I can’t help but laugh. “Exactly. I recognized the scene right away, I just didn’t remember the name. Belloq, he’s the French guy, right?”
Beth is staring at Brian. “How did you get all that just from ‘his face melted off at the end?’”
He looks shocked that she’s asking. “Everybody knows that. He opens the Ark and looks inside and him and all the Nazis get their faces melted off and die.” Beth rolls her eyes; apparently everyone doesn’t know that.
We remain distracted a few minutes more, but before too long we’re back on the question of Dr. Walters and what, exactly we do next. It’s Brian who comes up with an answer. He’s looking at the drawing, and he asks me, “So this girl down the hall, she drew that just from your description?” I nod. “You remembered a lot of detail, to come up with that.” Yes, I did. “How?”
“I–I just–I concentrated really hard. I don’t think I did anything special. She kept asking me specific questions, and I answered them.”
“I bet you remember a lot more,” he says, not quite looking me in the eye as he does. “Probably more than you think you do.”
***
“Could you see the dial on the watch?”
I don’t want to do this anymore! I don’t want to keep bringing it back, looking at every detail. I feel nauseous. My head hurts. But the image is there in my mind. The watch is up on the dresser. It’s far away. Hard to see it. But I can just…
“Maybe–big hand on the twelve, little hand–at a right angle?” That would be, what? “Three o’clock.”
“Three or nine?” Beth asks, in the quiet, calming voice she’s been using the last hour, or maybe day, I’ve completely lost track.
“Definitely three. It’s to the right of the big hand, not the left.” I feel like my brain is about to start leaking out of my ears. I try to lift my head, sit up from my position lying flat on the bed, and I can’t muster the energy to do it.
“I think that’s enough,” Brian says. Even if my eyes were open I couldn’t see him from here, but I’m guessing he’s horrified at how awful I look.
“I agree,” Beth says, and I can feel her looming over me. “Brian, help me.
I feel her hand under me, and then Brian’s. The two of them together slowly, gently lift me up to a sitting position. Beth opens the door and leaves, to return a moment later with a glass of water, which she hands to me along with two aspirin.
It hurts to swallow. I try to open my eyes, and that lasts about half a second; it’s so bright! I hear a pathetic mewling sound, like a sick cat. I think it came from me.
“Turn off the lamp,” Beth says, and I hear a switch being turned. I very slowly open my eyes again. It’s still bright, even though the only light now is coming in from the hallway through the gap under the door. “How long–how long have we been at this?”
“Two hours,” Brian says, still holding me up. He sits next to me now, and my whole body sags against him. Two hours? It feels like two days.
“Can I go to sleep now? I need to go to sleep now,” I think I say. I feel Brian’s arms around me, laying me down. I feel the covers being pulled over me. I feel his lips touch mine, but I can’t even summon the energy to return his kiss. I’m so tired–so sleepy…
***
Sara is lying in her bed, in her room. Her eyes are closed, but she hears voices nearby, whispering, just loud enough for her to make out most of what they’re saying.
A male voice that she thinks could be Brian’s says, “What we did was really dangerous!”
A female voice, maybe Beth’s, replies, “I know. But what were we supposed to do?”
The male again, “I don’t know. But this isn’t like Scooby Doo or something. We’re not going to have some funny little adventure and pull a mask off somebody’s head and drive off in our van when it’s over. Two people are dead! Really actually dead! Do you want to be next? Do you want her to be?”
Sara can’t hear what the female voice has to say to this. She sits up, opens her eyes…
…and she’s in the back seat of a car, a VW Beetle. She realizes immediately whose dream this is when she turns and sees a white-faced Joe Karver next to her. In the driver’s seat is Beth, who’s cackling like a madwoman and who occasional turns back to grin manically at Joe. The car is going much too fast, on potholed streets through what looks like the bombed-out ruins of a city. Beth seems to be deliberately hitting every pothole and heading straight towards a massive conflagration off in the distance. In the passenger seat Sara sees herself, sitting there calmly and every so often saying, “Isn’t this a pleasant drive?” while Joe looks on in speechless horror…
…Sara is in a bedroom suddenly, a bedroom she remembers. One she knows. She knows what she’ll see on the dresser, on the walls, but now she looks more carefully around. There’s a datebook on the side table, and a prescription bottle. Without knowing why, she feels an overwhelming urge to look out the window; there’s something she wants to see–needs to see–outside. She only has a moment to look before the door opens, and she’s watching a scene that’s familiar and terrible. A man and a young girl, and she begins shrieking even before the girl does…
***
I hear someone–it’s me. I’m screaming–I’ve been screaming. How did I not wake Beth up?
She’s not here. What time is it? Eight-thirty. How long did I sleep? I don’t even remember going to bed. I’ve still got my clothes on from yesterday.
It comes back to me slowly. I was trying to remember all the details from the nightmares, Beth was asking me, Brian was writing it all down. And then I fell asleep, and I didn’t get up again until just now.
I try to stand up, but my legs don’t want to support me. My back is sore–everything is sore. My head is killing me. Why was I screaming?
I see it–it was the nightmare again, the little girl again. I feel my legs go completely and I grab onto the bed to keep from hitting the floor. I manage to lower myself down slowly, so I’m kneeling on the floor up against the bed.
The door opens, but I’m not even capable of turning my head to look. “God, you look terrible,” Beth says. I know I do, but however bad I look it’s nothing compared to how I feel.
It takes a while, but she gets me back up, forces me to shower and dress and go to breakfast. I briefly panic over missing my first day of classes, but she reminds me that they don’t start until tomorrow. I completely forgot that today’s a holiday, Martin Luther King’s birthday, so I haven’t missed anything.
Beth gets me back to our room, and makes sure I’m doing OK–as OK as possible, anyway–and then she leaves. She’s got business at the Psychology department. Even though it’s an official holiday, she’s got a hunch Ray the grad student will be there.
***
I’m still in my room. I haven’t been able to work up the nerve to look at everything Brian wrote down last night. Obviously I’ll have to–otherwise what was the point? But I don’t want to do it without him and Beth here.
Instead, I’m trying to take my mind off of the nightmares by looking at the syllabus for CHEM329, Chemical Aspects of Living Systems. It works; I don’t even notice an hour’s passed and I’ve read through the first two chapters of the text. It should be a fun class; I’m really looking forward to it.
I can only imagine what Beth would say about that. She’d probably pick the nightmares over CHEM329 if she had to choose. I guess a lot of people might, but I’m excited about it.
Beth picks this moment to come in the door. She stalks in like a woman on a mission. She sees me all caught up in my textbook and the sight snaps her out of it; she laughs despite herself. “That’s the Sara I know and love. You must be feeling better if you’re back to your old habits.”
She’s right. I can’t keep the enthusiasm out of my voice. “It’s really interesting! I can’t wait to…” Just like that the laughter�
��s done. She’s frowning now, sitting at her desk. “What?”
Her voice is sad, almost pitying. “You really were excited. I bet you completely put everything else out of your mind, didn’t you?” Yes. She doesn’t need me to answer. “I wish I didn’t have anything to tell you. You look a million times better than this morning. But I found out–you won’t believe it.”
“What?”
“You need to sit down for this,” she says.
“I already am,” I remind her.
“Right,” she goes on, completely ignoring what I said. “Well, first of all, Dr. Walters was married.”
***
Beth tells me everything she learned. She was absolutely right–all the dirt came out over break and Ray heard every bit of it. He was alone in the department office and bursting to tell someone. Beth didn’t even need to buy him a drink. “Well, just a Coke, when his throat got dry from talking,” she corrects herself. “It was the best fifty cents I ever spent.”
So Dr. Walters was married, and apparently most of his colleagues didn’t even know. He had a teenaged stepdaughter. Nobody had ever met or even seen her or the wife. Obviously that’s strange–what sort of person works somewhere for five years and never once mentions that he’s married and has a child?
There’s more. Last winter–December of 1988–there was some sort of nasty incident between him and the stepdaughter. The wife filed for divorce shortly afterwards. Then, to top it all off, that was right around that same time Dr. Walters was coming up for tenure. The other professors took an unofficial vote and it went against him.
The way it was always explained to me is that, if you go for tenure and get denied, that’s almost as bad as being fired. Most professors, when that happens, resign right afterwards, and it ends up haunting them in their next job as well. The story with Dr. Walters was a little different. Ray’s theory was that Dr. Korben, the department chair, went out of her way to ease the blow. She kept everything unofficial and let him know privately, so he could have plenty of time to try and find another job without a big black mark on his record.
All of this fits. Beth and I recap everything she learned:
He’s obviously a secretive and dishonest man–keeping his marriage from everyone he knew.
He’s got to be tremendously angry–losing his wife, stepchild and job all within a few weeks would upset anybody.
He must have had to sell his house as part of the divorce–that explains why he lived alone when Beth went to his house last spring, and why he moved out in July.
And the “nasty incident” with the stepdaughter–that fits right in with what he’s been doing recently. But she couldn’t have died or–or–well, anyway, if she had, there’s no way that would have stayed quiet for a whole year. The police would’ve gotten involved; he probably would have lost his job then and there.
“You’re the Psych major,” I say after we’ve been through it all several times. “Is losing his job and his wife and his house enough to push him to–to what he’s–to killing those girls?”
“I don’t know,” she answers. “It could be he was already most of the way there. Maybe the daughter suspected. Maybe he was acting weird around her friends. Or more than weird.”
She looks nauseous as she says it, and that’s how I feel now too. “If we weren’t already sure it was him, I think this would settle it.”
Beth agrees. “I don’t want to believe it. I keep thinking about all those times I was alone with him in his office. God, I just want to go in the shower right now and wash it all away, you know?” Oh, yes. I know exactly.
I hug her, very tightly. “Thank you. I know how hard that was. I don’t know if I could have done it.”
She hugs me back, and neither of us let go. “You realize we’re nowhere close to done yet. We still don’t know where he even lives now.”
No, we don’t. We also don’t know what exactly happened with the stepdaughter, and as much as I don’t want to know, I feel like it’s a piece of the puzzle we’ll need to put everything together. I wish I knew how we could find out.
Fourteen: Legal Eagles
(January 15-18, 1990)
Beth and I go over to dinner early. Brian’s going to come over afterwards and we’ve got a thrilling evening planned: discussing what we know about the homicidal ex-professor who’s going to kill another teenaged girl on Sunday if I can’t do something to prevent it.
In the interest of getting some protein into my system, I’ve braved the chicken soup tonight. In between forcing spoonfuls of it down my throat, I overhear John, a little way down the table, say something that catches my interest.
“What’s that about a law student?” I ask him.
He turns to me, surprised at my interruption. “Oh. Nothing. I’m just helping her with resumes, while I’m doing my shift over at the computer lab.” I’d forgotten that he works in the library computer lab. There’s always a work-study student on duty, to help anybody who’s having a problem, to unjam the printers and all that. And apparently to help people design and format resumes as well.
I wonder if a law student would know how to get hold of whatever legal documents there might be from Dr. Walters’ divorce? It’s got to be worth a shot. And it’ll also postpone going over all my recollections from the nightmares for a little while longer. I know how that sounds, and I agree, but I–I don’t know how I’m going to face it when we do all sit down and go through it.
“You’re meeting her tonight?”
“Yeah,” he says, clearly confused as to why I care.
“Good. You owe me a favor, and I’m calling it in. You’re going to introduce me to her and ask her to help me.” I didn’t mean for it to come out quite so much like an order, even though it is one.
He’s completely lost now. “What favor do I owe you?”
I try to keep the impatience out of my voice. I don’t do a very good job. “Diana Filardi.”
Comprehension dawns, followed almost immediately by more confusion. “That was Beth. She told me about Diana.”
I sigh. “Well, I was the one who found out and I told Beth, so she could tell you.”
Beth backs me up. “She did. I had no idea until Sara mentioned it to me.” Well, it is true. I don’t need to mention that if it had been left up to me, he probably wouldn’t ever have found out about it.
“OK? We’re all on the same page now? So what time are you meeting her?”
***
I walk over to the library with John. I wish I was with Brian so we could walk huddled together, because it’s bitterly cold. The wind is slicing right through all the layers I’m wearing. John doesn’t seem any more comfortable than I do.
When we get there, his law student is waiting for him in the computer lab. She’s the only patron there. I’m not sure exactly what I expected, but she looks just like any other student. She’s wearing a school sweatshirt and jeans; she’s got light brown hair tied up in a ponytail. When she sees John, she absolutely beams, and she asks him about his holidays with what looks like genuine enthusiasm.
I guess, now I think about it, I did have a picture in my mind: someone in a sharp suit, a cold, steely glint in her eye and maybe one of those ridiculous aluminum briefcases on the table next to her. That’s what I get for watching “L.A. Law,” I suppose. It’s pretty stupid of me, especially since I’m asking for her help.
They chat for a couple of minutes before John gets around to mentioning me and my reason for coming. She shakes my hand and introduces herself as Natalie. “I’m Sara. Nice to meet you!” She smiles, she makes eye contact, just like a regular person. She really does come across as a legitimately nice human being. I smile back at her.
“John says you need some legal advice? I don’t know what he told you, but I’m only in my second year, so I don’t know how much I can help you. But I’ll give it a try. What’s going on?”
/> I sit down across from her. “It’s not really advice exactly,” I say. “I just need to know if there’s any way to look at someone’s divorce papers.” John stares at me, and it doesn’t take a mind reader to guess what he’s thinking: something along the lines of “her boyfriend’s a freshman, how could he possibly be divorced already!” On the other hand Natalie doesn’t seem surprised–and why should she? She doesn’t know me at all; I might have a perfectly good reason to want to know.
I didn’t think it was possible, but her smile actually gets brighter. “That’s easy! I can definitely help you with that. Divorces are in the public record. You can request the papers yourself. All you have to do is go down to the county courthouse. You fill out a form–very straightforward, it should take five minutes. Then you just pay the fee–if I remember right, for Cuyahoga County it’s fifteen dollars and then a dollar a page.” She pauses. “Unless they’re sealed. In that case…”
“They wouldn’t be,” I say quickly. I hope they’re not.
“Well, then it’s like I said. Just go to the courthouse, pay the fee, you’re all set.”
That does sound easy. “Great!” I say. But I can see a potential snag. “How do I know which courthouse to go to?”
Her smile fades a bit. “Most likely it should be the county they lived in. But if you don’t know where that is–that would be a problem.” She thinks for a minute. “Maybe–no, I’m not sure where you’d go from there.”
That doesn’t sound quite as promising. Still, at least she gave me a place to start. The house where Dr. Walters lived is definitely in Cuyahoga County–you have to go way out past the suburbs to be in the next county. And there’s no reason to think he would have gotten divorced somewhere else. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.
I thank her. “It’s no problem,” she says. John asks me if I want to wait for him to take care of his business with Natalie so we can walk home together. That’s very gentlemanly of him.
Dream Student (Dream Series book 1) Page 24