The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen

by R. T. Lowe

  “I’ll go with you.” Bill started toward him.

  “Get away from me!” Felix shouted, waving him off. He flung the door open and limped heavily out of the office.

  Bill didn’t try to stop him.

  Chapter 28

  Headbutts and Footsteps

  The stairs of the Stamford Building seemed to be swimming in cooking grease. Felix slipped and stumbled, but somehow stuck the dismount, planting his feet on the smooth flat stones of a path. He went left and started walking without considering where it might lead him. It was dark. Darker than most nights. Heavy clouds. No moonlight. Only the pathlights glowing softly overhead lit the way to wherever the path was taking him. The ground felt like it was moving in waves beneath his feet. He fell to his knees and got back up, drifting along until he couldn’t stay upright any longer, catching himself against a statue of a Greek god wearing a fig leaf over his private parts. He started up again, his inner ear spinning like a roulette wheel, reminding him of the time he went deep sea fishing with his dad and was slammed so badly with motion sickness he actually contemplated going overboard to get off the boat.

  His stomach heaved. He doubled over and retched on the ground. Not much came out. He’d already left his meager dinner on the floor in Bill’s office. He placed his hand against a thicket of shrubs to hold himself up, but the stiff branches gave way and he fell through, getting raked in the process. He retched again.

  “Yuck!” a girl’s voice cried out up ahead.

  The sound dug into Felix’s brain. He wiped his mouth and pushed his way through the hedge, then ducked under a small spreading maple to get to a path that led him away from the offended girl. His head was pounding, splintering with pain. It hurt in a way that a couple of Advil couldn’t fix.

  So I’m the Belus, Felix thought sluggishly, half-conscious that he was laughing out loud. Two kids strolling toward him (smiling, hand-in-hand) gave him a weird look and a wide berth. The Belus? What did that even mean? It wasn’t even a real word. Adopted? How could he be adopted? He couldn’t be—right? Bill was full of shit. What was wrong with that guy? His parents were dead. Wasn’t that bad enough? Why would he tell him that he was adopted? That his birth mother was dead? That his mom and dad weren’t even his real parents? Why would he lie?

  I wasn’t adopted.

  But what if everything Bill said was true? What about the journal? How do you explain that? He’d read it and experienced whatever the hell that was—his aunt’s emotions. Bill couldn’t make that up. That wasn’t a party trick. He’d felt that. But there had to be an explanation. Drugs? It must have been drugs. Maybe something on the paper? Isn’t that how you get high on LSD? Maybe he was tripping? That must be it. That asshole had drugged him.

  But what if he wasn’t high? Then what? But the journal was crazy; nothing in it could possibly be true. Could it? There’s no such thing as the Source or Sourcerors. No such thing as the Drestian, or the Belus, or cursed journals. And people aren’t immaculately conceived. Bullshit! It was all bullshit! The Cycle? What the hell’s that? Just the drugs talking—that’s all. He caught his foot on something and nearly fell. The earth kept bucking and shifting under his feet. He couldn’t feel his legs. They’d gone numb again. His vision was going in and out of focus, graying and clouding over, then, in intermittent bursts, lighting up like it was midday. He tripped again and fell against a low branch that clipped the very top of his ear. It stung.

  Felix kept his head down, eating up chunks of winding path, kicking his way through drifts of brittle leaves, paying no attention to where he was going. A foul rotten taste filled his mouth: Partially digested protein bar and stomach acid. His gut was knotting and cramping up with sharp rolling spasms. His throat burned. He wanted to curl up in a bed of leaves and sleep off the pain. He’d never felt so sick. Or so confused. Maybe he was dreaming? But it didn’t feel like a dream. So it had to be drugs. Some kind of—

  Thud!

  White light flashed behind his eyes and he stumbled backward, reeling, and fell on his ass. He put his hand to his howling head. Something had struck him in the forehead, dead-center. His eyes watering, he heaved himself up off the hard ground, searching for the culprit. He found it. All metal, it was thick and square at the base and long, thin and curved at the neck: a lamppost.

  As he blinked fiercely to clear out the air raid sirens going off in his head, he noticed the darkened outline of an enormous familiar-looking structure in the distance. He knew where he was: the parking lot next to the football stadium. If he hadn’t headbutted the lamppost, he might have wandered right off campus and into no-man’s-land. How the hell did I get here? he wondered. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, not even during the dismal days of the lucid fog.

  The parking lot was empty. He was all alone. A gusting wind suddenly picked up, biting through his clothes. The smell of rain was in the air. Stuttering moonlight shone briefly through a rift in the clouds. He watched a paper cup rolling end over end across the asphalt. All was silent except for the sound of the wind and the leaves rustling across the pavement. He stood there for a long while listening to the wind, watching the leaves.

  The rain started to fall. At first it was a sprinkle, a drifting drizzle. Then the sprinkle became a gushing, driving Willamette Valley rainstorm that soaked him to the skin in seconds. He looked up at the starless sky and said weakly, “I’m Felix,” hoping it would somehow calm the bizarre collection of disconnected thoughts pounding away inside his aching skull.

  No you’re not, a voice in his head answered in reply.

  “I am,” Felix said.

  No. You’re the Belus.

  “I’m Felix.”

  You don’t know what you are. You don’t even know your real name.

  “I’m Felix!”

  The voice in his head laughed.

  He crumpled to the ground and screamed at the pavement, the last of his strength rushing out of him. He felt like he was crumbling. He got on his hands and knees and rocked himself back and forth, letting the rain wash over him, its icy fingers running down his back, forcing him back to life. The rain was cold. It was real. Something he could feel and understand. There was no doubting its existence or what it meant. It was just water. It made things wet. Slowly, the pain and the sickness (but not the confusion) began to fade.

  Then he heard—or thought he heard—something. Behind him. A whisper of movement. A bare vibration. A stirring in the darkness. Whatever it was, it jolted him into alertness. He staggered to his feet and cleared the rain from his eyes. He heard it again. This time it was off to his left. Darkness had clamped down on the world as he lay on the ground and he wondered how it could have happened so suddenly. His was the only island of light left in the lot. The others had gone out, blanketed in heavy sheets of rain and a thick mist that had descended without warning. The yellow halo cast from above shaded abruptly into blackness; he stared into it, and for a moment, he thought he heard—imagined?—footsteps. Another sound—the same sound. Other side. To his right. He jerked his head around. Nothing but the night (and whatever was lurking there, protected in its shadowy embrace).

  “Hello?” Felix called out hoarsely, his voice cracking, small. He rotated himself in tight circles and whipped his head around trying to see everything all at once. “Hello?”

  As the pain and the nausea dimmed, another sensation—a feeling? A premonition?—rose up from the pit of his stomach: something very bad was about to happen. He’d felt it before. At Martha’s house just before two people had tried to kill him. But that was a dream, he reminded himself. Nobody had tried to kill him—that was all in his head. But this felt like a dream too. Maybe he was dreaming? But what if he wasn’t? He didn’t know if he was dreaming or not. He was losing his mind. That’s what it was. Bill hadn’t drugged him. He was just going crazy.

  Run! a voice in Felix’s head shouted.

  “What?” he said, confused by the warning ringing in his mind.

  Run! Now!


  Felix bolted flat out across the parking lot, the raindrops pelting his face, stinging his eyes, nearly blinding him. There were sounds behind him—the sound of footsteps. This time he was certain of it. They were close. Someone was chasing him. The woman? What if it was the woman with the scar on her face? What if she was real? What if she was back to finish what she started?

  But that was just a dream.

  Then why are you hearing footsteps? Why is she chasing you?

  He flew past the practice fields and as the end of the parking lot drew near, the sound of feet striking wet pavement grew louder, coming from everywhere. How many were after him? He thought back to the man with the knife. He remembered his eyes as clearly as if they were staring back at him through the rain: black, flat, cruel. Was he here? With the woman? Felix’s ears were telling him that whoever was behind him was gaining on him. He wanted to look back, but he was afraid it would slow him down—and afraid of what he might see. His legs were pumping machine-like as he raced past dorms, gardens, a clump of sad leafless trees and then a row of brick buildings. He could see the western edge of The Yard. His legs were on fire, but he broke through the barrier, pushing himself through the pain.

  The paths were deserted, but he didn’t have time to think about where everyone had gone. His lungs were burning. He cut through the rain, tearing past a sea of swirling mist hanging low over The Yard. A haunted air had enveloped the campus: the mist was working its way up from the ground, weaving its way through the branches, arches and columns and up the faces of the buildings, reaching up to the dormers and gables and roofs, cloaking everything in a preternatural shroud of dream-like whiteness.

  He kept going. He forced his legs to churn faster and faster. Almost there. The Freshman Yard came into view. Then his dorm. When he reached Downey, he bounded up the front stairs and threw himself through an open door, slipping on the floor and sprawling head first across the foyer.

  He lay there next to the elevators coughing and huffing, trying to catch his breath. I’m safe, he said to himself, relieved. Safe. I made it. He heard voices, loud, high and excited—drunk voices. He glanced over. Two girls stood in the lobby staring down at him like he was a visitor from an alien planet.

  Felix dragged himself to his feet, hands on his knees, breathing hard. Rivulets of rainwater dribbled onto the floor. His clothes were wringing wet, clinging to his body as he plodded up the stairs, leaving little puddles of water on the dark runner with each squishing step. The girls were laughing. The higher he climbed, the louder their laughter sounded; the strange auditory effect was disorienting. There was almost no activity in the hallways and not a soul on the fourth floor. The dorm was strangely quiet, especially for a Friday night. And he wondered, for a moment, what time it was. He opened the door to his room and groped around for a while to find the light switch before flipping it on.

  A shriek came from Lucas’s bed.

  What the hell? Felix thought dimly, too tired to jump. Too tired to react in any way. Now what? He saw flashes of twined white skin disappearing beneath a dark comforter snatched up from the foot of the bed. The pillow was on the floor. A tousle of red hair poked out from the top and a girl’s face slowly appeared as she brushed her hair to the side, revealing porcelain skin. Piper. Large frightened eyes stared aghast at Felix.

  “Dude.” Lucas’s head popped up next to Piper’s, his hair bedraggled. “Dude… um… I didn’t know where you were. You mind if I use the room a little longer?” Piper retreated back under the blankets. “Could you maybe hang out downstairs or something? I think I only need like five or six more minutes.” He paused thoughtfully. “Maybe a little longer. I’m kinda drunk.”

  Felix backed out of the room, pulled the door shut and started for the stairs.

  “Dude, can you turn out the light?” he heard Lucas’s distant voice shout from the other side of the wall to his right. Audible, but still more distant: “Piper’s a little shy. Duuude!”

  A moment later, without knowing how it had happened, he arrived at a place he knew well: third floor hall, Harper’s room to his right, Allison’s to his left. He gazed blearily at a rain-streaked window at the far end of the corridor; it was glowing faintly orange from the outside lights that illuminated it.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and felt himself swoon. He was drained. His mind was in a state of disarray, total free fall. He doubted his own sanity. He needed to talk to someone, to be with someone. He couldn’t handle being alone with his own thoughts—his own craziness. He was an inch away from collapsing in an exhausted heap in the middle of the empty hallway.

  He turned to his left and knocked on the door as softly as he could. There were rustling sounds behind the door after a half minute of silence, then it opened a crack.

  “Who is it?” a girl’s voice said.

  “It’s me,” he said weakly. “Felix.”

  “Felix?” The door swung open. Allison stood in the doorway wearing a pair of light blue shorts and a gray PC T-shirt, her jaw dropping at the sight of him. Her hair was tied back in a slightly unruly bunch.

  “Oh my God! What the hell? What happened to you?” She took him by the elbow and tugged him into the room, closing the door behind him. “You’re soaking wet.” She covered up a yawn with the back of her hand. “What were you doing outside? It’s pouring.” She went to her closet and dug through a laundry basket until she found a towel. She tossed it to him. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to do laundry. Midterms.” She glanced down at his feet and frowned. “Take your shoes off. Caitlin’s gonna have a shitfit conniption.”

  He heel-stepped out of his sneakers, then toweled off his head.

  “Where’s Caitlin?” he asked, seeing that she wasn’t in her bed.

  “Her parents are in town for her dad’s birthday. She’s staying with them at The Four Seasons. She’d totally freak if she saw the mess you’re making. What’s going on? Where were you?”

  “I think I’m losin’ it, Allie.” He went quiet for a second. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know where you were?” She looked perplexed. “Just tell me what happened.”

  “I… uh… I was being chased.”

  “Chased? By who?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t… um… actually see anyone.” He knew that sounded ridiculous. “I was over by the stadium. I heard something. Footsteps, I think. Yeah. I’m pretty sure. And then they chased me.”

  She placed her hands on her hips and her brow creased. “Take your clothes off. Caitlin’s back tomorrow and you know she’s a neat freak.”

  “Wha—?”

  “Now! C’mon. We went to the lake together like a thousand times. I’ve seen you in shorts. Get a grip.”

  He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and unzipped his jeans. The rain had glued them to his legs and he had to practically pry them off. He dried himself with the towel. Sort of. He was too spent and bewildered to care about being wet (or having nothing on but his boxer briefs).

  “That’s better.” Allison looked him over. “Now tell me what this is all about. You’re not making any sense. You’re not drunk, are you? Were you out partying with the fatassosaurs?”

  “Uh-uh.” He slumped down on Caitlin’s bed. “I think I’ve lost it. I mean, seriously lost it.”

  Allison sat beside him. “What were you doing at the stadium? That’s like the least safe place on campus, you know. No-man’s-land’s right there.”

  “I was um… I was… uh… just walking. Thinking.”

  “At three-thirty in the morning?” She gave him a skeptical look. “In a storm?”

  He sat silently, shaking his head.

  “C’mon, Felix. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  He wasn’t trying to be evasive. He was just so confused about what had happened he didn’t know what to say. How could he explain something he didn’t understand himself?

  “Felix!” she nearly shouted, after the silence had dragged on. Her eyes flared, demanding an ex
planation.

  “I met this guy a while ago,” he began, the words tumbling out slowly, awkwardly. “His name’s Bill. He’s a groundskeeper, an assistant groundskeeper, actually. He works here. At the school. I saw him earlier tonight. I went to his office and he told me that… that…” He hesitated.

  “What’d he tell you? C’mon.”

  “That I was adopted.” He stared straight ahead, too embarrassed to look her in the face.

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I know. I must be crazy.”

  “The assistant groundskeeper told you that you were adopted?”

  Felix nodded, wishing he hadn’t said anything.

  “Why would he do that? How could this guy—Bill?—possibly know something like that? Besides, you weren’t adopted.”

  “I know.”

  “So why would he—?”

  “He thinks that… um… I don’t know. Look, I mean, it makes no sense. He… uh… showed me something. It’s not like anything that um…”

  “What was it?”

  “It’s nothing.” He’d already said too much. Now he was just making an ass of himself. “The guy’s full of shit. He just freaked me out. I think I just kinda lost it. Maybe I’m just imagining things. I don’t know. I’m just so damn tired.”

  Allison placed her hand on the back of his neck and he let his head settle onto her shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly, running her fingers through his wet hair. “You just need some sleep. You look exhausted. And you have a big game in a few hours.”

  “Yeah,” Felix said, not really hearing her. “The journal couldn’t have been real. I just imagined it.”

  “What journal?” She pulled back a little, making his ear bounce up and down on the bony part of her shoulder.

  “Nothing. I’m just… tired. Just losing my goddamn mind.” He closed his eyes and sank to his side, his head pressing into Caitlin’s soft goose-down pillow. It smelled like feathers and fruity shampoo.