II.2
“You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of
cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy
than of grave about you, whatever you are!”
James Charles DICKENS
A Christmas Carol
January 30th, 1990
– Tuesday
Scott didn’t mind a little
“pillow talk” after sex, but he always preferred when his partner left the room
as soon as possible to let him sleep. He had made it pretty clear to Tom, but
the young lobby boy clearly chose to ignore Scott’s wish. He was also curious
about Saint Augustine Bells – the school, the students, the secrecy around the
whole place...
Naturally Scott wasn’t willing to
share, so the two had a few words resulting in pillow fights and more playful
games. All in all, they had a pretty good time together.
– “What’s
this now?”
– “What’s
what now?...”
It was early, before sunrise.
Scott was hugging his pillow and looking for some peace and quiet before he
would have to wake up. Tom wasn’t by his side. He had to roll over and look up
to find him sitting naked at his desk, holding a note in his hand. He had such
a mischievous smile – but the journalist wasn’t amused.
– “What are
you doing with this? Put it back in my wallet.”
– “You’ve seen the boy’s body” Tom read. “You’ve had
your fun. Your job’s done. If you know what’s good for you, don’t get any
further. Get out of town before it’s too late – signed “I.M.N.” Who
the hell is I.M.N.?”
– “Honestly,
I have no idea...” Scott sighed.
Laying on his back, the tall guy
crossed his arms behind his head and pillow. He had not slept enough for his
own taste, once again. He could always blame Tom, who had proved to be a pretty
exciting player in the sheets. After three or four nights, they had established
a set of rules which satisfied both parties. Looking into Scott’s papers wasn’t
one of them.
– “I said,
put it back in my wallet.”
– “Okay,
okay. I wasn’t sneaking or anything, just looking for a fifty.”
– “Liar...”
Scott smiled. “Your money’s on the bedpost, as always.”
– “It wasn’t
last time, lazy boy!”
Tom came back in bed, and gave
Scott a long belly rub.
– “So, who’s
sending you anonymous messages in copy-and-paste letters, and finds it funnier
to sign them?”
– “I told
you, I don’t know.”
Scott preferred to grab Tom and
talk about something else than idle threats about a case which was on the verge
of getting pretty idle too: after his last visit and interview with Mr Thorne,
Scott was wondering if he was still welcome at that mysterious school. But Tom
wouldn’t let go.
– “You’ve kept
this to yourself?”
– “Of
course...”
– “Wrong
move. This may be your ticket to uncover something more important.”
It didn’t sound like such a bad
idea. Scott thought about it for a moment.
– “What do
you think?”
– “Who, me? I
think... You’re stirring some muddy waters, here. Someone wants you to get out
of town, and he or they took time to tell you in this rather fancy way. I mean,
a phone call could do it.”
– “Maybe they
couldn’t reach me over the phone.”
– “So you
think it might be a student in Augustine Bells?” Tom enjoyed this new game a
lot, more than Scott wished to see him get involved. “Or maybe this is someone
pretending to be one of them, who could tell you otherwise but chose to keep it
unclear.”
– “Then he
did a pretty good job. We’re still in the dark here.”
There was almost no light
outside. It had stopped snowing, but the air in the streets felt icy and every
building looked like they belonged in a toy shop, behind a giant, transparent
window.
– “I.M.N.”
Tom repeated. “I bet it’s a clue.”
– “Why would
it be a clue?”
– “Because,
silly...” Tom tousled Scott’s hair. “Whoever sent this took such precaution to
remain anonymous that they decided to tease you, play a little game of cat and
mouse... It’s a classic move. So, who would you say is confident enough to dare
you with a little puzzle like this?”
Scott admitted that Tom had a point. The
stern, pompous father figures of MMr Porkenham, Swayn and Thorne immediately came
to the fore. They made rather likely suspects – and it would only be fair to
tease them back.
– “I’ve met a
few people who would fit that description...”
– “Good, then
you know what to do with that note.”
– “How about
the letters?”
– “I.M.N.?”
– “Yes. What
do you make of it? An acronym of some sort...”
–
“Definitely. I.M.N...” Tom pondered for a moment. “It. Means. Nothing.”
The two men laughed.
– “Is that
the best you can come up with?”
– “Sorry...
I’m no detective.”
– “Oh well,
I’m no detective either... just a hack of a journalist.”
– “Come
on...” Tom comforted him with more belly rubs. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’ll
make it up to you, for ruining your sleep with such tasteless games.”
– “Yeah?”
– “How about
breakfast in bed... before breakfast?”
– “All right.
Don’t shortchange me, then: I want pie.”
– “Honey-glazed
apples, raspberry jam with fresh raspberries, fried peaches and chocolate
shoofly pie. Am I right?”
– “I guess these will do...”
Scott smiled and almost moaned.
Tom had been paying attention to what kinds
of pies Scott liked the most.
He didn’t have to wait for long.
Still in bed, Tom playfully fed him slice after slice of pie, then they took a
short shower together. The first beams of sunlight bathed the bedroom when they
put on their clothes.
Scott came to the breakfast buffet with a
hazy smile on his face. He had never gone to eat breakfast on an already full
stomach...
■ ■ ■
Breakfast never failed to
disappoint, and Scott was walking back into the lobby, much fuller than when he
had come down from his room. He was waiting for the lift when the guy at the
front desk called him.
– “There’s
someone for you on the phone.”
Scott took the receiver. It was
Miss Astern.
– “Good
morning, Mr Girder.”
– “Good
morning. Are you in town today?”
– “I called
you about this. There has been some change of plans with my lawyers in D.C. We
will have to postpone our interview.”
– “Oh...”
Scott couldn’t help feeling let down a bit.
He had no other plans for the day. Miss Astern had asked to meet him, and
discuss his investigation around her boy’s death. It would have been careless
not to book the whole day for it – only it felt pointless, right now.
– “What kind
of troubles? Is it serious?”
– “It is
nothing serious, strictly red tape. I have the board of administrators at Saint
Augustine Bells for my son’s personal belongings, and my lawyers, MMr Neadle
& Heystack, are still discussing details about the boxes currently stored
somewhere on school grounds.”
– “Do you
want me to have a talk with Mr Porkenham?”
– “I wouldn’t
mind it if you did. Nothing too official, of course, but you can tell him that
I don’t appreciate their decision.”
– “When
should we meet, then?”
– “I will
call you back, when I can get to Biberton.”
– “I am
looking forward to it...”
Scott wasn’t too happy about not
interviewing Miss Astern. He would go back to Augustine Bells and try to talk
to the administrators, but he was afraid that they would give him the cold
shoulder again.
– “I don’t
care, but what if they refuse to talk or listen to me?”
The young journalist let out a sigh. He was
feeling comfortably full – even a bit stuffed, after breakfast. Once he was
back in his bedroom, he took off his shirt. Scott patted his belly. He was
definitely thicker around the waist, although he had been much larger once.
Pretending that he had only put on 12 pounds over the previous week was a shameless lie. He just
couldn’t admit, in front of a doctor, that he had gained at least 16 pounds – possibly 18lbs, from the looks of it.
– “So what?
If those guys refuse to let me interview them, I’ll be back home by next week,
and my weight will drop in no time. I’ll be skinny again...”
That thought
was downright gloomy. Scott remembered the doctor’s advice: eat with the boys,
look greedy to the board of administrators, make friends with the security
guards – simply put: eat, eat, eat...
It would be
no problem. Scott didn’t need to be told twice.
Only this
required some time, to get to know people, win their trust, get them to talk...
And time wasn’t exactly on his side.
Just as he
was thinking about the terms of his mission, the phone rang by his bed. It was
Mr Horn.
– “How are
you doing down there, Scott?”
– “Right as
rain, Sir...”
– “Still
raining, huh? Well, more to the point. I have just received a call from Miss
Astern.”
– “Oh?”
– “She told
me that she was impressed and pleased with the way you’ve handled everything so
far. I assume that it’s no small compliment, considering...”
– “Yes, Sir?”
– “Anyway.
Will has also told me about the difficulties of this case. So I have come to a
decision. You will stay in town... What’s it called again?”
– “Biberton.”
– “Right,
Biberton. You stay there until the end of the month, then we’ll see if there is
something for us to print and sell copies.”
Scott
couldn’t believe it. Was this the same guy who had been so eager to get rid of
him, and was willing to give him the green light for four weeks?
– “What do
you say?”
– “Thank you,
Sir. I will do my best.”
– “Okay, you
do that.”
– “We’re
still talking about me staying at the Paddington hotel, full expenses paid...
right?”
– “Give it
five hundred dollars limit.”
– “Per diem.”
– “How do you
even know that expression? Okay, 500 bucks a day.”
Their
conversation didn’t last long after they had settled the financial aspects of
Scott’s mission, which promised to keep him well provided for until March. As
he hung up, Scott’s smile was back and spreading wider than ever.
■ ■ ■
Scott spent all morning walking on clouds. Or he might have, if it wasn’t raining heavily, all over town. The temperature had gone up a bit. There was no longer snow, slosh or mud in the streets. They were getting sparkling clean under such a cold shower. After Mr Horn’s call, Scott was happy to stay in his bed, with his notebooks around him. He had a few hours to kill, and he finally got some sleep.
He didn’t
wake up until noon.
The big boy
had eaten such a large breakfast – or breakfasts – that he wasn’t too hungry
for lunch. He got out of bed, took another quick shower and found that he had
some trouble getting his legs to move properly.
– “What now?
Just when I was feeling perfectly fine...”
His hip
hurt. Scott was used to it, but now his legs and knees were also painful, for
some reason. The tall guy took a few careful steps to try and get everything
adjusted, but he had to stop after a minute.
– “I guess I
should call to confirm my appointment, about that healing thing.”
Phil had
offered to help him get better with massages, and they had agreed to meet at
his office, in the evening. Since Phil’s office was on campus grounds, it would
be no trouble for Scott. He was determined to spend all day at Augustine Bells,
meeting with people or just looking for stuff.
The phone
number he had was the Hospital’s. Nurse Rockwell told him that Dr. Hewdge was
busy at the moment, but she wrote down what Scott told her and assured him that
the doctor would see him at 5PM.
Scott limped
down to the lift, then slowly walked his way out of the Paddington Hotel. He
wasn’t feeling too comfortable, so he spent some time on Main Street
– “This is
embarrassing. I should sit down for a moment.”
Sitting in
the bus was no problem. There were only a few people with him, and he was alone
when the bus stopped at the gates, in front of Augustine Bells.
It had
stopped raining while Scott was choosing his shirt – going for one size larger
than he had first chose to buy – and the air was cool, with a gentle breeze and
the rich scent of fallen leaves over water.
The security
office looked closed. There was only one light on, at the desk, and no one
waiting. Scott guessed that they were still on lunch break. He lifted the part
of the desk separating visitors from staff and came knocking at the door, before
Mr Wingrave’s office.
Scott had a
hunch that the head of security would be there. And he was not deceived, as he
heard a mighty belch from the other side of that door.
–
“BUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRP !... Ooof... Don’t tell me that they've sent more cupcakes!”
– “I wouldn’t
know, Mr Wingrave. It’s me, Scott Girder.”
– “Scott...
Girder? Oh, come in! Come in.”
Just as
Scott expected to find him, Mr Wingrave was sitting at his desk, with a pink
box full of cupcakes opened in front of him. He looked out of breath, but Scott
knew him well enough to get that he had not been running anywhere.
He shook
hands with the portly man in uniform, who was sweating so much that they felt
clammy... Scott took a good look at him.
– “Are you
feeling all right?”
– “Hardly...”
Mr Wingrave complained. “I’ve been eating pies and cupcakes all morning. And
I’m almost out of sodas.”
– “Why?”
– “Because I
had to wash these down, of course...”
The well-fed man waved at the pink box, still
more than half full.
– “I’m almost
done with these, but... Ooof, I’m going to explode!”
– “I meant...
Why have you been eating these all morning?”
–
“Because...”
But he
didn’t finish his sentence. Scott wondered if the strange behavior he had
observed among the students didn’t apply to a few more people in that school.
It felt strange, but could it be that the head of security would also be
compelled to eat all day, out of fear?
Then Scott
couldn’t tell what they were afraid of – only that the boys seemed convinced
that they would be killed, somehow, if they didn’t gorge on food!
–
“Because?...” Scott encouraged him to talk.
–
“Because it was there, I guess.” Mr Wingrave finally confessed. “I have to
say, these are the tastiest buttercream cupcakes I’ve ever eaten.”
– “And you’ve
eaten quite a few...”
– “Yeah. Do
you mind? My shirt’s just too tight, right now...”
Scott had no
problem standing next to a shirtless man. Mr Wingrave took off his shirt,
whose buttons threatened to pop out like bullets anyway. Down to his sweaty
wifebeater, he let out a sigh of relief and sat down. He looked even fatter for
it. Scott was definitely puzzled.
– “Are you
feeling better?”
– “Much
better. Sit down, Scott. Have a few of these with me, too.”
– “Okay...”
As they were
both sitting and munching on pastries, Scott felt like he could ask a few
personal questions to that man who kept on stuffing his face only a few minutes
after complaining that he was going to burst.
– “Do you
feel like... you have to eat these?”
– “I couldn’t
just not eat them. They’re too good!”
His last words were muffled as he was pushing
another full pastry in his mouth.
– “I agree,
they’re delicious! But do you have to eat them? I mean, do you have to?” Scott insisted, trying not the
let the cat out of the bag.
Mr Wingrave
put the next cupcake back into the box, smacked his lips and looked straight
into his eyes.
– “The
students are trying to bribe me.”
– “...What
for?”
– “To get out
of this school during the night. To get out of here at any time.”
– “Why would
they have to bribe you for it? I’ve seen a few students in town. It’s not like
they are in prison...”
– “You
haven’t been looking too well. It’s been a bit messy after Michael’s death, of
course... Most students get out of these grounds only once a month. They are
grounded more often than not, so some boys haven’t seen the world outside since
their last vacations. Graham insisted that they should go to the hospital for
their monthly check-ups. Even then, some boys get punished and the doctor has
to come over here to look after their health... It’s not so easy to get a pass,
with all the signatures. We’re not playing Monopoly here.”
As Mr Wingrave explained it to him, Scott finally got a better picture about the
school’s administration. Students were considered as troublemakers from the
first day they got admitted to Augustine Bells, and they were treated
accordingly – with some methods Scott had never heard of, such as that special Quiet Diet.
There was a
lot more for him to learn...
– “So they
bribe you with... food?”
– “That’s all
they can get to my desk. Everything has to be checked by me, or my assistant.
When I see a box like this one, I look at the name and write it down in a
special list...”
– “Okay. What
then?”
– “Then, as a
deal, I have to eat what’s in there for me.”
– “Oh...
Okay...”
This made no
sense to him, but Scott was willing to listen to Mr Wingrave to the end. They
were down to the last two cupcakes.
– “One for
you, one for me?”
– “Sure.”
– “Okay,
then!” Mr Wingrave rubbed his hands on his wifebeater, his cheeks still full
with pastries. “Then we get to the special price.”
– “What
special price?”
– “These
boxes are like cereals – like lucky charms,
you see.”
– “I know. I
just...”
Scott didn’t
get it, but Mr Wingrave took the empty box and lifted the large cardboard square
at the bottom. There was an envelope with a name hidden in there, right under
the four dozen cupcakes.
– “What’s
this?”
– “This, my
friend, is my reward.”
Scott
understood. There were five hundred dollar bills in that envelope. Mr Wingrave
opened the top drawer of his desk with a key he kept around his neck, and put
it in there. Scott could see more than twenty similar envelopes in there.
– “All
right...”
– “Now you
see how I’ve grown this baby monster.” Mr Wingrave patted his own belly proudly.
– “I
certainly do. But... why don’t you just take the money and, you know, leave the
pastries?”
– “I’ve tried...
at first. But these young bastards are clever.”
– “Right.”
– “Clever
bastards. That’s what they are... You’re right, I should just make them eat
those cakes and pies, whatever they give me, and cash in. But it’s a deal, and
they would find out immediately if I didn’t play along.”
– “So you
eat.”
– “That’s
right.”
–
“Everything...”
– “To the
last bite. Only this little game has been going on for too long. We’re dealing
with kids – young, tricky, addicted fuckers. They used to make me eat two dozen
cupcakes before I could get to the money. Then it was three dozens. Now it’s
four dozens...”
– “Raising
the bar, huh?”
– “Always
going for more. Classic addicted move.”
– “But you
give a few pastries to your assistant, don’t you?”
– “Yeah, I
try... But he’s just lazy. He doesn’t have the appetite for it.”
– “Does he
know about this? The money, I mean...”
Scott hesitated to ask, but he was right. Mr Wingrave winked at him.
– “Nobody
knows a thing. Pastries get to me, boys sign and pay for them, slip in the envelope
while nobody’s there to watch but me, then they leave the whole package to me
as a token of their appreciation.”
– “Okay,
so... Why are you telling me?”
Mr Wingrave brought his chair closer to
Scott’s.
– “Because...
I guess you can be trusted with a secret like this.” He almost whispered. “I’ve had kept
an eye on you since you first came to see Mr Porkenham. We are more alike than
you know. And I need your help here.”
– “Okay... How
can I help you?”
Scott had
answered without thinking. The guy lifted his T-shirt to reveal a large expanse
of furry belly, then he squeezed a chubby lovehandle with one hand.
– “I’ve told
you. These fucking boys keep increasing the amounts of food as they keep asking
me for a way out. I used to be up to the task, but it’s clearly become a two
men’s job.”
– “You want
me to help you eat these pastries?”
– “I’m
begging you to eat half of them. One out of three, at least...”
– “Will you
split the money with me the same?”
– “Huh...”
Mr Wingrave had to think about it. Scott gave
him a pretty smug smile. He had only thought about getting help, not about
paying him back.
On the other
hand, Scott would finally have leverage over one of the top guys in Augustine
Bells. This was an opportunity he couldn’t miss!
Still, he
preferred to play it smart – let the other man stew in his own juices.
– “So?”
– “Of course,
I’ll split the money with you...”
He didn’t
sound too happy about this new deal.
– “How about
this?” Scott offered. “I’ll eat one pastry out of three, as you said. One third
of every pie, or whatever is in the box – then you give me twenty-five per
cents of the money.”
– “...Sounds
fair.”
– “And don’t
try to cheat. I’ll find out about it.”
– “I won’t.
You’ll be there when we get to the bottom of every box.”
– “Good...
Then it’s a deal. But I want something else from you, to make up for the rest
of it.”
– “You name
it...”
– “I will
also need your help to get to the bottom of this.”
– “What do
you mean by this?”
– “This
school. Michael’s murder. Everything...”
■ ■ ■
Scott left
Mr Wingrave both relieved and with his hands tied. He was beaming with pride!
If someone had told him in the morning that feasting on a dozen of the most
delicious cupcakes he had ever tasted would earn him such a victory, he would
have dismissed it as part of his wildest dreams.
There was a
lot more to be uncovered about Augustine Bells, and the people who worked and
lived there...
– “Oh, come
on! Not now!”
Just as he
was feeling so well, Scott felt shooting pains in his right hip. His old football
injury had always caused him some trouble, but even as it came and went, it
always faded away after a few minutes.
It would
just not leave him right now.
Scott was
limping a bit more than usual when he saw Mr Scupper, who was tending to the garden,
trimming the bushes.
– “Hello,
young man.”
– “Hello,
Sir.”
– “Beautiful
day, isn’t it?”
– “...If you
happen to enjoy a rainy day.”
– “I do like
the rain. Snow may beautiful to look at, when it is falling, but it’s cold and
slushy once it’s on the ground. Now, a few more days like this one and we’ll
get to see green leaves in our rose garden, the first signs of a glorious
Spring.”
The old
gardener appeared to be in a good mood. He was still wearing his grey,
butterfly-sized bow tie, under his long blue coat.
Scott was
standing rather uneasily, trying to give some rest to his hip, but to no
purpose... Mr Scupper was still focused on his job, and didn’t notice a thing.
– “This is a
very peaceful place. I wouldn’t expect such silence in the middle of the
day...”
– “Of course it’s silent, and
peaceful. It was buzzing like a beehive, this morning, and it will again, in a
few hours. All our boys are sleeping, at the moment.”
– “Sleeping?
It’s only 2PM.”
Mr Scupper stopped cutting and gathering branches.
– “It may be
early in the afternoon, but today is Tuesday.”
– “...So?”
– “There is a
mandatory nap on every Tuesday after lunch. Our boys are meant to stuff
themselves for two hours or more, starting at 11AM. Then they have to go back
to their rooms and sleep until 5PM.”
– “Every
student is sleeping in his bed as we speak.”
– “After the
recent events you are only too familiar with, Mr Swayn has decided to increase
our security, so teachers have been requested to follow our boys to their dorms
and make sure that everyone got to his bedroom safely.”
– “Are you keeping them locked
in?”
– “Didn’t you
pay more attention, when you visited Michael’s room? The doors to their
bedrooms can only be locked from inside.”
– “Oh...
Yeah, I forgot.”
– “Just ask Marietta
– “Who’s Marietta
– “The maid.
You know, the person who found the boy... on the floor.”
Scott had only thought about it
for a moment, then he had been too distracted to ask: he should definitely interview
that chambermaid!
– “How about
Michael’s room?”
– “Yes?”
– “Is it
still empty?”
– “I should
think so... Mr Porkenham must have sealed that door.”
The young journalist fought the
urge to ask Mr Scupper to show him the way to the victim’s room. He would give
anything to get back to the scene of what he knew was a crime – find out about
this ghost, this whole mystery.
– “I never
heard of a mandatory three hours nap when I was in high school.”
– “Saint
Augustine Bells is no high school... although some people with a sense of
humor call it Sugar High.”
– “Huh...”
– “They’re
all tucked in their beds, with their bellies full... Then they should be a
little bit fatter when they wake up.”
– “Is this weekly
nap part of what you call the Quiet Diet?”
– “It happens
to be one of our latest improvements. I think it was Mr Thorne who suggested
it, so he could also enjoy a more peaceful afternoon in his office.”
Scott had a pretty good guess for what he would be
enjoying in his office, out of everyone’s sight. His stomach groaned angrily –
if only he could take a nap in Michael’s bed, right now! The young man admitted
that it was rather sick to wish for it, but his hips and legs hurt and he
needed to lie down.
He changed the subject, and
produced the anonymous note he had received at the hotel.
– “Would you
mind taking a look at this?”
– “Well, what
do you know?” Mr Scupper nodded as he handed it back to Scott.
– “How about
the signature? What do you think?”
– “I.M.N. It
looks like a bit of a puzzle.”
“Well, duh!” Scott thought – but he kept his
mouth shut.
– “Any idea
as to what it means?”
– “I.M.N.”
The old man shook his head. “Yes, this reminds me of... Well, I guess N.M.I.
would stand for Necessity is the Mother
of Invention.”
– “But this
is not N.M.I., it’s I.M.N. Why would someone put it backwards?”
– “How about
someone who always likes to criticize, who rearranges his own thoughts inside
out and puts his colleagues’ projects upside down?” Mr Scupper suggested –
with a wicked gleam of pleasure behind his glasses for a second.
– “Who would
that be?”
– “Mr Swayn,
of course. And Necessity is the Mother of
Invention is like a motto for him.”
– “Okay...”
As far as solutions could go, this one was a
bit far-fetched, but still interesting.
Mr Swayn had not made a really
good impression on Scott. It was unlikely that he could get to talk to him
again. He didn’t wish for it much either – until now.
– “It may be
something else entirely.” Mr Scupper wasn’t too convinced by his own explanation.
“Why don’t you ask Father Knox? Maybe
he will know.”
– “Who’s
Father Knox?”
– “He’s a
priest, of course.”
– “I don’t
remember seeing him at the funeral...”
Mr Scupper chuckled – which
Scott felt particularly strange, as he was referring to the boy’s service.
There was nothing cheerful about it, although it was the most peculiar ceremony
Scott had ever attended.
– “Father
Knox was kindly invited not to come to the funeral. You will understand when
you see him.”
– “Can you
show me where I can find him?”
– “You will
have to ask for an appointment, but his office is at the very end of this
building, next to our chapel.”
– “Okay...”
– “Follow
that path, with our main dining room on ground floor to your left. You can
remember it like this: The road of excess
leads to the palace of wisdom.”
– “Huh...
Okay.”
– “You know
the poem, of course.”
– “Sure,
it’s... William Blake?”
Mr Scupper smiled.
– “Very good.
I have to say, you’re more clever than I expected.”
That was a shot in the dark, but Scott knew
about those literary types. They had only read two or three books in their
lives from cover to cover, and two of them would be a keepsake of “famous lines
and quotes”. Mr Thorne had mentioned the name of William Blake, so that would
be his guess.
Mr Scupper took a small notebook
from his pocket.
– “According
to my agenda, Father Knox should be free on Thursday morning. I will ask him to
receive you without attracting too much attention from... you know who.”
They shook hands on those last
words. Scott couldn’t tell who he should be knowing about, but the list of
people he didn’t trust was getting clear in his mind.
■ ■ ■
The rain had turned into a light,
dense drizzle. Scott didn’t like how damp the gardens were on school grounds.
His knees felt swollen and heavy, and he could feel his blood pumping into his
right hip as clearly as he would listen to his own heartbeat.
Somewhere in Augustine Bells,
there was a large and long two-story building, almost abandoned, which served
as the school’s gym, swimming pool and office for the medical staff. As Scott
approached the entrance, he saw Dr. Hewdge from the back. The young blonde guy
was stretching his arms and legs outside – and he looked like a wild animal in
a zoo, doing so in that afternoon mist.
Scott was walking on the grass,
as it felt more comfortable than gravel, so his approach was rather silent. He
took the opportunity to take a better look at that handsome boy-next-door type.
Phil’s back was remarkably
V-shaped, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, a nice bubble butt, well-muscled
thighs and calves...
– “Hello...
Scott?”
He had to snap out of it. Phil
was waving at him, but Scott’s eyes were still at the same level, only he was
staring at the guy’s crotch now – which looked even more promising. In his hazy
state, slightly out of breath, his thoughts kept going around the image of
dollar bills being slipped into the waistband of his shorts.
Mr Wingrave’s stashed envelopes
felt like pocket money in comparison...
– “It’s that
bad...” Phil seemed to ask.
– “Huh...
Wait, what?”
– “It must be
aching more than ever. I can tell.”
– “What are
you talking about?”
Scott was blushing, almost in a panic – yet he couldn't stop stealing looks at this doctor’s meaty
arms, his round shoulders, and the blonde chest hair that curled just over the
top of his shirt.
– “Your right
hip. This heavy weather doesn’t help, I guess.”
– “Oh...
Yeah, right. It’s got worse, since yesterday.”
– “Then we
have work to do.”
There was a small, empty room inside the
office, with a massage table. Scott was invited to strip down to his underwear
and lie down, while Phil was washing his hands.
As the doctor was dimming the light a bit,
Scott got one last good look from the corner of his eye. The guy was only a bit
older than him, with a strong body – almost heavily built, but healthy like a
stallion.
This was a body meant for hard work.
– “Tell me if
this hurts...” Phil warned him.
– “That’s
okay... That’s fine... No... OUCH! Son-of-a-bitch!”
– “Just as I
thought. The injury to your right hip is the root cause of your pain.”
– “What you
just did to me is the root cause of it, you big brute!”
– “I didn’t
even touch your hip, Scott... or didn’t you notice?”
– “Where did
you put your hands?”
– “I only
followed your vertebrae. You have been trying to change your balance, over the
years. If we don’t do something to help you stand straight, it will only get
worse...”
Scott had no intention of going
straight, at the moment – but the doctor had a point. He let him try a
different approach.
– “How’s
this?”
– “Okay,
that’s better... Keep going... Okay... Keep going...”
Phil kept it safe and careful,
but his hands were massaging Scott’s shoulders and upper back with some
intensity. He was definitely good at this.
After some time, Scott felt his
entire back get nice and warm, then a long wave of pleasure ran through his
spine, up and down, back and forth...
It was a most unexpected thing,
and Scott started moaning in delight.
– “Oh, this
is better. Yes, a LOT better...”
When Scott felt Phil’s hands
around his midsection and lower back, his whole body was aching in a totally
different way. He was running a fever or a hundred and six!
– “Ooof... I
can’t go on like this... I need to catch my breath.”
– “Are you
feeling all right?”
– “Huh...”
Scott panted. “Sure. I mean, you’re rubbing quite hard. I feel like I should
take a cold shower or something...”
– “Okay,
let’s take a short break. Don’t get off the table... I’ll be right back.”
Scott let out a long, horny
groan, as soon as Phil was gone.
– “I had no
idea that being massaged by another guy could be so... sensual.”
Following his own train of
thoughts, he waited patiently for a minute. Then he decided to put some of
these thoughts into action and took off his boxer shorts in a sudden, daring
move.
– “Why should
I be the only one running a fever here? I’ll show him.”
Scott was determined to tease
this guy – only Phil came back just then, with an ice-cream sundae in a large
bowl.
– “What’s
this?”
– “I thought
this would cool you down from inside. We still have some work to do on your
lower back, and your...” Phil saw then that he would have to deal with a naked
patient. “Your hips and buttocks.”
– “Well,
good.”
Scott devoured the sundae in a dozen greedy
scoops. Phil was right. It helped him get cooler and feel more comfortable.
– “How did
you get ice-cream on such short notice?”
– “There is a
storage room at the other end of the building. I have the key, and Miss Spread
won’t mind if a bucket of ice-cream is missing.”
– “All right.
Why don’t you get me another one... since we’re not done, here?”
– “Okay...”
Phil left that second bowl next
to the table, in front of Scott – then he got back to work. It was only a few
minutes before the young man lying on the table was on fire, once again.
– “Hmmm...”
Scott couldn’t help moaning, as Phil’s hands were getting close to where he had
been injured, years ago.
– “I guess
you are ready for a true massage now.”
– “What do
you mean? What have you been doing so far?”
– “Just
easing you into this. The real healing process starts now...”
Scott felt the doctor’s hands press a bit
more, going gently on him but with more strength and mastery than before.
Disregarding the fact that he already felt like putty in those hands, Scott was
melting like wax on a burning, hot stove. He was afraid that he could faint at
any moment. It was amazing...
– “How does
this feel?”
– “Huh...”
Scott stopped just in time not to whisper “Heavenly”. “Better. You’re
definitely getting close.”
– “Let’s go
for it, then.”
Phil was still careful in his
moves, but Scott wouldn’t mind if they were to take it to the next level –
rough and steamy. As it was, he could tell that his whole body was all tense
from being relaxed so well...
– “Oh yes...
Yeah! That’s the spot...”
Scott arched his back a bit, almost humping
the massage table, while Phil was still working with remarkable discipline.
– “Keep it
going... Keep going...”
Everything became blurry around
him. Waves and waves of desire kept flowing through his body, keeping him fully
absorbed. If someone entered the room right then, Scott would be unable to tell
what he was doing on this table.
– “I think
we’re good for tonight.”
– “What? No
way! Don’t stop now...”
Phil didn’t insist. As a matter
of fact, his hands went further South, massaging Scott’s tight butt, then his
thighs, then...
To accommodate him, Scott agreed
to really lie down and rest his head on the table, facing the wall to his left.
His thoughts were still floating around him like a fog – he couldn’t follow any
of them, and it was probably better that way. They were all too dirty to be
shared.
– “Are you
feeling relaxed now?”
– “I’m
fine... Keep going. Get to my feet.”
Scott could hear the young doctor
sigh, but Phil proceeded to give him a long, expert foot massage. It was the
perfect conclusion to a perfect moment. Scott had never been so horny. What
this guy could do to his body, using only his palms, none of his previous
girlfriends or boyfriends had ever achieved it with their tongues!
– “Your
ice-cream sundae will melt if you don’t eat it soon.”
– “Hmmm...
okay...”
– “I think
we’re done for now.”
– “Come on,
you can go on. It’s hardly been an hour...”
– “On
Jupiter, maybe. Look at the clock.”
Scott opened his eyes, and reluctantly
focused. It was almost 9PM.
– “Huh...
We’ve been here for almost four hours?”
– “Pretty
much.”
Phil was in the next room, washing his hands
again. Scott sat on the table and put on his boxers. He had really lost track.
He was also impressed by the fact that he had endured such treatment for hours
without painting the whole table an inch thick of creamy white.
As he was done buttoning his
shirt, Scott started eating his second sundae. Phil came back to close the
office. He looked a bit tense and tired, but he welcomed Scott’s efforts to
stand straight and walk with a friendly smile.
– “Feeling
better?”
–
“Definitely! We have to do this again, as soon as possible.”
Phil asked him to call the
hospital for another appointment, as he couldn’t tell when he would be
available for such a long session.
They shook hands on it. Scott
left but turned to look at him again, as he was on his way out and back to his
hotel. Phil’s silhouette was visible from the window upstairs. It looked like
he was going to take a cold shower.
Scott smiled – and that smile
turned from smug to dreamy as he pictured that blonde beefcake shirtless...
barefoot... naked...
This was a body meant for hard –
sex.
■ ■ ■
February 2nd,
1990 – Thursday
– “How about
another one?”
– “Okay, one
more box. Then I really have to get things done.”
– “How about
these cinnamon rolls?”
– “I guess
they will do...”
Mr Wingrave opened the box and counted the
rolls in there.
– “Sixty-five
for me, thirty-five for you.”
– “That’s
right...”
It was almost noon. Scott had
spent all morning with his new friend, eating and drinking together in his
office, with the windows’ metallic curtains down. Both men had taken their
shirts off three hours ago. They were sitting and facing each other, with empty
boxes on the floor and more boxes still on the desk.
Scott rubbed his fully, painfully stuffed
stomach.
This was his second morning
meeting with the head of security in Augustine Bells. Mr Wingrave had given
him a key that opened the back door, so he could come and go unnoticed. After a
few whole pies – apple pie, cherry pie, key lime pie, chocolate chess pie and
so on – a few doughnuts, cupcakes, muffins and other pastries, they had
developed some sort of bond based on mutual respect and competition. Scott
called his stuffing partner Rick, since Mr Wingrave’s first name was Richard.
– “Hmmmph...”
– “I know...
Good stuff!”
– “Best of stuff...”
Scott’s first session with Rick
had left him in a prolonged dizzy state, and the rest of the day could only be
spent in bed, at the Paddington hotel. There were seven boxes of food, and they
had left a large chocolate fudge cake for their next “breakfast” together. Now
that they were done with it, Scott was amazed at the amount of food for the
day: eight more boxes!
– “I need
something to drink...”
Rick handed him another soda.
Scott guzzled the whole can down to the last drop, then he let out a mighty
belch.
–
“BUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”
–
“BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”
One of the first rules that the
two manly men had established was mutual encouragement, so naturally Rick echoed Scott’s
loud belch with one of his own. Since he was eating twice as much, it was less
difficult for him to come up with one of these “glutton’s roars”, as he called
them.
Scott was a valuable partner, for
that matter. And he certainly earned every dollar that Rick was willing to pay
him. On his first day, he was genuinely afraid that his stomach might burst
opened – but he had come back to the hotel with more than a thousand dollars in
his wallet!
– “Okay,
twenty more to go... I can do it!” Scott tried to keep himself motivated,
forcing more cinnamon rolls inside his mouth.
Rick was looking at him with a clear sense of
pride. He was almost done with his share of cinnamon rolls. It was time to cash
in.
– “So, let’s
see how much we made here... Six hundred big ones. Two hundred for you, Scott.
Say hello to these chubby Franklin twins.”
– “Thanks...”
– “See you
tonight after class?”
– “Yeah. We
can’t just leave three full boxes like this...”
Scott had to ask.
– “Doesn’t it
bother you that we’re eating the boys’ food?”
– “What do
you mean? They’ve bought these pies for us. Well, for me, really. I wouldn’t
eat the pig slop they cook in this school!”
– “I
thought...”
– “Seriously,
Scott... If I had been eating what they eat, in such amounts, you would have to
roll me down to work in the morning!”
– “Oh...”
It made sense. Scott had already noticed that
the pies tasted a bit like the ones he had tasted at the local hospital.
– “This is
much tastier, much lighter food! I know where it comes from, by the way.
There’s a very active Community Center in Biberton, with people who keep trying
to raise money for charity or public services.”
– “Who bakes
those pastries, then?”
– “I would
say Maria... Oh, Maria...”
– “Who’s
Maria?”
– “Most
gorgeous Latino girl in town. A perfect ten. She’s engaged to our sheriff, however. It’s a
real pity, she could do so much better...”
– “I wouldn’t
get in the way. You also carry a gun, but he will always have the law on his
side.”
– “Oh well,
who cares?” Rick pouted, munching on one of Scott’s cinnamon rolls, which was
definitely fine by him.
There were only three left. Scott
was about to choke, if he didn’t slow down – but he was in a bit of a hurry.
Just the same, he couldn’t agree with Rick’s math: eating sixty “light”
pastries was certainly more demanding than eating ten “fat” ones, and probably
more fattening too.
Scott had not entirely wasted his
time with Rick. He had been studying the map so he wouldn’t get lost on campus
anymore. He had been looking at the boys’ schedules – and he had already
confirmed that, on the night before his death, Michael had managed to sneak out
of Augustine Bells, thanks to Rick.
This proved that Gino’s statement
was true: Michael had spent his last night out with a few other boys at that
Italian restaurant. Scott would ask him about them in due time.
Rick had also taken a look at
that anonymous message, with that signature that kept puzzling everyone.
– “I.M.N. Let me think...”
Rick’s
thoughts were a lot less rushed than his burps. The best answer he could come
up with was that I.M.N. may stand for “In my name”. It was a possibility, but
Scott was not convinced.
■ ■ ■
Scott hoped
to meet Father Knox early in the afternoon, but it was getting late. As he had
found a shortcut after a close examination of the school map, he didn’t follow what
Mr Scupper had defined as “The road of excess” to get to the chapel – only
when he got to the threshold, Scott was out of breath.
– “I guess I have
been following the road of excess, lately...”
Resting
against a pillar, he gave a gentle pat to his full belly.
Not too
surprisingly, his hand felt the weight of it, and its roundness – but also its
softness, which was something new. Scott had put on more weight. Daily stuffing
sessions with Rick meant that he was leaving slightly deeper footprints in the
ground – talk about following someone’s footsteps!
He had no
more trouble standing up, walking or climbing stairs, thanks to his new massage
treatment, but he was also going slower and more ponderously.
Scott had
only patted his paunch, but the door was opened before him, as if he had just
knocked. Father Knox was there to welcome him.
Even in a
place like Augustine Bells, where Scott never knew what to expect, this man was
a vision to behold: a tall, black man with short, curly hair, so grey and so
thick that his face was almost surrounded by a halo of light – long and lean
with a nice frame, large hands and a most handsome face for someone who had to
be in his fifties. Scott was speechless.
– “Come in,
my son.”
The man’s
voice didn’t quite match his impressive physique. It wasn’t high-pitched so
much as it was raspy. Father Knox obviously preferred his cigarettes
unfiltered, just as Mr Thorne preferred his whisky neat.
Scott
followed him inside the chapel, then into his office.
– “I should
have come to see you much sooner, but...”
– “Don’t
worry about it. I wasn’t even in town,
last week. I only came back yesterday, on the night train.”
– “Nothing serious, I hope.”
– “No, I was
on a temporary leave.”
Father Knox
gave Scott a knowing smile, which made him wonder why such a charming man could
ever want to become a priest.
– “I was told
to go and visit my family for a few days, you see.”
– “It’s too
bad that you... weren’t there for
Michael’s service.” Scott suggested, as he already guessed why they would want
him out of the picture – out of the pictures that would get to the front page,
at least.
– “I think
you know why I wasn’t there. But don’t blame Mr Porkenham, for instance, or
Mr Thorne. It was the boy’s parents who suggested that there would be enough
dark tones for that day.”
– “Still...”
Scott kept
in mind that Father Knox left him free to blame Mr Swayn for his temporary
leave. They sat down and talked about the boy, what kind of student he was,
what friends he had, what were in tastes in books, or in foods...
Unfortunately, as much as Father Knox appeared to be willing to help
Scott, he couldn’t provide him with any new piece of information. Michael was
probably the most intelligent student in Augustine Bells, he had no close
friends, he had very few friends in general. He enjoyed a good game of chess,
comic books in the original Japanese. He had recently showed an interest in
English Literature.
Talking
about Michael led them to talk a bit more about the students in general – about
their lack of discipline, their bad manners, their bad habits, their violent
instincts and their special diet.
– “I mean, do you approve such a... special diet?”
– “You should
know that we had a long discussion over Mr Swayn’s proposition. I wasn’t much in favor of it. I wasn’t opposed to
it either. I only had my doubts. It’s been a few years now. What can I say?
It’s effective. In some cases, our students actually learn something valuable
from being larger and overweight.”
– “But is it true that they are forced to eat?”
– “Who told you such a thing? Of course not, no one is
forced to eat...”
Father Knox
still looked a bit uneasy about that particular subject.
– “Well... unless you define “forced” so I can give you a
proper answer.”
Scott
already knew what that “proper answer” would sound like, so he changed the
subject entirely.
– “I have
received this note, a few days ago.
What do you make of it?”
– “It does
sound like someone is trying to intimidate you. Pretty idle threats...”
– “Someone
who hides his own identity with these letters. I.M.N.”
– “Hmmm... So it seems. Interesting little riddle.”
Father Knox leaned back in his chair as he read the note again.
– “I.M.N. is a classic epitaph, you know. It stands for In Memoriam Neminis: In the Memory of Nobody...”
– “So it would refer to the victim?”
– “I guess it
could. Only... I don’t know.”
– “What do you think.”
– “A
signature in Latin would imply that whoever sent this note to you is rather
well-educated...”
– “I see.
Then it couldn’t be a student.”
– “Why would
a student send a note like this, in the first place?”
– “I... I have no idea.”
Scott was a bit disappointed. There were
quite a few possible solutions to his problem, but not one that really stood
out. Father Knox took a look at his watch.
– “Let’s go
for a walk, shall we? I have to look after something.”
– “Okay.”
As they walked out of his office,
Father Knox commented on the fact that the people in charge of Augustine Bells
had no problem with a black sheepherder, as long as there was no black sheep...
Scott was not feeling too well,
going from one dark hallway to the next. He had studied the ways in and out of
their guarded, protected campus, but those big dollhouse-like buildings were
still a mystery to him.
He had to remind himself that
there were video cameras hidden here and there. In a strange way, it was a
reassuring thought. Even as he was considering them, Scott was under the strange impression
that he was being watched – not by
someone sitting behind a desk, not on some black-and-white screen somewhere by
the gates. It was almost as if someone, or something, was hovering around him,
looking over his shoulder whenever he would write something down in his pocket
notebook.
– “Are you feeling claustrophobic?” Father Knox smiled
again. “This school must have been built before psychologists came up with most
of our phobias...”
They got to a classroom where
twenty students, more or less, attended a late-night class. The teacher saw
Father Know through the large windows separating his class from the corridor.
– “It does
look like I have some work to do...
It won’t take long.”
Father Knox entered the room. The
teacher said something which Scott didn’t understand, and pointed at a chubby
boy who had to be sixteen years old at most. The boy got up, looking down and
almost pouting, and followed the priest as he was coming back to Scott.
– “Something wrong?”
– “Nothing’s
wrong. Young Oliver here just won’t pay attention in class, even after he’s
been warned twice and sent to late-evening retinue...”
The boy didn’t answer. He was
still looking down. Pouting made his cheeks look even fuller, like a hamster.
Then his reaction came as a surprise to Scott: he just raised both arms in the
air, as if Father Knox was going to put handcuffs around his wrists.
– “No need to
raise your arms, boy. I know what is good for you. Two hours should do it, in your case.”
Scott didn’t understand. Father
Knox put a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder and made him walk down a few
hallways, pushing him and guiding him. He knew his way in there, and Scott
could only follow.
As he had nothing to say right
now, Scott paid more attention to the boy. He looked like he didn’t know a word
of English. Then he remembered: he had eaten lunch with a few exchange students,
a week before. Oliver could be a German first name as well as an English one.
Looking back into it, he could swear that he had seen him on that day.
Father Knox had brought them to a
dead end. Scott also noticed that the boy, without saying a word, looked
reluctant to go on. The hand on his shoulder had to press harder, and he was
pushed against the wall. Then a very discrete door got opened. It was all the
more discrete as it took the entire wall.
– “Wait for
me. I will be back in a
minute.”
It was dark in that dead end
corridor, but it seemed to be even darker on the other side of that secret
door. Scott waited for a moment, but he was a journalist – which only meant
that he was curious like the proverbial cat...
– “Oh great!
Just great... I’ve jinxed it now.”
Laughing at his own expense
provided little distraction. He was alone there, and he could swear that he wasn’t alone... He couldn’t tell which one he
liked least, if he had a choice.
Scott couldn’t take it anymore.
He opened the door silently and tried to look inside. There was only darkness
and silence, with light, irregular ticking noises... It felt like breaking and
entering inside a clock maker's shop.
As he got a bit closer without
really stepping inside, Scott felt a brush of fresh air. This was only a secret
stairway, leading to a secret room in the basement – or maybe more than one
room.
– “Seriously... What is going on in this school?”
Scott was running a cold sweat.
Holding his breath, he was able to discern a distant cry, which he could only
recognize:
–
“BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP...”
For some reason, he was terrified. Scott took a step back and
waited. Father Knox was coming back, as promised – and he was alone.
(To be continued...)
