Revels Ending

by Vic Kerry

  “Go on, give it to me. I can take it. I’m a big boy.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Cybil said from behind him.

  The sound of her voice instead of Marianne’s shook him out of the daydream he was having. He turned and looked at her. She stood dressed only in the T-shirt that hung well down her thighs.

  “No one… Myself… Ghosts.”

  “Ghosts?”

  “Not literally,” Ashe said. “I’ve been arguing with myself most of the night. I’ve had memories and shadows of the past come to me. That’s what I was calling ghosts.”

  Cybil touched him on the shoulder. “Have you been arguing with yourself about what happened last night?”

  “Amongst other things.”

  “What happened, happened. If it helps any, we were both in a very high stress situation. It doesn’t have to change anything. We both went a little crazy.”

  “I’ve been telling myself that, but I don’t believe it. Everyone is going to find out. Then I’ll be discharged, and you’ll be kicked out of school.”

  “Hold your horses,” Cybil said. “They can’t kick me out of school for having sex.”

  “With a professor?”

  “With anyone. That is a major violation of personal rights. I don’t know what your contract says, but if they had to fire every teacher who made it with a student, then the whole English department would be completely full of nuns.”

  “You’re kind of nonchalant about all this.”

  The idea of just being a lay to her offended Ashe for some reason. Even with all the angst about dealing with the repercussions of the happening, he thought there was more there or maybe, he wished it.

  “What do you want me to do, go all doe-eyed and lovey dovey?” She took his coffee mug and drank from it. “It was fun, and I think that we have some kind of chemistry, and I don’t regret a thing, but I know you just lost your fiancée. I know that I’m a student and younger than you. I’ll understand if this is just a one-time stress-related thing. Que sera, sera.”

  “You’re not that much younger.” Ashe didn’t like being made to feel old either.

  “I know that.” Cybil rolled her eyes and handed him back the coffee mug. “I’m going to take a shower before we head to school. I’ve got class at nine.”

  “I’ve got one then too,” he said. “I probably need another shower.”

  “You can join me if you want to,” she said.

  Ashe turned and looked at her. Her face didn’t give away anything. Once was a mistake, but he wanted to again. She felt so good last night, the kind of good that you want more of.

  “I better not, just don’t take too long,” he said.

  “Whatever.”

  She walked into the kitchen, pulling the shirt over her head as she did so. Her skin looked alabaster in the dimmer kitchen light. The lines of her body as she walked nude to the bathroom made a different ghost disappear. After all, Ashe was a man, who in the old days wouldn’t have passed up tail for very much of anything, mostly because he didn’t get a shot at it very often.

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer after all.”

  He finished off the swig of coffee and followed her. She stopped in the bathroom doorway. When he was close enough, she turned, showing him all her nudity, and tugged the knot loose in his robe’s belt. He let it fall open and then slide down his shoulders. She pressed herself against him. His skin began to tighten and flush as he felt the softness of her skin again.

  The last bit of his conscience to bother him at that moment evaporated, as Cybil pulled him into her.

  Chapter Ten

  As soon as Ashe walked into his office, he hit the button for his voice mail. A metallic voice announced seven new messages. He thought that wasn’t too bad for missing a whole day at the office. The first was a student calling in sick to class. She was in his largest class, and Ashe couldn’t remember what she looked like. He’d address what she’d missed with her tomorrow when her class met again. As the next message started playing, Rogers stuck his head into the office.

  “Dean Allred is looking for you,” he said.

  “What for?” Ashe asked.

  “Said it was important.”

  “Why didn’t he call me?” Ashe asked.

  “He said he left you a voice mail.”

  Ashe looked at his phone. He hung up and headed out of his office. The dean’s office was on the top floor of the building. The future ghost from that morning started to haunt him again as he rode the elevator up three floors. His mind played out the scene. He’d be ushered into the dean’s office and sat down. Then Dean Allred would start the reprimand with positives before pinning him to the wall with the accusation that he had slept with Cybil. The dean would even know it was twice, with one time being in the shower. Ashe didn’t try to reason in his daydream how the dean would know that, he just knew he would.

  The elevator door opened. He stepped out into the wood-paneled hallway. The dean’s office was at the end of the hall to the right. As he walked toward it, his shoes clicked on the wooden floors. Dean Allred always kept the door to his outer office open, so Ashe walked in. The secretary looked at him.

  “Dr. Shrove, I see you got the message,” she said. “I’ll let the dean know you’re here.”

  “Can you tell me what this is about?” he asked even though he knew the answer.

  She put her phone to her ear. “I think it’s better if he talks with you.” She told the dean that he was there. “He said to come in.”

  Ashe put one hand in his pocket and went into the office. Dean Allred sat behind his oversized mahogany desk. A large window was behind him. From that height, it overlooked the bay. Two large potted palms flanked the window. The dean looked like a Lilliputian, surrounded by such huge office fixtures.

  “Have a seat, Dr. Shrove.”

  Ashe sat down in one of the overstuffed visitor chairs. He sank into the supple leather. The dean’s face showed no sign of what he was going to talk about. Ashe assumed that if he encountered a hard stony look then he was in trouble. Dean Allred’s face was smiling. It was a real, mellow smile.

  “I know that you have been having a hard time, Ashe. That’s why I decided that I needed to tell you this instead of the department chair.”

  The shoe was about to fall. Ashe looked over his head almost absentmindedly to make sure that a sword wasn’t dangling there. Only a gaudy light fixture hung above his head.

  “I can explain. She stayed with me because her apartment got trashed by burglars and she was very afraid. We shouldn’t have done it. I know it was unethical, but things happen.”

  Dean Allred looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “Cybil Fairchild and I? Aren’t you going to fire me because we had relations last night?”

  The dean laughed. “That‘s not what I was going to talk to you about at all. How would I have even known about that?”

  Ashe shrugged. A weight lifted off him even as an embarrassed flush ran up his body. He’d just told his personal business to a coworker, and not just any coworker, but the dean.

  “Sorry about that. Things have been tough lately.”

  “I understand,” Dean Allred said, “and don’t worry. We’ve all fooled around with a student at some point. Have you ever been to the English department?”

  “That’s what I’ve heard. I guess I need to check it out.”

  “Maybe you should, but I am afraid that I’ve called you here on some important business that doesn’t concern Ms. Fairchild.” The dean’s expression changed. He looked grave. “Three of your graduate students were found dead last night in their dorm.”

  “What?” All the joviality and relief left Ashe again. The emotional rollercoaster was getting a little bit out of control. “Which ones?”

  “Samuels, Bertram and Haggardy
. They were all found in the same room.”

  “What happened?”

  “It’s still under investigation, but that building is heated with natural gas. The current theory is carbon monoxide poisoning. Another student in your class who lives there too said they had gotten together to listen to a lecture and compare notes.”

  “Samuels, Bertram and Haggardy were my best students. I was Haggardy’s thesis chair, and on Samuels’ committee.”

  “That’s why I’ve decided to give you a bit of break. I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to continue this semester as an instructor with all that’s happened.”

  “No, Dean Allred, I can still teach. I have other students to help with research. I’ll go crazy if I’m not working.” Words gushed from Ashe like water from a hose.

  “I’m not suspending you, Ashe. I’m giving you a sabbatical if you will. An adjunct instructor will take your classes. You can come to the office every day or not, and work on any research you want. I just want you to move on your own time at your own pace. I can’t afford to lose such an important professor,” Dean Allred said.

  “So why don’t you want me to teach? You don’t think I’ve had anything to do with the deaths, do you?”

  “Of course not. It’s a series of unfortunate coincidences. I do think, though, that you might burn out with so much going on, and you are a valuable member of our team. Your work with Dr. Rogers has really put Alabama Tech on the map. Since the engram recorder came out, admission applications for our college have tripled. We’re getting applicants both undergraduate and graduate that would normally try for MIT or Cal Tech.” The dean took off his glasses and wiped his face with a handkerchief. “You’re going to keep the college of engineering bankrolled for the next ten years.”

  Ashe felt better. At least his job wasn’t in danger. He shook his head. “This is unbelievable.”

  “I understand. Why don’t you go home and rest? You look like you didn’t sleep much last night.” Dean Allred chuckled. “I guess you were up to other things.”

  “I’m very embarrassed about that outburst, sir. Can we forget it?” Ashe felt flush again.

  “Water under the bridge. Go home, get some sleep. Take that student, Ms. Fairchild, home with you if you need to, but just take care of yourself.”

  Ashe walked into his office. Rogers sat behind his desk with his feet propped up on an open drawer. The psychologist smiled like a cat that had just eaten the canary.

  “What is it?” Ashe asked.

  “I hear that you had a little adventure last night,” he said. “I believe a fair young lady was involved as well.”

  “Cybil’s apartment was broken into. Whoever did it completely tore the place apart. They destroyed everything including her underwear and pictures that hung on her wall. Sick stuff. I think they even took a dump somewhere and hid it. The whole place smelled like rotten eggs.”

  “So where did she stay?” Rogers asked.

  “With me, because it was late and she didn’t want to bother anyone else. She, Father Smalls and I had gone to a parade and then to a bar.”

  “A threesome with a priest, this girl is freaky,” Rogers said. “I like it.”

  Ashe rubbed the bridge of his nose and started gathering up some papers. “Father Smalls and I needed to talk to a band that she knows. That’s all.”

  “Sure it is.” Rogers took his feet off of the drawer. “Are you going home?”

  “The dean has put me on sabbatical. I’m not allowed to teach classes until further notice. He’s as good as told me to just do as little as I want to.” He shoved the files into a canvas satchel.

  “Wish I had him as a dean.”

  “Maybe your dean will force you on a mental health vacation if three of your graduate students end up dead less than a week after your fiancée died.” Ashe slung the bag over his shoulder. He scooped his keys up from his desk and shooed Rogers up and toward the door.

  “I’m sorry. Do they know what happened?” Rogers asked, walking out the door.

  “They think carbon monoxide poisoning, but they’re not sure yet. I don’t want to talk about it or think about anything. I’m going home to try to sleep.”

  Ashe turned his office lights off and pulled the door closed. He remembered that Cybil had left a backpack in his office the day before. It probably had her Vespa key in it. He didn’t want to lock that away from her and risk her not making it home.

  “If you see Cybil, tell her I left my office open, and that I went home. Tell her I have my cell if she needs me.”

  “Now that you’re not teaching classes, she probably won’t. I might take her on as a work-study.” A look of lustful deviance came into Rogers’ eyes.

  “She’s not in your department’s budget.”

  The door of the elevator opened without Ashe punching the call button. Two students he recognized as aerospace undergrads got off. He stepped on and held the door for Rogers.

  “I’ve got to see Dr. Mendev,” Rogers said. “You still had voice mails on your phone. Aren’t you going to check them?”

  “When you find Cybil, because I know you’re going to look for her, tell her to check them for me and write down any important ones.”

  Ashe punched the ground floor button and let the doors close. He blinked his heavy eyelids and looked forward to going home and sleep.

  Security Camera: Autopsy Room, Providence Hospital, Dictation Recording, 10:12 a.m. CST

  A young man’s body lies on the table. A folded sheet covers only his pelvic area. His large gut hangs off both sides of his body, making him appear like a beached whale. A technician in a lab coat wheels a cart into the room. All sorts of instruments used in pathology are on it. A doctor with her hair in a ponytail with the top covered with a surgical hat follows. She pulls on her latex gloves. A clear plastic shield covers her face. She stops beside the tray. The man hands her a scalpel.

  The technician walks to a table and flips a switch to a machine sitting on it. He comes back to the side of the doctor. She makes an incision at the base of his chest, near where the man’s belly bulges upward.

  The doctor speaks into a microphone pinned to her scrubs, recording into a dictation machine. “This is Dr. Sydney O’Hara conducting an autopsy on Jason Samuels, a twenty-two-year-old Caucasian male. Death is unknown but believed to be carbon monoxide poisoning. Samuels, however, would have been considered morbidly obese while alive. I am beginning the incision near the base of the sternum.”

  A crashing noise comes from the next room. Both Dr. O’Hara and the technician look up and toward the noise. Glass shatters from the same direction. The doctor nods her head toward the noise. The technician hurries that way. She slices through Samuels’ belly fat until she reaches his navel.

  Another crash echoes through the autopsy room. Dr. O’Hara puts her scalpel back on the tray and starts around the autopsy table in the direction of the noise.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  Before she makes it all the way around, a naked man runs from the side of the room where the noise originated. She tries to dodge him, but he hits her with his shoulder lowered like a defensive back. Both hit the floor with a loud thud. A man dressed out in full operating room garb comes in after the naked man. He takes the scalpel from the tray and bends down over Dr. O’Hara.

  “What are you doing?” she yells. “Let me go. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

  “We want you to die,” the naked man says.

  Before she can scream, the man dressed like a surgeon kneels and slits her throat. He stands and tosses the bloody scalpel across the room. He looks Samuels’ body over. The naked man runs his finger down the long incision in the corpse’s body.

  “Can we still use him?” the naked man asks, his voice sounding distant in the recording.

  “No, the incisio
n is too deep. His guts would spill out. I wish I would have gotten here earlier. I was only able to get you. This puts me behind. The boss isn’t going to be happy,” the man dressed like a doctor says.

  “No, he will not be.”

  The clothed man snatches the sheet off of Samuels’ body. He drapes it over the nude man. As they walk to door, three tones beep over the loudspeaker .

  “Code black in the morgue, code black in the morgue, code black in the morgue,” a voice repeats over the speaker.

  “We’ve been seen. We need to hurry,” the man in full surgery garb says, barely audible due to his distance from the dictation microphone.

  Both men run out the door. A uniformed security guard rushes into the room from the way the others had come. He kneels over Dr. O’Hara’s body and then vomits.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cybil punched the code into Ashe’s office phone to retrieve his voice mails. She dug through the center drawer in the desk until she came up with a pen and pad. The first message was from a student who had a question about an assignment. She copied down his name and contact info.

  Someone knocked on the door. She looked up to see Father Smalls and waved him in.

  “Where is Ashe?” he asked.

  “He was sent home for the day,” she said as she skipped past the automated message from some journal trying to sell copy.

  “Not for anything bad I hope.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong, but three of his graduate students died last night in the dorms. The dean decided that he needed a vacation or at least that’s what Dr. Rogers said.”

  “I heard about the students’ deaths. I didn’t realize they were his students. Things aren’t going very well for him, are they?”

  “Understatement of the year.” She paused the playback. “Can I help you with anything?”

  He shook his head. “I came by to talk to him about that man we met last night. I found out something interesting.”

  “Really, have you talked to Ashe today?” she asked.