keep the lamps lit. Some people say we should forgive and forget, but I can’t do neither, and I never will.”
The man’s image seemed to shudder. Then, quite silently, he turned away, and opened up the door to the geography room. He disappeared inside and quickly closed the door behind him.
Jim ran to the geography room and peered in through the window. It was empty apart from the man making his way between the desks, with his back turned. Where the hell was he going? This was the only door, and for safety’s sake the windows couldn’t be opened up wide enough for anybody to climb out. Jim twisted the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. He rattled it, and banged on the window with his fist, but theman kept walking across the room toward the opposite corner.
But the further away he walked, the taller he seemed to be. He grew,
stretched,
as if the room’s perspective had been reversed. By the time he was half-way across the room he must have been seven or eight feet tall; and when he reached the wall and turned around, he was standing higher than the picture-rail.
Jim stopped rattling the doorhandle and stared at the man in total dread. This time he could see his face, grinning at him from the top of his dark, attenuated body. It was the face of a black man, his eyes yellow, his cheeks marked with scars. The skin around his mouth was deeply lined, so that it looked as if his lips had been sewn together, like a shrunken head.
But it was his height that unnerved Jim the most. His hat almost touched the ceiling, and his arms were so long that they could reach half-way along the walls.
Für Elise
continued to echo along the corridor: a plonking, mundane counterpoint to the horror inside the geography room.
Jim looked at the man for one more hair-prickling moment. Then he turned and ran to the principal’s office, beside the entrance-hall. Dr Ehrlichman’s secretary was arranging some flowers on the windowsill when Jim came skidding in. She had big ash-blonde hair and oversized spectacles, and she always wore fussy blouses with lacy collars and cuffs.
“Sylvia – call the cops!” Jim told her.
“Mr Rook! The police? What on earth for?”
“There’s a man – it’s the same guy I saw yesterday – he’s locked himself in the geography room. Now, please, will you call the cops!”
Sylvia dithered, so Jim picked up the phone himselfand punched out 911. “Yes – West Grove College – will you please dispatch somebody fast before he gets away. And if you can get a message to Lieutenant Harris – that’s right, he’s been handling the whole investigation. Yes.”
He put down the phone just as Dr Ehrlichman came out of his office. Dr Ehrlichman was small and neat, with a bald suntanned head and a voice like Micky Rooney. He always wore grey Sta-Prest slacks and a crisp short-sleeved white shirt and his favourite word was ‘businesslike’. “Jim – what’s going on here?”
“It’s the same guy that I saw yesterday,” said Jim. “The one who was coming out of the boiler-house when Elvin got stabbed. He’s here. He’s right here in the building.”
“You’ve called Mr Wallechinsky?”
“I’ve called the police.”
“Jim, listen to me. We pay good money for Mr Wallechinsky and there’s a reason for that. He’s an ex-cop. He knows how to deal with security problems. And you know college policy, don’t you? Nobody calls the police to this college without my say-so. Can you imagine the kind of reputation we’re going to get? Yesterday’s incident was serious enough, without compounding it.”
Jim pointed toward the geography room, his arm rigid. “Dr Ehrlichman, there’s a guy in this building who stabbed one of our students so many times that even the medical examiner could hardly count how many holes he had in him. And you think Wallechinsky could deal with somebody like that?”
Dr Ehrlichman said, “Mr Wallechinsky is a good man. Sylvia – do you mind giving him a call?
The man’s image seemed to shudder. Then, quite silently, he turned away, and opened up the door to the geography room. He disappeared inside and quickly closed the door behind him.
Jim ran to the geography room and peered in through the window. It was empty apart from the man making his way between the desks, with his back turned. Where the hell was he going? This was the only door, and for safety’s sake the windows couldn’t be opened up wide enough for anybody to climb out. Jim twisted the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. He rattled it, and banged on the window with his fist, but theman kept walking across the room toward the opposite corner.
But the further away he walked, the taller he seemed to be. He grew,
stretched,
as if the room’s perspective had been reversed. By the time he was half-way across the room he must have been seven or eight feet tall; and when he reached the wall and turned around, he was standing higher than the picture-rail.
Jim stopped rattling the doorhandle and stared at the man in total dread. This time he could see his face, grinning at him from the top of his dark, attenuated body. It was the face of a black man, his eyes yellow, his cheeks marked with scars. The skin around his mouth was deeply lined, so that it looked as if his lips had been sewn together, like a shrunken head.
But it was his height that unnerved Jim the most. His hat almost touched the ceiling, and his arms were so long that they could reach half-way along the walls.
Für Elise
continued to echo along the corridor: a plonking, mundane counterpoint to the horror inside the geography room.
Jim looked at the man for one more hair-prickling moment. Then he turned and ran to the principal’s office, beside the entrance-hall. Dr Ehrlichman’s secretary was arranging some flowers on the windowsill when Jim came skidding in. She had big ash-blonde hair and oversized spectacles, and she always wore fussy blouses with lacy collars and cuffs.
“Sylvia – call the cops!” Jim told her.
“Mr Rook! The police? What on earth for?”
“There’s a man – it’s the same guy I saw yesterday – he’s locked himself in the geography room. Now, please, will you call the cops!”
Sylvia dithered, so Jim picked up the phone himselfand punched out 911. “Yes – West Grove College – will you please dispatch somebody fast before he gets away. And if you can get a message to Lieutenant Harris – that’s right, he’s been handling the whole investigation. Yes.”
He put down the phone just as Dr Ehrlichman came out of his office. Dr Ehrlichman was small and neat, with a bald suntanned head and a voice like Micky Rooney. He always wore grey Sta-Prest slacks and a crisp short-sleeved white shirt and his favourite word was ‘businesslike’. “Jim – what’s going on here?”
“It’s the same guy that I saw yesterday,” said Jim. “The one who was coming out of the boiler-house when Elvin got stabbed. He’s here. He’s right here in the building.”
“You’ve called Mr Wallechinsky?”
“I’ve called the police.”
“Jim, listen to me. We pay good money for Mr Wallechinsky and there’s a reason for that. He’s an ex-cop. He knows how to deal with security problems. And you know college policy, don’t you? Nobody calls the police to this college without my say-so. Can you imagine the kind of reputation we’re going to get? Yesterday’s incident was serious enough, without compounding it.”
Jim pointed toward the geography room, his arm rigid. “Dr Ehrlichman, there’s a guy in this building who stabbed one of our students so many times that even the medical examiner could hardly count how many holes he had in him. And you think Wallechinsky could deal with somebody like that?”
Dr Ehrlichman said, “Mr Wallechinsky is a good man. Sylvia – do you mind giving him a call?
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