The Academy (Moving In Series Book 6)

by Ron Ripley

  If Herman hadn’t been dreaming, he would have found the question odd. “June second, 2016.”

  Mr. Weiss smiled. “I am pleased to hear it. And is this still an academy?”

  Herman nodded.

  “I am glad,” Mr. Weiss said. “I will let you return to your reading, young sir, and I trust I shall see you again.”

  Herman didn’t want him to leave, and he asked, “Do you have to go?”

  “I must,” Mr. Weiss said, nodding. “We shall meet again, however. I wish to hear your thoughts on the book.”

  Mr. Weiss grinned, and the dream faded to black. Herman awoke and sat up. It was two-thirty in the morning, according to his alarm clock. He was sweating, his tee-shirt drenched. The room was cool, though, the central air of the house humming placidly. The blanket and towel were still in their places at the door, and the house was silent except for the air conditioner. Herman had fallen asleep with the light on, and he leaned over to turn it off when he saw the autobiography. He picked it up and looked at the author.

  Nathaniel Weiss.

  Herman opened the book up and found a photograph inside of the author. It was the man he had dreamed of.

  Probably why I dreamed of him, Herman thought.

  He closed the book, returned it to his bed table and yawned. He was tired, and in less than five hours, his parents would start in with their arguing again. Herman turned out the light, dropped back onto his pillow, and closed his eyes. He’d finish the book in study hall.

  It was a lot better than he had expected.

  Chapter 12: Making a Decision

  At six in the morning, Mitchell still hadn’t gone to sleep. His mind had plagued him with the images of the previous day. Marilyn’s body. The plumbers and their mad descent. The message about Weiss.

  Mitchell sat at his kitchen table. His wife, Leann, was in the shower. She had just gotten home from her morning run. She knew of Marilyn, of course, and of the plumbers. But Mitchell had not spoken about Weiss. Nor had he mentioned anything about Dave’s theory concerning the long dead founder.

  With a sigh, Mitchell finished his coffee and looked down at the portable phone. Beside it, he had his address book, his cousin Brian’s information was before him.

  A large part of Mitchell refused to believe Weiss had come back. That he could come back. Then there was a small voice, little more than a whisper, who asked the question, But what if?

  Could it hurt? Mitchell asked himself. Is it really so difficult to call Brian and ask him to come down?

  Mitchell hated the idea of the supernatural. It was offensive, and it upset him.

  Yet is there another explanation? he wondered.

  Yes, he thought. All those lines to the sewer suddenly exposed. Toxic gasses. People could have adverse reactions.

  As quickly as the idea came, though, Mitchell dismissed it. He knew enough to know the gasses wouldn’t have made anyone either suicidal or homicidal.

  It could be coincidence, he argued.

  And then he shook his head. Are you really so proud you won’t call your cousin? Are you going to be embarrassed because you asked for some help with a strange situation?

  Mitchell looked at the phone, picked it up and dialed Brian’s number.

  I hope he’s awake, Mitchell thought, glancing at the clock. He thought about hanging up the phone, but even as he did so, Brian answered the call.

  “Mitchell?” Brian asked.

  “Hello, Cousin,” Mitchell said, using their old, familiar greeting.

  “Hey, everything okay?” Brian’s voice was heavy with both sleep and concern.

  “Not really,” Mitchell said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

  “Leann okay?” Brian asked, fully awake.

  “Yes,” Mitchell said. “It’s nothing to do with the family, Brian. It’s the Academy.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Mitchell told him. He told him everything, from the burst toilets to the deaths of the plumbers. Mitchell included every detail.

  “Are you going to school today?” Brian asked after a moment.

  “Yes,” Mitchell said. “I have to. The staff needs to be spoken with. We’re bringing in grief counselors. All the stuff that goes into a tragedy. Why?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you were there when I get in,” Brian said.

  “You’re coming down?” Mitchell asked, surprised and relieved at the same time.

  “Of course,” Brian said seriously. “I’m not going to let you hang out there in the wind, Mitchell. Give me about an hour to get ready and then I’ll be on the road. I’ll call your office phone when I hit the rest stop outside of Danielson. Figure I’ll get into the Academy around nine-thirty, maybe ten. All depends on the traffic in Worcester.”

  “Are you sure?” Mitchell asked, suddenly embarrassed.

  “Yup,” Brian replied. “Just make sure you’ve got a big pot of coffee on.”

  “I will,” Mitchell said.

  He and Brian said their goodbyes and Mitchell ended the call. He looked at the phone for a moment, and then he dialed Dave Licata’s number.

  “Hello?” Dave’s voice was thick with sleep.

  “Dave, it’s Mitchell.”

  “Mitchell? Is everything alright?” Dave asked, yawning.

  “Fine, Dave. Everything’s fine. Listen, I think you’re absolutely right about the supernatural angle. I went and got in touch with my cousin,” Mitchell said, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

  “You did?” Dave said, all sounds of sleep gone from his voice. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

  “No, no, nothing at all,” Mitchell said, forcing himself to sound more confident than he felt. “I would feel better if you would stay away from the school for a few days. I’ll be sending out an email to everyone telling them the police need the campus and all, but you’re the only one who’ll know the truth.”

  “Alright, Mitchell,” Dave said. “You’re certain you don’t need my help?”

  “I won’t hesitate to call you if that changes, Dave,” Mitchell said. “I’m sorry to have woken you up so early, but I wanted to tell you.”

  “No, I appreciate it,” Dave said. “Call me when it’s all said and done, Mitchell.”

  “I will. Bye now.”

  After David said goodbye and hung up, Mitchell put the phone back on the table. He hesitated for a moment before he stood up and went upstairs. He needed to get ready for work.

  Chapter 13: Strange Behavior

  Larry showed up for work at seven in the morning. In one hand, he had a cup of coffee and in the other he had a Hostess cupcake. Both were part of his morning ritual. He would stop at Dashiell’s corner store at six, drink a coffee with the man and complain leisurely about politics, the weather, sports, and anything else which happened to cross their minds.

  At a quarter to seven, Larry would get a second cup of coffee, buy a package of cupcakes, and eat one of the vanilla frosted wonders before he even left the store’s parking lot. The second one, he would eat once he got to his office in the basement of the Admin building on campus.

  Today, Larry knew, was different.

  They would speak about Marilyn, and ‘they’ happened to be the other staff and faculty members at the school. They weren’t a tight-knit group, but they were co-workers. The slights and insults of the days and weeks before would be forgotten. They were small and petty in light of Marilyn’s suicide.

  Larry was thankful the kids weren’t around for the death. He didn’t envy the task Mitchell, and the guidance counselors would have once the students returned.

  He shook his head, turned off the engine to his old Chevy big-block, and got out. The air was warm, muggy.

  It’ll be a hell of a day to work outside, Larry thought, nudging the car door closed with his hip. He took a sip of his coffee and wandered leisurely over to the back entrance of the Admin building. He balanced his cupcake on the lid of the disposable cup, unhooked his keys and unlocked the door. A mome
nt later, he was down the stairs and into his office. He flicked on the lights, put his drink and food on the table, and dropped heavily into the old chair. Both he and the springs groaned simultaneously, and he eyed the computer warily.

  Bet there’ll be a hundred emails about Marilyn, he thought. He hesitated, and then with a shrug, he turned the computer on. While it powered up, the hard drive whining piteously, Larry finished his breakfast. He glanced at the calendar on the wall to see what he had penciled in for the day.

  Need to mow the baseball field, he thought. And there are the windows in the shop class. Need to put new screens in. Osterman’ll have a fit if I don’t. Maybe if he sweats a little more, he might lose some of that fat.

  Larry chuckled, scratched his head, and the humor left him.

  At the feel of his own hair beneath his fingers, Larry remembered the day before. Recalled painfully the new color of his short hair.

  He dropped his hand to the desk and angrily punched in his password, stabbing each letter with his index fingers.

  When the screen came up and he accessed his email, he snorted and shook his head.

  Ninety-eight new messages, he read.

  Heavy feet sounded in the hall, and Larry twisted around in his chair to see Bruce come into the doorway. The younger man was scowling, his Yankees ball cap pulled low.

  “What’s wrong?” Larry asked as Bruce went over and sat down on the old couch in the corner.

  Bruce pulled his hat off. The man had shaved his head.

  “What’d you do that for?” Larry asked.

  “Tried to dye my hair black last night,” Bruce said bitterly.

  “Didn’t take?” Larry said.

  “Naw, it didn’t,” Bruce said. “Damn eyebrows are white.”

  Larry nodded. “You hear about Marilyn?”

  “Yeah, Candy from the cafeteria called me last night, told me all about it,” Bruce said. “Shame. She was a nice lady. Never would have figured her to off herself. You know?”

  “Yup. I was surprised, too. Pity.”

  Silence fell over them and lasted for several minutes before Bruce broke it when he asked, “What’s the plan for today?”

  With a sigh, Larry leaned forward, scrolled through his emails and spotted one from Mitchell. He opened it, read it, and frowned. “Looks like there’s a meeting for everybody.”

  “About what?” Bruce said.

  “Marilyn,” Larry answered.

  Bruce groaned. “Is it all that crap about therapists and whatever?”

  “More than likely,” Larry said. He drank some of his coffee. “Can’t be helped. It’s the way things work, now.”

  Bruce snorted. “Well, it’s stupid.”

  Larry nodded in agreement. “Doesn’t mean we can skip it, though. Mitchell says everyone, so we’re there too, right?”

  “Yeah,” Bruce agreed sulkily. “Listen, I got to go to the john, I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay,” Larry said, waving a hand dismissively.

  The younger man got up and left the room. Larry checked the time on the assembly and finished his coffee.

  When Bruce hadn’t returned twenty minutes later, Larry stood up, concerned. He went out into the hall, looked up and down it, but didn’t see the man anywhere. Frowning, Larry headed to the bathrooms and opened up the men’s room. The lights were off. He flicked them on, walked in and checked each stall. Bruce wasn’t there. Larry hurried out of the room, knocked on the door of the women’s room, and when no one answered, inspected it as well.

  Where the hell is he? Larry thought worriedly after the search revealed nothing. He went back to the office to see if Bruce had returned, but the man hadn’t.

  As his concern increased, Larry went up the stairs to the first floor and found Bruce. The young man stood in the center of the hall. Bruce had a happy, childlike smile and he rocked gently from side to side.

  He was staring at a large display case. In it were various items from the history of the school. Each month, the theme of the case was changed, and June’s was service. A graduate had mailed the school a road sign from Afghanistan. Another had sent in a picture of a Buddhist Temple in Cambodia where the former student was with the Peace Corps. There were older items as well. Memorabilia from the Civil War, the letters of Congressmen and Senators, Judges and Attorneys who had all graduated from the Academy.

  And Bruce stood gawking at it all.

  Larry shivered, thinking, AC must be on the fritz. Too damned cold in here.

  Then aloud he said, “Bruce, what the hell are you doing?”

  Bruce glanced over at him. His smile never changed, his eyes dull.

  “Bruce?” Larry said.

  Bruce turned back to the display case and stepped closer to it.

  “Bruce,” Larry said sharply, “you okay?”

  Bruce nodded once, dropped his chin to his head, and ran forward.

  The man’s skull shattered the glass of the case, and an alarm rang out shrilly. As the glass cascaded down, slivers and shards scattering across the marble tile of the floor, Bruce stumbled backward. Larry leapt forward and caught him as he started to fall. Above them, footsteps rang out.

  He eased Bruce down onto the floor, only a few scratches on his face.

  “Jesus H. tap dancing Christ,” Larry muttered, “what in the hell did you do that for, Bruce?”

  Bruce whispered something, but it was lost when the hall door was thrown open. Mitchell raced in, looking around frantically. When they saw Bruce, the two men came over to kneel beside him.

  “Is he alright?” Mitchell asked. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  “I don’t’ know yet,” Larry answered. Turning his attention back to Bruce he asked, “Why did you break the case, Bruce?”

  Without opening his eyes, Bruce smiled. In a low, sweet voice he said softly, “I had to get them ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Mitchell asked.

  Bruce’s smile widened, and he shrugged. “I don’t know. He just told me to get them ready.”

  “Who?” Larry asked. “Who the hell told you to do anything, Bruce?”

  “He did,” Bruce said. “The old man. He told me to make sure they were ready, and I did.”

  Larry caught sight of a glance exchanged between Mitchell and Dave, both of the men’s faces paling.

  “What?” Larry asked. “What is it?” “Nothing,” Mitchell said, forcing a smile. “Nothing at all. Listen, Larry, Dave, sit with Bruce. I’m going to call an ambulance for him. We need to make sure he didn’t give himself a concussion.”

  Larry nodded. When Mitchell left, Larry looked at the broken display case.

  Why, Bruce? Larry wondered. Why the hell did you do it?

  Chapter 14: Alma Mater

  When Brian got out of his car, he stretched, yawned, and took in the sight of the Academy. He had passed it once or twice since graduating over twenty years before, but he hadn’t gone back.

  He had never been nostalgic for high school. The experience had been miserable, and best forgotten. He put his keys in his back pocket and climbed the granite stairs of the Admin building. The old, oaken door opened on well-greased hinges, let him into the main lobby. On the right-hand side, were yellow caution signs with similarly colored tape cordoning off the old display case.

  The glass was gone.

  Brian paused, caught sight of specks of glass on the floor of the case, and shook his head before he went to a door marked, “Principal.”

  He knocked on it, and when Mitchell called out, “Come in,” he did so.

  His cousin sat at the secretary’s desk and looked up. A relieved smile spread across his face as he stood up.

  “Brian,” Mitchell said. “Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re welcome,” Brian said, embracing Mitchell after the man had come around the desk. “Damn, you look like someone beat the hell out of you.”

  “Feels like someone did,” Mitchell replied. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

&n
bsp; Brian nodded in understanding. “What happened in the lobby?”

  “One of the janitors broke the display,” Mitchell said.

  “Accidentally?”

  Mitchell shook his head, and he told Brian about the incident.

  “This isn’t good,” Brian said after a moment.

  “Not really what I wanted to hear,” Mitchell said, sighing. He sat down on the corner of the desk. “Take a seat, Brian.”

  Brian sat down in a chair that looked exactly like he remembered. “Mitchell, I know you don’t believe in any of this stuff. I know it must have been hard for you to make the call.”

  Mitchell nodded.

  “I’m going to poke around,” Brian continued. “I’m really hoping it’s something stupid, like some sort of chemical and people reacting to it badly. I want nothing more than to tell you that when I’m done. But please understand, from the little you’ve told me so far, this really sounds like a ghost. And not a particularly pleasant one.”

  “What are you going to do?” Mitchell asked.

  “First,” Brian said, “I’m going to take a walk around campus. I want to see if I can either spot him, or anyone else.”

  Mitchell frowned. “What do you mean? Other staff members?”

  Brian shook his head. “No. Ghosts.”

  Mitchell wanted to scoff, but he stopped himself. Too much had happened to dismiss the idea. He needed to know, one way or the other, why things were happening.

  “And after?” Mitchell asked.

  “After,” Brian said, “I’ll either tell you it’s nothing, or I’ll have to do some research on Nathaniel Weiss.”

  “Alright,” Mitchell said softly, nodding. “Okay.”

  “You want to walk around with me?” Brian asked.

  “No,” Mitchell said, “I’ve got to get all the staff together in the auditorium at ten o’clock. We’ve got some grief counselors coming in.”

  “Well,” Brian said, “walk me to my car at least. I want to grab a bottle of water.”

  “What, no whiskey?” Mitchell asked, sounding surprised.

  Brian rolled his eyes. “Doctor and Jenny’s orders.”