Twelve
Rick leaped to his feet with a yelp. Yanked from the
dark of his deserted living room to the brightly lit classroom
ninety-four, he fought to reorient himself. He gulped air and cried out
once or twice more to get rid of the fright still galvanizing him like a
jolt of electricity.
He looked at Marla seated beside him at her desk.
She still slept. With her eyes wide open. Dreaming, rather. No way was
the virtual reality interface so innocent as sleep. Whatever Marla was
experiencing, it was as real as real itself.
Rick poked her in the arm with a finger, hoping to
awaken her.
"Warning, Rick Kaiser," his desk computer murmured.
"It is not advisable to disturb classmates engaged in psychological
evaluation."
Rick looked about the room. Mort and Becky were
waxen figures in their seats, as lifeless as Marla Van Kirk. He could see
nothing of Mr. Mangrove. He went to the door and looked in both
directions down the deserted halls. He had no name to pin on the
enigmatic janitor, so he called out Mr. Mangrove's name a few times.
The empty corridors swallowed his voice.
He ran down the hall to the main entrance and yanked
on the handles hard enough to wrench his shoulder. He then paused to
study the moonlit grounds outside. The trees drenched in pale white light
seemed no more substantial than those of his virtual reality experience.
If desperation set in, he'd test the shatterproof glass with a crowbar.
For the moment, he wasn't ready to tackle the night outside. He turned
away and returned to room ninety-four.
He squatted in front of Becky Marple and studied her
face. Her skin was a bit darker than his own, her face a bit broader with
higher cheekbones. She was a pretty girl by any standard, but there were
a few kids around who saw her racial differences as justification for
feelings of superiority. It was a human failing Rick had never
understood. He reached out and touched her cheek.
"Warning, Rick Kaiser..."
Becky's eyes moved beneath her closed eyelids. Like
Marla, every muscle in her body was lax. Except for her breathing, which
seemed a bit fast, she gave no clue as to what she might be experiencing.
He went back to his desk and sat down.
"What time is it?"
"Seven fifty-four, evening," the computer said. "The
date is..."
"Where's Mr. Mangrove?"
"Mr. Mangrove is… nearby."
"Isn't that a violation of rules to leave students
unsupervised?"
"You are mistaken," the computer said calmly. "You
are not unsupervised."
"I don't see anyone. Who's in the building right
now?"
The computer paused. "There is no one in the
building right now."
Rick reared back in surprise. "Yeah, then what am I,
a doorknob?"
"You are..."
Rick waited.
"I am?"
The computer remained silent. Strangely silent.
Someone was playing games. Sinister games.
Armstrong High had never been a prison. Rick refused to believe that what
he was experiencing was a normal or even a legitimate part of Armstrong
High's curriculum.
He eyed a video screen on the wall. It reminded him
that there were phones in the building. He left room ninety-four a second
time and jogged down the long hall toward the rear of the building.
Public phones lined the walls by the school offices. He slipped into a
booth and waited for his iris scan, his parent's bank account to be
debited, and the phone to come to life.
Nothing happened.
"Oh, great!"
He started back up the hall, throwing classroom doors
open as he went. Lights came on automatically in each room he inspected.
Behind him, doors quietly and automatically closed themselves.
He paused at a teacher's lounge. The lounge was
forbidden territory.
"Yeah, sure," he muttered. "Big deal."
He went inside and sat before the private picture
phone. He murmured his home phone number and leaned back against the
headrest. He sighed nervously. Another avenue of escape cut off would
mean panic city. He couldn't take much more.
An image flashed on the screen. He recognized the
living room in the screen. A familiar face that moved into view.
"Dad?"
His father smiled. "Hello, son. How's it going?"
Rick sat up, his heart racing again. "Not too well.
I can't find my instructor-assistant. I'm locked in. I don’t know what
I'm doing here. Call somebody and get me out of here, will you?"
His father looked upset. He glanced at someone or
something off screen, then forced a smile. "Son, I'm afraid you're going
to have to weather the storm. We can't help you with this one."
Rick was flabbergasted. What was going on that his
father would know about and not himself?
"Your mother would like a word with you, son."
His father stepped aside. The most beautiful woman
in the world took his place. His mother reached out and touched the
screen.
Why the tears in her eyes?
"Rick," she whispered. "My boy."
Panic tugged at him. "Mom? Is something wrong?"
She recovered and flashed a smile. "No, of course
not. I've been chopping onions for dinner." She brushed her tears away.
"Please don't worry about the evaluation. I've been told it can be
stressful, but it's perfectly safe. It's for our own good in the long
run. Do your best and we'll see you soon."
Rick's father put his hands on his mother's
shoulders. For a moment, both faces filled the screen. Rick relaxed,
thankful for his loving parents.
"What do you say?" His father smiled. "Can you
handle it?"
"Yeah, I guess," Rick said, not at all certain he
could, and more thoroughly puzzled now than ever. "If you say so."
"I say so. Take care. We'll all be together soon."
Rick glanced from one face to the other. He sat
staring at the screen for long minutes after it had gone dark.
What had all that been about?
It meant that he had to take their advice. He had a
mystery to solve. Apparently, it was important that he solve it on his
own. No longer could he accept what was happening as accident or
oversight. He was being tested.
Rick tapped out his number again. The screen stayed
dark. He tapped out the number for police emergency.
The screen failed to respond.
Rick went back to room ninety-four. Marla van Kirk
was half awake, tossing her head from side to side and mumbling. Rick
rushed to her. She failed to respond when he shook her violently.
"Warning, Rick Kaiser. It is not advisable..."
Rick dragged Marla from behind her desk. He scooped her into his
arms, zigzagged between empty desks, and lay her upon a conference
table that stretched along one side wall.
Marla's eyes flew open.
"Marla? Are you okay?"
She bolted to a sitting position with a look of
panic. She held her hands out before her and stared.
"I can move."
She looked up at him with her pupils so dilated that
her eyes looked black.
"I'm so cold!"
With a violent shudder, she grabbed him and held
tight. Slowly, she calmed down. Finally, she pushed him away and swung
around to put her feet on the floor.
"You okay?" he said softly.
She trembled from head to foot, smoothing out her
clothing. "No. I'll never be okay for as long as I live."
"What happened?"
She refused to speak, or even to look at him.
"I had a nightmare you wouldn't believe," Rick said.
"You, too?"
She nodded stiffly. "I couldn't move," was all she
would say.
Rick glanced at Mort and Becky. "We'd better get
those two awake and try to get out of here."
Marla clutched at his shirt. "Just you and me," she
said. "They can take care of themselves."
There was a desperation about her he had never seen
before.
"Rick, please?"
He gestured at the sleeping couple with a nod.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, he was indecisive. "We can't just
leave them."
"Damn you!" she cried. "If the whole building was
falling down and you didn't know what way to run, you'd just stand there
and let it fall on you!"
She brought her fists to the side of her head and
screamed her frustration, then turned and ran from the room.
Rick took a step or two to follow. He paused. Becky
and Mort stirred awake. Marla's screams faded as she fled down the hall.
Conflict tore at him. All around him, not the
building, but life itself was crashing down about his shoulders.
