The Augustine Murders - Season 3, Episode 3

III.3

                          “Le Poison est l'ami de l'Homme, puisqu'il le tue. —”

                         (Poison is Man’s friend, since it kills him. —)

Xavier FORNERET

Sans titre, par un Homme noir blanc de visage

March 9^th, 1990 – Friday

  As head of security in Saint Augustine Bells Preparatory School, Richard Wingrave had to work under a lot of pressure. Dealing with delinquent teenagers was clearly in the job description, but one could hardly expect unexplained deaths with suspicions of murder to become so common that the school had to arrange two funeral ceremonies on its grounds in the first three months of the school year.

  Communicating with officials, families, close friends of the victims and the Press was Mr Porkenham’s job. Since he had better things to do, the board of administrators expected from the head of security to find ways to prevent such dreadful events.

  For his first three years in Biberton, Rick had done well. He only had to separate students when they were about to fight or cause mayhem during recess. He had caught a few of them smoking or doing drugs occasionally, but statistics were clearly in his favor: teachers no longer complained about suspicious smells or twitching muscles, dilated pupils, lack of attention and erratic behavior during classes – nothing more to report than the lack of attention and erratic behavior that is common in College students...

  Rick had enjoyed a few years of relative peace and quiet, then, with the consideration of his employers. All that was shattered now, after Michael Astern’s mysterious death, Mr Huggins’s violent murder – and, to make matters worse, the presence of a journalist around the students. Clearly, Scott had spent too much time with Rick, in his office and in the school’s buildings. It was no secret that Mr Porkenham would rather keep reporters at the gate, to let them collect official statements. An interview with members of the staff felt like a breach of confidentiality... Enough was enough.

  The head of security’s credit in Augustine Bells was questioned now. Rick did not sleep so well, and he woke up in a rather bad mood.

– “...shouldn’t have finished that last pie...”

  It was 7AM. After a quick shower and a good shave, he put on his uniform. His shirt was a bit too tight. Rick’s work shirts were always tight. He was used to it, and he didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, it made him feel more imposing – which helped to put him in the right mood for his job... Being slightly uncomfortable like this gave him a rough, rugged look, and Rick secretly enjoyed it.

  Naturally, that particular feeling of tightness had shifted over the years, from his shoulders and under his armpits to his waist and around his bellybutton. Once a proud and commanding athlete, Rick weighed a solid 250lbs when Mr Porkenham had hired him – then he had muscled his way in to keep all the more rebellious elements in their place. When the situation looked stable, students found another way to approach him – and bribe him. Rick didn’t clearly remember if they had come up with the idea on their own, or if he had established that system.

– “Time for breakfast...” He yawned, scratching his tummy.

  Rick didn’t switch the lights on, in the stairs and entrance of his small building. His office was only a few minutes away by foot. As head of security, the school provided him with an apartment on campus, in separate quarters – the great, red brick wall that closed the few square miles of school grounds and private park was doubled in that area.

  He had a special set of keys, of course.

  It was a rather misty morning. A greasy, heavy white swirl drifted past Rick, condensing in watery, almost oily drops upon the larger leaves in the garden, and on the door’s panel. With a shiver and a sigh, Rick walked to his office. He could hardly see the loom of the closest students’ dormitories...

  Taking the back door, Rick first looked for his “secret place”. The key was back where it belonged. This meant that the students had kept their promise and come back safely to their beds, after their night out.

– “Good.”

  Rick never made a fuss over it, but he was a bit concerned lately. With that recent turn of events, was it safe for him to let small, selected groups of boys get out of Augustine Bells? They could get into serious trouble, cause even more serious trouble – and possibly not come back... That last option was the worst for him. It could ruin his career. Still, how could he put an end to a system that kept the boys quiet, behaving and begging for such special treatment? It was the best safety valve the school had to offer, really.

  And Rick couldn’t forget that he was a much wealthier man for it.

– “Twenty-two boxes already? They are getting desperate...”

  The boxes were white or in a light pink: there were dozens of chocolate éclairs, large apple pies and chocolate chess pies, creamy doughnuts and crusty cookies, thick cakes with plenty of frosting... Rick put coffee in the machine, and started munching on a few cinnamon rolls.

These were his favorite treats to start a day at work. Rick thought about it for a second. Feeling curious, he took a few more rolls out of the box and looked under the cardboard. As expected, there were a few hundred dollar bills, hidden there for him to enjoy – after he had enjoyed the pastries.

– “Wow... Five hundred bucks? They are really desperate.”

  Rick chuckled, and poured himself a good mug of black coffee. There was no need for sugar, with all those sweets. Yes, that particular system of bribes had made him a much wealthier man – and much fatter, as well...

  Over the years, Rick was expected to put on a few pounds, of course. As a young stud, he was allowed to eat great, big meals. Mrs Spread was an excellent cook, and her team worked around the clock to provide lots and lots of delicious food. The size of each and every meal was quite remarkable... He didn’t mind, or ask for an explanation – but when Mr Swayn made a public statement about the school’s Quiet Diet policy, it was clear enough.

– “They didn’t want to see dilated pupils anymore... Now we get to see bloated pupils instead!” as Mrs Spread put it, jokingly.

  She was quite right about their method. Rick had witnessed the weight gain of so many boys, by now. There was something funny, looking back and thinking how some angry, lean and wiry wildcat could slowly be turned into a round, plump and complacent piglet...

  In some cases, that change could be observed in a matter of months – which was suspiciously quick, even for a guy like Rick. He wondered how a young boy could put on so much weight so suddenly, but he had no reason to complain. Each student who turned out really chubby and slow was one more potential troublemaker taken care of...

  Considering his mission for the school, Rick had to stay in shape, massive and strong. When Mr Swayn put an end to all the gym classes and school activities like swimming, football, baseball and basketball, reactions were mixed but Rick was the only guy openly against it – with the possible exception of Phil, the blonde redneck G.I. Joe quack they had put in charge of the students’ health as school nurse and PE teacher. But who cared about his opinion?

  Rick took it rather well. Phil kept the keys to the gym and swimming pool. He could work out whenever he wanted – only he didn’t want to do it alone, and that blonde, medical teddy bear worked late and long hours way too often, at the local hospital. As a result, Rick spent more and more time inside his office. He had become quite lazy, naturally, then the constant and abundant supplies of cakes, pies and pastries had turned him into a real glutton.

  In about two years, he had positively blown up, like a balloon – from 250lbs of muscles to 380lbs of chunky, grade A beef... He had only tried to slim down for the last two months, not without some success, but his weight was already on the rise again. It wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who could take a glimpse at him as he stuffed himself for “breakfast”.

– “Hmmmph... really good pie...”

  As a matter of fact, Rick’s weight loss could only be explained by Scott’s presence in Augustine Bells – which was now held against him by the administrators. That young, tall journalist could certainly eat! He was always welcome to help him get rid of a few dozen pastries...

– “If only he didn’t ask questions...” Rick sighed.

  The phone rang. It was Mr Porkenham, of course.

– “Hmmmllo... Good morning... Sir...”

– “Good morning, Wingrave. I need to see you in my office.”

  Bad news – he could tell.

  Under such circumstances, Mr Porkenham wasn’t the most patient man in the world. Rick couldn’t afford to make him wait. He wiped his hands on his uniform pants and looked at the clock.

– “Okay... One last piece of pie...”

■ ■ ■

  Scott looked at his watch, by the bedpost. Almost 9AM.

– “Time for breakfast number two.”

  The young journalist was already dressed, lying on his bed with his pants and shirt opened. He had been to the breakfast buffet earlier – as soon as they were ready to serve – and spent a good hour and a half piling food on his plate and devouring it at his table. After almost two hours of rest in bed, he was ready to go back. His stomach was groaning hungrily.

 Being poisoned and writhing in pain all night was merely a memory. That was three days ago. His appetite was back – and bigger than ever before... Whatever medicine Phil had found to cure him, it worked like a charm!

  Scott looked back to the Jacuzzi, in the bathroom, thinking about it. Phil was good with the pharmacy and all that first-aid stuff, but his best healing skills had to do with sex: athletic, passionate, steamy, excessive and downright explosive sex – medicine after Scott’s own heart...

  Going down in the elevator, Scott couldn’t stop thinking about that night – and he couldn’t help feeling turned on all over again. Facing four large plates of food with chocolate milk, coffee and orange juice on the side was hardly enough to distract him right now.

  There were more people by the buffet than when he had left the breakfast hall, earlier that morning. It was never difficult for Scott to find a table, since he was alone. There were a few couples around him, business partners and families with kids, while he would only sit in the company of a large, delicious meal – and he managed to eat more than a family of four...

  Ever since that special night, Scott had been eating ravenously. After his interview with the maid who had found Michael’s dead body in his bedroom, at Augustine Bells, the young journalist had remained in the Paddington Hotel – mostly inside his room, with occasional raids to the buffet and restaurant. No room service.

  Scott knew how members of the staff talked behind his back – calling him “the blimp with a limp” – and he wouldn’t even give them a tip, by now. He chuckled, scarfing down another piece of strawberry pie. That nickname was really mean... Scott had some trouble with his kneecaps, ever since that old Football injury. He may have to walk with a cane, at some point, and they wouldn't call him an “athletic jock” anymore but he was still solid and strong. 

  Going back to his bedroom, stuffed full to the gills on eggs and bacon, pies, pastries, cottage cheese, toasts and coffee, Scott didn’t even pretend to ignore the dark looks and sideway glances from employees and customers alike. For the past few days, he had played a particular game on them, devouring only the best and priciest items on the menu for his breakfast, eating all their home-made pancakes first and drinking apricot juice rather than orange juice, for instance, in vast amounts so they would run out of it faster.

– “So I’m acting like a prick... Serves them right.”

  Scott took off his shirt again, and rubbed his aching belly. Then he let out a loud, proud and contented belch that filled the room, and possibly echoed in the bathroom. Back to bed.

  It was almost 10:30. Scott looked at the phone, as if the thing would answer the question “Why are you not ringing?”

  For a few minutes, the well-fed guy simply rested under the covers, farting and feeling the abundance of food in his stomach slowly turn into a thick and nourishing flow, going through his guts.

  He was expecting a phone call – or phone calls, rather. Staying at the hotel like this was lever: Scott knew that the people in Augustine Bells couldn’t care less if he didn’t show up anymore. He could leave Biberton, and they would go on with their little – and mysterious – business.

  That’s why he had let everyone know that he had been poisoned. The details about his miraculous recovery were not public, however – Scott didn’t mention Phil, what he had done to save him, what they had done together... what Scott wanted him to do all over again, and again... and again... Just the same, as it was, in just the same massive amounts. 

  Bravely, he had been fasting for a whole day, so people wouldn’t be too suspicious about his poisoning. That was hard, but Scott had promised his angry, growling stomach that he would be handsomely rewarded – as he was, right now.

  Clearly, Scott had put on a little weight over that last week. No matter how much he had been forced to sweat and slim down before, he was probably at his largest and heaviest ever, today...

  He had sent a letter to Mr Porkenham and other members of the school’s board of administrators, and another letter to Mrs Astern. He had the receipts for those letters, with their copies on his desk. Someone was bound to call him now.

– “Why don’t I get any answer... from anyone?”

  Scott couldn’t go back to sleep. He looked at his list of suspects again. There was nothing really interesting about it. With so many names to be considered, it was just as bad as having no suspect... Scott felt like he was chasing a shadow in the dark, or a ghost through a smoke screen.

  Mr Scupper’s brochure was under Scott’s list. He had read it from cover to cover. It was thirty-six pages long – definitely too long: tedious, full of digressions for context, and footnotes, and acknowledgments – with only a few typos, but there was a big difference between “immortal” and “immoral”, for instance...

– “The life and afterlife of Ian MacNeill.”

  Scott flipped through the pages. He had written a few notes in there. Then he tossed it against the wall. Mr Scupper’s ghost story was nothing, and there were a few elements missing, which he considered the most important – like that secret room, with the force-feeding machine...

  There was a remarkable growl coming from his stomach, as he thought about it. He had to pat his round belly again, a well-deserved reward for standing the pain and pressure for such a long time.

– “Ooof... that feeding machine.”

  He was slowly drifting into sleep, feeling comfortably full and numb. On second thought, he could afford another good nap. There was nothing in his agenda for today – just wait and...

  The phone rang – right on cue.

– “Hello...”

– “Scott?”

  It was Will.

  Scott expected a call from his editor, Mr Horn – not from the guy who worked with him as a photographer. He was on good terms with Will, at least. Maybe that meant something in itself, talk to a friend instead of a boss who's no longer listening. Will sounded concerned too, which wasn’t a good sign.

– “How are you doing, big guy?”

– “Better already.”

– “Is it true?”

– “...What is?”

– “Is it true that someone tried to poison you?”

– “Well, someone did poison me. It didn’t kill me, that’s all.”

– “I know you’ve grown quite a stomach but, honestly, I didn’t expect anything like this.”

– “What does our boss think about it?”

– “Well, you know... At first, he thought that you were stalling again.”

– “Stalling?”

– “That's what he told us. Allowing yourself another week in that strange town in the sticks, at his expense. Now, I don’t know.”

– “What did he say?”

– “Besides the swear words, you mean? Told you, he didn’t believe you. What I can’t understand is how you got poisoned and lived to tell the tale. Was it like... the people who wanted to harm you didn't know how to handle their stuff?”

– “No, I've been thinking about it... No rookie mistake. Whoever did this knew what he was doing. I didn’t just throw up and sweat it out, you know... I, huh...” Scott hesitated. “I got someone to help me.”

– “Someone...” Will paused. “In the middle of the night. Right.”

– “Yes.”

– “Let me guess... A big blonde, sexy teddy bear just happened to be in your hotel, that night? What do they call him again? Graham?”

– “It’s Phil. And... yes, they keep calling him that.”

– “Huh huh...”

– “What?”

– “I didn’t say anything. You tell me.”

– “It’s true.”

– “What was he doing in your hotel room?”

– “I called him. It was an emergency. He’s a doctor.”

– “Sure... Better safe than sorry.”

– “He’s more professional that you think.”

– “I never said that he wasn’t a pro... I mean, he does look really good at what he does.”

– “For your information...” Scott sighed. “He really is.”

– “Huh huh... Is there anything more you feel like telling me?”

– “Definitely not.”

– “You know why I chose to become a photographer. A good picture is worth a thousand words...”

– “Is that why you’re calling me over the phone?”

– “Mister Horn asked me to check how you are doing. What should I tell him? That you’re still sick as a dog?”

– “Tell him I was half dead for two days, feeling better now and about to go back to work. I want to find who tried to kill me. I want to find who killed Michael Astern and that administrator Huggins... I want to expose the people behind all this. Tell him it’s personal now.”

– “All right. As I am your friend, I will tell him... something he will be willing to hear. Be careful, Scott. We’ve had a phone call from Mrs Astern yesterday.”

– “And...”

– “I couldn’t get what she discussed with Mister Horn, but he looked flushed and angry. Well, you know him...”

  Clearly, the news wasn’t too good. Scott had to think about it. As it was, a nap was the best option for him, right now.

  The phone rang again. It was the hotel manager.

– “Mister Girder?”

– “Yes...”

– “I was brought to my attention that you have been attending breakfast twice, this morning. Again.”

– “So, I did... I was hungry.”

– “Quite... According to what some people have told me, you were at the buffet from 6AM sharp to 7:45, then again from 9:10 to 10:25.”

– “That may be.”

– “And in the course of those cumulated three hours, you have managed to eat twenty-seven plates worth of breakfast food. Piled high too, as I have been told.”

– “Is that a fact? I didn’t keep count...”

  Scott almost regretted that he had not done so. Twenty-seven plates sounded rather accurate, though. He felt almost proud about it, but the manager was obviously calling to scold him and remind him that he wasn’t supposed to eat so often and so much, when there were so many hungry people... waiting in line behind him.

– “I have never read it anywhere in your policy that there was a limited amount of food, or plates, at the breakfast buffet.”

– “Well...”

– “Or at lunch.”

– “It’s just...”

– “Or dinner.”

– “Mister Girder, I am afraid that we aren’t going anywhere with this... I have received some serious complaints about you.”

  Scott should have seen it coming. People in room service held a grudge against him, since he didn’t call anymore. Other customers would come and go. There had to be a few who would stay for more than a week, to notice that he wolfed down all their food.

  He only shrugged when that conversation with the manager was over. So what if they had to buy a few extra jugs of apricot juice, a few more batches of flan, a few more pies and a few more pounds of bacon with two or three dozens of eggs more than their usual order? Scott would rather eat all that food than let other people have it... If they couldn’t wake up so early as he did, they only had their own lazy asses to blame.

– “Definitely time for a good nap.”

  Scott’s rest didn’t last long. The phone rang again.

– “Scott Girder speaking...”

  It was Mr Swayn, at Saint Augustine Bells.

– “How are you doing today, Mister Girder?”

– “Better actually.”

– “Good, good. Would you be free to come to my office?”

– “Right now?”

– “If you happened to be around school in the morning, that would be very convenient. I have a few important appointments in the afternoon.”

– “I can be with you in one hour.”

– “Perfect. See you then.”

  Scott sat by the side of the bed, and patted his belly. It didn’t feel so full, at the moment, but heavy and wishing to rest comfortably in his lap like a tomcat... The tall young man stretched out his arms and yawned.

– “So much for that nap.”

■ ■ ■

  Mr Porkenham was done with Rick – for now. The poor guy looked like he had been standing on his head for the duration of that meeting... He was all red in the face and out of breath, with his hands twitching and rubbing his uniform every now and then.

  The situation was a lot more serious than either of them expected. 

  Scott’s letter to Mrs Astern was the same that they had received, but the consequences weren't the same. They could choose to ignore the journalist’s complaints, prove that his stomach could easily be upset, considering the way he was eating all the time, and pretend that there was nothing worth mentioning to the students – or their parents... They knew how to handle such threats.

  That was no longer an option. Mr Porkenham would have to make an official statement. Mr Swayn was already working on it.

  Rick wasn’t quite sure about how he should play his own part in this new level of their game. The only thing that he remembered clearly from Mr Porkenham’s speech was that he looked “too fat for his job”. Was that just meant as a statement of fact? Did they imply that Rick should lose weight, or that he may lose his job? Was it up to him to slim down again, then, or to resign?

  As he walked down the stairs, the head of security felt rather uneasy. He did feel quite fat... His large, overhanging belly was bouncing with each heavy step, and he could feel his love handles wobbling gently on the sides, sending long and sensual waves through his massive body.

  There were few students going in and out, in between classes. No matter how chubby they were, the school only encouraged them to gain more weight! Mr Thorne was having a chat with the French teacher, Mrs. Martell. They paused to say hello. Rick only waved timidly.

– “So, you were saying...”

– “So many English words come from the Medieval French, you have what we call a “double register”, in linguistics. For instance, lamb is an old Anglo-Saxon word, but mutton comes from the French. You find the first one in the field, but the latter in the kitchen.”

– “Is that because those people from Normandy were such fine cooks?”

– “It was considered more fitting to the nobility that some fine meal would be described with French words, like mouton turned into mutton, rather than with a word in the vocabulary of the conquered people.”

– “So it is, yes... So it is.”

– “Just the same, it is quite possible that the English word Murder actually comes from the French verb Mordre, which means to bite.”

– “How extraordinary... So, when you invite someone to “grab a bite”, would this be considered as an invitation to kill?”

  Rick was back in his office. There were many boxes left, with plenty of pastries for him to eat – and a load of money for him to grab. He wished that Scott was already there to help him.

  His wish could almost be granted at once: Scott was off the bus, and on his way to Mr Swayn’s office. With a double of the key to Rick’s back door, he didn’t have to go through the main gate, show his badge and sign papers. The security office itself was a shortcut for him.

  He had to be discrete, though. Looking around, he froze on the spot. He had just spotted Phil, walking to the gate. He was probably coming from the hospital, after his early morning shift there.

  Scott hurried to get into Rick’s back office. It was almost a reflex. He had been thinking about Phil for days – and nights. For some reason, the blonde doctor had only called him in the morning, after he had taken care of him. Scott was already feeling a lot better, but he had not heard from him since then.

  Thinking about it, Scott didn’t understand why Phil would only check on him once. And why wouldn’t he call again, even as he knew that he was doing all right? Then why did Scott feel like hiding from him, right now?

  He wanted to see Phil again, of course – but not like this. He wasn’t hiding. It was just... complicated. They shouldn’t be seen together inside the school, anyway. People would start talking. It was better for Scott to wait in the back for a moment.

  Rick was there too, devouring pastries as usual... The tall guy was fatter than ever, and he kept stuffing himself as if he wanted to break a new World record... He would certainly break his belt by the end of the week, as it was. All the buttons in his uniform shirt looked ready to pop, and that was no idle threat!

  With Phil at the gate, the head of security waved as he had to get up and ask him to come to his desk. Scott also came closer, but he chose to stay behind the door. He could listen to them clearly.

– “Follow me.”

– “Okay... What for?”

– “Increased level of security means routine search. No discussion.”

  Scott saw the two men come back inside the security office, while he was still hidden. Rick was going through the content of Phil's backpack in a hurry, then he let it fall on the floor.

– “Okay, let’s take a closer look at you. Anything in your pockets?”

– “Keys to my office...”

– “On the desk. What else?”

– “Nothing else.”

– “Okay. Stand straight.”

  Scott could feel some sort of tension in the air. Rick's orders were clear and precise, but his tone of voice and his moves suggested that he was in a really bad mood today. Phil had to wait in silence while the head of security proceeded, looking cautious and strangely ominous at the same time. He was taking his time now.

– “Good...” Rick mumbled. “Okay, nothing in your mouth, nothing in your hair. You should get a haircut, you know... Real short, military crew cut. You look like a mess, now. With your goatee and everything, it's getting too long not to raise comments around here. Let’s check your ears.”

– “You think I have something hidden, or...”

– “I have no time for this. You should know the routine too.” Rick almost barked. “Okay. Take off your shirt.”

– “My shirt?”

– “And your T-shirt too.”

– “Are you seriously...”

– “You don’t want me to go for a full strip search, do you?”

– “Huh... Okay.”

  There was a long pause then. Phil did as we was told. He stripped down and stood straight. Rick made him turn his head to the side, then turn again, flashing his light closely – not only into his ears but into his eyes. He patted him on the shoulders and slapped his back, for some reason, then he went back to his eyes and ears, even closer with his flashlight. He tousled Phil's hair when he was done.

– “All right, nothing hidden in your ears either... Not that you’d expect to find anything in that noggin.”

  Rick was obviously well-trained to do this from time to time. He was quick, sharp and commanding – but definitely rude. Scott wouldn't want to face him at the moment. Phil was ready to put on his T-shirt, but Rick pushed him back against the wall, tossing his shirts on the floor with the doctor's backpack.

– “We're not done here.”

– “But I thought...”

– “I'll tell you when you're good to go. Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

– “Do you have to...”

– “Can't be too careful, these days.”

  Rick forced Phil to assume better position, arms stretched, hands pressed high against the wall, legs a bit further apart so he would be frisked easier. He took his time, and started talking to Phil exactly as if he was interrogating a suspect.

– “Scott Girder has been poisoned... Did you know?”

– “I’ve heard about it.”

– “How?”

– “Mister Swayn and Mister Thorne were talking about it in the hallway.”

– “Is that so...”

  Phil did his best not to react when Rick frisked him, but the security guard was pressing him a bit too roughly for a regular patdown. He was shirtless now, only wearing his usual worn-out jeans. Scott couldn’t help admiring how tight and shapely they fit around his butt.

  Rick kept pushing it to make Phil really uncomfortable, probably to throw him off guard – or push him over the edge... He was getting much closer than would be considered appropriate, and he was grabbing him pretty much all over his upper body. 

  The blonde guy couldn't help twitching every now and then.

– “Some guns you have... You been working out again, right?”

– “When I have a moment, you know... As we used to do this together.”

– “Yeah... I wish I had a moment like that. Right now, I'm wrapped in red tape, so much and so tight that I'm almost choking... Then they just told me I was too fat for my job.”

– “Oh...”

– “I know I'm fat, but “too fat”? Next thing you know, they'll call you to old Porkenham's office and tell you that you are “too thick” for the job...”

  Phil knew better than to comment on it. Rick was venting it out while he could hardly breathe, feeling oppressed and helpless at the moment.

– “And you are thick...” Rick smirked as he grabbed his shoulders, then he slapped him hard and loud. “So, beefcake... what do you have to say about that poison?”

– “Poison?”

– “Yes, poison.” Rick was really handling him like a criminal. “How did Scott Girder get poisoned?”

– “I don't know... Food poisoning, maybe?”

– “That’s what they say. That’s what they want us to say...” Rick sounded grumpy, almost resentful. “Porkenham and the others think everyone will believe it and forget about it. Now I think they're hiding something.”

– “Seriously?”

– “Serious as a heart attack.”

  Frisking Phil’s chest down to his waist, Rick looked like a chubby child taking it out on his teddy bear... Scott had no idea that his blonde friend could stay so calm and collected, as he was almost assaulted right now.

  He still had to catch his breath when he asked.

– “Mister Porkenham has always been like that. What did he tell you today?”

– “We’re going to be audited.” Rick let out a sigh. “Mister Swayn had already prepared statements for the parents, but we have to deal with our trustees now...”

– “How did the trustees get to know about this?”

– “No idea... I guess our journalist friend has done a good job. You have certainly done a good job too, in your own “bad boy” capacity...”

  For the first time, Scott heard a note of pure fear in Phil’s voice.

– “What do you mean?”

– “Your buns, of course... You bake some of the tastiest, most fattening pies and pastries in town, after all!” Rick suddenly pressed Phil's waist with both hands, before slapping his butt. “Okay, pants down.”

– “Is this... really?”

– “Pants. Down. And take off your shoes and socks too.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Scott had to wonder what was going on. Holding his breath, he risked taking a quick peak at the scene, remaining unseen. Phil was down to his briefs. Even as he was facing the wall, hands behind his head, Scott could tell that he was blushing. Rick was still frisking him excessively and quite abusively.

– “Best buns in the county, all right... It should be no surprise when you’re walking all day, working so hard and working out, but I can hardly blame the sons of bitches in this school for calling your their tasty “Teddy Graham”. I bet everyone in Biberton knows what a good, buttery, saltine cracker you are...”

  Being “searched” like this was already something, Scott couldn't really tell when Rick had crossed the line but, clearly, Phil wouldn’t let anyone bully him without a fight. He turned around with clenched fists, ready to pounce, but Rick struck him with his billy club, hard enough to make Phil back off. Then he pushed him further against the wall with his imposing belly. As he lowered his voice, his tone was also more aggressive.

– “I know you had to do something about it... You may look dumb and innocent, and even dumber than they say when they call you Graham, but you can’t fool me. You may be a lot of things, but innocent isn't one of them. If anyone in this town knows a thing about medicine, poisons and stuff, it’s you.”

  Rick was whispering to the frightened young man. He forced him to nod as he talked. Scott couldn't hear a word, but he saw him pressing Phil's chest and face against the wall while his hands moved from his meaty buttocks to his crotch.

  For a minute, he played with the elastic waistband of those tight boxers until Scott heard a crisp snapping sound. 

– “You know, I could already put you behind bars just for carrying such a weapon of mass destruction in your boxers. So, what do we do now?”

– “What, huh... What do you mean?”

– “We're done. This is over.”

  Rick finally let go. Phil was still blushing deeply, catching his breath.

– “Pick up your clothes.”

  As Phil quickly put on his jeans and T-shirt, Scott could see how shaken he was. He didn't say a word. It was over, but Rick was lucky that he didn't bruise like a peach. As it was, Scott could picture exactly what kind of soldier Phil was before he got discharged. 

  On the other hand, Rick looked like top brass, sitting at his desk.

– “Mister Porkenham wants to see you, and he asked me to tell you. So he probably wanted us to know that we’re in the same boat, you and me. What do you know, is it stinking or sinking? The way I see it, heads will roll before this semester is over, and the fat cats would be too happy if I resigned.”

– “But you're not going to...”

– “I don’t know. I have to think about it... You?”

– “What can I say? The school has already cut down my salary. Twice.”

– “That’s because you don't have sports classes to teach anymore. No basketball team to coach. For all that’s left...”

  Rick sat down at his desk, next to that huge pile of pastries. Phil was putting his wallet back inside his pocket. His clothes were all dusty from lying on the floor.

– “You’re in charge of the boys’ health. And no one else cares about their health. If they did, we wouldn’t have enforced that Quiet Diet policy. Quiet, my ass... They meant to make any disturbed student quiet as a mouse, then they turn each and everyone of them big as a house!”

  Phil was finally dismissed, and Rick went back to his pastries... He was hungry again, for some reason.

  Scott had to wait. He didn’t want to see either of them, right now. Showing up too soon would certainly make them wonder whether he had been listening to their conversation, or altercation.

  He would see Phil later, anyway, and he didn’t want to join Rick, while he was busy gorging on pies... Scott was still feeling a bit full after his second breakfast, and he had to meet Mr Swayn in his office, soon.

  As he took one last look at Rick, he couldn’t help noticing that the big guy was eating faster than ever. He seemed determined to eat all those pastries, down to the last bite. It was quite impressive. So stealthy as he could be, Scott left the security back office, closed the door behind him and walked to Mr Swayn’s office, in the main building.

■ ■ ■

  Mr Swayn had news for him.

– “I am quite relieved to see that you’re doing better, mister Girder. Clearly, you haven’t lost your appetite... It is always a good sign. I wish I could say the same for our other cases.”

– “What other cases?”

– “Didn’t you know? Six students have been found sick in their beds, two days ago. They are all under observation now, and they are certainly out of harm’s way. Sadly, they are still looking rather... peaky. It makes one wonder how you got back on your feet so quickly. Your letter was quite alarming...”

  The young secretary chuckled. It felt false, once again. Scott didn’t know what to say. He saw right through that new ruse, but he found no answer for it. Naturally, Mr Swayn was eager to show him the common bedroom where half a dozen fat and grotesquely bloated boys were squirming in their beds, moaning, groaning and occasionally burping loud and long...

  Scott had already been there. He knew that room, and those beds, only too well. He acted as if he was both surprised and concerned, but he had seen those puffy faces, almost green from excessive overeating. He had already heard those obnoxious belches: these boys had been picked up and forcefed in the school’s secret room. They might have been poisoned too, just enough to leave traces for toxicological analysis.

  That was definitely clever – and definitely twisted. Scott should expect no less from a cunning player like Mr Swayn... The guy was worth every dollar they paid him. He had the tidiest and most orderly brain.

  It was only a short visit. Mr Swayn had a few more things to say, but Scott didn’t listen. He had already got the picture. The only strong card left in his deck was Mrs Astern. It wasn’t too late for him to launch a new attack. He was only looking for the appropriate shooting angle.

– “The parents have been informed, of course.”

– “Well, yes... of course.”

– “I couldn’t help noticing a few names in the files attached to their beds. Isn’t there a Brad Dulles among the victims?”

– “Brad Dulles...” Mr Swayn grew pale. “Why, yes... our little Dulles boy.”

– “Then his uncle is...”

– “Yes.” Mr Swayn interrupted him, as if there was someone listening to their conversation. “His uncle is working in the white house.”

– “I wasn’t sure... Then Brad’s parents must have some special interests in Saint Augustine Bells preparatory school. Don’t they?”

– “Huh... quite. They are among our most important trustees.”

– “Then your trustees know about the situation. It loos like my job is already done, here.” Scott chuckled, imitating Mr Swayn. “Unless...”

– “Unless what?”

– “Unless they have doubts about your administration. I mean... if my son was in this school, under your responsibility, I would want to know a bit more. Maybe ask someone to perform some sort of audit, you know?”

– “Yes... An audit is already scheduled. That’s why I wanted to see you so soon. I will have to leave early in the afternoon.”

– “I see.”

– “No time to catch lunch, I’m afraid.” Mr Swayn didn't look so confident anymore. “I guess... Mister Scupper?”

  The old gardener was on his way to the cafeteria.

– “Yes, mister Swayn?”

– “Would you please escort mister Girder on his way to the main gate?”

– “Sure... Follow me, please.”

  Scott didn’t mind. As a matter of fact, he had a few questions for Mr Scupper, after he had pressed Mr Swayn like an orange – or a lemon – down to the last drop.

– “Six students getting sick at the same time?”

– “Quite...” The old man commented.

– “Don’t you find it rather... puzzling?”

– “I already find it amazing that these pigs can eat their weight in junk food in less than a week, drink a full garden pool of soft drinks and keep coming back for dessert. What did you expect?”

– “People keep saying that they have been poisoned.”

– “It was bound to happen, that’s what I say.”

– “But if it was food poisoning, wouldn’t all your students be sick?”

– “So they are. Have you seen so many boys going around and attending their classes today? They are all doing rather poorly.”

– “There would be over two hundred boys in the hospital, if this was a case of food poisoning in the kitchen...”

– “Mrs Spread has already investigated. Nothing suspicious there.”

– “The students I saw weren’t just sick... They looked overfed.”

– “They’re always overfed.”

– “I mean...” Scott stopped. “More than overfed, more than their usual share at least. They looked... forcefed.”

– “Forcefed?”

  Mr Scupper looked back. Scott was standing a few steps behind him.

– “...What do you mean?”

– “I know what I saw. Those boys looked puffy and bloated, as if they had spent hours being forcefed by a machine.”

– “A force-feeding machine? How extraordinary...”

  They shared a sharp look. Mr Scupper was much shorter than Scott, so he had to stand straight and raise himself. There was some sort of half smile on the old man’s lips.

– “Tell me, mister Girder... Have you been looking for some other piece of information about our school?”

– “I have read your report.”

  Scott had chosen the right word – and carefully so. He couldn’t call those thirty-six pages a “story”, although the statements presented as factual were fantastic enough to feel like fiction, and hardly confirmed by any objective piece of evidence.

– “Oh...” Mr Scupper looked quite pleased. “What did you think?”

– “I thought it was fantastic.”

  That could be also understood in a number of ways... Mr Scupper’s vanity was clearly flattered, but he kept everything as a matter of fact.

– “I was hoping that, in the right hands, this little book could be of help.”

– “You were right. But there is something missing.”

– “Missing?”

– “How did the ghost kill his victims?”

– “That is all explained in my book.”

– “Not quite.”

– “Well...” Mr Scupper looked a bit less certain, suddenly. “Ian’s ghost didn’t need to use a machine. That's for sure.”

– “Why is it here, then?”

– “I don’t know what you mean, young man.”

– “I meant... How did Ian’s ghost kill his victims?”

– “He didn’t! He didn't have to...” Mr Scupper laughed. “Ian was dead, of course. His ghost only possessed his victims, as vengeful spirits do.”

– “So he possessed them?”

– “Yes... Then the boy whose spirit worked under Ian’s command would eat and eat, and stuff himself so fast as he could, and keep going until something would burst.”

– “Is that how the first victims died?”

– “Yes.”

– “You’re lying. There was no found around them.”

– “I don’t know how spirits possess people, really! That doesn’t change the fact that they were found dead, enormous and round, stuffed so full that they could hardly be moved. That’s how they died, and that’s how Michael Astern died. And that is that. I am not lying.”

– “I didn’t mean that... Then it seems that you have been withholding that fact in your text.”

– “As a matter of fact, I have... I had to.”

  Mr Scupper caught his breath, then he drew a thin cigarette case from his vest. Scott handed him his lighter.

– “The school wouldn’t let my manuscript be printed as it was.”

– “What did you have to retract?”

– “Exactly what you and I have been discussing... I admit, that was the only part actually worth reading. That’s what I was interested in.”

– “How Ian’s ghost possesses his victims?”

– “Yes. Well... not just that...”

  The old man coughed.

– “I have never really understood how the ghost chose his victims. Look at this place... Look at the students in our school. We’ve had similar deaths in different rooms, even different buildings. It can’t be tied to a particular hot spot. So much for that line of research. What could it be, then? Is it a question of Astrological predispositions? I haven’t been able to find a clear pattern there either... I am beginning to think about it all over again, in psychological terms, like a question of character.”

– “How so?”

– “Think about it. Ian MacNeill was a security guard, when he was alive. He was tortured by the most violent inmates we had here, in the loony bin, before Saint Augustine Bells was a school.”

– “So, he’s looking for...”

– “Bullies, of course! When the people responsible for his death were dead and gone, he moved on to people with similar personalities. Among our students, we have more than enough violent, arrogant, rude boys...”

– “Michael Astern didn’t strike me as a bully.”

– “You’re right, he wasn’t.” Mr Scupper sighed. “It’s only a theory.”

  They were almost at the gate. As they walked by the security office, Mr Scupper noticed that there was no one at the desk.

– “Rick should be here...”

– “I didn't see mister Wingrave, this morning.”

– “He must be in his office. Trust me, I have seen him.”

  Scott knew how to get in and out of it, even when Rick wasn't there.

– “Mister Wingrave? Rick?”

  There was no answer.

– “Rick? It’s me, Scott. I’m going out, okay?”

– “Is everything all right?” Mr Scupper asked, a bit impatiently. “I’m getting rather hungry for my lunch.”

– “I don’t know, he should still be here...” Scott called out. “Rick? Are you okay?”

  He opened the door to the security back office. The desk was covered with at least thirty opened boxes – all empty. Even someone less aware of Rick’s eating habits than Scott could tell that they were meant for pies, chocolate chip cookies, cupcakes, doughnuts and other pastries.

  Right behind the desk, Rick was laying on the floor – eagle-spread on his back, with his belly peaking up round and huge like an over-inflated beach ball. He looked like he had passed out, but his mouth was still full of cake and saliva, almost as if he had rabies...

– “Oh, no... No, no...” Scott whispered.

– “What is it?”

  Mr Scupper joined him in the back room. Scott was already down on his knees, checking that Rick was still breathing. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the head of security had only eaten way too fast – and way too much!

  Scott tore his shirt opened. Buttons popped to the other side of the room. Rick had already forced three or four of those to fly like bullets... He was covered with crumbs and bits of chocolate or frosting. His T-shirt was so tight around his chest that he was suffocating. It had been riding up his belly for some time.

– “What are you doing?”

– “He needs help. Call for an ambulance. Call Phil!”

– “...Who's Phil?”

– “Graham! Call Graham.”

  If that slanderous bad joke had to cost someone’s life, Mr Swayn would never hear the end of it... Mr Scupper hurried to the phone. Scott had only heard about the Heimlich maneuver. There was nothing he could do. Even if he knew how to save Rick, the poor guy was far too round and heavy to be moved.

– “Did you get him on the phone?”

– “Who?”

– “The doctor!”

– “Oh... No, it was a woman who answered the phone. I guess that was a woman. It was a woman's voice... She had to be a nurse. She told me that the doctor was on his way.”

– “Thank God!”

– “He’s coming right away. I didn't know Graham was actually a doctor. He's our students' nurse here. What are you doing now?”

– “I can’t... get him to... move...”

  Scott was doing his best, but he wasn’t that strong.

– “Damn! It feels like he weighs a ton...”

– “He certainly does look like he weighs a ton.” Mr Scupper took a step back and looked around. “What’s with all this money?”

  Rick’s bribes must have been neatly arranged in a pile, on his desk. Dollar bills were spread all over the floor now, just like he was. It looked both ridiculous and sordid. Scott tried to raise Rick a bit, to wake him up and make him cough.

– “Come on, big guy... Spit it out.”

– “Where did all that food come from?”

– “I have no idea...” Scott lied.

– “I know these boxes... That’s the pastries they bake every Tuesday and Thursday in Biberton Hall, as part of of our community service, to raise money for the children’s hospital. Or is it the children’s playground? I'm not sure... I don’t remember... Why would mister Wingrave get pastries like that?”

– “I couldn’t tell... I didn’t know that you had people baking pastries in your Town hall.”

– “What I can’t understand is why he would buy so many of them... Then if they were brought to his office, who delivered them? How did he pay for all these? And if he did, why didn’t they take the money?”

  Scott knew better, but he didn’t want to let anyone know about Rick’s shady, little business with the students. On the other hand, Mr Scupper was putting all the pieces of his own puzzle together.

– “It’s the ghost.”

– “...What?”

– “Ian’s ghost. I knew it! He’s been after mister Wingrave.”

– “Don’t be silly. This is clearly...”

  Actually, Scott didn’t know. He only remembered twenty or twenty five boxes of pastries on Rick’s desk. Someone must have delivered a few more. Mr Scupper’s questions weren’t unreasonable: Why did Rick keep eating them? How did he fall to the floor like this? Did someone force him to eat like this? He looked like he was going to burst.

– “I... don’t know, really.”

– “It’s the ghost! I'm telling you.”

– “Didn’t you say that Ian was a security officer?” Scott protested. “Why would he go after someone like him?”

– “No more security guard, no more security... Mr Wingrave was in the way. Maybe Ian's ghost had to get rid of him.”

  Scott hated to admit that Mr Scupper’s theory made sense.

– “Nonsense. Rick could be replaced at any time.”

– “Think about it. Maybe Michael was only in the way, just the same. Then, if the ghost was going after someone else...”

  Mr Scupper was following his own train of thoughts. Scott would want him to get back to the matter at hand, but Phil entered just then.

– “What is wrong with... Oh... Okay.”

  More people came up to help them, a moment later. Rick was already breathing normally again. He was still weak, coughing or choking, but Phil was taking care of him. That was a close call, but he would be okay.

  When he saw Rick being carried out like a gigantic ball of dough and the ambulance rear doors closing like a monstrous oven, Scott had a sudden flashback: after the strange scene he had witnessed a few hours before, and this even stranger outcome, he could only agree with Mr Scupper's theory about Ian's ghost holding a grudge against bullies...

■ ■ ■

  Rick was at the Hospital. Scott had to wait before he would be allowed to see him... He wasn’t too hungry for lunch. Lost in his thoughts, he forgot to leave when the bus stopped in front of the Paddington hotel. When he came to his senses, he had almost reached the end of the line.

  As it turned out, Biberton’s General hospital was only a few streets away from the bus depot. Scott told the driver that he would walk from there... The guy didn’t mind, and wished him a pleasant afternoon, after he was parked in the bus station.

  It was still foggy. The temperature had gone up by a few degrees, but the mist was still dense. Scott didn’t know that part of town. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant neighborhood, but the streets were safe. A city boy like him was used to a lot worse. Being mugged in a small town like this was highly unlikely.

  The hospital was a tall, clean but sad building painted in a dull shade of grey, almost white. Scott knew his way in and out of the lobby. He knew the nurses too, after he had interviewed them a few weeks before.

  Unfortunately for him, it was the puritan, strict one at the desk.

– “Hello, nurse Vickers.”

– “Good afternoon, mister Girder. How are you doing today?”

– “I’m doing all right, thank you. I wish I could say the same for the young man who was admitted an hour ago.”

– “Which one?”

– “The man who came in your ambulance, from Saint Augustine Bells.”

– “I’m afraid that I should ask you the same question again. Doctor Hewdge has admitted a patient around a quarter to one, then he has been coming back and forth three more times with younger people from that school.”

  For a moment, Scott wondered about what must have happened, that morning. The other patients could only be the sick students, stuffed as they were. Phil was requested to take them to the hospital.

– “I understand. I meant to see Rick... Huh, Richard Wingrave.”

– “Mister Wingrave is still in ICU.”

– “Oh... well, of course. How about the students?”

– “They are in bed.”

– “May I see them?”

– “They are all staying in individual bedrooms. This is not a dispensary... Which one did you want to interview?”

– “Brad Dulles.”

– “Mister Dulles is in room 206. I need to have a word with the doctor Lipton first, or doctor Hewdge.”

– “Okay... Where is Phil?”

  Nurse Vickers had called him just “Phil” before, but she didn’t approve when someone else referred to staff without mentioning their full names and titles.

– “Doctor Hewdge is in ICU, of course. Who do you think is looking after the man he has brought here himself?”

  Rick’s case couldn’t be too serious if Phil had agreed to drive back to Augustine Bells three times to bring those sickly piggish students to a safer place.

  There were a number of newspapers in the waiting room, but there was nothing new about them... Scott paced restlessly, going in circles around the empty chairs, tapping the furniture and chafing against inaction.

  The doorbell rang again. It was Mr Thorne in a long black coat, with his hat on and a large umbrella under his arm. Scott immediately walked to him. He couldn't wait alone any longer.

– “Good afternoon, mister Thorne.”

– “Mister Girder? How do you do... Sad business, isn’t it?”

– “Yes, very sad. I didn’t expect to see you.”

– “I didn’t expect to see you either. After this morning’s meeting with mister Porkenham, I was under the impression that you had already left town without saying good-bye.”

– “There is a lot left for me to do in Biberton.”

  Scott’s tone was cold as ice.

– “I see... Well, with these recent incidents... Have you been able to see our students?”

– “Not yet. Did you come from Saint Augustine Bells on your own? Where is mister Porkenham? Where is mister Swayn?”

  The old man’s lips curled up into a thin smile.

– “Mister Swayn had to take a flight. There's a very important meeting in D.C. and he is quite nervous about it... Mister Porkenham had to take a mild sedative. He is quite distressed about it.”

– “Oh... So you came here to represent the school.”

– “That’s right... I’m the only one left, then I’m in charge. That’s what happens on rare occasions, even when you’re the fifth wheel on the car.”

  Nurse Vickers was back to her desk. Mr Thorne had a message for the hospital staff, and she asked him to sign a number of legal papers.

  He was only half done when the phone buzzed, then Phil joined them in the lobby. He looked relieved in a rather strange way – like a man in the mountains standing on top of a cliff when he had been climbing all day.

– “Joan, Richard Wingrave will be in room 505... Hello, mister Thorne... Mister Girder...”

  Phil shook hands with them. Scott was shocked. How could he behave in such a cold, professional manner, after they had spent the night... On second thoughts, it was better if they kept their distance when there were coworkers and people around.

  Nevertheless, Scott had a hard time trying not to look at the young doctor, as he was answering Mr Thorne’s questions. And he was a bit put off when he came to the conclusion that Phil had no problem avoiding him like this.

  Mr Thorne didn’t have anything interesting to say. Scott’s opinion regarding nurse Vickers got more positive when she interrupted him.

– “Mister Girder was asking permission to interview one of our patients. Bradford Dulles, isn't it?”

– “That’s the one...”

  With everyone looking at him, right now, it was just as bad. Phil didn’t ask him why he should be interested in Brad rather than any other student. Mr Thorne didn’t seem to care: the school didn’t approve when someone asked to interrogate one of their boys, no matter which one – and under such sad circumstances too, when they were sick and weak, possibly shocked and confused...

  Phil let the old man talk.

– “I am sure that mister Girder’s concern for our patients is the same as yours. He only means to see how they are doing.”

– “Of course. It won’t be an interview, really... I didn’t even bring my notebook.”

– “I see...” Mr Thorne admitted. “But I am in charge, in the absence of mister Swayn. I have a responsibility in this matter.”

– “Why don’t you go and see how Brad is doing, together with mister Girder?” Phil suggested. “Would you remind me which room it is, Joan... I mean, nurse Vickers... please?”

– “Room 206.”

– “Oh, well...” Mr Thorne hesitated. “I guess that would be... all right.”

  Scott couldn’t help feeling grateful to Phil. He only regretted that he had been looking at Mr Thorne and nurse Vickers more than he had been looking at him. Was it simply a way to avoid suspicion – or was Scott feeling jealous for all the attention they received?

  It was the best way to keep everyone off the track. Keeping everything simple helped keeping everyone safe. For such a dumb blonde beefcake, Phil certainly had his moments...

  Mr Thorne didn’t feel comfortable, going up to the second floor and walking to the boy’s private room. Naturally, an old guy like him would rather stay away from a place like this.

  Brad was resting in bed. He didn’t look much sicker than Scott, at this point. As expected, his belly looked dangerously full and round, but the boy was already overweight and very chubby. It was hard to tell what could be due to his recent force-feeding and what was the consequence of his own voracious appetite.

– “Brad Dulles?”

– “Yes...”

  The boy opened his eyes, looked up and frowned.

– “What are you guys doing in here?”

– “How are you doing?” Mr Thorne asked.

– “I was feeling a lot better, a moment ago.”

– “Do you remember me? We’ve met at...”

– “Mickey Mouse’s funeral. I remember. You’re a reporter.”

– “That’s right.”

– “I’ve seen you in school. I didn’t need to see you here.”

  They were definitely not welcome... Mr Thorne didn’t want to insist. There was an armchair in a corner of the room. It looked comfortable. He took off his long coat and sat in there.

  Scott chose to get closer to Brad.

– “When did you realize that you were... poisoned?”

– “Huh, that would be... when father Knox told me I was.”

  The boy looked ready to engage Scott into a stare fight. Good luck with that, Scott thought. He looked straight into his eyes, moved closer and lowered his voice.

– “Father Knox is doing a good job, bringing you boys back into the light, from that... dark place.”

– “Right. That’s what he does best.”

  They were on the same wavelength. Scott kept his voice down, and it was only a matter of minutes before Mr Thorne fell asleep in his chair... They could have a real talk, as long as they kept their voices down.

– “How did you boys get lured into this?”

– “I don’t know. I don’t even remember when I was taken to that place. How did you know about the...”

  Brad turned his head to make sure that the old man was sound asleep.

– “The school’s force-feeding machine?” Scott whispered.

– “Yeah...”

– “I just know.”

– “Okay, then... I woke up in there... Then I woke up again... I don’t remember when. Much later, obviously... I was so stuffed, I thought my stomach would explode!”

– “Is that what happened to the other boys?”

– “I don’t know... I guess.”

– “When did father Knox tell you about poison?”

– “Huh... When I woke up in my bed, with the others.”

– “You had never been trapped inside that feeding machine?”

– “No...” the boy shuddered. “I had only heard about it.”

– “When did Father Knox come to wake you up?”

– “Yesterday, I think...”

  Scott was right. This was only a decoy. Someone clever and sneaky – it had to be Mr Swayn – had found a way to make Scott’s poisoning look like an accident, so it would be lost among other cases of food poisoning.

– “Are they going to keep you in here for a long time?”

– “I don’t care.”

– “You don’t care?”

– “We’re in a hospital. I was in prison until now.”

  The boy had a point. Scott tried to humor him.

– “I’ve always heard that hospital food is awful.”

– “I don’t care. I’ve been stuffing myself for so long, I almost wish that Graham puts me on a strict diet. It would be a change for me...”

  Scott turned to look at Mr Thorne. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was half opened. If he listened very closely, there was a light wheezing sound coming from the old man... He would probably snore if the room was perfectly still.

– “Would you mind talking alone like this for a moment?”

– “What do you mean?”

– “There’s someone I have to see on the fifth floor.”

– “Who?”

– “Keep the old man asleep. Hum an Irish lullaby, if you have to. I’ll tell you when I come back.”

– “Okay.”

  Brad kept talking to himself, pausing every now and then so it would sound like two people in a strangely quiet, gentle conversation.

  Scott didn’t have a moment to lose. Surprisingly swift and agile, for a man of his corpulence, he climbed the stairs in no time, looked into the hall and ran to Rick’s room like a cat in a back alley.

  The security guard was also in bed, but his condition was a lot more serious than Brad’s. His face was hidden under some sort of mask, with a number of tubes of various sizes coming out of his nose and mouth – some attached to a pump to help him breathe, others going down his throat and attached to some other kind of pump.

  Rick’s stomach was about the same swollen size as it was when Scott had found him on the floor. His whole belly was so round and so huge that it could only be compared to Michael’s belly, as Scott remembered it from his first and hopefully last visit to the morgue...

  There was only one but very important difference. Michael was just a kid, almost a child – considering how short he was – and rather the bookish kind of teenager. Rick was a grown man, at least seven inches taller than Michael, and he had always been athletic, massive, with some good meat on his bones.

  The man lying in bed now looked stuffed to the point of bursting...

  Scott didn't know what to say. He couldn't get him to wake up. Then he heard a noise. It was only the lift going up, but he ran back to the stairs before the doors opened. In less than a minute, he was back with Brad.

– “...So?”

– “So what?”

  Scott was out of breath. Running up and down the stairs wasn’t part of his daily activities.

– “Did you see him?”

– “I’ve seen quite enough.”

– “Did you talk to him?”

– “He couldn’t talk. I wonder if he could breathe without that pump.”

– “Oh... Okay. Who was it, by the way?”

– “...Huh?”

– “Who did you want to see?”

– “Your security guard, Rick.”

– “Mister Wingrave? What’s happened to him?”

– “I wonder...”

  Mr Thorne looked like he was about to wake up.

– “Keep your voice down!” Brad snapped, in a whisper.

– “Okay, okay...”

– “We need to talk. But not here, not like this... Did you get my note?”

– “Yes. The Pounding Panda Bear Buffet, right?”

– “Yup. See you there.”

– “When?”

– “No idea. Let’s say... the day after they let me out of here.”

– “Okay.”

  Brad was right about the old man. Mr Thorne suddenly began to snore, which was enough to wake him up. He opened his eyes and squinted at them for a moment.

– “I’m afraid that we are taking too much time from master Dulles.”

– “That’s all right... We’ll be on our way.”

– “We do hope that you will recover soon, and come back to your studies in a much better condition. You should allow yourself some rest and sleep, young man. See you again at school, in a few days.”

  As they were leaving the hospital, Mr Thorne told Scott about the students’ size and appetite. There was nothing really exceptional about those six boys. Most of them stuffed themselves into a food coma on a daily basis.

– “I don’t understand how they can eat so much and still be hungry for more... It may have something to do with this new generation.”

– “I don’t know...”

– “Some people are just insatiable.”

  Scott was insatiable – not with food, but when he was in bed with a sexy boy or girl, he couldn’t be stopped any more than he wanted his partner to stop...

  Maybe he was insatiable with a good meal, too. Really good food was like really good sex – it was all too hard to find, and there was never enough for him.

  Mr Thorne must have read the weather report. He opened his umbrella, as it was beginning to rain. With his free hand to his hat, he said good-bye to Scott with two verses from a poem.

                          “Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,

                           Or gluttoning on all, or all away.”

  And with a little wink, he turned to leave.

– “Is that a quote?”

– “Of course...”

– “Who said that?”

  Mr Thorne only turned his head, with a smile.

– “Why don’t you ask our friend Graham?”

  Scott was left in front of the hospital, under the rain.

– “Must be something Southern...” He shrugged.

■ ■ ■

March 12^th, 1990 – Monday

  It was raining. Scott didn’t have anything to do for the week-end. He spent Saturday in bed, only leaving his bedroom to catch breakfast number one around 6AM, breakfast number two around 9AM, lunch at noon, coffee around 5PM, and dinner from 7 to 9PM – from the moment the buffet was opened and until Scott felt full and contented. All in all, what he piled on his plate would have fed a family of four, with two grown kids...

  Sunday was pretty much the same. There were no phone calls. Scott worked on his notes, trying to cross-index suspects for the recent crimes committed in Augustine Bells: Michael’s murder, Mr Huggins’s murder, Rick’s mysterious case, not to forget his own poisoning. There were too many threads, too many people involved in each case, who were still around campus when something else occurred. Scott let out a sigh.

  He was bored. Investigating on a crime scene was only that much fun. Meeting potential murderers lost its appeal when the list of suspects got so long. Being the next victim could be thrilling in a TV series – certainly not in real life.

  Scott couldn’t stop thinking about that night. The pain and the panic, the agony of being poisoned was still carved deep in his memories – then Phil had come to help him, and it was the best night he had ever experienced.

  The only real mystery worth thinking about was simple: why didn’t Phil call him again? Scott called the hospital four times during the week-end, asking for some news about Rick’s condition, and the students’. It was always one of the nurses over the phone. Whatever she told him, he let it slip that he would like to have a word with “doctor Hewdge”.

  The answer was always the same:

– “Doctor Hewdge is busy at the moment.”

or

– “I’m afraid that he is in the middle of an operation with nurse Vickers.”

or

– “Phil can’t come to the phone right now.”

  Nurse Rockwell suggested that Scott asked for an appointment. She had a point – Scott was feeling sick about all this. He was beginning to wonder if Phil wasn’t avoiding him on purpose. The reason why he would do such a thing was beyond Scott, of course...

  At this point in the game, Scott didn’t want to see Phil as a patient going for a check-up, or a journalist interviewing a witness. Besides, Phil’s agenda was all booked for the next two or three weeks.

  Scott couldn’t wait. On Monday morning, he decided that one breakfast was enough – he just ate nineteen plates of the hotel’s food in one sitting, leaving the buffet after almost three hours of spectacular, provocative gluttony... Scott knew that the waiters and early customers resented him for it. He made matters even worse when he let out a mighty belch in the lobby, as he walked to his lift.

– “BUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRP!”

  Visitors were allowed now. Nurse Rockwell was at the desk. She was the friendly one in her team. Scott liked her. Phil was busy somewhere in the hospital, but he would be in his office, at some point.

  Scott went to see Rick. The security guard was still in bed, but he didn’t need tubes and a pump to breathe anymore. He was still weak, and Scott was shocked to see him so enormously fat.

  Rick’s belly only looked like a slightly deflated version of that gigantic beach ball Phil had managed to carry into the ambulance, with great effort. All the food that was stuffed in there must have been slowly digested and turned to whale blubber, over the week-end... Resting on his back like this, with his head backed up against three large pillows, Rick’s chest looked soft and round like a pair of cushions for his chubby hands and his face was all cheeks – puffy and rounder than ever, now that his cheeks merged with his double chin, giving him a typical fat man’s moon face...

– “Hey, big boy... How are you doing, today?”

  Rick was still half asleep.

– “Oh it’s you, Scott. Feeling a lot better... Thanks.”

– “That’s good.”

– “Are you the one who found me and called the hospital?”

– “Yes... I did.”

– “Well, thank you for that. If you had not come to my office...”

– “What happened to you?”

  Rick let out a wheezing sound.

– “I don’t remember, really.”

– “What’s the last thing you remember from that day?”

– “I don’t know... Mister Porkenham asked to see me, in the morning. We had tea together in his office but, honestly, I was the one in hot water.”

– “What did he tell you?”

– “Nonsense, mostly. The old man was rambling on about your letter, knowing that you had been poisoned... Then he reminded me that it was my duty to stay strong and fit, and how I was “too fat for the job”... If he could see me, now...”

  The obese man moved and chuckled in his bed, which caused a number of small waves that kept his fully exposed belly swaying and jiggling. Scott was fascinated by that fat mass in front of him.

– “Why did you eat all those pastries, then?”

– “That’s what I usually do.”

– “But if your boss had just told you not to eat so much...”

– “I know, it doesn’t make sense... I don’t know what came over me.”

– “You don’t remember anything else.”

– “No...”

– “Didn’t you see Phil, that morning?”

– “The doctor? Huh... Maybe I did. I’m not so sure.”

  Scott looked away. He felt disappointed, knowing it for a fact that Phil was one of the last persons who had stepped inside Rick’s office. Then there must have been someone else, considering the number of boxes on Rick’s desk.

– “How do you get so many pastries?”

– “They get delivered in my office, sometimes with the mail, sometimes with the morning papers...”

– “Do you remember who delivered the last boxes, yesterday?”

– “I never paid much attention to them... Could be anyone.”

– “I see.”

  Rick was breathing slowly. Scott had to be more patient with his questions.

– “How about poison? Did they tell you anything about it?”

– “Huh... Officially, yes... I’ve been poisoned. That’s what they want the Press to know... Phil has run a few tests. According to him, I may have been drugged, but not really poisoned.”

– “Drugged how?”

– “Just so I would keep stuffing myself, I guess... I’m a big eater, but I’ve never felt so hungry in my life. And those pastries were so delicious, I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t stop eating, even when I was already stuffed to my tits!”

– “I see...”

– “I haven’t heard anything from the administrators... Do you know what they’re up to?”

– “I must be the last person in the world they would tell.”

– “That’s true...”

– “We all have our secrets... right?”

– “Right.”

– “What’s important is that I can keep other people’s secrets as well as mine.”

– “What do you mean?”

  Scott took a thick envelope from his coat, and handed it to Rick.

– “What is it?”

– “About twenty grands, in C-notes... They were all around you, on your office floor. If you were in a frenzy of eating, you still managed to make a neat pile of those. Then you made it fall down with you.”

  Rick was flipping through the hundred dollar bills with his chubby, sausage-like fingers.

– “I don’t remember any of this... Of course, if there was money attached to the boxes, they had to be delivered to the students first. They bring the pastries and the money to my office, sign the register and go to their classes. Did you check the register?”

– “I didn't... I wasn't alone.”

– “Did I make a pile of dollar bills like that?”

  His question was genuine. Scott had to tell him how he was found. He suddenly shivered, thinking that there was another possibility: someone may have joined Rick in his office, drugged him and forced him to eat all those pies and pastries, down to the last bite, then he had scattered the money all over his limp, helpless body to incriminate him even further. Or was it simply out of spite? That would tell a few interesting things about the man who had attacked Rick.

  Then there was a good chance that Rick's register would be missing...

  Considering that there were drugs involved to overpower him, the person who did this may be a student, or a woman – Scott knew that there was a lot more to soccer moms than met the eye... It may be two people working as a team. It may be anyone from school, who fed Rick both money and food.

– “Scott... Are you all right?”

– “Huh? Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts.”

– “I wanted to say... Huh... I wanted to thank you again, for this.”

– “What for?”

– “The money. You just said that you didn’t tell anyone about... you know, how I let our boys go for a night out, every once in a while.”

– “Yes. Mr Scupper didn’t understand. I told him... some sorry excuse. He was already convinced that you were the latest victim of the school’s ghost. I took the money before I came here, so mister Porkenham wouldn’t ask questions.”

– “Then you’ve certainly saved my ass... God! If the old man found out about it, I wouldn’t be just fired... I’d be fried, and sizzling like bacon!”

  There was an announcement in the hallway, over the loudspeakers. The voice was soft, clear, and there was no feedback. Someone must have solved that problem with the hospital’s wiring system... It was time for lunch, and visitors would be allowed again in the afternoon.

– “I have to go.”

– “It was nice of you to come and see me.”

– “Don’t even mention it.”

  Rick turned his head to look at Scott.

– “Wait...”

– “What is it?”

– “Keep this...” He gave him the envelope. “Keep it somewhere safe.”

– “You don’t trust the nurses in here?” Scott smiled. “I understand.”

– “Half of it is yours, okay?”

– “That’s about ten grands.”

– “I know... I owe you.”

– “I’ll give the rest to you when you’re out. Deal?”

– “Deal...”

  They shook hands. Rick didn’t want him to leave so soon.

  Walking down the stairs, Scott had to take a pause. His knees hurt, and he could feel his old Football injury again. That was a clear indication that he had eaten too much for breakfast. Still, he couldn’t get himself to go and buy a cane to walk. He would feel like an old man...

  Was it much better to feel young and be in constant pain? Scott wouldn’t know.

  Looking at the clock, it occurred to him that Phil would have to go to Augustine Bells soon: if he was working at the hospital, this morning, his shift was over – then he had to be in his office now.

  That was Scott’s opportunity. He turned to the left and went straight to the doctor’s office. Doctor Lipton’s office was the first one on his right, then Doctor Hewdge’s smaller office.

  The door was closed. Scott opened it discretely. He didn’t knock, and he didn’t call for anyone.

  He had been in this office before. There were Phil’s diplomas hanging in various frames. Scott took a moment to look at them – the VMI in Lexington, VA – the AMC in Fort Sam Houston, TX – Phil’s medical license in the Commonwealth of Virginia – a few more degrees obtained at the LRMC, in Landstuhl, Germany – then some official report awarding him the Combat Medical Badge for “performing medical duties while being actively engaged” somewhere in Korea, six years ago.

  Military records were boring... Scott was more interested in a small picture in black and white, showing Phil in his uniform, all clean-shaven and with military short hair. The insignia of his rank had been elegantly attached on the side, on deep purple velvet in the same frame. Silver oak leaves. Phil had to be a lieutenant colonel at the time.

– “Light bird, huh?”

  Scott chuckled. If someone had to call Phil anything now, the words “light” and “bird” would hardly come to mind. One would rather go for “big” and “bear”, he thought.

  Phil’s office was empty, clean and only messy with the papers on his desk. But Scott had spotted one of the doctor’s light green shirts on a chair. Considering how stained and sweaty it looked, that shirt had been worn recently.

  From the moment he had come into the office, Scott had noticed the distant noise of running water. Phil was taking a shower, before he would leave for the afternoon.

– “Perfect timing...” Scott thought.

  The door to the doctor’s small bathroom wasn’t closed. Scott didn’t wait and stepped inside. It was a really clean, white room. Phil’s clothes where ready on a handle – dry and neatly ironed, but always so worn-out and faded. Scott took the shirt and T-shirt to look closer at them.

  Phil was coming out of the shower, with a large white towel around his waist, and a smaller one over his face. His hair was all wet and tousled – Scott couldn’t be more turned on...

  The blonde doctor was startled when he saw Scott in the middle of his private bathroom.

– “Scott? What... What are you doing here?”

– “Isn’t it obvious? I was waiting for you.”

  Still a bit jumpy, being caught like this, Phil tried to excuse himself.

– “I was waiting for you to call, at some point.”

– “I beg your pardon?”

– “I’ve been calling six times.”

– “...This morning?”

– “No, since that night you and I... you know.”

– “Oh... Wait, I did call you.”

– “In the morning... Yes.”

– “You were feeling a lot better. And we’ve seen each other again, later.”

– “We’ve crossed paths. That’s all. I’ve been calling all week-end.”

– “I had no idea... I’ve been really busy.”

– “Come on. You’ve been working all week-end?”

– “As a matter of fact, I have... With seven more patients at once and a serious case of food poisoning to consider, forty-eight hours were hardly enough...”

– “I see. So... they have really been poisoned?”

  Phil looked straight into Scott’s eyes.

– “No. It’s a cover... But the hospital had to come up with the real cure and false reports at the same time. It doesn’t help with our paper work.”

– “All right... Then you were too busy to come over the phone.”

  Scott only realized it a moment later, but he was pouting.

– “What’s wrong, Scott?”

– “Nothing’s wrong.”

– “Are you not feeling well?”

– “I’m just... worried.”

– “About Rick?”

– “I’m worried about you.”

  Phil was still getting dry with his towel, looking a bit uncomfortable.

– “Me?”

– “Yes. Are you trying to avoid me?”

  Scott’s tone was rather aggressive.

– “What do you mean?”

– “You know very well what I mean.”

  It was Phil’s turn to look down.

– “All right... I guess I owe you an apology.”

– “You owe me an explanation.”

– “I was wrong. But you were in such pain. I was only trying to help you, but I got carried away...”

  Scott didn’t understand.

– “What the fuck are you talking about?”

– “I shouldn’t have lured you into having sex. I’m sorry.”

– “What... Wait, wait a minute... Are you saying that you’re sorry because we’ve slept together?”

– “That was really unethical...”

– “For God’s sake, I’m only angry at you because we didn’t do it again, after that one night! One. Perfect. Night... One! And you didn't think that I wanted more? Like, every night?”

  Phil looked puzzled.

– “Scott, I’m sorry... I'm a doctor. Having sex with a patient is the worst kind of professional misconduct in the book. It's medical malpractice. I could be fired, suspended... I could end up in jail.”

– “Really?”

– “In a heartbeat. No question about it.”

– “You’re serious about this...”

  The two young men looked at each other. It would be hard to tell if they were about to jump in each other’s arms for a passionate kiss, or start a fight.

– “Is it a closet thing? You don’t want people to find out that you lean... that way?”

– “I don’t care what people think, but I can’t afford to lose my job.”

– “How did you deal with it, in the Army?”

– “The same way everyone else deals with it in the Army...” Phil answered grudgingly. “Don’t ask, don’t tell”... Do your duty. Do what you're told. Live like a mess, they couldn't care less...”

– “And now?”

– “I took an oath. I could be straight as an arrow, sleep with a woman and still lose my job, maybe go to jail if she was a patient and people found out.”

– “Wow... So people expect you to be like a priest?”

– “I also work with boys in that school, young boys. If there were even rumors about my sexuality, I would be in trouble for the rest of my life.”

– “Worse than a priest, then...”

  Scott no longer felt tense. He almost burst in laughter.

– “And to ask this from a guy like you!”

– “What do you mean?”

– “Abstinence... Really?”

  Phil didn’t look amused, standing there like a statue.

– “Come on, Phil! Wake up and smell the coffee. You...”

  There were so many, obvious signs pointing at Phil to paint him pink that Scott could hardly pick one. The guy had the body of an athlete, the anatomy of a porn star, messed up blonde hair, puppy green eyes and lips like full-blossomed rose petals... He looked dashing in his uniform. He was always courteous with his lady coworkers, but he didn’t flirt. He was never rude or snappy or loud with anyone. He took care of children on Sunday mornings. He worked out alone at the gym, he played basketball and he took no interest in football...

– “You bake pastries, for Pete’s sake!”

  Phil didn’t know what to say. Scott was shouting at him. There was a moment of silence, then the doctor asked him quite calmly.

– “Okay... What do you want from me?”

– “...Come again?”

– “What do you want from me?”

  Scott stopped shaking. He was holding on to those shirt and T-shirt with such a firm grip that they would look messy, when Phil would wear them.

– “Why would I want anything from you? Everything you own would fit in a duffel bag. I’ve never met anyone so poor... Look at these, you keep wearing clothes that a homeless guy would leave if he found them in the gutter.”

  Tossing them on a wet floor wouldn’t help them look any better.

  Phil didn’t say a word. He didn’t look so shy now – rather conflicted, as if he was still struggling inside but determined to win, almost fierce...

– “I see... No need for clothes.”

 The towels fell on the floor, in a sudden move.

– “Is that what you want, then?”

  In the harsh light of day, completely naked and exposed as he was, any young man would find himself at his most vulnerable – no matter how healthy, strong and cocky he may be – but not this guy. Phil didn't look provocative either. He was standing there just so naturally as if he was part of the office furniture, but it was only too clear now that he was in great physical shape – and excessively well-endowed... Scott had to gulp down. The blonde, Southern stud had more than enough fuel in his balls to launch that huge rocket to Mars. The fat boy already knew that the shaft was too big for the moon...

  Turned on as he was, Scott didn’t quite expect Phil to be so brutally honest. For a long moment, he didn’t know how to react. A stare fight would be no problem for him, since he was taller than him, but this was a far more serious confrontation.

– “What do you want, then?”

– “Yeah... I mean you. I mean this... I want this. I mean... I want you.”

– “Are you sure?”

– “...What do you mean?”

– “Are you really sure that you want me?”

– “You bet I am!”

– “Think about it...”

  Phil wasn’t posing so much as he was standing – literally standing his ground, in this case. No matter how much taller Scott was, fully dressed and with twenty grands in his wallet, he didn’t stand a chance against such a masculine guy...

  It may have been worth a try for Scott if they were only standing there like mannequins on display, safely behind a window – but Phil made the first step and, as he was getting closer, his soft tone of voice was enough for Scott to raise the white flag...

– “Think about it, Scott. Do you really want me in your life?”

– “Yes...”

– “Do you really want me in your everyday life? It’s not the same...”

– “I do.”

– “Okay then. I can be your friend, your sidekick, your companion...” He could keep going, as he gently took Scott's hand, as a man who had so much more to offer. “Do you want me in your bed?”

  They were really dangerously close, right now. Scott felt intoxicated by his presence, his masculine scent and voice. He had to close his eyes.

– “Yes!”

– “Would you want me to hold you in my arms?” Phil asked, holding Scott in a true teddy bear’s embrace.

– “God yes...”

  The temperature in that bathroom had kept rising so much that the clothes on the floor must be dry by now... Scott felt like his socks were on fire.

– “Would you let me get inside you?” Phil whispered into Scott’s ear.

– “Well... Huh, we could try...”

– “Good. Then I have to warn you...”

– “Come on, I already know.” Scott chuckled. “Even the NSA wouldn't try to hide such a massive gun barrel or deny its existence.”

– “I didn’t mean... that.” Phil blushed. “I wanted to tell you that... I have grown quite fond of you, lately. I wasn't sure. I didn't want to force you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable... I’m glad that you and I had this little talk.”

  Scott would have to slam on the brakes later, thinking about that moment which Phil referred to as a “little talk”... If that attitude didn’t define his blatant, boundless, devil may care masculinity and sensuality, the way Scott was being fondled didn’t leave any room for doubts. Of course, standing so close to Phil in such an arousing moment made him feel like he was sitting in a tree, with what he felt growing and riding up between his thighs...

  That blonde Southern beefcake had no problem exposing himself, obviously – to danger, as a soldier – to the world and other cultures, as a traveler – to the sick and the poor, as a doctor. This was different. Phil had exposed his feelings to Scott, holding his bare heart in his paws. Nothing could be deeper or more personal than this. There he was at his most vulnerable, and Scott felt like comforting him in return.

– “So you have... huh, feelings for me.”

– “Yes...”

– “You told me like it's a bad thing?”

– “Sometimes, it is... I mean... Sometimes, I can’t help myself. I may go too far.”

– “Oh...” Scott felt a cold sweat running down his spine. “I see.”

– “I’ll do my best to behave, but I wanted to make sure...”

  Phil truly couldn’t help himself. On the other hand, Scott couldn’t resist being kissed like that. It was so perfect that he suddenly felt weak in the knees... That may be just the cure for his old football injury!

– “...Are we good?”

– “Damn, you’re good! I mean... We’re good.”

– “I don’t know when I will be free tonight. May I call you at your hotel?”

– “Sure...”

– “Will it be all right with the staff? I got lucky, the last time. There was no one at the desk.”

  Scott only remembered how he had “got lucky”, that night.

– “You’ll be all right. Just... be gentle with me, okay?”

– “I’ll be gentle.”

  Phil certainly meant it, but Scott knew better.

– “Is there something else I should be warned about?”

– “Just this... I’m very possessive. I may want you even worse then you want me. And I’m not willing to share.”

  There was that straight, honest look in those sparkling green eyes again. Scott blushed. Phil must have seen right through him. It was bad enough not to be faithful to someone who loved you, but Scott had always been rather proud of his various infidelities.

– “Please... You have nothing to be worried about.”

– “I mean it, Scott. And this goes for men and women alike.”

  Right on money, again. Phil was dangerously good at this game...

  He acted like a good sport, at least. Or he may be in a hurry, since he had to go to work at Augustine Bells.

– “So... do we have a deal?”

– “That’s a deal. From now on, we’re partners.”

– “Partners...”

 Scott could see his blonde friend’s eyes sparkle with more stars than in the US flag. For a moment, it looked like he would kiss him so hard that they would both fall on the floor.

– “You mean we’re like...”

– “Partners in crime.” Scott managed not to stutter. “We’re a team!”

– “Of course... I think we’re a pretty good team, too.”

– “Damn straight, we are.”

  It was way too soon for Scott to call anyone his “boyfriend”.

■ ■ ■

  Scott walked on clouds, on his way back to the hotel. When he entered the lobby, he found himself hungry for the next buffet.

  Tom was at the desk. Scott usually acted as if he wasn’t there, but he couldn’t ignore him when the young guy waved at him like that.

– “Mister Girder...”

– “Hello, Tom.”

– “Would you follow me, please?”

– “I’m about to have some lunch. Couldn’t I see you in... two hours?”

– “You’re right.” Tom snapped. “That would be some lunch...”

  With a discrete nod and gesture, he invited Scott inside the manager’s office. The man in charge wasn’t there.

– “What did you want to tell me?”

– “You see that file on the desk. Thirteen complaints about you, from different customers.”

– “Thirteen?”

– “Lucky number, right? I guess we’re a bit superstitious at the Paddington hotel, so the members of the staff chose to add another complaint.”

– “What’s that about?”

– “Can’t you venture a guess? You’ve been staying with us for three months, and you’ve been closing your belt one notch wider after every month.”

– “How does this concern you?”

– “You’re right, I couldn’t care less. But the manager wants you out.”

– “Is that why he called me on the phone?”

– “Yup.”

– “I thought it was merely a polite way to warn me.”

– “A polite way to kick you out. You should have read between the lines.”

– “Between phone lines... That would be something.”

  Tom wasn’t too patient.

– “When does he want me to leave?”

– “Yesterday.”

  The lobby boy opened a small door. There was a private entrance, leading to the covered parking lot. Scott recognized his suitcase and backpack in a corner, next to the door.

– “That’s my stuff.”

– “Your pants and shirts are clean, ironed and folded in there. There’s nothing missing. I didn’t read a word from your diary. I didn’t touch a thing.”

– “What the...”

– “Don’t make a scene and leave from the parking lot, okay?”

– “If you think that I’m going away without a fight...”

  Tom gave him a cunning look.

– “Come on. Let’s not say or do anything we would regret later. We even let you keep the hundred and fifty-two bottles of liquor you stole from the mini-bar... Consider yourself lucky.”

– “You’ve been counting them?”

– “They come in cartons of fifty, Scott...” Tom sighed. “You stole three from the maid’s cart, when she was busy cleaning someone else’s room. There were two bottles of whisky left in your mini-bar. I didn’t tell the boss about it.”

– “To seal the deal?”

– “Call it whatever you like. Mr Johnson asked me to get you out of the hotel. I could always ask two of my friends to do it the hard way, but I chose to let you leave... shall we say scot-free?”

  It was definitely not a winning day for Scott – he knew when there was no use fighting in the dark, at least.

  Carrying his suitcase, he left the Paddington Hotel with everything he had in his suitcase. That was precisely everything he owned, right now, and he had nowhere to go...

■ ■ ■

  The Double D was the best place for Scott to spend the afternoon, considering his mood... He had a few large sundaes for a late lunch, with milkshakes, cookies and two cups of coffee.

  Phil wouldn’t get to reach him, if he called the hotel. Scott went to the phone booth twice, calling the male nurse’s office in Saint Augustine Bells. He finally got to talk to him.

– “Phil?”

– “Scott... Why are you calling me here?”

– “Change of plans.”

– “Is there something wrong?”

– “I can’t tell you right now. Just... forget about the Paddington hotel. Meet me at the Double D.”

– “Okay... What time?”

– “When will you be free to leave?”

– “There was a change of plans at school, too.”

– “How so?”

– “I don't know... But I should be at the Double D before six.”

– “Perfect. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Scott took his time with the last sundae, ordered a third cup of coffee and told Dean, the owner, that he would be staying in his coffee parlor for a few hours, waiting for a friend. Dean didn’t mind. Scott was a good customer.

  The sun was slowly setting. There was a low hush in the street, and a feeling of vague expectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. A blood-red gash lay low in the distant west, like an open wound.The first stars were shining brightly.

  Phil joined him before the street lights were on. He looked concerned, even as he sat in front of him.

– “What did you mean with that change of plans?”

– “I’ve been kicked out of the hotel.”

– “Oh... Why?”

– “Beats me... A couple customers have been complaining about me.”

– “What was bothering them so much? Is that because you made so much noise, when I was... with you?”

  Scott shrugged. It was also quite possible.

– “It was a wild night, I can’t argue with that.”

– “...Where are you going now?”

– “I have no idea. I could look for another hotel, but I don’t feel like it. If I see another lobby boy tonight, I may just punch him in the face.”

– “If you need a place to stay, you can come to Saint Augustine Bells.”

– “Wait... where?”

  Phil came closer to Scott, and lowered his voice.

– “Rick has his own apartment on campus grounds, in the restricted quarters, separated from the rest of the school grounds by the same wall around Augustine Bells.”

– “Okay... So?”

– “I have the key to that special door. You know he will be at the hospital for a few days, now. You can stay there for the time being, and no one will find out.”

– “Sure, if you have the key to his place...”

– “I only have the keys to the school and those quarters.”

– “How did you get these?”

– “Because my own apartment is next to Rick’s, in the same building. We’re like neighbors there, if you want.”

– “Okay... Sounds good to me.”

  Scott paid for his afternoon-long lunch and left. Phil carried his heavy suitcase, on their way to Saint Augustine Bells. They had plenty of time to chat.

– “What about your change of plans?”

– “The fact that Rick was attacked so mysteriously after six of ours students were already reported poisoned has become the focus of everyone’s attention, in our school. The audit from the trustees will have nothing to do with you... It’s all water under the bridge. You may have never been poisoned.”

– “What?”

  Scott was so angry that they had to take a pause, sitting on a bench.

– “I will call my boss in the morning. How can they get away with it? I am the only one who got truly poisoned, here...”

– “Think about it, Scott... You recovered rather quickly. You didn’t even go to the hospital. I am one of the few people who know that you are telling the truth.”

– “Who are the others?”

– “The people behind it, of course...”

  Phil was right. And Scott could provide no convincing piece of evidence, when everyone else played his part in that sinister comedy.

– “What am I going to do?”

– “Let’s get you settled in Rick’s place. We can talk about it later.”

  The main gate was closed. Rick’s back door was also closed, but Scott opened it with his special key. Phil asked him how he had such a key.

– “Rick trusts me with a few things. Let me check...”

  The key Rick let some students use when they had paid him enough was still in its place, hidden in the double bottom of his right drawer. Scott took it and looked closely. It had been used for some time, and there were no signs that a double had recently been made.

– “What’s that key?”

– “It’s a secret between Rick and me, for now...”

– “Why are you looking at it like that?”

– “Just checking... It’s not a fake. This means that whoever attacked Rick didn’t take it. Then he had no interest in it...”

– “Then it wasn’t a student who attacked Rick.”

  Scott turned to Phil.

– “You’re quicker than I thought...”

  Phil had a point. A student wouldn’t leave the key in its place after assaulting Rick. Scott couldn’t scratch them off his list of suspects, however. Only one of those boys would rather throw a handful of dollars over his victim than take the loot and run away. Only students would understand why Rick kept so much money on his desk...

  None of this made sense. One of the clues had to leave Scott on the wrong tracks – the key or the money. Keeping both in his pocket was the best choice.

– “Okay, we’re done here. Let’s go...”

  Scott’s keys would be useless, from that point on. Phil opened the door to the special quarters he had mentioned earlier.

– “I’ve never been around here. I was under the impression that these walls marked the limit to this school.”

– “It used to be meant for the security guards, back when Saint Augustine Bells was a prison... You have the school’s gym and swimming pool in that building, over there.”

  Phil pointed to a low building, in the dark. Scott followed him on a sandy path. They got to a small building that looked like an old-fashioned motel. As they climbed up the stairs, Scott asked Phil which way they should turn.

– “Rick’s place is right there on the right. I live on the same level, at the other end of this hall.”

  Leaving Scott’s bags on the floor, he looked for some sort of long, thin pincers in his own bag, and picked the lock. The door was opened almost immediately.

– “Where did you learn that?”

– “In the Army. Try defusing six different kinds of bombs in the same day... This is child’s play.”

– “Okay...”

  Rick’s apartment was simple, with some nice furniture. The entrance was hardly bigger than a closet, with his coats hanging against the wall. The kitchen looked empty, but there was plenty of beer on the counter.

– “Have you been invited in here before?”

– “Yes... We’ve been looking at a few games together. I don’t have a TV.”

  Scott was standing in the kitchen. There was a leather couch and two armchairs in front of the TV. He looked into the fridge. There was a lot of food in there. It was almost too good to be true.

  Phil joined him in the kitchen.

– “It should be okay for a few nights, right?”

– “I don’t know...”

  Scott was pacing again.

– “I don’t know how I feel about breaking and entering.”

– “What do you mean?”

– “I’d rather leave Rick’s stuff untouched.”

– “You know he won’t mind. We can put everything back where it was, and tell him when he leaves the hospital.”

– “Sure...”

– “And most of that food will be spoiled by then. You can always buy him a few beers, eggs, ham and cheese... Whatever he keeps in there.”

– “I know... We should take care of that food, but...”

– “But what?”

– “Why don’t we go to your place, instead?”

  Phil blushed, but he had a smile on his face.

– “I only wanted to make sure... And we needed to get food somewhere. I don’t have so much in my own fridge.”

– “Show me the way to your kitchen.”

– “Follow me.”

  Phil’s door was only a few steps away from Rick’s, but their apartments weren’t the same. His place was smaller, with less furniture. The table in the kitchen was rather common, and the chairs around it. There were a few pictures on the wall, among other souvenirs from Phil’s time in the US Army.

  Scott noticed a strange, small, rectangular piece of wood with the painted figure of a young man in dark green robes over some gold background, placed high in the corner of the living room.

– “What’s that?”

– “Old Russian icon. Saint Philip.”

– “He doesn't look like much of a saint.”

– “Russian orthodox saints don't have to look holy. That's like, an option. I guess they couldn't afford it...”

– “Is that something your father gave you?”

– “My grandfather. And yes, it’s the only thing I have left.”

  It didn’t look like Phil’s family had much to leave him, in the first place.

– “It’s not much, but it’s home. I guess...”

– “It’s really... empty.”

  It was much easier for Scott to pace in that living room. Phil tried to overcome how embarrassed he was with a cheerful tone and the promise of a good dinner.

– “I admit it’s... bare. It’s a bare den.”

– “Now that’s cute.”

– “You should have no problem turning it into your own space. You can have the bedroom and the office to work on your future articles...”

– “Where will you sleep?” Scott teased him. “On the couch?”

– “I happen to sleep on the couch, sometimes...” Phil confessed, looking down. “After a long day, when I don’t feel like going under the covers.”

– “I bet you always sleep in the buff.”

– “Of course I do.” Phil shrugged. “I don’t need a big bedroom and a library. The school provided me with this apartment. I am thankful for it, but I’m not used to living alone like this.”

– “What do you mean by “alone” like this?”

– “You know how many siblings I have. My brothers and I slept in the same room. For a few years, when Ryan and Cody were children, we even shared the same bed.”

– “Then you should make sure that you don’t go to bed alone.”

  Phil answered him with a kiss. A nice, long one... Not too passionate, for once – on purpose – but Scott was in no hurry to put an end to it. As they were fondling each other, he grabbed his T-shirt.

– “I’ve really ruined that shirt, this morning... Take it off.”

– “Would that help you feel more comfortable?” Phil asked with a smile.

– “It would make me feel at home.”

  Scott took off his shoes and sat on the couch. He already knew that Phil would behave like a perfect, professional stripper... He didn’t need any music, and he wouldn’t stop to strike a pose, unless Scott asked him. Even as he took his sweet time, he was only wearing his T-shirt, a pair of old jeans and socks, and boxer shorts. When he was done, he got closer, leaning over Scott. Then he started opening his shirt gently, button after button, exposing more and more of his friend’s soft belly.

– “Welcome home, big boy...”

■ ■ ■

  Scott had never felt so good in anyone else’s arms. Phil was resting behind him, holding him in a tight embrace, rubbing his belly and chest. He had brought two pillows from his bedroom, to put on top of the cushions.

  Phil’s furniture was pretty much like his clothes – nothing compared to Rick’s chairs and drawers, for instance... With the money he drew from the students in bribes, it was only natural that he could afford a wide-screen TV, a leather couch and so on.

– “Are you feeling better?”

– “Much better...”

  Phil only meant to make him feel warm and comfortable but he was really good with his hands, and it was very much like foreplay. Barefoot, lazily spread out on the couch with his shirt off, Scott only pretended to be angry at the people who had forced him to leave the Paddington Hotel.

– “They had no right to do it... Do you think I should sue?”

– “Can you afford it?”

– “Meh... I don’t even care. I will just tell everyone about them... That will be some advertising.”

– “I thought that your room was paid by your employers, anyway.”

– “Right. I will call my boss, first thing tomorrow morning.”

– “Don’t you think that... he may already know about it?”

– “If he knew, why didn’t he tell me? I can’t even get him on the phone.”

– “How long have you been in Biberton? Two months... Almost three.”

– “That’s right, three months.”

– “He must want you to go back to work.”

– “Huh... Really?”

– “You should definitely check it out.”

– “Kicking me out in the streets, just to get me back in that crummy office? How much more passive aggressive can you get?”

  Scott’s question couldn’t be more rhetorical. Phil was the very incarnation of all the opposite virtues: active and gently persuasive. Under his touch, Scott felt plump in a really good way – like a ripe fruit, ready to be plucked...

– “It would be too bad, if you had to leave.”

– “I know...”

– “If you had a place to stay, would your boss let you keep working in Biberton?”

– “Honestly, I have no idea... The way I see it, he was never interested in this case. When I first came here, Michael’s death was meant to be an accident.”

– “That’s true...” Phil sighed, trying to comfort him a bit further.

– “And mister Huggins being strangled so viciously... I bet that it will be filed and wrapped with enough red tape to call it another accident when someone like me mentions it again.”

– “I’m afraid so. Most of the evidence has been lost when the gardener’s pavilion caught on fire.”

– “And that last attempt to poison me...”

  Scott was growing angry again. His stomach was also growling, almost as the first witness interested in that case. It was getting a bit late. At the hotel, Scott was usually half-way through dinner, by that time.

– “Again... No serious piece of evidence that you could... Wait!”

– “Wait? What... Wait for evidence?”

– “No, no. Just... Think about it for a moment.”

  Phil moved swiftly, then the two of them were in a sitting position.

– “Okay... So?”

– “You were right. Going to Rick’s place wasn’t the thing to do. You should be in Rick’s place!”

– “...What the fuck are you talking about?”

– “I mean... You shouldn’t spend the night in Rick’s apartment. You should be at the hospital already. Just like him.”

– “Oh...” Scott tried to follow. “Wait... why?”

– “If someone from the school tried to poison you, he only meant to silence you.”

– “Killing me would do it, for sure.”

– “Considering how intoxicated you were, they were going for a lethal dose... I should have brought you to the hospital at once.”

– “I’m not even sure that I would have made it to the hospital, really.”

  Scott was quite sure of it. Phil wrapped his big, muscled arms around him in a bear hug to make him feel better.

– “I know... You can tell that they didn’t expect you to survive. I have examined the six boys we have at the hospital. There are traces of cardiac glycosides in their blood... Digoxin, I believe.”

– “Dingo what?”

– “Digitalis, Scott... Foxglove.”

– “Is that a violent poison?”

– “Not in such limited amounts. They were sick, of course, but in no real danger. You were poisoned with ricin. Different MO, really...”

– “How about Rick?”

– “I don’t understand what came over Rick. He was on a sugar high, no doubt about that... But I haven’t detected any poison.”

– “What do you suggest, then?”

  Phil rose from the couch, and turned to look straight at Scott.

– “Do you trust me, Scott?”

– “You’ve already saved my life once. You know I trust you.”

– “Okay... Now, imagine that someone goes to Rick’s office, tomorrow morning, and finds you on the floor... just the way you found him, this morning. How could they ignore it? What would they think?”

– “If mister Scupper is the one who finds me, he will only be too happy to claim that the school’s ghost has come to take me.”

– “Then you would be at the hospital, under the school’s responsibility.”

– “And under your care.”

– “That’s right.”

  Scott understood how this would be to his advantage. With a little bit of luck, he wouldn’t even have to call Mr Horn. Someone in Augustine Bells, most likely Mr Porkenham himself, would call his boss and report him sick.

– “Let me think it through... Why would someone step inside Rick’s office? You only need to get behind the desk to open the gates.”

– “That’s true... I am still convinced that someone will go to the back, and he will pretend that he was only there to open the school’s gates, later, if the Police interrogates him.”

– “Is that a hunch?”

– “Call it a hunch if you want, but didn’t you remove an important clue from his office, on our way here?”

– “The key...”

– “Someone will be looking for it.”

– “Or the money...”

– “What money? Oh...” Phil thought about it. “That’s right. There were dollar bills all over Rick when I saw him, back there. Where is it?”

– “In my coat. I took it all, before I joined you.”

– “Did someone see you take it?”

– “I couldn’t say...”

– “Who knows that you have it?”

– “Just you and me. And Rick. I told him about it, at the hospital. He asked me to keep it... But I have to agree with you, that’s two reasons for someone to go back into that office.”

– “Then it’s settled.”

– “Huh... Do I really need to get sick like him?”

– “You only need to look sick. All you have to do is remember how it felt and act on it... You’ve been there, you’ll do just fine.”

  Phil extended his arms to catch Scott’s hands in his big paws.

– “Besides... We’ll work together on this. With the right drug, your pupils can be dilated or contracted, your mouth can be foaming without putting you in any danger. It will be so convincing that the whole school will be shocked... No way they can ignore what happened to you, then.”

– “I see... That’s good.”

  Scott liked where this was going – and where they were going together, since Phil was leading him to the kitchen. He patted his growling belly lovingly.

– “All we have to do is to stuff you full like a Thanksgiving turkey, before tomorrow morning...”

■ ■ ■

 – “Ready for more?”

  Scott could hardly keep up. He already knew that Phil could cook, but he didn't expect him to be such a master chef. For the last three hours, Phil had been going back and forth between Rick’s kitchen and his own – where the poor, future victim of Ian’s ghost was gorging on the most delicious food.

  Rick kept four dozen eggs in his fridge, and two pounds of sliced bacon. They were long gone, and resting inside Scott’s stomach after Phil had prepared them in a number of ways, from scrambled to hard-boiled and stuffed with tuna sprinkled with lemon and lots of mayonnaise. A large Southern omelet followed immediately...

  Phil sliced onions and chicken breasts to serve Scott another plate of spicy fried chicken with grits. Then he prepared six magnificent cordons bleus with veal, ham and cheese, and a casserole of pasta on the side. 

  Scott had allowed him to wear an apron, but that was it. Phil didn't mind... As he moved around him so swiftly and seductively, he clearly knew how to keep a hungry boy hungry for more.

– “Hmmmph... Oh my God! This tastes so... Hmmmph!”

– “Told you...”

– “Where did you get fresh fettuccine like these, so wide and so thick?”

– “Get them? I made them myself.”

– “How?”

– “From scratch... Eggs and flour.”

– “Seriously, who makes fresh pasta like that?”

– “Always be prepared, Scott. That's the secret. You never know who may be coming to dinner. There you go, have some more sauce... Now, if this recipe doesn't help you to gain weight, nothing will!”

– “Hmmmph... Better look full than look like a fool.”

  A true Southern boy at heart, Phil was cooking a lot of typical, delicious fried dishes for his friend... He came back with a plate in each hand.

– “Well done, Scott! But you're not quite done. Have some more pasta and ham. You want to look your best, tomorrow...”

– “I can barely... breathe already.”

– “Pace yourself, if you have to. But it’s almost time for burgers.”

  Scott let out a sigh – or what he thought would only be a sigh.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRP!”

  Phil rubbed his bloated belly with both hands.

– “Good job...”

– “I should tell you the same. I didn’t know you were such a great cook!”

– “Thank you. Okay, now I'm blushing... Don't make me blush, Scott... Eat up and make me proud. Eat more and be proud!”

– “It’s all too delicious... for my own good.”

– “That’s the spirit, for tonight. Now, now... Keep eating.”

  Scott devoured a few more pieces of fried chicken. He felt a bit strange. The top button of his jeans had just popped opened.

– “There you go...” Phil encouraged him. “More room for you to grow.”

– “You really want me fat... don’t you?”

– “I really do. And you know why...”

  For some reason, he felt hungry all over again.

■ ■ ■

  Scott had rarely eaten so many burgers in a row. A few members of his team had goaded him once, and he had devoured them while they were clocking him, but that was regular, junk food. Phil’s burgers were bigger and tastier, a lot more filling... and a lot more nourishing!

  Scott couldn’t help thinking that the only thing Phil had in common with most of the guys he had dated was how he was pretty much the same in the bedroom and in the kitchen... Everything about Phil was somehow bigger and tastier – and definitely way more filling.

  He had to draw the line after burger n°8. They kept coming with such a variety of ingredients, cheese and dressings that Scott only wished he could go for more... He would probably burst like a sausage before he grew tired of this – it had to stop before he could'nt make it stop.

– “I’m stuffed...”

– “You’ve done really well.”

  Always the cuddly teddy bear at heart, Phil was rubbing his friend’s round and enormous belly in long, caressing circles. He was obviously proud of him.

– “Time for desserts?”

– “Time for bed... I need to rest.”

– “Are you in pain, right now?”

– “Of course I am.”

  Phil was looking at him like a doctor – caring but professional. Scott could try and protest, be he wouldn't fool him.

– “Okay... I feel full, and it hurts. I just don’t want to be sick.”

– “Neither do I.” Phil handed him a smoke. “Okay, then... Take this.”

– “Is that... what I think it is?”

– “You bet. It’s the genuine stuff, too.”

  Scott kept his lighter in his coat, but he wouldn’t get up. Phil drew the first puff and gave it to him. A few minutes later, Scott had a smile on his face. He was feeling comfortable again. Belly rubs didn’t hurt either.

– “How’s that working for you?”

– “Like a charm... Fuck! This is the best weed I've had in years... How did you get your hands on it?”

– “Medicinal stuff. Homegrown too. Didn’t I tell you about this?”

– “Did you? I can’t remember.”

  His mind was growing slow and fuzzy. It felt nice. It felt right.

– “So... How about desserts?”

– “I don’t know... Huh... Okay, I guess...”

  Phil was ready with a large box of cupcakes. Scott ate greedily.

– “Hmmmph... So good! I want more... Feed me another. How did you get your hands on these bad boys?”

– “I bake these.”

– “Do you, really...”

– “You made fun of me about it, this morning.”

– “Did I?”

– “And you were right. I often help our community service, baking pies and pastries to raise money.”

– “Oh... Right, you bake pastries to raise... Children...”

– “It’s for the children’s hospital.” Phil chuckled, never missing an opportunity to stuff Scott with another cupcake, when he was gaping absent-mindedly.

  The box was empty sooner than expected. Fortunately, Phil usually kept a few boxes at his place. He brought them to the hospital, every day, where they were always eaten – and sometimes paid for.

– “There you go, Scott. Time for some chocolate cake...”

– “Did you bake it too?”

– “I guess. We work in teams, you know...”

  Judging from the cake’s remarkably rich taste and texture, and the fact that it was all soft with chocolate mousse on the inside and hard with a thick layer of dark chocolate frosting on the outside, it was definitely Phil’s cooking.

– “Hmmmph... This is so good I could just die.”

– “Please don’t. I want you to be back and healthy after tomorrow.”

– “You’re one hell of a baker.”

– “Thanks...”

– “And cook...”

– “That's right.”

– “Pasta, bacon, chocolate, pastries and weed... Perfect combo.”

– “Wait for my special brownie recipe...”

– “Well... I’m definitely baked. I need to take a shower.”

– “Okay. Let me help you with your clothes...”

  Phil had to help Scott with a lot more than his pants and underpants. The tall, overfed young man could hardly stand up. He could hardly walk, and he couldn’t see the door to the bathroom.

– “Why are the walls so close, tonight?”

– “This isn’t your bathroom, Scott. You’re no longer at the hotel.”

– “No kidding...”

  Scott’s shower was quicker for it – but with Phil taking care of him so well, he was already turned on to the point of passing out.

– “Let’s get you to bed, big boy...”

– “Yes please.”

– “You can have some chocolate cake and ice-cream there... won’t you?”

– “God... I’m so stuffed.”

– “I’ve seen how much you can eat, Scott. You can afford to eat a little bit more... Look even fuller when they find you in the morning.”

– “I really couldn’t... Too tired to eat...”

– “Come on, let me feed you the rest of that cake.”

  Phil was both gentle and insistent. As he kept feeding his friend more and more, he would check that his stomach wasn’t too upset. Scott was confused, but he could tell that the cake on Phil’s bed looked really, really big – delicious, for sure, but way too big for him.

  Once he was resting on his back, he felt a bit better. Phil massaged his aching belly so well that the fat boy started moaning.

– “Time to eat... There, grab a bite.”

– “Hmmmph... Hmmmph!”

– “And another slice... That’s good.”

  Scott was feeling fuller and fatter with each new bite. One big slice was okay, but he couldn’t keep eating forever. This was just too much.

– “I need to take a break...”

– “Okay, then... Take a moment to breathe.”

– “I, huh... I need to stand up.”

  Looking for a way out of the bedroom, Scott found himself standing against the wall, in a recess where Phil hanged his shirts and T-shirt. He was still in that delightful haze... His blonde Southern friend was already behind him. Phil embraced him tight, so he wouldn’t trip and fall on the floor, but he also teased the round-bellied boy to keep him motivated and stuffing his face.

– “Come on, Scott...”

– “I couldn’t possibly eat the rest of it.”

– “Let’s make it a game... You finish it, and I will reward you in every way you like.” Phil whispered into his ear. “And I know which ones you like best...”

– “Please... Don’t...”

  It was impossible to resist Phil when he behaved like such a bad boy.

– “You will come back to bed and eat until I say you’re full, then I will make love to you until you beg me to stop...”

– “Didn’t you promise to be... gentle with me?”

– “I did.”

– “With what I feel between my thighs right now, I think it would be less painful for me to be impaled on a flag pole.”

– “I know...” Phil sighed, and embraced him tight. “Don’t worry about it. There are drugs to make you feel relaxed, more drugs to make you look sick, even more drugs to keep you healthy... I have the right stuff for this.”

– “Poppers? I’d need something a lot stronger, really.”

– “Don’t be such a baby.”

– “That’s easy for you to say... I wonder how you can even carry such a loaded gun, and you expect me to handle it?”

– “All right, then. Be a baby boy, but be a good boy. And eat your cake.”

  Scott felt trapped, somehow – but in such a good way that he didn't want to be set free. He was slowly out of the mists, and he couldn’t deny that Phil kept turning him on even more than he would ever let him or anyone know.

  Rubbing his belly, Scott came to the conclusion that he loved being stuffed so much – especially when a sexy blonde bear was there to hold the spoon and feed him full of cake.

– “You know what? Bring that bucket of ice cream to bed...” 

■ ■ ■

March 13^th, 1990 – Tuesday

  Scott would have no problem acting his part, in the morning... Waking up so early, after a night spent in such shameless bouts of gluttony, lust and ecstasy, he wasn’t quite sure that he would ever walk again.

  Phil woke up too early for the fat boy's taste. He was used to eating breakfast around 6AM, but he would find it already prepared. And he would go back to sleep before breakfast number two. Then he would go back for a nap... His Southern friend had to feed him more scrambled eggs, sliced ham and grits, more pie and cupcakes, and more chocolate éclairs. He was too sleepy to eat... When they were done, Scott’s shirt wouldn’t close.

– “You could hardly look more convincing...” Phil congratulated him.

  With a quick pull, he took three buttons out of Scott’s shirt, where his belly was at his largest. Then they walked to Rick’s office, completely unnoticed at this time.

– “All right... I should be lying down.”

– “That’s pretty much where Rick was. Now, your shirt's buttons should be found here and there...”

  Phil made them bounce against the opposite wall. Scott had trouble moving, full and in such tight clothes. Once he was eagle-spread on the floor, Phil told him to keep his eyes opened and not move. He put a drop of something into each eye, then he gave a capsule to Scott.

– “Keep it in your hand, for now. When you hear a noise by the desk, put it in your mouth. But don’t swallow it.”

– “Okay...”

  Scott had to wait for some time. It wasn’t even 7AM. He had to lie still, but he didn’t want to fall back to sleep...

  Being inside Rick’s office had never felt so boring. Staring at the ceiling didn’t help. Scott let his mind wander a bit. He kept thinking about Phil, but he couldn’t think too much about him or his pants would feel just so painfully tight as his shirt.

  With those drops in his eyes, he could only guess that the sun was rising from the colors and shadows on the wall, and on the ceiling. At some point, he heard footsteps. Thinking fast, he put the capsule inside his mouth. It started foaming like a very powerful aspirin.

  For a moment, he regretted that he could only see things in a blur. He was curious to find out who would find him there. Would it be a student? A teacher? Or Mr Porkenham?

  The door was slowly opened... Scott heard a startled cry. Whoever was there must have noticed his legs, stretched out as they were.

  He wouldn’t take a chance. With his mouth full of foam, he moaned as if he was still asleep, or protesting in the middle of a nightmare.

  Someone was definitely approaching.

– “Oh! No, no... It’s that young journalist.”

  Scott had recognized the voice. It was Mr Scupper.

  So much for that – it was hard for him to hide how disappointed he was, and lie still on that cold floor. The old man wasn’t calling anyone for help. He was merely mumbling and talking to himself.

– “Is he dead? He looks...”

  Scott couldn’t get up or move, but he was more than tempted to slap the guy. Finally, Mr Scupper turned to the phone and called the hospital. No matter what he would say, Scott was saved... Someone would come and take him. That was already something.

– “Just like mister Wingrave... This doesn't feel right.”

  What did Mr Scupper mean by that? Scott’s interest was suddenly peaked... It was hard to tell, but the old gardener had to be looking for something. After a moment, he dialed another number on the phone.

– “Mister Porkenham... Yes, it’s me, mister Scupper... Yes, it’s rather early. I’m afraid that we have another incident to report. Another victim, sir... Yes, another victim of Ian’s ghost! Two nights in a row... I can’t even... Where am I? In the security office, Sir. I was... I was looking for my cufflink... My left cufflink, yes... I have been looking for it yesterday evening. This morning, I remembered about the incident in mister Wingrave’s office, and I thought... No, I wouldn’t trust a cleaning lady with this. And you know why... The victim? Oh... You will not be pleased, Sir... It’s that young journalist. I’m afraid he’s dead... Yes, very much like mister Wingrave... He looks stuffed to the point of bursting, really.”

  About an hour later, Scott was in ICU with Phil. The doctor was worried, but only because everyone in Augustine Bells had been so slow to call and allow the ambulance to take him. At least he would be safe now.

  Resting alone in a relatively narrow but comfortable bed in Biberton’s general hospital, Scott let out a contented sigh. Nurses kept coming to check on him, even nurse Vickers. Scott appreciated the attention.

  At some point, before noon, Phil came back to see him – alone. He looked tired, but he had a winning smile on his face.

– “You made it...”

– “We made it.”

– “What do you know... We’re good at being partners.”

– “We’re the best.”

  They were looking into each other’s eyes. This morning was so bright and full of hopes. Phil made sure that the door was closed, and leaned to kiss Scott on the lips.

– “What was that for?” Scott blushed.

  Phil handed him a file, with his name on the cover.

– “Call it the kiss of death.” He answered jokingly.

– “Huh, then why did I feel like Snow white in a glass coffin, just now?”

– “Look at these...”

– “I don’t understand medical stuff.”

– “According to your file, you were saved right under the buzzer. Whoever or whatever assaulted you kept you barely breathing for hours, then you were so stuffed with food that your heart stopped and you were clinically dead for about two minutes and a half.”

– “Good Lord... You went all the way with this. How did you get nurse Rockwell to sign these papers? And nurse Vickers? And... even nurse Brinell?”

– “That’s right. They signed these, just as they signed a bunch of other files, for other patients. I type most of the reports, and they hardly read through it.”

– “But, didn’t they notice something in the operating room?”

– “I often work alone in there. They only joined when they were done with their own tasks. They didn’t suspect a thing.”

– “Impressive. Then it’s a miracle...”

– “Hardly. That’s what we would call a close shave.”

– “Come on. I died. I was pronounced dead and came back from the Beyond. This is epic! Take a volcano erupting during an earthquake, with wildfire in the forest on top of it...”

  On second thought, that would be more accurate if he wanted to describe his time in bed with Phil, last night.

– “All right, all right.” Phil chuckled. “You certainly look healthy and well for someone who just came back from the dead.”

– “I sure do... I’ve never felt so full and heavy. And I’m hungry now.”

– “You may have to wait for a few days, Scott.”

– “Why?”

– “Trust me on this, patients who recover from that kind of shock rarely show a big appetite... You know I would rather keep you well-fed.”

– “Right... Then I should look sickly for a few days?”

– “Just take some well-deserved rest.”

– “Okay... Wait, how about brain damage?”

– “Sorry?”

– “If I was clinically dead for almost three minutes, I must have lost a great deal of brain cells. Does this mean that you and I will be just as dumb, from now on? Some partners, huh?”

– “Ha. Ha.”

  Phil kissed him again. It was a more passionate kiss, already.

– “Boy... You are the best and worst doctor I have ever met.”

■ ■ ■

  In the evening, Scott was allowed to make a phone call from his bedroom. He had been thinking about his boss all day. Now that he was out of the Paddington hotel, Mr Horn would probably expect to find him on his way back from Biberton, back in his office by tomorrow morning maybe.

  That wasn’t going to happen. He had to talk to him.

  Scott only got to Mr Horn’s secretary. He didn’t recognize her voice. She must have been hired recently.

– “I need to talk to mister Horn, really.”

– “All right... I will see if he can come to the phone.”

  After a moment that felt like a whole hour, he heard his boss again.

  He really didn't miss that voice any more than he missed the man...

– “Where are you, Scott?”

– “I’m still in Biberton. I’ve left the Paddington hotel...”

– “I know.”

– “You already knew? Did you ask them to kick me out?”

– “I didn’t. I only told them that if they wanted it so much, they could go for it with my blessings.”

– “Oh...”

– “Why are you still loitering in that godforsaken place?”

– “I’m at the hospital.”

– “For the love of... Okay, what’s happened to you, this time?”

– “I’ve been poisoned.”

– “Poisoned, huh...”

– “I’ll be under observation for a few days.”

– “Doctor’s orders?”

– “That’s right.”

– “Well... You do what you have to do, then.”

– “I only wanted to tell you, Sir... Don’t expect me to come back when I’m out of the hospital. I have to finish my job in here, and I’m not leaving Biberton.”

– “So what? Stay in Biberton, if you think that’s the place to be.”

– “I may be here for another month, I guess...”

– “You’ve already been there for three.”

– “This is a more serious case than we expected. Far more serious... I couldn’t possibly be back before the end of this month.”

– “Forget about it. I don’t want you to go back to your old job.”

– “...What did you say?”

– “You’re fired.”

(To be continued...)