The Academy (Moving In Series Book 6) (6 page)

As his concern increased, Larry went up the stairs to the first floor and found Bruce. The young man stood in the center of the hall. Bruce had a happy, childlike smile and he rocked gently from side to side.

He was staring at a large display case. In it were various items from the history of the school. Each month, the theme of the case was changed, and June’s was service. A graduate had mailed the school a road sign from Afghanistan. Another had sent in a picture of a Buddhist Temple in Cambodia where the former student was with the Peace Corps. There were older items as well. Memorabilia from the Civil War, the letters of Congressmen and Senators, Judges and Attorneys who had all graduated from the Academy.

And Bruce stood gawking at it all.

Larry shivered, thinking,
AC must be on the fritz. Too damned cold in here.

Then aloud he said, “Bruce, what the hell are you doing?”

Bruce glanced over at him. His smile never changed, his eyes dull.

“Bruce?” Larry said.

Bruce turned back to the display case and stepped closer to it.

“Bruce,” Larry said sharply, “you okay?”

Bruce nodded once, dropped his chin to his head, and ran forward.

The man’s skull shattered the glass of the case, and an alarm rang out shrilly. As the glass cascaded down, slivers and shards scattering across the marble tile of the floor, Bruce stumbled backward. Larry leapt forward and caught him as he started to fall. Above them, footsteps rang out.

He eased Bruce down onto the floor, only a few scratches on his face.

“Jesus H. tap dancing Christ,” Larry muttered, “what in the hell did you do that for, Bruce?”

Bruce whispered something, but it was lost when the hall door was thrown open. Mitchell raced in, looking around frantically. When they saw Bruce, the two men came over to kneel beside him.

“Is he alright?” Mitchell asked. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“I don’t’ know yet,” Larry answered. Turning his attention back to Bruce he asked, “Why did you break the case, Bruce?”

Without opening his eyes, Bruce smiled. In a low, sweet voice he said softly, “I had to get them ready.”

“Ready for what?” Mitchell asked.

Bruce’s smile widened, and he shrugged. “I don’t know. He just told me to get them ready.”

“Who?” Larry asked. “Who the hell told you to do anything, Bruce?”

“He did,” Bruce said. “The old man. He told me to make sure they were ready, and I did.”

Larry caught sight of a glance exchanged between Mitchell and Dave, both of the men’s faces paling.

“What?” Larry asked. “What is it?” “Nothing,” Mitchell said, forcing a smile. “Nothing at all. Listen, Larry, Dave, sit with Bruce. I’m going to call an ambulance for him. We need to make sure he didn’t give himself a concussion.”

Larry nodded. When Mitchell left, Larry looked at the broken display case.

Why, Bruce?
Larry wondered.
Why the hell did you do it?

Chapter 14: Alma Mater

When Brian got out of his car, he stretched, yawned, and took in the sight of the Academy. He had passed it once or twice since graduating over twenty years before, but he hadn’t gone back.

He had never been nostalgic for high school. The experience had been miserable, and best forgotten. He put his keys in his back pocket and climbed the granite stairs of the Admin building. The old, oaken door opened on well-greased hinges, let him into the main lobby. On the right-hand side, were yellow caution signs with similarly colored tape cordoning off the old display case.

The glass was gone.

Brian paused, caught sight of specks of glass on the floor of the case, and shook his head before he went to a door marked, “Principal.”

He knocked on it, and when Mitchell called out, “Come in,” he did so.

His cousin sat at the secretary’s desk and looked up. A relieved smile spread across his face as he stood up.

“Brian,” Mitchell said. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Brian said, embracing Mitchell after the man had come around the desk. “Damn, you look like someone beat the hell out of you.”

“Feels like someone did,” Mitchell replied. “I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

Brian nodded in understanding. “What happened in the lobby?”

“One of the janitors broke the display,” Mitchell said.

“Accidentally?”

Mitchell shook his head, and he told Brian about the incident.

“This isn’t good,” Brian said after a moment.

“Not really what I wanted to hear,” Mitchell said, sighing. He sat down on the corner of the desk. “Take a seat, Brian.”

Brian sat down in a chair that looked exactly like he remembered. “Mitchell, I know you don’t believe in any of this stuff. I know it must have been hard for you to make the call.”

Mitchell nodded.

“I’m going to poke around,” Brian continued. “I’m really hoping it’s something stupid, like some sort of chemical and people reacting to it badly. I want nothing more than to tell you that when I’m done. But please understand, from the little you’ve told me so far, this really sounds like a ghost. And not a particularly pleasant one.”

“What are you going to do?” Mitchell asked.

“First,” Brian said, “I’m going to take a walk around campus. I want to see if I can either spot him, or anyone else.”

Mitchell frowned. “What do you mean? Other staff members?”

Brian shook his head. “No. Ghosts.”

Mitchell wanted to scoff, but he stopped himself. Too much had happened to dismiss the idea. He needed to know, one way or the other, why things were happening.

“And after?” Mitchell asked.

“After,” Brian said, “I’ll either tell you it’s nothing, or I’ll have to do some research on Nathaniel Weiss.”

“Alright,” Mitchell said softly, nodding. “Okay.”

“You want to walk around with me?” Brian asked.

“No,” Mitchell said, “I’ve got to get all the staff together in the auditorium at ten o’clock. We’ve got some grief counselors coming in.”

“Well,” Brian said, “walk me to my car at least. I want to grab a bottle of water.”

“What, no whiskey?” Mitchell asked, sounding surprised.

Brian rolled his eyes. “Doctor and Jenny’s orders.”

Mitchell nodded in understanding and the two of them stood up. Brian followed his cousin out into the hall and stopped.

A teenage boy stood directly in front of the display case, so close he could have leaned into it if he had wanted to.

Before Mitchell could say anything, the boy whispered a name.

Chapter 15: The Name

Herman had woken up before his parents. He had eaten quickly, left a note on the dining table, and escaped before either of them came down for their morning coffee with Irish Cream.

Once more, he had gone to the school, getting there a little after seven and slipping into the library. He must have fallen asleep because he dreamed of Mr. Weiss again. They were in the library, in Mrs. Alcott’s office, and they had talked about the book. At the end of their conversation, Mr. Weiss had suggested Herman go to the Admin building. The display, the old man, had said, had been particularly well done.

When Herman woke up, shortly before ten in the morning, he remembered the dream, smiled, and thought,
I should go see the display.

As he packed up the book, a name echoed in his thoughts.
Gregory Weston.

Vaguely, Herman wondered if he had read about someone named Gregory Weston, but he couldn’t recall.

He hummed happily to himself as he left the office, and then the library. He had no fear of being seen, because he knew, somehow, that no one would. Feeling pleased with life in general, and for apparently no reason at all, Herman had walked briskly to the Admin building. The main door was unlocked, and when he went in, he saw someone had broken the display case.

All sorts of antiques and artifacts hung from wall mounts or were displayed on shelves. There was yellow caution tape set up to keep people away, but Herman ignored it.

Gregory Weston
.

Yes,
Herman thought, slipping under the slight barrier,
Gregory Weston.

When he stood close to the case, he looked around it, saw a framed letter and leaned closer. The letter was on yellowed paper. The script, neat and precise. In the upper right-hand corner was the date,

12 April, 1918
.

Herman didn’t bother to read the letter. His eyes went directly to the bottom of the page, to the signature.

Gregory Weston
, written in a large, bold hand.

Herman smiled. He heard a door open, and someone said something to him, but he really didn’t know what. Or care.

Herman leaned a little closer and whispered, “Gregory Weston.”

Chapter 16: In the Admin Building

The temperature in the room plummeted as the boy spoke the name, “Gregory Weston.”

“What?” Mitchell asked, looking around, confused.

Brian couldn’t answer. He was watching the boy, and the display case. From a framed letter, a hand appeared, followed by a second. A head and then a torso. In a matter of moments, a male ghost stood in the room. Neither Mitchell nor the boy noticed, of course. But Brian did, and he couldn’t look away. The man was short and squat. His face looked like that of a professional boxer’s, his nose flattened and broken at some point. His jaw was square, his brown hair clipped short. The man’s right ear was a mass of twisted and mangled cartilage. The dark gray, pinstriped suit he wore reminded Brian of the gangster movies of the thirties and forties.

But he’s the real deal,
Brian thought.

The ghost turned around, reached into the frame and when he withdrew his hand he had a gray fedora. The man, who Brian suspected was Gregory Weston, put the hat on, looked around and stuffed his hands into his suit coat pockets.

Gregory turned his attention from the boy to Mitchell, and finally to Brian. The man’s eyes fixed on him for a moment, but Brian looked through Gregory, hoping the newly arrived specter would ignore him.

Gregory did. With a shrug of his shoulders, he left the room, passing easily through a wall and vanishing from sight. The temperature in the room spiked, and the teenager blinked.

“What just happened?” Mitchell asked nervously. “Why did it get so cold?”

“A ghost,” Brian said, and he walked to the boy.

“Hey,” Brian said gently.

The teenager turned to face him with a dazed expression. After a second or two, the boy smiled and said, “Hi.”

“How are you?” Brian asked.

“Um,” he scratched his head. “I don’t know.”

“Fair enough,” Brian said, and then he introduced himself and offered his hand.

“Herman,” the boy said, shaking it. He yawned, glanced over at Mitchell and stiffened. “Mr. Roy.”

Mitchell nodded. “You’re a freshman, aren’t you, Herman?”

“Yes, sir,” Herman answered.

“Why are you here?” Mitchell asked. “There’s no school today. Don’t you know that?”

Wordlessly, the teenager nodded.

“Herman,” Brian said, “do you know what happened?”

“No,” Herman replied.

“You said something,” Brian continued. “You don’t remember?”

Herman shook his head.

Brian looked over to Mitchell, who shrugged.

“Go home, Herman,” Mitchell said finally. “You’ll receive an automated call when it’s time to return to school.”

“Yes, sir,” Herman said softly. Without another word, he hurried out of the building.

“Brian,” Mitchell said, “you saw a ghost?”

“Yeah,” Brian answered. He stepped closer to the broken display and looked at the picture frame Gregory Weston had materialized from. It contained a framed letter from World War One. Without asking, Brian took it down. “He came out of this.”

He brought it over to Mitchell and handed it to him.

Mitchell frowned. “This is from an Academy graduate who fought for the French. He volunteered. And how, on God’s green earth, Brian, could a ghost come out of a letter?”

“Too much to explain right now, Mitchell,” Brian said, looking at the wall Gregory had passed through. “What I need to do is find out more about him, and about Nathaniel Weiss.”

“Go to the Weiss Library,” Mitchell said, taking out a key ring. He sorted through them for a moment, then when he had found a particular key, he held it out to Brian. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Brian said.

“Oh,” Mitchell added quickly, “there’s also a security code to type in when you enter the building. It’s one-zero, zero-six, two-zero.”

Brian repeated the number, and Mitchell nodded.

“There’s a display of books about the Academy,” Mitchell said. “Check there.”

“I will,” Brian said. Without another word, he left for the library.

Chapter 17: In the Basement

Larry had his door locked, and he had moved his office around. He could now sit at his desk and look at whoever, or whatever entered the room.

Candy had called from Bruce’s hospital room. The younger man was okay, but he was being kept overnight for observation. And so Larry was alone in the office.

Nothing’s gone right since we found that damned picture,
Larry thought morosely. He looked at his computer, considered turning it back on, and then changed his mind. He didn’t want to do anything.

Ah Christ, I have to go to the damned meeting,
he realized bitterly.

He didn’t want to. There was a sense of safety and security in the basement. A feeling that nothing could happen to him in the room.

The fluorescent light over the door flickered several times and went out. As soon as it did, the next light did the same. Larry’s heart beat irregularly as bulbs continued to darken until the only one still illuminating the room was above his head.

It, too, went out. Larry’s own breathing was loud in his ears.

“Your door was locked,” a voice said from the darkness directly in front of Larry’s desk.