“And Siamese Gold as Shy Rears!”
I bow. The crowd stomps their hooves and cheers. The noise swells within me as a warm, happy glow. I smile and bow again, then exit down the stairs on the side of the stage. The announcer’s voice silences the applause as I open a door and trot down the hall to the drama room. A few ponies occupy the space, mostly friends of the cast or minor roles.
“Great job, Gold!” somepony says as I walk past. I smile and wave at Ivory Star, a minor cast member. He gives me a smile in return, though his eyes portray his concern. My face is probably red; this costume is very hot even without the help of stage lights. It clings to my sweaty body, and I can feel the fabric against my skin with every step.
A few others congratulate me and I stop to thank them before finally opening the door to the drama room. The heat of the room hits me hard, along with the pungent stench of sweat. I’m the last to arrive, and I step -- exhausted, yet energized -- inside.
“Gold!” I look over just as familiar pale yellow hooves wrap around my neck. The tip of a warm muzzle -- hers -- touches my cheek and her mane falls around us. Her scent fills my nose: sweat and rose water. Intoxicating.
“Dawn,” I say breathlessly. She unravels herself from me in one smooth motion. I extend a hoof while she does; her soft and warm orange mane runs over my leg.
“You did a wonderful job!” she says as she moves a respectable distance from me. Her purple costume — Saddle Arabian — obscures her sage-colored body. Despite her role in the play, she wears purple and orange flowers woven into her mane and tail.
She sends me a sweet smile and flicks her mane to the side, then says she needs to get out of her costume. Blush rises to my cheeks as she does a turn and walks into the crowd.
“Hey, Kitty!”
Oh, shit. I look away from Dawn, feeling the heat in my face. A small group had formed around me -- most of them the other leads -- while I was gawking. They’re all grinning, some with cocked eyebrows. My ears flatten against my head and I raise a front hoof.
“Sorry, it was...” I pause. Come on, you’re an actor! “Really hot on stage? I had to take a second to cool off! Yeah.” I set my hoof down and give a half-sincere smile.
Their expressions remain unchanged. Some grins widen. One of them chuckles and walks away to join another group in the room. My face burns, and I look away. Not-so-discreetly eyeing Jade Dawn after getting a very... enthusiastic hug from her was not how I wanted to come out to my friends. I was planning to later on, at the end of the school year, but with the show I just put on, it was obvious.
I look up at the group around me again, relieved to see everypony talking to one another and not staring at me. Around the room, the ponies who had taken part in the production of “Arabian Nights” gather. Friends of the cast begin entering from the hallway, contributing to the claustrophobic mess. The humidity in the room is heavy and overwhelming.
My costume is even heavier than the air, and I’m not skilled enough with my bare hooves to undo all the buckles and straps. I begin toward the costume mares, but only make it a few steps before a tall, lanky androgynous stallion saunters into my path. He stops, then looks down at me with his off-putting neon orange gaze.
“Kitty, don’t think you’re getting off that easy.” His voice is silky; Pale Embrace runs a hoof through his citrine hair. “You need to ask her out.”
“What? Me?” I point a hoof at myself, then shake my head. “Oh, no, no, no. I am not gay!”
He rolls his eyes and says, “You’re so deep in the closet that you’re finding my great-grandmother’s dancing shoes.”
I sputter. The corner of his mouth turns up into a smile.
“Look, I get it. Rich family, dynasty to pass down, yadda yadda.” He moves his hoof in a circle with each listed item, then pauses to look at the bottom of his hoof. “I’m just telling you that I know little Dawnie like-likes a totally-not-gay mare I know.”
My eyes go wide. Dawn, Jade Dawn, wants to date me? My heart leaps in my chest, and an uncontrollable grin splits my face. Pale Embrace chuckles and pats me on the shoulder.
“Ask her,” he said again. I’m floating, and my face is stuck in a stupid, lovestruck expression. I exhale, still feeling full of helium. She likes me! Pale Embrace pushes me, forcing me to take a step, which clears my head enough to formulate a plan.
First, I have to get out of this stupid costume.
🐈
The warm night breeze blows through my mane and carries with it the scent of pastries and dinner. The hoof traffic on the sidewalk in front of Mayor Hearts High is heavy, even by Manehattan standards; the play has been a huge hit, and the school is close to restaurants and bakeries. Families and friends gather outside with cast members, and many other ponies are exiting the school or going to dinner.
I look around for Jade Dawn, hoping to locate her familiar flower-laden mane in the orange light. I’m shorter than most ponies, so I’m standing against the building on my tiphooves, using the metal wall against my flank as support. The crowd passes me by; with each group of friends or family, I feel myself growing more excited for when she would step from the school.
Dawn has no plans to go out with anypony tonight. She told me that after yesterday’s show, which was probably a hint that I would have never interpreted without Pale Embrace’s announcement to me today. I didn’t see her inside, which is why I’m waiting outside for her.
A few more minutes pass. With each group that passes by, I crane my neck over the crowd, searching for a familiar orange and gold mane, pale yellow ears and sage-colored hide. The exhilarating helium feeling from before is quickly leaving my body. Eventually, my smile turns into a neutral expression and I fall onto the flats of my hooves.
Is it possible that she went off with some of her friends? The group she hangs around does tend to be pushy, and my charade of heterosexuality would have made them deny Dawn a chance at talking to me. My chin droops down to my chest, but I still kept my eyes aimed upward, hoping to see her familiar slender frame exit the building.
The hoof traffic continues on for over an hour. At some point, I sit down with my back against the building. Hope escapes me; my head and ears droop, but I remain vigilant and naive for Dawn. The night wears on. The din of voices subsides into passing conversations from ponies heading home from dinner. Taxi carts gallop by less often. The night grows cold, and the warm scents of food are replaced by acrid metallic stenches. I wrap my legs around myself.
The janitor closes the school doors behind him and locks them with a key wrapped in his yellow magic. He wipes his brow with a dirty cloth, then begins to turn. His blue eyes land on me and he stops mid-step.
“Why aren’t you home yet?” His voice is concerned but stern.
“I was waiting on somepony,” I say. “Is anypony in the school right now?”
He shakes his head, slightly disturbing the messy mop of a mane on his head.
“Alright,” I say. “Thank you. I’ll leave.”
He nods and I stand. My hind legs tingle from inactivity. I limp forward as the janitor turns the corner and stand at the edge of the street, my hoof out to hail a taxi. One pulls up after a few minutes and I climb in. I say my address, then the cart jolts forward as the cabby begins toward my home. It sways slightly over the uneven road.
The ride allows me time to think. I envision Dawn in my mind once more: slender, beautiful, her mouth upturned in a warm smile, her blue eyes glimmering in the sun. She is so kind, so caring, motherly and funny in all the best ways. I sigh and lean as the cabby executes a turn. In second grade, she loved to listen to me tell her about comic books. She wore yellow flowers in her long mane even then. Sometimes, she would give me one. Before the first night of the play, she gave me one for good luck. I kept it tucked into the base of my mane. I reach up to my mane, feeling that the flower is still there.
My eyes burn and shake my head from side to side. Pale Embrace has to be wrong about her liking me; she’s too kind to have dropped a hint like she had and leave before even really talking to me. I didn’t even see her after she congratulated me. Maybe she was nervous? My ears lay tight against my head.
The cabby stops. I look up, confirming the large white mansion as my home, and climb out. I fumble for the change purse in my mane, then pay him generously. He thanks me and trots away as I face my driveway. I had to confront her at school tomorrow. I need to talk to her, to know if Pale Embrace really is right.
I nod, affirming my thoughts, then begin up the path to my home.
Mornings are brutal, especially after staying up to compose a statement of your love. I’ve been standing by my pinkish-gray locker in the crowded hallway waiting for Dawn, and I’m exhausted. Her locker is just two down from mine, and… honestly? She should have been here by now. It’s unlike her to come in late enough to miss breakfast, although last night was the night after the play. She could have been out with her friends all night and woke up late.
I bite the inside of my cheek. What if she’s sick and not at school today? I practiced my spiel for hours last night! I have my courage up now! If this doesn’t happen today, I don’t know if it’ll ever happen. I slump against my locker, pressing my canvas saddlebag against the metal.
The intense scent of oranges suddenly surrounds me, and I look up. Pale Embrace stands across from me. His eyes portray a concern that his confident stance does not. He looks me over before speaking.
“It looks like you’ve heard,” he says in his feminine drawl. My eyebrows draw down.
“Heard what?” I ask. He frowns.
“Jade Dawn went missing last night.”
“W-what?” My ears pin against my head just as a heaviness sets over my entire body. My heart fell to my hooves, and breathing suddenly became very difficult. Even my tail goes slack, its tip touching the tile floor. I keep my eyes on Pale Embrace, whose demeanor changes. He slumps slightly from his perfect posture and his ears lay back.
“I thought you might have been with her,” he says. “I think you were the last pony to talk with her, Gold, besides the costume mares. Her friends didn’t even see her after the play.”
I’m at a loss for words. I stare dumbly at him. He stares back at me, and silence passes between us. The other ponies in the hallway bustling around us seem to disappear as the reality of the situation sets in. Dawn is missing. That means her parents haven’t seen her, her sister hasn’t seen her, her friends haven’t seen her... and I’m the last friend she spoke to, as far as anypony knows. Pale Embrace probably held out hope that I would have been with her last night -- wrapped in her warm, pale yellow hooves, nose-deep in her rose-scented fur under the stars in the park -- but I wasn’t.
I wish I knew that she liked me when I saw her. I wish I could have taken a damn hint. But I didn’t, and now Dawn is gone.
“Do the police know?” I finally ask, breaking the silence by barely speaking loud enough for Pale Embrace to hear me over the din of the hallway. He nods his head, beautiful orange mane bobbing with the movement.
“They do,” he says. “I think they wanted to see if she showed up at school before starting an investigation, though. But…” he trails off.
“She’s not here,” I finish for him. He nods again. I look away from him, down at Dawn’s locker covered in pink and purple stickers of flowers, animals and planets. One of her close friends, Rhubarb, approaches and places a golden hoof against it, off-white fetlock feathering hanging down. Her curly, pink-to-green ombre mane hangs low around her bowed head. I never liked her, but the display of sorrow is… touching. I never thought she cared before, but the gesture shows otherwise. It’s nice to know Dawn has good friends.
The bell rings. I push myself off my locker, suddenly feeling the weight of the books inside my satchel. Pale Embrace follows me, his horn lighting up in a pale orange as he pulls the books for our first class out of his own saddlebags.
The second bell rings, and the daily announcements come over the loudspeaker. The principal briefly mentions Jade Dawn’s disappearance, then skips into how successful the play was and what will be for lunch. Class goes by in a surreal haze. Most of the other students seem oblivious to Dawn’s disappearance and simply go about the class as usual. The teacher doesn’t call on me, which is for the best since I’m barely paying attention to the topic at hoof.
Instead, I stare out the window and watch the crowd pass by on the street below. The world turns onward, oblivious to the disappearance of a single teenage mare. It’s strange that things are so normal. I tap my hoof against my book, thinking of the last glances of Dawn: her smile, the way her warm hair felt against my leg, her tail swishing as she walked away.
The bell rings. Everypony gets up and starts talking; I quietly gather my books, catching the odd glance from a few of my classmates. Ivory Star, one of the minor roles in the play, walks up to me as I’m leaving the room.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I glance over at the tall, white stallion next to me. His ice blue eyes are concerned. I stop just before entering the traffic in the hallway and sigh.
“Dawn’s missing,” I say. My tone sounds dull even to me, and Ivory has to ask me to speak up. I repeat the phrase for him. Empathy washes over his features: he understands. He drapes a feathered hoof over my shoulders and squeezes.
“They’ll find her,” he says. I look up at him and nod; he smiles; we walk our respective ways.
I wish I felt as optimistic as my look to Ivory was. Putting on a face is easy; erasing any signs of weakness, sadness -- emotions: simple. All it takes is the right posture, just the right look in your eye and a rearrangement of the lips. It’s my talent: pretending. Even on the worst of days, I can force myself to appear as I am not, but this… this is a different kind of bad day.
In my mind’s eye, her hooves envelop me again, and her intoxicating scent of rose water and sweat fills my nostrils. Somepony bumps into me, startling me back to reality. I’m standing to the side of the hallway just outside my next class. I shake my head and walk inside, sitting where I usually do and staring out the window.
My classes pass uneventfully. The teachers seem oblivious to Dawn’s disappearance, as do most ponies. Some seem off-put or on the edge, likely due to the news, but there are only one or two in each of my classes. I speak to a few of my classmates who seem concerned and give them all the look of hope when they mention something positive to me. It makes them feel good, and keeps them from questioning me farther.
I normally look forward to lunchtime, but today, I’m feeling empty. I hardly feel myself moving as I head toward my locker to change out my books for my after-lunch classes. Rhubarb is standing by Dawn’s locker again, this time with Dawn’s other friends. I work my combination lock slowly, listening over the din of the hallway to their conversation.
“--you know she was going to ask Siamese Gold out last night,” Sandy Prose, a light brown unicorn, says. “I bet that she told her, ‘No,’ and you know how sensitive she is.” The others agree as I open my locker.
“I told her that she’s straight,” Rhubarb says. “She kept saying that she just ‘had a feeling about it,’ whatever that means.” There is a sigh. I slowly put my books away. “I swear if Gold is behind this…”
“You know, she could have, well,” Sandy Prose pauses. “Well, you know.” The others gasp. I close my locker quietly, then turn to leave.
“Oh my Celestia,” Lunar Cloud, a dark blue pegasus, says. “You don’t think she would have done that, do you?”
I stop in my tracks. What was it she would have done? What was “you know”? My ears swivel back.
“She did really love Gold,” Rhubarb says. “That bitch never took any interest in Dawnie, even when she dropped obvious hints. I bet she was just playing her! And she didn’t know how depressed she’s been.” Her voice rose to hysterics, “Dawnie! Oh Celestia, Dawnie! She couldn’t have killed herself over somepony like Gold, could she?!”
All day, a numbness has settled over my body and my feelings. With that statement, I suddenly feel. I feel my blood run cold, my knees grow weak, and a horrible squeak of an exhale exits my mouth. My body suddenly feels cold at the accusation. Dawn never had the chance to ask me out before she went missing. There is no way she would have done that… is there?
I turn to look behind me, ears drooping. Rhubarb’s friends surround her, one enveloping her large white frame in a hug with her navy wings, and the others cooing their best reassurances. Could it really be my fault that she’s gone? Is it really possible that could have happened?
I turn away from them, bile rising in my throat from how stiff my body feels. Every muscle tightens. I walk to the lunchroom in a daze. There were never any outward signs that she was feeling so poorly. Every time I saw her, she was nothing but radiant; beautiful; happy. She always gave me the most beautiful smile when I saw her; her lips would upturn ever-so-slightly, showing a hint of her perfect teeth. It would always be followed by a hair toss or a, “Hi, Gold,” in that beautiful, lilting voice of hers.
Pale Embrace was waiting for me at our usual table, and I go to him without going through the lunch line. A fork of lettuce hovers in his magic and stops moving toward him when I sit down.
“Are you okay?” he asks. After a pause, “You’re not okay, I know, but you look… Well, Kitty, you look like you just heard the worst news of your life.”
I don’t react to the nickname. He bites down on his lips and his eyebrows draw up in an expression of concern.
“Is Dawn depressed?” I ask.
There’s a waver in his magic, and the fork clatters onto the table. A long stretch of silence fills the air between us. A few of our friends, chatting amongst themselves, come and sit next to us. We exchange greetings, but Pale Embrace stares at me long and hard.
“You’re closer to her than me,” he finally says. I nod. He grasps his fork in his magic, then turns his attention to our other friends.
It should be on me, and me alone, to know if she had been that upset. I know very little about her home life; about what happens outside of these walls. I look away from my friend, glancing around the cafeteria. Rhubarb and her friends are in the food line now. Amazing that they could still have an appetite.
The scent of the subpar food comes to the forefront of my senses. I feel the bile rising to the back of my throat again; my eyes beginning to water. Nausea overcomes me, and I stumble up from my seat in a cold sweat. The musty, decaying scent of green things so close to rotting suddenly is too much. I manage to make it the short distance down the pink-and-white hall to the restrooms before I throw up in the first sink I come across.
Bile. It’s just bile. I haven’t eaten all day.
I turn on the water, watching it swirl around the sink and wash the mess down the drain. My reflection looks back at me in the reflective silver drain. I seem to have lost color-- I look pale even for a cream-colored earth pony. Maybe I should go to the nurse and have her send for my father. Dad would come pick me up and maybe we could talk about this.
Maybe. It’s not like he knows. Or that he’d understand. He never had a mare he was interested in suddenly go missing; even if he had, she wouldn’t have been depressed to the point of suicide being a possibility in her disappearance! And for that to have been all on him… No. No, he wouldn’t understand. But maybe I--
“Goldie, Goldie, what’re you feeling so sick about?” Rhubarb asks.
I didn’t hear her enter, although now her hoofsteps echoed loudly on the tile in the bathroom. I look up from the porcelain sink, turning off the faucet. Behind me in the mirror, Rhubarb stands. She’s much taller than me, a heavy draft earth pony. She can crush me in a heartbeat.
“It couldn’t be about Dawn, could it?” she asks. “That you rejected her last night. That she ran away crying?” She pauses. I open my mouth to reply, but she says, “How could you? She’s your friend too. You know how upset she gets!”
I turn around. My legs are weak, but my voice comes out steady, “Rejected her? She never asked me anything.”
Rhubarb narrows her teal-colored eyes. She takes a step closer to me, and I instinctively back up. My flank presses into the sink behind me.
“You can’t lie to me, Gold,” her voice has turned dark, dangerous. “I know what you did, and I will not let you get away with it. You could have killed her, you know?” My expression doesn’t change. She grits her teeth and snarls at me. “You knew! By Celestia, you knew! And you don’t even care?” Her eyes begin to shimmer with tears.
“I didn’t kn--”
“You ‘didn’t know’ --” she raises her voice an octave to mock mine “-- yeah right, Gold. Yeah. Right.”
She comes toward me again. I try backing up farther, but the sink is right against me. She shoves a golden hoof against my chest -- hard -- and I gasp as the wind is knocked out of me. Tears rise to my eyes, and her face lowers to mine. The curled, green ends of her forelock fall between us.
“I’m going to end you, Gold,” she says. There’s a menacing bite to her tone. “If Dawn doesn’t show up, your friends are going to hate you. Ponies who don’t know you are going to hate you. You’re ruined. You should have thought about Dawn before you did what you did, Gold.”
She steps away from me.
“Oh, and,” she says, looking down at me, “if she’s dead, you will be too.”
She turns and leaves, her hoofsteps echoing with my heart. As soon as she’s gone, I sink to the ground, my legs trembling and breath coming in shaky gasps. The floor is cold against my flank.
Dawn. So gentle. So kind. So… sad? I wish… I wish I had known. I smell her again, that phantom odor of rosewater and sweat, and my eyes fill with tears. Her warm touch against me in a hug. Her mane -- long, wavy, orange and gold, filled with yellow flowers -- always floats so beautifully in the breeze. Sometimes, a gust too strong comes along and she loses a flower out of her hair. Once, I chased after one for her. The yellow blossom floated high into the clear blue sky, and I had never wished more in that moment that I had been born a pegasus.
But she wasn’t mad when I returned without her flower, because I brought her another one: a dandelion I picked.
“It’s the same color,” I said. She smiled at me and took it, tucking it into her mane. She hugged me -- warm, safe.
And now. Now that’s gone. I regret never being closer to her, for never asking much about her family, about her life. We never even saw each other outside of school unless we ran into each other purely by chance.
She never had her chance to ask me out, unless she wanted me to follow her into the crowd last night. When I didn’t follow, when I didn’t take a hint -- did that set her off?
I push myself to my hooves. I’m shaking; tears cling to my face, and my nose is beginning to run. I grab a hoofful of paper towels to blow my nose, then dab my face dry and take a deep breath. It serves nothing but to increase the growing sense of emptiness and dread inside me. I’m starting to feel sick again, and decide to head to the nurse.
The pink in the hallway is nauseating to look at. I make it to the nurse’s without another incident, and she uses her magic to send a note to my father. I remain in her station, laying in a small, sterile cot, where I throw up again. Her only remedy is a peppermint and rest.
I seem to be locked in a timeless daze. At some point, Dad arrives. He talks to the nurse -- a large blue unicorn, even larger than my father -- for a short amount of time, then comes to get me. I lean against him while he tells me that I’ll be feeling well by dinnertime. A taxi is waiting outside for us, and Dad helps me up into it. He climbs in beside me, then we head home.
🐈
For the past few hours, I lay on my bed. Waves of nausea came and went until they subsided; now, I lie here alone, staring at the golden statue of a siamese cat on my nightstand. When I got home, I threw off all my normal get-up. My black cat beanie, black cat socks and black-and-pink choker lay in a heap at the side of my bed. Without them, I feel vulnerable, different, like I am no longer Siamese Gold. Not that I’ve felt much like her today.
I sigh and roll over onto my back, staring up at the white ceiling and its equally-white crown molding. Dad didn’t ask much about what was wrong when he came and got me. It was just the physical problems he was worried about, and he ordered me to bed when we returned home. I was glad to not have to elaborate. It would be hard to explain that the filly I love disappeared without a trace and that she was depressed enough to contemplate suicide if I didn’t accept.
I kept going over the night in my head on repeat, trying to unravel any sort of clue to her mental state, but Dawn seemed perfectly fine when she hugged me and spoke with me. There was a glint in her eye, though, that I didn’t notice before -- something of determination. She wanted me.
And now she’s gone.
I roll over onto my stomach and bury my face into the pillow.
“Hey, Siamese,” Dad says through the door, tapping his hoof against it as he talks. “There’s a detective here to see you?” Concern laces his voice.
A detective? I suddenly feel nauseous again, and my heart begins to race. I push myself out of bed, stepping onto the hardwood floor with shaking legs.
“C-coming,” I say, wobbling as I walk to my bedroom door. My father -- a small stallion the same cream color as me with a messy orange and red mane -- is standing on the other side, his red eyes showing his concern.
“What have you gotten yourself into?” he whispers to me as we make our way through the long corridor to the stairs. He matches my slow pace.
“One of my friends went missing last night,” I say, my voice dull. With every step, I feel my heartrate quicken, leaping into my throat.
“Oh, Honey,” Dad says, stopping in front of me. I stop with him, staring at the ground. He envelops me in a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me that was why you weren’t feeling well? You know you can tell me anything.”
He’s always been one to catch onto things quickly, at least after he’s been given some evidence one way or another. I lean into his hug, returning it with a limp leg over the shoulder.
“I know,” I say, “I’m sorry. It’s just… it was really sudden.”
He puts his chin on the top of my head and hums a short tune. He says, “It’ll be okay, Siamese. Just be honest with the detectives.” That was a given. If Dawn was fou--
No, I can’t think like that.
I manage to pull myself together well enough to walk down the stairs at a decent pace. At the bottom of the stairs, in the foyer, an off-white pony stands. Her long periwinkle mane is drawn up into a bun with long strands of hair hanging down from its sides. She has a black suit coat on, and is levitating a notebook and pen in front of her.
“Miss Gold, I presume?” she asks as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I nod. “Mister Gold, can you leave us?”
Dad looks over at me. I nod at him, and he smiles at the detective before leaving to walk toward the kitchen.
“We can go into the sitting room, Detective…?” I start toward the sitting room in the opposite wing of the house from the kitchen. The detective follows.
“Detective Strike,” she says.
We enter the well-lit sitting room. Comfortable stark white couches and chairs are lined up in two rows before a full wall of windows. Behind us, there is a marble counter and a bar that my parents enjoy using for entertaining guests. Detective Strike sits in a chair, and I sit on a couch across from her.
There’s a period of silence. I look her over, noting her nonchalance and manner of dress. Her tail is cropped short and the same periwinkle as her mane, and her suit coat is unbuttoned at the top. She is wearing a dark purple tie knotted haphazardly.
“As I imagine you know by now, Jade Dawn has gone missing,” she says. Her voice carries the nonchalance that her body language exhibits. My heart pounds.
“Y-yes.” I touch my front hooves together, and my ears are flat against my head. I do my best to control my breathing, but I feel as though no air is getting into my lungs.
Sympathy passes over Detective Strike’s face, and her stoic look turns softer. She smiles at me and says, “Miss Gold, you’re not a suspect. You’re in no trouble. My sources say you saw Miss Dawn last night, and just need to know your story.”
“So… she’s still missing?” I ask.
“Yes.” Strike’s eyebrows draw down. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
There’s no body. I’m not a suspect. Dawn might be okay. She has to be okay. I feel my muscles relax slightly, and breathing feels normal once more.
“I overheard her friends at school today,” I say. “They say she could have committed suicide.”
The detective nods, scribbling something down onto her legal pad. She says, “I heard that from her friends as well. I also heard that she was going to ask you out, and that you rejected her which led to her disappearance.”
Rhubarb. I can’t believe how vindictive she is! My heart races again, only this time out of anger. I allow my ears to perk back up and assume a neutral expression, although Strike appears to have picked up on my anger -- she’s looking at me with her head cocked to the side.
“She never got the chance to!” I say. It comes out more forceful, more angry, than I intended. “The last time I saw her was when I went into the cast room after the play. She gave me a hug, congratulated me and then walked off to get help out of her costume. That’s all I saw of her that night -- besides in the play. I waited outside for her afterward, expecting her to come out of the front doors, but she never showed up. I just assumed her friends took her out before then.
“Detective Strike, I’d never turn her down, I wouldn’t do that to her. She’s so gentle and kind… I… I love her.” My ears droop again, and I look away from the detective. Hearing myself say that I love Dawn is so foreign; so strange. I’ve never said that about anypony besides family before. I never even dated her, and I’m already proclaiming my love of her?
I know, though, that it’s how I feel. Tears flow down my muzzle, and I reach up to wipe them away.
“You said you waited outside of the school after the play?” Detective Strike’s voice brings me back from my rush of emotions, and I look up. I sniffle and nod. “What time was that? How long did you wait?”
“I went out right after I had my costume off, it couldn’t have been more than half an hour after the play ended,” I say. “Nine o’clock, maybe? I waited until everyone left. The janitor came out and locked the doors. I asked him if anypony was inside, and he said it was cleared out.
“There was no sign of her at all, or her friends. Like I said, I just thought they took her…” I trail off. The detective doesn’t seem to be fully listening to my rambling and is furiously scribbling on her legal pad. Nothing except the sound of pen on paper filled the space between us for a few moments.
“Detective Strike,” I say. She looks up. “Do you think she killed herself? Do you think she’s dead?”
The detective shrugs and says, “I can’t say for sure, Miss Gold. If she did, I don’t think it has to do with you.” I bite the insides of my lips as a new wave of tears threatens to overflow. She seems to pick up on this, and hastily adds, “Though if she had committed suicide, she likely would have been found by now.”
I feel myself relax slightly at that. I wipe the escaping tears from my face. Over the next few minutes, Detective Strike asks me more specifics on times and the ponies I met or recognized in the crowd. She asks about the play and then finally asks about the details of the encounter with Dawn. If she seemed sad, if anything seemed wrong.
The phantom warmth of her mane against my leg washes over me as I relate the story to the detective. Her soft sage pelt, her smile -- it comes back to me so vividly that I find myself in tears again. She had to still be out there. There was no sign of sadness; no sign of depression -- she seemed so happy to see me, so determined for something. And that something would have been to ask me out, something she never got to do.
It occurs to me as I tell the story again to solidify the details that Dawn wouldn’t have killed herself, at least not over me. She clearly didn’t expect me to ask her or take any hints she threw my way, and even if she had, I don’t think she dropped any. She simply walked away to get out of her costume and I never saw her again. If anything happened to trigger her depression, it wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been me. She knows how clueless I am, if Rhubarb’s conversation in the hallway earlier had been true.
“I think that’s all the questions I have for you now, Miss Gold,” Detective Strike says. Her magic folds the legal pad closed, then it floats into her suit jacket where it disappears. She stands, and I stand with her.
“You can’t tell me anything new in the case, can you?” I ask. She shakes her head. “I thought so.”
“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think she hurt herself, Miss Gold. She went missing in the short window between when you saw her and waited outside the school, and from what you’ve told me, she seems like she was determined to ask you out. She doesn’t seem the type to stop something after she has her mind set to it.”
The detective’s eyes go wide as she realizes what she said. It isn’t much of a consolation, that last sentence, and it looms over me as I lead her back to the door. I thank her for investigating, and she lets me know that she’ll be back if she has any more questions.
“If you remember anything else or find anything relevant, please get in contact with me.” She levitates a business card to me, and I grab it out of the air with my teeth. I nod to her, then shut the door behind her, setting the business card on the glass table by the door. I take a deep breath and sigh. I let my head droop, staring at my naked hooves.
Hoofsteps from the kitchen signal the arrival of Dad. I look up as he drapes a foreleg over my shoulders.
“It’s okay, Honey,” he says. “How did it go?”
“I’m not a suspect,” I say. He squeezes me a little tighter. “I think I had information for them that they weren’t expecting and that could really help the case.”
“That’s good!” He puts his remaining hoof under my chin and lifts my head up to look up at him. I glance away from his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“She… could have committed suicide,” I say, “and her friends are saying it’s my fault if she did.” Dad opens his mouth, but I cut him off with, “I’m pretty sure it’s not my fault though, and the detective agrees.”
“That’s a relief, but… Honey, why would it be your fault in the first place?”
“She was going to ask me out.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I place a hoof over my mouth and break away from my father’s embrace, looking away from him in shame.
“You would have obviously said n--”
“That’s just it, Dad, I would have said yes. She was waiting to ask me, and I would’ve said yes.”
Silence echoes between us.
“You’re gay?” Dad finally asks. His tone is quiet.
“Yes, Dad,” I say. I tense up, waiting for him to yell, for him to be angry. Instead, I hear him walk closer to me, and, suddenly, his hooves are around me.
“Oh, Siamese, Honey,” he squeezes me. “You know I love you no matter what. But… your mom, should I--?”
“No,” I say. I feel him nod.
“I’ll try to get her warmed up to the idea before we tell her,” Dad says. I lean against him, feeling the warmth of the hug. His reaction wasn’t what I had expected it to be -- I know Mom will be mad when she finds out, and I always assumed Dad would be the same. But he’s… he’s okay with it. I feel a wave of gratitude over my tired body.
Dad lets go and steps away from me. He says, “I’m sorry you had to tell me like this.” I nod, ears once again against my head. I’m thankful for my father’s acceptance, but the crushing realization that Dawn is still missing has hit me again.
“Me too.”
