R. Stine - Red Rain

He turned back to Hulenberger, who was defiantly gazing at him, not backing down, not avoiding his eyes after bringing this devastating news. Macho guy.

“So, Richard. . Can you explain? If it isn’t my study. .”

“It’s your book. Can I speak plainly? It’s the book. We understand why you wrote such an inflammatory thing. But that’s the problem in a word, see. It’s inflammatory.”

“But it’s a sincere study. It wasn’t skeptical in any way. I wasn’t just trying to make a buck with a piece of crappy pop psychology. I did my homework, Richard. I did years of research in addition to my own studies.”

Whoa. Blowing it. He’s sitting there coolly, and your voice is rising to soprano.

Richard kept his green-gray eyes on Mark, his face a blank. No emotion.

This man is a fish. I’ve seen eyes like that on a cod. He thinks he’s terrific. But he didn’t just fuck a beautiful twenty-three-year-old girl.

What am I thinking? Am I losing my mind?

“How can I say this, Mark? The book has attached a certain notoriety to you. I’m sure you won’t disagree with that.”

Mark didn’t reply.

“And the grant committee. . well, we feel we can’t risk backing someone in your position, someone with that kind of controversy following him.”

Mark remained silent.

Richard sighed and shook his head. “The institute has such limited funds now. You know how much the government has cut our funding. They’re almost not subsidizing us at all. It’s a crime. This country will pay for the shortsightedness in Washington. In the meantime, we have to be very judicious about where we spend what little we have. And I’m afraid-”

Mark jumped to his feet, visibly startling his guest. “Okay. I get it. Thanks for coming out, Richard.”

Richard gazed up at him, swallowing hard. Mark realized he’d frightened the man. Richard thought Mark was about to get violent.

Maybe I should. Beat the crap out of him. What kind of notoriety would that bring me?

But he’d never been in a fight in his life. Not even on the playground. He’d never thrown a punch or wrestled another kid on the grass or come home with a black eye.

Mark was the good kid. The smart kid. The talker. The kid who was interested in how everything works. He always talked himself out of fights. He used psychology .

Richard finally climbed to his feet. He grabbed up his laptop case.

Why did he bring it? Did he just feel insecure without it?

He pulled out his phone and checked the screen. Then he tucked it back into his suit jacket. “I’m really sorry, Mark. I can see you are disappointed.”

“Yeah. That’s the word for it.”

“My only suggestion-if you want any advice from me-is to apply again in a few years.”

“A few years?”

“Yeah. Wait for the notoriety to die down. In a few years, people will forget your book, right?”

A smile crossed Mark’s face. “That isn’t exactly a compliment.”

Richard blushed. “You know what I mean. Wait for the controversy to fade. People have short attention spans. You know that, right? Apply again. I’m not guaranteeing anything, but-”

Mark led him to the door. “Do you believe in freedom of speech, Richard?”

“Well, yes. Of course.”

“But you don’t think I should put my findings and theories in a book?”

“I didn’t say that. The committee has to be careful. I know you understand that. You have a bestseller, Mark. No one begrudges you that. Some psychologists would kill for a bestseller like yours. This grant money-”

“Would have paid my mortgage for the next two years,” Mark interrupted. “And would have paid for my next book, which I hope will have the same notoriety.”

He pulled open the front door. He could see the twins playing catch at the side of Richard’s car.

“I’m sorry. I mean that sincerely.” Hulenberger stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m just the messenger here, you know. No hard feelings, I hope.”

Mark shook his hand. This time it was cold and damp. He watched him walk down the gravel drive to his car. He deposited the laptop in the passenger seat, glanced briefly back at Mark, then climbed behind the wheel.

One of the twins fumbled the tennis ball and went running down the driveway after it. “Be careful!” Mark shouted to them. “Get out of the way, boys. He’s going to back out!”

He didn’t watch Hulenberger drive away. Mark turned and walked into the house, feeling heavy, a headache forming just behind his forehead. He sighed. I need a glass of wine.

He found Roz in the kitchen, stirring a pot of tomato sauce. She had a gray long-sleeved T-shirt, torn at the neck, pulled down over the baggy denim cutoff shorts she wore nearly every day. She turned when he entered and read his expression. “Bad news?”

“You were listening?”

“No. The twins told me something bad was happening. That guy looked like the kind who’d bring bad news.”

Mark opened the refrigerator and pulled out an already opened bottle of Chablis. “Yeah, well. Bad news is right. I’m not getting the grant.”

She stopped stirring. “Because?”

“Because I’m too controversial.” He found a wineglass in the cabinet and poured it full. “Mainly, I think, because I’m too successful.”

“Yes. That’s your problem. You’re too successful and too rich.”

“I wish.” He took a long sip. “Guess I’m going to have to fill up my patient list. Put aside the next book for a while.”

The tennis ball bounced hard against the kitchen window. The thud made them both jump.

Roz smiled. “The twins are having fun.”

Mark took another drink. The wine wasn’t helping his headache. “Think they’re doing okay?”

“Yes. I think they’re happy. I know you don’t approve, but they love their little house back there. I’m surprised they’ve adjusted so well. Aren’t you?”

“I guess. I’d like to see a little more interaction between them and Ira and Elena. Of course, twins often keep to themselves.” He refilled his glass. The Chablis tasted a little sour. Or was that just his mood?

He thought about Hulenberger. The guy wasn’t actually smug, but he was totally unlikable.

“Can I change the subject?” Roz broke into his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking I need a night off. You know?”

“A night off? You have a date?”

“Is that your business? I just need a night off. Think you could hold down the fort? Watch Axl for me? You know. Take care of him for a few hours without killing him?”

Mark grinned. “Axl and I get along fine. I stuff him full of Oreos and tortilla chips and he’s a good boy.”

“That’s what makes you a good psychologist.”

“Lea gets home tomorrow night. Maybe she and I will have a special playdate with Axl.”

“Sounds like a plan. Go tell our four boarders it’s dinnertime, okay?”

Carrying his wineglass, Mark walked to the stairs and shouted up to Ira and Elena. “Dinner. Come down. Now. Okay?”

He opened the front door and shouted to the twins. “Dinner!” But they had disappeared, probably to their house in back. The tennis ball lay in the driveway in front of Hulenberger’s car.

Huh?

The wineglass nearly slipped from his hand. Something was wrong. Hulenberger’s Audi was still in the drive.

Mark stepped out onto the stoop and squinted into the evening light. Yes. Hulenberger sat behind the wheel. Not moving. And his head. . it was tilted back, way back.

Wrong. All wrong.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Richard? Hey! Richard?” he shouted.

Hulenberger didn’t move.

“Richard! Hey-what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He shouted louder with his hands cupped around his mouth.