by C.G. Banks
Chapter Three: Grading Day
After a solid string of eight hours Edward Bentley finally had to break away from the textbook. He could no longer focus; stars flashed before his eyes. The clock on the nightstand read 4:03 a.m. The test was at 8:30 sharp. He was already so keyed up he’d be lucky to get any sleep at all, but things couldn’t be helped. For three nights in a row he’d had little to no sleep. Dark circles had formed under his eyes; his hair was greasy and lank; he had the pallor of a terminal patient. He’d never handled sleep-deprivation well but he had no choice with this curriculum. Should have paid more attention in high school. He pushed away from the desk, leaving the text open in case he managed a few more minutes after his shower in a few hours.
With a jumble of chemistry formulas rolling around his head, he collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to pull the covers back and was asleep instantly. A shrill alarm began to wail seemingly minutes later. His eyes opened, sightless and filmy. He was cold all over and clutched the sheets tightly as he rolled over to kill the alarm. 7:47. If he hurried he could still get a shower in.
He stumbled from his bed to the bathroom, already the jumble of equations beginning to stir.
Seward Hall was located in a lush grove of crepe myrtles and ancient azaleas a short five minute walk from the Student Union. The red-tiled roof and colonial architecture of the turn-of-the-century building gave it a false sense of peace and security. But peace was the last thing the building gave him. Besides the chemistry, his math class also met there (relegated to one of the basement classrooms), and many times he wondered how he’d ever get through Calculus since he was having such trouble with Trig. He didn’t even want to consider the inquisition of Organic Chemistry.
This year had been a revelation of sorts. Nobody gave a shit where he wound up, especially the professors. On this campus he was simply another number. Time stretched on endlessly before him.
Sweat beaded his forehead as he ascended the steps to the bank of glass doors. So far he’d done well, but anything short of an “A” was too little, too late; medical schools didn’t accept second best. And the math was already beyond him. He stood there for a moment, attempting to purge all the trash from his head, concentrating instead on the miasma of chemistry bundled up into a knot in his brain. A knot he prayed would unravel when the exam began.
The door was open to Rm. 212 and many students were already inside. Even though some were talking quietly in groups and a few were even involved in animated conversations, the pervading atmosphere was one of tension. Eddie added his fair share as he went in and sat down. Ten minutes to go. He opened his notebook to chase down some random variables.
The test took him the entire hour and a half, leaving him completely drained. And the dreaded Trig exam loomed. He walked back through the lush grove, ignoring everything, intent only on how he’d handle the rest of exam week now that he’d scaled the chemistry wall. But first things first. He had to get some sleep. Two of the hard classes were behind him. He wasn’t worried about the Spanish exam, but the Trig and Zoo Lab still threatened. English wouldn’t be that bad because the final was only a written paper and he’d always been good working on the fly.
He reached his car and fumbled the keys to the pavement trying to unlock the door. You need sleep, he warned himself. Yes, and that was fine, just as soon as he reached the apartment. He’d call Rebecca when he woke up. She was worried about him. She simply didn’t understand. Her parents were rich, she didn’t need scholarships or loans, and while he rambled around town in a late-model Tercel, Rebecca’s parents had given her a bright red Mustang for Christmas. College was more of a social event to her; if she didn’t do well it really didn’t matter. But with him it was different. His mother was dead and his father an alcoholic. He doubted the old man would be able to come up with next year’s tuition since he’d refused to go back to work since Janice died. He just sat silently day after day, watching TV and guzzling Jim Beam.
Eddie almost fell asleep driving home, but luckily found a close spot in the parking lot instead of one on the street. As he dragged up the iron stairs a new worry filtered inside his already exhausted mind. What happens when the life insurance money runs out? It wasn’t much to start with. He didn’t know and didn’t care. Let things fall where they may. He went inside and hit the sack.
He awoke screaming hours later.
He sat up gasping for air, his hand on his chest, his clothes soaked with sweat. He scanned the shadows, half-expecting to find Billy or Gerard staring back at him from the corners. God help them both.
Billy Corkers had been killed in a collision with a train two years before. Gerard Freeze had drowned in a pond the year after. They were even then so close he felt he could touch them.
Eddie had stood alone in the darkness, his feet resting on railroad cross-ties. A faint vibration had started beneath his feet and he stepped to the side and down a slight ridge. Heard the shrill train whistle.
At the moment its massive headlight poured around a bend a hand came down on his shoulder. Upon turning to see who it was, he found both dead classmates standing by his side, Billy’s snow-white hand resting on his shoulder. They began to talk, though the conversation was not clear to him now. The loud, pealing blast of the whistle brought him around again. The railroad cross-ties were rocking violently, the murderous whistle splitting the air. Eddie turned to his friends, tried to tell them they were too close to the tracks. Lost his balance, fell, turned over once, twice, came to a stop among the chalky gravel shoring the rail line. Billy Corkers and Gerard Freeze were gone.
The train came on as if racing from Hell. It was huge, black, stretching to the limit of his sight. Blood splashed the front, peeling away in long dripping fingers with the force of the wind. An ancient cattle-scoop was twisted into a grimace of sustained pain, a gap-toothed warning of death. The pitching headlamp was blinding.
Eddie backed deeper into the ditch and found the opposite side high and mud-crumbled. The train sped by; rocks and bits of glass spit from beneath its wheels and he raised his arms for protection. But he saw with the slow-motion meticulous pacing of nightmares what followed.
Corkers and Freeze no longer stood beside him because they were running the train. They stood together stiffly, as if suspended from coat hangers. A jagged piece of metal poked wickedly from Billy’s temple; his eyes were rolled back to the whites; his skin still smoking from the fire that’d consumed it. Gerard was swollen to twice his normal size, his skin taut and stinking of the pond where he’d died. There was no room for eyes in the bloated effigy of his face.
The death-train carried a multitude of coffins, many of them open. And many of the occupants were readily identifiable. Some were people Eddie knew, others complete strangers. All were covered to their chest with a thick bed of black roses. The cars rolled on endlessly, the people less distinct until the last car passed. There was a sole coffin set upon it, the lid also thrown wide, containing the distinct corpse of his Trig professor. As the train passed the man opened his red eyes and stared directly at Eddie before rolling over and pulling the blanket of roses over his head.
Eddie lay in bed a long time trying to get over the nightmare, but it refused to go and he finally gave up trying. The clock read 4:07, and from the heat in the room Eddie knew he’d not slept into the night. He thought about calling Rebecca, but didn’t see how that would help. The Trig exam was tomorrow at 8:00, and he had plenty yet to do. The sweat covering his body was cold and clammy. His hands shook the whole time he showered.
The test was a disaster. He’d studied well into the night, and had actually slept more soundly before this particular test than any of the others. And it wasn’t even that the material had been excessively difficult. He’d simply frozen. He’d felt the eyes of the professor drilling into him the entire time, sucking at him like a lamprey, feeding off the reinspired fear from the nightmare. Of course, Eddie knew this was insane. The professor was a middle-aged man with a doctorate from the Univers
ity of Pennsylvania. He’d been part of the faculty since 1975, over a quarter of a century. No demon unleashed from a nightmare, just a crotchety old bastard readying himself for the glue factory of retirement. But nonetheless, Eddie had fucked the goat on that test.
But, goddammit! That old fucker had been staring at him every time Eddie looked up. Just a hard, icy stare that seemed to go right through him. And that had been no goddamn nightmare or hallucination. Only when Eddie had turned his paper in on the table beside the professor’s desk had the man finally looked away. Instead of saying anything (what was there to say?) Eddie had gathered his things and quietly left the room. He walked to his car, chunked everything into the cluttered back seat, and ignored speed limits and Yield signs on his way home. Tapping a reserve of strength he didn’t know he possessed, he climbed the staircase and let himself in to the apartment. Sat down in the chair in front of the TV. Left it off. Had to wait a full fifteen minutes before he felt competent enough to call Rebecca. She was staying at her parents’ house across town during exam week.
“Hi, Baby,” he tried to say nonchalantly, his eyes closed and his head
