by John Manning
The hallway was cold, far colder than it ever was, and Sue could see her own breath in front of her. Across from Room 323, she saw that the door to Joelle and Tish’s room was open, and they were inside, smiling, smoking some pot. They waved at her. “Go on,” Joelle told her. “The door’s open. We’ve been inside Room 323 and we had a blast.”
But Sue didn’t want to go inside. She wanted to run. She started to cry.
They’re just using you…
Bernadette’s voice.
Sue stifled a sob as she reached the door. Despite wanting to run, she reached out for the knob, which was hot to the touch.
Bearing the pain, she turned the knob, and pushed the door open.
And looked into her mother’s face.
She screamed and sat up in bed.
Tish Lewis sat there, staring at her.
“No!” Sue screamed again.
“Be quiet!” Tish demanded. “If they hear you, we’re both dead.”
Sue concentrated on the filthy, blood-caked girl sitting in front of her.
“Everyone’s been looking for you,” Sue said, remarkably calm.
Tish seemed frantic. “You’re the only one I can trust. The only one I know for sure isn’t in on this.”
“In on what, Tish?” Sue asked, recoiling just a bit from the rank odor that permeated the girl’s ragged clothes.
“They’re a cult,” Tish said. “Some kind of blood-drinking cult. Like vampires.”
Sue gave her a small smile—a smile that felt strange even as she felt her lips making it. “Now, that sounds quite outrageous, Tish.”
“I know. But it’s true! You must believe me, Sue. You came to our room because you had seen the face at the window of that room. You were frightened, so you can’t be part of them. Who knows who else is involved? Maybe everyone! Joelle called me—she went into that room, she said they were all part of it—”
Sue managed to stand. Tish followed her.
“Joelle went into Room 323?” Sue asked. “What did she see?”
“She saw enough that they killed her! They drank her blood!”
“Really now?” Sue asked.
“You’ve got to believe me. They were going to kill me, too. They kept me locked in a room in the basement of the dean’s house. I managed to break out—I killed Oostie—Mrs. Oosterhouse—she was part of it, too!”
“Oostie? Harmless little Oostie?”
“They weren’t going to drink my blood, though,” Tish said, her eyes moving around the room crazily. “The fact that I wasn’t a virgin saved me! I knew getting laid was a good thing!” She laughed wildly. “But I got out! And we’ll get them! We’ll get them all!”
“How did you ever get in here?” Sue asked, backing up toward her desk.
“I snuck out of the dean’s house and hid in the bushes all day. Then I saw Malika. She was sitting on a bench and her purse was open. When she got up to talk to someone I snuck over and took her key.”
Sue smiled, another strange sensation as it crossed her face. “Is that why Malika didn’t come to the room tonight? And here I thought she was angry with me.”
“I hid in the dorm basement and waited until it was really dark before slipping up here.” She approached Sue with eyes filled with insanity. “You don’t know who’s working with them! I couldn’t afford to take any chances.”
“Of course not,” Sue said.
She turned, picking up the phone on her desk.
“Who are you calling?” Tish asked in terror.
“Don’t worry, Tish. I know exactly who can help us.”
“You do? Who?”
Sue was silent. She waited for someone to pick up on the other line. When she heard “Hello,” she said, “Hello, this is Sue Barlow. Could you come right away?” Then she hung up the phone.
“Who did you call?” Tish asked, backing away from her now. “Who can help us?”
“You’ll see, Tish.” She gave her a thoughtful glance. “Why don’t you use the bathroom to wash up? You look terrible.”
“No,” Tish said, mumbling to herself. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have tried to get over the campus wall. But all those guards everywhere…”
“Now, now, don’t start sounding like Malika,” Sue said. “They’re there for our own protection.”
“Don’t you see?” Tish cried. “They can’t protect us! They’re all involved. Dean Gregory! His wife! Oostie! The nurse from the infirmary!”
Sue blanched a little when Tish said that. Nurse Cochrane…
Tish was ranting as if she’d completely lost her mind. “When I was in that cell, I heard so many voices I knew! Professor Adamson—you know, the guy who spits when he talks in biology class! And the woman with the jet-black hair who works at the library! And that new lady from the board of trustees! And the guy who teaches American film! So many, Sue! So many!”
“So many,” Sue repeated.
She glanced out the window. She saw movement below. She smiled.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Tish shrieked. “You don’t know what they’ll do to us.”
“Tish, calm down. I’ve called someone who will help.”
“Who?” Tish was screaming at her now, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Who can help us?”
Behind them, the door opened.
Tish spun around.
“Noooooo!” she screamed.
Dean Gregory, in a green satin smoking jacket, entered, followed by three of his leather-clad guards.
“Thank you for calling, Miss Barlow.”
Tish turned on Sue, eyes wide. “You’re one of them! They got to you! I shouldn’t have trusted you!”
“Well, Miss Lewis,” Dean Gregory said, looking at her kindly as the guards surrounded her. “We’ve all been so worried about you.”
“Let me go!” Tish screamed, as the guards took her by the arms.
Sue smiled over at Gregory. “Everyone will be very relieved to know she’s alive.”
“Indeed,” the dean replied.
Sue looked down at the card on her desk, the one with Gregory’s private number that he’d given her in case she ever needed him.
“No!” Tish screamed again, as the guards began moving her out of the room.
Dean Gregory smiled again at Sue and gave her a little bow. “Thank you, Miss Barlow. We’re so very grateful to you.”
“Of course,” Sue said, returning his smile.
One of the guards had clamped a gloved hand over Tish’s mouth as he took her out into the hall. A little rough, Sue thought, but there was no use in waking up the whole dorm.
After they left, Sue got back into bed. She looked at her clock. 3:15 A.M.
She had no trouble falling back to sleep. All her previous anxieties were gone. Everyone would sleep better now that at least one of those poor girls had been found.
46
On Monday morning, Ginny steeled herself for what she was certain would be the final confrontation between Dean Gregory and herself.
“Sit down, Ginny,” the dean said, gesturing to one of the plush leather chairs in front of his desk. “Would you like some coffee? Some tea?”
She took a seat and looked at him. He seemed glowing, as if he were the happiest man in the world. He seemed—sated. That was the word that came to Ginny. As if he’d just indulged himself in a full-course breakfast and sat back now in his chair, full and satisfied. She had no idea what gave Gregory such a glow this morning, but whatever it was, she didn’t like it.
“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” she said. “I’m not about to hand over my curriculum to the board of trustees for their stamp of approval. So let’s figure another way to proceed.”
“And what might that be?”
“Under these conditions, I can’t continue teaching at Wilbourne.”
He seemed surprised. His small eyes opened wide. “What are you saying, Ginny?”
“That I’d like to take a year’s sabbatical, starting at the end of
this term. I want to finish my book, and figure out where to go from there.”
He gave her a mock smile of regret. “And might you decide to leave us at the end of that time?”
“A new board will be in place by then,” she reminded him. “I’ll make that decision after I get a chance to hear from them.”
She knew, in some ways, it was a retreat. She could cause a big stink, as she’d threatened to do. But it wouldn’t serve her needs. For right now, what she wanted to do was write. Meeting Bernadette deSalis had given her the jump start she needed. And last night, Father Ortiz had called her out of the blue, asking that she visit the deSalis home right away. Bernadette wanted to speak. She’d had an experience visiting her brother at the hospital, and she wanted to share it with Ginny.
What an interview that had been. For the first time in many years, Ginny felt galvanized to write. She felt inspired. Thanks to the visions Bernadette claimed to have experienced, the book had come back to life.
Ginny just needed the time and space to write it. And as much as she loved her students, the pressures from Gregory and the stress of the missing girls—exacerbated by the administration’s mishandling of it—were distractions she didn’t need.
“Well,” she said. “What do you say?”
“You know that sabbaticals are applied for well in advance. This is quite sudden.”
She gave him a tight smile. “What do you say, Dean?”
He raised as his hands as if to say, “You win.”
Ginny stood. “I’ll have the paperwork on your desk by this afternoon. I expect that I will still be allowed to work with any students who have signed up for long-term projects with me.”
“I’ll have to consult with the board about that—”
Ginny shot him a look. “That’s not negotiable. Some of these girls had expectations I’d be on campus next semester. I want them to feel they can still contact me by phone or e-mail.”
Gregory again made the hand gesture of supplication. “Very well, Dr. Marshall. Whatever you say.”
She nodded, and strode out of his office.
And that, she hoped, would be the last time she ever had to look upon that weasel’s face.
Heading back to her own office, Ginny knew she wouldn’t return to Wilbourne. Gregory was going to keep stacking the board with his people. She wouldn’t want to remain in a place that clamped down on freedom of thought and expression. They’d mutually agree to terminate her contract one year from now.
But at least she’d get a year to finish her book without worrying about a paycheck or health benefits.
Hazel looked up at her as she came through the door to her office. “That reporter has been trying to get ahold of you,” the secretary said. “I told her I didn’t know when to expect you back.”
“Gayle Honeycutt?”
“That’s the one.” She handed Ginny a note with Gayle’s number. “Should I tell her you’re still out if she calls back?”
“No,” Ginny said, remembering Perry Holland asking about her the other day. “Put her through.”
Inside her office, Ginny was happy for the first time in weeks. She began packing up her files into boxes. She’d never liked Wilbourne, not really, nor the town of Lebanon. The students had mostly been great, and she’d met some good folks like Miles Holland. But mostly, she had always felt like an outsider here. It was time to go home.
To Hammond. To the house that had been her parents’—in a quiet little town where Southern hospitality, not New England rigidity, was a way of life. She could write her book there, and move on with her life.
It didn’t take long for Hazel to buzz in with word that Gayle Honeycutt was calling again. Ginny took the call.
“You’re hard to reach,” the reporter said.
“What can I do for you, Gayle?”
“For one thing, you can tell me what’s going on with Bernadette deSalis. Can you vouch for her? Was this an authentic sighting of the Virgin Mary?”
“No comment.”
“Oh, come on, Dr. Marshall!”
Ginny sighed. “The family has asked that I not speak to reporters.”
“You owe me more than that! I put you onto the story!”
Ginny felt herself getting angry. “I don’t owe you anything, Gayle. In fact, a third party brought me in to meet Bernadette.”
“Well, I’m writing the story anyway. It’s all over town. If you don’t like how it turns out, then it will be your own fault.”
“Just make sure you spell ‘No comment’ correctly,” Ginny told her.
Gayle laughed. “But what do you make of all these other sightings? Isn’t it odd that they’re taking place at the same time?”
Ginny was stuffing files into boxes, but now paused, the phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear. “What other sightings?”
“You don’t watch the news, do you, Dr. Marshall? It’s been all over the wires. It’s like an epidemic of Virgin sightings. Ohio, Arizona, Oregon, Tennessee—and in Canada, too. And Mexico—the place you told me you studied—Los Zapatos.”
“There’s been another sighting in Los Zapatos?”
“Yeah, and in a whole hell of a lot of other places, too.” Gayle laughed. “Maybe you’d care to make a comment now, Dr. Marshall?”
“No,” Ginny mumbled, clicking the mouse on her computer to get to the Yahoo! News screen. Sure enough, Gayle was right. A headline read, RASH OF MARY SIGHTINGS CALLED MIRACULOUS OR MASS DELUSION. Clicking on it, Ginny read the lead: “All over North America, reports of sightings of the Virgin Mary have left the faithful rapturous and skeptics charging fraud…”
“Dr. Marshall?” Gayle was asking. “Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here…”
“Well, there’s another story I’m working on, and maybe you would want to comment on that.”
Ginny was deeply engrossed reading the article online. All of the cases involved young girls who claimed, like Bernadette, to have been told a fearful secret by the Virgin…
“What story is that?” she asked distractedly.
“These missing girls from Wilbourne. Perry Holland called me yesterday and told me there’s a pattern going back decades. Every twenty years, give or take, a handful of girls from the school either disappear or wind up dead.”
Ginny’s attention snapped back to the telephone conversation. “What?”
“I remember a couple of them. I was just married, and I remember this Wilbourne girl, Margaret Latham, who was found dead and dismembered, all her blood drained out. Strange how I’d forgotten about it until the deputy reminded me. He has more information to give me.”
“So you’re saying, it happens on a regular basis?”
Gayle sighed. “That’s what Perry Holland says. He has reports of cases going back over a hundred years, he says. I haven’t seen all of his evidence yet, so I can’t say for sure whether he’s right. But I do remember Margaret Latham—and that other girl, too, the one who got raped in her dorm around the same time. It was all over the news back then. How could I have forgotten? Mariclare Barlow was her name.”
Barlow…
“So,” Gayle asked, in a self-congratulatory voice, “have I convinced you to comment on any of this? I’m going to be calling Dean Gregory, of course…”
“He’s the one you should speak with,” Ginny told her. “I can’t possibly comment on something that happened before I arrived here.”
“Well, you read up about those strange occurrences with the Virgin, Dr. Marshall.” Ginny laughed. “That’s the first story I’m working on. Not too often that I get two sensational scoops at the same time! And if you decide you want to talk to me, you know my number.”
“Yeah,” Ginny said, her eyes returning to her computer screen. “Thanks for calling.”
“Anytime!”
Ginny hung up the phone.
None of the girls had yet revealed what the Virgin told them, except to their local priest or bishop…
“But
Bernadette told me,” Ginny whispered.
Dear God. What is happening?
47
It was difficult to calm her mind and plan what she would say to her students. But finally, Ginny forced herself to put aside everything Gayle Honeycutt had told her and concentrate on her upcoming class.
“I want you all to be the first to know,” Ginny announced when the students were all seated in front of her. “I am going on sabbatical next semester. I won’t be on campus. I’ll be leaving right after final exams.”
There were groans and shouts of “Oh, no!”
“But Dr. Marshall,” one girl in the back called out. “You promised you’d be my advisor…”
“Yes, I know, and I will continue to be available to advise any one of you who needs it.” She smiled. “Take down my e-mail address now, and feel free to use it over the course of the next year.”
She gave them her address, answering a few questions about why she was going on sabbatical (“I’m a writer, too, remember, and if I don’t finish this book now, I never will”). Then she began the day’s lecture—rather anticlimactic. Afterward, several girls gathered around to wish her well and to secure her promise, yet again, that she’d be only an e-mail or telephone call away. She assured them that would be the case.
Then she noticed Sue Barlow.
The girl was standing there staring at her, clutching her books to her chest.
“Hello, Sue,” Ginny said.
Sue smiled but didn’t reply.
“I know you expressed interest in taking my course next year,” Ginny said. “I’m sorry that won’t be possible. But if you’d like me to recommend some books—”
“No need, Dr. Marshall.” Sue’s voice seemed odd. The girl appeared glassy-eyed and almost robotic. “I’ve benefited greatly from your class, but I think now my interests will be diverging elsewhere.”
“Oh,” Ginny said. “I see.”
Sue’s smile widened. “You’ll be leaving Lebanon? Returning to Louisiana?”
“Yes. That’s where I’ll be writing the book.”
Sue nodded. “Well, best of luck to you, Dr. Marshall.”
Ginny watched her leave. That was odd. Very odd. Sue had been one of her most enthusiastic students, rare for a freshman. Her essays were always interesting and well thought out, and in the last few weeks she had even begun speaking out in class, asking questions that were intelligent and sometimes even provocative. Ginny liked Sue; no matter that she might be a pet of Gregory’s due to her grandfather’s endowment money. She was still a bright, friendly girl.
