Read Online The Dead Student by John Katzenbach - Free Book Online
Authors: John Katzenbach
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does.”
“I’ll go,” said Student #4. “I’m getting an A from him. But you will all have to back me up if he calls you in to confirm what I tell him.”
Heads nodded rapidly. They were all jumpy, nervous—any sudden noise from elsewhere in the cafeteria caused them to shudder. The routine clatter and clank of dishes, the occasional burst of conversation from another table—none of this faded benignly into the background as it usually did. They were all worried that Student #5 was going to walk through the door at any minute, gun in hand.
“I need a list,” Student #4 said. “Everyone write down accurate assessments about frightening behaviors. Be as detailed as possible. Names. Dates. Places. Witnesses, and not just that moment where we all saw him strangle that lab rat for no fucking reason. Then I’ll take all that stuff and see Professor Hogan.”
“As long as there’s no delay,” Student #1 said briskly. “You guys know as well as I do that when someone’s on an edge, they can tumble pretty fast. He needs help. And we’re probably helping him out by going to Professor Hogan.”
The others stared at the ceiling and rolled their eyes. “Probably,” Student #1 repeated.
“Probably. Sure,” Student #3 said.
No one actually believed they were helping their fellow student in the slightest, but speaking this lie out loud was reassuring. They all knew that really what they wanted was to protect themselves, but no one was willing to voice this.
“We’re agreed, then?” Student #4 said.
Glances across the table as the members of the group eyed one another for support. “Yes,” times four.
“All right. I’ll see Professor Hogan tomorrow morning before his lecture,” Student #4 said cautiously. “You will all need to get me your lists before then.” This assignment seemed simple. They were students accustomed to hard work, note taking, and outlining under deadline. Doing patient assessments came automatically to them, and this assignment seemed little different. Then Ed Warner glanced at a clock on the wall. “It’s April first, 1986,” he said, “April Fools’ Day. That will be easy to remember. It’s two-thirty in the afternoon and all four members of Psychiatry Study Group Alpha are in agreement.”
Andy Candy lingered a few strides behind Moth as he surged down the hallway toward his uncle’s office—only to stop short when he saw the yellow police tape sealing the entrance. There were two long strands with the ubiquitous black “Do Not Enter” message. They created an X that crossed in front of the office plaque: “Edward Warner, M.D. PhD. P.A.”
Moth raised a hand, and Andy Candy thought he was going to tear away the security tape.
“Moth,” she said, “you shouldn’t do that.”
His hand abruptly flopped to his side. His voice sounded exhausted. “I need to start somewhere,” he said.
Start what? she thought, then felt that perhaps it was wiser not to answer her question.
“Moth,” she said as gently as she could, “let’s go get something to eat, then I can drop you at your place and maybe you can think all this over.”
He turned to his onetime girlfriend and shook his head. “When I think, all I get is depressed. When I get depressed, all I want to do is drink.” He smiled wryly, just a light rise at the corners of his mouth. “Better for me to keep going, even if it’s in the wrong direction.” He raised a finger and touched the police tape. Then he reached for the door handle. It was locked.
“Are you going to break in?” Andy Candy asked.
“Yes,” Moth replied. “Fuck it. Truth somewhere. And I’m going to start knocking down every door.”
She smiled, although she knew that forcing the door was wrong, and probably illegal. This sounded very much like the Moth she’d once loved.He would combine psychological with practical with poetic in a stew of action that to her was like honey, sweet and endlessly attractive, but sticky and
“I’ll go,” said Student #4. “I’m getting an A from him. But you will all have to back me up if he calls you in to confirm what I tell him.”
Heads nodded rapidly. They were all jumpy, nervous—any sudden noise from elsewhere in the cafeteria caused them to shudder. The routine clatter and clank of dishes, the occasional burst of conversation from another table—none of this faded benignly into the background as it usually did. They were all worried that Student #5 was going to walk through the door at any minute, gun in hand.
“I need a list,” Student #4 said. “Everyone write down accurate assessments about frightening behaviors. Be as detailed as possible. Names. Dates. Places. Witnesses, and not just that moment where we all saw him strangle that lab rat for no fucking reason. Then I’ll take all that stuff and see Professor Hogan.”
“As long as there’s no delay,” Student #1 said briskly. “You guys know as well as I do that when someone’s on an edge, they can tumble pretty fast. He needs help. And we’re probably helping him out by going to Professor Hogan.”
The others stared at the ceiling and rolled their eyes. “Probably,” Student #1 repeated.
“Probably. Sure,” Student #3 said.
No one actually believed they were helping their fellow student in the slightest, but speaking this lie out loud was reassuring. They all knew that really what they wanted was to protect themselves, but no one was willing to voice this.
“We’re agreed, then?” Student #4 said.
Glances across the table as the members of the group eyed one another for support. “Yes,” times four.
“All right. I’ll see Professor Hogan tomorrow morning before his lecture,” Student #4 said cautiously. “You will all need to get me your lists before then.” This assignment seemed simple. They were students accustomed to hard work, note taking, and outlining under deadline. Doing patient assessments came automatically to them, and this assignment seemed little different. Then Ed Warner glanced at a clock on the wall. “It’s April first, 1986,” he said, “April Fools’ Day. That will be easy to remember. It’s two-thirty in the afternoon and all four members of Psychiatry Study Group Alpha are in agreement.”
Andy Candy lingered a few strides behind Moth as he surged down the hallway toward his uncle’s office—only to stop short when he saw the yellow police tape sealing the entrance. There were two long strands with the ubiquitous black “Do Not Enter” message. They created an X that crossed in front of the office plaque: “Edward Warner, M.D. PhD. P.A.”
Moth raised a hand, and Andy Candy thought he was going to tear away the security tape.
“Moth,” she said, “you shouldn’t do that.”
His hand abruptly flopped to his side. His voice sounded exhausted. “I need to start somewhere,” he said.
Start what? she thought, then felt that perhaps it was wiser not to answer her question.
“Moth,” she said as gently as she could, “let’s go get something to eat, then I can drop you at your place and maybe you can think all this over.”
He turned to his onetime girlfriend and shook his head. “When I think, all I get is depressed. When I get depressed, all I want to do is drink.” He smiled wryly, just a light rise at the corners of his mouth. “Better for me to keep going, even if it’s in the wrong direction.” He raised a finger and touched the police tape. Then he reached for the door handle. It was locked.
“Are you going to break in?” Andy Candy asked.
“Yes,” Moth replied. “Fuck it. Truth somewhere. And I’m going to start knocking down every door.”
She smiled, although she knew that forcing the door was wrong, and probably illegal. This sounded very much like the Moth she’d once loved.He would combine psychological with practical with poetic in a stew of action that to her was like honey, sweet and endlessly attractive, but sticky and
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