Nightmare Academy

by Frank Peretti

  “Exactly! Both/and!”

  Elijah looked at Elisha. “Then stealing really is wrong!” Then he looked at Melinda. “And you really were ripped off!”

  The group began laughing, mostly at Easley's frustrated look.

  “No, no, not really!” Easley argued. “Not if the group doesn't think so!”

  “No? Not really?” Elijah furrowed his brow, working up his answer. “So either stealing is wrong and Melinda got ripped off, or the group is right and she's just sharing.”

  Easley countered, "Both Melinda and the group are right.”

  “That's madness!” said Elisha. “You can't have it both ways!”

  “Sure you can. Both/and,” said Easley with a shrug and a smile.

  “But if I'm hearing you right, you're saying Jerry should either believe what you're saying, or he's wrong"

  “He can believe whatever he wants.”

  “Then why are you trying to get me to see things your way?” Elijah asked.

  Some in the group laughed. Some moaned. Some were sick of the whole discussion. “Let's talk about something else!”

  “I'll tell you why!” said Easley, and his usual easy tone grew serious. “Because there's a whole world out there that is plagued by war, starvation, hatred, and bigotry, and some of us feel it just might be worthwhile to help the next generation rise above their petty differences and live in peace and brotherhood. That's what this academy is all about, Jerry and Sally: peace, unity, brotherhood. I believe we can do it. I want all of you to believe it. We've come a long way from the amoeba, folks, and we need to continue the journey as we were meant to do. We need to keep getting better, and then get still better, and then better than that, until we finally get there and we have one, big, peaceful world we can all be proud of.” Then he added in a parental, correcting tone, looking straight at Elijah and Elisha. “And all you two are doing is destroying the very things we're about, bringing division, factions, squabbles over words.”

  It was a stirring speech, and Elijah and Elisha could feel the winds of opinion aligning in Easley's favor. Every other boy and girl eyed them, seeing them as Easley did, as objects of shame and scorn.

  Easley's voice softened; he sounded like a preacher giving an altar call. “I think you need to examine your hearts, as all of us are doing, every day, and ask yourselves, what do I really want? To win an argument, or win a friend? To stir up strife, or live in peace? To create factions, or knit together a human family?” He addressed the whole group. “I think it's been a good session. We've been challenged and given a lot to think about. That's it for today.”

  He started to leave, then paused just long enough to turn and say, “Try sharing something. See how it feels.” Then he headed back across the field.

  A silence hung over the group like a cold fog. The kids watched Easley for a long, pondering moment before they could finally meet each other's eyes.

  Melinda turned to Charlene. “You can share my Walkman.”

  She nodded and said, “So can you.”

  Ramon looked through his shirt pocket. “I've got an extra pen if anybody needs it.”

  Brett called out, “Anybody who wears size 10, I've got a pair of sneakers I don't need.”

  They all rose from the grass, picking up ties, shoes, and blazers, and having quiet, peacemaking conversations as they walked away.

  “Okay, you can use the shower first.”

  “You can put your books on my side of the floor; it's okay.”

  “I don't need those pajamas; you can have them.”

  No one said a word to Elijah or Elisha.

  Except for big, strong Alex. He made a special trip over to the cottonwood to give Elijah a rap on the head. “Think you're pretty smart, huh?” Then he said to Elisha, “I'd stay clear of this guy if I were you.” He walked away, indulging in one final sneer over his shoulder.

  Elisha could see warning signs in her brother's face and hurried over to touch his arm. “Let it go. We don't need any more attention.”

  He took a deep breath, calmed himself, and nodded.

  Nate and Sarah were busily at work in the back of their van, compiling a database, bit by bit.

  A photo of Nelson Farmer, the tall, worried-looking rep from the Bureau for Missing Children, came up on Sarah's computer screen. “Nelson Farmer, Senior Director, been with the Bureau for twelve years.” She tapped in the print command and the printer started printing Farmer's bio and resume. She wagged her head, stumped. “The guy looks totally clean. Maybe he has delusions of power or something, but he's not masquerading. He really does work there.”

  Nate sat on the other side, his back to her, tapping at another computer and getting nowhere quick. “The sheriff's offices in Idaho have no record of any lost, wandering kid being found.”

  Sarah spun around. “Please say again?”

  “I've checked with all the north and north central counties. There is simply no record of anyone finding Alvin Rogers and turning him over to authorities.”

  She rolled her chair around to examine the blank report sheet on Nate's computer screen. “In other words, the file has been erased from the records.”

  “So no one can go back and find out exactly where Alvin was found.”

  “I don't believe this. How powerful are these people, anyway?

  They make youth shelters disappear overnight, and now they can hack databases?”

  “Well, we both know how easy it is. If these people knew where to look, they could have erased some history, and once the record's gone, it's gone. The first place Alvin shows up as a matter of record is with the Kootenai Medical Center in Coeur d'Alene, right before he was transferred to Harborview. So we do have him popping up in Idaho, but that's all.”

  There was a loud rap on the passenger door up front, and then it opened.

  It was Charlie. “Nate and Sarah!” He clapped, then rubbed his hands together. “We've found somebody!”

  They followed Charlie into the dining hall where they met Tyler, an older teen, nineteen to be exact. His life was much more put together since Charlie and Anita had taken him in three years ago. He was now living with an aunt and uncle in Redding, California, and he was planning to start college in the fall.

  “Came up here to visit some friends,” he told them, “and Charlie and Anita were two of them.”

  Charlie and Anita beamed with pride and joy as they all sat together at their quiet, corner table. Charlie explained, “We were talking about things, you know? How it's going and what are his plans, and then I asked him about this Knight-Moore Academy thing, and—” He immediately handed it off to Tyler. “Tell Nate and Sarah about that lady you met.”

  “Her name wasn't Margaret Jones. It was Suzanne Doming, and she met me on the street down in Phoenix.”

  “Phoenix!” exclaimed Sarah. “She's been around, if it's the same woman.”

  Tyler continued, “She invited me to get on a bus and head out for a summer academy where I could earn some high school credits and meet other kids from all over the country She made it sound great, but I told her no. Something that sounded that good couldn't be on the up and up.”

  “Don't suppose you can describe her?” Nate asked.

  Tyler thought a moment, then shook his head. “It was three years ago. Don't remember that much. She was kind of a red head, I think. She was young and pretty.”

  “How do you even remember her name after so long?”

  Tyler reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wrinkled scrap of paper. “She wrote it on the back of the brochure.” Nate and Sarah thought their hearts would stop as Tyler slid it across the table. “I stuffed it in my backpack and just left it there. When Charlie asked me about it, I remembered seeing something about an academy and we dug it out.”

  “Same old backpack!” Charlie wheezed with laughter. “Does God answer prayer or what?”

  The brochure was in color, one sheet triple-folded, and looked like it had been left in a backpack for three ye
ars. On the front were the words “Knight-Moore Academy.” Inside were photographs of a simple campus in a forested setting, classrooms full of bright, cheery students with their hands raised—apparently, all of them had the answer—and catchy claims such as, “Get a head start on your educational future,” “Learn as you've never learned before,” and “We don't just teach history; we make history!” On the back was Suzanne Dorning's phone number and the address of the academy.

  “Let's call the number,” said Nate.

  “I already did,” said Tyler. “It's 'disconnected or no longer in service.'”

  “But we have an address,” said Sarah, studying the brochure and copying it down. It wasn't much, just the name of the academy followed by Borland, Colorado. “Wonder if Borland, Colorado, is still there?”

  “We're about to find out,” said Nate.

  6

  RULES AND POWER

  THE ACADEMY OFFERED A CLASS in reading and English, 1 with a choice of morning or afternoon sessions. Well, it was afternoon, and the class turned out to be mandatory, so Elijah signed up for the 3:00 P.M. session. Happily, Elisha had signed up for the same class for the same reasons, and they managed to meet on the walkway fifteen minutes before class started.

  “Let's take that bench,” Elijah suggested, and they quickly moved to a small, concrete bench in the shade of the library, opening their binders and leafing through their materials for the benefit of anyone watching.

  “How're you feeling?” Elijah asked.

  “I think I'm finally awake,” she replied. “Do you remember the bus ride?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I think there was something in that soup we ate.”

  “I think you're right. I've talked to Marcy and some of the other girls in the dorm. None of them remember the bus ride, either.”

  Elijah made an effort to look like he was checking his class schedule and not look perturbed. “Doesn't that bother them?”

  She could only wag her head and sigh in frustration. “I think it should, but it doesn't. At least they're acting like it doesn't. Elijah, it's a fantasyland. Everybody's pretending. There's a weird mind game going on here.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Do you still have your radio?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have mine, too, but the headphones are gone.”

  “Oh, so you're sharing.”

  “Better keep a close eye on your stuff, what there is of it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I want to call Mom and Dad every night, whether they can hear us or not, whether we can hear from them or not. We could trade off each night to save batteries.”

  “Okay You want to go first, tonight?”

  “Okay.” She tried to smile and look like they were chatting about any old thing. “So. What are we going to do?”

  “Well, we got into this whole thing to investigate, so there's always that.”

  “1 want to call Mom and Dad every night,

  whether they can hear us or not,

  whether we can hear from them or not....”

  “Well, yeah, but. .

  “But where's the back door?”

  “Exactly How do we get out of here if we need to? I haven't seen a road anywhere, and where is this place? They won't tell us.”

  “We've got to contact Mom and Dad, that's priority uno. We need a phone. I'll take a pay phone, a cell phone, anything.”

  “Haven't seen one. And Bingham said there aren't any.”

  “There are. These people aren't going to go without phones, even if they expect us to.”

  Other kids were passing by, making a beeline for class. Elisha checked her watch. “We'd better get to class. Marcy says Mr.

  Booker is really strict.”

  Mr. Booker's reading and English class convened in a classroom—a neat, well-ordered classroom. The chalkboards were recently washed. The bookshelves were neatly arranged, with all the books grouped by title and with heavy iron bookends holding them in place so not one was lying on its side. There were desks for the girls on the right side of the classroom, desks for the boys on the left side, and down the middle, a perfectly straight aisle. Whitman, Hemingway, Thoreau, and Emerson gazed down from perfectly straight portraits on the walls. There was a certain reserve on the part of the students hurriedly taking their seats; they were talking, but not loudly, and every tie, every blazer, every shoe was present and in place.

  Elijah found an empty desk about halfway back—on the left side, of course—and settled in.

  Elisha found a desk on the girls' side, front row, on the aisle.

  “Hey. Sally, right?”

  A young man with bristly black hair and holes in his face where rings and studs used to be was smiling at her.

  “That's right,” she answered pleasantly. “And you are?”

  “Tom Cruise. You know, the movie star?”

  She gave him a careful, second look. "You're Tom Cruise?”

  He tilted his head back and gave her what must have been a Tom Cruise smile. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

  “I'm speechless.”

  “Yeah, just wanted to introduce myself. I'm—”

  He was interrupted by a rather rude backhand to his arm.

  It was Alex, with tie straight and every wavy blond hair in place, towering over him with a mean gleam in his eye. “I think you're sitting in my desk, bub.”

  Mr. Cruise said not a word, but gathered his books and went elsewhere.

  Alex sank into the desk, very proud of himself.

  Elisha was hoping there was a mistake. “That's your desk?”

  Alex just sniffed a laugh. “If he can be Tom Cruise, this can be my desk. Call it like you want it.” He leaned toward her, giving her a smile she was supposed to like. “So how do you like the place so far?”

  She looked him in the eyes. “I'm not sure I've decided. It's different. It's been very interesting.”

  He gave her a once-over as he said, “Well, let me tell you, it just got more interesting.”

  Suddenly, a loud, clear, booming voice at the back door startled everyone in the room. “Alex! I believe you're sitting in a desk reserved for Mr. Cruise!”

  Alex turned his face forward so he could swear.

  Hard heels came marching up the aisle as Elisha looked to see—

  “Eyes forward, young lady!”

  She turned forward and froze there.

  Mr. Booker, in burgundy suit, a thick novel under his arm, strode mightily to the front of the class. He was middle-aged and professorial in appearance, right down to the little black reading glasses and receding hairline, but there was nothing weak about him. The way he walked, stood, and glared, this guy was scary, and now he was directing his full attention on Alex, who had the gall to glare right back at him. “You will return to your own desk. Now.”

  "This is my desk, Mr. Booker, sir.” Alex had a mocking tone.

  The direct challenge made Booker pause, then tilt his head slightly, amused as if by a game. “How? By right of conquest?”

  Alex looked around at the other students. “I'm sharing it.”

  That brought a timid laugh from the others that Booker's glare cut short as if he'd used a pair of scissors.

  “So that's your truth for today, is it?” Booker asked.

  “Hey,” said Alex with a haughty grin, “that's how things work around here.” He looked at the rest of the class. “Huh? How about it, group? Agreed?”

  He saw a whole class, some twenty kids, afraid to express the slightest opinion.

  “Well,” said Booker, “this does present a problem, doesn't it? You have your truth, and I have mine. Just what are we going to do about that?”

  Alex gave an arrogant shrug. “Play 'both/and,' I guess.”

  “You've been listening to Easley.”

  Alex just smirked, gave his head a playful, confident little wiggle—

  Until Mr. Booker grabbed a fistful of Alex's pe
rfectly combed hair and slammed his head down on the desk. The sound of Alex's skull smacking into the wood made everyone jump.

  “Mr. Easley failed to include a vital part of the equation,” Mr. Booker growled in Alex's ear as Alex struggled and winced, his face beet red. "Power, Alex. Power. Something I have, and you don't.”

  As everyone watched, their hearts pounding, some trembling, Mr. Booker yanked Alex out of his desk—Alex's books and papers went flying—and propelled him down the aisle to a desk halfway back. He didn't wait for Alex to sit there; he put him there, and then barked at Tom Cruise, who'd found an empty desk near the back, “Mr. Cruise, you will take your assigned seat, please.”

  . . . Mr. Booker grabbed a fistful of

  Alex's perfectly combed hair

  and slammed his head down on the desk.

  Mr. Cruise leaped, ran, planted his hindquarters in that desk, then sat at attention.

  Booker put out his palm toward Alex. “Your tokens. All of them.”

  Alex, his face red, his eye tearing from being smacked on the desk, his hair still disheveled, dug into his blazer pocket and produced a handful of KM dollars. With obvious resentment, he dropped them into Booker's palm. Mr. Booker confined Alex to his desk with only a look, then returned to the front of the classroom, his dignity unruffled. “Mr. Cruise, I believe these belong to you.” He gave the tokens to Mr. Cruise, then turned, rested against his desk, and surveyed the class, meeting every eye. “Surely there are questions?” There was only silence. He shrugged it off, lightly throwing up his hands. "Of course. If there is no truth, how can there be questions?"

  His fiery eye fell upon Elisha, who looked back only when she felt him looking at her. “And this is the new student, I presume? Answer me.”

  “Yes, sir. I'm calling myself Sally.”

  He took a moment to chuckle at that. “Sally. A nice choice.

  Are you a movie star? A rock star?”

  “No. I'm just Sally.”

  “Well. First of all, thank you for wearing proper attire. There are those in this class who have had to be reminded—Mr. Jackson! Your collar is up! Thank you, that's better!—who have had to be reminded what ties and blazers are for.” He dug a KM dollar from his pocket and set it on her desk. “Now Sally, since you seem to be such a center of attention, would you please stand and recite.”