by R. T. Lowe
But now nothing felt easy; he didn’t want to go anywhere. Lying in bed and doing nothing seemed like a very worthwhile objective, an objective he could actually achieve. He needed some sleep. If he could just plunge into a dreamless sleep, he could forget about the satanic tests that had kicked his tired ass all over campus. His brain needed a brief respite from the cluttered mountain of facts, dates, theories, calculations and countless other bits of useless data he couldn’t possibly retain in the storage house between his ears for much longer anyway. He was exhausted. And to make things worse, he had a game tomorrow, the biggest game for the Sturgeons in twenty-something years. If they won they would play for the Rain Cup. Hooray! But he was too mentally and physically demolished to even think about a game. He would block it out and deal with it tomorrow. After he got some sleep.
Tiberius 14-37, Caligula 37-41, Claudius 41-54, Nero 54-68… Tiberius 14-37, Caligula 37-41, Claudius 41-54, Nero 54-68…
“Get a grip, Felix!” He dragged himself out of bed and checked his watch. It was already 6:25. Not enough time to eat in the cafeteria. He would have to grab something on his way out. This sucked. He was not in the mood for this. The biggest waste of time ever. Of all the pointless things he’d ever done, this topped them all.
Tiberius 14-37, Caligula 37-41, Claudius…
Chapter 27
The Journal
In the deepening twilight, Felix gnawed on a protein bar (sweet clumps of sawdust), as he made his way along the footpaths to the Stamford Building. Fallen leaves skittered and rattled across the paths, tumbling over his feet. When he arrived at the front steps he noticed that ash-colored clouds were beginning to drift in from the west. He took one last breath of cool pungent air and slipped inside.
Bill’s name wasn’t listed in the lobby directory so Felix had to go from office to office checking the nameplates on the doors. After a fair amount of searching he finally found Bill’s office on the third floor. Felix stood there for a while, wondering what he was doing and already regretting his decision to come here. A door opened and closed on another floor. Voices, low and serious, floated up from the stairwell. He blew out an anxious sigh and rapped softly on solid wood, hoping Bill wasn’t in.
“Hello!” a voice called out immediately from the other side, crushing Felix’s hopes. “It’s unlocked.”
Felix turned the knob and eased the door open. Then he leaned his head in, still holding on to the knob, keeping one foot out in the hall. He found Bill standing behind a desk made out of some kind of dark wood. It was big and sturdy-looking, impressive, presidential even. But it wasn’t the desk that caught Felix’s eye; it was the books. They were everywhere: The wall facing the door was stuffed with them and they were piled and stacked on the floor wherever they would fit.
“Let me guess,” Bill said with a wry smile. “You’re thinking I hijacked the office of one of your professors.” No groundskeeper uniform this time; he was wearing tan slacks and a dark blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows. He’d also shaved. He looked like he was about to head off to a business meeting. Or maybe a date.
“Yeah,” Felix admitted, wondering why the assistant groundskeeper would have so many books in his office. Then something occurred to him: why would the assistant groundskeeper even have an office? Felix wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. “What’s with the books?”
“Come in. Please.”
Felix hesitated for a moment, then decided there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He couldn’t turn back now without appearing rude. So he left the door open a crack and stepped in, glancing over at two armchairs in front of the desk, thinking (for some reason) he would sit in one of those chairs and that Bill would stay at the desk.
“I guess you could say I’m an avid reader.” Bill came around the desk and stepped past Felix to close the door. While Felix was trying to sort out what was going on, Bill locked the door with the deadbolt, then he went over to the room’s only window—beneath it stood a small antique-looking table with a pair of matching chairs—and shut the blinds.
“Well, come on.” Bill took a seat at the table. He wasn’t looking at Felix. He was looking at something on the table—a book. “I suppose we should do this here. This will be the place.” His tone was subdued. It reminded Felix of the way people talk in church.
“Do what?” Felix asked.
Bill made a windmilling motion with his hand. “This is what you came for.”
A book? Felix thought. Why would his mom have given this guy a book? The only books he remembered her reading were Nicholas Sparks paperbacks and the occasional cookbook. Something didn’t feel right about any of this, but despite what his gut was telling him, he approached the table, tentatively.
“Have a seat,” Bill said, still staring down at the book. The cover was closed. It was fraying at the edges. It looked old and fragile, like it might disintegrate if the ceiling fan came on.
Felix stopped beside the table.
“Please.” Bill nodded at the empty chair. He had a look in his eyes that made Felix feel uneasy. They looked vague, distracted. Void of… something. Felix glanced back at the door to make sure he had a clear path and that a simple turn of the lock would open it—just in case. As he sat down lightly on the very edge of the seat, he rocked the chair out from under the table and angled it so that if he needed to get out quickly he wouldn’t bang his legs on anything. Bill seemed oblivious to what he was doing, his eyes unblinking.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to show you this,” Bill said, his eyes returning to Felix. He tapped the book lightly with his forefinger. Twice. Thump thump. “And I’ve thought of a hundred different ways to do it. None of them are… ideal. I want you to know that I understand what this will do to you when you read it. How it’ll change your life. I wish there was another way—an easier way—but there isn’t.”
“What are you talking about?” Felix asked, confused. When Bill didn’t respond, he pointed at the book. “This?”
“Life makes a mockery of our best laid plans, doesn’t it? The leaves appear on the trees one day and then change colors and fall off the next. Season after season. Year after year. Over and over and over and over. Before you know it, seventeen years have gone by. When I read this, I was twenty-one. Now here I am. And here you are.”
“I don’t know what—”
“It’s a journal.” Bill’s eyes moved to the book. “Your aunt’s journal. It was given to me by your mother. It was her dying wish that I show it to you.”
Felix sat in silence for a moment. Then he said in the most sarcastic voice he could muster: “My mom gave you my aunt’s journal? I got news for you: I don’t even have an aunt. My parents were only children.”
Bill continued as if he hadn’t heard Felix. “Your mom also wanted you to know her name: Elissa. Her name was Elissa.”
“Elissa? Who are you talking about?” He wasn’t sure if he should attempt to make sense of this or just leave. He threw a glance at the door again. Still a clear path. Same simple deadbolt. “My mom’s name is Patricia. I think you got the wrong guy.”
Bill shook his head. “There’s no easy way to say it. And you have to know this before you read it.” He paused. “You were adopted. Your mother’s name—your biological mother—was Elissa.”
“Okay. Bill… um… no offense or anything, but I’m gonna go now.” This guy was clearly crazy. Felix wanted to groan, or yell, or scream—something to demonstrate how stupendously stupid he felt for coming here instead of staying in bed and taking a sixteen-hour nap. “I wasn’t adopted. You don’t know the first thing about me. And you sure as hell didn’t know my mother.” He was about to stand up.
“I don’t know you?” Bill laughed harshly. “I know everything about you. I know how many miles you have on your Wrangler. I know your forty time from the football camp you attended before your senior year. I know your high school GPA. I know that your parents died in a fire on your eighte
enth birthday. But I didn’t ask you to come here to tell you things you already know about yourself.”
Felix’s mouth didn’t seem to be working, but his brain was. Stalker! he thought, alarmed. This guy’s a stalker. But why… why’s he stalking me? “So you have access to the Internet,” he said once he got his tongue to cooperate. “You can get all that from Facebook and a Google search.”
“I also know you had your first beer when you were fourteen. When you were two, every time you entered a room, the bulbs burned out. I’m sure you weren’t aware of that. And when you were eight, a thirteen-year-old named Nathan used to bully you on your way home from school. Until one day you got really angry and Nathan’s appendix and gall bladder both ruptured. And you didn’t lay a hand on him.”
A little noise slipped out of Felix’s mouth, something between a yelp and a gasp. He’d never told anyone about Nathan. Not even his parents. “I think you should just stay away from me, okay?” His voice sounded high and thin. “If I see you again, I’m telling the dean. I’m pretty sure you’ll lose your job.”
“My job?” Bill snorted. “I have a thing or two going on besides my gardening activities.”
Felix looked around the office hesitantly, trying to make sense of how Bill could possibly know about Nathan, but the books and maps didn’t provide any answers. It seemed impossible, but Bill had gotten it right. The thing—or incident or whatever you wanted to call it—had actually happened. But it was so long ago he’d almost forgotten about it. Besides—it wasn’t even his fault that Nathan got hurt. You can’t hurt someone by just wanting to hurt them. That’s what he’d told himself then, and that’s what he told himself now whenever he thought about it.
“I understand why you’re skeptical.” Bill sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Why would the assistant groundskeeper know you were adopted? Sounds crazy, right? I completely get it—believe me. That’s why I need you to read the journal.” He flicked a finger toward it. “Once you read it, you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”
The smart course of action seemed obvious to Felix: he should get the hell out of here. But something about Bill was tweaking his curiosity. The guy was a groundskeeper, but he didn’t talk—or act—like someone who dug ditches for a living. And how did Bill know so much about him? And what was he saying about light bulbs burning out?
“Alright,” Felix said, ignoring his sensible side. “I’ll play along. How’d you meet my mom. My biological mom. What’s her name again?”
“Elissa. It’s not important how we met.” Bill’s voice was stiff, sharper than before. “Just read the journal. Please.”
“I’d really like to know,” Felix persisted. “Where’d you meet her?”
“That’s not important,” Bill said firmly, his expression hard.
“I’d still like to know,” Felix responded with equal firmness.
“This is counterproductive,” Bill muttered, staring at Felix, but when Felix’s gaze didn’t wither, he lowered his eyes and sighed. “Fine. When I was in college and just a few years older than you are now, I became disillusioned with school and seriously considered dropping out. A professor of mine talked me into taking an internship at a place called Green River. It’s an institution just outside Seattle. An institution for… it’s a mental institution. Your mother was a patient there.”
“And that’s where you met my mom?” Felix exclaimed incredulously. “My mom the mental patient? Is she still in the loony bin?”
Bill dropped his chin and stared down at his lap. “No. She um… she died… just a few… just a few days after we met. You were just a baby at the time.” His voice was thick and hitching. He looked up at Felix. “I’m sorry. I really am. I wish that she…” He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, then looked away.
A sudden wave of confusion swept over Felix. Was it possible, he asked himself, that Bill wasn’t crazy? Was any of this possible? There were pictures all over his house and photo albums down in the basement, but he couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen a picture of his mom pregnant. He didn’t think so, but what did that prove?
“She gave this to me before she passed away.” Bill nodded at the journal. “I promised her I’d give it to you. Just read it. Please. It’ll all make sense.”
Felix reached out for it. Then he hesitated, his hand hovering over the journal like it was a chess board, and he, an indecisive player dithering over his next move. Bill was screwing with him, he told himself. He had to be. He was crazy. Why else would he be trying to convince him that he was adopted? If he opened the cover, he’d be playing into his sick twisted game. All at once, he was furious—and deeply insulted—that this guy thought he could manipulate him so easily.
Felix snatched his hand away and jumped up from his chair.
“Dammit!” Bill shouted.
Felix was about to tell the groundskeeper to go screw himself when he realized there was a bat in his face. Not a little wooden souvenir bat, but a long heavy-barreled aluminum number with bright black and yellow letters spelling out EASTON. The kind of bat that can crush a skull like an empty beer can.
“What the?” Felix said in disbelief.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Bill said evenly. He’d gotten to his feet. The guy was quick. Ninja quick. “If you try, you’ll be leaving with a rather serious limp.”
Felix was frozen with shock. He knew that he should be doing something—threatening to call the police maybe? But his lips were as petrified as the rest of him. He just mumbled, “What the?” again.
Bill’s face was a mask. “I’ve sacrificed everything for this moment. Everything. You’re going to read the journal. And that’s the end of it. I don’t want to hurt you.” He paused. “But I will if I have to.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Don’t try me. And in case you’re thinking about using your cell”—he tilted his chin to indicate the outline of a phone in Felix’s front pocket—“I’ll break your goddamn fingers. Now sit your ass down and do as I say.” Then he paused again and bellowed: “Sit!”
Felix stayed put, afraid to move. Bill was big, agile, and he looked strong. He was also clearly out of his mind. Felix glanced over at the door and wondered if he could make it. Not a chance. Not before Bill got in a couple of swings anyway. And the window was useless: too small to squeeze through without a lot of body contorting (which would take time), and even if he could manage that, an awkward fall from the third floor would probably shatter most of the bones in his body.
Bill’s expression told him that he knew what he was thinking. And so did his actions: He drew the bat back like he was about to swing for the fences.
Felix slumped into his chair, resigned.
Bill remained standing, gripping the bat in his hands like he knew how to handle it. He exhaled slowly, staring down at Felix. “Look—I didn’t want to do that. I really didn’t. But you gave me no choice. There’s too much at stake. You simply don’t have the option of not hearing me out, okay?”
“So spit it out!” Felix snapped through his teeth.
“All you have to do is read the journal. That’s it. After that, you’re free to go. I promise I won’t try to stop you.”
“Fine.” Felix eyed him warily. He had no reason to trust him, but as long as he had the bat, what choice did he have? “Give it to me.”
Using his middle finger, Bill slid the journal across the table until it rested in front of Felix.
“You’re seriously crazy, you know. A baseball bat? Really? You won’t get away with this.” Felix had already decided that as soon as he got out of here, he would go straight to campus security. They could deal with this crazy asshole.
“Just turn the cover, Felix. Please. Please.”
Felix glanced up at him. The guy was pleading with him. He sounded desperate, like he was begging for his life. Why did he want him to read it so badly? And again, Felix thought about his mom, wracking his brain to remember if he’d ever seen a photo of
her pregnant.
“As a show of good faith, I’ll leave the bat here.” Bill placed it on the floor, barrel down, propped up against his chair. “I’m going to make myself a cup of tea. When you’re done, we’ll talk. Deal?” And then he walked away, crossing the office to his desk.
Felix was all alone at the table.
Now he was really confused. Bill was preoccupied; he was actually pouring himself a cup of tea at his desk. And the bat was his for the taking if he wanted it. He could easily get to it before Bill. It was right in front of him. But he didn’t even need it. He could make it to the door before Bill finished filling his cup. He would be out of the building and long gone. There was no way he could catch him. Bill was practically inviting him to take off. Then he looked down at the journal, and all thoughts of escape instantly melted away. It exerted a strange power over him, compelling him to stay. Something inside him wanted to know—had to know—what was in it. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t just walk away from this. He opened the cover, throwing a quick glance at Bill. Then he placed his forearms on either side of the tattered little book and looked down.
His eyes moved over the lines and swoops and curves, and then the words they formed began to fill his mind. His vision misted and blurred and the world shuddered, rippling suddenly out of focus. There was no Portland College, no Stamford Building. No table. No chair. No crazy man with a bat. Just Felix and the words on the page. But the words were more than just collections of letters sequenced to reflect the thoughts of their owner; they were living things that breathed their meaning inside him, tearing through him like a storm, creating a new reality from the vestiges of the old one. The rhythmic beat of a heart pounded violently in his ears—th-thump th-thump th-thump—and as he wondered dully if it was his or the journal’s, his consciousness ebbed steadily away until all sense of self was lost and only the words remained.
