Sanctum

  “What are you even—you know what, never mind.”

  Abby handed him one of the orange folders, and then Dan quickly located his before passing the remaining stack along. He cracked open his folder to find a long schedule of events he did not plan on attending. Abby had been right—the “Campus Carnival” for prospies took the top spot in a huge font.

  “If you have an emergency,” Cal was saying at the front of the room, “you’ll find the list of campus numbers in your folder. Any phone on campus can connect you easily to the main switchboard if you just dial 555 . . .”

  He droned on about safety precautions and campus policies, but Dan had stopped paying attention. A small, sharp elbow was prodding him repeatedly in the ribs.

  “Ouch. What?”

  “That kid,” Abby murmured, nodding discreetly to a boy just down the row from them. He glared back at Dan through a curtain of stringy black hair. “He’s been staring at you ever since we walked in here.”

  “So? He’s probably just socially awkward.” Dan would know. He couldn’t rightly say he was completely out of his shy nerd phase himself. “Or is there something on my face?”

  “Dan, it’s not funny. He’s . . . off. I don’t think he’s blinked for the last five minutes.”

  “She’s right,” Jordan hissed, chiming in so suddenly Dan jumped a little in his seat. “His eyes are all glassy.”

  “He’s a host, too,” Abby pointed out. “He’s wearing one of the volunteer shirts.”

  “I’m calling it now,” said Jordan. “Dude’s wasted.”

  Carefully, Dan turned his head to look at the kid again—he didn’t even seem to be breathing he was so still. And Dan had to admit, that look did make him feel unsettled. There was no mistaking it—unless the kid was bird-watching out the window behind Dan, he was staring unblinkingly, intently, directly at him.

  “Maybe Jordan’s right, he’s stoned or something. Anyway, we’re not here to worry about that crap, or Jordan’s problem with Cal’s stupid shoes—”

  “Hey,” Jordan said.

  “So let’s keep some focus,” Dan finished. He didn’t want to look at the staring kid anymore. Between him and the cold air radiating against the back of his neck, Dan was starting to get a distinctly creepy vibe about their weekend residence.

  And this is supposed to be one of the good dorms.

  “I hope you all plan on coming to the carnival,” Cal said, flashing them a trust-fund-worthy smile. “We’re bringing it back this year and you lucky folks are just in time to see it. Usually Student Affairs just organizes some half-assed trick-or-treating thing for the weekend.”

  “The volunteers here and the college faculty really went all out,” Micah assured the room. “Food, entertainment, the whole nine yards. The Dance Department volunteered a few kids to do acrobatics, and the fencing club is doing a demonstration. We hope all of you find the time to make it down with your hosts—we haven’t had anything like this on campus in, well, definitely not since I’ve gone here, so who knows.”

  “Any questions?” Cal didn’t seem much interested in Micah’s clarifications. Jordan, apparently bored already, had taken out a slip of paper with a sudoku puzzle on it and was solving it against his leg.

  “Good. Now, if you could all find your hosts again we can help you choose which classes you’d like to sit in on and make sure you find your luggage and room.” Cal beckoned for them to come and reunite with their hosts. Dan stood up and stretched, watching as Abby shuffled forward to reconnect with Lara.

  Over the fireplace to his left hung a giant black-and-white photograph of a man, ironically, standing in the exact spot where the picture now lived. The subject bore a vague resemblance to Cal, he thought, same privileged smile and casually coiffed hair.

  “Daniel Crawford?”

  Dan started, feeling a clammy breath rush right against the side of his neck. Turning, Dan found the staring black-haired volunteer standing so close to his shoulder they were practically touching. His breath smelled of an old tuna sandwich.

  “Can . . . Can I help you?” Dan stammered, finding that even when he took a step back, the boy followed. His eyes, Dan noted, didn’t just look glassy but hollow.

  “Daniel Crawford.” It wasn’t a question now, but a statement.

  “Uh, yes, that’s me. What’s up?”

  “Daniel Crawford . . . Daniel Crawford . . .” The host repeated his name over and over again, each time louder, a note of hysteria and then panic pitching his voice higher and higher. “Daniel Crawford. DANIEL CRAWFORD.”

  Dan reeled back, knocking into the couch behind him and slamming down into it so hard his jaw rattled.

  “Jeez, what the—”

  The rest of the room heard the commotion and suddenly they had an audience. Dan scrambled back deeper into the couch, convinced the weird kid was going to start crawling all over him.

  “Daniel Crawford . . . Daniel Crawford . . . You’re not finished. Daniel Crawford, you’re not finished, not yet . . .”

  “Stop it! STOP SAYING THAT!” Dan hoped his own screaming would drown out the boy’s voice. For a second, it did. Then the boy went quiet, smiled a strange, sad smile at Dan, and said softly, “You’re not finished, Daniel Crawford. Time is running out, Daniel, and you’re not finished. Get out, get out of here now, go, go . . .” He clutched his head, grimacing.

  Above the noise he heard Cal’s voice across the room, his snapping fingers. . . . “Hey!” Cal was shouting. “Hey! Doug! Snap out of it! Wake up!”

  Then as if in slow motion, Dan watched the boy scramble onto the next couch over, shoulder open the window, punch out the screen, and throw himself toward the cold open space.

  Dan froze. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he needed to help, but none of his limbs responded when he tried to move.

  Someone screamed, maybe Abby, and then Dan came to. The black-haired boy hadn’t quite managed to fit himself through the window with his first try, and one arm and half a sneaker were still visible hooked around the ledge. With a grunt, Dan shot forward, leaping onto the couches and grabbing what could still be seen of the host. Dan heaved backward with all his weight. The two of them crashed to the floor, and in the time it took Dan to draw his next breath, Cal and Lara were there to help wrestle the boy to the ground.

  A hand closed around Dan’s right biceps and squeezed. He started away violently.

  “It’s me! It’s just me!” Abby was there at his side, peering down into his face with concern. “What happened? Why was he screaming at you?”

  “Back up!” Cal thundered, standing and pushing curious onlookers out of the way. “Give him some air! Give us some room. . . . Jesus, Doug.”

  Micah arrived and helped Lara pull the boy to his feet. The boy didn’t fight them, going limp as a rag doll in their hands. They dragged him toward the door, Cal herding prospies out of the way as they went. The other hosts tried as best they could to keep order, but as soon as the door shut, the room exploded with noise.

  “What the hell?” Jordan trotted up to them, pale and staring. “Did he just try to hurl himself out a window?”

  “I—I think so.” Shaking, Dan blinked and passed a hand over his face, feeling a cold sweat along his forehead and nose. “He just kept saying my name. I don’t get it. I’ve never seen him before, I don’t know how he knew who I was. . . .”

  “Are you all right?” Abby knelt, touching his knee gently. “Guys, this is bad. We’ve been here all of ten minutes and—”

  “It’s not like Dan did anything,” Jordan interrupted. “But you’re right. This was probably a mistake, coming back here. Dan, what do you think? Should we just pack it in now? I can call my folks. It would take some explaining but they’d probably let you stay if Abby came, too.”

  “No.” Even now, even when he kind of wanted to go, Dan knew it wasn’t an option. He didn’t really believe it himself, but he said, “Maybe it was a prank?”

  “A prank?” Abby stood up sudden
ly, throwing her hands in the air. “Dan, get real.”

  “What? I don’t know what to tell you, Abby. Let’s just . . . Let’s just all stay calm. We only just got here. Our hosts helped take him away, right? I’ll ask Micah what happened later and we can get some answers.” Dan stared up into her eyes, silently pleading. He couldn’t do this alone, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. He wanted them here.

  “People are staring,” Dan told them, inhaling deeply. “We have to decide now—stay or go.”

  Abby chewed her lower lip furiously, twining a piece of dark hair around one finger. She glanced at Jordan, who was still worrying the puzzle paper in his hand.

  “I at least want to see Lucy,” Abby said. “I want to do that much. I’m not sure when I’ll be back here from New York again.”

  “And I actually do want to see what those addresses are about,” Jordan added. “Not exactly dying to get back to Richmond and the parental lockdown, so we stay, I guess.”

  Dan breathed a sigh of relief and got to his feet—shakily, but he got there. The remaining hosts gathered up the prospies, preparing to take them down to the Commons for lunch. Dan wondered when he would see Micah again.

  “Let’s stick with the others,” Dan said. He kept wanting to stare at the still-open window, but forced himself not to. “We can discuss how we’re going to start over lunch.”

  “We’ll have to find some way to sneak off,” Abby whispered as they fell in with the other prospies. “Lucy doesn’t live far from campus, but I have a feeling our hosts are supposed to keep tabs on us constantly.”

  “Maybe if we can get to her place she can tell us about some of the addresses from Felix,” Jordan suggested. That was a big ask, Dan thought, considering how fragile Lucy had been the last time they’d seen her. They shuffled out of the lounge and into the hall, following the trail of kids and hosts to the stairwell at the far end of the corridor.

  “I think that’s up to Abby,” he said, giving her a quick glance. “She can judge better if Lucy is in any condition to talk about that kind of thing.”

  “Thanks, Dan, I . . . I think that’s a good call. Give me some time to consider it.”

  When they stepped outside, Dan pulled up his coat around his neck, shivering.

  “I’m just saying, she’s been here for like ever, right?” Jordan said. He tried to smooth out the sudoku puzzle in his palms, then gave up and shoved it in his jeans pocket. “She might have heard rumors, or, I don’t know. She just seems like the best authority on Brookline we have right now.”

  “And she also just lost her husband and had her whole traumatic childhood shoved in her face, so she probably won’t want to talk about Brookline at all,” Abby shot back hotly. “Jeez, Jordan, I want to figure this out as much as you two do, but not at the expense of my aunt’s peace of mind.”

  Even if he was eager to question Lucy, Dan sided with Abby on that one; after all, the woman had been checked into Brookline as a child against her will, suffered a lobotomy under Warden Crawford, and then escaped that place only to lose her husband, Sal, at the hands of Felix. Or the Sculptor. Both, Dan decided.

  “All right, all right,” Jordan muttered, putting up his hands. “Forget I even mentioned it.”

  “Jordan and I could check the first addresses while you go visit her,” Dan suggested, with what he hoped was a calm, diplomatic tone. “Or maybe we can ask around to see what’s going on with Brookline’s excavation.”

  “Excuse me.”

  Their conversation trailed off as Abby’s host, Lara, ran up to them, slightly out of breath, her blunt haircut wild and stringy around her face. Dan felt immediately suspicious, and then tried to curb that impulse—she was probably just checking to see if he was okay, given that a kid had screamed and screamed and then tried to jump right in front of him.

  “You said your name was Daniel, yes?” she asked, pushing the hair out of her face.

  “No, Dan. It’s Dan.”

  The other hosts and prospies continued on without them, trekking across the muddy open field in front of the dorm on their way to the Commons. Some of them looked back at Dan curiously, but most of them seemed to want to get as far away from him as they could, and that was fine by him. “I was told to make sure you were okay. Do you need to call your parents? Will you be staying?”

  Dan shrugged coolly. “I’m okay, I guess. That student . . . Is he . . . Is he okay?”

  “Doug?” Lara frowned, shaking her head slightly. “He’s a first year. I don’t see him around much, kind of a loner. Students get stressed this time of year, with midterms and everything. His parents will be here soon to see that he is taken care of.”

  “I’d never met him before,” Dan said. He didn’t mean to sound defensive, but how could he not feel a little on trial? “I don’t even know how he knew my name.”

  Abby coughed theatrically, and Dan decided not to say much more to Lara unless she really pressed.

  But Lara surprised him. “That’s simple enough,” she said. “Not exactly rocket surgery, mm?” She pointed to the orange orientation folder tucked under his arm. A white sticker practically glowed on the front. “DANIEL CRAWFORD.” “Your name is right there for anyone to see.”

  “So it is,” Dan said with a nervous laugh. That was fine if it was explanation enough for Lara, but it didn’t nearly satisfy Dan. Doug had been staring at him well before they had their folders. And how did he know to say “You’re not finished,” just like it said on the backs of their photos?

  “I hope he feels better soon.”

  “He’s not the first student to lose it a little over exams,” Lara added, starting toward the Commons and the rest of the group. “I remember my first year like it was yesterday—many lost hours of sleep, moments of panic, even delirium from the lack of rest. I even lost clumps of hair over my first final. My parents were dead set on me being a pre-med, and the pressure was significant. Then I changed my major from bio to studio art. I’m sure you can imagine how that conversation went. But that’s enough of that—I’m supposed to be convincing you that NHC is awesome all the time!” She clenched her teeth in something that resembled a smile, brushing the stray hair out of her face. “Anyway, lunch. We’d love it if you joined us.”

  “We?” Abby asked.

  “Micah and me. Cal may come, too, but I think he’s still assisting Doug and contacting his parents. He can be quite a talker, so I’m sure he’ll be reassuring them for the next hour or so.” The light drizzle from before began to pick up in a steady rain, and all four of them quickened their pace. Damp, cold to the bone, Dan was only too happy to make it to the white overhang outside the Commons.

  He huddled under it, hugging himself. Brookline was to their immediate right. He looked up at the empty windows, rows and rows of them staring out like dozens of vacant eyes. Maintenance had only halfheartedly trimmed the weeds sprouting up along the edge of the entrance, leaving Brookline to look like it had been abandoned in decay all over again. So much for the excavation effort.

  The moody clouds overhead shifted, until a stray beam of light illuminated Brookline’s top floor—the floor on which Dan had fended off a man with a crowbar, sure that he was going to die. The way the light hit the windows, it almost looked like a pale face with ragged holes for eyes was watching him from inside.

  Just a trick of the light, Dan, you know better.

  “Hey,” Abby said, touching him on the back. “Let’s go inside. Don’t think about that place. It’s harmless now.”

  She couldn’t even look him in the eyes as she said it. Dan knew she didn’t for a minute believe that. Neither did he.

  Dan pushed a triangular piece of deep-fried macaroni and cheese around on his plate. Across from him, Lara demolished a heaping bowl of salad. In between bites, she elaborated on her art installation for Abby.

  “It’s dedicated to my parents,” she explained, “and centered around my Korean-American heritage, but like I said, it’s a critique too. My pare
nts were obsessed with being just like the other white suburban families. They needed the next big SUV, the next fancy television—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having a nice TV,” Cal said. He stretched, yawned, and then straddled the bench of the long table where they sat. With a casual flick of his fingers he pointed at one of the prospies walking by with a lunch tray.

  “Seven,” he said. He pointed again, not even subtly, to the next person going by. “Sixish. Never mind, didn’t see the nose. Five. That one’s a three on a good day.”

  Abby brooded over her untouched pork chop while eyeing the slice of pie she had saved for dessert. “Is he rating girls?” she asked, aghast.

  “Not girls,” Micah said as he cut apart his own pork chop.

  “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” But Dan’s whispered jest didn’t amuse Jordan at all.

  “Don’t make me gag,” he whispered back.

  Cal, it appeared, had a sharp ear. He swiveled to face Jordan and chuckled. “Relax. It’s a joke. Besides, don’t whine, you’re a solid eight.”

  Dan reached up to tug Jordan down to the bench, holding him tight by the elbow. “Don’t. He’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

  “Yeah?” Jordan scoffed. “Well, it’s working. An eight? Ha!”

  “If they’re going to be this boring, I don’t want them coming to the party tonight,” Cal said, inspecting his nails. Down the bench, a short volunteer Dan didn’t recognize perked up, waving at Cal.

  “Is there a house party tonight?” The boy practically gurgled with excitement. He was the polar opposite of Cal, thickset and stumpy, with frizzy blond hair and Coke-bottle glasses.

  “Yes, Henderson, and you are not even the slightest bit invited.” Cal sneered. Dan had never seen anyone with teeth so white, and Cal’s evenly golden-brown tan only made them more blinding. He looked the way Dan pictured the archetypal Californian.

  “Must you, Cal?” Lara snapped, taking her bowl and retreating to the salad bar.