Nightmare Academy (12 page)

"WHAT'S YOURS
IS MINE"

A
LITTLE BEFORE NOON , the Dartmoor Hotel had an unexpected visitor, a balding, middle-aged man carrying a briefcase and wearing a suit and tie. He came through the front door, paused to look around the lobby, and then walked slowly to the reception desk where the little man with the thin, black hair and round head was still sitting, reading his newspaper. “Good morning,” said the visitor.

“All the rooms are full,” said the man behind the desk.

The visitor was disappointed. “You sure? I've come a long way, and this place is nice and close to where I have to do my business.”

“Sorry. You might try up the street. The Sullivan or the Royal Arms.”

The visitor looked around one more time. “So, what do you do here? You rent rooms by the week, the month? You got apartments up there?” Without warning, he pressed the button for the elevator.

“Hey! You can't go up there!”

The door to the old elevator slid open. “I might be interested in an apartment. Why don't you show me one?”

“We're in the middle of a renovation. There's nothing to see up there.”

The visitor stood still and let the elevator door slide shut again. “Aw, that's too bad. Well, like you say, I'll try the Sullivan. Thanks, anyway.”

He walked toward the door, but turned right to have a look at the empty room through the archway. Satisfied, he gave a detached shrug and went out the door.

He walked casually up the street, whistling to himself, his briefcase swinging at his side, and then turned into an alley where a large van was waiting. He hopped in and the van rolled down the alley.

Sarah was behind the wheel and gave him a thumbs-up. “Perfect. I think we got it all.”

The man squeezed between the two front seats and hurried into the back of the van, pulling a hidden radio transmitter from under his shirt. “I haven't seen that guy around here before, and I hope he hasn't seen me.”

Nate was in back, manning all the electronic surveillance gear. “Charlie, if we're right about that so-called hotel, I doubt either of you have seen each other before. Our little hotel clerk is nothing but an actor.” He began tapping away at the computer and clicking the mouse, isolating certain sounds from a recording they'd just made. “Now I'll just stack all these sounds in a file.”
Click.
Click.
"And pull up our other file . . .”
Click. Click-click.
"And compare the two.”

“Hey! You can't go up there!”

The van eased to a stop. Sarah turned off the engine, set the brake, and came back to join them.

“I think we're going to find exactly what we were expecting,” said Nate as he played the first recording.

They heard the sound of a latch opening, the squeak of hinges, the quiet rush of a door moving across a carpet.

“That's you, Charlie, going in the front door,” Nate said.

Next they heard the very same sounds repeated. Sarah sat up straight in her chair. “Is i t . . . ?”

Nate nodded. “That was the kids going through the same door last night. Let's check the next one.”

A series of wooden squeaks, then another. The second recording involved more feet, but the squeaks were virtually the same.

“Same floor,” Nate said, “last night and today”

A rumble, the ding of a bell, a door sliding open. The same sounds again.

“Same elevator,” said Sarah.

“This next one's a little tougher,” said Nate, raising the volume.

What they mainly heard was “air noise,” the sound of a particular room. Then they heard another sample.

Nate put both sounds on the computer screen so they appeared as wavy lines. “Yes, same wave structure. And look here.” He pointed at a little spike that appeared in both sound waves. “The floor makes that same squeak right as you go under the archway. So guess what, Sarah?” He spun in his chair to look at her. “We're not crazy.”

She shook her head in wonder. “Incredible.”

Charlie nodded toward the outside. “So how about a bite to eat? It's about that time. We'll talk.”

They climbed out of the van, stepping into a narrow alley and up to a plain little door with a neatly worded sign: Living Way Youth Shelter. Everyone Welcome.

Charlie led the way through the door, through a storeroom and pantry, through a kitchen, and into a dining hall where nearly a dozen kids were starting their lunch.

Anita, Charlie's wife, was just getting the kids' attention. “Okay put the spoons down. We're going to pray.” The kids put down their spoons and bowed their heads. Nate, Sarah, and Charlie bowed their heads as well. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this food and for this home. Please warm our hearts as we feed our bodies. Amen.”

The kids started slurping their soup and passing the bread around as Nate, Sarah, and Charlie found a table over in the corner where they could talk.

Charlie Ramirez and his wife, Anita, started the Living Way shelter six years ago as a ministry to runaways and wayward kids with nowhere else to go. Abused kids, rebellious kids, kids on drugs, kids just plain scared—Charlie and Anita handled them all.

“I've never heard any of the kids talk about another youth shelter in town,” Charlie said in a quiet, cautious voice. “I never had any idea. . . . “

“Could you start asking around?” asked Sarah. “The way these kids circulate on the street, somebody had to have heard something.”

“And ask them if they ever encountered a woman named Margaret Jones,” said Nate.

“Discreetly,” Sarah added. “You can see what we're up against.”

Charlie nodded intently. “I'll ask the ones here, and we can check with the ones who've gone home. We have a follow-up list, so we can call them.”

“And ask if anyone's ever heard of the Knight-Moore Academy, or anything that sounds like that. We heard Elijah and Elisha talking about it, but we're not sure of the correct spelling.”

“This Margaret Jones woman showed the kids a brochure,” said Nate. “We need to get our hands on it.”

By now, Charlie was making a list. “Oh, dear Jesus, help us.”

When Elijah showed up for the discussion circle with Mr. Easley at 1:30, he looked sharp. The academy had provided a toiletry kit, so he'd made good use of it. He'd showered, combed his hair, shaved whatever whiskers he could find, and gotten into his uniform, which, interestingly, fit him perfectly. It made him wonder, How
did these people know my exact measurements? Did they come
into the room with a tape measure while I was asleep? Eeuugh! What
a creepy thought

“Oh, dear Jesus, help us.”

Well, anyway, now he was dressed properly, ready to fit in with the others—or so he thought.

First surprise: The discussion circle wasn't meeting in the scheduled classroom. A sign taped to the door told everyone the group would be meeting out on the grass near the edge of the campus, in the shade of some tall cedars. He looked across the open field and saw them already gathered, with some stragglers still ambling across the grass. He ran.

Second surprise: Now that he looked sharp, everybody else looked sloppy. Yes, they were wearing their uniforms—sort of—but many had their shoes off, almost all of them had shed their blazers, and only a few were still wearing ties. Shoes, ties, and blazers were lying about on the grass, and the kids were lounging around in a very rough circle facing Mr. Easley who was still in his tee shirt and black shorts.

Mr. Easley smiled at him. “Hey uh . . . what's your name today?”

“Jerry. Sorry I'm late.”

“Hey, there's no such thing as being late to discussion circle. Everybody comes when they feel like it. You do what you feel. Have a seat somewhere, wherever you want. Oh, and Jerry!” Elijah stopped, and Mr. Easley tossed him a KM dollar. “That's for showing up.”

He quickly scanned the group and found Elisha with a blond friend under an ancient cottonwood. He settled on the grass near her, but not right next to her, catching a welcome from her eyes.

“Take your tie off, if you want,” said Easley “I know the academy has a rule about wearing uniforms, but as I've told the others, what are we really trying to do here? We want everyone to be equal, sure, but we're also trying to cut everybody loose, let everybody have their own life. If you have to wear a uniform all the time, then you're just being squished into the same mold as everybody else, and we don't want that either, right?”

“Right!” the group agreed.

“Now. What were we talking about?”

“Whatever we wanted,” said a tough-looking street dude who'd rolled up his sleeves to show off his tattoos.

“That's the stuff, Ramon!” Easley tossed Ramon another KM.

“We were talking about possessions.”

“And stealing,” said a purple-haired scarecrow of a girl. “Like, if people don't want to share their stuff, maybe it's okay to
make
'em share it.”

“By taking things?” asked a somewhat miffed, stringy-haired blond.

“Hey, if I want something, why shouldn't I have it?”

“Because maybe it belongs to me, that's why!” She told Mr. Easley, “Somebody stole my Walkman and I don't appreciate it one bit.”