The Quarry

by Mark Allan Gunnells

  “So if your car ever completely fell apart, you could just walk to work, huh?”

  At first Norman tensed up, thinking Emilio might be making fun of him, but when he saw no guile or cruelty in the boy’s eyes, he relaxed and allowed himself to laugh. “Never thought of it that way, at least not consciously, but I guess so.”

  Silence settled between them again, but it was more comfortable than before.

  The sound of the rain beating on the roof of the car sealed them in a cocoon that felt warm and calm.

  Norman steered the car around to the back of campus, pulling into the lot for resident students. “Want to borrow my umbrella to get back to your dorm?”

  “That’s okay, I’m just in Fort right over there. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Not a problem. It was nice running into you again.”

  Emilio nodded but did not get out of the car. He just sat there for a moment, staring out the windshield at the wet landscape. Finally, still looking straight ahead, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “What do you have to be sorry for?”

  Emilio turned and met Norman’s gaze. “The other night when I came by the security office, I sort of insinuated that you didn’t have justification to shoot Dale. That was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

  Norman couldn’t speak for a moment, images of his recurring nightmare playing behind his eyes. Reaching across the seat, he popped open the glove compartment and pulled out a pen. He rummaged around for a piece of paper, but when he couldn’t find one he asked Emilio, “Do you mind if I write on the back of those?”

  Reluctantly, Emilio handed over the folded copies he’d made at the library.

  Jotting down his number, Norman said, “I’m going to be honest with you, Emilio, I’m still a little torn up about everything that happened. And I think possibly you are too. Maybe we can get together sometime and…well, I don’t know, just talk about what we’re feeling. It may help.”

  “What makes you think I need help?” Emilio said with a trace of defensiveness in his voice.

  Norman smiled in an attempt to placate the boy. “Maybe I’m the one that needs help. Just call me sometime.”

  Emilio took the papers back, glancing down at the number with Norman’s name scrawled underneath it. He opened the door, rain slanting into the car, then paused and said, “Em.”

  “What?”

  “My friends call me Em.” And then he was out of the car, closing the door then making a dash for the dorm.

  Norman watched him until he disappeared into the building, wondering why he’d given Emilio his number.

  And hoping the boy would use it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  CONNIE MET EMILIO at the school library at five the next day, and they drove over to Yummies, a little ice cream shop near downtown. She had a stacked banana split; Emilio, a simple caramel sundae.

  She was withdrawn and quiet, using her spoon to create valleys in her mountains of ice cream but actually eating very little.

  Emilio wanted to ignore her detachment; to let her come to him first. She had every right to act the way she was, but he couldn’t resist the impulse to ask, “Something bugging you?”

  Connie looked up as if just realizing he was there. “What? Oh, sorry, guess my mind is elsewhere.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “It’s nothing, really, just…um, having trouble in Figure Drawing.”

  “Ah, can’t quite get the genitalia right, huh?”

  Connie reached over and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve already told you, there are no nude models.”

  “You aren’t fooling me. In the movies, there are always nude models in Figure Drawing class.”

  “Well, if life were like the movies, we’d all look like models and never go to the toilet.”

  “Are you suggesting I don’t look like a model?”

  Connie giggled. “You angling to pose nude for my class?”

  “You’re the Master Artist. You tell me—am I an inspiring enough specimen?”

  “Master Artist? Hardly. I’ve barely been able to draw anything for weeks, not since—”

  Emilio knew where she was going with that thought, and he knew it was a path she’d rather not go down, so he offered her a detour. “Not doubting your talent, are you? Sounds like a crisis of confidence.”

  “It’s not that, it’s just…I don’t know, I feel like maybe majoring in Art isn’t the smartest choice. My mother is lobbying hard for me to switch to Business Administration.”

  “But it’s not your mother’s life. What do you want?”

  “That’s the problem. I’m not sure. I mean, I love to draw and paint, but it’s not like I think I’m going to be able to make a living doing it.”

  “Maybe you can teach.”

  “I always heard that was for people who couldn’t do.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I think your stuff is terrific.”

  “Now if only you could convince the faculty in the Art Department. I’ve been told time and again that my work is too literal.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I tend to shy away from abstract art, and that’s seen as a lack of ambition and intellectual daring. Photorealism is out of fashion these days, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, at least you have a talent. I have no idea what I want to be when I get out of school. Why do you think I’m majoring in English? It’s the major for people who don’t know what they want to do with their lives but also don’t want to be Undeclared.”

  “I thought that was Communications.”

  They shared a laugh, the mood lightening a bit.

  “I guess this is part of what being a freshman is all about,” Connie said. “This is the time when we’re supposed to still be figuring things out. We have plenty of time left to make the big decisions.”

  “To the future,” Emilio said, holding out a spoonful of ice cream.

  Connie took her own spoon and clinked it against Emilio’s, as if they were holding wineglasses for a toast. “No one knows what it holds.”

  “And who would want to? Takes the fun out of life.”

  “Not that life has been all that fun lately.”

  “It’ll get better. Summer’s right around the corner.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be nice to be home for a while.”

  Emilio nodded but said nothing. His mother had called him several times since he’d been home for her birthday, but he’d avoided her calls and had not returned any of her messages.

  Shoving her half-eaten banana split away, Connie sighed and said, “You about ready to head back? I should probably start on that comparative essay for English.”

  “Yeah, and I’m way behind on my reading for Modern Fiction.”

  After tossing their trash, they headed outside and climbed into Connie’s Jeep.

  The sky was cloudless, and after the dreariness of the day before, everything seemed too bright, the colors too sharp. The air was warm but not oppressive and smelled faintly of honeysuckle. Definitely spring weather.

  Connie paused as she put the key in the ignition and turned to Emilio. “Em, do you think it’s possible that…?”

  “Do I think what’s possible?” he said when she didn’t continue.

  “Oh, nothing, I don’t even remember what I was going to ask.”

  She laughed at her own forgetfulness, but Emilio thought she looked troubled as she started the car and backed out of the parking space.

  * * *

  Teresa Brighton thought the student was never going to shut up. He’d shown up at her door only ten minutes before the end of her office hours and droned on and on about what courses he should take next semester. Teresa wasn’t really listening, couldn’t even remember the kid’s name. Instead she watched the clock. Finally, at half past six, the annoying boy settled on a schedule, and she shooed him out of her office, packed up her things quickly, and headed for the faculty lot. She didn’t like staying on campus any longer tha
n necessary these days.

  As she approached her Kia Sportage, her stomach seized with cramps and she started to perspire. Her pace slowed and her eyes darted, as if she were trying to see in all directions at once. Her hand slid into her purse and gripped the Tazer she’d purchase after being attacked. Feeling it in her palm made her feel safer, but only marginally.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel entirely safe again.

  It had happened on a night not unlike this one; she was rushing to get home before dark because of the campus curfew. Just as she’d been unlocking the driver’s side door, she sensed someone moving into her periphery. Turning, he had stood there as if having materialized from nothingness; she recognized him instantly—the one everyone was looking for, the reason for the curfew in the first place.

  She had seen the wrench in his hand, but before she could open her mouth to scream, he brought it up and bashed her across the right temple with it.

  She’d crumpled to the parking lot but remained conscious, until he brought the wrench down a second time…

  The next thing she remembered, she’d been lying down by the Quarry, the nighttime security guard kneeling over her. Then the ambulance ride, talking with the police, finding out what had happened to Dale Sierra.

  Shot and swallowed by the Quarry…

  Gone, no longer able to hurt me.

  And yet she still didn’t feel safe.

  She opened the driver’s side door, climbed quickly into the vehicle, and slammed then locked the door.

  She sat there for a moment, breathing heavily as if she’d just sprinted a mile, staring out the windshield.

  Something, sparkling in the setting sun, was twined around her wiper blades.

  She frowned.

  Stepping out of the car, Teresa snatched the object, every inch of her skin going cold as if doused with ice water.

  A familiar necklace.

  Silver chain…

  …heart-shaped locket…

  Clicking it open, she saw the picture of her mother.

  The same necklace she’d worn the night of the attack.

  Only…when she’d regained consciousness, it had been gone. Torn off her neck by her assailant, she’d assumed.

  So what’s it doing here now?

  She shuddered…

  And the back of her neck suddenly prickled…as if…as if…

  Someone’s watching me!

  Teresa jumped back in the car and peeled out of the lot.

  Chapter Fourteen

  EMILIO WAS HEADING toward the Hamrick lab on Wednesday morning, wanting to put in a little computer time before Art Appreciation, when he caught sight of Norman.

  Norman saw him approaching and smiled. “Hey Em, we’re just running into each other all over the place lately.”

  “Thought you got off at seven. Figured you’d be snuggled up in bed by now.”

  “Headed that way as we speak. Just had to go see Pam Wylie in the Block office and get some details hammered out about my next class.”

  “So how much longer ’til you earn your degree?”

  “Another year or so. I actually started USC right out of high school; got a lot of credits under my belt before having to pull out.”

  “What happened?”

  Norman shrugged. “Not a particularly interesting story, I’m afraid. Ran out of cash.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No sweat. I’m getting it done now.”

  “Good for you.”

  “So how is everything?”

  “So so. You?”

  “I’m all right, just…”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been having nightmares since…well, you know.”

  Emilio nodded. “Yeah, I find I can’t stop thinking about Dale myself.”

  “Well, I meant what I said the other day. If you ever want to talk, just call me.”

  Norman started to turn away when Emilio blurted, “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Well, I don’t have class on Wednesdays,” Norman said. “Probably just going to order a pizza and watch a movie. Want to join me?”

  Emilio started picking nonexistent lint off the front of his shirt. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “No intrusion, I’d welcome the company. How about seven o’clock? You can hang with me until I have to come to work at eleven.”

  “Sure, that’d be great.”

  “I’ll pick you up around, say, six-forty-five?”

  “I can walk, I don’t mind.”

  “Nonsense. Meet me in the Montgomery lot. See you then.”

  “Yeah, see you then.”

  Norman flashed those dimples again then headed off, leaving Emilio feeling slightly dizzy and euphoric. He wasn’t a drinker, but he wondered if this was what it felt like to be drunk.

  * * *

  Connie had intended to wait until Emilio’s Art Appreciation class was over, but impatience got the best of her. At around 9:30, she stepped in front of the classroom door and put her face up to the square of reinforced glass.

  She saw Emilio sitting at his desk and started waving to get his attention. Everyone else in the class, including the professor, seemed to notice her before Emilio did. He seemed indecisive and embarrassed for a moment then gathered his books and headed toward her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, following Connie through the art lab and out of Granberry.

  Connie led him around the side of the building where she leaned against the wall. She was jittery, as if she’d had too much coffee. But he knew that wasn’t it; she never touched the stuff.

  “So you haven’t heard?” she said.

  “Heard what?”

  “The police think that Dale might be alive.”

  Emilio flinched as if someone had just set off a firecracker next to his ear. “How is that possible? They were so confident that—”

  “I don’t know all the details, but the rumor going around is Dr. Brighton found something on her car, something she lost the night he attacked her.”

  “And they think Dale left it for her?”

  “They think it’s at least a possibility. And there’s something else.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know, but go ahead.”

  “No one has seen Sheryl Blanton since last week.”

  “They think she was abducted?”

  Connie shrugged. “I’m scared, Em. What if he’s still out there?”

  “No. He can’t be…I mean…he was shot and fell into the Quarry. Chances of him surviving that are awfully slim.”

  Connie debated whether or not to confide in Emilio. Anyone else would probably think she was paranoid or delusional, but she had a feeling Emilio might be the one person that would believe her.

  “I think I saw him the other day,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Dale, I think I saw him down by the Quarry after Bio lab Monday.”

  “Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t exactly get a good look at him so I just figured my eyes were playing tricks on me or something. But now…maybe it really was him.”

  “Think about it, Connie. Even if Dale did somehow manage to survive, would he be stupid enough to hang around campus?”

  “Who knows what’s going through his mind. If he truly has lost it, you can’t expect his actions to be rational.”

  “Are you going to tell the police you saw him?”

  “No. Like I said, I can’t be sure. And the last thing I want to do is get involved. Maybe I’m just suffering from Hysterical Girl Syndrome. But I will tell you this, I plan to stick by Kasey’s side tonight and not leave the room anymore than necessary.”

  “Are they going to reinstitute the curfew?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, but I’m not going to take any chances.”

  “You want me to stay with you tonight?” Emilio asked, although something about his expression suggested he didn’t really want to.

  “No, I’ll be fi
ne. I just wish this would end so I could put it behind me.”

  Emilio gave her an awkward one-armed hug, and she was grateful for it.

  * * *

  Emilio rushed back to his dorm room after work study. He only had 45 minutes to get showered, changed, and to the parking lot next to Montgomery Hall to meet Norman.

  The room was empty, Phil out and about somewhere, which was just fine with Emilio. He and his roommate got along well enough, but they weren’t exactly friends.

  After selecting a pair of tan slacks and his best button-up shirt, he headed for the bathroom.

  The door was locked. He jiggled the knob.

  “Just a minute, bro,” Tony called from the other side of the door.

  Emilio cursed under his breath, frustrated by the delay. He hated sharing a bathroom with the guys in the next room. “Suitemates” was the term, but they, anything but mates—and far from sweet, he thought with a dry chuckle—were often in the way when he was in a hurry.

  Five minutes later, Emilio heard the toilet flush and the click of the lock disengaging. He hurried in, ignoring the smell, and took a quick shower. He combed his hair with obsessive-compulsive fastidiousness, briefly considering using some of Phil’s styling gel before dismissing the idea; he didn’t really use much product in his hair and would probably just make a mess of it.

  At 6:35, just as Emilio was getting ready to leave, someone pounded on his door.

  “Just a second,” Emilio said, figuring Phil had just forgotten to take his keycard again.

  He opened the door and was surprised to see Steve Kenton standing in the hall, looking like a bull about to charge.

  “Steve, what are you—”

  Before he could finish his question, Steve shoved him hard, causing Emilio to fall back onto the floor. Steve stepped inside and kicked the door closed behind him. “Where is he?”

  “Who? Phil?” Emilio asked with genuine confusion.

  “No, dickhead. I’m talking about Dale. Word on the street is that he’s still alive, and since you two were the bestest buds, I’m guessing you might know where he is.”

  “How would I know?” Emilio said, getting to his feet and slowly backing away. “You’re the one who shared a house with him.”