| “Chancellor Smith, he apparently comes in at 6am, now can we get on with this?” Clarke pulled up a chair on the other side of Paige’s office and propped his feet on the corner of her desk. Ass hole.
Paige proceeded to tell Clarke about the jobs Randall had with her; tutoring, peer mentor and sometimes-receptionist when Allison was out. She recounted his abysmal freshman year in her class, his famous road-trips with fellow students and the retreat last August. She went on and on about Darcy and his other friends, about his family, or lack thereof, and how he was supporting himself and paying his own way through Woolsey. She spoke of his plans for grad school and his quirky sense of humor; his ergonomically correct blue backpack and his fondness for wearing nothing but blue jeans, t-shirts and flip-flops. She glowed when she spoke about his research project that beat out Harvard and Columbia at Nationals. Randall had been the talk of the campus for months after that. He even received a special award from Chancellor Smith and the Board of Trustees. She recounted her version of every aspect of his life. She realized she was speaking as though he were still alive. Tears slid down her cheeks as she realized Randall was no longer alive, but someplace else being poked and prodded and kept in a cold drawer. “Paige, it’s okay,” Clarke consoled as he handed her a tissue from the box on the desk. “I can’t tell you much, but Paige, this one was bad.” Clarke rarely talked to her about cases, even when they were married. “We found the body over by the spillway, actually it was a professor out for a morning jog who then called campus police, but anyway, his chest had been opened and all the insides were taken out.” Clarke never did have any tact. Paige dry-heaved. There was nothing left in her stomach but the lining. What was this? How was this possible? Woolsey received the highest safety rating from the Board of Trustees. This was all horribly, terribly wrong. “Paige,” Clarke pushed Paige to the couch and handed her a cup of water. “I shouldn’t have told you all that. I’m so sorry. We’re following up, we have the experts and we’re pulling out all the stops.” Paige pushed Clarke’s arm out of the way and walked back to her desk. “If that’s all, you can get the hell out anytime,” Paige snapped grabbing her own tissue. “I’ll let you know if I have any more questions,” Clarke declared as he walked out, “oh, and Paige, I am sorry.” Paige kicked the door before Clarke was even out of the doorway. She fell back into her chair knocking over a stack of books. Classes had been canceled for the remainder of the week. It almost felt like summer with minimal foot traffic, minimal students scuttling to classes, minimal professors shuffling brief cases and test tubes out to their cars. It was early October, but Indian summer buried its claws deep into Woolsey with a vengeance. Paige realized this week at Woolsey was not going to be minimal in any sense of the word. As Paige made her way into her bathroom she noticed the small rash on her wrist had spread. She watched the shower head drip, drip, drip into the drain. Faculty housing sucked and hers was worse than most. Her industrial dwelling loomed out of the hill like a miniature oil tanker. It was wide, flat and gray with a fluted top that served as her study loft. Why anyone liked industrial modern architecture was beyond her. She blended the alabaster and peach foundation over the area on her right forearm and carefully moved her sleeve back into place. Paige heard a small hissing in her kitchen. She put her make-up bag back under the sink, fluffed her hair and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The hissing got louder as she approached and by the time she entered, the hissing was so loud she was sure a water pipe had burst. There weren’t any visible signs of water. Paige checked the faucet and under the sink. Nothing. The hissing didn’t seem to be coming from anyplace in particular. It seemed to be coming from everyplace. She checked the gas line to the stove. Nothing. Her vision went blurry and Paige felt her head clink the yellow flowered linoleum floor, the hissing got louder and louder. “Paige,” a voice whispered. “Paige, please, wake up. I need to talk to you.” Paige forced her eyes open and realized she was no longer in her yellow kitchen. She shook her head and placed her hands on the ground beside her. It was wet and mushy, like dewy grass after the carnival has packed up and gone. “What the….” Paige rubbed her head and then her right wrist where the rash had now spread half way up to her shoulder. The make-up had worn off. Paige looked around, but didn’t see anyone. She realized she was on the other side of campus, at the spillway just beside the mill. ************************************************************************************** “Who’s there?” Paige called, “Clarke, are you out here? I’ve hit my head or something. Clarke?” “Paige, I’m here,” the voice called. “I’m right here. Over here.” Paige tried to get up, but her head was pounding, She was able to maneuver around on her hands and knees and crawl to the edge of the spillway. “Damn,” Paige said as she forced her self up to standing. She could tell it was no longer morning, but it didn’t seem like afternoon, evening or night either. There was a light mist in the air, almost like twilight but almost like dawn too. “Paige,” the voice came from behind her. Paige whirled around and saw Randall standing in front of her. He was solid; or as solid as he could be. His midsection had an expansive hole that ran from his collar bone down to his navel. His ribs were projecting outward the tips looking like the bleached white bones of a picked-clean long horn. The flesh around the edge of the hole was tattered with tissue spiraling downward like string cheese, Inside the hole was black except for the long white ladder-like column that was Randall’s spine. His face was an odd peachy gray with his hair fluttering around him like down. His eyes were as green and piercing as ever and if Paige hadn’t been in such awe, she would have thought it was the same old Randall. She realized she should have been horrified, but she wasn’t. Somehow she felt at ease and happy to see Randall. |