F. Wilson - The Select

This time she made it to the stairwell. She grabbed her coat as she passed, pulled it on and fumbled her pass card from the pocket as she bounded down the steps. She ignored her drying boots as she burst from the stairwell onto the first floor. She jammed the card into the emergency door slot and ran out into the icy air.

At first she ran through the snow without a destination— down the hill toward the campus buildings, anywhere as long as she was putting distance between herself and Science. Then she heard the exit alarm sound from the Science building—someone had come through without using a card. She turned and saw the long trail she'd left in the snow and the big blond guy from security running down the hill, following it. She might be able to outrun him, but she'd never lose him, not in this snow.

She heard a whimper of fear and realized it had come from her.

Ahead lay the faculty office building. One of the windows was lit. Dr. Emerson's?

"Oh, God, please, God!" she said softly, pushing her speed to the red line.

She skidded into the entry door, yanked on the handle—it opened. She ran inside, locked it behind her, then kicked off her sneakers. Wet footprints were as easy to follow as a trail in the snow. She padded down the hall in her socks toward Dr. Emerson's door. She burst into his office without knocking and slammed the door behind her.

Dr. Emerson jumped in his seat and looked up at her.

"Oh, Dr. Emerson, thank God you're here!"

"Quinn!" he said, pulling off his glasses. "What on earth's wrong?"

"You've got to hide me! Security's after me! You've got to call the Sheriff's Department!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Tim Brown! He didn't run off to Vegas. He's still here, in Ward C!"

"Preposterous! Who told you such a thing?"

"I saw him, Dr. Emerson. I just came from Ward C and Tim Brown is there! "

Shock and confusion warred across Dr. Emerson's features.

"But why—?"

"I don't understand why. None of this makes any sense. I just know he's there and Dr. Alston's using your compound to keep him there and we've got to get him out." She was starting to cry. She didn't want to, but she was so afraid and the sobs seemed to have a will of their own. "So please, please call the sheriff!"

Dr. Emerson closed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to shut out something he didn't want to hear.

"This is terrible," he muttered. "This is awful." He looked heartbroken.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. This just confirms my worst fears." He rubbed a hand over his eyes, then straightened in his chair. "Very well. Hide in that closet over there if you wish. I still can't believe this, but I'll make the call. But I won't tell the authorities a thing. I'll try to get someone from the sheriff's office here and you can tell him yourself. Is that fair enough?"

"Yes! Oh, yes! Thank you!"

Quinn hurried over to the closet, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her. On the far side of the door she heard Dr. Emerson pick up the phone and dial. She listened as he spoke.

"Sheriff's office? Yes, this is Dr. Emerson at The Ingraham. I have a very frightened young woman in my office who feels she is in some danger. Could you send a car over immediately? Yes, I'm in room 107 in the faculty building. Thank you." He hung up and said, "They'll be here shortly."

Quinn breathed a deep sigh of relief and slid to a sitting position on the floor of the closet. She hadn't been sure she could trust anyone connected with The Ingraham, including Dr. Emerson. Now she chided herself for doubting him, even for an instant.

It's almost over.

All she had to do now was sit tight here until the sheriff or a deputy came, then lead them up to Ward C and show them the missing Timothy Brown. And then heads would roll.

Maybe she'd learn what this nightmare was all about. Because that was exactly what this was like—bizarre, scary as hell, surreal, and it made no sense at all.

Outside in the office, a door opened.

"Where is she?" a voice said.

Dr. Emerson, sounding very old and very tired, replied: "In the closet."

Quinn was rising to a standing position when the closet door was flung open. She screamed when she saw the blond security guard standing there, smiling at her.

No! It can't be! Can't BE!

She tried to dart past him but he grabbed her arm and squeezed her biceps. Quinn winced with the pain.

"Don't hurt her," Dr. Emerson said.

"Are you kidding?" the guard said. "After all the shit she's put me through tonight. Thought I busted my arm up there on Five Science. All because of her."

As she was dragged past his desk toward the hall, Quinn stared at Dr. Emerson in shock and disbelief.

"You? You too?"

He wouldn't meet her gaze. He stared instead at his desk top. His betrayal was a knife through her heart. Her terror receded and the hurt poured out of her.

"How could you? I thought you were a decent man, a great man! I thought you were my friend! "

Finally he looked up at her. His face was stricken, filled with grief. There were tears in his eyes.

"So did I. But there are some processes that cannot be stopped once they are set in motion."

Quinn's hurt suddenly turned to fury. It flared up, fueled by the growing fear for her life, and suddenly she was shoving the security man, wrenching her arm from his grasp with a sudden burst of strength that took her as much by surprise as it did him.

She was free, and she was running again, but with nowhere to go.

Quinn glanced over her shoulder and saw the guard racing after her, arms and legs pumping, teeth bared, face a mask of rage. She screamed and stretched her legs to their limit but her socks gave her little traction on the polished floor. He gained quickly this time and tackled her just as she was banking into a turn in the hall.

His weight slammed her to the floor, knocking the air out of her as they slid into a wall. He lurched to his knees and hovered over her, panting, murder ablaze in his eyes as she struggled to breath.

He grabbed the front of her hair. "I've had enough shit from you for one night!" he said.

Quinn felt her scalp burn as he yanked her head up. Before she could reach up to grab his arms, he slammed her head down against the floor. Jagged bolts of white light arced from the back of her skull along both sides of her brain and met in the space behind her eyes, then plunged into darkness, dragging Quinn with them.

TWENTY-THREE

Finally!

Matt felt the crushing fatigue begin to lift as he turned off the road and up the drive toward The Ingraham's gates. It had stopped snowing, and there were only six inches or so on the ground here. The going became much faster and easier once he'd crossed into Maryland and pushed south of Emmitsburg. The roads from there on had been plowed sporadically, but at least none of them was blocked by four-foot drifts like a few up in Pennsylvania.

The guard in the gatehouse looked at him suspiciously as he pulled up to the brightly lit entrance. He seemed reluctant to open the window to his heated cocoon.

"Help you?"

"Yeah. I'm here to visit a first-year student named Cleary."

"They've all gone home for Christmas break."

"She's still here. She's expecting me."

"I wouldn't know about that. I'm afraid I can't let you on campus at this hour."

"I've come all the way from Connecticut. I would've been here hours ago if I hadn't got stuck in the storm. Please give her room a call. Two-fifty-two."

The guard shrugged, slid his window closed, and dialed his phone. And waited. And waited. Finally he shook his head and hung up. He opened the window again.

"No answer. Like I told you: They've all gone home for the break. Won't be back till after the first of the year."