't heard the voice before.

"Please come to your desk. There is a young lady here to see you."

"Huh? Who is it?"

" I don;t know Mr. Lewis, but she says its about some kind of a room."

I bolt out of the archives, picking up the copies and the diary on my way out. I hit the elevator,

and deciding not to wait, take the stairs. By the time I get to my desk my shirt is soaked I sweat.

"Hello?"

But there is nobody at my desk. I ask Lee Mann, the Obit writer at the desk next to mine I he saw anyone.

He didn't. In fact he tells me, there isn't even a working phone in the archive warehouse. I tell him about the one in the back and he shrugs, maybe he forgot, but he says he's sure that it been at least 30 years sine there was a working phone there

There was a note, sort of. On my computer screen.

C.L.

Tomorrow in THE ROOM 10pm

R.

I delete in and make a note.

After my shift I go back to the archives and walk all the way to the back again. Someone fixed the light, but the phone and desk are gone.