Текст книги "Boy in the Water"

Автор книги: Stephen Dobyns

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

The wind blew more strongly between the buildings. Hawthorne opened the door to Adams Hall and climbed the stairs. Normally Purvis locked the doors to Adams by five o’clock but today he must have been delayed by the weather. Entering his apartment, Hawthorne found himself trying to detect the smell of peppermint or evidence that someone had been in his rooms. Then he hurried to the bedroom. The laptop was in its usual place on the desk. Flicking it on, he determined that the files hadn’t been tampered with. In the desk drawer were his backup files. He took the computer and put it in the bureau drawer under a stack of shirts. Then he hid the floppies under the mattress.

Hawthorne changed his clothes, putting on a dark purple ski jacket, dark ski cap, and high rubber boots. Before leaving, he checked the phone but it was still dead. He wondered if somebody had cut the wires, though it easily could have been the storm. He wanted to call Kate and apologize for breaking their date that evening and he wanted to call Chief Moulton. Didn’t anyone at the school have a cell phone? Hawthorne tried to remember and made a mental note to get one for the office next week. He hurried toward the door, then paused and went back for the flashlight in the drawer of the telephone table.

Floyd Purvis had a small office in the school garage on the other side of Douglas Hall, and he also, Hawthorne recalled, had a cell phone. Hawthorne cut through Adams and out the door to the Common between Adams and Douglas. In his boots and ski jacket he felt himself ready for the deep snow but there was a minute when he was wading through the drifts between the two buildings when he could see neither. He couldn’t even see the light on top of Emerson. Then Douglas Hall loomed out of the dark. No lights were on but Hawthorne cut through the building and exited on the other side. Once more he plunged through the drifts. He lowered his head to keep the snow out of his eyes and adjusted his scarf so it wouldn’t get under his collar. After he had gone twenty or thirty feet, he saw the light over the school garage.

Purvis’s office was locked but Hawthorne opened it with his passkey. The night watchman was nowhere in evidence, nor did it seem that he had been in the office that day. The cigarette smoke smelled stale and the heater hadn’t been turned on, although the room was warm enough that Hawthorne’s glasses began to steam up. Wiping his glasses on his scarf, he searched the drawers of the desk for the cellular phone and found a full bottle of Jim Beam. He was tempted to empty it but he left it where it was. Purvis most likely had the cell phone with him and, seemingly, he wouldn’t be coming to work this evening. His truck probably wouldn’t make it down the unplowed roads. Hawthorne picked up the phone on the desk but there was no dial tone.

He decided to go over to Pierce and find Alice Beech. Perhaps the nurse had a cell phone or knew who had one. Hawthorne paused to tuck his pants into the tops of his boots and tighten the laces, then he shoved open the door. His footprints were already covered. He pushed his way forward, trying to lift his boots out of the snow. Ahead, toward the dormitory cottages, he saw the row of lights lining the walkway as glowing spheres—vague areas of light. He made his way toward them, lowering his head against the flakes that stung his face. Consequently, he didn’t see the figure approaching him till the other man spoke.

“Fritz, is that you?”

Looking up, Hawthorne couldn’t recognize the person, but the voice sounded like Bennett’s. The moon behind the clouds gave the snow a haunting luminosity and at times revealed the outline of the trees when the wind changed and the snow swirled off in other directions. Hawthorne began to take his flashlight from his pocket, then left it where it was.

“It’s me,” said Hawthorne. As he got closer, he began to make out Bennett’s features. Bennett wasn’t wearing a hat and his long blond hair seemed to have turned white. “Do you have a cell phone at your house?” Both had to raise their voices over the wind.

Bennett was up to his knees in the snow. “Why do you want one? Have you seen Fritz? It’s important that I find him.”

“I just saw him in Emerson. He was on his way to the kitchen to see what LeBrun was doing about dinner. Anyway, the phones aren’t working and I need to make a call.” Then he made out the fear in the other man’s voice. “Is something the matter?” He took another step toward Bennett, only to realize that Bennett was backing away.

“What’s LeBrun doing?” Bennett’s words seemed scattered by the wind.

“He has to take food over to the students in Pierce. Do you have a cell phone in your apartment?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s broken. Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’ve got to get out of here. LeBrun’s dangerous. He’s gone right around the bend. You don’t know what he’ll do.” Bennett spoke quickly, as if his fear were propelling the words from his mouth.

“I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to,” said Hawthorne. “The roads are blocked.”

“You’d be safer going into the woods,” said Bennett, his voice rising to a shout. “And me too. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Did you get Frank LeBrun to wreck Clifford’s office? Did you pay him to do it?”

“You don’t know. It’s worse than that, worse than you can imagine. Listen to me, I’m doing you a favor. You’d be safer in the fucking forest!” Backing away, Bennett stumbled and fell. Then he got up and began running through the snow toward Douglas.

“Roger!” Hawthorne called. But Bennett kept trying to run. Hawthorne watched him fade into the swirling dark. He thought of how Jessica had gone to the kitchen looking for milk. He felt afraid, but whether it was for Jessica or himself he couldn’t tell.

Hawthorne kept on toward Pierce, the third in the row of residence cottages. He hoped to find Jessica, to see if she was all right. The night, or what was fast becoming night, was without limit or order. Hawthorne knew the snow would eventually end, yet at that moment it seemed immense and endless. His anxiety increased. What was wrong with Bennett? Why was he looking for Skander and LeBrun? Or perhaps he wasn’t looking for them, perhaps he only wanted to know where they were so he could stay out of their path. But why had he urged him to leave?

Alice Beech was the only adult in Pierce. Ruth Standish and Tom Hastings didn’t appear to be at the school; at least there weren’t lights on in the dormitory cottages where they lived. Alice had set aside her nurse’s white uniform for faded jeans and a burgundy fleece sweatshirt. A dozen students were with her, including Tank Donoso, but Jessica wasn’t among them. The students were camped out in the downstairs living room and had collected mattresses and blankets so they could remain together. There was a fire in the fireplace. The table was strewn with candles, kerosene lanterns, loaves of white bread, bags of cookies, packages of cheese and bologna, two gallons of milk, and two gallons of orange juice. The students were sitting on the mattresses with blankets over their shoulders. They seemed excited and cheerful. A radio was playing jazz from the Vermont NPR station.

“We raided the kitchen,” said Alice rather proudly. “No telling how long we’ll be stuck here. The lights will probably go out at any moment; that’s what always happens.”

“Has Jessica been here?” asked Hawthorne. His glasses had again steamed over and he held them in his hand. The room appeared vague and unfocused.

“I’m afraid not. Her kitten’s here someplace. We gave it some milk.”

“I’ve got it,” said a girl in the corner, and she pulled back her blanket so Hawthorne could see the sleeping kitten.

“She was on her way over here,” said Hawthorne. Could she have gotten lost in the storm? That seemed unlikely. The lights were visible from Emerson. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“I’m afraid not. I asked for one last spring but Fritz said it was an unnecessary expenditure.” Alice was rosy-cheeked and looked immensely happy, as if a bit of chaos agreed with her.

“Have you seen anyone else? What about Bill Dolittle?”

“I haven’t seen him. Fritz was here an hour ago but no one else,” said Alice.

“He didn’t even say yo,” said Tank, who sat on a mattress with a dark blue blanket over his head and tucked around his chin, which made him look oddly nunnish.

Hawthorne accepted a mug of hot tea and a cookie from Alice, who had a thermos. They spoke of the storm and the difficulties it presented. Hawthorne brushed the snow from his jacket. A few drops fell on a table where two boys were playing chess. They looked at him severely.

“We’ve been telling stories, but no ghost stories,” said Alice. “That’s the rule. Nothing scary. You’re welcome to stay if you like. We’ve got lots of blankets from the other dorms in case the furnace stops.”

But Hawthorne kept worrying about Jessica. After another minute, he moved toward the door and zipped up his jacket.

“I’ll be back later,” he said.

Tank got to his feet. “You want some company, bro?”

Glancing at him, Hawthorne was again impressed by his physical bulk. Then he said, “You stay here where it’s warm.”

“The radio says we’ll get three feet,” said Alice.

“Fucking A,” said Tank. “We can chill here till Wednesday.”

Hawthorne made his way back through the drifts. He wanted to see if the Reverend Bennett had a cell phone and he wanted to find Jessica. He couldn’t guess what had happened to her. They had separated over an hour earlier. Hawthorne considered organizing a search but it would be nearly impossible in the snow.

It was past six o’clock, but it could have been much later or no time at all, a period outside of time—just wind and blustering snowflakes. Hawthorne’s fingers were cold in his gloves and he tried to keep them in his pockets. Every minute or so he looked up to see if he was going in the right direction. He could feel the muscles ache on the insides of his thighs from constantly lifting his legs. Early in the fall he’d discovered a row of ancient-looking snowshoes on a back wall of the garage and he had laughed at the idea of ever needing them. Hawthorne had never used snowshoes; the closest he had come was cross-country skis, but even that had been on manicured trails.

He plunged across the lawn toward Stark Hall. The chapel was dark, but he could see a single light in the Bennetts’ apartment. Off to the left, along what might have been the driveway, was a large snow-covered lump that Hawthorne guessed was his Subaru. As the temperature had dropped, the snow had gotten fluffier and easier to wade through. The light at the top of Emerson shone unsteadily.

Hawthorne climbed the steps at the rear of Stark. The door to the Bennetts’ apartment was just inside the lobby. Hawthorne felt around for a light switch but couldn’t find one. Turning on his flashlight, he saw the doorbell and pushed the button. From inside he heard a distant chiming. He removed his ski cap and slapped it against his leg. The radiator inside the lobby hissed gently. After a moment, he rang the doorbell again. Since he had seen a light, he assumed somebody was home. Hawthorne took off his gloves and set them on the radiator. Then he rang the doorbell a third time.

“Who is it?” came a voice. It was the chaplain’s, but it sounded gruffer.

“Jim Hawthorne.”

“What do you want?”

“Do you have a cell phone?” Hawthorne kept his flashlight pointed down at the floor, filling the lobby with a dull yellow glow.

There was the sound of the door being unlocked, then it opened about two inches. A chain kept it from opening any further. “What did you say?” One of the Reverend Bennett’s eyes peered out at him.

“I asked if you had a cellular phone.”

“Have you seen Roger?”

Hawthorne stepped back from the door. “I saw him outside half an hour ago. He was looking for Fritz. Do you have a cell phone?”

“I sent it back—too much static. What about LeBrun, have you seen him?”

“He should be over in the kitchen getting food for the remaining students.” Hawthorne didn’t want to tell her what her husband had said. “You haven’t seen Jessica Weaver, have you?” He could see the shadow of the chaplain’s body through the crack in the door. He wondered why she kept the door chained. She didn’t answer his question about Jessica. Hawthorne could hear her breathing. “What’s going on?” he asked after another moment. “What’s Roger doing with Fritz and LeBrun?”

The Reverend Bennett continued to stare at him. Then she said, “You shouldn’t have come here. You know that, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” He lifted his light so he could see her more clearly.

Harriet Bennett began shouting at him. “Why are you plaguing me? Don’t you see what you’ve ruined? Everything would have been fine if you hadn’t come to Bishop’s Hill.” Her voice broke, then she slammed the door. Hawthorne heard the locks turning. He looked at the door as if expecting it to open again so he could ask for some explanation, but it remained shut. Hawthorne took his gloves from on top of the radiator and went back out into the cold.

He considered walking over to the faculty houses. Perhaps Skander had a cell phone, or Herb Frankfurter, or Ted Wrigley, even Betty Sherman. He was almost certain that Gene Strauss had a cell phone, but he was supposed to be away that weekend, although his wife might be home. But it would take fifteen minutes to get over there and Hawthorne wanted to look through Emerson once again. Perhaps Jessica was still in the kitchen.

He made his way along the driveway toward Emerson Hall. The spikes topping the metal fence outside of Emerson all had little caps of white. Hawthorne looked up toward the light in the bell tower, which shifted and grew dimmer, then brighter as the snow blew across it. He could just make out one of the gargoyles staring down at him and the scaffolding from the roof repairs. He continued to the front of the building and used the railing to help pull himself up.

The echoes inside the rotunda had a melancholy sound, more like the noise of a tomb than a school. Across the bright blue school crest were muddy footprints. Hawthorne turned toward his office. As he got nearer, he saw that the door was open. He even heard a voice, though it didn’t sound right—there was a staticky quality. Then he heard what it was saying. “Call me as soon as you can, professor. I’ve got something to tell you.” It was the answering machine with Moulton’s message repeating over and over. “Call me as soon as you can, professor. I’ve got something to tell you.”

Hawthorne hurried into the outer office. It was empty. The message kept repeating. He walked to the answering machine on Hilda’s desk and shut it off, but the message didn’t stop. “Call me as soon as you can, professor. . . .”

Hawthorne felt a chill, then he saw that the voice was coming from a voice recorder. He shut it off as well.

Then someone spoke to him from his own office, just beyond Hilda’s: “As soon as you can, professor. Beep. As soon as you can, professor.” Then there was a laugh. It was LeBrun.

With a mixture of relief and dismay, Hawthorne walked to the door. LeBrun sat in Hawthorne’s chair with his boots up on the desk. He had a bottle of Budweiser in one hand and something small and shiny in the other. His dark hair was plastered down across his forehead. He wore his white cook’s jacket unbuttoned over a white shirt.

“Making yourself at home?” Hawthorne tried to smile. Something had changed with LeBrun. It wasn’t just his expression, it was his electricity. His face kept moving, he kept wrinkling his forehead and pursing his lips.

“You look like a fucking snowman. You got to watch out, professor, playing in the snow. You could catch pneumonia and die.” LeBrun spoke quickly, clipping his words.

“I’ve been trying to see if anyone’s got a cell phone. I have to call Kate.” Hawthorne kept his voice relaxed. He didn’t want to mention Chief Moulton, that he wanted to get the police over to Bishop’s Hill as soon as possible.

LeBrun reached inside his green hunting jacket and drew out a cell phone. “Looky here, professor. My boss gave it to me as a present. Just so we could chat. Nice guy, right?”

Hawthorne took a step forward. “Can I use it?”

“Fat fuckin’ chance. I’m expecting a call. My stockbroker’s got a hot tip. He’s got the Japanese on the line.” LeBrun laughed and put the phone back into his coat. “Actually, your time’s up, professor. The big finale. Guess it had to happen.” LeBrun stretched both arms high into the air, holding the beer bottle up like a torch. He had put the shiny thing on the desk, where it glittered. “I don’t want you here no more.”

“What do you mean?”

“You got wax in your ears?” LeBrun took a drink, then clunked the bottle down on the desk. “I got work to do and I don’t want you around. You’ll distract me.”

When LeBrun picked up the shiny object, Hawthorne saw that it was a small ice pick. LeBrun’s movements were jerky and he kept recrossing his boots, as if someone had turned up his speed. And his voice was higher. It seemed clenched and barely under his control.

“I’m not following you,” said Hawthorne. He wiped the snow from his coat and moved back to the door.

“It’s a joke right? You’re the professor and you don’t know shit. I’m the idiot and I got all the answers. Beginning, middle, and end. Like all of a sudden I’m the fucking teacher. I’m the big chastiser. That’s what they said in school when I was a kid, ‘We’re going to have to chastise you.’” LeBrun picked up a piece of paper and pretended to read. “Let me see, do I got your name here? This one, that one. Hey, professor, you’re not on the agenda. Let me tell you, that’s good luck for you. You hear what elephants use for tampons?”

“Sheep. You already told me.”

“That was the old elephants. The new elephants use Canucks.” LeBrun leaned his head back and laughed. His teeth shone in the light.

Hawthorne waited for LeBrun to stop laughing. “What don’t I know?”

“You don’t know that Skander wants you out of here. Sewed up and put to sleep.” The lights dimmed, then came back again.

“Fritz?”

LeBrun cackled, then scratched his head, mussing his hair. “What do you think, his fucking wife, the tub of lard? You’re messing up Fritz’s plans, you’re keeping him from being boss of the bosses. He wants you dead. Him and that fag Bennett. Like you’re a chalk mark on their blackboard and they want you erased. And guess who’s the big eraser?”

“You wrecked Clifford’s office.”

“That’s old news, that was last month. You don’t know shit, do you? That’s why I want you gone. Just go home and you’ll be okay.”

Hawthorne put his ski cap in his pocket. He needed to keep LeBrun talking. “I don’t understand.”

LeBrun starting shouting. “Because I don’t want to kill you, you hear what I’m saying? I mean, I could do it. No fucking sweat. Like this!” LeBrun swung the ice pick down and hit the desk, then he withdrew his hand, letting the ice pick quiver in the wood. “But I don’t like being told what to do. I don’t like some scummy hunk of shit saying if I don’t do something, I’ll get arrested. I’ll go to jail. I’ll get butt-fucked. I’ll die. Fritz thinks he can scare me into doing his dirty work and he’s too cheap to pay me! Two hundred fucking bucks for the office! I would of killed you for a grand—at least I think so. But maybe I wouldn’t take the job. I mean, you haven’t been in my face. But let me tell you, that’s nothing in your favor. It doesn’t pay to like people. A friend is just a guy who hasn’t knifed you in the back yet. He’s still working out the details.” LeBrun laughed and looked angry at the same time. The words tumbled from his mouth. “Know what I got offered for the girl? Ten grand. Even if Fritz had come up with ten grand for sticking you, I might not of done it. And now the fucker’s saying that, if I don’t do it, I’ll get fried. He said you were going to the cops. He said you’d bring in the fucking army!”

“You killed Scott.”

“Doo, dah, doo, dah, professor.”

“But why?”

“He’d seen something he shouldn’t of, it was like an accident. But it was Fritz who told me the kid had seen it. The kid went to him when he couldn’t find you. He told Fritz all about it. I mean, I knew somebody’d seen it. I seen him hiding in the bushes. But just a shape, you know what I mean? I didn’t know who it was till Fritz told me. Then it was easy. I only had to be patient. You be patient and you wait for the other guy to be impatient. The kid’s dorm room was on the first floor.” LeBrun reached into his pocket, took out a key ring, and jingled it. “And I got keys, I got all the keys.”

“He was just a kid.” Hawthorne told himself that he had to make some sort of plan, but his mind felt frozen.

“‘Just a kid’—exactly, professor. Look at it this way: I saved him. A kid like that, a little dicking in his past, some old fart holding his mouth open with his thumbs and banging past his tonsils. I saved him from being sent away, from fucking up too bad, from going to jail, from a bunch of guys using his asshole like a revolving door, from being like me. I fucking liberated him, you hear what I’m saying? He’ll never be like me. He’s safe. Now he’s one liberated little kid. Dead, though.”

“Where’s Jessica?”

“She don’t like being called Jessica. Her name’s Misty. She’s fucking trouble. I thought it’d be a piece of cake.” LeBrun pinched his lower lip, drew it forward, and let go. Then he took a drink from his bottle and belched. “You ever have a job you’re supposed to do, that you’re paid to do, but something’s not right about it? You keep putting it off. You don’t feel like it. I don’t even like the little bitch and she’s got that fucking cat. Well, maybe she’s not so terrible. She just talks too much. But maybe it’s because I never stuck a girl. Maybe I don’t like the guy with the money. But it’s business, right? No kill, no dough. And now she’s figured it out. She saw us today. She knows what’s coming. You got to do what you’ve been paid to do. That’s ethics, right? The big fucking morality.”

“Is that what you were talking about a few weeks ago? The thing you couldn’t do?”

“Yeah, professor, I needed your advice. I wanted to make you an accessory before, during, and after the fact. A little boost. You were no help at all. Hot air, all you shrinks are like that.”

“Where is she?”

“Forget the questions, professor. I can change my mind about you anytime—fucking dumb school in a fucking dumb place. Fucking snow. I got something I need to do and I’m not doing it. Sounds like a fuckin’ hillbilly song. Even if she was my little sister, I’d make myself do it. You can’t let stuff like that stand in your way. That’s how they finally get you.” LeBrun reached forward and flicked the ice pick stuck in the desk so it vibrated with a buzzing sound. “You should sympathize with my problem. Those shrinks when I was a kid were always talking about how I felt, what was going through my mind. I didn’t feel shit. I never felt shit. Like ice, that’s how I wanted to be. Ice feels nothing. It don’t even feel angry.”

“Where was this?” Again the lights dimmed. LeBrun didn’t answer until they came up again. Now the lights kept flickering.

“In Derry. It’s none of your fucking business where it was. Hey, Doc, give me a pill so I can stick the girl. Give me some medicine to commit devastation.” LeBrun laughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Hawthorne had no sense of what LeBrun would do next. He tried to quiet his fear so that he could think clearly. “Maybe you once knew somebody like Jessica.”

LeBrun cackled and slapped the desk, knocking over the beer. The bottle rolled to the edge of the desk and fell to the floor, spilling on the carpet. LeBrun reached down to a bag at his feet, pulled up another bottle, and twisted off the cap, which he tossed at Hawthorne. “There you go again, getting all shrinky on me. Maybe in my tender years a girl like Misty was sweet to me. I can see it now, just like in the fuckin’ movies—Misty and Me, staring Francis LaBrecque. Fuck you, asshole, I was never a nice guy. You know those vampire movies? I always wanted to be the bat. I wanted to fly down your chimney and stick my teeth in your throat. Suck you dry till there was nothing left. I like being the bad guy. You always know where you are and what you’re supposed to do. Fucking Skander thought he’d scare me. What a jerk. You ever been dicked, professor? You ever have a bunch of kids hold you down on the floor? Or old drunken farts who’re supposed to be taking care of you? Churchgoers, you hear what I’m saying? Either dick or get dicked is what it boils down to.”

“Where’s Fritz?”

“Fuck you, professor. I got one and a half problems. You’re the half problem—just a fucking smidgen of a problem. Misty’s the whole one.”

“Where is Jessica? I want you to give her back to me.”

LeBrun kicked his feet down to the floor. “Shut up, professor. Don’t make me mad.”

Hawthorne tried to keep himself still. He hated his fear—it brought back the bad times, the burning corridor, Meg’s awful screaming. But he had to make LeBrun stop, to jolt him out of his sense of power and control.

“Did you hold those pictures up at the window?” asked Hawthorne after a moment.

“That wasn’t me. You got to admit some of it was funny. The rotten food, I loved the rotten food. And the dead-wife stuff. Jesus, I laughed.” Again LeBrun grinned. He put his feet back onto the desk, then he linked his hands behind his head. “That was Bennett; he got some woman to call. He used to laugh all the time, then he got scared. But Fritz thought he could drive you nuts, that you’d go running back to California. I knew it wouldn’t work. So when you didn’t go nuts, Fritz cranked up the heat. Fuckin’ amateurs, they never know when to stop. Fritz figured he could make me jump.”

Hawthorne’s mouth felt like dry fabric. “Do you know when to stop, Frank? You look like an amateur to me. What have you done with Fritz?”

Immediately, LeBrun was on his feet, spilling the beer and knocking the phone from the desk. “I been nice to you, professor. I gave you the chance to go someplace safe and warm.” LeBrun reached toward the ice pick, which was still stuck in the desk, but he was so jittery that at first he missed it. Then he got it and yanked it free.

At that moment the lights began to dim. Hawthorne and LeBrun looked at the ceiling, watching the globe light turn from white to dull orange. Then it went out. The lights in the outer office and hall went out as well. Standing in the dark, Hawthorne and LeBrun were silent, waiting for the lights to come back on. But they didn’t.

“You there, professor?” asked LeBrun quietly.

Hawthorne began backing across the outer office. “I’m worried about you, Frank.”

LeBrun shouted, “You think you can fuckin’ play with me?”

By now Hawthorne was already out in the hall. “Hey, Frank,” he called. “I think you’re cracking.”

LeBrun began screaming, “You’re a dead man! You’re a dead man!” A chair was knocked over and something else slid across the floor and banged into the wall.

Hawthorne began to move off down the hall, trying to run silently in his boots. Now that he had challenged LeBrun’s sense of his own power, Hawthorne had to escape from the consequences.

“I hear you, professor,” shouted LeBrun, running after him. “You don’t know how bad I can hurt you.”

Now Hawthorne was running swiftly through the dark. Somewhere up ahead was the fire door leading to the stairs. Hawthorne could see nothing. He took the flashlight from his back pocket. He didn’t dare turn it on but perhaps he could use it as a weapon. It seemed that LeBrun’s heavy feet were only a few yards behind him.

Abruptly Hawthorne hit the door at the end of the hall. He fell back, holding his head. His glasses were knocked off. LeBrun crashed into him and they both tumbled against the fire door. Hawthorne freed the arm with the light. He grabbed the fabric of LeBrun’s jacket and pushed him back. LeBrun was growling like a dog. Then he stopped and laughed. He broke Hawthorne’s grip and they again fell against the door. Hawthorne swung the flashlight, clubbing LeBrun, once, twice. The flashlight slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. He shoved LeBrun away, then opened the fire door and ran up the stairs.

“You’re a dead man, professor!” shouted LeBrun up the stairwell.

Hawthorne paused at the second-floor landing. He heard LeBrun running up the stairs behind him. Opening the door to the second floor, Hawthorne hurried into the dark hall. Here the classroom doors were open and in each doorway the dark was a shade lighter. LeBrun slammed open the door behind him. Hawthorne ran into a classroom on his left, then began feeling along the wall to the back of the room. Many of the classrooms had closets in the rear and he hoped to hide there. Hawthorne found the closet door and gently pulled it open. He was terrified that LeBrun might hear him. Feeling around in the dark, Hawthorne discovered a mop and a pail, then a stack of books.

“Hey, professor, this is the part I like best,” LeBrun said in a stage whisper from out in the hall. “This is when we begin to have fun. I got my bat wings, professor, I got my fangs. I’m going to stick them in your throat, professor.” LeBrun paused to listen. Hawthorne could hear him breathing. “What about jokes, professor? I can make you laugh. We used to have some good laughs, didn’t we? You remember the clown joke? This taste funny to you? You listening, professor? You gotta be listening. You hear about the Canuck who picked his nose apart to see what made it run?” LeBrun chuckled, a hoarse sound deep in his throat. “You’re in one of these fuckin’ rooms, aren’t you? I can smell you. I can smell how scared you are. But I’m going to make you laugh, professor. I’m going to make you crack up. You know how you brainwash a Canuck? Come on, Doc, I’m waiting for the answer. You give him an enema. You fuckin’ ram it right up his asshole!” LeBrun laughed. His boots scraped on the floor as he moved along the hall. “You’re going to laugh too, professor, then I’m going to find you.”