When Stars Go Out

by Grey, Ransom;

  CRASH!

  A clanging din exploded out of an alleyway just behind them. Reagan yelled and spun around, dropping into a fetal position with his head wrapped in his arms. Riley dove behind Reed and nearly knocked him over as they scrambled to face the racket. With a yowl, a matted, tawny cat shot out of the darkness. It streaked between Reed’s legs, hurtled the curb, and disappeared on the other side of the street, tail flicking wildly. The boys stared after it for a moment, their steaming breath coming in short spurts. Silence settled back over the street. Reed gulped and relaxed the doubled fists he held in front of his face.

  Reagan unwrapped his arms from around his head and laughed shakily. “Ha! Just a cat! That’s all. I guess all this money makes us a little jumpy… right, fellas?”

  Riley and Reed quickly agreed, but Reagan still made them swear not to tell a soul about the embarrassing incident.

  They reached their destination without further excitement. This part of the city was mostly shopping centers and department stores, but it was fairly empty for a Friday night. It didn’t take Reed long to figure out that, in addition to his other abilities, Reagan was an expert on style. It was no surprise, and once this was established, Reagan took over as Reed’s personal stylist. He skimmed through the store, gathering an armful of clothes that he piled into a fitting room and insisting, despite protests, that Reed try them on.

  “At least just for laughs,” he said, shoving Reed into the tiny room and throwing a few more shirts in after him.

  He had other motives. As soon as Reed emerged, Reagan pounced and, popping open the top few shirt buttons, rolling the sleeves just so, and flicking Reed’s hair behind his ears, he stepped back, saying. “There! What do you think, Riley? Is that the hottest roommate you’ve ever seen or what? We’ll have girls by the dozens.”

  Reed colored as he eyed his reflection in the fitting room mirror. He had been told before that he was good looking—blue eyes, black hair, strong masculine jawline and firm chin—but it was different this time. The pale blue Henley with its tight fit around his upper body was not something he would have chosen for himself, but he liked it. Other people had called him handsome before, but hearing it from Reagan gave the word a whole new meaning. He turned a little in front of the mirror, tilting his face at every angle. “You’re just saying that. The girls are too busy with you to notice me anyway!”

  “There’s plenty to go around,” Reagan chuckled, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway. “But when you wear that with those Lucky Brand jeans I’ve got in there, I just might have to fight for a few.”

  Riley said nothing but looked Reed up and down from under arched brows.

  With Reed’s wardrobe settled, the three were ready for something a little more frivolous. They returned to the Boulevard.

  Several times during the evening, even amid the street bustle, Reed found himself looking over his shoulder. The uneasiness from earlier was back again, not as strong but definitely present. He tried to relax, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. He finally gave up and did his best to enjoy the activity around him anyway.

  They stayed at a café, meeting friends and taking in an astounding number of calories until the curfew bell sounded. As they strolled back toward the Hill, Reagan, a collection of bags slung over his shoulder, yawned. “Ah, I love paydays!”

  “Mmm…” said Reed, fighting off drowsiness and a sugar high at the same time. He looked back over his shoulder.

  Reagan caught the movement. “You’ve been doing that all night. What’s up?”

  “Mmm…” said Reed again.

  “I know,” said Reagan, “he can’t speak. The cat’s got his tongue.”

  “Hey! You jumped just as much as I did. And who squealed like a little girl?”

  “That was not a squeal; that was a… masculine exclamation of surprise. Anyway, the cat’s gone. You can stop looking for it now.”

  Reed did not answer.

  Chapter 11

  The next day was Saturday. Weekend or not, Hill residents were required to work a half day before the weekend could really begin. The roommates, having slept off most of the sugar from their late night, followed their normal morning routine.

  “It’s just wrong to do this on a Saturday,” moaned Reed after the alarm shattered the room’s silence.

  Riley mumbled some incoherent sentence that ended in a sleepy exclamation when he sat up and rediscovered the bunk above him.

  “Don’t blame me,” mumbled Reagan. “It wasn’t my idea. Man, I hate this!”

  The silent, rushed feel of breakfast had become part of a normal morning for Reed. But that morning, as soon as he walked in the door, he knew something was not right. The quiet pressed down on the room with a heavy foreboding. Whispers flitted through the silence like birds before a coming storm. Even the rattle of dishes from the dish pit was hushed and subdued. By the end of the meal, Reed was almost suffocating in the heavy atmosphere. As soon as they finished and escaped back out into the cold morning, Reed drew a deep breath of the fresh air in relief. “What’s up with that?”

  “I don’t know.” Reagan shook his head and drew his brows together. “Something must’ve happened. See if you pick up anything at work.”

  As it turned out, Reed heard about nothing else. Talk flew thick and fast around the belt, some fact and some fiction. No one person knew all the details but, in the end, Reed managed to piece together what had happened from many different accounts.

  The night before, a boy from the Dorms had been on his way down to the city just after supper, paycheck in hand. Somewhere between the Hill and the Boulevard, he had been waylaid by a single attacker, robbed, and brutally beaten. The encounter might have ended in a murder except that a group of Hill residents, passing by, came to his aid. The attacker fled on foot. Several of the boys had chased him, but he had shaken them off in the maze of alleys. The witnesses could only say it was a teenager, therefore a Hill resident. The Council and the city police department had already begun an investigation.

  Reed felt sick. The uneasiness he had tried to ignore all night came back. His gut had been right; they had walked right past a murderer lurking in one of the inky alleyways. He didn’t want to think about it. The sick feeling wore off as the morning progressed, and he had recovered himself by the time noon rolled around. But, when he left the factory at lunch and started toward the park’s entrance, he noticed men in heavy overcoats and dark uniforms posted along the winding road. The black figures silhouetted on the hilltops were cut out sharp and grim against the gray clouds. Police. Reed dropped his eyes and hurried past.

  When Reagan and Riley arrived at the gate, Reed was waiting by the bus. “So I wasn’t just being paranoid last night.”

  Reagan held up his hands. “Okay, so you were on to something. We came that close to getting mugged, but it was the cat that let us in on it, not you.”

  Reed crossed his arms. “And what did the cat do?”

  “Don’t you see? That punk didn’t know Miss Kitty was there and stepped on her tail or something. She let everybody know where she was, and he thought his cover was blown. He just waited for the next guy to come along.”

  It made sense, even if it meant Reed wasn’t the hero he had hoped. As they climbed into the shuttle, he consoled himself that at least he wasn’t the one stretched out on a hospital bed. It was a cheering thought.

  When they arrived back at the Hill, they discovered that the Council’s investigation was moving ahead quickly. More men in uniform were waiting in the parking lot as the workers unloaded. Officers blocked off the North Stairs, the Mushroom, the sidewalks, even the East Stairs behind the cafeteria. No one was allowed to leave.

  When the last bus emptied, Director Connors appeared at the top of the North Stairs, tall and stern against the overcast sky. Two men in black flanked him, arms folded. The guards pushed the teens closer to the foot of the hill as the superintendent quieted the crowd with a lifted hand. “You are all to proceed immediate
ly to your rooms and remain there until further notice.” His booming voice carried well in the cold air. “The Hill is under lockdown until further notice.”

  Immediately, the men in black herded the crowd up the stairs and pushed the teens into their dorms. Reed found Michael waiting at the door to his hall as everyone crowded in. When the last boy filed past, Michael shut the door and locked it from the outside with an ominous click.

  “What a day,” sighed Reagan, flipping on the fluorescent light above the sink in their own room.

  “I’ll say,” Reed grumbled, tossing himself up onto his bed. “This happen often?”

  “No, we’ve never had anything like this before. I don’t know what’s gonna happen next. I guess we just make ourselves comfortable and wait.” Reagan sighed and kicked off his shoes. “So much for lunch. I’m starving.”

  They waited. Over an hour later, Michael stepped into the room carrying a clipboard. He glanced around, wrote something down, and left without a word. Nothing else happened for a long time. At last, well after three o’clock, a boy from down the hall stuck his head in and said that Director Connors had ordered everyone down to the Square.

  “Here we go,” Reagan sighed, jumping off his bed.

  “How the heck are they gonna get five thousand people to fit on the Square?” Reed wondered aloud as he pulled a Baja hoodie over his head.

  It wasn’t easy. The crowd packed not only the Square, but crammed into the spacious area between the dorms like sardines in a can. Reed hardly had room to shiver in the cold wind.

  When all the halls had been emptied, the Director appeared at an open window on the second floor of Reed’s dorm and addressed the waiting young people through a megaphone. He informed them of last night’s events and explained the measures taken that day. The speech was filled with enough “for the safety of all’s” and “for the public good’s” to make Reed sick. He didn’t feel very good or safe with the dark figures of the police visible on the fringes of the crowd.

  The superintendent then laid down the law: no one under any circumstances was to leave the Hill that day or the next unless instructed otherwise. They were free to move among the dorms, but no more. Police would be positioned around the perimeter, and violators would be severely dealt with. That was all.

  This announcement was greeted with silence by the crowd but, as soon as Director Connors disappeared back into the room, an audible groan arose.

  “There went the weekend,” said Riley, shoving his hands into his pockets as the crowd dispersed.

  “Aww… it’s not that bad,” consoled Reagan. “Besides, this way I can have a captive audience when I dress Reed up as my fashion model.”

  Reed made an odd noise somewhere between a sneeze and a hiccup.

  Reagan patted him on the back. “Gesundheit. Let’s go back to the room, and you can watch the master at work.”

  In no time, he had Reed “fixed up” like the night before. When he was satisfied with Reed’s appearance, he focused on his own and transformed from the corporate office man to the swankified Reagan of the Dorms. He stood next to Reed in front of the mirror. “It’ll do,” he observed critically.

  “Do you do this every Saturday?”

  “Not usually. Just special ones.”

  “And what Saturday isn’t special with Reagan around?” observed Riley, spiking up his gelled hair with a comb.

  Reagan laughed. “I like the way you think… sometimes.”

  Reed had not anticipated the response his new look would generate once they left the room. He was noticed, even liked, more than ever before. He hadn’t realized before how strong was the correlation between style and status on the Hill. They dove straight into a whirlwind tour of the Dorms that Reagan called “hall hopping.” To Reed, it felt more like “whizzing.” They went straight from one dorm to the next, meeting people and playing games. The dorms were bursting with activity, throbbing with anything from games of “Sardines” to FIFA championships. When he emerged from Dorm Twenty Four, his ears still ringing from the beat of some enthusiastic hip-hop dancers, Reed began calculating which dorms were left unvisited. “That takes care of all of ’em,” he announced, “except ours and Dorm Eleven.”

  “Don’t count Eleven,” said Reagan, brushing off his jeans from a slide he had taken in a game of hall whiffle ball. “We won’t go there.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Let’s just say it’s the ghetto of the Hill, and not in the cool way. It’s on the east side where nobody ever goes. The Director puts all the troublemakers, misfits, and shady characters there so he can have all his rotten eggs in one basket.”

  The three returned to their own hall where they found a crowd of boys waiting, ready for Reagan to “get things going.” Always willing to oblige, Reagan set things in motion, sending someone to fetch his iPod and borrowing the largest sound system on the hall. He had no trouble with either request. That was how they spent the rest of the day. Reed wasn’t sure he had ever had so much fun in his life. If this was the Hill, he loved it.

  Much later, after the party had peaked and been broken up by a few of the RDs, Reed and Reagan ambled down the hall in search of the next thing to keep them busy. As they passed one of the rooms, Reed caught sight of a boy leaning against the wall who seemed to be watching them go by. As soon as their eyes met, the boy looked down and seemed to be busy with his phone. Reed had never seen him on the hall before. In fact, he had never noticed him anywhere on the Hill.

  “Who is that?” Reed nudged Reagan and gestured back toward the stranger.

  “Him?” Reagan glanced at the boy. “Oh, him! I haven’t seen him around in a while. He’s—”

  Before he could finish, a crowd of boys spilled out a doorway and collided with the pair, engaged in an all-out battle of plastic light-sabers and Silly String. Since it was a completely pointless melee, they joined in without hesitation. Forgetting his question, Reed joined Reagan in gleefully pummeling anyone and everyone with a saber borrowed from a fallen hero.

  He was beginning to really enjoy himself when a hand seized him by the scruff of the neck and jerked him out of the fray. Surprised, he found it was Reagan. His roommate held him back from the rest firmly, watching the scuffle from the sidelines with a look of complete innocence. Reed’s incredulity changed to sudden understanding as he caught sight of Michael trotting down the hall. He quickly dropped the saber.

  “Okay, okay, break it up! I said break it UP!” the RD bellowed above the din. The fight subsided.

  “Everybody get back to your rooms,” Michael ordered. “If you’re not from this dorm, then get back wherever you belong; it’s five minutes till curfew.”

  He sounded tired and cranky. The crowd began to disperse immediately. As Michael turned away, Reed heard him mutter under his breath, “Man, this lockdown’s gonna kill me.”

  As the rest of the boys scattered to their rooms, the stranger Reed had seen earlier slipped through the thinning crowd and out the door, one of the last to leave.

  Chapter 12

  The next day went much the same. No one had to work, but the lockdown was still in place. The Hill residents were forced to amuse themselves among the Dorms. Reed stuck with Reagan most of the day, enjoying his new popularity and adding to his collection of acquaintances. He ran into a few old faces as well, like Hunter. They had a brief conversation, more relaxed and less awkward than their previous two. Reed decided he and Hunter might actually get along well in the future.

  The day progressed and the partying continued. That night, sitting at supper in the Mushroom, Reed had to marvel at how they had managed to keep so busy all day. The usual clamor of suppertime filled the Mushroom: loud talk, laughter, clattering plates, and grating chairs. Reed sat with his roommates, listening to the jovial hubbub and enjoying his macaroni and cheese.

  Suddenly, a deathly hush fell over the cafeteria. Reed glanced up from his plate. All eyes were fixed on the main door behind him. He turned around. A man i
n a dark uniform and long black overcoat blocked the steps. He was tall, feet set apart and hands held behind him, and the whole room went cold beneath his stretching shadow. Director Connors stood behind him, flanked by several men in uniform.

  “Who’s that?” Reed breathed to Riley.

  “Vonhauser, the Council’s head of police.”

  Reed’s mouth went dry, and he eyed the man in a kind of fearful awe. The silence thickened for several awful moments as the man ran his eyes over the tables. At last, he spoke, each clipped word cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a blade cleaving an apple. “This building has been completely surrounded. All exits are closed.”

  Everyone turned to the back of the room where an emergency exit opened to the outside. Several policemen had entered and now barred the way out.

  The man continued. “Remain where you are. The Council wishes to apprehend a fugitive.” He flipped out a leather binder from under his arm. The silence was agonizing. Slowly, he read out a name.

  “Joseph Desrok-Mosler.”

  There was a gasp from across the room. Half a dozen teenagers leapt out of their chairs and scattered like frightened rabbits. One staring boy was left alone. Pools of terror filled his wide eyes with the look of a trapped animal. His fork shook as he laid it on the table and stood up. Two officers from the back wall swooped down on him and marched him to the front of the room.

  The towering man frowned down on him from the top of the steps. “On charges of robbery, assault and battery, and attempted murder, you are under arrest by order of the Council.”

  He stepped aside. The two officers pushed the prisoner up the stairs toward the front door. The rest followed in a single line. Vonhauser, ignoring the remaining teens, snapped the folder shut and stalked out. The door swung shut. They were gone.

  The silence hung in the air for a moment more. Then commotion broke out as everyone began talking at once and shoving back their chairs. In record time, the dining hall emptied. As soon as he was outside, Reed let out a long breath. “So they caught their thug. That’s a relief.”