Sanctum (5 page)

“Yeah.” Jordan tossed his curly hair and gave Abby a sideways look. “Let’s hope they don’t pay too much attention to the Scooby gang sneaking off.”

“I don’t remember this hill being so steep,” Abby said, puffing. “Man, this place must get
freezing
in the winter.”

With every step they took up the hill toward the college, Dan felt his breath becoming shorter and his mood darker. It was one thing to talk about coming back here; it was another thing entirely to be here, to be
back
. Felix, possessed or inspired by the Sculptor, had tried to kill them. Dan had seen an actual dead body. But as anxious as the place made him, it was as if someone had opened him up and hidden a magnet in his chest—he felt pulled back to this place and its as-yet-undiscovered secrets.

A buzz in his pocket jarred Dan out of his thoughts. He pulled out his phone to find a new text message from Sandy.

Hey! Make it to Jordan’s safely? Just checking in. Have fun on your visit!

Dan chewed the inside of his cheek, his finger dodging over the screen to type back a vague if reassuring message.

“Jordan’s?” Jordan himself eyed the phone over Dan’s shoulder as Dan typed a quick reply. “What exactly did you tell your folks about this weekend?”

“Not the whole truth, if you want to be technical about it.” It hadn’t felt good to lie to his mom, but it hadn’t exactly been hard, either. “I mentioned you were checking out a tour at Georgetown this weekend and said I was going to tag along. And then I
might
have changed my flight with the emergency credit card.”

“At least I’m not the one obscuring my whereabouts this time,” Jordan said with a wry smile. “I’m sure we’ll have a blast at
Georgetown
. But seriously, Dan, let me know if you need help paying back that credit card.”

“You should’ve just told them the truth,” Abby said.

“Then I wouldn’t be here talking to you two. My parents don’t want me to have anything to do with this place.”
And maybe they’re right.

They reached the top of the hill and Dan stopped abruptly, stunned as if someone had punched him in the gut and knocked out what little breath he had left.

“What the . . .” The words died on his lips.

They’re the same
, he thought, staring dumbly at a sea of tents set up in the grassy central area of the campus.
They’re just like in my dream
. Or really, just like in the warden’s dream. And more alarming still: just like in their mysterious photos.

He tugged the picture out of his coat pocket and held it up for all of them to see. Jordan and Abby did the same, standing in a row and completing the panorama.

“What’s stronger than déjà vu?” Jordan whispered.

“Whatever this is,” Abby answered.

The carnival tents were only just visible through the gaps between brick buildings; from where they stood, they could see the broad orange, purple, and black stripes. Dan half expected to smell the scent of burned fuel—to see the fire breather from his dream, and the man on the stage. . . . But all he could smell was the mud clinging to their shoes and the unidentifiable cooking-meat stench that always seemed to float over from the Commons.

Dan tucked the photo back into his jacket pocket.

“I wasn’t expecting a carnival,” Abby said. “Do you think it’s for the prospective students?”

“There was nothing about it in the pamphlet they sent out,” Jordan said, leading them forward and deeper into campus. Tall trees sprang up on either side of the path, their fall leaves shiny with wetness. “Kind of a big thing to leave out, don’t you think?”

Dan wouldn’t know; he hadn’t bothered to read the pamphlet. It said it was for prospective students, not people pretending to be prospective students.

“At least it’s twenty percent less creepy than the pictures,” Jordan muttered. “Can anyone explain to me why every vintage photo looks like they used the Macabre filter on Instagram?”

“Doesn’t look like they put up any rides, either,” Abby said, squinting toward the tents.

“You’re right.” Jordan shrugged. “No Ferris wheel . . . Kind of dumb to have a carnival with no rides. Still, seems like we should check it out anyway. Who knows, Dan, it might have a big, important clue.”

“If we have time,” Dan said, choosing to ignore Jordan’s sarcasm. “And only after we’ve checked out every address. We might not even be able to get to all of them, or we might have to split up.” It was then he realized neither of his friends was responding, and both were staring at the ground.

“Not trying to be a killjoy,” Dan assured them. “But that
is
why we’re here.”

“We’re
here
to figure out why we’re all having nightmares and hearing voices. We’re
here
so we can get some closure and move on with our lives.” Jordan zipped up his jacket against the wind as they walked. “That may or may not involve Felix’s scavenger hunt, Dan. You have to be open to the idea that maybe that kid is just off his nut and those houses don’t have anything creepier in them than Republican voters.”

“You think Felix just picked a bunch of random addresses for his own amusement? No way,” Dan insisted, reasonably, he thought. “I think whatever . . .
possessed
Felix . . . gave him these coordinates. They’re linked. I can
feel
it.”

“Yeah? Are your Super Warden powers activating?”

“Jordan, that’s not funny.” Abby halfheartedly elbowed him.

“You’re right. Shit. I’m sorry, just . . . being back at this place . . . I knew it would be weird, just not
this
weird. The carnie vibe isn’t helping any.”

Dan couldn’t fault him. All three of them grew quiet as they walked the path snaking through academic buildings and fraternity houses. The admissions building where they were supposed to meet their hosts was on the far side of the campus and had its own separate driveway for cars of parents dropping off their kids. It looked like Dan, Jordan, and Abby must be the only three students who’d come by bus.

The walk took them past a small, gated cemetery. Dan had never given it much thought over the summer, since it was little more than a manicured patch of grass, the gravestones haphazardly arranged in no real line or pattern. Some of the grave markers were so old they weren’t much more than crumbling stubs. But now, a bright flash of red on one of the newer markers caught his eye. At first he thought it was just an ordinary flower arrangement, but when he looked closely, he saw that it was a wreath of red roses shaped, more or less, like a skull.

A thin carpet of mist wound through the headstones.

“That’s an odd choice,” he muttered, thinking aloud more than anything else.

Jordan followed his gaze. “Yeah. Real tasteful. Jeez. Why didn’t they just put a big blinking arrow that said: ‘Hey, look! A dead guy!’?”

Abby paused to look at the wreath, and Dan bumped lightly into her back. “Oh, sorry,” she said distractedly, “I was just thinking it almost looks like an
ofrenda
.”

“Huh?”

Jordan and Dan had said it together.

“For the Day of the Dead?” Abby asked. She drew closer to the cemetery gate and leaned forward, studying the flower wreath. “An
ofrenda
.”

“Just saying it over and over again doesn’t explain what it is,” Jordan said.

“Right.” She rolled her eyes a little and pointed to the flowers on the headstone. “Basically, it’s like the flowers you take to the graves of loved ones, the offerings. Usually you bring marigolds, but skulls are a big part of the Day of the Dead, too, so maybe somebody combined them? I’ve never seen a design like that.”

“Maybe he left it,” Jordan said, nodding his head down the path to where a stout college-aged boy was curled up against the cemetery gate. His head rested on an empty rum bottle. Someone had covered his face in marker.

“Man. Looks like someone had either the best or the worst night of his life,” Dan said.

“Ugh. Hazing. I don’t get that crap,” Jordan cut in. His suitcase left narrow, wet tracks on the path as they continued on toward Wilfurd Commons, leaving behind the snoring frat boy. “Why would I pay a bunch of roided-out jocks to be my friends just so they can get me completely wasted, write all over my face, and leave me in a
graveyard
? What’s the point?”

They stepped into the tall shadow of Wilfurd Commons just in time—a light rain had started to fall, and the mist Dan remembered from the summer was rising in full force. Other prospective students were mustering outside on the grass, herded this way and that by NHC students in bright orange T-shirts. “I don’t know,” Dan said. “I sort of get the appeal of a frat. Everyone wants to feel like part of something.”

“Sure, but what’s the point if you have to pay your way in?” Jordan snorted.

“We should hurry up,” Abby said. “It looks like most people already dropped off their stuff inside.”

“Yup, we need to blend in,” Dan said, following her and Jordan into the big blob of high school students pushing their way into Wilfurd Commons. A knot grew in Dan’s stomach as he realized just how many student chaperones were there to keep an eye on them.

He tightened his grip on his bag, eyeing the chattering high schoolers with suspicion, even annoyance. Over the summer, making new friends had been one of his top priorities; now, he wanted to do everything in his power to avoid it.

Chapter 7

“D
on’t worry about your friend there.”

“Hm?” Dan hadn’t noticed he was staring, but apparently he was—at Abby. She was walking close to her host, and the two girls were laughing as if they had known each other much longer than ten minutes. Abby just had that way with people. Dan strained to hear what they were giggling about. “Oh, I wasn’t worried.”

“Really?” His host, Micah, lifted a thick, dark eyebrow and clapped Dan on the shoulder. “’Cause you look plenty nervous from where I’m standing.”

“We’re, um, sort of dating, that’s all,” Dan said. He and the other prospective students—“coolly” called “prospies”—were being marched back across the academic side and down the short road that led to the dormitories. Paired off with their hosts, most of the students were busy getting to know their campus buddies for the next few days, no one more so than Abby.

“Hey,” Dan called, waving to her. A few steps ahead, she smiled and tossed back a quick twiddle of her fingers.

“Who’s that?” he heard her host say.

Abby’s response was too soft to overhear.

“I think your girl is busy,” Micah said gently. “Don’t sweat it, man, you can catch up with her later. Do you two go to the same school?”

“Not really,” Dan said. “I mean, no, no, we don’t. We actually met over the summer at the program they have here.”

“Really? Well, come on now, that’s great. So y’all just couldn’t get enough NHC? Had to come back?” He chuckled, and even his laugh seemed to have a Southern accent. Dan would almost guess his host was exaggerating the effect in an attempt to be funny or something, except that Micah didn’t seem like the type to be ironic, as far as Dan could tell.

“We met Jordan there, too,” Dan explained, pointing, half trying to rope Jordan into the conversation. Jordan didn’t appear to be warming up to his own host, Cal, with anything resembling enthusiasm, despite Cal’s previously hyped good looks. It couldn’t help that Cal seemed to be doing all the talking. “The three of us sort of became inseparable,” Dan said, unable to keep a note of pride out of his voice.

“Think you’re keen to apply? I don’t mean to be nosy, but when you intern for the admissions office it kind of comes with the territory,” Micah said. They were passing back by the frat houses now. Dan wondered which one was missing a pledge.

Dan redirected his attention to Micah, still unsure whether his host was making fun of him or not. Who said “keen” in earnest, anyway? Well, Dan supposed maybe Micah did, with his neat, modern glasses and a goatee that he reached up to rub every time he spoke. “Maybe. I’m mostly into history and psychology—do you know Jung? Yeah, him—but I have a few different interests. I still have to see if NHC is a good fit.”

“You should talk to Professor Reyes in the Psych Department. She’s running a senior seminar in the old asylum on campus, but I have her right before for Psych 200. I can ask her tomorrow if she’d let you sit in on a session,” Micah offered.

Dan tried to think of something to say, but his mind blanked.

“The asylum’s called Brookline, but you probably read about it already this summer,” his host continued amiably.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “I’ve heard of it.”

“Damn it.” Micah snapped his fingers at the host walking next to him, a short boy with scraggly red hair. “We got stragglers already. Grab that prospie before the frat boys eat her up.”

The redheaded boy responded without question, peeling off from the group and trotting over to a girl who was caught up in conversation with a little huddle of fraternity brothers clustered near the sidewalk.

“Don’t want you folks wandering off,” Micah explained lightly. “’Specially not to any frat parties. Those things get out of hand fast. We’ve been complaining to the new dean about their parties, even made a petition. I think this year a few houses will get their charters yanked.”