Читать книгу Sanctum - Madeleine Roux - Страница 16

Inside the newly renovated, warm Erickson Dormitory, Dan finally felt the chilly influence of Brookline break. The volunteers led them up to the third floor, where a bank of overstuffed couches had been set up along the walls in a U shape. A few students disappeared down the hall, taking piles of luggage to a room to be sorted and divvied out later by host and dorm building.

Dan grabbed a seat between Abby and Jordan, who clambered out of their coats and scarves, red-faced and sweating from the jump in temperature. It was almost too warm in the spacious common room, overcrowded with bodies and furniture.

“My host seems nice,” Dan whispered to them.

“Mine’s okay,” Jordan replied with a shrug. “Not very bright, and a little WASPy, but okay.”

“Lara is awesome.” As if to prove it, Abby gave her host a little wave. All the student volunteers stood near the archway leading out into the hall. There was an elevator on the right side of the room and windows all along the wall behind where the prospies sat. Dan felt the cold from outside seeping in when one of the hosts finally opened a door. Jordan’s host began pulling orange folders from a few cardboard boxes and passing them out to the various rows.

“You don’t think she’s a little … frigid?” Jordan asked. “I’m getting some serious robot, type A vibes off of that one.”

“She’s serious about art, Jordan,” Abby muttered. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Find your folder, please,” Jordan’s host instructed. “They’re all labeled.”

“At least you two got paired with hosts who have stuff in common with you. Don’t ask how I got paired up with Cal because I have no frakking clue,” Jordan whispered. “He’s an economics major.”

“Economics involves math,” Dan suggested. “Right?”

“Maybe for most people. I get the impression Cal is just trying to learn how to handle a trust fund.”

“How could you know that already?” Abby whispered. “I say give the guy a break.”

“I will not. He’s wearing boat shoes. Ugh. Boat shoes and he is nowhere near a stupid boat. Justify that, Captain Tolerance.”

“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.