accomplishing that. A test subject clawing his eyes out. Someone screaming that she wished she were dead, that being dead would be better than this, even if it meant going to hell and burning there for eternity. Someone else going into cardiac arrest and then being bundled out of sight with chilling professionalism. Because,letâs face it, Andy old kid, thinking about telepathy doesnât scare you. What scares you is the thought that one of those things might have happened.
Heels clicking, he walked up to the big double doors and tried them. Locked. Behind them he could see the empty lobby. Andy knocked, and when he saw someone coming out of the shadows, he almost ran. He almost ran because the face that was going to appear out of those swimming shadows would be the face of Ralph Baxter, or of a tall man with shoulder-length blond hair and a scar on his chin.
But it was neither; the man who came over to the lobby doors and unlocked them and stuck his querulous face out was a typical college security guard: about sixty-two, lined cheeks and forehead, wary blue eyes that were rheumy from too much bottle time. A big time clock was clipped to his belt.
âBuildingâs closed!â he said.
âI know,â Andy said, âbut I was part of an experiment in Room Seventy that finished up this morning andââ
âThat donât matter! Building closes at nine on weeknights! Come back tomorrow!â
ââand I think I left my watch in there,â Andy said. He didnât own a watch. âHey, what do you say? Just one quick look around.â
âI canât do that,â the night man said, but all at once he sounded strangely unsure.
With no thought at all about it one way or another, Andy said in a low voice: âSure you can. Iâll just take a look and then Iâll be out of your way. You wonât even remember I was here, right?â
A sudden weird feeling in his head: it was as if he had reached out and pushed this elderly night security man, only with his head instead of his hands. And the guard did take two or three uncertain steps backward, letting go of the door.
Andy stepped in, a little concerned. There was a sudden sharp pain in his head, but it subsided to a low throb that was gone half an hour later.
âSay, are you all right?â he asked the security man.
âHuh? Sure, Iâm okay.â The security manâs suspicion was gone; he gave Andy a smile that was entirely friendly. âGo on up and look for your watch, if you want to. Take your time. I probably wonât even remember that youâre here.â
And he strolled off.
Andy looked after him disbelievingly and then rubbed his forehead absently, as if to soothe the mild ache there. What in Godâs name had he done to that old duck? Something, that was for sure.
He turned, went to the stairs, and began climbing them. The upper hall was deeply shadowed and narrow; a nagging feeling of claustrophobia slipped around him and seemed to tighten his breathing, like an invisible dogcollar. Up here, the building had poked into that river of wind, and the air went skating under the eaves, screaming thinly. Room 70 had two double doors, the top halves two squares of frosted, pebbled glass. Andy stood outside them, listening to the wind move through the old gutters and downspouts, rattling the rusty leaves of dead years. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest.
He almost walked away from it then; it seemed suddenly easier not to know, just to forget it. Then he reached out and grasped one of the doorknobs, telling himself there was nothing to worry about anyway because the damn room would be locked and good riddance to it.
Except that it wasnât. The knob turned freely. The door opened.
The room was empty, lit only by stuttering moonlight through the moving branches of the old elms outside. There was enough light for him to see that the cots had been removed. The blackboard
Heels clicking, he walked up to the big double doors and tried them. Locked. Behind them he could see the empty lobby. Andy knocked, and when he saw someone coming out of the shadows, he almost ran. He almost ran because the face that was going to appear out of those swimming shadows would be the face of Ralph Baxter, or of a tall man with shoulder-length blond hair and a scar on his chin.
But it was neither; the man who came over to the lobby doors and unlocked them and stuck his querulous face out was a typical college security guard: about sixty-two, lined cheeks and forehead, wary blue eyes that were rheumy from too much bottle time. A big time clock was clipped to his belt.
âBuildingâs closed!â he said.
âI know,â Andy said, âbut I was part of an experiment in Room Seventy that finished up this morning andââ
âThat donât matter! Building closes at nine on weeknights! Come back tomorrow!â
ââand I think I left my watch in there,â Andy said. He didnât own a watch. âHey, what do you say? Just one quick look around.â
âI canât do that,â the night man said, but all at once he sounded strangely unsure.
With no thought at all about it one way or another, Andy said in a low voice: âSure you can. Iâll just take a look and then Iâll be out of your way. You wonât even remember I was here, right?â
A sudden weird feeling in his head: it was as if he had reached out and pushed this elderly night security man, only with his head instead of his hands. And the guard did take two or three uncertain steps backward, letting go of the door.
Andy stepped in, a little concerned. There was a sudden sharp pain in his head, but it subsided to a low throb that was gone half an hour later.
âSay, are you all right?â he asked the security man.
âHuh? Sure, Iâm okay.â The security manâs suspicion was gone; he gave Andy a smile that was entirely friendly. âGo on up and look for your watch, if you want to. Take your time. I probably wonât even remember that youâre here.â
And he strolled off.
Andy looked after him disbelievingly and then rubbed his forehead absently, as if to soothe the mild ache there. What in Godâs name had he done to that old duck? Something, that was for sure.
He turned, went to the stairs, and began climbing them. The upper hall was deeply shadowed and narrow; a nagging feeling of claustrophobia slipped around him and seemed to tighten his breathing, like an invisible dogcollar. Up here, the building had poked into that river of wind, and the air went skating under the eaves, screaming thinly. Room 70 had two double doors, the top halves two squares of frosted, pebbled glass. Andy stood outside them, listening to the wind move through the old gutters and downspouts, rattling the rusty leaves of dead years. His heart was thudding heavily in his chest.
He almost walked away from it then; it seemed suddenly easier not to know, just to forget it. Then he reached out and grasped one of the doorknobs, telling himself there was nothing to worry about anyway because the damn room would be locked and good riddance to it.
Except that it wasnât. The knob turned freely. The door opened.
The room was empty, lit only by stuttering moonlight through the moving branches of the old elms outside. There was enough light for him to see that the cots had been removed. The blackboard
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