Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal
Page 43
Bel. What was she doing on this night? Maybe she was sitting on this same hill. It was nearing midnight. She would be sitting, looking out into the darkness. By herself. Hal hoped she was daydreaming about petting Belisarius and feeding him an apple, not having old horrors wake in her mind. He shook himself, trying to shake free of that thought.
He tried to think about Jenny instead. Jenny wanted to be his girlfriend now. What was wrong with Jenny Savage, that he could not think of her as his girlfriend? She was really smart—past smart; she was brilliant. She would make a great lawyer in a few years, a federal judge in the future for sure. She was beautiful; she was sweet. Half the men on campus wanted to hit on Jenny, but she was with Hal. Still, he did not want to think of her as his girlfriend. That was crazy thinking! There was nothing wrong with Jenny Savage! Except, Jenny would never save his life with a sword thrust in the dark, just in the nick of time. She would never save his life a second time by leading an insane cavalry charge into an enemy army.
None of that was Jenny’s fault. Twenty-year-old college women did not lead cavalry charges, insane or otherwise. Not in this world. But he had had a girl who did just that. Not so pretty, of course. Certainly, not so sweet. But Bel had given up her happiness to send him home, knowing she would sit in the dark alone. Bel had said that the memory of the summer would be all she needed. Had she said that just so he would do what she thought he really wanted to do?
“Damn!” Hal buried his face in his hands.
Don’t dwell on Bel, he tried to order himself. Think about here. He was home, the very thing he had wanted so badly during that crazy year. He was back at school, where he had nice friends. Hell, he was popular. He had never been that before. He thought of his family, then saw that family dinner, saw the faces around the table, heard them doubt that he could be trusted on his own.
The image of the faces shifted. He saw the faces of the men at Gardiner’s Farm, the men who had looked to him. His men. He had left them. He had left Bel, too.
His steps brought him back to the dormitory. The floor was deserted. His roommate—no longer Bobby Marshall—was out. Hal changed out of his costume. His laptop sat on top of the desk. He’d written the letter in his mind on the walk from the hill. It took only a few minutes to type. He encrypted it with a password they would eventually figure out and emailed it to his friends. Then he brought up the home screen for The Great Game, smiled wistfully, and put the laptop’s lid down. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small fanny pack. Inside it were three glass phials filled with a grayish liquid. He hefted them in his hand and put them back in the pack, which he fastened around his waist. From the doorway of the room, he looked back at the few possessions he had brought to school. He left them untouched.
Then he turned out the light and closed the door.
THE END