by Brad Munson
What did they see on the way back here? he wondered. What have they been seeing all day?
It didn’t take long to clear the place out. In less than half an hour, all the children and parents were gone, and only the other teachers and their supervisor remained. The huge Cafetorium was empty, illuminated only by the safety lights now. The stadium seating had been retracted against the long walls; the stage curtains had been shut; the folding chairs had been stored away. Once again, the multi-purpose room had returned to its strange, architecturally androgynous state: it looked like a gym waiting to become a theater or a theater trying to become a gym.
Lightning flickered and sparked just outside the long rectangular windows mounted high above the grandstands. The view was strangely blurry in the electrically enhanced gloom; it took Barrymore a moment to realize that was because the glass was being pelted by a continuous stream of rain water. They looked more like the port-holes on a series of washing machines during the RINSE cycle than windows facing the open sky.
Barrymore was almost glowering at the storm. “Screw decorum,” he said to Trini. “We’re leaving together and you’re staying at my place tonight.”
Trini was watching the storm with him. “Surprise: I’m not arguing. This is weird, John. Just weird.”
He nodded. “It is.”
The climbed into their coats and stole a light plastic tarp from the supply closet for extra protection.
“You’ll be bringing that back tomorrow morning, I’m sure,” Douglas Pratt said as they approached the exit.
“No, Douglas, I thought I’d keep it and hang it on my wall,” Barrymore said, looking at the lemon-yellow sheet with entirely faked speculation. “It’s rather fetching.”
If Pratt appreciated, or even recognized, the sarcasm, his expression didn’t show it. “Early call tomorrow morning,” he said. Then he turned to the few remaining teachers and raised his voice to repeat himself, so everyone could hear. “Early call tomorrow! Six-thirty!” Then, back to Barrymore and Trini, more confidentially – as if they’d asked. “We need to make sure the place is ship-shape,” he said. “That’s your job.”
“Douglas, why don’t we just cancel classes for tomorrow? It’s going to be a mess out there.”
Pratt squinted at him in disbelief. “Did you not hear me earlier? Or did you simply not understand? The storm is ending tomorrow afternoon at the latest. There’s no reason to overreact.”
Lightning exploded outside the windows; the thunder that followed came far too quickly, and so loud everyone in the room jumped and cringed. As the rumbling subsided, Barrymore smirked at his boss. “’Overreact,’” you say?”
Pratt lifted his chin and turned away. “The decision is made,” he said without turning around.
Barrymore took that as a cue to exit. He snapped out the tarp as if he was laying down a picnic blanket, right over the top of Trini’s head. “Allow me to escort you to the Make-Out Sedan,” he said.
She tried to look scandalized. “James!”
He snorted. “Oh, yeah, like we’re the best-kept secret in Whoville.”
She looped her arm through his and they pushed through the door, shouldering their way into the dark and stormy night.
***
Pratt bustled off mere moments later, either to his office on the far side of the campus or to his home just a mile or so farther north. Now only Carole Ann Johnson, David Drucker, and Elli Monaghan were left in the Cafetorium.
Carole was staring at the pictures of the Little Girls someone had Scotch-taped to the wall near the exit. This last disappearance, the taking of the Greenaway girl, had affected her the most. Katie was one of her students. She had known her well. She couldn’t bear the thought that something serious, something bad, might have happened to her.
She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop staring. “It’s all so sad,” she said.
“I know,” Elli Monaghan said. Her expression was grim and determined. Carole Ann had never seen her look so serious before. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. “Did you see their faces?” She was talking about the parents, Carole Ann knew. They had all seen it.
She touched the corners of her eyes with a long red fingernail. It was a little trick she used to make herself stop crying. Sometimes it even worked. “She was in my class just before she … before it happened, Elli,” she said, hating the rough, tight sound of tears in her voice. “I know I saw her go out that door. And then …” She spread her hands. “Poof.”
David shook his head almost impatiently. “You don’t know that, Carole. She could have been in the assembly. Just because nobody remembers seeing her there doesn’t mean she wasn’t. There, I mean. She could have slipped out during that scientist’s boring speech. Or she could have gotten into trouble after that, instead of going out to the parking lot to meet her mom.” A shadow passed over his face. “And then there are her parents,” she said in a hushed voice. “I’ve been hearing some really strange things …”
Carole put up a hand as if to push that thought away. “That’s horrible,” she said. “I don’t want to hear that, that’s horrible.”
“Some of the parents at the meeting, they were saying—”
“No.”
They stood in silence for a long moment. When Elli spoke again, her words were very quiet. “It’s important that you know this. You didn’t lose her. She just … got lost.”
Carole Ann nodded and looked away, touching the corners of her eyes again. “You know what’s worst? I think I actually saw something. I just can’t remember what.”
Elli looked shocked. “What? What do you mean?”
“Something in the hall,” she said. “Outside my classroom.”
“What?”
She passed a hand over her forehead and suppressed a shudder “I don’t know. I just remember thinking at the time: Huh. Just a little surprise, you know? Like seeing something out a place – you know, a street sign that’s spelled wrong, or a painting that’s hung upside-down. And then one of the Jasons started poking one of the Heathers, and … that’s it. That’s all.”
“Was it a person?” David asked. “Somebody who shouldn’t have been there?”
“Maybe. Possibly. Or just a feeling, you know? That something …” she trailed off, thinking deeply … then shook it away. “Oh, never mind. It’s probably nothing. I just feel so bad, you know?”
Elli put a hand on her arm and smiled sadly. “I know. Me, too. But look, if you really do remember something, you should tell Sheriff Peck. Why don’t you go on home and think about it? Then you can call him in the morning, even if it’s a little thing. You never know.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I will … if there’s anything to tell him.”
“Good.” Elli pulled her wrap away from her shoulder and put it over her head. “Just get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“And cheer up!” David said, forcing a smile. “At least tomorrow’s Friday!”
Carole gave them both the briefest possible smile. “You’re right. Good night.”
“G’night,” Elli said, and slipped through the open door. David gave her a kiss on the cheek and aid, “See you tomorrow.”
Carole watched him sprint across the parking lot, but lost him almost immediately in the darkness and the downpour.
Maybe I should go back to the classroom, she thought. Return to the scene of the crime, see if I can jog my memory.
She shoved her hands in her pockets and turned towards the far door to the K-3 block –
Somebody was standing in the doorway.
She gasped and stopped short. It was a huge man-shape, all shadow, blocking her way.
It took a step forward and fell into the light.
“I locking up now,” Flaco Delgadillo said. He smiled uncertainly at her.
All the air whooshed out of Carole Ann Johnson. “Sorry, Flaco,” she said, and almost giggled with relief. “You scared me there for a second.”<
br />
“I’m sorry, Ms. Johnson. I just see the light on …”
“No, no, I understand. I just … spooked myself. Never mind.” She patted him on the shoulder as she passed by. “I’m done here now. You can lock up. And I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes,” he said very quietly. He had the strangest look on his face. “In the morning.”
She ducked out the door and splashed into the parking lot. It took a full minute of sloshing and stumbling to make it to her car where it waited for her, under the farthest sodium light-pole in the whole lot. Of course, she told herself, as inconvenient as possible. What was I thinking?
She bleeped the car open and threw herself inside, already thinking of hot chocolate with a splash of brandy in it. In fact, she decided, considering the circumstances, maybe more than just a splash.
She had the key in the ignition when somebody tapped on the window – a quick, metallic tap, as if someone was using the edge of a coin. She turned, startled, and recognized the face just outside the glass.
She rolled down the window, and caught a gust of rain in the face. “Oh,” she said, “What’s–”
Rough hands like claws darted inside the car and seized Carole Ann by the face. Three fingers hooked behind her right jaw. A thumb hooked inside her cheek. The other hand snaked around and gripped the nape of her neck.
“Wha—” she squeaked, strangling on fingers.
Carole Ann Johnson was dragged through the open window of her car in a single convulsive, impossible jerk. One shoe flew off and fell into the driver’s seat as she was pulled free and thrown to the asphalt.
The last thing she felt was the thud of the car window across her chest, the warm splatter of rain of blood across her cheeks, and a blinding hot flash of pain as she hit the tarmac.
It only took one slam. A boot rammed on the back of her head sent splinters of bone into her sinuses. Another kick sent bone-shards even deeper into her brain.
She was dead within seconds, her gaping mouth already filling with rain water, her sightless eyes staring into the deluge.
After a moment, her murderer turned Carol Anne Johnson over onto her back, exposing her ruined face to the storm, and began to work on her ...
Fifteen
Lisa Corman Mackie sat bolt upright and gasped like a drowning woman. Room 128 of the Borrego Clinic was very quiet, all around her, and very empty.
She was alone.
That was one very strange dream, she told herself. Something about a gray man made of paper, with falling teeth and glittering eyes and a rattling wheeze that said thirsty, thirsty, thirrrr…
She shuddered and forced herself to calm down, sitting very still and listening to her heart beat in her chest for a long time. Many minutes later, when the room had stopped spinning, she made herself get out of bed. There was no one else in the room. She wasn’t sure if there ever had been.
She stood up solidly – no swaying, no dizziness. She was all better now.
Ready to go home.
A phone was ringing at the far end of the hallway, but no one was answering. There was no other sound at all – not a groan or a cry or an intercom announcement. For one bizarre moment she was reminded of the deserted hospitals at the beginning of 28 Days Later and the end of Resident Evil – movies Rose had made her watch, just to see her cringe.
She looked down at the slightly soiled hospital gown and felt the cool hospital air tickling her naked butt. “Same costume designer,” she said to herself. “Different movie.”
Someone ran past the door – very fast and very quiet. “Hello?” she said. She crept to the door, the soles of her feet cold against the linoleum despite the slippers. She stuck her head out into the hall. “Hey!
No one there.
She padded down the hallway, towards the buzz of voices. They weren’t coming from the corridor or the waiting room. The reception desk was deserted. Even the computer monitor was blank and deactivated, looking like a window opening on a moonless night.
Not a soul. Nowhere. Just–
There was the bonk! of a dropped metal tray and a half-smothered curse. Off to the right, she realized, behind the reception area, down the corridor, through a set of double doors with one side propped open—
“What are you doing here?”
Angry Carrie was stalking towards her, straight down a hallway turned narrow and ghostly by walls made of sheets. The strange old nurse looked homicidal.
Lisa took a step back in alarm. “I woke up,” she said.
Carrie kept coming. “Why hasn’t anyone picked you up yet?”
Lisa blinked twice, baffled. “I don’t know,” she said. “Was–”
“We don’t have time for you! We have people with real–”
“Carrie!” Geoff Chamberlain stepped out from behind one of the mint-green curtains. “Quit it.” He looked weary and drawn,
Carrie pulled herself up short.
“Triage, please,” the doctor said to Carrie, wiping something dark and ugly off his hands. “I’m ready for the next one.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Carrie said, and turned on her heel – with one last poisonous look at Lisa as she disappeared.
“I don’t suppose you have any medical training?” he asked Lisa, as if he had been expecting her to be standing there in her backless dressing gown all along. He already sounded hopeless. “A First Aid class? CPR? A Girl Scout merit badge, even?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve been lucky. I mean, I – I’ve never even stayed in a hospital. Before. Now.”
He sighed and rubbed the sweat off his forehead with the back of one wrist. “Right. Well, you don’t get if you don’t ask, you know?”
Ruthie, the round young night nurse, emerged from another one of the cloth walls. “Doctor …?” she said, as if awaiting instructions.
“You can clean up Mr. Ruiz and get him into Recovery Two,” he said. “Carrie’s bringing in the next victim.”
‘Kay,” Ruthie said, and ducked behind a drape.
Lisa passed a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t understand. What's going on? It's like a disaster movie out here …”
“The storm,” he said. “We’re in crisis mode, and we’re short-handed. I shut down the lobby two hours ago; everybody’s coming through the ER now.”
She frowned. “What about that other doctor? The one you mentioned, Doctor Panja … Pan …”
“Oh, Panj is here,” he said, sighing. “Somewhere. But it’s just … too much.” He started down the hallway. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
Lisa followed. As she moved, the curtain-walls fluttered to her left and right and she glimpsed small cubicles inside – hastily formed examination and treatment rooms, each with a gurney and a jumbled assortment of equipment and tools.
Suddenly the corridor ended and she was standing in a long, wide space –what was supposed to be the reception area for the Borrego Clinic Emergency Room. But it had changed completely.
It looked like a third world refugee camp during a very wet war.
The room was filled with limp, soaked, hopeless people, coughing and weeping and cradling wounded limbs. The far wall, with the automatic double-door glass entrance, was a diorama of storm-driven destruction: a wall made up entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on a half-lit parking lot swamped by rain. Cars and trucks and SUVs were scattered every which-way across the glittering asphalt; passengers were staggering towards the entrance like drowning zombies looking for fresh brains.
As she watched, the double doors foomfed and split open. A middle-aged man, forty pounds overweight, staggered in, carrying a middle-aged woman who was only slightly smaller than he was.
Chamberlain dropped the conversation and walked straight to them. Lisa trailed tentatively behind him.
“Her arm is broken,” the man said. “Take care of her.”
Chamberlain took the semi-conscious woman from the older man’s arms –
very gently – and sat her in a nearby wheel chair. “How’d it happen?” he said, looking carefully at the woman, top to bottom.
“We were packing the car,” he said breathlessly. Lisa noticed that he was waxy and sweating under the rainwater. “I slammed the hatchback on her arm.” His voice was trembling, and Lisa realized that some of the moisture on his cheeks was from tears. “It was dark, man, I didn’t see her. We were hurrying, I swear to God, I didn’t – I didn’t –”
“It’s okay,” Lisa said. “Doctor will fix her up.”
He gulped more air and nodded too quickly. “Right,” he said. “Right, right.”
She turned to see the physician cocking an eyebrow at her as he palpated the arm. “‘Doctor’?” he said quietly.
The woman cried out as he reached the point of the breakage.
“Oh my God,” the man said. “Oh my God, what’d I do?”
“Seems like a clean break,” Chamberlain said, “but …” He looked up, looked around, raised his voice. “Carrie?”
The hyper-vigilant nurse with the nasty expression appeared from between two curtains.
“X-ray,” he said, and started to turn away.
Carrie looked as if the doctor had slapped her in the face. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m not certified. I’m not a radi—”
“You know how to work the machine,” he told her quietly. “I’ve seen you. And at the moment you’re all I’ve got. Now: X-Ray.”
Her eyes blazed. “I can’t just leave the floor like that!” she snapped. “Who–”
“Carrie, please!”
She glared at him with open hatred, then jerked the wheelchair from him and steered the silent woman down the corridor and out of sight.
“Sometimes,” Chamberlain said under his breath. “Some times …”
Lisa was still watching the other man – the husband. “Are you okay?” she asked.