Chapter Nine

Five minutes later Tess and Maya were walking once more. Maya’s hands were thrust deep in her pockets and her eyes were focused on the ground. Tess looked at her face in profile.

“Maya –– what happened back there?”

“Nothing, I was just kidding.”

“Kidding? You were screaming. That guy nearly beat me into a jelly because he thought I was trying to attack you.”

“I guess you kind of had to be there.”

“I was there. He threatened to club me to death with my own kidneys.”

Maya turned and hugged him impulsively.

“I know, I’m sorry about that. I just … I just thought I saw something I shouldn’t have…”

“What? I don’t get it…”

“Well, let me answer your question with another question. What’s the deal with the flag?” She pointed across the quad to the sandstone gatehouse framing the entrance to the campus. Atop the structure were two flags: one, the American flag, the other bearing the school crest: a shield bearing three crosses and a blue boar, trippant, to the dexter –– although boars aren’t usually quite so menacing. The latter flag was at half-mast.

“What about it?”

“Why’s it down like that?”

“I think they do it when somebody connected with the school dies.”

“But sometimes it’s the school flag, sometimes the other flag, and sometimes both. They’re really random. And I didn’t hear about anyone dying…”

“Why else would they do it?”

She laughed. “Maybe they’re sending messages in semaphore.”

“Yeah. SOS –– Send more corn!”

“Defend Minas Tirith…and SAVE!”

“Learn at Joe’s.”

“No shirt, no shoes, no Schopenhauer.”

“Trespassers will be educated on sight.”

Maya laughed again. “Thanks again for keeping me from getting squished at the party,” she said. She squeezed his arm impulsively and sat on the edge of the pedestal to the Obelisk for the Once and Future Student, a twelve foot tall bronze edifice crafted to resemble a tower of haphazardly piled books, desks, mattresses, and other student essentials. For the last six decades or so it had been a favorite venue for drunken make-out sessions, impromptu free climbing competitions, and other such youthful bacchanalian shenanigans. Tess seated himself next to Maya.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk…”

“I love this thing,” she said, quickly.

“I’ve never really looked at that closely before,” Tess admitted.

“You can learn a lot. For example,” she said, glancing at the small plaque fixed to the pedestal, “that TU apparently hasn’t changed its dorm furniture since at least 1935.”

“Holy shit, you’re right.”

“Oh, it’s just great,” she went on. “And the details are amazing. I always find new little things in the nooks and crannies. Like, there are little bronze chess pieces all over the place. And look at this funny lopsided little pot. I wonder who ‘Emily’ was?”

Tess, who had been trying to determine whether the substance he was sitting on was gum or merely gummy, was somewhat startled to find himself suddenly asked a question.

“Wait,” he said. “Emily who?”

“That is the question, yes.”

“No, I mean, where do you see an Emily?”

“Well, it’s pretty dark now but on the pot it says ‘Emily.”’

Tess directed his gaze where she indicated, leaned in closer, saw what he could not possibly be seeing, and staggered back onto his feet, flummoxed at the sheer, bloody-minded, insane, infuriating impossibility of it all.

“Maya,” he said, “that’s my pot!”

“No it’s not. It’s Emily’s.”

“No, Emily made it and gave it to me! It was a gift –– it’s lopsided because she has low-grade narcolepsy and she fell asleep at the pottery wheel and then she said left it that way because suddenly falling asleep while she’s being nice to me is kind of her signature and anyhow what’s it doing bronzed?”

Maya had initially been laughing at this outburst but slowly trailed off as she saw he was serious. Tess had his head in his hands as he staggered farther back to stare at the tower in its full height –– regarding it now, for the first time, as what it truly was: a majestic, towering, artistic middle finger, delivered express to him from the universe.

“Maya! That statue is made out of all the stuff from my room.”

***

The following morning Tess, Maya, Al, and Clear were assembled before the obelisk. Al approached it, examined it from several angles, and returned to the group with his hands in his pockets. He rocked on his heels.

“Well, shit,” he said after a time. “It is an impressive prank.”

Clear, for once, was speechless. She nodded her agreement.

“Tess and I talked about it last night,” said Maya.

“Yes, I imagine you would,” said Al.

“We don’t have a lot of good explanations. One; a shadowy conspiracy –– possibly under the direction of the mafia, the Freemasons, the RAND Corporation, reverse vampires or the Bavarian Illuminati –– and including your friends and family, has been working for years to maneuver you to into acquiring all the things in this statue and then take those things and only those things to college with you. Once at college you are prevented from ever examining the statue closely until all of your things are stolen from you. Two; the obelisk, although here all along, has somehow been modified recently to correspond perfectly to your stuff. Three; the obelisk was constructed by time traveling pranksters or possibly it ages backwards like Merlin. Four; there is always witchery. Finally; Kincaid, who may fall under any or all of the above.”

Al glanced at Tess, who nodded at him in a rather wide-eyed sort of way.

“I wonder,” said Al levelly, “how they managed the bronzing. Like, whether this is a replica of all of our belongings, whether they have actually been coated in bronze, or whether they were transmogrified somehow. I imagine that any of those options would require a not insubstantial investment of both time and energy, either of which would seem to rule out most students.”

“Yes, but why? Seems like a lot of work for a prank.”

Clear had recovered her élan at this point and was at her most gung-ho. Deciding that the conversation was unlikely to answer much, she set to climbing the offending tower.

“It might be a warning,” expounded Maya, ticking off her fingers, “a message, a joke, or something not meant for us at all, although that seems a bit unlikely, considering…”

Tess winced as Clear seemed to slip on the dew-slicked tower at about the nine foot mark but she righted herself and continued upward.

“At this point,” he offered, “I’d be happy to say the hell with explanations and just have my pillow and underwear back.”

Maya cheered: “Hey! Clear made it. Nice job.”

Clear waved back with one arm. “Al! I found your boxers. Also your retainer case and your ‘curves’ book.”

“That is joyous news about the boxers, ephemeral though they may be,” he called back. “But what book did you say it was?”

“It has ‘Stable Closed Timelike Curves’ embossed in the cover.”

“Not mine. Tess?”

Tess shook his head slowly. There was a pregnant pause. Maya thrust her fist into the air like a general marshaling her troops: “to the book depository!”

***

The library was empty of all but the most earnestly type-A brainboxes of the students that morning. After considerable looking they found the book wedged behind several others three shelves above where it should have been. The slim volume, which appeared to have been rebound many times, bore no title and they only found it by referring to the call number. Maya opened it at random and inserted her nose between the pages.

“Yup, smells like a library.”

They retreated a group study room on the second floor, and all gathered around Maya –– all, that is, except for Clear, who took up a dry-erase marker and set about illustrating herself shooting dinosaurs with a tommy gun on the whiteboard. Maya thumbed quickly through the body of the book.

“Stable Closed Timelike Curves,” she read. “By J.E. Sterne, Tyler University Press, 1937.”

“Ha,” called out Clear over her shoulder, as she adjusted the illustration to show herself shitting a rainbow. “The TU connection strikes again.”

“Math. It’s all just graphs and equations,” Maya said. “No, wait. Here’s something at the end. There’s an appendix.”

“What’s it say,” hollered Clear, causing passersby in the hallway to look through windows at them..

“‘The unique conditions that obtain in the Pocker’s Bluff region, first noted by resident Jobediah Scratch in 1839,’” –– here Clear commenced drawing a smiling farmer on a hill wielding a nasty-looking pitchfork –– “‘appear to permit the establishment and maintenance of the exotic energy (weak energy condition) necessary for the creation of a stable, closed timelike curve of the sort posited by Ludwig Flamm as a solution to the Einstein field equation (Sterne, 1932; Flamm, 1916; Einstein 1929; Rosen 1927). They likewise appear to shield the curve from the difficulties that have hitherto plagued comparable constructs elsewhere.’ And then somebody’s written ‘quantum vacuum fluctuations’ with a bunch of question marks in the margin here.”

Al rose from the table and used another marker to add little devil horns and a pointy tail to Clear’s farmer. Maya continued:

“‘A closed timelike curve of this sort will consist of an alpha terminus and a beta terminus of stable mutual temporal distance and stable relative spatial difference (i.e., the termini remain coterminous). Resultingly the termini will not age relative to one another but will rather age pari passu with their respective local temporal reference frames. A consequence of this is that the subject cannot travel to a point preceding the creation of the alpha terminus nor can she in subsequent trips access termini contemporary with or preceding the previous terminus.’”

Clear adjusted her non-tommy-gun hand so that it was hurling bombs at Al’s devil farmer, who now wore suspenders and a straw hat, and was riding a unicorn bearing a “soy bomb” tattoo on its flank. Maya soldiered on:

“‘Transit of a closed timelike curve in order to revise one’s own causal antecedents causes the primary universe to split at the moment of transition into a set of subsidiary or satelite universes with ratios / probabilities determined by solutions to the probability waveform.’ Ok. Now someone else gas written ‘Copenhagen, Everett, DeWitt, Wheeler’ in blue pen here. It goes on: ‘Self-contradictory chronological paradoxes’ (‘Echeverria, Klinkhammer’ in the margin here. Also ‘matricide paradox’) ‘are thereby prevented, in that the subject cannot access her own causal antecedents but merely gains access to her corollary temporal antecedents created ex post facto in the subsidiary universe(s). Hence, the subject’s personal chronology remains pristine, as do all subsidiary local chronologies.’ That’s it. There just a bibliography afterward.”

“Sure it’s gripping,” said Clear, who was just applying the finishing touches to a flock of aliens gang-probing the devil farmer, “but does it get us anywhere?”

“I think I remember hearing a bit of that in the lyrics to a Violent Femmes song,” Al offered.

“As clues go,” said Maya, “this one could use some improvement.” Tess picked up the book and started paging from the beginning. A few pages in he stopped.

“These two are stuck together,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Clearly somebody really likes math,” Al observed. There was a pause of seven seconds, after which Clear laughed and Maya wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. Tess separated the offending pages.

“I really have to stopped being shocked by this kind of thing,” he said, “but what the hell. It’s the dedication page: ‘For Tess and the gang. Perhaps you should all consider visiting your closet.’”

“To the coat depository!”

The shut off the lights as they left, leaving whiteboard Clear, the devil farmer, the aliens, the unicorn, and about twenty angry cavemen to resolve their differences in darkness.

***

The room was bare, as it had been left. Tess found it looked unnervingly like an empty eye socket. The assembled around the closet door and Clear removed her right shoe, which she held over her head like a bludgeon. Tess swung open the door, and they all exhaled.

“Nothing here but dusty bunnies, two coat hangers, and a fuse box,” Maya said. Clear grunted thoughtful and rooted in her pocket, finally pulling out a pocket knife, which she flipped open with a flourish.

Maya’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to hunt us for sport, are you?”

“It’s a big world out there –– a girl needs to protect herself.” She inserted the point of the blade into a small keyhole on the face of the box and jabbed it around for a few moments until there was a click and the door to the box opened slightly.

“Well,” she said, swinging the box open, “there you have it.”

Within the box was a horizontal groove with notches cut downward at both ends. The left notch was marked with an α and the right with a β. There was was a small slider with a nob resting at the right notch. Tess stepped into the closet with Clear.

“What happens when you move that?” he asked. Clear moved the slider up from its notch but midway along the grove she stopped.

“Something’s blocking it.”

“It’s about level with the doorknob,” said Maya.

Tess pulled the door shut and turned the deadbolt –– odd thing for a closet to have –– and the small space was dark, but only for a moment. There was a tinkling and then Tess found his face illuminated by the small penlight on Clear’s keychain. She tried the slider again. Still blocked. She played the light around the closet. At the base of the rear wall was a small handle that had not previously been visible. She pulled upward and the entire wall lifted, while behind Tess a similar partition lowered to block the door through which they had entered. Where the rear wall had been was a new door, identical to the first. Clear twisted the new knob and found it would not turn. Tess try the slider and found it was now unblocked. He moved the rest of the way and it came to rest with a click in the leftmost notch.

“Try the knob again,” he suggested. Clear did this and the door swung open freely.

It was Tess’ room, but not as it had been. Where the room had been empty, this one was full of things: desks, books, an antique lamp. Tess heard swing music on a scratchy phonograph recording and, in the distance, the light sound of rain. Just then a young woman stepped into view, took one look at the two of them, and started screaming her head off.

But only for a moment. She was elbowed aside by another woman, somewhat older than she, wearing glasses and with her hair in a bun.

“Now then,” she said to them briskly, “ let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?”

Chapter Eight

“Well, that takes care of some attachments,” Al offered.
Tess stared into the room which had once contained all of his most prized possessions. The framed photo of his family, the hand-made and lopsided clay teapot Emily had made him, the alabaster-and-onyx chess set, all gone. Everything which was important to him (and which could be fit into the back seat of a small station wagon) had been in this room, and now it was . . . where? Not here, at any rate.
“This nicely bookends a long day,” Tess said, when he had collected himself. Somehow the room looked even smaller without any furniture.
“Good for the soul,” Al replied.
“Moving all that furniture out must have made a lot of noise. Maybe someone knows who took our stuff. I’ll go ask the RA.”
“Oh. Good luck with that.”
Tess gave Al a quizzical look.
“No one’s ever talked to the RA on this floor,” Al explained. “I’ve never even met him. Some say he goes by another name when he’s not in his room, and comes and goes via the window so that no one can ask him to do anything. Others say he’s hideously scarred, and won’t let anyone see his features because he hates the screaming.”
“Great, so we’ve been here all of a month and already the guy has skip-rope rhymes made up about him? I don’t care, I’m going to ask him.”
Tess marched down the soggy dormitory corridor, his already ample frustration growing with each step. He stopped in front of the cheap plywood door of room 237, decorated with nothing but a name plate bearing the words “Residence Assistant.” Like most of the dorm doors, there was a gap between it and the floor which allowed for the easy interchange of noise within and without. Someone had made an addition to this door, though – an extra piece of plywood had been nailed to the inside to narrow the gap, and tape had been added below to prevent any light from escaping.
Tess knocked. After a moment, there was a creak from within. It could possibly have been someone hiding alone in the darkness shifting their weight as they pondered breaking their self-imposed exile. It could also have been a window sliding along its track, to allow egress to a fleeing slacker. Tess knocked again, louder. As he waited for a response, he looked up and down the hall, and saw no signs of life. Frustrated, he flung himself at the door, battering the door with both hands, and giving it a kick for good measure. Still, there was nothing from within. The RA was presumably out doing whatever the normal students were doing. His outburst left him feeling foolish, and he had hurt his left foot. He retreated to his room.
“So, who won the fight?” Al asked him when he returned to their empty room.
“Door.”
“They’re a fierce breed, and quick to anger.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I’m thinking I’ll sleep over at Clear’s tonight. I’ll make sure to ask if she took all our stuff.”
“Where am I going to sleep?”
“You could sleep on the floor. Or, if you think that doesn’t sound like fun, you’ll have to come up with a friend who can help you out.”

* * *

Tess was alone in the coffee shop, save for the student working the counter, who had a spread of chemistry problems open on the counter. Tess was nursing a small Earl Grey while he waited for the place to close, so that he could sleep on the overstuffed couch. Time passed. He surveyed the battered board games, and the shelf full of books that had been left behind by generations of previous students. Most of them featured muscular men holding swooning women or else shooting spies on the cover. They seemed to represent two distinct genres, and yet there were a number of visual similarities. Some of the books were quite old.
One in particular caught his eye. The ancient-looking leather cover claimed to be a history of the founding of the university. He flipped it open to a random page. He read:

“The Hall of Philosophy, John Tyler University’s first Building, Erected in March of Annus Dominem 1941 upon Pocker’s Bluff. Students and Faculty alike Studied and Slept in the Building. Food was Provided by a small Kitchen Staff, who Took daily Oxcart Trips to the neighboring Farms. This State of Arrangement Maintained until Annus Dominem 1854, when the Hall was Destroyed by Tornado, Fire and Earthquake. The Majority of the Faculty, Students, and Staff Were Sadly Sent to Their Maker in the Course of the Tragedy. At the Time, This was Blamed upon Eminent Industrialist Philip Crowley, whom the Farmfolk Accused of Making Use of the University for Unsavory Dealings and Congress in the Dark Arts.
“Such Crack-Pots and Fancy-Merchants Were Dismissed, as Finances Were Provided for the Restoration and Expansion of the Fine University!”

Tess was interrupted here by a shadow falling over the book. He looked up.
“Hi Tess,” Maya said.
“Oh, hi,” Tess replied.
“Can’t sleep? Me neither. I guess I must still be surging with adrenaline thanks to my brush with Ford.” She gave a little laugh at her own joke.
“I don’t know. Someone stole all my stuff, so I haven’t had a chance to try yet.”
“They even took your bed?” Maya asked, incredulous.
“Yeah. When Al and I got home, there was nothing left at all. It’s nice to know we have such industrious pranksters around.”
“Oh yeah. You don’t want to be the victim of a half-assed prank. For example, once my brother decided to pull the classic bucket-full-of-water-on-the-door trick on me. He only had a large metal bucket, and he decided the bucket with the water was too heavy to bother lifting up on the door, and he was too lazy to buy a smaller plastic bucket, so he just put the bucket up there. End result, I got a heavy metal bucket to the head, and had to get stitches.”
“Wow. What happened next?”
“He was grounded for about a month, and I got a Brain Candy video for my birthday.”
“And you got this story out of the bargain. I call that a decent trade.”
“Well, sure, discount my pain. Anyway, whatcha reading? Looks old.”
“It’s a history of the university. I don’t know when it was written, but it’s old enough that they’re capitalizing all the nouns and verbs.” After a pause, Tess added, “or maybe it isn’t that old, but they were just that pretentious.”
“Neat. Who would have thought there would be something like that in the coffee shop?”
“Speaking of which, why are you here if you can’t sleep? Coffee usually doesn’t help with things like that.”
“Oh, yeah, well, I thought I would get some herbal tea. They have natural teas that say things like ’soothing, sleepy-time remedy.’ Seems worth a try. And hey, why are you here, then? If all your stuff is missing, shouldn’t you be looking for it?”
“Uh, I was gonna sleep on the couch after the coffeemaster leaves for the night,” Tess admitted.
“That’s . . . Well, that’s kinda sad. No offense.”
“No, that’s fair.”
“Sorry anyway,” she said, looking contrite. “Hey, why don’t you come hang out with me? My room has furniture and everything, and my roommate’s not coming back tonight. If we’re not sleeping, we might as well not sleep together . . . uh, I don’t mean that. No, wait, I do. Er, what did I just say?” She looked confused and little embarrassed.
“Hanging out with you sounds great,” Tess said charitably.

* * *

They walked down the cracked paths through the grounds accompanied by the sodium-orange light from sporadic path lights. The night was a cloudy one, and the moon’s presence was felt only by a slight lightening visible in one patch of sky. One of the lights buzzed and went out as they drew near, deepening the darkness. The dormitory buildings they passed were like oases of light, quickly passed. In the distance, someone was playing Rock Lobster too loudly.
A wind was coming up in fits and starts. It stirred up the bushes, and made the trees shudder. A particularly heavy gust brought an empty Budweiser can rolling by like a tacky tumbleweed. It served to remind Tess of his alcohol-fueled embarrassment at the party earlier – though perhaps not alcohol-fueled in the traditional sense. His shirt was still stained rainbow colors from the legendary Skittlebrau, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable to be spending the midnight hours with a relatively new acquaintance while soaked in Kahlua or ambrosia or whatever and Red Dye #5.
He looked over at Maya, and she looked back. She smiled. He saw her eyes dart over to something behind him, and then he saw her mouth begin to scream.

Chapter Seven

Just then Tess whipped off his wet T-shirt revealing his undulating pecs and McKenzie fell into a dead-swoon. Tess cradled her in his glinting man-arms and …

“Now wait just one cotton-picking minute, Clear––who made you the narrator? Also, ‘man-arms?’ For that matter, when did McKenzie swoon? She sounds like an antebellum plantation-owner’s daughter.”

“Tess wasn’t telling it right,” Clear replied to Al. “What’s antebellum mean, anyhow?”

“It means ‘before-the-bellum.’ So, anyhow, there Tess was with something cold and sticky splashed over his front and onto his pants. I believe it was rum.”

“Kahlúa,” Clear corrected him.

“I know my drinks and it was rum.”

“Gummi berry juice,” said Maya, mostly to herself.

“Ambrosia,” said Amy.

“Phlogiston,” said Maya, and Amy laughed.

“Well, that explains the discolored patch,” said Milo, “but why all the little rainbow streaks?”

Tess leaned toward him across the table: “She told me it was Skittlebrau.” Milo shrugged uncertainly. “You know, vodka with skittles floating in it?”

Milo recoiled in disgust. “Oh sweet Jesus …”

Maya’s eyes went large. “So the legends are true!”

Clear elbowed Amy in the ribs. “You see what you miss by not drinking?”

“I do drink! I had two beers.”

“I meant all the time.”

Milo rolled his eyes. “So anyhow, Tess, what happened next?”

“There wasn’t really a ‘next’––I said ‘woozle wuzzle’ at her and she went down to the basement where everyone was dancing. I’m pretty sure she hates me now.”

“You can do a ton better than her anyhow,” said Maya. Clear got an enormous grin on her face but said nothing.

“Wait,” said Amy, turning to Milo. “Why are you here anyhow? I thought someone said you were at a ‘sausage fest’ or something?”

“Well, I was but then I found out they were literally making sausages and as a vegetarian I’m against that.” Amy looked confused as Al high-fived Milo over her head. “Anyhow, I walked  over to the party and they said you guys went here for pizza. I explained this all ten minutes ago.”

“The girls were in the bathroom,” explained Al. “Doing … girl things.”

“Yes,” said Amy. “Beautifying ourselves.”

“Discussing our feelings,” added Maya.

“Menstruating in unison,” Clear concluded sweetly.

“Well, that solves the mystery of the stained shirt,” said Milo. Everybody looked at him. Al raised his eyebrows and took a long sip of water. “His stained shirt,” Milo said, pointing at Tess.

“You still haven’t asked about the cops, though,” said Clear.

“I figured some townie didn’t like hearing Green Day through their bedroom window at 115 decibels of quadraphonic sound and complained.”

Tess shifted in his seat and Maya shifted her weight minutely toward him as though she was leaning into a turn on a bicycle.

“Well,” said Clear, “there we were on the front lawn…”

“Driveway,” Al corrected.

“Anyhow, there we were, standing in front of the house, when out of nowhere Mike Branstetter nearly ran over Maya in his Ford Tempo. Tess came tearing over like a bat out of hell and totally body-checked her into the leaf pile.”

“C’mon,” said Milo, “tell it right.”

“Actually she is,” said Maya, and pulled at the collar of her short to reveal a prune-colored bruise the size of a fried egg flowering on her right shoulder.

“Holy shit! Is Mike Ok?”

“That’s the weird thing. The cops wanted to talk to him but he wasn’t anywhere. He went off with these two girls who said they were med students.”

“I figure they go to school two towns over or something,” said Amy.

“Did you pay attention during that four hour drive from the airport?” asked Clear, staring at her in disbelief. “There is no ‘two towns over’––it’s like corn for six towns in every direction.”

Just then their server carried over a bubbling pie the size of a Conestoga wagon wheel and placed it between them, which had the effect of commanding the attention the attention of everyone present in much the same that a cage dancer in monastery might. Everyone grabbed slices. Milo and Amy dabbed at theirs with folded paper napkins while  Al sawed off sections his pizza with knife and fork and placed them into his mouth at regular intervals. Maya reached across the table for a stout glass jar and shook it vigorously upside-down over her slice, producing a dense flurry of parmesan cheese. Clear folded her slice in half and inserted it into her mouth like a sword swallower would. Tess looked up from his plate.

“Did something about those girls seem weird to anyone?” he asked.

“Wrmm,” said Clear with her mouth full. “Nao dat u meshun i, dey di see uh li weer.”

Al set down his knife and fork and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin. “It was like,” he said and paused. He propped his chin on his interwoven fingers and cast his eyes upward. “It doesn’t make any sense but it was like they were talking in unison, only they never talked at the same time. Do you know what I mean?”

“Right,” said Tess, “that’s a good way to put it.”

“That’s a borderline autistic way to put it,” said Clear after swallowing, “but I can’t think of a better way.”

“What?” said Milo. “That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“No argument here,” said Al. “It was like their brains were synched up, like when one was talking the other was thinking the same words loudly.”

“You know,” said Tess, “I didn’t say anything before because everything was kind of crazy back there but I only noticed the car coming after Kincaid dropped a coin on my head and said Maya was about to be run over.”

Clear and Al looked at him, startled.

“Yeah, he was up in that big oak tree in front of the house.”

“Wait,” said Amy. “The guy from matriculation?”

“Well,” said Tess, “it’s like this. A couple of weeks ago Kincaid broke into my dorm room, told me I have to find out something about some teacher named Sterne and drugged me.”

Al raised his hand from the table and said “yo.”

“Oh yeah, he drugged Al too.”

“Thank you.”

“So I stalked professor Sterne for a while…”

“So hot!” interjected Amy.

“So British!” agreed Maya.

“He’s from Idaho,” said Al.

“Yeah, but he went to school in England,” said Amy, and Clear made a “rowr” noise.

“And then I got a key…”

“Two keys,” corrected Clear.

“Right, two keys in the mail and used one to get into Colbert hall. The other one opened up a classroom named after a different Sterne who used to work here in the thirties.”

“We think there was guano,” added Clear. “Bat guano!” Al nodded sagely.

“But no clues?” asked Amy.

Tess shook his head. “That was just a little while ago and here we are.”

Maya looked as though something was bothering her and Milo turned to face her.

“What?”

“Do you think professor Kincaid was in cahoots with Mike or those girls or something?”

“Huh?”

“What did he say?”

“In the tree? I think he said something like ‘Tess, my boy, it looks like your friend Maya’s about to be run over.’”

“He said my name?”

“I think so. I’m not sure.”

“How did he know my name?”

“You don’t know him?”

“Tess, I’ve never met him before in my life.”

* * *

“You know, Tess,” said Al. “I think Maya likes you.”

“Have you ever actually met our RA?” asked Tess, looking back down the hallway they had just traversed and not paying him any attention. “It’s like he never leaves his room.  Maybe somebody slides him flat foods under his door or something.”

“I only mention it,” continued Al, fishing his key ring out from the side pocket of his jeans, “because Buddha teaches us that attachments like that only…” he swung the door to their dorm room open. “Oh my.”

“What?” asked Tess, looking over his shoulder into the room. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Chapter Six

Tess whirled around, worn coin clutched tight in his hand. His eyes jumped first to Maya, who was arguing passionately with another girl. Tess’s feet were already moving by the time his eyes had registered the dark blue Ford swerving off the street toward Maya. His feet left the ground entirely as the wheels of the car bounced over the curb. He felt an impact as he hurtled into Maya. After that a flash of lights, a blur of scenery, and another impact.

He found himself on the ground, arms around a wincing Maya. His arms and chest hurt, and it took a moment before he remembered why. Maya seemed stunned, but okay, though she would probably have some bruises.

“Whoa, jeez,” Maya sputtered. “I, uh, you — so, here we are . . . “

“Uh, sorry,” Tess wheezed. “The car, and I guess I tackled you, and I hope that’s okay.”

“Uh, yeah.”

A moment passed. Tess began awkwardly disentangling himself from Maya, and they both stumbled to their feet.

The car had plowed into the tree in which Tess distinctly remembered seeing the ancient professor, though he was not in evidence now. Tess stormed over to the car and pulled open the driver’s side door. “What the hell are you . . .” Tess trailed off. The driver, a tall, skinny kid with a baseball cap stared straight ahead, both hands gripping the steering wheel. His knuckles were white, even in the yellow glow of the car’s roof light. His eyes were huge and glassy. He didn’t move at all. Behind him, Maya was singing softly to herself, “Simpson, Homer Simpson, he’s the greatest guy in history. From the town of Springfield, he’s about to hit that chestnut tree . . . “

Tess became aware of the yelling from the house as the news of the swerve propagated through the house, and those within spilled out onto the dusk lawn.

“Hey, what’s your deal,” Tess growled at the driver. The driver didn’t move. “Hey!” Tess repeated, shaking his shoulder.

“You nearly hit me, you jackass!” Maya called from over his shoulder.

Suddenly the driver’s body gave a massive shudder, and he sucked in a huge breath. Startled, Tess let go of his shoulder. The driver’s eyes came into focus, and began to dart around to take in the scene.

“WhatthehellamI where the wuh . . .” he exclaimed all in one breath. The crowd from the party was starting to converge around them. Calls of “what’s happening,” and “who is that?” were coming from the crowd. Maya started to explain that she was just telling some freshman why Kids in the Hall was a more relevant parody of society than South Park (“Is not!” came a call back from the crowd) when some drunken jackass swerved off the street and nearly killed her. Meanwhile, the driver stared around him with eyes full of confusion and fear, apparently too overwhelmed to speak.

Maya’s explanation was cut short by a firm, sweet voice saying “Please move out of our way. We’re medical students.” The voice belonged to one of two very tall, dark-haired women emerging from the crowd. One wore a dark olive high-necked dress and the other a pale yellow dress in the same cut. Each wore their hair long, in a style which concealed half of their faces. They could be twins, Tess thought. They were staring directly at him. He felt a strange, tight sensation in his chest under their cool gaze.

After a long moment, the two women turned their attention to the driver. They leaned into the car, and then Olive Dress withdrew and announced, “This man has had a stroke. Please move away. We will ensure he is given proper medical attention.” The two women lifted the driver easily from the car, and started to walk him away.

“Who are you?” Tess heard the driver mumble as they left. Tess and Maya’s turned to look at each other, each searching for confirmation of what had just happened. Tess discovered his left hand was clenched tight. He relaxed it, and found that he was still holding the worn coin. He slipped it into his pocket.

* * *

As the crowd dispersed from around the two of them, Al, Clear, and Amy approached. “Hey, Mr. Hero!” Clear shouted, jumping up and down a little, while Al chimed in with “Tackling people is a terrible way to show affection!” At this, Maya turned away, looking a little red, and Clear tackled Al.

“That was awfully brave of you,” Amy said as Tess joined the group.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Maya in an embarrassed voice.

Al lay on the ground impassively as Clear tickled him from head to foot. “Stop not being irritated!” Clear shouted at Al while straddling his chest. She then turned to Tess. “You idiot, why would you nearly kill yourself like that?”

“He was striving to be helpful, Clear,” Al contributed. “Of course, striving is the root of all unhappiness. Tess, you really should consider striving less.”

“Hey,” Tess slipped in edgewise, “don’t any of you want to know what just happened?”

“Of course!” Amy said, at the same time as Clear shouted “No!”

Tess told them about Kincaid in the tree and the strange driver and the two med students. By the time he finished, Al looked puzzled, Amy looked scared, and Clear looked irritated because no one was paying enough attention to her.

Al cleared his throat. “That driver looked like Mike Branstetter. He lives upstairs here. Marissa told me that she sent him out for party supplies since he kept eating her Kit-Kats.”

“Did he look drunk?” Amy asked, putting a little emphasis on drunk that sounded half-way between disapproving and excited.

“No, like I said, he was more . . . well, he looked like he was paralyzed with fear.”

Clear did her best ghost moan, and Tess smacked her arm.

“Oh, it’s on,” she yelled, rubbing her arm. “I’ll paralyze you,” and she threw herself at Tess.

“You’ll paralyze me? Is that supposed to be some kind of threat or something?” Maya said in her best Lisa Simpson voice. “Er, I guess it is,” she concluded lamely.

“Look out for her left jab,” Al said as he watched the two tussle.

“Isn’t anyone else curious about the medical students?” Maya said over the Clear’s battle-cries. “I mean, we don’t even have a medical program, and I’ve never seen them before.”

Al shrugged. “Maybe they’re someone’s friends from the city.”

“Man, they came a long way just to visit a small house party at ol’ JTU,” said Amy.

“Well, good thing they were here,” said Al.

Maya looked dubious.

Al began to pry Clear off of Tess. “Well, at least everyone’s safe and sound,” began Amy.

“—except Tess,” Clear interrupted in a satisfied voice.

“Ow,” Tess confirmed.

“—so let’s celebrate our aliveness with a party!” Amy concluded.

“Well, lucky for us, there’s one right here.” Clear replied.

* * *

Inside the little white house the stereo was loud enough that Tess doubted any of the horde inside had even noticed the adventure outside. The inside of the house was segmented into a number of small rooms, so that it ended up being much smaller than it looked outside. It reminded Tess of stories of tiny huts that turned out to be, on the inside,  spacious magical palaces, because it was so exactly the opposite.

There were sofas against two of the walls, and it sounded like the drinks were located in the kitchen. Buckets of Kit-Kats were suspended around the room more or less at random, along with crepe paper in Kit-Kat red and black. The whole effect came off as “hobo chic,” and the baskets made it even harder to navigate through the packed room.

“Come on, Tess, get out of the doorway,” Clear said, prodding him in the back.

“Look, I’ll go in when I’m good and ready,” Tess snarked back as he stepped inside. It was hot. He hoped he wouldn’t start sweating.

“Since you’re already half-way there, could you get me a drink,” Al called from outside.

“Me, too!” Amy chimed in.

“What do you mean? You’re about a foot behind me,” Tess grumbled.

“Fine, break out the measuring tape instead of getting me a drink.”

“Okay, okay,” Tess surrendered, and started to push his way through the crowd toward the kitchen. As he neared the kitchen a sudden shout from somewhere near the back made him snap his head around, and he stumbled forward into someone coming around the corner. He bashed his forehead into a sharp chin, and nearly bowled his victim over. Something cold and sticky splashed over his front and onto his pants.

“My fault, my fault, sorry—” he started to apologize as he straightened up and started patting at the wet patch on his front. Then he froze, for in front of him, looking very unimpressed and rubbing her chin, stood Kim McKenzie.

Author’s Note

This project now has a profile with the blog website Technorati.

Technorati Profile

Chapter Five

“Which is how we wound up in Bat Central with Tess staring lovingly into my ass.” Tess rolled his eyes at this and got up to fetch himself some peach cobbler. As he stood up from the table Al clucked his tongue sadly and gazed at him the way Tess reckoned a Christ figure would gaze at a self-confessed chronic masturbator figure. When he returned a few moments later Maya was asking a rare question.

“I’m a little confused here,” she said. “You said Professor Sterne did occult stuff, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But didn’t these guys just say that her plaque-thingie had her teaching math?”

“Hey yeah,” Clear interjected. “Explain that with your precious logic.”

“Ok,” said Milo. “Actually, she taught both. It used to be The Department of Mathematical and Theosophical Inquiry until like the forties when they changed it to just ‘math.’”

“That’s really strange,” said Clear.

Al shrugged. “Strange school.”

“It is at that,” said Milo. “It is at that.”

“Is it?” asked Maya, who seemed genuinely surprised.

Tess looked at her over a spoonful of cobbler. “Well, yeah. Didn’t you think all the stuff with the drugging and skulking around was a little weird?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “But I just kind of assumed it was, like, a college thing or something. Like in Animal House.”

Everyone present at the table quietly reflected on this. Finally, Milo broke the silence.

“You know, there is something else I’m not clear on. Didn’t Kincaid describe Sterne as ‘young’ or ‘new’ or something like that?”

“New,” said Tess. “He said there was ‘a new professor at the school’ right before he, err, drugged me.”

“So,” continued Milo. “Obviously if Sterne’s been dead for like fifty years then she’s not that new.”

Clear wiped her spoon clean, breathed on the concave side, and hung it on her nose. “The current theories,” she said in a level tone, “are that he’s senile or crazy.” The spoon fell to the floor. “Possibly both,” she added.

“He might just be screwing with me for some reason,” suggested Tess.

“Which doesn’t exactly preclude his being senile or crazy. Or both,” said Al with a nod to Clear.

“I suppose,” said Maya in the manner of one trying to solve a logic puzzle in her head, “he might just be really, really old. Or want us to think he is.”

“How old could he be?” asked Tess. “If Sterne started here in 1911 then Kincaid would have to have been here for like eighty years at least.”

“Yeah,” said Clear, “but he wouldn’t have to be a professor here all that time. What if he went to school here or grew up in town or something?”
Maya shivered suddenly.

“What, too cold in here for the Canadjun?” asked Milo.

“No,” said Maya. “I was just picturing Kincaid wearing little school kid shorts.”

“I’ve got it,” said Al serenely. “In Tibet every time the Dalai Lama dies he gets reincarnated somewhere, so the monks just go off to find the new Lama to take the old one’s place. What if our Kincaid’s like the fifth or sixth version and when the old one dies he gets replaced by a new Kincaid without anyone knowing?”

“That may be,” said Clear, “ the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

Without changing expression, Al poured a half-full glass of water over Clear’s head, who shrieked and jumped into his lap.

“Hey, we all getting wet here or just my girl Clearie?”

Clear looked up at the speaker over Tess’ shoulder. “Hey hun, I thought I felt my sexy-sense tingling.”

Tess turned in his seat to find Kim McKenzie standing behind him. The way she held herself, with her legs apart like a compass and her hands propped on her hips, combined with the fact that her downy platinum blonde hair stood straight up, adding a good three or four inches to her height, left Tess with the distinct impression that he was gazing up at an extremely alluring colossus. Her very pale, oval features slid into a broad smile as she cocked an eyebrow.

“Por supuesto,” she replied. “There’s a party at the little white house tonight–you guys should come.” She pulled a wristwatch out of her pocket and glanced at it.

“Oh, shit. I’ve gotta run to anthro; I’ve got a bet with my lab partner to see how drunk Miller’s going to be today. See you guys later.”

* * *

Later on that evening Tess, Maya, Al, Clear, and Clear’s roommate Amy were passing under the ornate archway and down the broad stone steps that led from Tyler University to the surrounding Mapleville and beyond that, a sea of night-darkened cornfields. Flanking the path were wrought-iron lampposts, whose pools of yellowy light gave the grounds a slightly lunar quality. Milo had begged off joining them, preferring, he said, a more exclusive get-together at a venue he smirkingly referred to as the “Sausage Factory.”

As they strolled through the cool October night Amy’s brown ponytail was bobbing lightly against her wiry shoulders as she mused on the challenges of excelling at intramural sports while still staying on Christ’s good side.

“Of course,” she said, “you wouldn’t want to trip someone intentionally in a race or anything like that but what if your foot just happens to be there and they fall over it on their own, well, isn’t that really like Jesus tripping them? Now, the way I see it . . .”

Tess wasn’t really listening to what Amy had to say. She was nice enough, and even cute in a clean-cut athletic sort of way. Part of the problem was that she vaguely reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, who had unceremoniously dumped him two months prior. That was bad enough but the truth was, if he honestly acknowledged the tiny persistent voice that lurked in the shadowy background of his thoughts, more than anything else Amy reminded Tess of a high school version of himself: the resolute good humor, her joining all the right clubs, and so on, and so on . . . . This girl was going to get gobbled up and spat out by life.

Their group strolled down the brightly-lit University Avenue and passed by various middle-brow restaurants and boutiques whose high brick facades had been preserved to lend the shopping district a certain “Anytown USA”-ish 1950s charm. They rounded a corner at the perimeter of Memorial City Park (which, Tess faintly recalled from a tour some months ago, had been established to preserve the memory of three of Mappleville’s plucky native sons who’d been tragically exploded during the Spanish American War) and proceeded down a shadowy residential side street.

Midway down the block on their right was a small white house set some ways back on the property. Two tall, dark trees stood on the lawn and an airy porch extended some ways beyond the front door. The porch was covered with throngs young people talking animatedly and Tess could hear the sound of loud music throbbing from somewhere deep within the house. A girl with blonde dreadlocks ran up to them in the driveway and started distributing candy bars.

“Hi guys–this is my house. Have some Kit-Kat bars. I was cleaning up yesterday and found, like, fifty pounds of them in the crawl space–that’s why we’re having a party . . .”

While the rest of the group stood in the driveway to enter into what promised to be a lengthy discussion on the properties of magic candy, Tess withdrew into the shadow of a nearby tree to compose his thoughts. He reckoned McKenzie must be in there by now and he wanted to have a good line worked up so that he could sound witty and spontaneous when he ran into her.

As he stood a while in thought something small and hard landed on his head and fell to the ground at his feet. For a moment he thought it was just some falling nut but when he leaned over to pick it up he found that it was actually an extremely tarnished coin with features that had very nearly been wiped smooth with time and use.

He looked up into the tree and could just barely see a dark figure perched on one of the lower branches. He was just about to demand what the hell was going on when he heard a familiar giggle wafting down from on high.

“Thesius, my boy,” said Erasmus Kincaid from his tree, “you really ought to see to your friend Maya. It looks as though she’s about to be run over.”

Chapter Four

The heavy, wooden door made a small, startled noise as the key turned in the lock. Tess thought he heard something inside, the sound of something scuffling, followed by a whoosh of air. He opened the door cautiously, only to find the room pitch black.

“Oh, come on, don’t just stand there.” Clear pushed Tess into the room, and flicked on the lights behind her. The room was lit by four offensively powerful florescent lights in downward-turned fixtures, which took a moment to flicker to life. The lecture hall was one of the older ones – irregular sides, a high ceiling with a legacy of crisscrossing rafters overhead. Wrought-iron windows lined the far wall of the room, with tied-back dark red curtains on either side. The seats were all wooden, and looked as though they would creak when sat on. The room smelled like old wood and cloth, with a weird hint of something Tess couldn’t identify.

Tess was relieved to see that there was no one inside.

“I thought you said we were investigating new faculty,” Clear said.

“Um, I thought I did, too.”

Their words echoed back at them from high above.

“Well, this is neither new nor faculty.”

“Maybe we’re supposed to investigate the woman this was named after.”

“She’s not new, either! She stopped teaching here nearly sixty years ago!”

“I am so confused,” Tess admitted, flopping down in one of the wooden seats. The reverberating creak startled him back onto his feet.

“No one ever accused Professor Kincaid of being too sane,” Clear offered as she wandered through the hall. “Maybe he’s gone senile,” she added, examining the chalkboard.

“I suppose we may as well look around, just in case,” Tess sighed. He would rather just go home, but he didn’t want all this chasing around to be for nothing.

“Hey, did you just hear something?” Clear asked, looking up from the drawer she was rifling through.

“Um, I was a bit preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied, my ass. You were just staring off into space. Or maybe you were just checking me out.”

Tess made a face at her.

“No, seriously, I think I heard something moving up there.”

Tess looked up at the ceiling. The shades on the light fixtures kept the bulbs from bringing much light into the upper regions of the room. Tess thought a marching band might be able to hide in the rafters if they kept real still.

“It’s probably just bats,” Clear said confidently. “This would be a great place for bats.”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence as the two looked up into the darkness. Clear closed the desk drawer carefully.

“You know,” she ventured, “I don’t think there’s anything to find here. Let’s head back.”

Tess agreed.

****

The next day, Tess was eating lunch with Clear and Al in the Risibel Memorial Cafeteria. Tess was spooning some jambalaya into his mouth, as Clear recounted last night’s break-in to Al.

“—so while I’m searching for info on this woman or hall or whatever we’re looking for, I hear this noise. Tess was too busy checking me out to notice—”

“I wasn’t checking you out,” Tess tried to interject, with a mouth full of jambalaya. It came out as more of a mumbly-splashy noise.

“Great defense. Anyway, Sterne Hall is full of bats. Hundreds of them. Can you believe this university lets bats just live wherever? Before you know it, the whole place is going to be full of guano.”

“We didn’t see any—”

“Guano means bat shit,” Clear added in a stage whisper.

“We didn’t see any bats, Clear. And I wasn’t checking you out, anyway – I wasn’t checking her out,” he added to Al, who nodded sagaciously. “I was just trying to figure out who we’re trying to find out about.”

“There were so bats, probably.”

“We didn’t see any bat poop.”

“You mean guano,” Al suggested.

“You mean bat shit,” Clear suggested.

“Look, all I’m saying is maybe it wasn’t bats, because we didn’t see any bat sh—any guano.”

“Or maybe they’re very clean bats. I mean, this is a university,” Clear teased.

“Or perhaps the professors collect it for biology experiments,” Al added.

“Ok, I give up.” Tess took another bite of his jambalaya and made a face, half at his friends, and half at the food.

“Hey, look who’s spotted us,” Clear said, prodding Tess. “It’s that girl you said loves cheese stakes yesterday, and that guy she hangs out with.”

Tess mumbled something, embarrassed.

“You know, she’s not bad-looking. You might have had a chance with her, if you hadn’t made such a fool of yourself. Oh my, oh my.”

“Look, I’m not interested in her, okay?” An image of McKenzie, the beautiful, confident girl from his geology class pranced through a summer field in his mind. His first thought was how much he wanted to impress her, and his second was how much he wanted to keep Clear from finding out.

“You cad! What’s she ever done to you?”

“Hey, what’s the deal with that guy she hangs out with?” Tess asked quickly to change the subject.

“No one seems to know,” Al answered, “but I’ve heard they go everywhere together.”

“Are they – ‘together’?” Tess asked.

“Oh no,” Clear said with a giggle. “Oh no no no. Milo is what we women like to call ‘gay’. That means, attracted to other men.”

“I—” Tess started to say.

“Not women. Just men,” Clear interrupted.

Tess glared at her. “Ha ha, the greek kid doesn’t know what gay means. You’re a stitch, you are.”

“You’re from Greece?” Maya said, having just arrived at the table. “That is so cool. There’s a really good Greek restaurant near here. I went there with my parents the first night we were here.” Maya suddenly stopped talking and looked down at her tray, her cheeks reddening.

“What my associate means to say is that the Greek culture is quite fascinating, and we’d like to join you for lunch, if you don’t mind,” Milo said, coming to Maya’s rescue. “I’m taking a class on ancient Greece right now, and I feel they were very forward thinking.” Milo gave a little laugh.

Clear laughed too, but Tess wasn’t sure why.

“Seriously, though, what’s really interesting is this class on paganism I’m taking with Professor Wheeler. Did you know that this is one of the few pagan-founded universities in the country?”

“I did not know that,” Clear said a little too seriously, while Al just nodded.

“It’s true. Philip Crowley, one of the founders, was into spiritualism, geomancy, and all sorts of interesting things.”

“That’s your hobby, right?” Tess said. “You’re into séances and pictures of faeries and stuff.”

“Well, not so much the faeries. But as far as historical information about séances is concerned, this class is great. Professor Wheeler studied under Professor Sterne – the old one, not the new one.”

Tess, Al, and Clear exchanged glances.

“What did I say?” Milo said, looking around at the three.

“How much do you know about Professor Sterne?” Tess asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. A little of this, a little of that. She was considered the foremost professor of occult religion in her time. Well, the foremost at a liberal arts institution, anyway. That’s why Wheeler is so good for information on spiritualism and the like. Why?”

“Well, it’s like this . . .” Tess began to explain.

Chapter Three

“You know, for someone who’s obsessed with being a stalker, you sure don’t seem to be trying very hard–shouldn’t you be going through a certain someone’s garbage right now?”

“I’m not obsessed, Clear; I just can’t think about anything else. And did he tell you about the mushrooms?”

“Yeah, he said you weren’t into them. You know, in the version I heard, the kid has to drink soy sauce and gnaw on the drywall.”

“I’m not sure this a productive area of discussion.”

Tess, Al and Clear were piling their jackets in a corner of the Rosebrough Student Center cloakroom. They passed into the adjoining room, where a long line of students was filing into Tyler University’s main cafeteria.

“Well maybe it is, Tess,” Clear persisted. “If you’re going to be drinking soy sauce for like a year maybe you should try to get a taste for it now.”

“Yeah,” added Al. “Start with a few drops and go slow until you build up an immunity.”

Tess scowled. “That’s poison you’re thinking of.” Al shrugged in a maybe-it-is-maybe-it-isn’t sort of way. Tess pressed on: “Anyhow, the soy sauce isn’t the issue. I mean, following this guy around, going through his stuff. It’s all so illegal . . . what if I get caught?”

“I don’t believe in laws,” said Clear, prompting Al to reach over and tousle her hair affectionately. “They’re totally against human nature and they just cause more problems than they solve. If people were just allowed to do whatever it would all just sort itself out. See? Watch what happens if I punch Al here.” Clear took a swing at Al’s nose that completely failed to connect because he blandly held her at arm’s length with his palm on her forehead. “There, see? It works itself out.”

“Brilliant,” Tess murmured as he pushed through the cafeteria turnstile. He walked another few paces and joined the line for hot food while his companions went on into the dining room in search of a free table.

He was rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands in his pockets when a wisp of a girl with short, curly red hair made momentary eye contact.

“Hey,” said Tess brightly. “Don’t I know you?” The girl looked genuinely surprised.

“Yes! You’re Tess.”

“Right. Ma . . . Maggie?”

“Maya.”

“Oh. Weren’t we in the same tour in New Student Week?” She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled faintly at this.

“Actually we have three classes together.”

“Oh.”

“And we live on the same floor.”

“Oh. A little alarmed at how badly he was doing, Tess struggled to dredge up some factoid to show that he was not in fact as clueless about this person as he apparently was. “You must be in line for the cheese steaks, right? Because you’re from Pennsylvania,” he finished triumphantly. Maya looked almost embarrassed, although it was unclear for whom.

“Toronto. I usually just have cereal but I was in line with my friend Milo.”

The friendly presumably in question turned around at this. He was of average height but looked a fair bit taller than he actually was because he stood with immaculate posture that reminded of Tess of a classmate from home who’d taken ballet since she was four. His black hair was spiked and he had on a button-up shirt that was only buttoned from his navel to his sternum in the fashion of someone in denial about the onset of autumn. He warmly shook Tess’ hand.

“Oh hi,” Milo enthused. “I’ve seen you all over the place. Weren’t you in the bushes the other day? I love the fatigues.” Tess felt startled at how well-known he was turning out to be.

“I . . .”

“You might have read something of mine in the school paper.”

Tess realized he had, actually. “Didn’t you write a three-page article for the New Student edition about how séances are the next big thing?”

“They are!” Milo hit him on the shoulder here, causing him to ladle gravy all over his cafeteria tray. “They’re a great way to pick up people; in the article I called them ‘the new Twister.’ They totally are. Did you know the guy who founded TU used do them? He was really famous for them. I read he used to do daguerreotypes of fairies too. And goblins. I was thinking of doing some for an art project. Want to be in one? All you have to do is hold really still.”

“Yeah, sure.” On walking into the dining hall they were greeted by a hearty din: laughing students, clattering cutlery, chairs scraping across the floor, and occasionally the sound of a dropped tray cut through the rest of the noise. Streama of bread rolls and some smaller root vegetables were flying back and forth across the room at regular intervals. Tess pointed to Al and Clear in a far corner of the room. “That’s my roommate and his girlfriend if you want to join us.”

Maya looked up from the Fruit Loops dispenser. “You mean the kind of average-looking guy and the really small girl with hair like Liza Minnelli in Cabaret?”

“Yeah, that’s them. That’s them exactly.”

***

The five of them were walking back across the residential quad after dinner. It was a cool night but not uncomfortably so and the stars shone brightly from between a few wisps of cloud.

“So what are you going to do about professor Sterne?” asked Clear as they approached Pulleyblank Hall, their dorm. Tess, who was momentarily distracted by the sight of shadowy figures behind the blinds in his residence advisor’s window, shook his head.

“Have any of you guys–huh?”

“Sterne.”

“Who?” Milo asked.

“You know,” Maya answered him. “The archaeology professor. The one with hair like Patrick Stewart in Next Generation.”

“Do you know anyone who doesn’t have hair like someone on TV?” Milo sniped back. Maya to look quietly down at her toes.

Meanwhile, Tess was trying to remember the combination to his mailbox in the dorm lobby. “I don’t know,” he said, finally opening the mailbox and pulling out a manila campus mail envelope. “I don’t suppose anyone wants to–”

“Nope,” Al interlocuted with surprising conviction. “Simpsons.” Maya brightened noticeably at this and followed him downstairs with Milo in hot pursuit, leaving just Tess and Clear.

“Sure.”

“What?”

“You were going to ask if anyone wanted to help you break into Stern’s office, right?” Tess winced and looked around to see if anyone had heard but the lobby was empty for the moment.

“Yeah . . .”

“Sure, I’ll help.”

“Well, that’s great but I still don’t know how we’re going to get in.”

“Sneak in, I guess,” Said Clear as Tess ripped open the envelope and looked inside.

“How? It’s not like we have–oh.”

“What?”

Tess emptied the contents of the envelope into his hand. There were two keys.

***

Tess and Clear agreed to meet behind the Colbert Hall bushes at midnight. Tess had arrived early in jeans and a black turtleneck and was crouching in his usual spot. The bushes seemed pointier at night.

Tess felt annoyed. Bending to teachers’ every whim, hiding in shrubbery while everyone else was having a good time: that was the old Tess. Where was the new college Tess he’d promised himself? It was Monday night–shouldn’t he be at a party now?

Clear walked up noisily behind him. “Looking sharp!” she announced. Tess went wide-eyed and shushed her.

“Oh, relax,” she said. “Nobody’s here but us and that couple back there making out in the archway. C’mon.” She strode up the stairs to Colbert hall as he scrambled behind her. She rapped her flashlight in the palm of her hand as he fished the two keys he’d received out of his pocket. He inserted the larger of the two keys into the keyhole. With a smooth click the door unlocked and they quietly slipped into the building.

“Ooh, this is just grand!” enthused Clear as she played her flashlight over the walls of the darkened hallway. “What fun! In the sixties my parents used to break into stuff on their campus all the time, you know. That’s how they met–they broke into the chancellor’s office on the same night. It’s so romantic.”

“Yeah,” said Tess, not really listening. “I think his office is down this hall here.”

“And then Dad proposed while they were taking a dump on the provost’s desk . . .” Clear continued.

“We’re here.”

Sterne’s door was covered in newspaper articles and the kind of yellowing Far Side comics that Tess guessed were really funny if you’re an archaeologist. Clear sat on a nearby table next to a stack of papers covered with red ink marginalia.

Tess took the smaller of the two keys out of his pocket, swallowed, and inserted it into the knob on Sterne’s door. It didn’t turn. He pulled it out, stuck it in again, and rattled the knob. Still nothing.

“What? It doesn’t work?” asked Clear. “Try the other one.”

Tess did, without success. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why would Kincaid give me a key to the building but not his office?”

“You’re sure they’re from Kincaid?”

“Pretty sure–his name was crossed out before mine on the envelope.”

Clear furrowed her brow and thought for a second or two. “I’ve been in this building before. My roommate has a class in here. I wonder . . .” She took off at a brisk pace down the hall and Tess chased after her.

“What?” he asked as they jogged down a flight of stairs and around a corner. They were now standing in front of the door to Colbert 100, a large lecture hall that Tess had walked past before.

“Here. Give me that key.”

Tess handed her the key. She stuck it into the locked knob and the door swung open.

“How did you . . . ?”

“Maybe you have the wrong Sterne,” she said quietly and pointed his flashlight at a small brass plaque affixed to the wall next to the door. It read: “STERNE LECTURE HALL. Named in honor of Julia Sterne, alumna, Professor of Mathematics, 1911-1939.”

Chapter Two

“Why the fatigues?” Al said after breakfast the next morning. Breakfast was being held after noon today, in honor of the twin facts that it was Saturday and that Al had an inexplicable headache all morning. The latter fact Al bore with the equanimity that had become his default reaction to life.

“I got them at the thrift store this morning,” Tess replied. He was still sitting motionless on the couch, his eyes fixed at some privately-known point in space.

“That’s fair.”

“Um, no, seriously, Tess. What’s the deal with the fatigues?” Clear demanded between bites of canned peaches and granola. A spot of peach juice and organic yogurt was smeared across her cheek. She knew it, and didn’t care.

“Uh . . .”

“Did you finally join the military? I know that’s been a big goal of yours.”

“It is not!” Tess shook himself out of his trance and glared at Clear. “The reason I’m . . .”

“I’m just gonna rinse this out,” Clear said, leaving the room.

Tess turned to Al. “I’m wearing this outfit because Professor Kincaid broke in here last night, chloroformed you, and told me I have to spy on a new faculty member.”

“Okay,” said Al.

“Okay?” Tess echoed.

Al shrugged.

“Look, I don’t know what to do. I’ve never spied on anyone before.”

“No?”

“But, I mean, that’s not the point. Professors can’t just break into a person’s room and give them assignments. And what kind of assignment is this, anyway? This is completely against . . . some sort of university rules!” he exclaimed, and then added, “I bet.”

“Not that I know of,” Al replied.

“Well, it should be! And I mean, even if I do stalk this guy, what then? What is there to know about a new faculty member, anyway? I don’t even know what Kincaid wants me to find.”

“Maybe you’re just supposed to find out where he went to school, and stuff.”

“Well, I’m not doing it.”

 

 

Tess was squatting in the neatly-trimmed bushes beside Colbert Hall. It was pointy and unpleasant and scratchy, and Tess wished he were instead sitting on the stone bench with Al, behind which he was hiding.

“Look, he’s coming out of the building now,” Tess said, his binoculars to his eyes. Tess only knew what Professor Sterne looked liked because he had found a grainy picture of him on the school’s website, in the article about new hires.

“Oh, let’s go introduce ourselves,” Al said.

“No!”

But it was too late. Al was already moving across the green to intercept Sterne. Al called out Sterne’s name, and they moved together for conversation. Tess could see Al pointing toward his hiding place in the bushes. Sterne laughed.

Tess felt humiliation surging up his neck toward his face. Well, nothing for it now. He stood up, causing twigs to shower from him, and he marched out to meet his fate.

“Professor Sterne, this is Tess Katsiavrias. Tess, this is Professor Sterne. He did his Bachelor’s at Stanford and has a Ph.D. in Archaeology from Oxford.”

Tess held his hand out, and had it shaken vigorously by Sterne. “Pleased to meet you,” he mumbled, unable to look Sterne in the face.

“I think I’ve rather alarmed the poor boy,” Sterne joked.

“He’s not normally so flighty, Professor. He is just a little embarrassed because he was stalking you from the bushes.”

Tess kicked Al in the leg.

“Well, I had better be off,” Sterne said. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you both. I hope next time I meet you, you aren’t emerging from shrubbery.” With a laugh, Sterne continued on his way.

“He seemed nice,” Al said to a seething Tess.

“God damn it, Al! You couldn’t have made that more embarrassing if you had tried.”

“You should think of this as a learning experience, Tess. Gather up you embarrassment and let it drift from you like a cloud. In this way, you allow yourself to let go of fear and cultivate compassion.”

“Shut up. Look, this is bad. Now Sterne knows who we are! Do you know what this means?”

Al shrugged.

“They say that the last time a student failed to follow Kincaid’s orders, Kincaid locked him in the attic of Whitehall Hall for twelve days with nothing but a Nalgene full of Diet Mountain Dew! He only survived by licking moisture off the rafters and eating mushrooms!”

“It is said that the Buddha was denied food for forty days in a cave, and when he was finally able to emerge . . . hold on, Clear’s calling me.”

“Well, we have to do better, Al! I’m not going to lick mushrooms off rafters!”

“Hey, Clear. Yeah. Yeah. We’re stalking that faculty guy. Yeah, you want to come with?”

Tess ignored the conversation. He had to break into Sterne’s office. It was the only way to get what Kincaid wanted.

 

Chapter One

One evening in early September Thesius Katsiavrias was woken from the latest in a series of confusing and highly personal dreams (vodka, skittles, a platinum compass) to find himself being gently slapped in the face. The slapper was leaning over him, shrouded in shadows, smoking a pipe that emitted a periodic red glow as though a slowly beating heart. The smoke smelled of blended tobacco and mildewed books: hazy scenes of Tess’ grandfather, public libraries, and summers spent on the inner flank of Wisconsin’s Door County peninsula all flowed out of the bowl of the pipe.

“Al?” he murmured.

“You’re awake,” the figure said, and as he did so something in Tess’ memory answered him. He remembered matriculation: the procession of the faculty led by a stooped figure in a robe of arterial red, faced with black velvet, black bars on the sleeves; the figure handing the president of the university a silver mace and seeming to laugh (flashing eyes and floating hair) on examining the assembled crowd of students. Tess also remembered that the president had given him a rather wide berth.

“Professor … Kincaid?” He managed. Kincaid, who was seated on the edge of Tess’ mattress, leaned back, his face intersecting a parallelogram of moonlight. He wore a black jacket, a dark bow-tie, a vest with a fob-watch on a chain, and slate-colored pants. He had bulging eyes, a trailing mustache, a bulbous nose like a prize tuber, and his face was framed with downy muttonchops; Tess thought he looked a little like a Victorian undertaker. He held his pipe in fingers ending in sharp, pointed nails and when he smiled he revealed four long, flat incisors like tombstones.

“I saw your lights off,” said Kincaid, “so I went ahead and broke myself in.” He chuckled.

“Oh,” said Tess. “Thank you.” And then he felt like a fool.

“I prefer to keep these meeting private. I hope he won’t mind,” Kincaid replied, gesturing with his pipe at a motionless lump in neutral-colored pajamas across the room, “but I took the liberty of chloroforming your roommate.”

“I bet he wouldn’t, actually –– hey, what?”

“Well, he can thank me later. I have a project for you, Thesius.”

“Tess,” he corrected automatically. “Wait–I . . . what? Why?”

“I’m your advisor; it’s my job to give you projects.”

“But you’re not my advisor. Professor Tillyard is.” This was true.

“Not true. I am. Tillyard is a figurehead. A very polite man, Tillyard is. He knew Ezra Pound at Harvard, you know? Aaron Copland too, although I never cared for his music–oh my, no.”

Tess didn’t know at all what to say at this point.

“Oh my, yes,” Kincaid went on. “Copland, you know. As I was saying, your project–I’d like for you to work on your methods. There’s a new professor at the university, did you know that? Well, there is. One by the name of Sterne. I’d like for you to do some research on this Sterne. I’ll be dropping by from time to time to see how you’re coming along.” Kincaid examined his pocket watch.

“Well, I must be going. Promises, many miles, and etc. I’ll be drugging you now.” With remarkable nimbleness for someone who looked like he was approaching his centenary, he lunged forward and held a handkerchief against Tess’ face. As he lost consciousness he seemed to hear his roommate wuffle softly in the night as Kincaid regarded him with eyes of flame.