On/Off - A Jekyll and Hyde Story

by Mike Attebery

  Price stood silently. His brow furrowed over his glasses, his mouth tightened in a thin line across his face. Then, his face relaxed, as though the cords that drew back his features were suddenly cut. His face fell free and slack, and his lips worked in place softly until the words began to float out.

  “I’ve told you before, your mind is not the issue.”

  Jamie looked at him blankly.

  Price continued, “And, I’m afraid our work together has come to an end.”

  With that, Price pressed a button on his phone, stood up straight, and left the room by a side door. A moment later the receptionist opened the main door and waited patiently until Jamie rose from his seat and walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - UNDER THE SENTINEL

  It was snowing as the three of them walked out to the parking lot. The temperature had plunged, and their breath seemed to billow out of their lungs, freeze in the air before them, and tumble to the ground in icy clouds. The snow itself was small, and sandy, and hard against their faces. A thin layer of white was already gathering on the roof of Lynn’s car, which Jamie brushed away with a scraper as Lynn turned the ignition to warm the engine.

  Kelli didn’t say anything. She knew better than to break the silence. Jamie had come out of Price’s office with a grave expression on his face. His mouth set. His eyes cast downward. Lynn glanced from her son to Kelli, and the two of them made eye contact. The news could not have been good. They wouldn’t press him on it. If he had something to tell them, he would raise the issue in his own time. Still, the ride back to campus was painfully quiet. As they pulled out onto Mt. Hope, Lynne reached over and flipped on the radio where the DJs were talking excitedly about the weather. Lynn turned up the volume. This was Rochester, for the radio guys to get excited about anything weather related meant that it had to be big.

  “-coming in from the lakes,” it began in midsentence, “and hitting this second storm front dead on. Which you long-time residents know can only be bad. It’s gonna get ugly.”

  “Just how much snow should we be expecting, Randy?” A co-host chimed in.

  “I don’t think the question is how much, it’s how long. This could last for the next few days. Like I said, just as bad as the snow will be the cold. Get a hold of yourselves fellas, cause if you don’t watch it, they’re gonna freeze right off ya this-”

  Lynn clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and clicked the radio off in disgust.

  “Stupid,” she muttered softly.

  Kelli was sitting in the passenger seat. Jamie was in the back behind her. She folded down the sun visor and glanced back at him in the mirror. His expression was blank. He’d checked-out on them. Kelli turned and looked out at the road as another volley of snow hit the windshield with the tinkling sounds of broken glass. What would they do when they got back to campus? Would he tell her what had happened? Would they just split up and go back to their rooms? That’s what he might try to do, but she wouldn’t let him. She told herself that. She’d grab his hand and tell him to stay put. To tell her what the fuck he’d found out. Instead, when they pulled into the loop that circled in front of the NTID tower next to Gibson hall, Lynn and Jamie exchanged some mumbled goodbyes before Lynn gave Kelli a half smile and a nod, then drove away.

  The two of them stood alone on the curb by the driveway. Kelli turned and looked at him. He stared back.

  “I’m going out for a run,” he said finally.

  Kelli nodded her head. “Okay.”

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, Jamie was waiting in the shadows at the entrance to the administrative building, waiting for him to come outside. He knew his schedule by now, had been watching the man’s routine after class. He’d caught him on off days following an almost identical routine. Jamie knew when he went to his office, when he went to his classes, when he grabbed lunch, where he parked his car on campus. The funny thing was that he didn’t remember making a conscious effort to pick up such details, to follow the man like he was some sort of mark. It just happened. He seemed to find himself walking by certain places at certain times of day, somehow finding himself in the same locations again and again.

  Tonight it has seemed particularly important for him to be here at the end of the day. Even as his mother’s car had been turning into the drive for the residential side, he’d been glancing at his watch, thinking to himself that he had to get here in time. He couldn’t miss the guy today.

  He didn’t know why.

  He was afraid to know why.

  That nervous, swimming feeling welled up in his stomach. The sensation you get before asking someone out, or making a big play in a game. The feeling of going out on stage, not knowing what you’re going to do next.

  What was he going to say? What was he going to do?

  The wind was blowing harder now, shooting thin slivers of ice through his clothing and into his arms and legs, pinning him against the wall. Jamie pulled the hat down on his head, lifted the hood of his sweatshirt, and tightened the strings. He slipped on his gloves and stepped back into the corner.

  There he was. Dressed in his usual professorial coat and pants, his shoulders hunched under a heavy topcoat. Professor Karl Ryan, Media and the Mind aficionado, finished with another day of classes, no doubt headed home to a pretentious glass of port and more cerebral ponderings of the ways of the media world. Jamie felt clouds of anger billowing up behind his eyes. His stomach hardened. He clenched his hands into fists.

  Ryan made his way across the academic quad, trudging through the snow-smothered breezeway along the side of the photo building, and heading down to the parking lot across from the campus. Jamie waited until he was a good ten yards ahead before he slipped out of the shadows and began following behind him. The snow was coming in harder than ever now and he doubted that anyone could see the two of them from the buildings up the hill. Hell, Ryan could probably have turned around and stared directly in his direction with no clue that he was being followed. Then again, you always knew if someone was watching you, right? The hair on the back of your neck, the prickling chill on your skin. That was one of the ancient survival instincts, still buried in your body, no matter how many generations had gone by.

  Ryan was walking slowly on the icy sidewalks and Jamie had to slow his pace to avoid catching up to him. A great number of students were heading off campus early today, no doubt trying to avoid the icy highways. Ryan stood at the crosswalk, waiting for one of the cars to let him go. Jamie ran down the driveway and headed around to another sidewalk, took another crosswalk to the parking lot. He’d circle around, come in from the side as soon as Ryan got into the more secluded portion of the lot. That’s when he’d move in and…

  What? Do what? What was he even here for?

  Jamie flexed his hands stiffly. Ryan was walking through the lot now. Jamie followed along from the other side. He tightened his coat around him as another gust of wind came barreling across the flat open space. He could just make out Ryan’s shape. A little farther and the two of them would be out of sight from the road when the professor got to his car. Jamie started to hurry now. His feet shuffled on the icy concrete, slipping and sliding beneath him. His heart stuttered once or twice as he almost went down, but he regained control.

  Then Ryan was at the door of his car, pulling at the door handle, and Jamie was running. Racing across the lot. Launching himself at the man. Going at his face with his hands. Clawing at his eyes and reaching for something in his own coat which he pulled out and slashed at Ryan’s face. He snuck a glimpse off to the side as he drove the weapon in his hand deep into Ryan’s stomach. No one could see them from here. No one was around to see who had done it, to tell the police what had happened.

  ***

  Gridley arrived as the ambulance was pulling away. It had probably been twenty minutes from the moment the call came in to the moment the guy was taken away. The EMTs said his name was Ryan. He was a professor at the college. Looked like a real tweed coat kinda guy
- tweed coat with leather patches and a good soaking of blood that is. His own blood.

  A student who’d been trying to get off campus before the storm went apeshit when she saw him. Said she’d been fumbling with her keys when she looked over and saw a car with its door open and two legs sprawled out into the parking lot. She went over to check on the guy, and had gotten more than an eyeful. Multiple puncture wounds to the abdomen, blood all over the fucking place. Gridley glanced around the car to see if they’d missed anything. The snow had been kicked away underneath the driver’s side door. Blood jumped out at Gridley’s eyes from the bright white backdrop. The inside of the car smelled like new leather, but the seat and the floor were both soaked with congealed, frozen blood. The seat back was slashed in a ragged downward angle, no blood in the cut, probably a missed slash to the face. The medics said there were plenty signs of struggle, the good professor had tried to defend himself and had gotten a few good gashes to his face and hands for the trouble. He bled a whole hell of a lot. Nice car. 'cept for the blood. Shame, there was no chance the guy would ever get his money out of the thing now, assuming that he even pulled through. He wasn’t in good shape when they took him away. Lungs were collapsing on him, body doubled over in pain. He couldn’t even get the words out to tell them who he was. Had to get that info from his wallet. The wallet had still been there. Good sign this wasn’t a robbery. This was either real personal, or a totally random attack.

  “Frank,” Gridley turned to the officer behind him. “Send the guys out, get word to our folks and the Henrietta police department. Whoever did this is gonna have blood all over himself.”

  Frank nodded and walked over to the patrol car.

  Gridley glanced around the inside of the car again, then crouched down on his knees and felt around under the seat with gloved hands. A minute later he held up a small, bloody serrated knife.

  “Hey, Frank,” Gridley called again as he got back on his feet. “That look like one of the knives from Gracie’s?”

  Frank walked over, his eyes on Gridley’s hands as they rotated the cheap handle and blade.

  “I think you’re right,” Frank said.

  “So, either the professor’s been stealing knives from the cafeteria and one got turned against him, or we’re definitely dealing with someone else from campus.”

  Frank nodded his head, “Way this guy’s acting, we’ll know for sure soon enough.”

  ***

  He woke from the nightmare in fits of shaking. Yet, it all felt too real. The moments coming out of the darkness were too cold. Too convincing. He wasn’t sleeping. Wasn’t in his bed. He was really tearing through campus, running down the passageways between the buildings. Ducking into the shadows to plunge his hands into snow drifts and desperately scrub at the blood that covered his hands. What had he done? He’d attacked Professor Ryan. Tried to kill him. Even succeeded maybe. Why? Christ. He didn’t know, but he was fucked. Utterly fucked. So he kept running. Running into the blackness.

  When he came out of it, he was again in the shadows of the administrative building.

  Why?

  He was freezing, his body shaking uncontrollably. It brought back bitter memories. He had to get warm again. Get out of sight! Stop the trembling. His clothes were soaked through with blood. His coat, his shirt. The knife had ripped up his hands in the struggle. He wiped them on his pant leg, leaving long, finger-shaped smears of blood, both his own and the Professor’s.

  The quad was clear. No students. No one. He ran through the slush, feeling it clinging to his jeans, freezing the fabric solid. The snow was whipping around him. Blinding him, slashing at his face. The face. He ran to the side of the library, staggered along the south wall, then found what he didn’t even know he was looking for. The door to the tunnels. His fingers were numb from the cold; they struggled with the handle before he finally got a grip and forced it open. The stairway beneath disappeared in the tunnel’s shadows. He stepped inside, pulled the door closed behind him, and melted into the darkness.

  ***

  Kelli knew something was wrong again when he hadn’t returned by dark. Why had she ever let him wander off? Why hadn’t she stopped him? Confronted him? She didn’t know. She was afraid of him maybe. Afraid for him at least. The snow was coming down hard now, sweeping in sideways and roaring over the sidewalks and fields. From the Gibson G lounge she could just make out the dim glow of the overhead lights in parking lot K across the way. She looked at the clock on the wall, then glanced at the TV to confirm it.

  Where in the hell was he?

  Just running?

  Impossible.

  People were coming back from classes now. Talking about the weather, shaking the snow from their clothing, shivering and moaning in the heat.

  The sun was gone by four thirty, and the lights around campus were blinking on along the footpaths and down the length of the quarter mile as Kelli and Fritz headed out to search for Jamie. There was no strategy. They headed for the academic side and were just passing the Student Life Center when they heard sirens, and looked up to see an ambulance tearing down the road. Two police cars were following behind it with their lights on, one of them followed the ambulance as it turned and headed off campus, while the other took a right toward the front entrance and up to the Student Alumni Union, coming to a stop under the gaze of the massive Sentinel sculpture which towered over the brick sections of the Quarter Mile below. The Sentinel was an enormous metal sculpture, reminiscent of a knight clad in jousting armor and holding a lance, it stood taller than even the administrative building, and had quickly become a campus icon shortly after its construction. It seemed right at home within the college’s 1960s slash 70s design scheme, but was still frightening enough to lend the quad a modern gothic twist. Fritz and Kelli watched an officer get out of the car and walk beneath the Sentinel, his hand on his pistol. They exchanged glances and headed for the SAU.

  Just as they were approaching the building, a fresh gust of air roared out around them, tearing a volley of ice shards loose from the sculpture overhead, sending them tumbling through the air, where they narrowly missed the two of them, and ripped into the side of the brick Union building in an explosion of debris. Fritz turned and pulled Kelli closer, shielding her against the shrapnel

  “We’ve gotta find another way through here!” he shouted. “Those things could kill someone.”

  They pressed their backs against the wall and watched the campus safety officer run across the slick sidewalk and into the building. Then they turned away from the opening of the covered pathway, found a door down into the tunnels, and ran for cover.

  ***

  Classes were canceled for the night. Campus was closing down thanks to the storm. It was only the second time in the last twenty years that RIT had called off a day of classes. Maybe the guy was still on campus. Maybe he wasn’t. But if he was, he probably wasn’t out in the elements anymore. Not with the way things were currently shaping up outside. Gridley fought against the wind as he pushed the door open, and was nearly knocked off his feet as another gust slammed it shut behind him. He walked through the atrium of the SAU. The place was empty. Not a soul around. Nothing but the sounds of wind and ice on the windows above. He scanned the front area, then headed down the side hall, past the cafeteria, past the student government offices, and out into the foyer by the Campus Connections bookstore. The store’s security gates had been pulled down now. The interior was dark. He peered inside, then started down the stairs to the tunnels.

  Gridley was just nearing the bottom of the stairs, coming out into the dank, strangely hot passageways that ran below the academic side, when the lights started to flicker. All the campus powerlines were underground. Most everything on the property was self-sustainable. If the lights were going, then this storm was really a doozy. He looked up at the fluorescent tubes overhead. They flickered back on and held for a moment. He lifted a hand to his sweaty brow, wiped away the perspiration, and continued on. He could hear the wind claw
ing through the ground overhead.

  The tunnel was coming to an end. He slowed as he approached the corner where the corridor merged with the long stretch of hallway running from the library, past the bookstore, and around to the hockey stadium, then glanced back in the direction of the library. Silence. He turned back towards the pool and started walking. Still no one around.

  He was just about to turn around and head back, when he caught sight of a bloody handprint on the tunnel wall. The fingers of the print stretched downward, leaving four bloody red trails behind them.

  Fuck.

  Then a flicker, and the lights went out.

  ***

  Jamie knew the figure was not his father. Not this time. He was beginning to realize that his own mind wasn’t entirely reliable. The person behind him was either a stranger, or a fabrication from his twisted, contorted mind. The man in black. It had to be. The moment he felt the man’s presence he’d run through the tunnels, frantically. He was after him. He’d no doubt been after his father. Come back for the son. Christ, no! He was going mad! Thinking insane, illogical, impossible thoughts. Then again, the man was after him. He ran down a side tunnel, glancing over his shoulder then down at his feet. He came to the end of the tunnel, reached out for a handhold, then spun around the corner of the wall, where he crouched down, drew a new knife from his pocket, and waited.