The Augustine Murders - Season 3, Episode 4

 III.4

                 “...en ósviðr maðr
                     kann ævagi 
                     síns of mál maga.”    

    
                 (...but the glutton never knows 

                     how much his belly is able to hold.)

 Poetic Edda

Hàvamàl, 21

March 15th, 1990 – Thursday

  Scott lay still on his high, white hospital bed. He was staring at the ceiling. It had to be the least interesting thing in the world, and he stared at it with loathing. He knew every last minute crack on its nice, clean surface... He had connected all the dots and fine lines he had spotted, made maps of the resulting figures and gone exploring on those islands and shores – discovering or conquering one vast continent, with shadowy mountains, flowing rivers and disputable borders... It had to represent the Kingdom of Boredom, surrounded with various realms such as Frustration, Despondency and Contempt, with Anger and Envy treacherously lurking in the background. At this point, Scott could feel angry for no reason. Only he knew he had every reason to be angry.

  That empty ceiling opened never-ending landscapes to his imagination, like mist spreading over a snowy desert. There was practically nothing else he could do but look at that ceiling, right now, and he hated the sight of it.

   Wandering and getting lost in that white blizzard of plaster was better, however, than getting lost in his own thoughts... Scott was supposed to look sick and exhausted... and stuffed to the point of bursting – when he had only eaten too much and too fast, all night, with the help of a friend who had the means and motivation to cook delicious food, lots of it, and keep him overeating until he almost passed out – so he could claim that he had been supernaturally forcefed, like Rick... Even then, his physical condition was not so severe. Any comparison with the school's security officer would make him look rather weak.

  Scott knew that the poor guy was no longer in ICU, but he was still under close observation with respiratory aid during the night, at least to prevent sleep apnea.

  Now, with the six students sent by Saint Augustine Bells and put to rest together in some sort of improvised dorm at the hospital – after it looked like they had also been properly, forcefully stuffed, maybe poisoned too, but with no real threat to their lives – Rick’s case was still a mystery, of course, but it wouldn’t be considered exceptional. It was only reasonable for Scott to think that his own case wouldn’t be considered at all.

 

– “Way to blend in with the team...”

 

  Scott had already proved he could be quite the greedy “city boy”, as he visited Biberton and enjoyed its many tasty, local products – with such a large choice of the most refreshing beers and delicious foods in such abundance that Scott’s jeans size had gone from a relatively loose 30 to a painfully tight 34 in only two months. Home-made cakes, pies and pastries, among other goodies, had finally forced his leather belt down to its very last notch, and it was desperately close to surrender...

  Or it would be if Scott wasn’t wearing one of those awful, loose hospital robes during the day. Since he always slept naked, even those were on the floor, next to empty boxes of cinnamon rolls and chocolate frosted doughnuts... There were three more boxes waiting for him, within hand's reach – of course, Phil would never let his friend run short of pastries.

  The blonde doctor was always so considerate, but he was just so clueless as one may be. Underneath those boxes, he had left a copy of the morning newspaper, the Biberton Bugle. Scott remembered his visit to their office, a few weeks ago, and how disappointed he was because they didn't keep records ancient enough to provide him with information he needed. It didn't look like he could apply for a job either, as he was vaguely hoping. No available position corresponded to his profile.

  Scott let out a sigh. He wasn't interested in the local news, and it put him ill at ease like a painful reminder of his own failure as a journalist. Phil didn't know, but it was a clumsy move on his part... Scott reached out and grabbed another big doughnut. He had been munching on those all morning. It didn’t even feel like a distraction for him, at this point. He kept on eating and only noticed how much he had put away when there was nothing left in the box. Then he would move on to the next box.

  And yet, no matter how much he was stuffing his face, no matter how much weight he may have gained, Scott's “supernatural experience” was only a trick, which felt worse for being fake. Rick was still unconscious and he wouldn't comment on it. The six sick students may have been told about him, maybe not – in any case, it was almost certain that they didn't care. Only Scott knew that he didn't belong in this peculiar group of dangerously overfed young men.

  One way to prevent it from eating him inside like this was to devour everything in sight... Maybe Phil leaving so many tasty snacks by his bed was part of some sort of therapy? 

  He certainly felt better about himself when he was comfortably full.

  The only detail in Scott's story that would raise suspicion was how he had been found delirious, seemingly unconscious and almost suffocating to death by Mr Scupper, exactly where they had found Rick earlier that day: same place, same situation, same position, same lack of a logical explanation. It was one of those cases where lightning could strike twice, which caused people to ask more questions when answers were nowhere to be found. 

  There were no clues to help his investigation, as to the how and why and who had committed those crimes. Not a shred of evidence – crumbs didn't count.

  Scott may have stuffed himself just a little bit less than the obese Head of Security, but he was not poisoned – not this time... He wasn't so sure that the others had been poisoned either. The school may issue an official statement for the parents and the other students, that didn't make it true... Everyone's experience was questionable, at this point – except Rick's. Scott was there. He knew what he had seen, and he could start from that point on.

  He only had to wait so he could interrogate him. In the meantime, he should look like the second victim of the same aggressor. For a moment, Scott wondered if there could be enough pastries in the whole hospital for him to look convincing. Besides, Rick could probably not even look at another honey-glazed cinnamon roll, no matter how delicious it would feel on his tongue, while Scott was scarfing them down by the dozen. 

  Even Phil understood that he wasn't supposed to eat so well and look so healthy. Leave it to a Southern dumb blonde like him to recommend moderation to his patient then provide him so much comfort food at all times, from timbits to three-layer chocolate cake, with such generous and wholesome meals served in his room four times a day... Even at the Paddington Hotel, Scott had never enjoyed such a vast buffet selection for breakfast! Only they had to keep this a secret... Phil knew exactly where Scott's room should be located – one story above the hospital's kitchen, in an aisle where he would be alone and quiet, with ready use of the dumbwaiter lift.

  It allowed Scott to pass as terribly sick, for a few days. It also allowed Phil to join him, after hours, and spend the rest of the night healing him in the best possible ways Scott could think of.

  Phil trusted him to look the part for the rest of the staff and eventual visitors from Augustine Bells, but even he was genuinely worried when he found out that his friend kept tossing and turning in his bed all day, that he hardly noticed when someone was in the room or that he hardly said a word when a nurse helped him to put on clothes and take a short walk outside. If he expected Scott to act like a difficult patient, look tired and pretend that he wasn’t hungry, everyone else agreed that the young journalist was definitely quite sick – and grumpy!

  Unfortunately, Phil couldn't help so much when he wasn't there. And he was busy somewhere else, most of the time. 

  Scott had spent three nights and days at Biberton’s General Hospital, and nobody suspected a thing – least of all, the truly shameful secret which Scott kept to himself. His old boss Mr Horn had fired him. Just like that, over the phone. 

  That was his final decision. He had finally hit rock bottom. Hard. Scott felt awful. Even he was more graceful in the way he used to dump his dates or short-term girlfriends, back in his glory days, when he was the rising star in his Football team.

  Finding himself without a job, once again, brought back so many unpleasant memories that he didn’t need to fake it and look sick... Why did his boss send him to this godforsaken town in the first place, to cover such a dreadful non-event, investigate in murky waters so deep that he would drown, assuming sharks didn't go after him as soon as he made his presence noticeable? Was it meant to be a trap, from the very beginning? So much for a way out.

  Scott’s anger made him devour another large doughnut in three bites. He was already feeling rather stuffed, but he couldn't care less... These may be his last tasty doughnuts in Biberton, if he had to leave soon.

  For all the bad blood between them, Scott couldn’t understand why his editor wasn’t interested in what he had to report. Maybe Michael Astern’s death didn’t sound like much of a case, as mainstream news goes, but there were a few elements that were too disturbing to ignore. Then Mr Huggins’ murder may not be front page news either, but still another mystery surrounding Saint Augustine Bells. Someone should investigate. Scott felt like someone had to. He had found enough evidence to start building up a solid case... Why wouldn’t they let him go for it, do his job and find out the truth about that weird school for the wicked weird?

  More unpleasant thoughts kept crossing his mind... Scott understood that the movers and shakers who kept the place running would want to sweep everything under the rug. He was itching to kick and cause a scandal, make the whole thing burst like a bubble. During visiting hours, Scott had asked for Sheriff Maxwell to come and talk to him privately, but he wasn't available at the moment. Scott was also hoping for Mrs Astern to help him. A woman in her position could make his boss change his mind, then he could keep his Press card. He kept trying to reach her over the phone, but he couldn’t even get to her secretary. Was she too busy to take his call? Angry and frustrated, Scott couldn’t admit that she may have lost interest in solving her own son’s murder...

  Then maybe that was his fault. His first articles had been refused or badly edited. His reports to Mrs Astern were honest and thorough but maybe not too convincing... There were so many obstacles in his way, it was only natural that Scott had made little progress so far. People always expected to get positive results by the time they had finished expressing their demands. Scott was disappointed too... He wasn’t a professional detective, after all. He wasn’t much of a journalist either, to be honest.

  Being fired was the last straw. Was it simply bad luck, or his own undoing? Was he really such a failure? Scott had taken his sweet time to proceed with this case, while he enjoyed life as usual – with as much good food and opportunistic sex as he could get, late hours in bars or club-houses and long hours in bed when the sun was already up – just following his own nature, really... There were still only twenty-four hours in a day. One would have to be a magician to unlock such mysteries in less than a week.

  Scott was down to his last doughnut, in the last box. He gave it a little push, so it slipped from the edge of his bedpost and fell on the previous one on the floor.

   The overfed young man let out one last sigh, and suddenly realized how thirsty he was. His tongue was all sticky with frosting. He looked at the jug of milk on his personal “breakfast buffet” – empty... And there was no orange juice, apple juice or pineapple juice left either.

 

– “I've told Phil about this... How am I supposed to finish breakfast with only half a gallon of milk and a few pitchers of juice?”

 

  He took a look at the clock. The hospital should be buzzing like a hive, right now. It was time for him to put on his robes and go for his morning tour. Maybe he could find someone to talk to. And maybe he could find his way to the kitchen, where he knew Phil kept all his favorite flavors of Biberton Brothers' brews in store...

 

■ ■ ■

 

  Scott knew his way around the building. As he proceeded down the halls, on ground floor, he followed his own intuition rather than the directions or the signs on the walls. It allowed him to eavesdrop on the staff when they discussed medical stuff, or patients whey they talked in private – as long as he managed to pass by swiftly, silent and stealthy.

  While he couldn't be compared to a mouse in any way, Scott was getting really good at this game. In any case, it was the only kind of adventure he could go for at the moment, on his own.

 

– “You never know when and where you'll find a clue. Most clues don't even look like anything you'd be looking for, anyway...”

 

  The least conspicuous place to meet someone was the library. As it was pretty much at the other end of the hospital, Scott would always be caught with a book in his hand. He kept borrowing books and bringing them back, as an excuse for his morning errands. He hardly ever took time to read them...

  Unfortunately for him, there was no one in the library at the moment. Scott put his book back on its shelf and grabbed two others, without even looking... One big, one thin, that would do. He didn't want to carry an entire Encyclopedia around all day.

 

  Doctor Lipton was in his office. Scott didn't have to get too close to the door. It was closed, but the old man's voice was naturally booming and quite clear. He was having some sort of conversation with Phil, and he didn't sound at all pleased about it.

 

– “For the last time... I had to negotiate all day on behalf of the Hospital, but you can only say no to these people so many times!”

– “I understand, Sir...”

– “You ? Understand ? Don't make a fool of yourself even more... That last call from their headmaster may well be the last time we hear from them. What then?”

– “I... I don't know, Sir.”

– “I can't hold myself accountable for your mistakes again!”

– “I'm very sorry, Sir.”

– “Sorry won't cut it, soldier!” Dr Lipton paused. “We've all been very lenient with you, young man. Very patient... Well, not anymore.”

 

  Scott heard a soft thud, like a mass of papers falling on the desk.

 

– “This will be your new schedule, until further notice. Morning calls... Afternoon calls... Surgical procedures and operations to be performed in the next few days. Late hours... Night shift... Any questions?”

– “No, Sir.”

– “No more to discuss, then.”

 

  Phil must be about to leave the office. Scott moved a bit further away.

 

– “One more thing, soldier...”

– “Sir?”

– “In this instance, I am willing to accept your version of the events, because you happened to be the on-call doctor that night. As for the way this situation may unfold... you, and only you, will be held responsible.”

– “Yes, Sir.”

 

  There was one last moment of pause.

 

– “There may be a way to settle this. I'm not in favor of arrangements made on such terms, but if it comes to that...”

– “Sir?”

– “Now that you have brought him in, that meaty meathead... What's his name... Windbag?”

– “Wingrave, Sir. Richard Wingrave.”

– “Yes. What is his condition right now?”

– “He should be out of harm's way, but he is still shocked...”

– “So he is. Well, in the meantime, Saint Augustine Bells has to carry on without a Head of Security.”

– “Mister Wingrave is certainly not fit to perform his duties. He should remain under observation until he recovers from his... assault.”

– “Quite. One man down, you of all people know how it goes.” Dr Lipton paused again. “The board of administration would consider it favorably if you offered to replace him, on a part-time basis.”

– “Sir...”

– “This would be a temporary position, of course. You can't possibly spend all day on school grounds, but you could go for a round of observation every morning and every afternoon. They will find a way to hire someone to replace mister Wingrave, eventually, but they need some quick and efficient action. What do you say?”

– “I wouldn't want to be rude and turn down your offer, Sir, but... with this new schedule, I can hardly think that I could fill Rick's shoes.”

– “No one asked you to step in his place!” Dr Lipton yelled at Phil. “This came out of the blue, and I'm afraid that we can't let them down. Your current schedule is certainly not compatible with their demands, so we will work on it together... ”

 

  Scott had a hunch that Phil's daily activities and working hours would be decided as part of some team effort – only he would be the last to know about it, and no one asked for his opinion in the matter.  

 

– “Trust me on this, I've tried. When they suggested this, I reminded them how you're already working part-time for them. Then I reminded them how dumb and clumsy you can be, sometimes... You know, just to get the ball rolling.”

 

  It was quite possible that Dr Lipton meant Rick.

  Scott was under the strange impression that taking him to the hospital, stuffed fuller and larger than a beach ball water balloon, was considered a blunder on their part, especially on Phil's part – as if a doctor like him could ignore such a strange case of physical abuse...

 

– “I understand, Sir.”

– “Then, if I may add a suggestion of my own...”

– “Sir?”

– “It would look a lot better for everyone involved in this, if you gave them a call. Today.”

– “Yes, Sir. I will...”

– “I will reconsider your working hours at the hospital accordingly. In the process, it would be appreciated if you resigned from your previous job as a male nurse for the students in Saint Augustine Bells. You should expect to be offered this new, part-time job immediately, and the board of administrators won't have to spend any more of their valuable time on... well, this whole mess.”

 

  Scott moved even further away from Dr Lipton's office. He opened the door to an empty room and waited there for a moment. Phil was coming out with a stack of papers and files in his hands. He looked flushed and confused... When he was gone, Scott went on his way down the hall.

 

– “I should have a good talk with Phil, too.”

 

  As he turned the corner, he saw a number of large trays of pastries carried by people wearing the school uniform, to be delivered in one of the waiting rooms. It was one of those quiet observation rooms with windows in every wall, capturing the maximum amount of natural light.

 

– “Now, now... What do we have here?” 

 

  Just as he had been looking for them without success for the last two days, Scott could tell that the sick students from Augustine Bells were resting together in there. When the school personnel was gone, he found the perfect spot to take a look into that room without attracting anyone's attention. Sitting in an armchair next to a potted palm tree, he only had to look like he was reading his book.

  The teenage boys were lying on recliners, in a white room with a large bow window opening on to an interior garden. It looked like a Japanese garden, a well-combed dry landscape garden, with rocks of various sizes and one tall pine tree.

  Their chairs were surrounded with large boxes of snacks, doughnuts and toaster pastries, to go with soft drinks and piles of comic books. No surprise there... They had a visitor, at the moment. Scott backed off immediately, when he saw Mr Swayn talking to one of them – who had to be German. Scott didn't understand a word, but he got the picture.

  And such a picture was definitely worth a thousand words...

  The educator was encouraging him to keep eating. It looked like he was coaching him, with some insistence, when the sick boy already had his mouth full... Wearing only a loosely opened bathrobe, like a prizefighter, he looked very chubby and his cheeks were positively puffy from all the Strudel and whipped cream that was forced on him.

– “Du musst täglich reichlich essen, von allerhand vortrefflichen und nahrhaften Sachen, um dich gut vollzustopfen! Wir werden dich kräftig heranfüttern, damit du mehr und mehr zunimmst, immer mehr, und eine gehörige Speckschicht auf deine Rippen bekommst.”

 

  The six boys around Mr Swayn were stuffing themselves like piglets eating from their personal troughs. It was fascinating and frightening at the same time. Scott couldn't take his eyes off that scene in front of him. Thinking about it later, he found it a bit sickening...

  It could hardly be compared to any official pie-eating contests Scott had ever attended. These boys kept on gorging themselves, only taking a moment to pause and let out a long belch. Going from one boy to the next, Mr Swayn had a few more words of encouragement in German for the underdog of the group.

– “Unsere Köche werden euch immer mehr füttern und mästen, damit Sie schnell Fett ansetzen!”

 

  When the last piece of Apfelstrudel, pie or chocolate cake was gone, Mr Swan made the boys stand up from their recliner chairs. It didn't look so easy for them... Finally, Scott could take more than a peak. Standing straight with their bathrobes opened like this, there were six enormously round and overhanging bellies almost as if on display. It made the young man blush – and feel a little self-conscious about his own size.

 

– “These kids are even more obese than I thought...”

 

  Scott didn't feel like loitering, and he was already on his way when Mr Swayn was still patting the six boys' bellies appreciatively.

 

– “Time to rest... Weigh-ins and measurements tomorrow morning.”

 

  Rick's bedroom was on the fifth floor. Scott didn't have to wait too long for the lift, but he heard the machinery struggling and groaning on his way up. Maybe he should take the stairs, on his way back...

  As he was about to knock on the door, Scott heard a feminine voice. Rick wasn't alone. One of the nurses was tending to his needs – but it sounded like she was scolding her patient, rather than comforting him.

 

– “I can't imagine how you pulled it off, but I will notify Doctor Lipton about this at once. There will be consequences in your treatment too.”

– “I swear...” Rick's voice was raspy, low and muffled somehow, as if he was still chocked up. “I haven't eaten anything for breakfast. I didn't eat a thing at dinner last night, or after dinner.”

– “A young man like you should know better. I have never seen such a case of the munchies, not even with the six students we have in custody at the moment.” 

– “You have to believe me, Nurse Rockwell... I haven't asked for a meal, or snacks, or drinks, since I've been brought here. I swear, I'm not even hungry...”

– “Then how do you account for this ?”

 

  Scott heard a slap – not on Rick's cheek. Loud as it was, it had to be on his belly.

 

– “That's why I need to talk to the doctor. Now...”

– “Doctor Lipton is very busy today. With your employers, no less.”

– “I meant Doctor... Huh, Graham. I mean, Phil. What's his name?”

– “Doctor Hewdge's schedule is even busier than Doctor Lipton's.”

– “Tell him, please. I need to see him... Talk to him...”

– “What should I tell him, really? Your stomach is full to the brim, and your breath smells of beer and bacon and crisps, and chocolate frosting. Obviously, you have found your way to the kitchen, last night.”

– “I haven't left my bed. I can barely...”

 

  Nervous as he was, Rick suddenly broke off – interrupted by a long, loud, obnoxious and booming belch...

 

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRP!”

 

  Scott moved away from the door, just in time. Nurse Rockwell wouldn't say a minute longer with such a helplessly rude young man.

 

– “I will recommend that your bedroom stays locked at all times. And you should remain bound to your bed. And no visitors...”

 

  That was just Scott's luck. He couldn't sneak in and talk to Rick, now.

 

■ ■ ■

 

  Back in his bedroom, Scott felt a lot better. He had every reason for it. Number one: he could tell that Saint Augustine Bells was buzzing all over the place, as if someone had stirred up the hornet's nest. With Rick and him, and six students at the hospital, all the bees in the hive seemed to be looking for a way out. Number two: something was happening to Rick, something strange he couldn't explain but he was determined to find out... Number three: Phil had prepared another large lunch or brunch for him, Southern style. 

  The platters where placed just the same for Scott's breakfast and late dinner, presented like a buffet: pimento cheese sandwiches and cracker spreads for appetizers, crispy fried chicken and fried okra for his main course, with fried green tomatoes, spicy shrimp and grits, black eyed peas and collard greens, then cinnamon roll king cake, chocolate chess pie and peach dump cake for desserts...

  Scott rubbed his stomach, as it was growling hungrily.

 

– “How can I stay mad at that dumb blonde bear when he treats me like this? And with two six-packs of my favorite beer...”

 

  There was a jug of mint julep ready for him. Scott raised his glass.

 

– “Okay, then... Time for action.”

 

■ ■ ■

 

  Scott took his time to finish his meal. Everything tasted so good. When he was done, he took the platters, salad bowls, plates and cutlery, put them together into a big pile then loaded it lazily into the dumbwaiter, to send it back to the kitchen downstairs.

  Going back to bed, he felt better that he didn't have to wear pants or underwear.

 

– “BUUURRRP! Ooof... I could go for a nap.”

 

  Laying in bed, he took a moment to take a deep breath and relax.

  Reading might do the trick. Scott had come back from the library with a collection of Tales by Edgar Allan Poe. He opened the book, and started with William Wilson.

 

“In truth, it was a dream-like and spirit-soothing place, that venerable old town...”  

 

  Scott could relate to such a feeling.

 

– “I don't want to leave town... Ghost or no ghost, it would haunt me if I did. I could never go back to my old Life. Not like this, not after all this.”

 

  There was a discreet knock at the door. It had to be Phil. Nurse Brinell knocked like the rhythm section of a jazz band, which made sense since she was always humming some kind of cheerful tune... Nurse Rockwell didn’t knock. She opened the door without warning her patients. Nurse Vickers wasted even less time on civilities. She only gave directions to visitors, without leaving the front desk.

  Scott remembered that he was supposed to look sick and tired – and grumpy. He let out one last, short belch and brought a frown to his face.

  It was Mr Swayn.

  Somehow, Scott's eyebrows and lips were definitely set into a frown. His pouting expression of repressed anger, impatience and disgust was a lot more convincing.

 

– “Good afternoon, mister Girder. May I come in?”

 

  Still grumpy, as if he was wallowing in dark thoughts, Scott groaned.

 

– “Sure... Take a seat. I was hoping for the doctor, really...”

– “It may be a bit early for them. I was just looking after our students, with their attending physician. I have to go back to my office at school, but I thought that I could pay you a visit on my way out.”

 

  Maybe Scott could get him to talk – but he had to be cautious. It was not like Mr Swayn to go out of his way to help or check on a stranger.

 

– “How are they holding up?”

– “It is too soon to tell, but their condition seems to improve already... With some reasonable amount of physical exercise, and specific tests to be run soon, I believe they should be fine and back to class in a matter of days.”

– “Is that so... Very well, then.”

– “How are you recovering?”

 

  Scott let out a sigh. He was genuinely worried.

 

– “Honestly? I don't know. Maybe I should join your group of students, if they're doing so well...”

– “I wouldn't recommend it.”

– “Why not?”

– “As I said, these are... very specific tests.”

– “How specific?”

 

  Mr Swayn sat back in his chair.

 

– “I don't know if you are familiar with the sigma-1 receptor system and its antagonists.”

– “Huh... I can't say that we've been formally introduced.”

– “In layman's terms, the sigma-1 receptor is a chaperone protein that is part of the endoplasmic reticulum.”

– “...Okay...”

– “As a transmembrane protein, it has been implicated in medical research several for a number of phenomena such as bipolar disorders, including depression and schizophrenia, cardiovascular problems and the effects of drugs.”

– “Huh huh... Serious stuff.”

 

  Scott hardly understood a word in all that technobabble. For starters, why would proteins need a chaperone? 

 

– “It is a vast and fascinating field of research... On the side, sigma-1 receptor antagonists have recently been considered in the treatment of binge eating disorders.”

– “...Binge eating?”

– “Binge eating disorders and abnormal eating behaviors, to be precise.”

 

  Mr Swayn had a way to tie the most simple things into a knot. At least Scott was beginning to understand what it was all about.

 

– “Sigma-1 receptor proteins tell your body when it should feel “full”, so you stop eating and let your metabolism run its course. As most things genetic, they can be deficient or absent from your system at birth. It is naturally quite rare but, in such a medical condition, a subject will find himself never feeling sated, no matter how much or how compulsively he is eating. So he would feel prompted to keep eating.”

– “Just like that?”

– “It is a far more complicated process, of course. Sigma-1 antagonists are studied in the treatment of opioid abuse, but tests are currently performed laboratory rats and mice, with very promising early results.”

– “Rats and mice...”

– “You have to start somewhere. Would you believe me if I told you that the same experimental tests with beetles provide similar results?”

– “Beetles? Really?”

– “Of course, beetles have an exoskeleton and a fast metabolism, so the bloating effects are quite different and not so representative. Better stick to the Rat Pack, don't you think?”

– “So... what happens to them?”

– “Lab rats? In this test case study, most of them found a way to stop overeating before their tiny stomachs would burst. I have to say that our results are still inconclusive, but we're at the early stage of the process.”

– “I see...”

– “This would fit perfectly with our Quiet Diet policy... Think about it, a treatment that would put our students on rehab, enhance their appetite, increase their potential, reduce their metabolic inhibitions and alleviate the symptoms of their disorder. They would be fully functional and well-adjusted to society...”

 

  Scott would only remember that “most of them” making it out alive meant that a number of those rats had stuffed themselves too much, choked and dropped dead... He couldn't tell if Mr Swayn made much of a difference between mice and men – or between junkie teenagers forced to eat in binge patterns and lab rats subjected to a new generation of drugs and too much food for their own good...

  In any case, he smelled the rat.

 

■ ■ ■

 

  As night was slowly descending upon the trees and buildings, Scott still didn't feel comfortable enough to take a nap. Mr Swayn was gone, but he had left quite an impression on him. When Scott closed his eyes, he could only picture tubby rugrats running in a glass cage, with legs too short for their oversized potbellies, and forcefully inflated like water balloon by some mechanical contraption to the point of bursting, while a mad scientist was towering over them, making announcements in some fantastic foreign language and cackling with a sharp accent...

  That made him wake up with a start.

 

– “Why did the mad scientist have to be German?”

 

  He was running a cold sweat. As he went on thinking about Mr Swayn's twisted College science fair project, with none of the technical terms and big words he was so fond of, Scott admitted that he couldn't imagine what would happen if he was enjoying a really great meal and there was no way to know when he should stop.

  When his plate was licked clean, he leaned back in his seat and he was done – but what if food kept coming and piling up on his plate?

   When everyone else got up from the table, he followed them and went back to work or something – but what if he was alone to eat and all the food was meant for him? Wouldn't he lose track of time?

  Then, what if there was no sign coming from his own body? No twinge or pinch or pang in his stomach to tell him that he should feel sated, bloated or “full”? Would he keep stuffing his face? And what if he was facing an automatic force-feeding machine, like the one they were hiding at school? Would he get stuffed until his belly exploded? 

  Scott felt dizzy, after such an insanely high dive in the dark...

 

– “They're crazy... That's it. That school is one scary, crazy place... And now I feel hungry.”

 

  There was a discreet knock at the door. At this hour, it had to be Phil.

 

– “Good evening, Scott. May I come in?”

– “Sure... I was hoping for room service, really.”

 

  The doctor was always so efficient as he was discreet. Clean-shaven, except for his sexy hillbilly mustache and goatee, his golden blonde hair a bit too long for his line of work, Phil looked too innocent and too guilty for words at the same time...

 

– “Ask and you shall receive, then... I was hoping that you may find some room for cookies and a glass of milk before you go to sleep.”

– “Cookies and milk?”

– “Warm milk... one bottle. Cold milk... another bottle. Chocolate-chip cookies... with a bucket of ice-cream, of course. And timbits. And pie.”

– “What kind?”

– “Apple pie.”

– “Is it fresh?”

– “I baked it early in the afternoon, you know... It's...” Phil looked up to Scott with a smile. “My special recipe of spiced toffee crumble caramel apple pie?”

 

  Scott let out a long moan of shameless, unrepressed delight.

 

– “Good God... Phil, you're the Devil but I forgive you. Come in.”

 

  As Phil joined him with “some milk” – which, for a guy like him, meant a tall glass and almost a gallon to drink – there was that sweet scent of apples, salted butter toffee and hot fudge about him. Scott could almost purr, as the Southern doctor was offering such a large box full of goodies to his favorite patient.

  With a timbit in his hand, covered with icing, Phil came close to him.

 

– “Okay, then... Open wide.”

– “Hmmmph...”

– “And another?”

– “Hmmmph, hmmmph...”

– “You sound hungry tonight.” Phil fed him two more timbits gently. “So hungry, I could growl... I was too confident about the amounts of food I cooked for your lunch. That wasn't enough to satisfy your appetite?”

 

  Scott nodded and grumbled, like a pouting child. Phil kept comforting him with his soothing voice.

 

– “Another handful?”

– “Hmmmph... More!”

– “How about some cookies and ice-cream? There will always be more timbits for you, later...”

– “Okay.”

 

  The greedy boy enjoyed the crisp feeling of freshly baked cookies, as he grabbed a bite, then the sweet and creamy goodness of vanilla ice-cream slowly melting in his mouth – then the soft contact of Phil's lips against his, in a long kiss where he teased and massaged Scott's tongue with his own.

  It made him moan again, begging for more – and smile.

 

– “Finally...” Phil commented, kissing his cheek before another spoonful of ice-cream. “There you go, enjoy...”

– “What do you mean, “finally”? Hmmmph...”

– “Feeling a bit better?”

– “Hmmmph... Sure. Why?”

– “According to nurse Brinell, you've been “grouchy” all day, yesterday...”

– “Grouchy?”

– “That's what she said... That's what they were all talking about, over their morning coffee. Is there something bothering you?”

– “I don't enjoy staying in a hospital. Who likes hospitals anyway?”

– “Come on, there’s nothing you need to be worried about. You’re doing fine... What’s wrong?”

– “You’re the doctor. You tell me.”

 

  Phil gave him a few more cookies to munch on.

– “I have to say... I had no idea that you were such a comedian. I’ve never seen anyone in such good health look so sick and tired.”

– “What do you know, I guess I am sick and tired... Tired with all this.”

– “Now, now... You're certainly not getting tired of these.”

 

  Scott would never turn down such delicious pastries and ice-cream.

 

– “It’s boring, I know, but it’s only for a few more days...” Phil rubbed Scott's tummy in long circles, warming him up with his big paws. “Then you will go back to  normal... Back to the grind.”

 

  Scott flinched then growled as he gulped down. Phil was too good at this guessing game – and making him grind.

  When the last cookie was gone and there was little ice-cream left in the bucket, Phil invited Scott to lay in bed for his next treats.

 

– “You didn't look up the news?”

– “No...” Scott took a moment to breathe. “You know what? It's all your fault. Why do you keep bringing me the morning news, anyway?”

– “It's only the Biberton Bugle. I guess it was less insensitive than giving you a copy of your old newspaper...”

– “My old... what?”

– “The one you used to work for.”

 

  Phil was already holding him in his arms. He looked deep into his eyes, which caused Scott to blush again.

 

– “How did you know? I didn't tell anyone about this.”

– “Well... You didn't say a word about it, for sure, but anyone who would listen got your message loud and clear. You’ve been talking to your boss over the phone... Am I right?”

– “Huh huh...”

– “Is it that bad?”

– “Well... Good news is... He’s no longer my boss.”

– “I see.”

– “It was a suicide mission from the get-go. Mister Horn knew about it. That's why he chose me... I should have turned it down.”

– “Maybe so...”

– “In any case, it's over.”

– “Did you quit your job, or...”

– “No. I got fired.”

– “I'm sorry...”

 

   He gave him a hug then he kept holding his hand, like the perfect big brother. It came to him naturally. There was nothing more he could say or do for Scott, right now.

 

– “I thought maybe you would take a look at the job section.”

– “I didn't even think about it.”

– “Okay... Hungry for more?”

 

  Scott nodded. Phil fed him a few more timbits, while he kept the bottle of warm milk in his hand to wash them down.

 

– “Job hunting is really hard!” He complained. “And I'm not like you...”

– “What do you mean?”

– “I have to look and apply for a job, while people around here are hunting you down like... literally. Someone should tell them that there is no open season for bears.”

 

  Phil looked down and smiled. Scott knew how turned on he was when he called him a bear – or when he reminded him that he was quite the perfect specimen, which would make him one of a kind.

 

– “I have to juggle jobs to make ends meet. Even so, I barely scrape by, but you already knew that...”

– “Of course, but who could guess that you have so many skills? MD, field surgeon in the Army, now male nurse at Saint Augustine Bells... What next, security officer? Law enforcer?”

 

  Scott kept looking at him with a shifty smile.

 

– “Why, I was wrong... You have been following the news.”

– “Did you give them a call?”

– “I had to.” Phil let out a sigh. “It will be a patch-up job...”

– “Of course. I really don't see you as a prison warden.”

 

  Thinking about it, Scott pictured him more as an inmate, a convict – a delinquent of some kind. Captive and helpless... The best kind. Phil was still bringing timbits to his mouth, and he ate with a renewed appetite.

 

– “Are you suggesting that I wouldn't look good in uniform?”

– “I've seen pictures of you, soldier boy. I'm not saying you would look bad. It's just that you don't look the part.”

– “How so?”

– “I don't know, but you look nothing like Rick.”

– “You're not wrong... Besides, doctor Lipton doesn't approve. According to him...” Phil was remarkably honest about it. “He told them I looked too dumb to make it convincing.”

– “Too dumb, huh...”

 

  Scott wrapped his free hand around the back of Phil's neck. He was not so gentle in his touch.

 

– “You know what? Your boss is wrong.”

– “He is?”

– “Totally. Not that you wouldn't look dumb, of course... But that will do the trick. You should look dumb.”

– “I should?...”

– “That's what they expect. Don't even think about it. Go for it.”

– “Are you sure?”

– “It's not like it will be your first day at school. You already know them, you know the gist of it, and they know you for what you are...”

– “I guess you're right.”

– “It will work to their advantage. With everything they have to uncover, right now... or rather, hide to their students... I bet they will appreciate a security officer like you. Not just “dumb”. More like... clueless.”

– “Clueless... Okay, I can do that.”

– “Thinking isn't one of your strengths.”

– “Is that like... common knowledge?”

– “Pretty much. You should stop thinking about it... Stop thinking about anything, and just follow your instincts.”

 

  Phil didn't need to be told twice, when he caught Scott peeking at the chest hair sticking out of his shirt.

 

– “You're right. I'll take it off.”

– “Please... You should already be naked when you knock at my door.”

 

  It was only a matter of a few minutes. Phil never failed to provide such a good show. Scott could finally gaze at his body at full length... This blonde dude was a bit too bulky or too beefy to qualify for a swimmer's body. He was too hairy anyway – but such a massive, mind-numbing hunk of masculinity for Scott to catch and play with.

  Looking at his reflection in the mirror for too long would probably cause brain damage, if not total blindness. No wonder he was so dumb... 

  Scott couldn't help licking his lips, still tasty and sticky with ice-cream.

 

– “How about a good shower?” Phil invited him with a smile.

 

  At the end of such a long day, he was naturally glistening with a sheen of sweat, and his BO had an effect on Scott that was more effective and hit him harder than any aphrodisiac on the market.

 

– “How about that apple pie?”

– “Save it for later?” Phil smiled. “You know you'll be hungry again...”

 

  They had the decency to do it in the shower, so they could clean up and get dirty at the same time. While Phil was surprisingly quiet in action, as he did all the heavy lifting, Scott was often really loud. His bedroom was in that rather secluded part of the hospital for a reason.

  If anyone happened to knock or just open the door, Scott could always come out of the bathroom and leave his friend in the shower. There was no longer need for condoms, and they were safe from others as well.

  All in all, this was the best “safe sex” experience Scott could wish for.

 

■ ■ ■

 

  Unfortunately, they had little time for pillow talk after such a feat – and there was no room for two grown men like them in Scott's high, white hospital bed... Phil could only carry him and ease him to sink into sleep.

  Even so, they weren't running short on kisses and tongue play.

 

– “So... Good night for now?”

– “Good night...”

– “Do you think... I'll be all right, tomorrow?”

– “You will be fine, Scott.” Phil kissed him on the forehead, for a change, like a caring big brother. “You have nothing to worry about.”

– “Okay then... You will do fine too.”

– “I will?”

– “Be yourself. Look dumb, it's what they want. You know how things are run in Augustine Bells. With their big heads, their taste for the abstract and words too long to fit inside a book, they will feel more comfortable having someone like you at the gate, to protect them.”

– “I shall work on it, then. Do my best...” Phil smiled, aiming for Scott's lips with another long, wet kiss.

 

  Scott felt like he may be ready for more, when Phil brought a large piece of toffee crumble caramel apple pie to his mouth. It was simply to die for... The greedy boy devoured it in a few bites, and another piece of pie followed immediately – and another...

  They could keep on playing like this all night, but there were only a few timbits left. Scott felt comfortably full, at least. And spent.

 

– “I should let you get some sleep.”

– “Yeah...” Scott's voice was getting a bit blurry. “You know what you should do? For your new job...”

– “What should I do?”

– “Look tough... You need to look tough, like Rick. Like a big brute... You should work on that.”

– “Huh, okay... I'll think about it.”

– “Don't think about it. Just do it...” Scott teased him again. “Did you not listen? Do as you're told... Big, dumb blonde... bear.”

 

  Phil was about to leave, when the sleepy young man grabbed his hand.

 

– “Scott?”

– “Tell me... What will happen to Rick?”

– “I couldn't say. I'm only a temporary replacement, but... I doubt that he will go back to work. My guess would be that Rick will be declared no longer fit for duty.”

– “Are you sure about this?”

– “Yes.” Phil sounded genuinely sad. “I've seen it before...”

– “I see... You've been there, too.”

– “I know how it's done.” Phil didn't want to sound too negative. “Rick should be okay in a few days, free to go... I'm not sure that he will ask to get hired back into such a problematic job.”

– “I guess not... I'm worried about him, as it is.”

– “Why?”

– “Rick is not doing okay. Have you seen him today?”

– “Not since we brought him here, really... Doctor Lipton insisted that I focus on the students. Is there something wrong with Rick?”

– “I don't know... I wanted to check on him, but I couldn't. You should really visit him tomorrow.”

– “Okay, then...” Phil gave him one last kiss on the cheek. “We'll go and see him together, after your check-up in my office. Okay?”

– “Okay... Wait, what check-up?”

– “We have a ten o'clock appointment. Did you forget?”

– “No...” 

 

  Scott didn't even know what day it was. 

 

– “I will see you when I'm done with those six students from Augustine Bells. I figured maybe, if you happen to come in advance, you can spend a moment with them in the waiting room?”

– “No way...”

– “Who needs to know? Just be there... Casual, you know.”

 

  This was better than any interview Scott could ask for.

 

– “So... This check-up you have planned for me...”

– “Yes?”

– “What's it about?”

– “A complete, full body massage for starters...”

– “Oh, goody!” 

– “And weigh-in.”

– “Oh, crap...” Scott grunted again.

 

■ ■ ■

 

March 16th, 1990 – Friday

 

   Scott woke up to the smells of grilled sausages, scrambled eggs and slices of bacon, tall stacks of silver dollar size pancakes with honey and whipped cream, thick butterscotch toffee cookies, flan with caramel sauce, frozen yogurt and strawberries in a fruit salad, freshly squeezed orange juice, chocolate milk and a number of large pies, right out of the oven... It brought a broad smile to his face. Phil was treating him quite a substantial breakfast, once again.

  He sat down and started with a few cookies. Everything tasted so good that he didn't even consider how much food he kept stuffing in his mouth, or how fast he was feasting – positively devouring everything he could get his hands on... And Scott didn't feel particularly hungry, after last night!

  At some point, he understood why Phil had prepared so much food for him, this morning. Scott would join the sick boys in the waiting room outside his office. If he wanted to engage in a conversation with them, he had to look appropriately stuffed full...

 

– “Okay, breathe in... Belly out.”

 

  Wearing only pajama pants under his loosely tied hospital gown, Scott stepped into the waiting room only a few minutes before the boys were brought in. Nurse Rockwell raised an eyebrow when she saw him sitting in a corner, with his book, but she didn't comment on it.

  Scott waited for the six students to settle in comfortably. Their cheeks were always so chubby, as if they had just scarfed down an even fuller breakfast than his own – which would require truly enormous amounts of food... They couldn't find a good sitting position, and the chairs were all groaning under their weight. 

  Brad was sitting in the opposite corner, away from him... Scott didn't mind. They had a talk before, and the boy would see him over dinner at the Pounding Panda Bear buffet, as soon as they could get out of the hospital. It was more interesting to establish contact with someone else.

  The six boys were reading comics, except the one sitting next to Scott. He didn't know him. It was just his luck.

  He was reading a small black book, with the title printed in red letters.

 

– “You really are the curious type, aren’t you.”

– “Sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

– “It’s okay. Want to take a look?”

 

  It was a relatively light book, with ink blots and smudgy letters printed on cheap paper. Scott couldn’t get to pronounce the author’s name.

 

– “Okay... The Satanic Bible?”

– “Yes.” The boy grumbled. “And yes, it’s exactly what you think it is.”

– “I think it does have an... ominous ring to it.”

 

  The boy made a “so so” gesture with his hand.

 

– “Honestly, I’m disappointed... There are a few good things thrown in here and there, like chunks of black chocolate in cookie dough, but on the whole it’s rather tame. Not what I was expecting.”

– “Really?”

– “Give it back. I’ll read you a bit...”

– “Okay. What's your name?”

– “Huh... It's Duncan. And you're that guy, right?”

– “It depends. What guy did you expect me to be?”

– “I don't remember... You're a journalist, I think.”

– “That's right.”

– “See? I knew it.”

– “Is that so obvious?”

– “As if you were carrying a sign, or a card. You do that, don't you?”

– “Yes. I am a card-carrying journalist.”

 

  Duncan flipped through a few pages.

 

– “There it is... “Gluttony is simply eating more than you need to keep yourself alive. When you have overeaten to the point of obesity, another sin – Pride – will motivate you to regain an appearance that will renew your self-respect.” See? That is so... tame.”

– “Okay, lame.”

– “This is negative morals...” Duncan burst with the impatience of a young reader. “Negative morals? Still morals... So dull.”

– “Okay, dull...”

– “According to this guy, a balance between sins would provide the same results as a balance between virtues.”

– “Wouldn't it?”

– “If that was true, you could just so easily claim that Heaven and Hell are basically the same... If you find a balance involving all the sins you can fall into, you can't pretend that you live without sin. There is nothing daring about sins that would bring down other sins and put each other into perspective... A truly sinful system should make Gluttony and Pride work together, for instance, so that you feel prouder as you eat larger and larger amounts of food, and grow beyond all boundaries...”

– “Right... Now I see what you meant.”

 

  The boy was definitely edgy – round and soft as he was.

– “Nothing in this book comes even within spitting distance of “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.” Simple. Not stupid.”

 

  Scott repeated the sentence in his mind. It did sound better, a lot more striking and illuminating – dark, pure and brilliant, like a shiny piece of coal taken straight out of the mine.

 

– “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom...”

– “Key word: excess.” Duncan nodded. “There’s a thought that will keep you guessing for some time... That's genius.”

– “I must have heard it before.”

– “William Blake.”

 

  That name sounded familiar.

– “William Blake...”

– “It's one of the first Proverbs of Hell.”

 

■ ■ ■

 

  The boys were measured and weighed-in. They were well over 300lbs, so plump and tubby with quite excessive curves on their midsection...

  Phil was washing his hands. He welcomed Scott, closed the door behind him and completed his “good morning” with a friendly hug – and a kiss that was too passionate to be considered “friendly”. 

  Scott used to feel cold in a doctor’s office, with the usual white walls, tasteless furniture, depressing posters and pamphlets, potted palm trees and the complete set of glistening, sharp surgical instruments... This was different. With someone like Phil setting his lips on fire like this, he couldn’t care less about the room’s temperature.

  He stripped down to his underwear, and stepped on the scales. Scott had been there before, and his last weigh-in was recent enough – about three weeks ago... There was no need to tell him how much he had been eating or overeating lately – the well-fed journalist could only see the far edge of the scales, as he looked down.

  The dial spun around and finally came to an audible stop.

 

– “238lbs.” Phil answered a question.

– “No way!”

– “Not joking. That's what the scales say...”

– “Seriously?”

– “All our measuring equipment has been recently calibrated.”

– “How much is that since my last weigh-in?”

– “You weighed 205lbs then, so... about 33 pounds.”

– “I had no idea that I had put on so much weight!” 

 

  Phil wrapped a long measuring tape around Scott.

 

– “Honestly, Scott? I'm not so surprised.” He hugged him when he was done with the tape. “Think about it... First, you are still full from a pretty big breakfast, this morning.”

– “Oh... Yeah, that's true. Awesome breakfast too...” Scott licked his lips absent-mindedly. “I guess you're right. That was quite a lot of food...”

– “Did you struggle to clean your plates?”

– “I don't remember. Maybe so... You always cook such rich meals!”

– “Of course!” Phil smiled. “And you have grown... quite an appetite.”

  Scott grabbed his belly with both hands, and jiggled it for a moment. 

 

– “Also keep in mind that your weight was down to 205lbs only because the people in charge at Augustine Bells demanded that you go on a diet. You were fasting, and hungry.”

– “And grouchy, I remember... You're right.”

– “It's only natural that you gained back all the weight you had lost.”

– “Yeah...” Scott patted his sides. “Looks like it came back to haunt me, with a vengeance! Talk about rebound...”

– “We should get you weighed-in on an empty stomach.”

– “That's not going to happen anytime soon...”

– “Are you feeling... hungry?”

– “You bet I'm hungry! It's almost lunch time.”

– “It's time for your massage, first.”

  Phil was all cuddly again.

– “Oh... Well, I'm hungry for it. I need it too...”

– “I should think so. You are feeling a bit tense.”

– “It's those damn kids. They give me the heebie-jeebies.”

– “Because they keep growing fatter like they are doomed to a perpetual cycle of massive overeating and sleeping in captivity?”

– “No...” 

  Scott was impressed that Phil didn't shy away from the subject.

  It was a fascinating subject. Scott would have to think about it too...

– “I mean... They're just creepy.”

 

■ ■ ■

 

  Phil's massages were definitely what Scott needed most in his life – that kind of “happy ending” massage with warm-ups and foreplay by the table, deep rubdown and sensual moves all over his body, as he was lazily flipped over, and over and over again, amazing lips and tongue action completed with poppers to be inhaled before their third half-time in the shower – no wonder he was hungry for lunch.

  Fortunately for him, there were pies and pastries ready for him in the kitchen... As they went downstairs together carefully, stumbling a little and smiling as they tried not to cross paths with anyone, Phil kept holding his hand. He would hold him back too, when they were all alone, to fondle him with a few more kisses.

– “Why do I really feel hungry for steaks, right now?” Scott suggested, as he slapped Phil's tight pants.

– “It's not so easy to go barbecue indoors.” The dizzy blonde doctor responded all too well. “When you and I get some time off work...”

– “I've never seen you even take a break.”

– “Hey! I can manage, and take my time. Like this...”

  Phil teased him back, still holding him in a tight embrace, as he started massaging his tongue with his own in long, surprisingly unpredictable and sensual moves. It felt like a rerun of their previous massage games, like a clash of the titans watched on a small-screen TV. 

  Scott had to catch his breath.

– “Okay, now that's... Good micromanagement there.”

– “Maybe we should cool down a bit?”

– “Yeah...”

  Scott had a hunch that they could keep it up and do it in the hospital's refrigerated store area... He heaved a sigh of relief when Phil came back with a large bucket of ice-cream for him.

  The hospital kitchens had to be Phil's own little kingdom, with so many ovens and equipment and food supplies to help him prepare meals for the patients and staff, but also vast amounts of pastries and pies and other goodies for the local community.

  As he was gobbling down one pie after another, Scott saw him going swiftly back and forth, looking over large boiling pots made of stainless steel. All that kitchenware was of industrial size and Phil almost looked like a mechanic in the engine room of a steamer... 

  Modest as it was in its organization, with limited budget and a reduced staff, Biberton's Hospital could be proud that it didn't serve badly, highly processed food. None of that notoriously bland, inedible hospital swill...

– “No, Sir...” Scott mumbled, between a mouthful of home-made ice-cream and a mouthful of hot apple pie with caramel sauce.

  Phil was all sweaty again, but boxes and boxes of all kinds of pastries were piling up in front of him. He put them in the next room, for the people from the community service who had a key, as they would come by in the afternoon.

– “How are you doing, down there?” Scott asked with his mouth still full of apple pie filling.

– “I'm almost half-done with your dinner for tonight.”

– “Hmmm, hmmm?”

– “Sadly, no steaks. Sorry...”

– “Huh, huh... What's cookin', doc?”

– “You want me to give you a clue?”

– “I wish more people gave me a clue... Okay, one word.”

– “Italian.”

  Scott let out another long moan. His stomach even added a groaning bass line to his somewhat vocal marks of appreciation.

– “God, Phil... You are the Devil incarnate! Don't tell me...”

– “Tell you what?”

– “Don't tell me... another word.”

– “Lasagna.”

  Phil was changing shirt. He really looked like the Devil in the flesh.

  Scott couldn't possibly eat another bite – and his appetite was wet for more. He could hardly wait for his next meal!

– “You are the worst...”

– “Well... You know me.” Phil hugged him, and whispered in his ear. “And I know you...”

– “I could devour you.”

■ ■ ■

  Scott was right about Rick. Much to Phil's surprise, the former head of security at Saint Augustine Bells was not allowed visitors. He didn't even leave his room, bed bound as he was...

  Phil had a master key, of course. Unfortunately for them, nurse Rockwell was in the hallway as they were about to enter Rick's room. As soon as she saw Phil, she called out to him and the blonde doctor had to leave Scott. People would leave him alone around lunch hours, because everyone knew he would be busy in the kitchen, but it was after 2PM and they counted on him for a number of tasks at hand.

  Taking a deep breath before the door, Scott knocked and came in. He didn't know if he had to suck in his full gut or push it out... This was different. He didn't have to play games with Rick.

– “Hey there? How are you holding up, big guy?”

  Scott only heard a long and sleepy groan, first. It sounded pretty much like a pig waking up in his sty. Then Rick looked pretty much like a full-grown pig, laying in bed like this, with the covers up to his mouth. There was something strange about it, however... Scott couldn't quite tell, but he felt sorry for the guy.

– “Scott... What are you doing here?”

– “I've come to see you.”

– “Why?”

– “You know how curious I am... When I was told that no visitors were allowed to see you, I knew I just had to come by.”

– “Huh... Who told you about it?”

– “I heard someone talk. So it is true.”

– “It's worse. I'm not allowed to leave my room, now... As a matter of fact, I'm not allowed to get out of bed until further notice.”

– “How so?”

– “Would you... pull these covers down? They're itching me anyway.”

  It felt like an odd request, but Scott understood as soon as he rolled down the bed covers... Rick's wrists were bound to the bed frame with well-adjusted straps and cuffs.

  Pulling down the covers also brought Rick's enormous belly very much in evidence. Scott could hardly ignore such massive man boobs, with tits the size of Silver Eagle coins. A light sprinkling of dark hair covered them, from the deep crevice they formed over Rick's billowing belly, all the way up to his neck – or rather, the part of his chest connected to the thick fold of his double chin.

  With his hands tied, Rick's chubby fingers looked a bit red. They could easily be mistaken for German sausages.

– “Okay...” Scott sounded genuinely worried, fascinated as he was. “Why did they do this to you? What's happening to you?”

– “You're not going to believe it... I asked them to bind me like this.”

– “Let's assume that I believe you. Why did you ask?”

– “Because they didn't believe me. I mean...” Rick lowered his voice. “They didn't want to admit that I was telling the truth...”

– “The truth about... How you got here in the first place?”

– “Yes. But what's a lot worse... How I am still stuffed to my tits, when I haven't even looked at a doughnut for a week!” Rick sounded less raspy as he protested. “It's been a week, right? I've lost all sense of time...”

– “You mean to say that you feel just so stuffed now as you were then?”

– “I don't just feel it. I know.”

  Rick looked straight at Scott, almost defiantly.

– “Scott, can I trust you with this?”

– “Of course.”

– “Would you... Would you rub my stomach?”

  Scott raised an eyebrow. It didn't look like Rick was pulling his leg. Was his jutting stomach itching too? The fat man couldn't scratch himself, of course... Then it was a slippery slope if Scott started rubbing his sweaty paunch. What would be next? Fingering his navel? Punching him?

  If this was a joke, it certainly deserved a good punch or slap.

  He placed his hand on top of the obese man's stomach, slowly. As he was going to give it a few cautious rubs, he suddenly stopped... Scott was startled. He understood exactly what Rick meant. His stomach felt hard, hot and aching, as if he had just left the table after a really rich and filling lunch meal!

– “Wow... You're right. You stomach feels...”

– “Like it's about to burst!” Rick leaned back, snuggling even more into the pillows. “Told you... I am stuffed like I never thought possible.”

– “I don't understand.”

– “Neither do I... That's just how it is.”

– “You didn't eat something this morning?”

– “I haven't be eating for days!” Rick sounded pissed. “People keep asking me the same stupid questions... As if I would touch their hospital slop! Now they make me the hospital slob!”

  Scott didn't feel like contradicting him, at the moment.

– “Okay, Rick... Okay, I believe you.”

– “You do?” The chubby man turned his face, looking at Scott. “Thank you... I have to say, I would feel a lot better if I wasn't alone in this.”

– “Come on, you're not alone. I mean...”

  Maybe Scott shouldn't tell him how he had been admitted to the hospital. It could hardly be compared to Rick's predicament.

– “Phil will believe you too.”

– “You think?”

– “I'm sure of it. You have to tell him.”

– “I guess you're right... He's the only guy who cares for others in this godforsaken place. And he's so dumb, he would believe anything.”

– “How is that a problem?”

– “People would trust me even less if I ask the hospital's Santa Claus to convince them. I'll do better on my own. You have to pick your battles, and not turn them into a lost cause.”

– “Why? Because Phil is a Virginian?”

– “Huh? No, he's not... that kind of Southerner. He's just helpless here. Who cares? His opinion doesn't count.”

– “Maybe so, but we wouldn't be talking if I didn't have this.”

  Scott showed him Phil's master key. Did Rick fully understand what was going on? He would pay more attention to his friend's suggestions.

– “Okay, then... If you say so, I need to tell him... Where is our honey sucker Teddy Graham anyway? Why is he not with you?” 

– “Did you mean... honeysuckle?” Scott had little doubt that Rick meant exactly what he'd said. “He was with me but nurse Rockwell was around too, and she almost rugby-tackled him before we could come in.”

– “You guys have to come back, soon.”

– “We will.”

– “I mean it. To tell you the whole truth, I'm... afraid.”

– “What are you afraid of?”

– “Huh...” Rick didn't know how to put it. “Nightfall.”

– “What, are you afraid of the Dark? We're in a hospital, but please... What happens after nightfall?”

– “That's the thing... When it's late, and dark, and I'm alone in bed... I don't know how, but it must be when I get stuffed like this. Every night.”

– “Stuffed like... in your sleep?”

– “Something like that.”

  Scott felt the hair on the back of his neck raising.

– “And you don't hear someone entering your room?”

– “Nope... I wake up in the morning with my stomach stuffed like a fucking piñata. I feel the tastes of greasy bacon and beer in my mouth, but I can't remember eating or drinking during the night...”

– “So that's why your door is locked, now?”

– “Huh huh... And that's why I asked the nurse to tie me to my bed. When she comes back tomorrow morning and I'm... like this again, she won't accuse me of playing a trick on her!”

– “Okay... Okay.”

– “Maybe you guys can help, after all... I don't know how much more I can take. It's been a few nights and I already feel like a beached whale! Now I'm afraid...”

  Rick didn't seem like the kind of guy who would be so easily scared – at least not the kind of guy who would let anyone know about it.

– “Are you really.... afraid?”

– “Hell yeah!” Rick was dead serious about it. “I'm beginning to think that my stomach could burst at any moment, like... Ka-Boom! I spend my whole day in bed, trying to take in all that food and when I wake up in the morning, I'm stuffed to my gills... One more night in this Hell hole and I will be spilling my guts like you don't want to watch...”

 

■ ■ ■

 

  As he left Rick's room, Scott didn't know where to go. He didn't even know where he stood, at this point. Rick's testimony didn't make much sense, convincing as he may be... It was a lot to process, and he was more puzzled than ever.

  He had to tell Phil, but they had to be alone. No one else should know about this. Scott was wandering in the hall, daydreaming...

  The library was a good place to sit down and try thinking about all this more clearly. Scott needed some peace and quiet. 

  It looked like nurse Rockwell was still having some sort of argument with Phil. Scott understood that the news regarding his “promotion” as head of security at Augustine Bells was not well received. 

  Clearly, she was ignoring the subject altogether as she chose to nag him over the first petty matters that came to her mind. Scott thought better to stay away from such a scene. It was easier for him to hide and wait behind the bookshelves.

– “As if it weren't enough that we have to tolerate the way you dress and shave, or rather don't shave... What can you expect from a doctor with a goatee like this? And such long hair? I can't say I see a physician when I look at you... Besides, we hardly get to see you recently. Whenever we need your help, you are in the kitchen or somewhere... Never at your station, where you belong. Now Doctor Lipton tells us that you will work part-time?”

– “He may decide otherwise. We can't tell yet.”

– “We think you've been spending more than enough time around that school, and around these boys...”

  That last bit was a really mean sting. Phil did not exaggerate when he told Scott how careful he was to avoid such a touchy subject... He had every reasons to be anxious.

– “If you have to work as a temporary replacement for mister Wingrave, I should advise you to lose some weight while you are there.”

– “I beg your pardon?”

– “Everyone has noticed how you have been beefing up, lately. You will be working as a security officer. You know the students and they know you... If you don't put in some effort into this assignment, you are bound to fail again!”

– “I should look more... convincing?”

– “Forget convincing. You need to look intimidating.”

– “Look tough?”

– “That would be some improvement. How can you look “tough” when you have been growing soft and bulky?”

– “You're right. I will work on it.”

  Nurse Rockwell wasn't quite done with him but they were almost out of earshot for Scott, on their way to the operating room... He moved to the windows and sat down in an old armchair.

  He wasn't alone. Someone else was walking silently behind the shelves.

  It was Mr Scupper.

– “Why, mister Girder? Good afternoon.”

– “Good afternoon...”

  He wondered what the old man was doing here, at this hour.

– “Some temper she has, am I right?” Mr Scupper sat next to Scott, with a thin smile. “You would expect a nurse working with patients to be more patient... How are you doing today, mister Girder?”

– “Between you and me... I'm a bit at loss of words, at the moment.”

– “I am not surprised. I have been considering a few things too, trying to cast some new light and focus on the issue at hand.”

– “Things like...”

  Mr Scupper sat back in his chair, looking very much like a professor.

– “Something like modus operandi, since we are dealing with murder.”

– “Yes?”

– “There was something quite remarkable about Michael Astern's murder, and the recent incident with the other students. Even mister Wingrave...”

  Scott had to give up on his hopes of being considered in the same category as the other victims... He didn't insist. If the school's quirky gardener could come up with something that might help him unlock the riddle he had to unpick, he was all ears.

– “What about them?”

– “Have you ever considered, mister Girder, how murder by stabbing, firing a gun or strangling someone are almost the same?”

– “Really? I'd say they are really different...”

– “Each case may be different, but these fall into the same category. If someone was shot, you look for a bullet and a gun. If he was stabbed, look for a knife or some kind of blade. If he was strangled, look for a rope. In any case, you can take a close look at the wound and follow the same line of deduction.”

– “That's true.”

– “Then you see that we are facing a problem of a different nature.”

– “Because... there's no weapon involved?”

– “Not quite. We have already come to the conclusion that the question regarding the nature of the murder weapon is irrelevant, in this case.”

– “Okay...”

– “Have you been listening to me?”

– “I thought I was.”

– “Guns, ropes, knives and razors or whatnot... These would all be quick murders. No, no. We to take it slow... so to speak.”

  Scott had to think about it. The old fool had a point. He knew only too well that stuffing his stomach full to the brim took time... Forcing someone to eat until he would pass out and possibly burst would have to take all night. In Michael's case, Phil had told him how hard it was to establish a precise time of Death, based on rigor mortis alone, since an allergic reaction was involved and the analysis of stomach content was basically pointless.

– “You're right. Our killer definitely takes his sweet time...”

– “Quite unusual, isn't it? Consider how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. A closed room. No sign of forced entry. Murder after nightfall. No weapon involved. No marks on the victim's body. No trace of leftover food or containers... I am quite positive about the nature of the killer. He has to be a ghost, or some sort of spiritual entity we may call a ghost for the sake of clarity.”

– “But mister Huggins was strangled.”

– “Yes...” Mr Scupper frowned. “He was.”

  The old man looked angry at the victim, who failed to fall in line with his cooked-up theory. Scott didn't want to bother him. He had better things to do, on his own time.

– “I believe you are in the right track. For some reason, this ghost likes to take his time...”

– “He certainly does.”

– “Have you considered that... Maybe he didn't want to kill his victim?”

  Mr Scupper looked up to him.

– “Interesting... No, I didn't think about it like this.”

– “After all, the six students who are now in custody seem to be getting better. Rick did not die during the night either.”

– “You are correct. He didn't...” Mr Scupper grumbled. “Not yet.”

■ ■ ■

  

  Scott was done skimming through the job offers. The Biberton Morning Bugle was a third-rate newspaper, in his opinion, and he found himself with very limited options. What position should he apply for, if he could no longer be a journalist?

  That was enough to spoil his appetite. Scott wasn't much of a stress eater. He enjoyed his food and he took his time to appreciate a really tasty, wholesome meal. Besides, Phil was such a talented cook – and he made good food part of a far more intriguing, far more interesting, filling and fulfilling experience...

  And he had made a whole batch of lasagna, just for him.

  Scott could almost purr like a cat – like Garfield – when Phil knocked on his door and his nostrils flared as he took in the smell of that perfect marriage of layers upon layers of home-made pasta, sun-dried tomatoes and onions with plenty of ground meat, green peas and minced carrots cooked together with sliced mushrooms in a rich white sauce, then one last, thick layer of pasta on top, spread with marinara sauce and covered with melting grated cheese, still bubbling as it was generously sprinkled with spicy olive oil. 

  He wasn't actually drooling: his taste bugs were so excited that they were weeping with joy!

  There was enough food for a party of eight, but Scott felt like he could snarl and bare his teeth to anyone one who would dare to get close to his batch... Phil could tell – it only made him smile.

  At the end of such a long day at work, that easy-going blonde guy was quite content with celebrating the little joys and simple pleasures in life – like spending quality time with a handsome young man who appreciated his cooking and his company.

  Phil may be just so dumb as everyone made him out to be. Scott found him all the more attractive for being so simple, in his raw and rugged way, so naturally sensitive to other people's needs and feelings. Maybe he didn't have what it takes to think straight. Maybe he didn't have to think, when his senses were honed so fine that he could probably read Scott's thoughts as they unfolded – even more than he was ready to let on. Right now, Phil was serving him another large piece of lasagna.

  Scott's worries were long gone by the time he was done with his fifth helping... He was just hungry for more, and there would always be more for him. It didn't stand to reason, but he had no doubt about it.

– “I'm glad to see you eat so well...” Phil commented, as Scott was almost done with the lasagna.

– “Hmmmph?”

– “You told me this afternoon that you didn't feel so hungry.”

– “That was then. This is now.”

– “Pace yourself a little, and enjoy... There's no hurry.”

  He had a point. Scott paused to catch his breath.

– “BUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRP!”

  That was such a loud, rude and crude belch, the two men burst into laughter. Phil brought a towel to his friend's face to wipe off the oil and sauce, then he kissed him on the cheek.

– “Well done...” He whispered. “Make room for some dessert.”

  Then he kissed him on the lips.

– “Dessert?” Scott asked in a haze. “What's for dessert?”

– “Cheesecake.” Phil kept whispering in the most enticing way.

– “Oh, God... I mean, huh... What kind?”

– “Chocolate.”

  Scott only made a noise that sounded like a really deep growl. It grew even deeper and louder when his caring cook knelt before him with that baked goodness presented on a large plate. It had to be no less than 12 inches round and 4 inches tall, covered with butterscotch sauce. Leave it to Phil to make it well over 12 inches...

– “Oh you sweet, sweet Devil...” Scott cooed as he took a piece of cake in each hand and grabbed one huge bite after the other. “You wicked, wicked sweetness... ”

– “There's no need for you to eat so fast.”

– “Yes, there is... I feel that need. And I need more!”

– “Okay, there's more...” Phil offered another generous piece of cake.

  He saw that glint in his greedy friend's eye.

– “You want me to feed it to your mouth, don't you?”

  Scott nodded, his mouth still full but ready to open wide.

  Phil fed him a few more pieces in a matter of minutes, then Scott shook his head to tell him that he was looking for something else. Answering with a smile that was too hot not to get burned, the blonde hunk put the plate on top of a few pillows already thrown on the floor. He helped Scott get down on all fours, rubbing his full belly fondly as it was beginning to sag with the weight of all the food he had already devoured.

  Scott enjoyed being a pretty messy eater, at least when he was with someone who didn't mind. Phil didn't mind... He could tell. As he went on eating and grunting like a pig, he felt his friend's big paws fondling, kneading and slowly parting his buttocks, encouraging him to grow fatter and fatter... That big dumb blonde bear could hardly wait for his partner to sport a magnificent wide, round, plump and plush butt – for painfully obvious reasons.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”

  When he was finally able to breathe, Scott opened his eyes and noticed that they had moved back into the shower again, feeling the warm water still running all over their bodies.

  Standing behind him in the cabin, holding him in a loose embrace, Phil looked sleepy as if he was inviting him to go to sleep.

  Scott looked around and chuckled, waking him up.

– “The shower... In front of the mirrors... Against this wall... And this one too... The curtains... Throw pillows in that corner... And over there... Phil, do you realize that we've done it everywhere in this bedroom like... ten times, but not in bed?”

■ ■ ■

– “Well, I'm stuffed...” Scott rubbed his sides contentedly. “If you don't fill Rick's shoes, it looks like I'll soon fill his shirts!”

  Phil was pretty much tucking him into bed.

– “I don't know... Phil was really something at his job.”

– “Not like he's one of a kind! You at least can follow in his footsteps.”

– “We'll find out soon enough, what they've decided and what to expect.”

– “You should expect to lose some weight.”

  Scott cast an impish look at his friend, with a smile.

– “You think I should lose weight?”

– “Well, don't you? We're talking security, order and intimidation here... I've told you before, you have to look tough. Work on it! And trim down! I bet more people have told you about this.”

– “Yes, they have...” Phil let out a deep sight.

– “It's bad enough for nurses to be treating obese, overfed patients all day, but if you turn into one of those fat bears...”

– “Come on! I haven't put on so much weight lately.”

– “You're definitely a bit thicker in the middle.”

– “Yeah, I wonder how that happened...” Phil stroke his sleepy friend's hair, getting closer to kiss him again.

– “What can I say?” Scott moaned. “You're such a bad influence on me.”

– “How much, then?” Phil kept playing with his lips. “How much weight should I lose?”

– “10 pounds for starters, but you should aim for 15 pounds.”

– “Easier said than done.”

– “I know... It will be so hard!” Scott chuckled.

– “Will you help me with this?”

– “I will... Tell you what? For every pound you lose, I'll gain two.”

  Phil suddenly hugged Scott so tight and kissed him so hard that the fat boy slipped down in bed, almost losing his balance.

– “Let's face it, I'm not cut for Rick's job...”

– “Someone has to look after those weird, weird kids.”

– “Yeah... I don't know. Maybe you should apply.”

  The two men suddenly looked at each other in amazement.

  That was it. For days and days, Scott had been looking for a solution to all his problems when it was right in front of him.

– “I should totally do that.”

– “You could, but don't get your hopes up. We both know that they don't want you on the premises...”

– “Right... I can't get Rick's job, but I know what to do.”

  Scott had made up his mind that he would go back to his home town in the morning. He would set things straight, give back his keys and leave his old apartment. He felt the need to cut ties like that, but now he knew where to start again. 

  He had to call Sheriff Maxwell.

– “You're leaving tomorrow?”

– “I need to pick up my things. That's all. I'm not going back to my old life... and I'm not going away.”

– “Okay then.”

  Phil was about to leave him to sleep. Scott grabbed his wrist.

– “Don't go!”

– “What's up with you?”

– “Stay. Spend the rest of the night with me.”

– “You really need some sleep, and so do I... Honestly, I believe four times should be our limit for one night.”

– “Oh yeah? You should take a look at the mirror, big boy... And I mean take a look down. That remains to be seen...”

  Scott wouldn't just let him go. His friend sat down by the bed.

– “Are you afraid or something?”

– “Honesty? I am...”

– “You know I should already be gone.”

– “You aren't going anywhere tonight...”

– “Where do you want me to sleep?”

– “I don't care. Stay.”

– “Sleep on the floor, like a dog?”

– “Watchdog, maybe...” Scott blushed.

– “Forget it. I have to get up early.”

– “Okay, join me in bed. I'll move over... If you hold me, I won't fall off the side. Get behind me and wrap your arms around my chest, as you always do. It will be a really tight fit, but we can manage.”

  Phil held him tight, as Scott told him, but not quite as he expected.

– “I keep trying to tell you...” He whispered, kissing the back of his neck and gently biting his earlobe.

■ ■ ■

March 24th, 1990 – Saturday  

  Scott only spent a day out of town. He had to take his stuff and get out of his old apartment. The house cleaner left early in the afternoon and Scott's landlady looked pleased when she came to visit, so he would get his security deposit back.

  He didn't have to rent a truck. His mother worked in real estate. She had already made the call. Someone would take care of the furniture, in the morning. She wasn't available at the moment. Scott didn't mind. It was probably better that they only talked over the phone.

  Most of the pants and shirts in his closet didn't fit anymore. No need to put them in his suitcase or a box. Scott found a few clothes he had kept in the back. They belonged to his “bad old days”, when he had put on so much weight after his football injury and knee surgery... Somehow, his weight gain looked quite acceptable in hindsight.

  Once he was done with his most of his stuff, Scott looked for his hiding place, where he kept his most treasured possessions: spanking paddles, harness, cuffs, belts, wristbands and straps, leather pants and thongs.

  These last items looked brand new – they were no longer his size, but Scott kept his complete collection bundled together to serve some darker purpose. He wouldn't go back empty-handed to Biberton.

– “If I play my cards right tonight, I should also get my hands on a pair of Police handcuffs...”

 

  He couldn't wait to be back in Biberton.

  The Maxwells had invited him for dinner. The sheriff answered the door and welcomed Scott with such a smile that he wouldn't feel like leaving anytime soon. He knew he would be among friends – although he didn't expect Damon to wear a tight wifebeater over his jeans...

– “What happened to your shirt?”

– “A button popped out, last night. Maria will sew it back on again. She has to mend more of my clothes, so she told me I'd stay dressed like this in the meantime.”

– “Okay...”

– “I have already order my uniform in a larger size.”

  Scott expected to find Sheriff Maxwell with a few more pounds to his body, but he almost swooned as he let his eyes drift and roam all over those sensual curves. Damon had every reasons to be proud. Maria must have been cooking up a storm, lately – day after day to make him grow.

  Damon rubbed his belly with both hands.

– “So you can see, we're going to have a food baby... and I am proud to carry the love of my wife!”

  He flashed him with a bright, broad smile... Scott couldn't accept that Sheriff Maxwell was married, but he couldn't imagine him being single. He was too handsome for his own good.

  Maria was still in the kitchen. She came to greet Scott in her own way.

– “We really missed you, guapo...” She hugged him. “You should have joined us for dinner more often, but it looks like you've been eating well!” 

  Scott blushed, but he knew how much she appreciated a man who enjoyed to eat just as much as she enjoyed to cook.

– “So it was only a rumor?” Damon asked as he offered Scott a drink.

– “What rumor?”

– “That someone tried to poison you... Don't worry, this is tequila.”

– “I didn't know about the rumor, but it's true. ”

  He downed his glass in one gulp.

– “I got better...”

  With more tequila shots than Scott could count, the Maxwells invited him in their living room for a wide assortment of home-made tapas – tortilla paisana, pinchitos, calamares, boquerones, gambas, croquetas, empanadillas, patatas bravas, pimientos, aceitunas, sauteed mushrooms with olive oil and garlic, fried cheese and plenty of chorizo.

  As he was enjoying more than his fair share of food with Damon, Scott told him about his current situation. When he made it clear that he no longer had a job or a place to stay, they looked sorry for him and offered him to move on to the dinner table for a real feast.

  Scott also had to switch to beer or he wouldn't be able to follow his own thought. He had come to ask them for a favor...

– “You have such a healthy appetite!” Maria kept praising him.

– “Good thing you've made a whole pot of jambalaya...” Damon smiled. 

– “Jambalaya?”

– “Maria spent her entire afternoon on it, to cook the chicken, ham, shrimp and smoked sausages all together with onions, celery and bell peppers, carrots, tomatoes, corn, chilis and a ton of rice!”

  Sheriff Maxwell was literally licking his lips.

– “Wow... Did she cook such a meal because you knew I was coming?”

– “That's right, you're our guest of honor tonight.”

  Maria brought the pot to the table. There was enough food for a whole regiment of Marines, to get their spirits up if they were told to conquer Cuba on a dare.

– “That's for you, Scott. Eat up and enjoy!”

– “Are you guys not going to eat?”

– “Of course, we are. I get my own half of that cookpot in the kitchen.”

  Sure enough, there was just as much food for Damon.

  The two men sat down and, for the next hour, they gorged themselves full of rice and meat, shrimp, vegetables and more rice... Maria kept coming back with more treats: pita bread, taquitos, corn on the cob and so on. It was too delicious to turn down, but Scott could barely keep up.

  When he was done with his last spoon of jambalaya, he erupted into a particularly long, loud and crude belch.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!”

  The Maxwells were delighted. 

  Damon was already up and helping his wife in the kitchen, while Scott was still facing quite an intimidating abundance of food on the table. His stomach was so stuffed that he could leave his cup of dirty Margarita on top of his belly. 

– “Some guest of honor...”

– “You should be named citizen of honor!” Damon laughed. “In a beer-brewing town like Biberton, such a burp is considered high praise...”

  Maria couldn't agree more. She didn't want Scott to leave town.

– “We didn't have time to visit you at the hospital. Damon was working all day, and I...” She paused. “Maybe I will have a word with the people in the community service.”

– “Is there someone you know at the hospital?”

– “Just a guy who helps and works with my group of friends. He's collecting funds for the children's hospital. He bakes pastries and cakes or pies for us to sell... Not a bad cook either.”

  For a woman like Maria, that was high praise in itself. Scott knew it was well deserved too...

– “That's Phil. You guys know him?”

– “The guy with the pastries?”

– “He's not a baker, he's... Never mind.”

  Scott didn't insist. More food was already coming his way.

– “I would love to help, do some community service...” He suggested a bit sheepishly. “I was thinking, maybe, if you need another deputy...”

  Damon smiled. He was working on some hot caramel sauce for dessert.

– “Be my deputy, Scott? You mean to work with the Police?”

– “I would love to... It would allow me to stay in Biberton, and...”

– “Keep investigating those murders, right?”

– “Yes...” Scott blushed.

– “Of course, holding a badge would carry more weight than being a journalist, in the eyes of those people at school.”

– “Exactly!”

– “I'm not so sure... And if you want that badge, you will have to carry a lot more weight!”

  Scott blushed even deeper. He should have seen it coming.

– “You have to eat a lot more that this!” Sheriff Maxwell encouraged him to pile more food on his plate. “I need you to grow big and strong, if you want to be my deputy...”

– “I don't know how much more food I can put away... My pants are down to the last button, I've pulled them down twice since we've started dinner and my T-shirt is no longer riding up on me because it's ready to rip on both sides.” 

– “So? Take it off, if you have to, but you're not going to sleep without dessert. I think you will be a good addition to our local Police force, but show me what you got. Consider this as your job interview...”

  Scott gave a few pats to his belly.

– “Is this what you call “big and strong”? Because...”

– “I call it big. Strength comes in numbers. We'll weigh you in later.”

– “Okay...”

  Before he knew it, Scott cleaned all the plates on the table before him. When he was done, Damon came closer and put a hand on his shoulder.

– “Your timing couldn't be better, Scott.”

– “Why's that?”

– “I was actually looking for a deputy.”

– “What happened to Andy? I haven't seen him in a while...”

  Scott had only met Andy once or twice. He remembered a tall, handsome young man – remarkably overweight, well over 400lbs.

– “Andy had to leave... We had an agreement, and it was time for him to go. You can start next week, and everyone will be happy to see you in uniform.”

– “Why did Andy have to leave?”

– “When I took him up, he was a thin and insecure green kid.” 

– “Thin?” Scott could hardly believe it.

– “Yes, thin. Andy asked for our help to put on weight and grow much bigger, much stronger! And much fatter, of course!”

– “How much... bigger?”

– “Three hundred pounds.”

– “Yikes!”

– “On his last weigh-in, last week or so, he had just achieved his goal.”

  Maria joined them in the living room. Scott was feeling dizzy.

– “El hombre es débil.” she commented. “Y cuando ejerce la profesión de fuerte, es más débil...”

  Sheriff Maxwell encouraged his future deputy.

– “I've kept my eye on you. It's only been a few months, but you've made quite an impression. You've gained weight, you've lost weight, now you've gained weight again...”

  Scott didn't know what to say.

– “I'm taking you on your offer. You're hired. Only now...” He smiled, as it was time for desserts. “When Maria and I make you put on weight, you will keep the weight! When we make you fat, you will stay fat. And boy! are we going to fatten you up...”

■ ■ ■

March 19th, 1990 – Monday

 

  One night in bed with Phil was more exhilarating than a whole week on roller coasters at Six Flags. Insatiable as he was, Scott found himself so completely taken over by lust, teased and spoiled and pleasured in so many ways, he could barely keep up...

  In the morning, he could only come up with two thoughts. Number one: he had to up his game and take full advantage of his partner. Since Phil was such a strapping young man who looked and behaved so much like a bear, he would strap him down and tease him even further – tickle him, goad him, slap him and spank him, basically bait him like some kind of wild beast that can't possibly be tamed.

  Number two: they had to check on Rick as soon as possible. Scott was tempted to say “before it was too late”. Judging from the puzzled look on the doctor's face, he may have said it out loud.

– “Before it's too late... for what?” Phil asked.

– “I mean...” Scott blushed furiously. “We don't want a nurse to get in our way. Let's go see him right now.”

  Phil agreed. He had not seen Rick for days.

  The door to his room was locked. As he opened it, the early morning sunbeams made the two young men blink a little. Shining through the branches of the nearest pine trees, the sun bathed the bedroom in rich shades of orange.

  Rick was still fast asleep, and snoring, with an oxygen mask on his face and a number of tubes inserted in his mouth. Scott has seen him like this before. Phil was used to it. There would be nothing to worry about, if Rick's cheeks didn't look so... puffed out.

– “Okay, Scott... We have to be careful to wake him up.” Phil sounded genuinely concerned.

  He took the tubes away first, so gently as he could. Rick was still startled, as he suddenly opened his eyes and took a deep breath. It looked like he was struggling to breathe.

– “You guys made it. Thank you!” He groaned, with a sigh of relief.

  His voice sounded worse than ever, raspy and wheezing... Rick could only whisper, and he kept glancing around nervously. Phil was appalled as he examined him.

 

– “I was hoping that you were exaggerating... It's worse than I thought.”

– “Huh?” Rick tried to lift his head up, like a grossly oversized baby.

– “Please, keep calm... We're here to help.”

– “Graham?” The obese young man blink for a moment. “I mean... Phil? Did Scott tell you? Did you know?”

– “Scott told me, but I didn't expect this...”

– “Put your hand on my stomach.” Rick barked, looking very determined.

– “Okay...”

  Phil did just as he was told, careful and slow.

– “Feel it.” 

  Scott was amazed. Rick's stomach wasn't only jutting on top of the huge ball of lard that was his belly. It looked bloated and flushed. As he got closer, sitting by the bed, Scott could hear some pretty distinctive sounds – rumbling and grumbling...

  The fat boy's stomach was still working on digesting food, like a butter churn! Scott jumped to the conclusion.

– “Rick, you are stuffed!” He almost shouted.

  It was the only possible explanation, but fascinating to him. He blushed when he saw how his friends looked at him.

– “Well, duh...” Rick was more interested in Phil's opinion, for the first time ever. “Then you agree... You believe me. Look at my hands, look at my ankles. I'm still bound to bed, I didn't even ask for a glass of water... Now, I've been stuffed silly during the night. I can barely breathe...”

– “Don't move...” Phil took off his straps and cuffs. “There is no need to panic, now that we are on the same page. Tell us, Rick. About last night...”

– “What about it?”

– “What do you remember?”

– “Not much. I was going to sleep when nurse Rockwell left. That's it. Everything was just as it is...”

– “You didn't hear anyone trying to come in?”

– “No.” Rick made a effort and tried to remember something. “It's been a week. Every morning, I wake up and my stomach feels like I have swallowed a bowling ball in one gulp...”

– “Did you have a dream tonight?”

– “A dream?”

– “I don't know... A bad dream, if you prefer.”

– “I don't dream.” Rick scoffed. “Dreams are for sissies...”

– “Your stomach is extremely full.” Phil rubbed it softly. “Such massive amounts of food can only be forced on someone... And since I don't see a crumb or a stain on your covers, I should be more precise: the person or persons who forced you to ingest so much had to know exactly how much your stomach can hold... Whoever did this to you knew exactly what he was doing.”

  Phil was certainly doing his best at reassuring his patient, but that last part sounded more ominous than anything even Rick could take. As he let it sink in, he grew surprisingly pale – like a ghost.

  The young man laying in bed now was no longer the cocky, strutting or strolling head of security at Augustine Bells... It finally dawned on him that he was enormously obese, and stuffed beyond belief!

– “Guys, guys...” He stuttered. “You have to help me. I can't spend another light trapped like this, and... stuffed like this... I don't remember anything, I swear. I don't know who did this, or how. I've never really figured how much I could stuff myself, if I put my heart to it. This is... No, it's not just a bad dream. It's a nightmare, and I don't get to wake up or get out of bed...”

  The poor guy was completely lost. He grabbed Phil's arm and held on to it. Scott knew that move all too well, and he was tempted to tell him to take his hands off his property. 

– “You guys have to help me. I can't get out of here alone... You have to save me. Save me, please...”

  Phil couldn't possibly quiet him down with a few words. He had to let him pour it out... Rick was in such a panic that he burst into tears and sobbed for a moment. He kept pressing the doctor's hand in a vice-like grip, while Phil was caressing his aching wrist gently with his free paw – behaving like a caring, bigger brother rather than a physician.

  Then it was just what Rick needed to feel a little better.

  Still fascinated by the size and softness of Rick's ball gut, quaking and wobbling with each breath and whimper, Scott had a sudden flashback – as he had secretly caught him frisking and harassing Phil in his office at school, only a week ago.

  It was a far cry from what was happening right in front of him. Was it the same guy who forced a fellow coworker to strip down to his underwear, and manhandled him as Scott had witnessed? Sweating, huffing and puffing, Rick was looking up to Phil with teary eyes, begging him to let him sneak out of the hospital. No less.

– “Okay...” Phil said. “If Scott is up to it, I will help you get out at night.”

  Scott looked up too, away from Rick's quivering belly.

  It wasn't so easy to answer such a request. Phil's position at the hospital was hanging by a thread, as it was. He could totally lose his job, if they got caught.

– “Are you sure?” Scott hesitated to ask.

– “Rick is right, this is serious... I don't understand how it's done, but we don't have time to investigate. I guess you are feeling fatter and fatter, every morning.”

– “Oh...” The obese man grunted. “Like you wouldn't believe.”

– “Okay, then.” Phil didn't insist. “We will think of a way out...”

  Rick threw him a sideways glance.

– “You? I would feel better if someone else came up with a plan and you acted on it. You're not exactly the brightest bulb in the lighthouse...”

– “Let's go for it...” Scott offered. “Phil can be the brawn to my brains.”

  He tried not to chuckle. They had to leave Rick, reluctant as he was to stay in his bed and go back to sleep... He made them promise to come back by the end of the week. 

  Well aware of the consequences for his career if something went wrong in their attempt to save Rick, Phil was still eager to help.

– “How are we going to pull it off?”

– “Pull him out of bed? You'd better hit the gym hard and work-out even harder, for a few days, because you'll have some heavy lifting to do!”

– “I meant... How do you think we should proceed?”

– “No idea.” Scott shrugged.

■ ■ ■

  The students were done with their weigh-ins.

  Scott joined them as Phil was talking to the German student, who came last in their group.

 

– “Du hast ein ansehnliches Bäuchlein.”

– “Na ja. Ich fühle so schwer... und fett!”

– “Hab keine Angst... Keine Sorge, ist schon gut... Deine Freunde sind auch stramme Burschen, schon dick und rund.”

– “Und weich.”

– “Ja, ziemlich so.”

  For some reason, their little talk sounded a lot more comforting than Mr Swayn's exclamations and suggestions. It had to do with Phil's tone and voice, naturally soft and soothing even as he just spoke with a seemingly flawless German accent.

  Scott could at least understand that the boys had received bad news.

  They looked pretty much the same, in terms of size and puffiness – except for the fact that, according to the scales, they had put on three to four pounds over the week-end...

– “Talk about some sinister six...” Scott thought.

  Brad was still avoiding him. Scott waved but he didn't respond. Owen was sitting next to him, with two other students. It looked like he and Brad were poking, teasing and taunting those last boys. Scott didn't know their names.

– “Who would think we could be a wild bunch, if they saw us? Right?”

  It was Duncan. Scott sat next to him, secretly pleased that he had found someone to talk to. 

– “You don't look so sick to me anymore. What's with the long faces?”

– “Not long... They want us, and our faces, to round up.”

– “Right.”

– “It's the school's policy: eat, drink and be gloomy.”

– “The Quiet Diet?”

– “Yeah, as if... We couldn't get quiet about anything. Look at them...”

– “Who?”

– “Owen. Brad. Always so jumpy, ready to prey on their next victim.”

– “Maybe someone should make them more quiet?”

– “Then what, obedient? No, no...” Duncan turned to Scott, lowering his voice. “You should know... Expect poison from the standing water.”

– “Poison?”

– “We've all heard about you. I found it... interesting.”

– “Interesting? Someone wants to kill me and that all you've got?”

– “If someone tried to poison you, he didn't know his stuff... or he didn't want to kill you. I bet you didn't think about it.”

  Scott was always so annoyed by that kind of smartass, know-it-all kids – but he was intrigued.

– “You seem to know a lot more than you let on.”

– “I know a few things and I'm not allowed to talk. So, yeah...”

– “We're talking. Tell me something.”

– “It's not like I'm in the mood to talk either, you know.”

– “I'm listening.”

  The boy grunted.

– “Look at me. Look at us...”

– “Okay... So?”

– “We're all sick and tired. You're like... thick and fired.”

  Scott felt the sting, at first – then he smiled. The boy didn't know that he would be working as a Sheriff's deputy soon and with their security officer, as soon as they got back to school.

– “I'll tell you something... I'm not leaving. This is only the beginning.”

– “We all wish we could leave, and you won't?”

– “Now tell me something I don't now...”

  Scott's conversation with Duncan was up to a good start to get him to talk about his friend Michael’s Death.

  Michael wasn't his friend, of course, and veryone kept treating that first murder as some sort of “locked-door mystery” – which probably made it “interesting” for a student like him. 

– “Michael's bedroom wasn't locked.” Scott cut to the chase.

  Duncan looked puzzled for a moment.

– “It wasn't?”

– “It was closed, but it wasn't locked.”

– “How do you know it was or wasn't?”

– “I have my sources...”

  Scott wouldn't tell. The boy frowned.

– “So we had it all wrong. It's not a locked-door mystery... It's a closed-door mystery. Woo, frickin' Hoo. What difference does it make?”

– “If the door wasn't locked, someone could enter, and...”  

– “Someone could, but no one did.” Duncan interrupted him. “Again, what difference does it make? It's not even like you're back to square one, in your investigation... You've barely made your first move yet.”

  Suddenly, Duncan rose to his feet as if he had decided to go for a walk.

  Scott was left there, alone in his corner of the waiting room.

  The other boys were still playing, and it was better to get past them.

– “What class are they taking?” Scott wondered. “Advanced bullying?”

  He went back to the library, lost in his own thoughts again. He'd only read a few pages from William Wilson, and not even started another tale. As he was about to put the book back on its shelf, he opened it at random and read : 

 

“If there is on earth a supreme and unqualified despotism, it is the despotism of a master-mind in boyhood over the less energetic spirits of its companions.”

  Scott couldn't agree more.

– “Edgar Poe? Not bad. Are you into mystery novels?”

  It was nurse Brinell. Scott smiled back.

– “Short stories like this... That's okay.”

– “Then you should definitely read this one.”

  Nurse Brinell gave him another thin book.

– “What is it?”

– “Henry James. The Turn of the Screw.”

  Scott spotted Phil talking with nurse Rockwell and doctor Lipton, at the end of the hall. His lips curled up in a smug and mischievous smile.

– “Definitely looking forward to some more screwing...”

(To be continued...)