by Mark Frost
“Down deep,” said Nepsted, his voice like sandpaper.
“Like, in the tunnels?” asked Nick.
“Deeper. Much deeper. In the cavern at the bottom of the stairs. They used to keep it in the hospital … but you can only get to it by going down through the old cathedral.” Nepsted slumped over, drained of energy.
“I’m not sure we know what you’re talking about—” said Will, glancing at the others.
“That is me in the picture,” said Nepsted, tapping it with a tendril. “And you’re right about the … other student. I did—I do—know him, but I can’t say anymore now. Bring me that key first … and I’ll tell you everything . …”
Will turned to look at Nepsted and saw him for the first time through Dave’s glasses. The poor pathetic creature that inhabited the chair nearly broke his heart. Raymond Llewelyn was nothing more than a slack lump of pale, shapeless flesh with half-formed limbs, slumped in his chair like a malformed starfish. Nepsted’s unmistakable eyes sunk into a melted set of features that passed for a face.
Will quickly took the glasses off, but not before Nepsted caught his gaze and Will sensed that Nepsted knew what they’d seen. He wheeled his chair around and headed toward the back. The overhead lights in the cage blinked off behind him as he went, one by one, until Nepsted disappeared in the gloom.
The boys waited silently until he was gone. Ajay and Nick took off their glasses; Will knew they’d seen the real Nepsted, too.
“What a splendid way to kick off summer vacation,” said Ajay.
“That poor bastard,” said Nick, shaken to his core. “Did you see that … that … what he looked like?”
“We saw him, Nick,” said Ajay.
“Damn it, what the hell, who did that to him?”
“We can talk about that later, but not here,” said Will quietly. “Come with me.”
He led them straight to the door in the locker room that used to lead to the auxiliary locker room and the tunnels.
“We need to take another look in here,” said Will.
Nick tried the door. Locked. He punched it in frustration.
“Nick, you have our permission to open it,” said Will.
Nick whirled and roundhouse kicked it, and the door nearly flew off its hinges.
“Ajay, check the walls. Is there any way we can get through them?” asked Will.
Ajay examined the walls in the broom closet with a device he took from his pocket.
“Solid concrete, sealed off in all directions,” said Ajay. “Not a chance, Will.”
“Then we’ll have to take the other way into the tunnels,” said Will.
“From the island in Lake Waukoma?” asked Ajay, his eyes widening in alarm. “Will, the last time nearly finished us.”
“Dude, Raymond knew Hobbes. They were both in the Knights and he’ll tell us the rest if we find that key—”
“Honestly, tunnels, hospitals, old cathedrals, it could be a bunch of malarkey,” said Ajay.
“It’s all we’ve got to go on,” said Will. “We need to bring the girls up to speed and get their help. We all need to stick around this summer.”
Nick raised both hands in frustration and slammed one palm against the broken door, denting the metal.
“Aw, donuts! You freakin’ chowder head.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Ajay.
“I forgot to ask Nepsted about the little wrestler,” said Nick.
WILL AND ELISE
AND BROOKE
Elise had seemed less affected by the harsh ordeal they’d been through last fall than anyone, but Will knew it was also in her nature to show less than they felt. Elise was all tensile steel inside, not unlike Will.
Not so their fifth roommate: After the incident, Brooke Springer, the victim of the Knights’ kidnapping plot who’d suffered the most, had remained at home in Virginia through the holidays and for a month afterward. When she finally rejoined her roommates at the end of January, Brooke had changed. She was subdued and withdrawn, and she’d stayed that way since, never divulging how she really felt.
Elise became convinced Brooke was struggling with the shadows of post-traumatic stress disorder. She’d never told anyone what Lyle had done to her, but Will knew, at the very least, she’d been terrorized by the creep. Whatever dark memories of that day were haunting Brooke, since returning she’d been nothing like her usual bantering, efficient self.
The way she kissed me before she left for Christmas. The way she whispered in my ear: “Don’t let an hour go by without letting me know how you are.” Then not a word for six weeks. Never answering my calls, emails, or texts. Could that spark have died so quickly? What other answer is there? Since she came back, she treats me like a stranger. The only comfort is she treats all of us that way. But what am I supposed to think?
Either she’s not emotionally available, or she’s no longer interested. Either totally sucked. To get him through, Will leaned heavily into …
RULE #58: FACING THE TRUTH IS A LOT EASIER, IN THE LONG RUN, THAN LYING TO YOURSELF.
So, for the rest of the winter and into spring, Will had offered Brooke his (polite, painfully wimpish roommate-level) friendship and support while she remained maddeningly, mysteriously remote. They almost never found themselves alone together, and if they did Brooke quickly found a reason to leave the room. If he was ever going to break the ice, he’d decided he needed Elise’s help.
It was nearing sunset when Will found Elise where he’d predicted, at the piano in one of the practice rooms in Bledsoe Hall. As he walked in, she was playing something jazzy and incredibly complicated with her back to the door.
“Wait till I’m done, West,” she said before he could speak.
She didn’t miss a note, hunched over, hands flying across the keyboard so quickly he couldn’t see them touch the keys until she finished the piece with a theatrical flourish.
Bravo, he thought, pushing an image of a standing ovation toward her. Without turning, Elise bowed with just one arm, like medieval musical royalty.
You are too kind, my liege, she replied, her voice sliding smoothly into his head.
“Nine-thirty on the last night of term,” said Will. “Figures I’d find you hard at work.”
“Where else would you expect me to be? At the Bonfire of the Swizzle Sticks, singing fight songs with the rest of the J.Crew lug nuts?”
Elise spun around on her bench. Wearing a miniskirt and flats, she crossed her slender legs, cocked her head sideways—her shiny black curtain of hair shimmering in the light—and stared at him with her X-ray green eyes.
A shiver ran up Will’s spine. Not an unpleasant shiver, but a shiver nonetheless.
You know something, she said, inside his head again. What is it?
Their uncanny ability to speak to each other silently had grown so reliable over the winter that it rarely surprised Will anymore. They’d worked during the last few months on finding the maximum range they could reach across—about fifty yards in most cases—and still make their communication flow smoothly.
At distance, they’d discovered that using pictures—as Will had learned when he first discovered this ability as a kid—often worked better and more efficiently than words. They’d also learned that, for some reason, sending thoughts that created intense emotion supercharged their connection, making thoughts a lot easier to send and receive.
They’d even spelled out a code of “unspoken” etiquette about their interactions, promising to respect each other’s privacy. After an initial “send,” the other had to respond in kind before they dove deeper into the other’s thought stream. And if either of them preferred not to open up in the moment, all they had to do was answer out loud.
“I hope you haven’t finalized your plans for the summer,” said Will, out loud.
“My dad’s trying to book me a gig on a
cruise ship. Is that depressing enough for you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Wait, it gets worse. Playing seventies cocktail lounge easy-listening top forty for vacationing upper-middle-class baby boomers. They’re retired, put out to pasture, watching the glaciers melt from a lame cruise ship like it’s some kind of halftime show, and this freakin’ generation still refuses to believe they’re not the center of the universe.”
Will grimaced at the thought. “You’re not seriously considering this.”
“Nah, I told him I’m holding out for a better offer,” she said, playing some dissonant chords. “Mucking out the stables of hell.”
“Don’t you have other options?”
“Sure. Teaching music to day camp first graders in Seattle for a fraction of the cruise ship scratch. During the course of which I might even learn the top ten ways to remove snot from a flutophone.” She played an off-key child’s ditty with one hand. “Or I could just drown myself in a swamp.”
“What if you just stayed here?” asked Will, trying to sound offhand.
“At the Center? And pay for it how? My parents can barely afford the regular year, let alone summer school—” She stopped playing, turned to him, on alert, and sent a thought request: Why are you asking?
Will moved closer, as if someone else might overhear his thoughts, and sent her a compressed mental download of their conversation with Nepsted about Hobbes, the Paladins, and the old photograph. Her eyes closed as she processed it, and when she opened them they lit up.
“This … is … a game changer,” she said, as close to awed as Will had ever heard her.
“We’re on the same page about that,” said Will.
“So what’s the plan, Stan?”
“We’re staying on campus. Nepsted gave us a lead on the key to his cage, in the tunnels below the Crag. If we find it, he says he’ll tell us everything he knows about the Knights and the Prophecy—and he knows a crap-ton.”
Elise gripped his arms and got right in Will’s face, her etched eyebrows arched high with excitement. “Listen. I will waitress at a Waffle House or sing happy hour show tunes at a trailer park rest home, but I promise you I will figure out some way to bank staying here, because you knuckleheads are not going down there this time without me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” said Will with a grin.
“I’ve been waiting since Christmas for this,” she said.
Elise leaned in, grabbed Will’s face, and kissed him, then leaned back a few inches to gauge his reaction with a sly smile.
“Waiting for what?” asked Will. “To kiss me?”
“For us to get off our butts and put the hurt on these weasels. But you’re our leader, right? We figured you needed time to grieve, right, so none of us wanted to push you. But if you’re ready, if you’re really ready, then we are with you all the way.”
“That’s so great,” said Will, still holding on to her, their faces inches from each other.
“And, yes, I’ve been waiting to kiss you, bozo, since you always seemed too paralyzed to bust the first move. “
Will cleared his throat, trying his best not to look or sound awkward. “Okay, then. Uh, so what about Brooke?”
“Really, West? You’re going to ask me about Brooke right now? During this intimate thing we’re having here?”
“Well, no. First I was going to do this,” he said, and kissed her back.
Elise cleared her throat and held up a finger. Her forehead wrinkled, as if slightly puzzled; then she finally opened her eyes.
“Okay, then,” she said, and then smiled brightly, as if her short-term memory had been wiped clean. “What did you want to ask me?”
“Do you think Brooke will stick around this summer and help us?”
“After a kiss like that, mister, you can ask Brooke about that itsy-bitsy detail yourself.”
“No joke, Elise, I really need your help. You’re closer to her than I am, and she’s been avoiding me like I’ve got Dengue fever.”
Elise growled at him, but he could tell she’d do it. Will squeezed her hand and headed for the door.
“You think we can pull this off, West?” asked Elise. “Just the five of us?”
“Hey, it’s not like we’re your average Breakfast Club,” said Will, reaching for the door. “And, between you and me, I’ve been practicing.”
“So have I,” said Elise, raising an eyebrow.
With that, she shot an image into his mind. Will staggered momentarily, then looked at her in amazement.
“Now that,” he said, “I’ve got to see.”
As Will headed back across campus, he realized Elise was right about this much: He had been grieving in the months since the accident, but not in any conventional way. He had every reason to believe that his dad, at least, was alive, but he’d never told anyone—not even his roommates—about the text he’d received from Jordan West after the plane went down. He was too frightened that giving voice to that hope might jinx it.
“Grief is a doorway through which we pass to realize that the sun is always shining.”
That was the only thing Ira Jericho had ever said on the subject of his parents’ disappearance, and now that he’d snapped out of his dazed state, Will realized he’d been grieving for a way of life that had been lost forever—the blissfully ignorant existence he’d lived before black cars and dead chopper pilots and discovering the elaborate fictions his parents had built around their family. In spite of their lies, he still missed them like a phantom limb. All he had left of his fifteen years with them was a single photograph from their wedding and Dad’s Book of Rules.
What if my parents were somehow involved with the Paladin Prophecy? How can I miss them so much if I never really knew who they were?
Will’s school pager buzzed in his pocket. Someone on campus was trying to reach him on the Center’s centralized phone system. He ducked into the nearest building and picked up one of the omnipresent black courtesy phones in the lobby.
“This is Will,” he said.
“One moment, Mr. West,” said one of the cheerful, ever-present female operators.
Will heard the call get connected.
“Meet me behind Cumberland Hall,” said the voice, almost in a whisper. “Five minutes.”
Will hung up.
Brooke.
The first words she’d spoken to him in over a month. The first sign she wanted to speak to him in almost half a year. Will felt his heart bonk around in his chest like a pinball.
What did she want?
Cumberland Hall was on the other side of the campus, a small building directly behind the campus’s physical services complex. Will turned on the jets and arrived there in two minutes.
The last glimmers of sunset still filled the western sky. She was already waiting for him behind the building, visible in a soft slice of light from a streetlamp at the corner, highlighting her cameo-perfect profile. Brooke turned when she heard him take in a sharp breath of air. She held out her arms and wrapped herself around him.
It was the first time she’d touched him since December.
She felt soft and warm, and the clean scent of her shampoo—hints of citrus and freshly mown grass—made Will a little dizzy.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“About what?”
“They made me do it, Will. They made me promise not to get involved with you.”
“Who did?” asked Will.
“My parents,” she said, pulling back so she could look him in the eye.
“How?”
“When I was home over the holidays. It ended up being impossible not to tell them how I felt about you, or I guess I couldn’t hide it. Besides, they somehow already knew all the details, from the school I assume, and they sat me down and told me they’d decided I shouldn’t
see you anymore, because of what you’d just been through.”
“They decided? Why?”
“They thought you’d be too damaged or unstable emotionally or, to be kinder to them, that we couldn’t possibly start any kind of healthy relationship given what you were going through.”
Will struggled to take all this in and make sense of it. “Do you always do what your parents tell you to?”
“You don’t know him, Will. My father’s an ambassador, for God’s sake. He’s a force of nature. They weren’t going to even let me come back to the school at all unless I promised. I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing you again, so I went along with it.”
“Why wait until now to tell me?”
“Because they have people watching me here. All the time.”
Will felt a surge of anger go through him and knew she sensed the tension in his body. “You mean like right now?”
“Right now I don’t care if we’re onstage at Carnegie Hall,” she said. “I just want to do what I’ve been dying to do for the last six months.”
She stood up on her toes and kissed him, and he forgot most of his objections in a heartbeat. Then she hugged him fiercely again.
“I was wrong to go along with it,” she whispered in his ear. “I was frightened and so horribly worried about you and I hate myself as a coward for letting them talk me into turning away from you.”
And your timing is unbelievable, thought Will, the kisses he’d just shared with Elise still burning a hole in his brain. But it wasn’t as if what he felt with either girl was canceling out the other; they were both generating a storm in his circuits at the same time.
“I’m really glad to hear you say that,” said Will, wanting to believe her. “So why did you tell me now?”
“Because I simply couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing you for another three months without letting you know all this. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”
“Where are you spending the summer?”
“Here and there, Europe, traveling a lot—”
“Hold it right there,” he said, taking her firmly by the arms. “Look, I haven’t exactly been myself the last few months either.”
