The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen

by R. T. Lowe

  Felix looked around to make sure nobody could hear them. A few students were playing pool and watching TV in the common room, but no one within earshot. “I’m meeting Bill at midnight at some old building in the Old Campus.”

  “The dead campus?” Allison’s eyes grew large. “Why?”

  “He wants me to start training.”

  “Training?” She paused. “Oh. You mean—”

  “To use the Source,” he said, as quietly as he could.

  Allison’s eyes lit up. “Really? What are you gonna do?”

  He shook his head. “Guess I’ll find out.”

  She smiled. “I’m jammed up all day tomorrow, but swing by my room before dinner, okay?”

  “Hey, Allie, do you think Harper is… you think… she seems pretty mad. You think she’s all right? I’m such a shitty liar.”

  Allison shrugged, still smiling. “That was pretty bad. Don’t worry. She’s just a little moody. She’ll get over it. Probably already has.”

  Chapter 35

  The Dead Campus

  On a cold late autumn night, Felix slogged his way toward the Old Campus, holding his umbrella out in front like a shield, trying to stay dry, which wasn’t an easy thing to do because the rain was falling in relentless sheets, hitting him sideways. He’d killed time at the Caffeine Hut studying (unsuccessfully), drinking coffee (until his hands began to tremor), fretting over Harper (she’d overreacted but he didn’t blame her), and kicking himself for being such an idiot (his mom used to say she could tell when he was lying even before he opened his mouth—his body language gave him away).

  The conditions weren’t exactly ideal for a midnight stroll. He followed a desolate path past the Student Center and the buildings beyond it to the west, through a grove of firs and a little garden full of stones, grass and statues, and over a creek—the Mill Stream—that drew its waters from a natural spring. Then he saw it: Tucked behind stone fortifications like a medieval fortress, the pitched rooflines of six enormous buildings came into view—the Old Campus. Although the architecture was similar to the rest of the campus, the Old Campus buildings, adorned with towers, spires, roofs, sub-roofs, chimneys, peaks and gables, had been finished with more of an artistic flourish.

  He leaned into a stiff headwind, frequently peeking over the umbrella to see where he was in relation to the stone walls (and to make sure he didn’t smash his face into another lamppost). Each time he stole a glance, the buildings drew nearer until finally he reached the eastern wall and began searching for the entrance. On his trips to the stadium, the gate had seemed prominent enough, and he was sure he knew where it was. But he’d never looked for it in a rainstorm in the dead of night. Eventually he found it, but not before going in the wrong direction and having to double back.

  He dug his free hand deeper into the pocket of his jacket and slipped through the unlatched iron gate, then headed toward the center of the Old Campus along a dismally-lit brick walkway. The antique light posts may have been cutting edge in the nineteenth century, but now they were dreadfully inadequate, illuminating just pockets of the meandering path and the patchy threadbare grass next to it. The buildings remained in the shadows, the darkened husks standing guard like ominous, malevolent sphinxes.

  The wind was ferocious, thrashing his umbrella, straining his grip on the curved handle. Low-hanging branches stretched across the path, slithering like the tentacles of a giant sea monster. Buildings on either side—front doors padlocked, warning signs nailed to the doors cautioning people to stay out—watched him hurrying along, looming in pools of eerie wind-shifting shadows. The buildings reminded him of tombstones; their windows, black soulless eyes.

  The Old Campus had never inspired much thought or curiosity for Felix. It just sat there. He’d seen it from a distance a hundred times, and from that vantage point, despite the odd calmness of the place—only birds seemed to go there—it somehow blended right in, just another part of campus, no different than the dorms or lecture halls. But inside the walls everything looked different. This was not PC. It was as if the rusting iron gate was a threshold that transported unwary visitors through space and time to a different place, a place with no connection at all to PC. Felix felt like an intruder, like his presence was stirring up bitter, resentful feelings. He remembered Lucas talking about how scared his brother had been when he came through here after losing a bet—how he felt like something wanted to kill him. The story seemed funny at the time. But now Felix could relate. Being here was unnerving. Right out of a slasher movie. Maybe this was where the St. Rose Ghost lurked when she wasn’t haunting the Star Trees and luring kids into the tunnels beneath the chapel. He glanced over his shoulder to see if she was trailing after him. The possibility of it didn’t seem so foolish. Not at all.

  He tried not to think about her glowing green eyes, or the thousands of bodies buried in the secret cemetery. This wasn’t the best place to dwell on ghosts and hidden graves. But her voice was inside his head, and he could hear it as clearly as if she was whispering the words in his ear: I want you to find your truth. The choice is yours. It made his skin crawl, though he still had no idea what it meant. Assuming, of course, that he hadn’t imagined it.

  He made it to the center building without encountering the St. Rose Ghost, or anyone else, living or dead, and for the first time, he noticed the quiet stillness. It was as though the high walls encircling the Old Campus had somehow magically insulated it from the sounds of the modern world. Why couldn’t Bill have chosen someplace else to do this? he wondered. Even the tunnels would be better than—

  “Felix,” a voice hissed from behind.

  He gasped and spun around.

  “It’s me.” Bill emerged from the darkness, his face shrouded in shadows from the umbrella he was holding.

  “You scared the shit outta me!” Felix said, his voice shaky.

  “Sorry. Nobody comes around here, especially at night. But we can’t be too careful. Come on, follow me.”

  Bill led him past the front entrance—chiseled into the stone façade above the padlocked double doors were the words INVERNESS HALL—and around to the side of the building where they stopped at a door badly in need of a new coat of paint. Bill quickly inserted a key into the keyhole, unlocking the door with a loud click.

  Felix flinched at the sound.

  “It’s okay,” Bill assured him. “Get in.” Bill pushed the door open a crack and held it for him, locking it behind them once they were in.

  It was even darker inside. The air was cool and musty. Felix’s eyes strained to make out his surroundings. The ancient building was as dark as a tomb. It was like being submerged in a tarpit, a sea of oil. But as he stood there waiting for his eyes to start working, to adjust to the gloom, he became aware that a tiny amount of pale yellow light was filtering through the dirty windowpanes. He was standing in a long narrow hallway with doors on either side. He shook his umbrella dry and stowed it away in his backpack.

  In a low voice, Bill said, “This way.”

  Felix felt somewhat conscious of being alone with Bill, a virtual stranger, in a dead campus building, but that was far less concerning than what they were presently doing. If campus security showed up, Lucas would have their dorm room all to himself; the administration likely frowned upon breaking into buildings, and he was willing to bet his life that it constituted a violation of the Student Code of Conduct, even though he, and every student who’d ever attended PC, had never read it.

  They proceeded slowly down the hallway, the old wooden floors creaking loudly with each step. Something scurried along the floor up ahead, making scratching noises. Felix wasn’t rat-phobic, but he would definitely flip out (and maybe jump out a window) if he felt claws scampering up his leg. The hallway ended, opening up to a large circular room with a magnificent antebellum-style imperial staircase.

  “We’re in the lobby,” Bill whispered. “We’re going up to the library. Be careful where you step. This is the oldest building on campus. Some
of the stairs have seen better days.”

  “Okay,” Felix whispered back as they started up. “How many floors are there?”

  “Four,” Bill said over his shoulder. “All these old buildings are nearly identical. We’re going to the top.”

  “Why’s it so cold in here?” He buried his hands in his jacket pockets, his wet sneakers rasping on the worn wooden steps.

  “The heat’s turned off. It’s not much warmer in here than it is outside.”

  “I noticed.” Felix snagged his foot on the lip of one of the stairs and had to catch himself on the railing.

  “Careful,” Bill said.

  The stairs crackled and groaned as they made their way up in the darkness. Some part of Felix’s brain was in a masochistic mood, amusing itself by torturing the rest of his brain with thoughts of what it would feel like to fall through a staircase. He tried to block out the images of flesh-piercing compound fractures and bleeding to death in the cellar of a thousand-year-old building, instead focusing on Bill’s feet, trying to step where he stepped. The faint light coming in through the windows grew weaker the higher they climbed, gradually fading out altogether. When they reached the fourth floor landing, Bill stopped, and Felix promptly bumped into his backside.

  “Sorry,” Felix said. It was completely and absolutely dark, as dark as the tunnel beneath St. Rose when the lights went out. He couldn’t see Bill, but he could hear him; it sounded like he was slowly dragging his rubber galoshes across the floor in a circle, trying to reorient himself in the inky darkness.

  “Hey,” Felix whispered. “I can’t see shit.”

  “No kidding. It’s a little better in the library. Grab the back of my jacket and stay tight.”

  Felix took a handful of Bill’s pea coat and shuffled along behind as Bill led him down what Felix imagined could only be a hallway. Just after he stepped on the back of Bill’s shoes for the third time, a pocket of gray light appeared up ahead and to his right.

  “This is it,” Bill said a moment later as he stepped through the opening with Felix in tow. There was just enough light for Felix to see that it was a room. A really big room. The pungent smell of dank decaying leather filled the air. Across from the doorway were windows—lots of windows. He wanted to see where he was—he’d gotten completely discombobulated stumbling his way up the staircase—so he let go of Bill’s jacket and crossed the room, careful to avoid a table and several chairs in his way. The windows looked out onto another Old Campus building to the north which obstructed everything but a strip of parking lot adjacent to Stubbins Stadium—the same spot where he’d headbutted a lamppost and lost his mind for a spell.

  “We need to do something about that. Give me a hand.” Bill was no longer whispering. And he was making noises. Strange noises. Grunting?

  Felix turned away from the windows to search for him. It took a moment to locate him because he was hidden behind a very large object that he was apparently trying to push across the floor. It must have been heavy because he wasn’t having much success.

  “What are you doing?” Felix’s voice sounded small in the vast room.

  “What does it look like? Damn. This thing’s heavy.” Bill stood up straight and clapped the dust off his hands. Felix could now see that the thing was a bookcase—a big bookcase. “But this’ll be perfect,” Bill said. “Perfect height. There are eight windows and more than enough of these. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. If you help, it should be relatively easy to slide them over there.” He looked toward the windows. “As long as the floor doesn’t collapse, that is.”

  “Seriously?” Felix glanced down warily at the floor and lifted a foot, as if that would actually make him lighter.

  “I’m joking,” Bill said with a little chuckle. “This building’s built like an old battleship. C’mon. Roll up your sleeves and let’s get to work.”

  There was nothing relatively easy about moving a twelve-foot solid wood bookcase. The racket they were making worried Felix at first, but after a while, he didn’t care. He just wanted to be done with it without slipping a disk in his back. As soon as they blocked out the last window, he sat down on a table to catch his breath.

  “Good.” Bill went over to the doorway, wiping sweat from his forehead. “There are two entrances to this room and both face the hallway. Any light that escapes won’t be visible to anyone who happens to be passing by Inverness from any direction. We’ve taken care of the windows, so without—”

  “I can’t see a goddamn thing,” Felix complained, breathing fast.

  “I was about to say, without any further ado, let there be light.”

  And just like that, there was sudden illumination from above. Huge ornate Victorian chandeliers stretched across the length of the room, suspended high overhead from a vaulted ceiling detailed with beautiful old-world millwork. Paneled with thick polished wood, the dark dusty walls were repositories for books which sat atop shelves mounted on corbels carved to resemble grapes, leaves, lions and angels. Scattered throughout in random groupings were tables, desks, chairs and bookcases (like the ones now covering up the windows). The room had been left in a permanent state of confused disarray. It was like half of its contents had been evacuated during a Japanese air raid, and the rest, forgotten.

  “Quite a room, don’t you think?” Bill said proudly.

  “It’s actually pretty cool.” Felix’s breath steamed in the cold air. “So this is the old library, huh?” It reminded him a lot of Woodrow’s Room.

  “It was for over a hundred years. The building was mothballed a long time ago, and it’s too costly to reconfigure, which is too bad, because they don’t build ‘em like this anymore. On the other hand, I’ve been scouting locations since I arrived in Portland, and this room’s perfect.”

  Felix had lost track of time moving the bookcases; he didn’t know if it was one or three. He wanted to check his watch, but he knew Bill wouldn’t like that. “What’s up with the lights?”

  Bill looked up wearily at the chandeliers and cursed, a look of disappointment creasing his face for a moment. “I actually replaced all the damn bulbs less than a week ago. They keep going out. I suppose it’s the antiquated electrical system. I’m just glad the school didn’t turn that off when it disconnected the heat and water.”

  “Hey,” Felix said. “Where’d you get the key, anyway? The key to the building?”

  “I’m the assistant groundskeeper, remember? I have the keys to every building on campus. I have access to everything. You think I took this job because I like cleaning dog shit off The Yard?” He smiled at Felix. “Now if you don’t have any more questions, I think we should start. It’s late as it is, and I’m sure you’d like to get a little sleep tonight.”

  “Sure. Let’s do it.” Felix paused and gave him a questioning look. “What are we doing?”

  “Follow me.” Bill wedged his way between a pair of lion-pawed desks, through a loose semicircle of high-backed chairs with curved armrests, and around an upside down table, its legs sticking up like a four-poster bed. He stopped in front of a large rectangular reading table in the center of the room. On top was a stack of books several feet high. “I want you to stand over there.” He motioned at a spot a few feet behind the table.

  Felix went around to the other side. He looked at the pile of books and then at Bill, who was watching him closely. “Now what?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Move them onto the floor without touching them,” Bill instructed.

  “What?”

  “Move the books.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “The same way you destroyed Allison’s room.”

  “I was sleeping,” Felix replied flatly. “I don’t know how I did that. I just did.”

  “That’s exactly it. You just did. That’s all there is to it. If you want to do it—you can do it.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  Bill lifted his eyes to the ceiling and laughed. “It’s like anything else. It�
�ll be easy once you know what you’re doing. You’re the Belus. You just need to learn how to unlock the Source. That’s it.”

  “That’s still not very helpful,” Felix sighed.

  Bill started pacing, his footsteps echoing in the huge space. “It’s not necessary to be in a heightened emotional state in order to use the Source, but when your emotions are running high, for example, when you’re extremely upset or angry, it leaks out of you. That’s what happened with little Nathan and explains why he’s now getting along with fewer organs than the rest of us. It also happened at your dorm.”

  “So are you saying I can unlock this Source thing by getting really pissed off?”

  Bill stopped and turned to face him. “Probably. But I don’t want you to make a habit of this. I think we should just try this approach until you get the hang of it, okay? Now I’m going to say some things that’ll make you very angry. I want you to understand right now that I’m only doing this to help you. I don’t mean any of it. I don’t want you to lose control. I want you to focus on the books. I want you to move the books. That’s it. And above all else, do not get angry at me. Please. Understand?”

  Felix nodded, fixing his eyes on the books. And despite the chill in the room, and his wet clothes—he could almost hear his mom’s voice telling him to change out of them before he caught cold—he started to sweat.

  “Ready?” Bill said. It appeared he might be sweating too.

  Felix swallowed hard. “Bring it.”

  “Why are you here?” Bill demanded.

  “Huh?” Felix shifted his gaze to Bill.

  “Dammit!” Bill shouted angrily. “Just answer the goddamn question! Don’t look at me!”

  Felix nodded, startled, returning his attention to the books. “Sorry.”

  “Why’d you come to PC? Did you think coming to this glorified prep school would make you smarter? Did you think a place that pretends to be a snooty, upper crust English boarding school would give you a clever accent?”