The Augustine Murders - Season 3, Episode 2

III.2
                                                

                                              “...In gärend Drachengift hast du

                          Die Milch der frommen Denkart mir verwandelt...”

                         (To rankling dragon's poison hast thou turned

                           in me the milk of human kindness...)

Friedrich SCHILLER

Wilhelm Tell – Teil IV, sc.3

March 4^th, 1990 – Sunday

  All in all, it was a good week-end. Scott needed such a break from the tensions with his boss, and with the people in charge at Saint Augustine Bells... One way to keep everyone at bay was to go along with Sheriff Maxwell and pretend that he was under suspicion of murder or something. Curiously enough, being forbidden to leave town was his way out...

  The young journalist had spent another long hour arguing on the phone with a number of people from his office, back home. Clearly, he didn’t want to go back and they didn’t really want him back either.

  “Back home” didn’t actually feel like home, right now. Thinking about it, Scott came to the conclusion that he had never really found his place at work. Fitting in was one thing. This was different.

  Why should he struggle to go back to such a workplace where he didn’t belong, pretending to get along with people he couldn’t stand, following instructions and orders from a bunch guy who kept treating him like a trainee years and years after he had been hired ?

  Scott couldn’t care less. Let them all go to Hell, he wouldn’t miss anyone there. If he had to be under arrest for a few days, then on parole or whatever, as a way for him to stay in Biberton, he was happy to go for it. That was his ticket, and he would hold on to it.

  Besides, it wasn’t so far-fetched to pretend that he was a “person of interest” for the local Police. Sheriff Maxwell and his charming wife had invited him twice for lunch since he had been “arrested”, and once more for dinner – or, as Scott remembered it, dinner and a show: Maria always cooked so much food for her loving husband and their guest that both men would end up shirtless and with their pants opened to the last button, sweating and panting on the couch like a pair of beached whales.

  Scott felt comfortable with the Maxwells, and they were obviously happy to see him and spend a long evening together. He couldn’t deny that he found both husband and wife tantalizingly hot – so much that he often got lost in his own thoughts... Damon Maxwell was a really strong, tall, handsome black guy with an impressive appetite. Then his slender, dark and sensual Latino wife made no secret about the fact that she was fattening him up. Everything about her was seductive and feminine to the point of feeling feline – and dangerous...

  Certainly, Scott wouldn’t mind being so lovingly overfed, day after day, night after night, like her trophy husband. But he didn’t want him out of the picture – definitely not. In the best of all possible worlds, he would be sitting in the man’s ample lap, feeling that large belly pressing against his back, being fondled from behind as he would be stuffed full with all kinds of fattening foods by Maria, sitting on top of him...

  There was a forbidden thought if Scott had ever considered one – worse than slacking off work, smoking on campus grounds, grabbing an extra piece of pie in Rick’s office, stealing small change on Phil’s desk, breaking some minor law he had never heard of or leaving Biberton.

  Definitely worse – except... Scott had no intention of leaving town. Phil only had like quarters and occasional dollar coins in a small saucer. He would never notice that a few were missing when he came back from washing his hands, after Scott’s massage. Rick actually encouraged his friend to help him eat the many pies and pastries that students kept sending on a daily basis. More than a few members of the staff in Augustine Bells were social drinkers and not so secret smokers. And it didn’t look like they were so overworked either, in spite of Mr Porkenham’s claim that everyone was doing his best for the school.

  Considering all this, Scott would blush at the thought of a spicy threesome with the Maxwells, but it would take a lot more to make him feel shame. After a long and delicious lunch at their home on Saturday, he had spent the whole evening naked in his hotel room, rubbing his full belly and picturing himself in a number of situations hot enough to turn that small town into a volcano...

  There was a place that felt like home.

  Scott’s new bedroom at the Paddington hotel was larger than the previous one. His bed was the same size. The mini-bar was the same. The furniture was more or less the same. The bathroom was a lot better, with ceramic tiles from floor to ceiling, mirrors on the walls and a big Jacuzzi with all kinds of options, from hot jets to massaging jets...

  It was raining all day on Sunday, so much that the sun was nowhere to be found... Scott didn’t mind. He had only left his bedroom for breakfast – or rather, breakfasts – lunch and dinner. There was work waiting for him, which didn’t require that he should get out of bed: working on his notes, making lists of people, recent events, facts and details related to the case, writing them down in his notebook, typing draft versions of his future articles...

  On Sunday evening, Scott’s mini-bar was empty for the third time, and he was down to his last beer from the two six-packs he had bought the day before. For some reason, his stomach felt a bit upset. It was getting rather late, too. He guzzled down his beer, smacked his cool lips and belched contentedly. Looked at the pages he had written, organized and typed, he couldn’t help but smile.

  It was quite a good week-end for him.

■ ■ ■

March 5^th, 1990 – Monday

  Scott slowly got out of his hot tub. It was time for breakfast number two.

  For the last few days, the young journalist had followed his own policy to take advantage of everything the Paddington Hotel had to offer, and take it to the next level. This required a few changes from his old habits. Number one, he had to establish a precise schedule to always show up in the right place at the right moment. Number two, it required some discipline. Scott wasn’t very good at it and he knew it, but he was also determined. Right now, he was determined to eat as much as he could from the hotel’s breakfast buffet – for the second time, that morning.

  Scott certainly didn’t enjoy getting up at 5AM, but since breakfast started being served at 5:30, he dressed up, went downstairs to the buffet and ate plate after plate of food until he couldn’t force himself to push another bite into his mouth. It would be about 7AM. Scott came back to bed, slept for another hour or so, got up again, put on his more recent pair of jeans and shirt, then he took the lift and went down to the breakfast hall. The hotel staff took shifts around 8AM, so he was welcomed again. Then he would proceed to the buffet and stuff himself until breakfast hours were over, about 10:30AM...

  Back in his bedroom, Scott let out a truly immense belch, loud and proud.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRP!!!”

  That was rude and crude – totally on purpose.

  Scott knew that everyone in the hotel staff was complaining about his behavior. They couldn’t afford to avoid him completely, but they kept talking behind his back. They looked the other way when they saw him coming. They rolled their eyes when Scott piled another plate with so much chocolate cake or flan that the cooks were genuinely afraid that there wouldn’t be enough food left for their other customers...

  He didn’t fool them – and they didn’t fool him. Naturally, Scott was fully aware of the trouble he caused. But since Tom had let it slip that he and the other bell boys, waiters and grooms called him a fatty – the “blimp with a limp” being their nickname for the young journalist – Scott had his mind set on devouring them out of business!

  The school’s decision to make him slim down was long forgotten. Phil’s efforts to keep him in good shape were dead in the water... or rather, drowned under pounds and mounds of cheesecake, chocolate mousse and whipped cream.

  Scott’s clothes were fitting quite snuggly, once again – even the ones he had bought so recently. He was putting on weight at a steady pace. His belly was growing round, threatening to hang over the waistband of his painfully buttoned jeans. Sheriff Maxwell had commented on it when they had lunch, and it was not lost on Scott that these were words of praise...

■ ■ ■

  It was almost time for lunch when Scott entered Mr Swayn’s office. There was no problem about it. After such a “hearty breakfast”, the young journalist could afford to wait for another hour before he would grab a bite. He already had plans to join Rick, who was always happy to share the many, many pastries that would be piled high on his desk, in the security office... As for Mr Swayn, his eating habits were almost in complete contradiction with the school’s policy. He took his meals at regular hours, but he never ate much. He would always do something else, like reading the newspaper, reviewing papers, dictating letters or talking to some people over the phone. Mr Swayn was definitely a businessman.

  There was something attractive about the way his mind worked everything out quickly and clearly, how he handled the school’s organization down to its minute and tricky details so efficiently. His manners were perfect, and he talked with great ease.

  Still, there was something about him that made Scott slightly uncomfortable. For a long time, he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, exactly. Listening to him more closely, it finally dawned on him that Mr Swayn simply felt superior to anyone he would talk to. Something in his tone, or his smile, would sometimes remind Scott that he wasn’t called for so much that he was already being judged by that young man.

  Naturally, Mr Swayn’s good education prevented that it would ever go further than an uneasy feeling. As it was, Scott could feel knots in his stomach which couldn’t be caused by the extra stack of pancakes he had eaten, with butter and maple syrup.

  On second thought, the last three or four plates from his last breakfast would explain why he wasn’t feeling too comfortable in the presence of Mr Swayn.

– “I’m afraid that we have reached a dead end. There was no further evidence to be found around the old gardener's pavilion.”

– “Oh...”

– “Mr Porkenham insisted on the fact that our investigation should only take a day or two. As it turns out, we have spent almost four days searching for pieces or remains of an explosive device on the grounds.”

– “How did the whole place get destroyed like that? It doesn’t make sense...”

– “The gardener’s pavilion wasn’t exactly a large building.” Mr Swayn smiled. “Oh well... There should be no combination of events for which the wit of man cannot conceive an explanation.”

– “Then...”

– “We shall see what new light can be cast upon this matter... Until then, there is nothing more for us to learn.”

  Mr Swayn didn’t seem too interested in the mysterious explosion. Scott found it suspicious, but he couldn’t afford to be blunt with a guy like him. There was a knock on the door. Two guys came into the office, carrying a large box, which contained an industrial, large, thick and heavy strain gauge scale.

– “Now... if you want to see something genuinely instructive, I don’t mind if you wish to stay.”

  Scott noticed his mischievous smile. If his interested wasn’t already peaked by the sight of such a set of weighing scales, he wouldn’t want to miss this for all the fried chicken at the Double D...

  Mr Swayn pushed a button on his phone and called out loud.

– “Test group number one.”

  Four young students entered the room at once. Scott was startled when he saw them. They were only wearing briefs, instead of their school’s uniform. It would make sense if they were in for a check-up – but that would be a job for Phil.

  Mr Swayn’s smile turned into a definite smirk, as if Scott had commented on it instead of thinking about it.

– “I know... Under normal circumstances, it would be for Graham to perform this kind of weekly examinations. Only we expect certain results from this experiment and we are determined to achieve those. Then I couldn’t agree more with Mr Porkenham when he suggested that our students’ favorite teddy bear wouldn’t follow our instructions to the letter.”

  Scott didn’t know what to say. The four boys looked uncomfortable too. They were weighed and examined thoroughly, one after the next. Scott could tell that Mr Swayn’s assistants were measuring lean mass and body fat for the secretary to write down in individual files. He seemed rather pleased with the numbers he put in the relevant columns.

  Not surprisingly, the four test subjects were quite meaty and overweight. Their bellies were large and round enough to hang over their dangerously stretched-out briefs.

– “Okay, test group one, you may go back to your classes. Thank you.”

  The students were dismissed. Mr Swayn pushed a second button and made a similar call.

– “Send in test group number two.”

  Scott took a few steps back so he would feel more like an observer, as he was trying to get a grip on this situation. Obviously, each test group consisted of four young men, who seemed more stressed and more uncomfortable than the boys he had met on different occasions.

  It may have something to do with the rather cold, clinical methods of this test – which Scott found rather odd, even by Saint Augustine Bells’ standards. It may have been something else, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

  The four boys who were weighed in and measured now were noticeably fatter than the previous one. They outweighed their classmates by a good 20lbs, if not more.

– “Good. We’re getting somewhere...”

  There was no evidence that Mr Swayn felt disappointed by the students in the first test group. Scott could only guess that the two groups were on a different diet or something.

– “Test group number three. You may come in.”

  At this point, Scott knew what to expect – more or less. Only the next four boys had to be porkers, unless they were four prized pigs brought together for the county fair, next Spring... The smallest member of that hefty bunch had to weigh a wobbly 300lbs if he stood 5’7”. It was almost as if they had spent all their waking hours with their mouths attached to a feeding tube for at least a month.

  It should take more than this to make Scott look away with disgust, but he didn’t feel like he would take on Mr Swayn’s offer for another cup of coffee. No matter how much he liked his coffee black, he felt a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, that wouldn’t go away.

  As he would feel beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, Scott was all the more impressed by Mr Swayn’s calm, cool and collected attitude. His assistants kept handling the boys – rather roughly too, if the young journalist may say so – but he was only there to record their weights and various measurements. Then, with the clear state of mind of a pure mathematician, he would analyze the boys’ progress.

– “All right, we may have something interesting here...”

  For a moment, Scott wondered how many test groups were participating to this project. Mr Swayn pushed a button, which turned out to be the last.

– “Test group number four.”

  Scott no longer knew what to expect. Sure enough, the boys in last group were enormous – but there was something special about them. While they may be weighing a little less than the test subjects from the previous group, they looked fatter... much fatter.

  At this point of the game, there wasn’t a sign of weight gain that Scott wouldn’t know about. The boys had to be about eighteen years old, certainly not under seventeen. Each and every member of this test group was positively puffy. Scott couldn't help thinking that those boys looked pretty much the same from one group to the next – being all teenagers, growing up too fast, with the same high levels of raging hormones and the usual mix of sexual slash emotional confusion and anger management issues – but these last boys made the previous boys look like grains of corn, and they had spent some time in the oven to turn into such a “popped corn” version of themselves!

  Not too surprisingly – since Scott was way past the point of being surprised, right now – the first boy was weighed in at a chunky 290lbs... His love handles had already merged with the fat roll on his lower back to form a huge doughnut pillow, then his soft belly hanged in front of him so far out and so low that he may have been standing naked in there. No one would be able to tell.

  As a matter of fact, it was just the same for the three others, and he wasn't even the heaviest boy in that test group...

  Scott was well aware of the strange diet that was pretty much imposed on the students in Saint Augustine Bells, but this left him puzzled. He didn't understand the docile, anxious and almost scared way the boys would look at each other or around them – as if someone other than Mr Swayn, Scott and the two assistants was watching, in the shadow.

  It took Scott a while to share the overall uneasiness of that moment, but it got to the point where he had to turn around, just in case... More than anything else, he couldn't figure out Mr Swayn's attitude. As the last member of the test group was more or less pushed to stand on the scales, Scott had to put everything on hold, close his eyes and try to rewind – did that guy just lick his lips as he was writing down the weight of the blushing, obese boy?

  Or was it merely Scott's imagination running into a fever?

  He couldn't tell. However, now that he put all his efforts into focusing on what was happening a few feet away from him – instead of the strange and painful rumblings in his stomach – he heard Mr Swayn dismissing the young students in a soft, almost ominous voice.

– “Ich kann es kaum erwarten, bis du richtig Fett und kugelrund bist...”

  Scott didn't understand a word. German – they had to speak German, all of a sudden. On second thought, it wouldn't be much of an improvement if Mr Swayn had spoken French...

  It was still better than not hearing a word he may have whispered. As a matter of fact, that was the missing piece of his puzzle. The boys in those test groups were all foreign students.

  When they were gone and the assistants took the large scales out of the room, Mr Swayn turned to Scott with an enigmatical smile.

– “If you’re thinking that some boys have been fed more than others for this experiment, you are way off tracks. All test groups have been on the same diet for the last eight weeks.”

– “How did you get such a remarkable difference between them?”

  Mr Swayn put his files in the top drawer of his desk.

– “When Mr Porkenham put me in charge of running this experiment, I selected sixteen boys among our foreign students with similar stats and metabolic rates. You may have noticed that they’re all second years, about 5’7” to 5’9”, and they used to weigh about 220lbs when we placed them in one group or another at random.”

– “Huh... okay.”

– “As I was saying, there was a change in their diet, but it applied to everyone. Less protein and fibers, more saturated fats and, more than anything else, much more complex carbohydrates to maximize their fattening.”

  On a sheet of paper, Mr Swayn drew lines and four columns.

– “The purpose of this test is twofold. We wanted to test various kinds of tonic that enhance the subject’s appetite. After due consideration, I selected two blends: one for the first two groups, the second one for the other two groups.”

  Mr Swayn marked X1 and X2 under the relevant columns. Then he looked up and pushed a call button on his desk. Scott read the word “Kitchen” next to it.

– “Hello, Mrs Spread... Would you mind bringing a glass of milk to my office? The one marked Y2, if you please.”

  There was a moment of silence.

– “Are you familiar with appetite stimulants, Mr Girder?”

– “I’ve heard about it...”

– “Trickier than you might think... For instance, we had failed to consider that such a product could have no taste but give a slightly bitter aftertaste to all the food it encourages you to eat. To this day, it remains an unfortunate side effect, quite counterproductive too. We have made great progress, though, working on the proper blend and the proper dosage.”

– “Is it something like tea?”

– “Pretty much. It could easily be mistaken for herbal tea.”

  Scott looked a bit suspicious. Herbal tea was one thing, but it was such a fine line between new age medicine and stoner stuff...

– “Nothing like drugs, right?”

  Mr Swayn nodded defensively.

– “We’ve already had this discussion. It is too soon to draw conclusions, but our appetite stimulants don’t seem to be addictive.”

– “Then you consider it to be harmless.”

– “Mostly harmless, maybe?” Mr Swayn answered with a confident smile.

  There was a knock at the door. Mrs Spread said hello to Scott, holding a glass and a pitcher of chocolate milk.

– “Would you like to give it a try?”

  Scott looked at the two of them, puzzled.

– “You said it looked like herbal tea...”

– “Oh? No, this is something completely different.”

  To be honest, Scott was feeling thirsty. His stomach was no longer rambling, but the pain was still there. Milk would be good for it. His glass was empty in one gulp. When Mrs Spread asked him if he wanted more, Scott felt the sudden urge to take the pitcher... He put the spout to his lips and tipped the pitcher back. The milk was strangely sweet but cool, which made him feel better already – so he continued to gulp... and gulp, and gulp, and gulp...

  Before he realized it, Scott had emptied the pitcher. His stomach felt cool but quite heavy from the cream filling it. Then he couldn’t help a loud, obnoxious belch.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRP!”

  Mrs Spread turned to her colleague, while Scott was blushing deeply.

– “Just as you expected...”

– “What do you mean?” Scott asked sheepishly.

  Mr Swayn looked quite satisfied with this little experiment on the side.

– “This is a new milkshake. We have been working on it for almost two months, and I dare say that Mrs Spread has improved her recipe quite impressively. Your reaction to it was only natural.”

  Scott didn’t like being tricked like this.

  As Mrs Spread was leaving, the young journalist finally got to understand how Mr Swayn worked on his results with the boys. He kept referring to them as “test subjects”.

– “As you can see from this morning’s results, test groups number two and four have been doing a lot better than the subjects from groups number one and three. The only difference is that we switched their regular chocolate milk with this new version.”

– “You mean... the milk I just drank.”

– “The pitcher of milkshake you just drank, yes.” Mr Swayn corrected, with an amused smile. “We have been wondering for some time about the side effects of this shake. It tastes delicious and not sickeningly sweet, but it causes the most impressive belches I have ever heard. Case in point, we can’t blame the subjects for it, although their behavior is generally rude...”

  Scott felt the weight of that milkshake in his belly. That stuff may be tasty, but it was nasty. For one thing, the burning pain he felt was back. Or it wasn’t gone, as he had hoped for a moment...

– “We have been testing what you just tasted. Two test groups had to drink a pitcher of our regular milkshake after every meal – we called it Y1. This new milkshake, Y2, was meant for the other two groups. So we could cross results. Test group number one was X1Y1, number two was X1Y2, number three was X2Y1 and number four X2Y2.”

  Mr Swayn looked at the clock.

– “We have done some pretty good work for this morning, I believe.”

  Scott understood that his presence in the office was no longer necessary. He couldn’t share Mr Swayn’s sense of achievement. As a matter of fact, he had reasons to believe that some of that satisfaction had been at his expense.

■ ■ ■

  Rubbing his aching belly in the hallway, Scott had to pause. He wasn’t feeling too well. That milkshake was a lot heavier than he would have guessed...

  Leaning against the wall, he absent-mindedly read what was written on it when he looked up. As it turned out, it was the school’s menu for lunch

– “Apple pie... Chocolate chess pie... Lemon cheesecake... Strawberry pie... Blueberry pie... Orange sponge cake... Cinnamon rolls? What the...”

  Scott was about to belch for the second time, but he was interrupted in time. 
  It was Mrs Spread.

– “Are you feeling okay?”

– “Oh? Well... I’m sorry, but...”

– “Never mind that.” She smiled. “It was a mean trick, as you could expect from a man like Mr Swayn... Still, just a trick. You should consider yourself lucky. Our boys can pull off some really cruel pranks.”

– “Why... why are there only pastries and sweets on that menu?”

– “It’s Monday, of course.”

– “You mean to say that your students are only fed desserts today...”

– “Not just today. We do this on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Mr Swayn call them Saturated Saturdays.”

– “No wonder why...”

– “It’s been the school’s new policy, after... you know.”

– “Okay...”

  They were walking outside. Scott enjoyed having someone to talk to, even if he wasn’t quite convinced by their choices and attitudes.

– “Desserts is simply Stressed spelled backwards”.

– “Is it really? I had never noticed.”

– “Mr Thorne came up with it, on our last meeting. I thought it was amusing.”

– “What about these new products? Milkshakes, appetite stimulants...”

– “Oh... I don’t know. Results are what matters for a man like Mr Porkenham. As long as we get results...”

– “But isn’t it dangerous? Or, I don’t know...”

– “Not very ethical, is that what you mean?”

– “Honestly, yes...”

  More than anything else, Scott was angry about being invited to drink a whole pitcher of fattening milk and tricked into burping like a pig.

  Mrs Spread let out a sigh.

– “You remind me of Graham... When Mr Swayn made his first presentation, he was the only one opposed to the project. Unhealthy diets, dangerous substances, you could go on and on. He was no longer allowed to our monthly meetings after it.”

– “But... isn’t he the school’s doctor?”

– “He is. And our male nurse. And he used to be our gym teacher. He wanted the boys to exercise... Play basketball...”

  Mrs Spread had to stop to laugh out loud. Then Scott and she heard a cough behind them. They both turned in surprise. It was the school’s director himself.

– “Mr Porkenham...”

– “Beautiful day, isn’t it, Mrs Spread? I understand that a walk in the sun does put you in a good mood, but there is work waiting for you in the kitchen.”

– “Yes Sir. I’m on my way...”

  The grand old man turned to Scott.

– “How are you doing? You look a bit... peaky.”

– “I guess I’m a bit late for lunch. I’m hungry.”

  He certainly didn’t feel hungry at the moment. Mr Porkenham could also argue that he didn’t look hungry. Scott may be pale, but he was more than well-fed.

– “Let me walk you to the gates, then.”

  Scott was a bit surprised. On many occasions, the old man had done his best to avoid him. Why would he be interested in a conversation with a journalist, now?

  The best way to find out was to let him talk.

  Strangely enough, Mr Porkenham didn’t say a word for some time – but he looked worried, and he would grunt or mumble in his beard.

  Scott noticed that he kept a thin, printed document close to his body, where his umbrella used to be on a rainy day.

– “What is this brochure you’re holding?”

– “Well... I wish I could say that it was a work of fiction.”

– “I didn’t know that you were interested into short novels.”

– “I’m not. And I fear that we cannot take Mr Scupper very seriously.”

– “Mr Scupper?”

– “Yes... He is curiously employed at present. Mr Huggins’s death seems to have turned him into an amateur sleuth, although I can hardly follow his line of investigation in this case.”

  Mr Porkenham gave him the brochure.

  It looked like a pamphlet, about thirty pages long with no hard cover. The title page bore the official stamp of Saint Augustine Bells. It had been printed in their own workshop.

– “The life and afterlife of Ian MacNeill.”

  Mr Porkenham let out another low grunt.

– “Ian MacNeill... Isn’t that the name of...”

– “Ian MacNeill was a security guard who worked in the late twenties and early thirties, when Saint Augustine Bells wasn’t a preparatory school but a prison. A fact that we do not wish to communicate or comment on very much.”

– “I have been told about him, and the way he was killed...”

– “An unfortunate incident, no doubt.”

– “Mr Scupper goes a lot further than 1932, in this study.”

  Scott was only going through the pages, with great interest.

– “Please, Mr Girder... Are we to give serious attention to such things? This institution stands flatfooted upon the ground, and there it must remain. The world is big enough for us. No ghosts need apply.”

  If Mr Porkenham wished to point out how ridiculous it was to investigate the recent deaths on campus with supernatural causes, his attitude betrayed a lack of confidence which was most unfamiliar from him.

– “So you don’t believe in Mr Scupper’s theory.”

– “Of course not. He’s our gardener... I am willing to say that he helps to keep our lives from being monotonous with these tall stories, and gives a little comic relief where it is badly needed.”

  Scott couldn’t understand how the students would feel relieved in any way with the story of a ghost who kept threatening to kill them if they didn’t behave – although this particular ghost seemed more interested in keeping them eating like pigs. At least that was considered as good behavior in Saint Augustine Bells.

They were already close to the entrance gates. Scott turned to shake hands with his host.

– “Comic relief... That would be showing good spirit.”

– “Please.” Mr Porkenham answered with an unexpected smile. “No spirit needs to show in here. Keep the brochure, if you like. I have no use for it.”

  Scott didn’t dare to ask. He was looking forward to reading it on his way back to the hotel. Sitting at the bus stop, he saw Mr Porkenham waving at him and go back to work.

  He was still mumbling in his beard.

– “Let us hope that he understands what is printed in there...”

■ ■ ■

  Mr Scupper’s pamphlet wasn’t such a compelling thing to read. Or maybe Scott wasn’t in the mood for it. He was not hungry either. His throat was a bit dry, so he drank a glass of water in his bathroom, back at the Paddington hotel.

  The next thing he did was take a long nap, naked in bed. After a few pages of Ian’s story, going back to his last months of service as a prison guard, Scott felt so drowsy that he let the pages fall to the side and closed his eyes.

  He didn’t get to sleep so well, however. Every now and then, he would be startled by one of his own farts under the covers...

– “Seriously? This milkshake is murder! No wonder those boys always look so grouchy.”

  His stomach was rambling angrily again, which didn’t help.

■ ■ ■

  Scott’s next interview was with Owen, a student whose bedroom was next to Michael’s. He was one of the few people who could be considered witnesses on the night he was killed... no matter how mysteriously his murder took place.

  Thanks to Rick, who had assured him that everyone would be busy somewhere else doing something of absolutely no interest, Scott was able to meet Owen in his own bedroom, where the boy was confined for the afternoon anyway.

  This was the closest he had been to the scene of the crime, after his visit of Michael’s own bedroom with Mr Porkenham. He wouldn’t go for a guided tour, this time.

  There was nothing particular about Owen. He looked rather ordinary. Being 5’8” tall and weighing 260lbs made him blend easily among the crowd of fattened boys in uniforms they were raising rather than educating in this school.

  He didn’t look so passive aggressive as most of his classmates. When Scott came into his room, he invited to sit down in an armchair by the window.

– “Do you mind if I draw you while we have a chat?”

– “I have no problem with that.”

– “Thanks... Don’t move too much, then. On a dull day like this, the light is just right by this window. It creates nice, soft shadows... You don’t have to look at me. Make yourself comfortable.”

– “Okay...”

  Owen had taken a large sketching book and various pencils.

– “Would you like something to drink?”

– “Sure… What do you have?”

– “What do I look like, a bartender?... I have sodas.”

– “Soda’s fine.”

– “It’s nothing like diet soda, but I guess you already knew about it.”

  There was a moment of rather awkward silence. Scott took the opportunity to look around. The bedroom was pretty messy, but in a perfectly normal way for a teenager who wouldn’t go to obsessive-compulsive or destructive extremes.

  A few drawings were pinned on the wall, mostly self-portraits... Some were actually pretty good.

– “I didn’t know you were the artistic type.”

– “I’m not...”

– “But you like to draw.”

– “I do... It calms me down. Take a look at these.”

  Turning away from his sketchbook, he pointed to the wall in front of him. Scott had to turn to get a better view of the drawings.

– “I couldn’t even draw a straight line when I started this, last year.”

  Scott couldn’t agree more, but he simply nodded. Some drawings were a real mess – the kind of awful things parents find so cute from their three year old kid and put on the fridge, probably to keep the neighbors or guests away from their food... From a sixteen year old boy, it was alarmingly bad.

– “I know... I’ve kept these to remember what a mess I was when my parents brought me here.”

– “Is that why you’ve made so many sketches of yourself?”

  For the first time during his interview, Owen laughed. It was a most refreshing laugh, too. Scott felt some sympathy for him.

– “Don’t be silly, I’m not like that. I just don’t get to draw many people other than myself.”

– “How about your classmates?”

– “Sketching calms me down, but posing pisses them off. Keeping still, rather... Most of the guys in here are a bunch of posers.”

– “How about the plants in your room?”

– “Boring. I find potted plants so depressing...”

– “How about landscapes?”

– “Boring. Besides, they wouldn’t approve if I got too interested in what was outside my prison’s window.”

  The boy was actually quite clever – a lot more than Scott expected.

– “So... Self-portrait it is.”

– “It’s not so bad... Take a good look at yourself, sometimes. You get to learn a few things.”

– “You’re probably the first student I’ve met in Saint Augustine Bells who said something about learning...”

– “It’s Augustine Bells.”

  Owen was focused on his drawing. Scott caught a glance every now and then. The boy has beautiful blue eyes. His sharp look was rather at odds with his chubby physique.

– “You’ve made some great progress.”

– “Thank you...”

– “I guess your teachers are rather proud of you doing this.”

– “Most of them don’t know about it. And they wouldn’t care.”

– “How did you get started? Was it something you decided on your own?”

– “I’d like to take credit for it, but no.”

  There was a pause as Owen went for a thicker pencil.

– “...It was Graham’s idea. He suggested it. I went for it.”

– “Oh?”

– “Did you meet the guy?”

– “I have.”

  Scott had not seen Phil for a few days, and he was rather curious about his work in Augustine Bells.

– “How did he come up with it?”

– “There was no way I could fool him about my addiction, when he gave me my first physical... He really is a lot less dumb than he looks.”

– “He doesn’t look so dumb to me.”

– “Well... maybe you underestimate yourself?”

  Scott didn’t know what to think of the boy’s answer for a moment. Thankfully, Owen felt comfortable enough to hold the conversation, still drawing and adding shades of grey to his sketch.

– “You may be right. Most guys give him a hard time because he’s a real teddy bear – the chocolate kind, you know, with a big heart of gummy... I guess his problem is that he has a heart.”

– “If you compare him to Mr Porkenham or Mr Swayn, of course...”

  There was an actual flash of anger in Owen’s eyes. Scott looked away, wishing he had not seen it.

– “Exactly... You should never mention Graham and those people in the same sentence. Ever.”

  Scott didn’t need to be told twice.

  Owen left his pencils for a moment.

– “You know what? I take it back. You’re not so dumb. You’re only playing the wrong game, with the wrong people.”

– “What do you mean?”

– “Exactly what I said.”

  It was really hard for Scott to decide whether this was meant as a threat or a warning. Owen didn’t mind talking to him, but he didn’t have many nice things to say.

  He took a deep breath, and Scott considered the possibility that a young man like him had to keep his own anger at bay, which was no easy task...

– “I guess... Graham doesn’t go for that kind of games.”

– “No. He knows about them, but it’s better for everyone that he doesn’t play.”

– “I see...”

– “Tell you what...” Owen started sketching again, maybe so his hands wouldn’t be twitching. “I’m actually fond of Graham. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know if I wouldn’t have burned this place to the ground three times over.”

– “Addiction’s a bitch...”

– “Discipline’s a bitch.”

– “Now that I know a bit more about your school’s program...”

– “You don’t know the half of it... And it’s probably for the best.”

– “I’m a reporter. It’s my job to find out about these things.”

– “Then it’s someone else’s job to prevent that you do.” Owen looked straight into his eyes. “May the best player win.”

  Scott could swear that Owen meant Mr Swayn – he had to be sure.

– “Michael used to play chess...”

– “He sure did. He was awfully good at it.”

– “Did you get to play against him?”

– “No, I only saw him play.”

– “But you know how to play chess.”

– “So, what if I do? Please don’t turn around...”

  The journalist wanted to sit a bit more straight. He had never realized how hard it was to stay comfortable if you weren’t allowed to move, even after you’d made yourself comfortable...

– “To an ignorant player, a game of chess only looks like a bunch of pieces of different shapes, sizes and colors. Yet, even the best player in the world can only win the game if he explains how the pieces work according to the rules.”

– “Quite so...”

– “Only both sides play by the same set of rules... which doesn’t happen in real life, where the winner is the one who decides what the rules will be, so that his opponent can only use the pieces to his disadvantage.”

  Owen didn’t answer, but Scott could tell that he was listening closely.

– “The first and only relevant rule about this kind of games is that you should never play by anyone else’s rules. They should be forced into playing by your rules.”

  Scott was secretly thankful for the self-help book Will had offered him once. Owen answered with a smile.

– “That’s right. Then you know how to do that kind of trick...”

– “There’s no trick. All you have to remember is that each piece can be played both ways.”

  Naturally, Scott knew all about it from his own experience in sexual games. He didn’t need a book for that. Hopefully, Owen wouldn’t think about it.

– “I guess... it depends on the nature of the tools you get.”

– “In this case, well...” Scott remembered the experiment he had attended in the morning. “What you get to play with is always quite... technical.”

– “To say the least.”

– “Industrial?”

  Owen looked up, rather vaguely.

– “Quite...” He nodded. “Industrial. In dust we trust...”

  As he was sketching again, Scott spent a moment looking around, trying to get a better grip on the scene of Michael’s crime.

  There were four bedrooms opening out into the same corridor, but there was no communication between them. Owen’s room and Michael’s were like boxes set one against the other. Their design was very much the same: a large bedroom with a small, private bathroom on the side.

  Scott looked for a ventilator in the wall. It wouldn’t be unusual to have a small opening between two rooms, in such an old building – but the ventilation system was clearly modern, and individual to each bedroom.

  There may be another possibility. Scott remembered how he had dismantled an unplugged power socket, back in high school, to hide cigarettes or other, more compromising items from the dean. He looked for such a socket, one that would show some signs of being recently removed and put back in its place, one that would allow someone to slip a candy bar or get rid of wrapping papers...

  This precise but discrete investigation of Owen’s place proved to be just so disappointing as Scott’s previous search... The rooms were almost hermetically closed.

– “Do you remember what happened during that night in January?”

– “Of course I do... Michael dropped dead.”

  That was harsh. Scott had hopes for a better answer.

– “Did you, like, hear him drop dead?”

– “No... He was found on the floor, but I’m not sure than he even fell, in the first place.”

– “Did you hear something, then?”

  Just then, Scott noticed that the twitching in Owen’s hands was a sign. The boy was overactive, but he was nervous – more than nervous: he was afraid.

– “Well, yes... I’ve heard something.”

– “What did you hear?”

– “Huh... sounds...”

– “What kind?”

– “Eating, mostly. I mean, like... really gross, piggish sounds, guzzling, shoving it in with both hands... That kind of overeating sounds. If there’s a mystery about Michael’s death, the fact that he was stuffed to the point of bursting makes perfect sense to me.”

– “That’s not how he died.”

– “Really? Everyone keeps saying that he forced and fattened himself to death...”

– “It’s not that far from the real cause, but I find it hard to believe that he did all this on his own.”

– “You mean to say that... he was forced to eat until his stomach exploded?”

  Right on cue, Scott’s stomach rambled most angrily.

– “That kind of sound...” Owen commented. “Only louder.”

– “And nothing else?”

– “Nothing that I could figure out. Nothing I can remember...”

  Scott was still suspicious. The boy wasn’t telling him everything.

– “If someone was with him at the time...”

– “Oh, please!” Owen finally snapped. “Michael didn’t have a friend to come to his room for a slumber party. Michael had no friend in this school! I don’t have a friend in this godforsaken school! The only thing I have in common with the guys in my class is that I hate them just as much as they hate me. We’re a group of loners who don’t want to be part of a group and we’re forced to live in a bundle!”

  The boy was almost screaming when he was done. Scott saw tears in his eyes. If there was something true about this school that no one had ever dared to tell a journalist, Owen had just broken that rule.

– “You were one of the first people to see Michael... right?”

– “One of the disadvantages of being the boy next door...”

– “Did you notice anything?”

– “I noticed him, and I noticed that he was dead.”

– “I mean, did you notice anything special?”

  Owen shrugged.

– “What can I say? He was stuffed a lot more than usual...”

– “Is that all you remember?”

– “You know what... it’s actually kind of funny.”

– “What is so funny?”

– “When people ask you about something you should have seen, something that couldn’t be missed, they keep referring to an “elephant in the room”. That’s just it. Michael was the elephant in his own room...”

– “I don’t find it very funny.”

– “Neither do I. What’s funny about it is that... when you have an elephant in the room, you can’t see anything else about the room.”

  Scott couldn’t argue against that. When he had first seen Michael’s body at the morgue, his reaction was pretty much the same. He could hardly blame someone else for not acting professional – especially an angry, confused teenager.

– “How about the door to his room?”

– “What about it?”

– “Was it closed for the night? Was it locked from inside?”

– “You can’t lock people in their rooms from outside. It would be too tempting to play a trick like that... for some people.”

– “Was it opened, then?”

– “I don’t know... It was opened when I joined everyone in there.”

– “No. They joined you, remember?”

– “Right. No... The maid had already opened the door.”

– “But it was locked. Michael had a key for it.”

– “We all have the key to our own bedrooms. I never leave it opened when I’m in class. Who knows who would come and steal my stuff? Then yes... the door had to be locked for the night.”

– “Is that something you do?”

– “You bet! I’m pretty sure that the others do the same... I don’t want anyone to pounce on me and wake me up in the morning.”

– “Of course...”

  Better safe than sorry – Scott nodded in agreement.

– “Are we done here?... because I am.”

– “Do you have something to do?”

– “I’m eighteen. I have my whole life to consider... I meant, the drawing.”

– “Oh... Would you like to show me?”

– “If you don’t mind praising me for my talents.”

  The sketch was really not bad. Scott found it almost flattering, in its likeness. Owen received his compliments with a somewhat wry smile, as a way to hide his true feelings. He had reasons to be pleased with his own work.

– “Would you like to keep it?”

– “If you don’t mind...”

– “I enjoyed the exercise, but it’s just as well. It would be rather out of place in my little collection of “me, me, me” drawings.”

  They shook hands. Owen closed the door to his bedroom and waited for Scott to be out of earshot before he let out a sharp laugh, as someone who remembers a good joke.

– “What a dumbass!”

■ ■ ■

March 6^th, 1990 – Tuesday

  Scott’s stomach ache was still there. For the whole evening, he had hoped that the burning sensation would fade away – but no... It was worse than ever.

  He had only eaten a light dinner at Gino’s. Maybe a pan of lasagna with a large plate of penne rigate on the side didn’t really qualify as a “light meal” – one of Gino’s waiters had made the fatal mistake of suggesting the chef’s special tiramisu for dessert... Still, Scott had eaten a lot less than on his first dinner, when Phil had invited him.

  Thinking about food didn’t help. He didn’t remember feeling this bad when he was eating, but picturing it right now was enough to make him burp and almost hurl...

– “What’s wrong with me, seriously?”

  Scott kept tossing and turning in his bed.

– “What time is it?”

  He looked at his watch. It was close to 1AM.

– “Fuck...”

  The pain was growing more and more intense as he complained about it.

– “I can’t stand this any longer... What can I do?”

  Scott needed help. But who was there to help him? The thought crossed his mind that he could call room service.

– “No. Definitely not... ”

  There was no way that he would call Tom or any of his coworkers for help – not after they had called him a blimp. Besides, he was rather... full, at the moment. They would make fun of him. Scott didn’t want them around, tonight.

– “I know! I need medical assistance... I need a doctor!”

  Scott got up and hurried to his wallet. Fumbling through the cards he kept in there, he finally found Phil’s.

– “Okay...” Scott dialed. “Answer the phone... Answer, answer, answer...”

  Scott reached his voice mail. He wasn’t in the mood to leave a message.

– “Okay... I guess he’s not home, then... he may be at the hospital?”

  There weren’t so many options left, anyway. Scott dialed again, and waited so patiently as he could – turning the telephone cord with his fingers.

– “Biberton’s general hospital. How may I help you?”

– “Phil? For the love of God, is that you?”

  Scott couldn’t mistake that masculine, soft, warm voice with its discrete but delightful Southern lilt. Phil was quick on the catch, just the same

– “Scott?... Why are you calling so late? I was about to leave.”

– “Perfect. I need you to come over here.”

– “...Right now?”

– “Yes! I’m really not feeling well.”

– “Where are you?”

  Phil was on his way. Scott felt a bit better, now that someone was coming to help him. Then he remembered that it was a long way to the hospital...

  He saw his reflection in the mirror hanging over the phone. Owen was right. If Scott needed any kind of confirmation that he was sick, he only had to look into his own eyes. They were almost yellow.

  Then he noticed that he had been breathing faster and faster, for the last hour or so – short, nervous breaths. He had to take off his T-shirt.

– “I’m definitely going to throw up...”

  He rushed to the bathroom, feeling quite dizzy. Standing over the toilet, trying to catch his breath, trying to cool down, Scott waited – and waited...

  Nothing.

  No matter how much he had eaten at dinner, his stomach would burn down the food and let the ashes work their way down his intestines rather than let it go up to reduce the pressure in Scott’s belly. Right now, it felt like he had swallowed a blast furnace, and fed it hard wood all day, log after log...

– “I can’t stand this much longer!”

  Just then, he heard a discrete knock on his door. It had to be Phil.

– “Come in...”

– “Your door’s locked.”

– “Oh...” Scott bit his lower lip. “Stupid.”

  Scott took a deep breath and came to the door. Phil was standing outside, his hair all tousled and wet from the rain. As for his clothes, they were almost drenched.

– “Did you walk all the way down from the hospital?”

– “I couldn’t find a taxi at this hour.”

– “What about your car?”

– “I don’t have a car...”

– “Right... I forgot.”

– “Please, Scott. Sit down...”

  He had to help him sit by the bed.

– “You’re right on time... One moment later and I swear I was about to pass out from the pain.”

– “I should think so.”

  Phil was already examining him. Scott was feverish, short of breath...

– “This is more serious than I thought...”

– “What is it?”

– “Do you feel a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach?”

– “Duh... I feel like I’m going to explode like a boiler with no exhaust valve!”

– “Okay. Then it’s just what I was afraid of. How long have you been feeling like this?”

– “I don’t know... all day, pretty much.”

– “You should have called me this morning...”

– “I wasn’t into so much pain, this morning!”

  Scott wasn’t the most patient kind of patient. On the other hand, Phil was used to dealing with people in his situation. He opened his medical case and took a few instruments for further examination.

– “Let me feel your pulse... What have you been eating today?”

– “Is that really the problem here?”

– “Yes.”

– “Come on! it would take me all night to make that list... I’m not even sure that I remember what I had for breakfast.”

– “Okay... Never mind that.”

– “What’s wrong? Am I sick or not?”

– “You’re not.”

 Phil didn’t hesitate for a moment. Scott found it hard to believe, but he was impressed by his attitude, both caring and professional.

– “All right, I guess I’ve been... eating a bit too much, today.”

– “It does look that way, but I had something else in mind.”

– “Can you help me feel better? I can’t just sleep and let it go away...”

  Scott went on complaining about the pain, but Phil was no longer listening. He looked worried, as if he was trying to solve a riddle in his mind.

– “I know... You can’t...”

  Phil turned to the small fridge under Scott’s desk.

– “Do you have something to drink?”

– “Sorry, the bar’s closed... or empty – whatever...”

– “Okay. Drink.”

  Scott wasn’t in the mood for just aspirin, at this point.

– “Can’t you give me something stronger?”

– “I’m sorry, Scott. A sedative may be more dangerous than helpful to you, right now.”

– “Why’s that?”

– “Because... if I gave you sleeping pills, you could die...”

– “Wait... die?”

  Phil was looking into his medical case again, opening a thin compartment that looked very rarely used.

– “You might end up throwing up in your sleep and...”

– “Okay, okay.”

– “As a matter of fact, it would be better to keep you awake. Then all you have to do is sweat it out.”

– “Sweat what out?”

  Scott’s drink actually tasted like aspirin – sparkly, but not much of a buzz.

  Then Phil gave him something much more interesting.

– “Marijuana... really?”

– “The fact that it’s hardly legal doesn’t mean that it’s not medicine. Besides, I’m a doctor”, Phil said apologetically. “If that’s what it takes to help you calm down and feel better...”

– “Gimme that.”

  It was the right kind of weed too. Scott had not enjoyed a good smoke like this in years. Phil was telling him something, but he only listened to that soft, warm, smooth voice – it was more soothing than music meant for the radio station.

  Scott’s headache started fading away. His stomach was still more than queasy, but it was already a step in the right direction.

– “How is it? Better?”

– “Huh huh...”

– “Scott? Are you listening?”

– “No...” He started laughing.

– “Scott, please... Focus. Scott, you’ve been poisoned.”

– “Huh... what?”

– “Poison. I don’t know which one, exactly. My guess would be ricin... Let’s just hope that it’s not aconitine...” Phil looked almost panicked. “That’s why you have to sweat it out... Okay?”

– “Well... Okay, then. Relax... Don’t sweat it!”

  Scott laughed out loud, once again. Then, out of the blue, he let out a roaring belch that left him gaping for a whole minute.

– “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRP!!!”

  For a moment, it looked like Phil didn’t know what to do.

  Then he stood up, went to his coat and took out a brown paper bag. There were two or three doughnuts left in there. The blonde doctor took put two different kinds of pills inside each of them.

– “What is this?”

– “Leftover doughnuts from the hospital. This is what your body needs, definitely more than THC...”

– “TH what?”

– “Cannabis.”

– “What about the pills you’ve put in there?”

– “If you really want to know, it’s some theriac I’ve been working on, for the last few weeks... I was afraid that something would happen.”

– “What, something like me being poisoned?”

– “Exactly. Now, it should be quite effective, but it doesn’t taste good.”

– “Well, these doughnuts look good to me.”

  Scott smiled a very goofy smile.

– “I was hoping that it would help...” Phil smiled back.

– “It’s funny... Right when I could be saved by some pastry, I don’t feel hungry.”

– “Come on, Scott. Don’t be childish about this.”

 That was the worst choice of words to get Scott to do the right thing.

– “You want me to eat them?” He pouted, making fun of his friend. “Make me.”

  Maybe Scott just hit a nerve, right then. Phil was serious about this: Scott was in actual danger. The blonde hunk stood up. Holding a doughnut in one hand, he grabbed the back of Scott’s head with the other.

– “Eat.”

  Evidently, there was something magical about Phil’s voice. Scott couldn’t resist for a second. He closed his eyes and opened wide. Phil stuffed him with that large, tasty piece of pastry in only three bites.

– “Another.”

– “Hmmmph...”

– “Come on, Scott. We don’t have all night. Eat up!”

  In a matter of minutes, Scott was done with the last doughnut. It was delicious, but he ate like such a pig that Phil had to wash his hands.

– “Hey, Phil... you know what goes well with doughnuts?”

– “You’re done with your doobie.”

– “I know... Give me another.”

– “You should be fine, by now... All you have to do now is simply let it out of your system.”

– “Give. Me. Another!”

  Phil got up with a sigh and went to the bathroom.

– “What you really need is to sweat.”

– “Why don’t you turn the air conditioning to a hundred degrees?”

  Scott was pouting again.

– “Don’t be silly. You should take a good, hot shower or... Wow!”

– “What... what is it?”

  Apparently, Phil did not expect to find a Jacuzzi in there. Scott was used to it by now. He had been watching TV and drinking from the mini bar every evening, while soaking in its bubbles.

– “There you go. Take off your clothes and hop in...” Phil urged Scott to join him as he was starting the heater’s program at maximum power.

– “Okay, okay... I’m coming.”

  Scott didn’t feel like sitting in boiling water and breathing through steam, but it sounded like doctor’s orders. Phil left him alone in there. Back in the bedroom, he asked if everything was okay.

– “I’m fine...” Scott answered grimly.

– “Just breathe and relax.”

– “Tell that to the lobsters in Boston...”

  Waiting to get back to his senses and get rid of whatever he had been poisoned with was unbelievably boring. Scott let out a sigh, and a groan.

  He could hear Phil pacing nervously, in his bedroom. It was reassuring to know that there was a doctor around if he needed help, even at this late hour. Only Scott could tell that his blonde friend was just so restless as he was. It made him nervous again.

– “Will you stop walking back and forth like that...”

– “Sorry?”

– “What are you doing, anyway? It’s driving me crazy.”

– “I didn’t want to bother you.”

– “Come over here!”

– “Are you feeling better.”

– “Peachy... I’ll feel a lot better if I get to see you, honestly.”

– “Well, okay.”

  The door opened and, through the thickening steam, Scott saw Phil step into the bathroom – naked. The blonde, beefy stud slowly came closer to the hot tub. He was smiling, but with a rather shy and concerned expression over his face – only His body language told a completely different story...

  For a moment, Scott felt like he was hallucinating from whatever was cut into that weed or stuffed into those doughnuts, but there was Phil – in the flesh. Or rather, flesh and bone – very much so... He was only a few feet away from Scott, but it didn’t feel like they belonged to the same realities. Tall, meaty, thick and standing up in more ways than decency would allow, he was still like a statue – the most massive and impressive colossus ever.

  Scott’s heart had certainly skipped more than a few beats, but it was racing now. As much as he had seen Phil shirtless, or down to his boxer shorts in the last few weeks, Scott was amazed at his physique. It always looked too good to be true. Now that he had all the evidence he needed, Scott could confirm that clothes really didn’t do him justice! That blonde hunk was easily man enough for three or four...

  It was not the first time that a guy had pulled such a stunt on him – showing up naked to get him turned on by surprise. Scott usually came up with the right snappy words to put the guy in his place – like asking for him to show what license he had to carry a lady’s gun...

  He was dumbstruck, right now. Being struck by lightning would hardly make him feel a sting, in comparison... Clearly, the blood flowing through his veins was no longer pumped up to his brain. The only way for him to rise to the occasion wouldn’t be with words. The water was truly boiling around him, and Scott was lost – totally hazy.

  Only Phil’s voice could save him from drowning in his own pool of sweat.

– “If you were a lobster, someone should get you out of the casserole now...”

  Scott had to be blushing deeply, for sure. His fever was rising again, reaching alarming peaks – but he was no longer interested in his body temperature. For the first time in his life, Scott was interested in someone else’s body...

  Phil was still standing before him, like a man servant. Scott understood that the guy didn’t want to impose anything on him. There he was. Scott only had to laugh at him or tell him “Dude! What are you doing in here?” and he would go.

  He would put his clothes back on, leave the room and that would be it – no hard feelings.

  That was quite a statement, but Phil’s attitude made it perfectly clear. So he had a point... but you had to be blind to ignore that there was something much harder than feelings about him!

  It was a bit too late for Scott to play games, act like he was the alpha male in the room. Besides, his whole attitude was betraying him. He had just licked his lips absent-mindedly. Then he noticed that Phil did just the same, as a way to answer him properly. That blonde stud had such sparkling, green eyes, and there was an angelic quality to his smile – but his body looked heavy with muscle meat, standing proud and mighty. Even the steamy fog slowly dissipating around him seemed to caress his athletic, thick frame, covering him with shiny beads and curved lines of salty, hot water.

– “There should be room for two in here... May I join you?”

  Scott had not yet recovered his ability to speak. He nodded. Phil came to sit carefully by his side. Then he moved closer and put his right arm around Scott’s shoulders.

– “Are you feeling relaxed?”

– “Huh... Yes, a bit...”

– “Good. Let’s keep you warm and sweating.”

  If that was doctor’s orders, Scott was determined to be an excellent patient – for a change...

– “Better?”

– “Yes... definitely.”

– “Good, sweat it out. You need to drain that poison out of your body...”

  Phil kept his voice down. Scott was familiar with it. He had already appreciated how comforting the doctor could be just with a few, well-chosen words. Soon, Phil’s hands slipped around and began caressing Scott’s plump belly.

  Now that felt just awesome. Whatever burning pain was still to be suffered in there, Scott’s brain decided to ignore it completely and shut down all lines of communication between the two... He was fully erect, and he could feel the other guy’s long, thick shaft gently prying against his butt. It was harder than stainless steel...

  Nothing about it would feel awkward – quite the opposite: deep down, Scott had been wondering about Phil, and what he would be like in bed... Just being with him like this and feeling what desire they felt for each other was already pure pleasure for Scott.

  He started moaning as Phil was embracing his belly a bit tighter, moving up and down to his underbelly – then his left hand went on its own to rub his thigh while his right hand carefully reached Scott’s lap.

– “Hey! Watch it...”

– “You’re too tense”, Phil whispered into his ear. “Just breathe and relax.”

– “If that’s your idea of draining poison out of me...”

– “Please...”

  Phil was stroking him, gentle but firm, bringing Scott to throb and squirm. This was so much better than jerking off alone... He let out a groan of delight, so deep and raw that Phil slowed down, concerned.

– “Is there something wrong?”

– “I’m kind of... sensitive, you know? And you have such strong hands... I mean large... hands. I mean, you’re built like a bricklayer. If only you had some lube around here...”

– “I see...” Phil went back on caressing his thighs and belly. “That’s okay. I will be more careful...”

  Scott followed his advice and let himself go, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder as he was pretty much sitting in his lap. No matter how gentle his words would be, Phil’s actions were a lot more than “nice” – and a lot worse than “naughty”. Then Scott turned slightly, and put a soft kiss on the blonde guy’s neck – and he could feel the shivers it sent through his body... all the way. Phil’s hands started fondling Scott’s forms a bit harder, going around his hips now.

– “Scott...”

– “Hmmm?”

– “Do you trust me?”

– “I guess I do.”

– “Then... Don’t worry. Don’t worry about a thing...”

  To Scott’s surprise, Phil removed his arms from around him, and got down to his knees in the middle of the tub, water bubbling up to his chest. He looked a bit hesitant – almost mysterious – and he was sweating about as much as Scott...

– “I won’t hurt you... Okay?”

– “Huh... Okay...”

  And he swiftly disappeared under water... Scott was startled – but once he felt firm lips around his cock, he literally gasped for air. Phil’s hands were caressing his hips and thighs, going from his love handles to his butt cheeks, keeping Scott comfortable and in position so he could blow him really hard. Soon, he was deep-throating him fully... It was extraordinary. Even back in College, in the most glorious nights of his football fame, Scott had never been treated this well by anyone – boy or girl!

  After a moment, Phil rose out of water in a rush. He had to catch his breath, of course. In such a quick move of his torso, he splashed about like a wild dog and hot drops of water came lashing against Scott’s chest and all over his face. It felt quite like being whipped, only far more intense – then it spurred the feverish guy on into a frenzy...

  Wide-eyed, he looked at that blonde half-god who was running a hand through his hair like a savage, and breathing hard as he gave him a furtive look. Scott couldn’t get any more turned on... He wanted more! Whatever it was that the plump boy wanted, Phil already knew how to offer it to him on a silver plate. He was right back underwater, up to the task and down to it before Scott could beg him to go on.

  This went on until Scott started losing his mind. His last coherent thought was how certain cheerleader, famous for her personal encouragement after a winning game, should seriously take lessons from this guy. Phil was more than an expert at this. He was a natural. Under any other circumstance, Scott would have come and coated his chest in a thick, creamy white – but Phil was pacing himself really well, leaving Scott right on the edge, always wanting more, sweating abundantly and slowly dissolving with ecstasy in that bathtub...

  Finally, neither of them could take it any further. Phil couldn’t hold his breath forever, and the water jets didn’t help... Scott actually passed out as he shot his load. The heat was getting oppressive around them. If he had to leave this world with next to no regret, this was the way he wished to go...

■ ■ ■

  When he opened his eyes, Scott’s breathing was back to normal. It made him feel incomparably better... He was lying in bed, his body all clean and dry – and spent – but comfortable.

  He must have been out only for a few minutes. Phil was still there, turning his back on him as he was sitting on the edge. He was holding Scott’s hand, in order to check his pulse. It was such a gentle gesture – almost romantic, in Scott’s opinion – and so out of place that he twitched. Phil reassured him with a pat and a smile. He was still wet but no longer steamy, with his hair more tousled than ever. Scott guessed that he had taken a quick, cold shower while he was spread over the bed.

  Phil tucked him in. If Scott had ever wished for a big brother when he was a child, he would look for a guy like him in Santa’s catalogue. Or Santa’s secret, gay brother’s catalogue, rather – meant for bad boys like him, and where he stood a better chance of finding an item like Phil...

– “Is everything all right?”

– “You will be fine... All you need now is a good night of sleep. I will come back with the right medicine for you, tomorrow...”

  Once again, Scott didn’t know what to say. What words would be appropriate for a guy who had just serviced him so well – and totally out of the blue? Phil only looked concerned with his friend’s health, at the moment, but Scott couldn’t believe that anyone would go to such lengths, even if he was attracted to him.

  He couldn’t just say “Thank you”. That felt rude, even to his own ears.

  Phil looked at the alarm clock on Scott’s night table. It was almost 3AM – time for him to go, now that his friend was out of harm’s way.

– “I should probably...”

– “Don’t!”

  Scott had just caught his wrist in a vicelike grip. Even he was startled by the unusual, aggressive tone in his voice – but he wouldn’t let go.

– “Don’t leave me alone! Not now.”

– “But... Scott...”

– “Not tonight. I need you here!”

  He was downright feral. Phil saw through his whole attitude at once, and didn’t try to resist. He sat back on the bed and leaned over him protectively.

– “Just go to sleep now, Scott... You have nothing to be afraid of.”

– “Don’t go away.”

– “Come on, you’re hurting me.”

  That was probably true. Scott was clutching his wrist as if he wanted to snap it like a twig – which was very unlikely, considering Phil’s wrist. The blonde hunk wrapped his free hand around Scott’s and brought him to calm down with a gentle brush. As a matter of fact, Phil wasn’t quiet at all, deep down, but he made an effort to get Scott to relax.

– “Don’t go.”

– “All right, I won’t. Get some sleep, now... You really need it.”

– “Where are you going?”

– “I don’t know. I will sit in that armchair... It looks comfortable enough.”

– “That won’t do. I need to know that you’re still there while I sleep.”

  The young doctor couldn’t help looking a bit uncomfortable. Scott couldn’t get what was wrong with him – this would be the first time anyone had declined an offer to sleep with him! It was actually worse... Scott had to wonder what was wrong with his own attitude. His mind was usually focused on his pride or self-respect, and he couldn’t ignore that this was also the first time when he had wished for anyone to stay with him after sex!

  Scott hated this. He didn’t want to beg – but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. That much was clear to Phil.

– “Are you sure?”

– “Stop arguing and take your clothes off.”

  Phil paused for a second.

– “So, when you said that you wanted to make sure that I was next to you in bed, what you meant was...”

– “If I only needed a dummy with your clothes on, I would put it to bed myself.” Scott snapped. “Now, I look around and you’re the only dummy I can see. Am I making myself clear?”

– “Like Cristal...”

– “Okay, then. Shirt? Off.”

  If Scott was sure of anything about this moment, it was how much he enjoyed it. Phil may or may not be fooled, but the blonde guy decided to take the step up – and he took his off his wet T-shirt in one swift, sensual move that would take months and months to learn for any professional stripper.

  Scott couldn’t help smiling in appreciation.

– “Okay, then... Pants? On the floor. Now.”

  Phil knew better, and took his time to provide Scott with a good show. Once again, it wasn’t the same guy standing in front of him – or he had turned into some Nordic god of masculinity.

  Scott’s brains were pretty much turned to Jell-O, but the closest comparison he could come up with was if Clark Kent had to take off his tighty whities instead of his glasses to become Superman...

  Or maybe Superman would get to Phil’s level if he took off his red undies?

– “Scott... Are you okay?”

– “Never better. Get under the covers.”

  Phil did as he was told.

  In a matter of minutes – most naturally – he was hugging Scott like a big bear holding his cub close to his chest... It was such a tender embrace that Scott melted in his arms like hot chocolate.

– “Phil?”

– “Hmmm...”

– “I can’t sleep like this.”

– “Oh... Sorry, I’ll just...”

– “Come, roll over me.”

  Scott laid down on his back, inviting Phil to rest on top of him. The blonde hunk behaved nice and friendly but he was obviously turned on. Scott would agree that they could do a lot more than sleep together...

  It was hard for Phil to hide his feelings, anyway, considering how enormously well-endowed he was. There had to be a reason why this guy had a reputation in town as someone who could never tell a lie...

  Scott commented on it with a few teasing words.

  Phil was standing on his elbows, hands and knees, looking over Scott with the eyes of a man about to jump off a cliff. His heart was pounding like a bass drum, leading the marching band. He looked deep into Scott’s eyes, which was enough to make him blush. Then Scott saw him licking his lips, and he got him started with a vigorous slap on his butt.

– “Ouch!”

– “Get on with it, you sissy stud.”

  Scott was also fully erect, and feeling better than he had ever been in his life! He couldn’t care less if his body was burning like a blast furnace. No matter what amount of poison had been slipped into his food or drinks, it would soon vanish into thin air.

– “You know what I want...”

  Phil nodded. Scott couldn’t decide whether he was reading excitement or panic in these magnificent green eyes. He looked like a tiger in the jungle, during a hunt. The he smiled, in an effort to overcome that uneasy feeling... With both hands, Scott pressed on Phil’s shoulders. Pushing him down, he forced him to lie low and rub his belly with his chest. With only a few moves, Phil got into a better position, took command and gave Scott exactly what he wanted.

  As a matter of fact, he showered him with such rubs and kisses, and licks and pinches in all the right spots that Scott surrendered completely. Those hands and lips kept on starting fires all over his body – even in places Scott had not even considered exploring until now. Unable to keep it down, he started moaning louder and louder...

– “Please, Scott...” Phil advised him playfully. “You will wake up your neighbors.”

– “I can’t... help it...”

  Phil was subjecting him to such pleasure, so precisely and so effortlessly that it felt like he knew Scott’s body better than anyone in the world – including Scott... The quivering boy kept on moaning and gasping in delight. Then Phil whispered a few words into his ear, as if he had heard Scott’s question.

– “I know every square inch of your skin... You’ve grown a bit fatter lately, but I have performed enough massages on you to remember what your body reacts to... What you like, what you want... and what you need. I know it all by heart.”

  That was too much for Scott. Phil’s magic fingers – and lips and tongue – had turned him into a man-sized bottle of champagne. He almost passed out as the blonde, cuddly bear made his cork pop so he would shoot, spray and pour a real flow of thick cream. There wasn’t a single cell in his body that wasn’t shaken down to its core...

  Scott was shocked – more than amazed: shocked. He was twenty-eight, and for all his wild adventures with girls and guys – and more – he had never experienced anything like this... Even his best memories of group sex felt like a poor excuse for the next best thing.

  Thanks to Phil, who was done cleaning his belly and underbelly with his towel in slow, careful moves, Scott’s fall down back to Earth went rather smoothly. His body was still burning.

– “...Felling better?”

– “You bet...”

– “Okay.”

  Scott smiled as Phil left a gentle kiss on his forehead.

– “Still feverish...”

– “Oh, well... what can you do about it?”

  Phil was more than ready to follow Scott’s lead, if he kept insisting on playing naughty games – and more than ready to raise the stakes...

  Scott had to do something about it.

– “Wait, wait!”

– “Did I do something wrong?”

– “Huh... no... Certainly not until now.”

– “What are you talking about?”

– “We both know how this goes...”

  Scott didn’t want to say it out loud. Phil moved just a bit closer, and whispered into his ear.

– “You never know how far the ocean will take you, until you embark for the journey... Welcome on board, Columbus.”

  Phil didn’t make it any easier for Scott. Of course, he had to gently bite his earlobe... There was no way for him to resist.

– “Oh... my... Please, stop. Phil...”

– “Okay... What is it?”

– “Huh... You’re a really amazing guy. And you’re hot! I mean...”

  Phil only made matters worse, standing on his knees and looking over Scott like a giant. The moonlight put his full figure on display – both beefy and graceful, athletic in every way, bearish and feline – sculpting the contours of his smooth waist and chest, his arms and forearms, his meaty pecs and shoulders, up to his masculine jaw, all glowing quietly with a sheen of sweat.

  If Scott would only turn around, he was ready to give him the royal treatment...

– “So...”

– “There’s no way that you get to park this monster truck in my back alley.”

  That was rather blunt.

  It may have come out wrong, but Scott had to say it out loud.

  Phil didn’t say a word. For a moment, Scott wondered if he wasn’t going to get slapped. Then Phil was perfectly capable of crushing him or breaking down his spine with his bare hands too...

  The whole room went dark for a moment. Leave it to the moon to go out like that, when you need some light. Scott could only hear Phil breathing.

– “...Do you want me to leave now?”

– “What? No... I would appreciate it if you stay, and sleep next to me.”

– “Olay...”

  Phil didn’t seem particularly angry, or disappointed. Or anything... Scott knew better than this. The blonde guy was crushed – only in a much different, slightly more painful and much less satisfying way that Scott expected to be crushed if Phil had his way with him...

  He couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for the guy.

  Phil went back to his earlier position, hugging Scott from behind. Then he asked him if he would like him to move into a more comfortable one. In a matter of a few minutes later, Scott rested by Phil’s side, his head nestled on his chest, with a strong arm around his waist and an adventurous hand caressing his lower back and butt...

– “Is this okay?”

– “It’s perfect...”

– “Go to sleep, now...” Phil kissed the top of his head. “It’s really late, and we both have to go to work early in the morning.”

  Scott didn’t have to wake up so early, but he was tired.

  He still felt like he owed him some apology.

– “...Are you okay?”

– “I’m good.”

– “I mean... You don’t mind that you didn’t get to...”

– “Never mind that, Scott... Never mind...”

  Phil really didn’t sound disappointed – so much that Scott found it strange. Who wouldn’t feel disappointed after this? Scott’s pride was back in charge. It wasn’t his fault if he had such a delicate, sweet piece of ass.

  There was a playful quality to Phil’s answer, however.

– “What is it?”

– “Hmmm?...”

– “Come on. What’s on your mind.”

– “I’ve been thinking about this, pretty much from the moment I saw you.”

– “And what have you been thinking... exactly?”

– “You were really thin when you came over here. I couldn’t help feeling sad over the fact that you were handsome and sweet, but so lean and... tight.”

  Scott felt a shiver running down his spine. That was the magic word.

  Seriously, this guy could bring him to the last stages of foreplay using only his voice... Scott was feeling all tingly and feverish again.

– “You’ve certainly had opportunities to fully appreciate it...”

– “Even more so, I could feel your progress with every new massage... You’re no longer so lean and mean. As a matter of fact, you’ve grown quite a round belly, lately.”

– “I know...”

– “Then you seem to enjoy your food... a lot!”

  Scott let out a sensual sigh, almost a moan.

– “I know... I love to eat.”

– “You get to enjoy a lot more than food.”

– “Huh... yes...” Scott blushed.

– “Then all we have to do is to fatten you up...”

– “...What?”

– “When your tight end has grown into a pair of large, meaty buttocks, juicy and good enough to cushion the blow... if I may say so myself...”

  Phil’s hand pinched Scott’s plump butt, so well that his body answered without consulting him. Whatever Phil was about to say, his lips were sealed with Scott’s and they remained so for a long moment, as the blonde hunk wasn’t pinned down so much that he was kneading and rolling his fattened friend’s belly against his chest...

■ ■ ■

  The moon was definitely gone when they finally agreed on getting some well-deserved rest. It wouldn’t be long for the sun to show up.

  Phil’s voice was just so caressing as he was. They had only had a good talk like this on a few occasions... Scott had troubles remembering all the things that he had eaten or drunk on that day, from breakfast to dinner, but he promised to write it down for him.

– “You’re playing a dangerous game with the people in Augustine Bells...”

– “I know...”

– “This is what happens when you’re not careful.”

– “I’m fine now... I can handle these guys.”

  Phil didn’t sound too convinced. Scott could tell from the way he was hugging him tight, like a big brother – an incestuous big brother...

  That thought was enough to bring a smile to his face.

– “You don’t get to play your part in this game, do you?”

– “No... Mr Porkenham has always pushed me to the side. As for the others...”

– “Do you know the first rule about this game?”

– “What rule?”

– “It’s that... you should never play by anyone else’s rules. You make them play by your rules...”

  Scott felt the blonde, bearish stud move against him.

– “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard... Scott, there are no rules.”

– “Huh?”

– “The first rule about this game is that you should know who you are playing against...”

■ ■ ■

  It was almost 2PM when Scott woke up. Phil was long gone. The bedroom felt so quiet – almost empty.

  The burning, squirming and gnawing feeling in his stomach was also gone.

  Scott didn’t want to get out of bed, but he was getting hungry...

  Eventually, he got up, went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, dressed up and went outside.

  It was a foggy, cloudy afternoon, and a dun-colored veil hung over the house-tops, looking like the reflection of the mud-colored streets beneath. Scott was also feeling dizzy, thinking about last night.

– “Mrs Amber Gloria Morgan, 38^th Evergreen Lane...”

  The place looked very sloppy from the rain which had fallen through the night. Its garden was bounded by a three-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and traversed by a narrow, yellowish pathway which was a mixture of gravel and mud.

  Scott read the name by the letter box. Until Michael’s death, Mrs Morgan had been working as a chambermaid in Augustine Bells. She was the first person on the scene.

  It took her a moment to answer the door.

– “Hello?”

  Her tone was not welcoming at all.

– “Are you Mrs. Morgan?”

– “I am... Who are you?”

– “Scott Girder. I’m Press.”

  He gave her one of his last professional cards.

– “Are you really... Well, I have nothing to do with the Press, so I guess you made a mistake.”

– “I was actually looking to meet a maid who used to work at Saint Augustine Bells preparatory school. Are you Consuela?”

  Scott noticed a slight shrinking of her pupils. She looked very much on her guard, like a cat in front of a frozen pond.

– “My name is Amber. You must looking for someone else, young man.”

  She was about to close her door, but Scott stopped her on time.

– “Phil gave me your name and address.”

– “Oh... You’ve been talking to Doctor Hewdge.”

  Scott nodded. She looked hesitant, but he was allowed to come inside.

– “Forgive my manners, Mr. Girder. I can’t say that I am particularly proud of the way I have deceived most of the staff in that school. I was Consuela Rodriguez for more than six months, until I was offered a better job in town.”

– “So you weren’t fired? I thought...”

  There was that angry look again – like a flash. Scott didn’t insist.

– “I left with a most elegant letter of recommendation for my new employer. Why would I be fired? I didn’t do anything wrong – or they didn’t know that I had done something wrong.”

– “How did Phil find out about it?”

– “I don’t know. Phil is actually smarter than he looks. That’s the privilege of dumb blondes, I guess: looking so dumb... He saw right through me, and my Southern pride. I was new in Biberton and I needed an easy job to smooth things out with my bank, and my landlord...”

– “Why did you have to pretend that you came from Mexico?”

  Mrs Morgan invited him to sit down.

  She was a relatively short, dark-haired lady. From the color of her eyes and her skin tone, Scott couldn’t deny that she would be labelled as the Latino type.

– “People don’t just expect you to do your job, Mr Girder. They want you to play your part. Then you have to look the part. They couldn’t imagine a chambermaid from South Carolina. My character couldn’t be flaxen-haired and pale, I had to be Mexican. It so happens that I get a good tan pretty easily.”

– “Do you speak Spanish?”

– “Not a word... On a good day, I barely had to say hello to the people I worked for. Simple as that.”

– “I see...”

– “I am quite confident that no one except Phil ever suspected a thing. Then he was the only one who took a moment to talk to me, so...”

  Scott wasn’t too comfortable, sitting on the couch. It only took him a moment to realize that he was getting aroused at the mere mention of Phil’s name.

– “Maybe... huh... your Southern accent gave you away?”

– “I don’t know... Maybe. His accent is actually stronger than mine, but he never had to hide it.”

– “Some people have an ear for that kind of things...”

– “It would be rather funny for a guy like him. I’ve been told that he’s almost fifty percent deaf, after he got shocked during action or something... I guess it’s not that funny.”

 Scott was almost ready to interrupt and ask her to stop talking about Phil... He was beginning to sweat, in his tight shirt and dark suit.

– “I didn’t really expect you to be from South Carolina, to be honest.”

  She seemed flattered, when Scott was only trying to focus on something else.

– “Of course, Morgan is a rather common name. But I was raised in a wealthy family, with relations to the right people in town.”

  She went on a bit about her upbringing, only mentioning Phil’s obviously poor background to make her point.

  Scott was amazed at his own reaction. Why should he feel so excited when Mrs. Morgan reminded him that her parents would always call him “white trash”? It didn’t make sense... Scott already knew what a magnificent bad boy Phil was.

– “I hope that I’m not bothering you...”

– “Honestly? I was looking forward to this. I have been thinking about it... You’ve come to ask me about Michael.”

– “That’s right.”

– “What can I say? It was Sunday, so I only started working at eight. I was not really in the mood to clean up teenager mess, change bed sheets and towels for their bathrooms. I looked at the panel and saw that Mr Astern’s light was on.”

– “What light?”

– “All the students have a panel in their rooms with a few call buttons. It’s the equivalent of your sign saying “Chambermaid’s service requested” at a hotel. All calls are recorded in the maids’ office.”

– “I see...”

– “Michael was a relatively decent boy, so I decided to answer his call. I went up. It was about half past eight. I opened the door and... well, I found him on the floor.”

– “When you opened the door...”

– “Yes?”

– “Do you have a key?”

– “I had a pass. There are too many bedrooms in these dormitories...”

– “So, did you open your door with your pass?”

– “I don’t know...”

  Mrs Morgan looked puzzled for a few seconds.

– “Now that you mention it... Why, it’s so strange. I never really thought about the key.”

– “...What about it?”

– “I had my pass, but... Let me picture it again... Yes, I used it but I didn’t have to. It was a surprise for me that I only had to push the door. Then I forgot about it... You know...

– “Of course...”

– “But you’re right. Michael’s door wasn’t locked.”

– “It wasn’t.”

– “No. His door was closed, but it wasn’t locked...”

(To be continued...)