Nightmare Academy (11 page)

“Everyone is a guest here, but for your own safety, this is a closed campus, and there can be no leaving. We're out in the middle of hostile wilderness, with national forest for miles in all directions. If you venture too far into those woods, you could become lost and we would have no way to find you. And besides . . . I suppose you've already seen indications of our bear problem? We not only have bears, we have cougars, and the only safe place is within the boundaries of the campus. Are you with me thus far?”

“Are there telephones?” Elijah asked.

“Oh, heavens, no. That would bring in the outside world, and that would taint everything we're trying to accomplish here.”

“But what are you trying to accomplish?”

“No doubt you have noticed the mansion on the hill.”

“Sure have,” said Elijah. “What's up there?”

“The mansion is off-limits; be absolutely certain of that. This campus is your home, the mansion belongs to your faculty and leadership. We all have our own little kingdoms, don't you see:

You have yours here, we have ours there. Respect that. Agreed?”

They nodded. “Agreed.”

“Now. It's safe to assume that you have very little money.”

Bingham brought out two small, cloth bags closed with drawstrings. “These are Knight-Moore dollars.” He handed each of them a bag. Inside were shiny metal coins the size of a quarter, light in weight, probably made of tin or aluminum. On one side was the “value,” 1 KM Dollar, and on the other side were fancy letters, KM, with “The Knight-Moore Academy” inscribed around the outside. Elijah was expecting to see Mr. Bingham's profile, but no.

“These are the academy currency,” Bingham continued, “good for purchases at the Campus Exchange, treats from the cafeteria vending machines, games in the Rec Center, and so forth. It's an additional measure to provide our own in-house economy while discouraging theft and greed. Each of you gets twenty-five KMs to start. You can earn more, spend it all; it's up to you.”

He sank into his chair again and looked across his desk at them. “On behalf of the faculty and staff, I bid you welcome.”

“Thank you,” they answered, still bewildered.

The door opened again, on cue, and Mr. Stern and Mrs. Meeks ushered them out of the office and back down the hall toward the front door.

“I'm over in dorm B,” said Elijah. “Where are you staying?”

“Dorm C, room 4, facing the playfield. What's your room number?”

“Room 6,” Stern answered for Elijah, then told him, “Come on, I'll walk you back, show you the showers.”

“Where will you be?” Elijah asked Elisha.

“Watching the volleyball game,” said Mrs. Meeks. “Come, Sally, I'll introduce you to the others.”

Morgan's face spoke from the screen on Sarah's laptop. “All right. Hello. Is the signal clear?”

Nate and Sarah, in the back of their big van, answered, “Yes. We can see you clearly.”

“Good. I can see you as well. We'll have to communicate through this discrete system for the time being and not trust the telephones. Someone knew all they needed to know to kill Alvin Rogers: his whereabouts, his condition, the layout of the hospital, who the nurse was on the night shift, everything. Let's not help our adversaries any further.”

“Who are they?” Nate asked.

“We still don't know, and we still need you to find out. Apparently, Alvin Rogers could have told us once he regained his sanity.”

“Morgan,” said Sarah, “they have our children.”

“They mustn't know it. They have to think they've picked up two runaways, not two investigators. Keep in mind that whoever it is could have spies in the sheriff's department, the police, the Bureau for Missing Children, the hospital staff—anyone and everyone who had anything to do with Alvin Rogers.”

“So we can't talk to the hospital,” Sarah lamented.

“Or the police, or the sheriff. And until we can find out more about this Nelson Farmer character, I wouldn't go anywhere near the BMC. To do so would give someone a clue that your kids are not what they appear to be.”

“You're not making this easy,” said Nate.

“I'll do all I can to make it less difficult.”

“We'll be in touch.”

“Good-bye.”

The image blinked off the screen, leaving Nate and Sarah feeling very alone.

Sarah wasn't about to sit still, not with her kids missing. “Nate, we have to trust
somebody."

“How about our friends at the youth shelter—the
real
one?”

Elisha definitely had that “new girl in school” feeling as she approached the volleyball game. Mrs. Meeks kept a motherly hand on her shoulder to encourage—or perhaps force—her along, until she stood next to Mr. Easley, who said a quick hello. None of the kids playing the game paid her any mind. The game was getting intense, coming down to the wire. The ball was sailing over the net and bouncing off hands at a frantic pace, and the yells and screams were reaching one big, unintelligible roar.

Bap! A
girl swatted the ball over the net.

Bip, bap,
the ball bounced from one player's hands to the next, and then
bump!
it hit the ground. A tall white guy with a nearly shaved head scooped it up and put it back into play.

“Hey!” came some protests from the opposing team, but the game kept going.

Bip, bap, bung, bat,
the ball bounced from one player to the next, and then
Bam!
a big, muscular guy spiked it back.

It shot like a cannonball between two players and bounded off the ground. Everybody on that side wailed in defeat—and disgust.

Mr. Easley sounded his whistle. “Okay that's it. That's game, twenty-one to eighteen. Good job!”

“No fair!” a black girl in dreadlocks wailed, pointing at the tall white guy. “The ball hit the ground before he hit it!”

The culprit on the other side retorted, “You played on it.”

“So?” said the black girl's companion, a stocky Hispanic who must have cut her own hair.

“Ah, but listen,” said Mr. Easley. He had to blow his whistle to get their attention. “Listen. See what you're doing? You're falling into that old trap again, trying to see things as either/or.”

Elisha wasn't sure what he was talking about, but some of the kids rolled their eyes when he said it.

“Aren't you?” Easley prodded. “You're saying, 'Either they won or we did.'”

“They didn't!” said the black girl.

“We
did”
said the tall white guy.

“See?” said Easley. “That's either/or. But let me ask you this:

Did you enjoy the game?”

“Yeah, 'til a few seconds ago,” said the little Hispanic.

“Then it was an experience, wasn't it?” He raised his voice so everyone could hear. “You have power over the experience, to make it what you want, so it's the experience that matters. If you enjoyed playing the game, then you've already won as long as you think you've won. You can all be winners and the score doesn't have to mean anything. That's both/and.” He asked the little Hispanic, “Come on, Maria, see if you can say it using both/and.”

Maria gave a grumpy sigh and attempted it.
"Both
our team
and
their team won.”

There was a collective moan from several. “Oh right, yeah!”

“No way.” “Sore losers, that's all.”

“But we won!” said a chubby gal on the “losing” side.

“You're right!” said Easley.

Another moan, and some pretty hot protests.

“And you're right!” he told the moaners, which cheered only half of them. “Listen. If the experience was yours and you enjoyed it, then you won. There's no winning or losing here, no right or wrong. There's just the game and what you make of it.”

A cute blond with wire-rimmed glasses hopped in the air and squeaked, “I won!”

A few of her teammates—all from the “losing” side—tried to match her enthusiasm. “We won.” “Yeah, right, we won.”

“We all won,” the tall guy finally conceded.

“Until next time,” said the muscular guy, and several of his teammates agreed with him.

Easley called out, “Hey, this is the new girl. Let's make her welcome.” He asked Elisha, “What name would you like?”

Elisha was confused by the question. “What name? Oh. I guess, Sally”

“Everybody, this is Sally.”

Girls and boys came forward, shaking her hand. “Hi, Sally.”

“Hi, Sally” “Hi, Sally.”

“Hi. Hi. Hi.”

The cute blond with the wire-rimmed glasses stepped up with springs in her feet. “Hi. Are you the new girl in room 4?”

“Yes.”

“Cool! We're roommates, did you know that?”

Elisha smiled. “So
you're
Alice! Mrs. Meeks was telling me about you.”

The girl laughed. “I was Alice yesterday I'm Marcy today.”

“Oh . . . okay Marcy”

“I'm from Maine. I've always wanted to be from there. I hear it's pretty. Who are you today? Are you somebody?”

“I . . . I guess I'm just myself.”

“Whoa! I'm not ready for that one yet.”

Then two sizable jocks stepped up, the big, muscular guy and a good-looking, surfer type.

“Hey,” said Muscles, looking her over and enjoying it, “the name's Alex. I'm glad you could be here to see us win.”

“We
all
won,” said the surfer.

Alex glared at him. “Brett, who said you could stand here?”

Brett came right back, with fight in his eyes, “I stand where I want.”

Alex only smiled as if amused. “We'll see.”

Brett pointed his finger in Alex's face. “Next time.”

“Next time,” Alex agreed.

Brett extended his hand. “It's nice to meet you, Sally.” With a quick nod toward Alex he added, “Be careful.” Then, with a parting dagger-eye at Alex, he left.

Alex confided, “He's got a few problems—being a loser's one of them. Hey, if there's anything you need, you know who to call.”

Mr. Easley came near, wearing that perpetually kind smile. “You're going to have a great time here. Don't worry about anything. We're all friends.”

Really?
thought Elisha.
Two roosters about to spur each other,
and—

“Come on, Sally,” said Marcy-for-today, “let's go get our room set up just the way we want it, like our own little world.”

—and one sweet person who's afraid to be herself,
Elisha finished her thought.

“Are you Sally for today, or are you always Sally?”

“I'm . . .” So
how do 1 answer this one?
"Well, I'm Sally for now. How about that?”

“Cool.”

Weird,
Elisha thought.
Here I am, playing a role, but so is everybody
else! Dear Lord, I'm going to need your help with this one.

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