by Danielle
Dinner time was no different. The dining hall was bursting with laughter and joking. One junior boy started a game of catch with apples and oranges for several minutes before a matron stepped in and scolded him. As soon as she left, the game started up again.
“Oliver, catch.” An apple came barreling in his direction and he caught it smoothly and bit into it, eliciting laughter from the rest of the table.
“We’ll leave messages for you.” Owen promised. Gabriel nodded. “Just like Damien.” Oliver smiled, and he found himself, out of habit looking up to the balcony above. With a start, he realized that Dean Tenbrook was not there. In her place, stood a burly security guard.
“She’s gone.” He said.
Owen looked up, his smile fading only slightly. “She’s probably setting up for the festival.” He turned back to Gabriel and Alex. “Do you think we can get a funnel cake to go?” Alex and Gabriel roared with laughter. Malachi pursed his lips. Oliver had an inkling of what was going through his mind as they watched the older boys revel in the joy of their impending escape. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Malachi yet, but as bright as Malachi was, Oliver didn’t feel he needed to. Neither wanted to say what they both knew: Their escape was going to be much more difficult.
And to top it off, there was the matter of Robert. Malachi vehemently denied the possibility of finding him, but Oliver couldn’t say he was surprised by that.
“We should focus on getting ourselves out.” Malachi said, as he carefully cut his lasagna into squares. “We don’t know what he may have told them, and we don’t even know where he is. For all we know, he could have told them our plans, in detail. When we find him---if we did---they could be waiting for us. It could be a trap. This is war, Oliver. There will always be causalities.” He said, breezily. Oliver winced, uncomfortable with the ease at which Malachi reduced Robert’s life to collateral damage.
“Oh, come on.” Malachi shook his fork at Oliver. “If we even knew where he was, how would we get him out? You don’t think they have five guards on him at all times?” Anger rushed through Oliver like hot lava through Pompeii. “He didn’t do anything. He doesn’t deserve this.” Owen, Alex, and Gabriel fell quiet. They faced one another, but it was obvious that they were keenly listening to his exchange with Malachi.
“I didn’t say he deserved it. I’m just pointing out that we also don’t deserve this.” He gestured wildly towards everyone at the table. “It’s not about whether or not you deserve something. It’s about what you’re willing to do to take it. If you want to risk your already slim chance at freedom by going on a wild goose chase, be my guest. I’m not going to do it.” Malachi finished, and he started shaking pepper over his lasagna with unnecessary ferocity. A silence settled over the table for just a moment before the upperclassmen gradually began their conversation once more, starting with Alex proclaiming “I’ll never have to eat this food again. What would it be like to have lasagna made with real cheese and not cheese whiz?”
Oliver poked at his food for the remainder of dinner, his thoughts drifting back and forth between what Malachi said and what he knew in his heart to be true. To his utter disgust, the two did not differ greatly.
Night came soon thereafter, and anticipation filled the cold air like an unmistakable draft. The night was starrier than ever. The stars, it seemed, had come out to watch the show as well. Oliver stepped onto the south quad, and his jaw dropped. Before him, under as starry a night as the most talented artist could conceive, was the Delafontaine End of Semester Festival. A Ferris wheel whirled about in the center of the quad, like a giant spaceship. Around it, rides of all types threw Delafontaine boys up down and around into the dark night. It was truly a great work of art, and in that moment Oliver felt a crushing sadness, because what made it so great was the tragedy from which it was born.
"Tenbrook knows how to have a good time. Don’t mind me. Just getting food to go." Alex appeared by his shoulder and before Oliver could turn to respond, he had bounded off into the crowd towards a fried dough stand with Gabriel in tow. Oliver followed, though more slowly, and he found himself joined by Owen who had emerged from the nearby lemonade line. His skin, illuminated by the bright red and yellow lights of the carnival looked like it was on fire. It looked as if his skin was not simply reflecting the light, but that it was coming from within.
"Have you had the lemonade?" Owen smiled, his teeth glinting in the fall night.
"Haven't had the chance yet." Oliver sighed. "I'm going to wait until the lines die down before I try."
“Everything’s set?” Oliver asked. The words tasted sour in his mouth. Owen nodded and patted discreetly at his chest. Oliver stared, confused, before realizing that Owen was wearing at least two shirts under his Delafontaine uniform. His pants were suspiciously bulky as well. “We’ll need a change once we get out there.” Owen looked up at the sky. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Oliver nodded.
“When?” Owen tore his eyes away from the sky. “It’ll be soon. We’ll need a distraction, however.”
Oliver raised his eyebrow. “I don’t---
“We’re on it” Owen interrupted just as a guard walked by.
He nodded to the snake like line wrapped around the lemonade stand, ending near a lone tent at the edge of the festival grounds.
"That tent?" Oliver narrowed his eyes at Owen’s suggestion.
"Distraction over that way, and there…" Owen laughed shortly. "We make the getaway."
"How are you going to cause a distraction big enough to draw every single guard?" Oliver asked.
"Oh, we have some ideas.” Owen said simply, though his face betrayed none of his thoughts.
A thunderous boom shook the ground, and directly above Owen’s head, red fireworks streaked across the sky, ripping like wild stallions across an endless plain.
“It’s time.” Owen said.
Oliver stared up, mesmerized by the rainbow colors against the blue black night. He had never seen fireworks before, and this first time did not disappoint. He looked back for Owen, who was gone. In his place, a patch of slightly indented grass, and nothing else. Oliver barely registered his last words before a series of screams suddenly pierced the night.
Oliver whirled around and spotted a crowd of students huddling around a center tent. He soon found his feet carrying him towards the crowd. “What’s going on?” He asked, stopping behind Malachi, who towered over the rest of the crowd. “Malachi? Malachi?” Oliver was certain that his questions had fallen on strangely deaf ears, before Malachi’s head turned slowly. He looked down at Oliver, though Oliver had the eerie sensation that Malachi was simply looking through him.
In slow, stilting words, he spoke: “Why don’t you look yourself?” Oliver pushed his way through the crowd. He emerged into the circular clearing, made by the gaggle of students. When Oliver looked down, for a few minutes, he was simply at a loss for what he was seeing. Before him, on what looked like the naked torso of a boy, a pair of large white wings sprouted from the back.
“It’s not real---It’s not real” A boy next to him that Oliver had never seen before began hyperventilating. The boy on the ground was limp and face down. His wings were wet and slick with clear fluid, like that of a newborn baby. Oliver closed his eyes in disbelief, but when he opened them again, the scene was still the same. A new chorus of gasps rose in the air, and the crowd lurched back. The wings began to stir. Slow movements, but movements all the same. And then suddenly, with no notice at all, the wings spread out, nearly five feet in length on either side. Gasps rose from the crowd again as those closest were nearly swept from their feet. Slowly, the boy lifted himself up in the air and looked down at the frightened crowd beneath him.
At once, the crowd parted sharply and Dean Tenbrook marched through. She took note of the boy hovering overhead and jumped back in surprise. She quickly regained her composure, and Dean Tenbrook pointed up at the boy and what she said made Oliver’s blood run cold.
“Shoot him down.”
“I said, shoot him down.” Booms rang out, echoing throughout the quad, and Oliver wasn’t sure if he was hearing fanfare or gun shots. Malachi sidled up beside him, apparently cured of his shock. “They really did it. They really did it. Look.” He pointed to the crowd, which was now significantly thinner than before. Oliver squinted his eyes and realized that, at least on first glance, there were at least five seniors missing.
The fireworks ended abruptly, throwing the night into sudden darkness. Dean Tenbrook surveyed the crowd of onlookers, her usual smile nowhere to be found. Oliver had no doubt in his mind that she had discovered the ruse.
“Everyone!” Her voice rang out above into the night sky, the volume surprising Oliver. “It’s curfew. Everyone back to your rooms for room check.” The crowd stood still, evidently paralyzed by the scene unfolding before them. Some boys started whispering.
“I said” Dean Tenbrook’s voice raised to what seemed like an impossible level, “Everyone back to your dorms, now!” Oliver shuffled along with the slow moving crowd, but not before taking one last glance in the direction of the boy with wings.
Chapter 12
If sleep had ever come, Oliver certainly hadn’t felt it. Early in the morning, Oliver lay awake in his bed, feeling as if his eyes had never closed at all. His bones felt stiff, like he’d run a thousand miles the day before without stretching. Oliver finished the usual morning routine, washed, and placed out his Delafontaine uniform, feeling rather like his mind stood on the precipice of something grand. It was only when he began combing his hair in the mirror, a task that took an inordinate amount of concentration, did the events of the prior night return to him hard and fast. The questions came so quickly, that Oliver felt dizzy and had to sit down. As he stared at the empty bed across from him, he was struck with the most impossible thought. What if Robert was the boy with wings? He hadn’t been able to see the face of the boy. Oliver ran through a mental list of who he hadn’t seen that night, but drew a blank. It could have been anyone. But more importantly, Oliver realized as a small smile enveloped the lower half of his face, it had worked. They really had done it. Oliver jumped up, propelled by some unknown burst of energy. He sped from the room, his unbuttoned jacket flapping along with him.
The hallway outside was deadly quiet. Oliver stepped into the main foyer, where he could see both the top and bottom levels of the dormitory. There was not a single sound to be heard other than the screeching of Oliver’s own shoes. He’d just made it to the bottom of the stairs when Matron Charlie rounded on him so quickly that Oliver thought she’d just appeared in the spot in front of him. Or, supposedly Matron Charlie. In the place of the woman with the slicked back hair, sharp voice, and delicately pressed suits was a frazzled and confused looking stand in.
“Matron Charlie?”
“I rang the bells this morning to signal an emergency meeting in the gym. Did you not hear it?” Well, her attitude remained the same, Oliver thought.
“I didn’t--”
“Go!” Matron Charlie screeched, and Oliver broke into a jog.
The doors to the assembly hall banged open as he entered, much to Oliver’s displeasure. Three hundred some heads swiveled in his direction and Oliver’s cheeks burned as he quickly slid onto the back row. Dean Tenbrook stood in the center of the gym at a small podium. She leaned in and smiled.
“Now that we have everyone, we shall begin by addressing last night’s unfortunate chain of events. After a thorough investigation by our on campus health officials, we have determined that the fried dough stand from last night caused a serious bout of food poisoning in a number of students. Symptoms include nausea, vomiting, and hallucinations. The fried dough vendor has thoroughly apologized for the inconvenience, and we hope that not too many students were alarmed by these hallucinations.”
As soon as Dean Tenbrook had finished, the audience burst into loud whispers. “Silence!” Dean Tenbrook’s voice rang out over the crowd, sounding less controlled than ever. “For interested parties, we will be sending a card to the student who was most severely affected by this food poisoning. The card will be available in my office during free time.” Oliver looked through the crowd and locked eyes with Malachi. He continued scanning the crowd, eventually spotting the familiar physique of Paul. He sat hunched over in his seat, hanging on to Dean Tenbrook’s every word.
“Regrettably, we must inform you all that the prognosis is not good. We do not expect Robert to be rejoining us this year at Delafontaine.” A collective gasp emerged from the crowd and the sea of heads swiveled again, staring at something on the second row. Oliver stood up to get a better look, and soon the crowd was rising with him. In the second row, a sophomore stood up. Oliver recognized him from meetings, and his heart dropped to the floor. The boy, a red-haired boy stood heaving. “You lie!” He pointed an accusatory finger smack dab at Dean Tenbrook. She turned as if she was going to continue speaking, but the boy shouted again “You lie!” Then, a boy besides him stood up as well and joined him.
Oliver stared into the crowd for some time, before he got the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Amidst the chaotic cheering, Dean Tenbrook stared up at Oliver---and there was no mistaking that it was him she was looking at---with a look colder than the iciest New England winter night. Oliver stared back, emboldened by the oblivious cheers around him. It was certain then, that she knew, not just of The Disciples, but of his role in it. Dean Tenbrook was blaming him for this, and for everything.
As the students grew increasingly raucous, Dean Tenbrook made no movement to regain control. She, and Matron Charlie, and the matrons from the rest of the Delafontaine dorms looked up at Oliver, arms crossed and eyes dark. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Oliver knew that the tide was changing. The magnetic force that Delafontaine administrators had once held over the students was forever broken. It would only be a matter of time before anyone knew what that meant, but as Oliver stared unflinchingly back into the eyes of all the administrators, a cold feeling crept up within him that suggested to him that he had over stayed his welcome. And as if Dean Tenbrook herself had been in tune with his thoughts, she nodded sharply as if to say, Yes, indeed you have.
~
The guards slammed the door behind him. “Why don’t you have a seat?” Oliver assumed this was simply a pleasantry because before he had the chance to choose for himself, he was slammed down into the chair by two guards. A few seconds later, Malachi entered, escorted by two guards. Dean Tenbrook sat before them, looming and most definitely not smiling. She pursed her lips and waved the guards away.
“Why don’t we cut to the chase?” Oliver tried his best to look bewildered. “Where are Gabriel, Owen, and Alex?”
“Where’s Robert?” Malachi countered.
Dean Tenbrook smiled. “I think it would be better for all parties if I asked the questions.”
“You can ask, but we won’t answer.” Oliver said. Dean Tenbrook seemed unfazed. “That’s fine. I have a lot to ask you. Starting with this, found last night.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper that looked disturbingly familiar. “You recognize this?” Oliver scrambled to correct his face, but it was simply too late. “You do. This is your handwriting.”
“You can’t be sure of that.” He said. Dean Tenbrook reached into her desk again and withdrew his first, terrible history test.
“There wasn’t much to go on---other than your name---but it looks the same to me.” Oliver wasn’t sure what he was more embarrassed by, the found manifesto or his history test that had “25%” and “F” scribbled across the top in red ink. He looked sideways at Malachi, who was cringing.
“Your manifesto is interesting. I like it. You were always bright, you just didn’t apply yourself in your classes. Not like you applied yourself to this.” A chill went up Oliver’s spine as he realized Dean Tenbrook was speaking about him in past tense.
“We don’t know what you’re talking about.” Malachi said, but his voice wavered.
Dean Tenbrook broke into the biggest smile Oliver had seen yet. “We’ll get it out of you. Just you wait.” She waved her hands and the guards burst back into the room. A pair grabbed Oliver and he was dragged from the room. The last image he saw was of Dean Tenbrook smiling at him as the door shut behind them and a sudden blow to the head turned his vision black.
~
Oliver awoke with a terrible headache. His vision was hazy, and when he tried to move his arms, he found they were bolted down on either side of him. He was in a room, it seemed. Oliver rubbed his eyes again, and when his vision finally came into focus, he realized he was in some sort of hospital. He looked down at his body, and it was almost unrecognizable in a white hospital gown and tubes upon tubes going places he didn’t want to think about. He tried to lift his arms again, but as he did, he felt his vision go hazy once more. Oliver relented and stared at the tiled ceiling above him. He didn’t know how long he stared at that ceiling before the door creaked open and several people in scrubs ushered in. In a flash, they were all over Oliver. One woman stuck a needle into his arm and Oliver quailed as he watched his blood rush up the tube. Another bent down under his bed and changed his bedpan, much to Oliver’s chagrin. He tried to speak out, but he could not muster the energy. Soon after, he fell into a deep sleep.
What felt like days later, Oliver woke again, his mouth dry and his head dizzy. He sat there with his eyes closed for a few minutes so he could draw energy to open them. When he did, he found himself staring into the eyes of Dr. Heinz. Dr. Heinz was wearing scrubs and a face mask. He silently put his finger to his lip and he jogged over to the shut the room door. When he had, he removed his face mask. Oliver blinked, still too groggy to fully process what was going on.
“Oliver. I’m going to lower your dosage of medication. This should make you feel a lot better in a few hours. Can you hear me?” His voice sounded like it was coming through a tin can telephone. Oliver shifted his head slightly forward, but jerked back when spasms of pain exploded in his temple. “Now, when you’re feeling a little better, we can talk about what to do with you.” Oliver immediately began thrashing around to the best of his ability, knocking over his IV drip in the process.