The Academy (Moving In Series Book 6) (7 page)

It was a man’s voice, hard and brutal. A harsh note of violence to it.

“I don’t like locked doors,” the man continued. “Who are you?”

With a shaky voice, Larry said his name.

“Larry, huh?” the man said. “I’m Gregory. I don’t want you here, Larry.”

Larry licked his lips before he managed to whisper, “I’ll leave.”

“Yeah,” Gregory chuckled. “You’ve got that right, brother. You will leave.”

Larry shivered as an envelope of painfully cold air wrapped around him.

“You’re damned right you’ll leave,” Gregory hissed, all levity gone from his voice. A large hand, as cold as ice, wrapped around Larry’s upper arm and squeezed.

Larry screamed. A high pitched sound that he never thought he could have uttered.

Yet, the scream became a shriek as Gregory squeezed tighter, the bone breaking in the stranger’s frozen grasp. An icy fist slammed first into Larry’s head, silencing him. More punches landed on his chest and face. Pain exploded throughout his body, and the cold, which followed, was horrific.

Vaguely, Larry felt himself slip out of his chair, but the hand holding onto him kept him from collapsing. Several more blows landed, and Larry plunged into unconsciousness. When the ability to think coherently returned to him, Larry managed to open his right eye. But the left refused to cooperate.

He found himself in the hallway, on his side and facing the closed door to his office. Larry wanted to move but found his body was an entire mass of throbbing pain. He tried to speak. His lips refused to form words, his throat too dry, and his tongue was swollen. Larry had boxed a little when he served on the USS Hornet, and he had taken his share of beatings in his life.

Nothing like this
, he thought.
Never one like this.

From where he lay, Larry felt a pulsating chill emanate from beneath the office door. He wanted to get away from it, but his body mutinied, refused to obey him.

Without a sound, the old man from the photograph, Nathaniel Weiss, appeared in front of the door. The man glowed like a radioactive cartoon character as he squatted down. He smiled at Larry and whispered, “Did you enjoy it as much as I did?”

With a whimper, Larry closed his eye and wished the man away.

He was unsure whether he had passed out again, but a noise caught his attention. He managed to open his eye, twist his head slightly and catch sight of the stairs leading to the main floor. A moment later, he saw Mitchell’s brown Oxfords, then the man’s khaki pants and the rest followed.

Mitchell paused when he reached the hallway, and gasped as he caught sight of Larry.

Jesus,
Larry thought,
how bad is it?

“Larry?” Mitchell asked, stepping closer. “Larry, can you hear me?”

Larry managed to croak out, “Yes.”

Mitchell winced at the sound as he knelt down beside him. “Who did this to you?”

Larry wanted to shake his head, shrug his shoulders, anything other than speak, but nothing worked. He couldn’t even form any words.

“Alright,” Mitchell said softly. “Don’t try to answer. I’m going to call the police.”

Behind him, the door to Larry’s office opened up an inch. Larry couldn’t see anyone, but he could
feel
them. A malignant presence watching. The temperature dropped slightly, then rose back up as the door was closed as gently and quietly as it had been opened.

Larry closed his eye and listened to Mitchell make the call.

Chapter 18: On the Way to the Library

Brian was halfway across the quad when his phone rang. He paused, dug it out and looked at the screen. He took a deep breath, spotted a bench beneath a tree and went and sat down as he answered it.

“Hey, babe,” he said.

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, Brian!” Jenny snapped.

He closed his eyes and braced himself for her anger.

“You went down to Connecticut,” she said. Her voice was low, deadly.

“I had to,” Brian said. “Babe, Jenny, it’s my cousin, Mitchell.”

“I don’t care, Brian,” Jenny said coldly. “What do you not understand about ‘predisposed’ and ‘cardiac arrest’?”

“Jenny,” he started. She cut him off.

“No, Brian,” she said sharply. “You’re going to listen to me. These past few months have been absolute hell. Hell! I cannot bury you, Brian Roy. I
will not
bury you. Why in God’s name would go down there, to a possible haunting?”

“It’s Mitchell,” Brian said softly.

“What?”

“Mitchell,” he repeated, but in a louder voice. “You know he’s like a brother to me.”

She didn’t say anything, but Brian could hear her breathing angrily. She was waiting for him to continue.

“He asked for my help,” Brian continued carefully, making sure he kept his own temper under control. He knew she was worried. Terribly and rightfully so. But it didn’t negate the fact that he had to help Mitchell. “He helped me when I went through a tough time as a kid.”

“I know, Brian,” Jenny said, her voice calmer but still filled with anger. “But I don’t want you to die.”

He couldn’t say he wouldn’t die because he might. There was always that possibility. “I don’t want to die, babe. At all. And I’m going to do the best I can to be safe. To keep myself whole and healthy for you.”

“I swear to Christ, Brian,” she finally said. “If you become paralyzed, I am leaving you. I will not watch you die by inches. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Brian said.

“I love you, and I am so angry with you right now,” she said. “You better bring yourself home just as good, if not better than when you left.”

“I will, and I love you, too,” he said.

“Good. Call me later.”

Before he could say anything else, Jenny hung up.

Brian sighed, looked at the phone, hit ‘end’ and then he put it away. He sat on the bench for a moment longer before he finally stood up. All of his old injuries hurt. The missing teeth with their phantom pains, the battering he had taken at the hands of Josephus. The violence of the Japanese soldiers. The King of Middlebury Sanitarium. Leo’s grandmother. Paul Kenyon.

Jenny’s right, of course,
Brian realized.
I’m risking my life doing this again.

Brian took a deep breath, let it out slowly and continued on his way to the Weiss Library. The building was as tall and ornate as he remembered. A grand old Victorian with a center tower which had once been the home of Nathaniel Weiss.

As a student at the Academy, Brian had never thought about the library one way or another. It had been a place to do the occasional school project, research, and hide in when he decided to skip a class or two. He looked at the building with fresh eyes and felt fear. The air shimmered above the four-cornered peak of the tower.

Brian paused, caught a hint of movement in an upper window, but it was nothing more than a flicker. He continued on up to the door. He pulled out the ring of keys, found the right one and let himself in. After he had closed the door, he found the security box, typed in the code and turned on the lights.

The interior of the library was different than what he remembered. Brighter, with more books. Computers instead of a card catalogs.

It’s cold,
Brian thought, turning around and searching for the display of books Mitchell had mentioned.
Too cold.

As he looked for the display, he looked for Gregory Weston or Nathaniel Weiss. He didn’t see them, or anyone else, and he was thankful for it. For several minutes, he searched through the main lobby, finally coming upon a bookshelf near the front desk. There were ten books on it, each one dealing with some aspect of the Academy. An older book, with a dark green cover and gold lettering above, and below the official seal of the school, caught his eye. Brian picked it up and read the title
,

“Notable Persons from Northfield Academy, 1878 to 1953
.”

He carried the book to an overstuffed chair, sat down and opened it. He scanned the table of contents, found a chapter on Gregory Weston, and turned to it.

“
Fighting for France
,” the title read. “
The Story of Gregory Weston
.”

Brian glanced around again to make certain he was alone, and then began to read.

Chapter 19: Alone with His Thoughts

Mitchell Roy sat in a chair in the outer office. He stared at the floor between his feet, his hands clasped together. Only ten minutes before he had answered the last question for the faculty and staff in the auditorium. He had been forced to tell them, not only of Marilyn’s suicide and the deaths of the plumbers, but of Bruce’s strange behavior, and the assault on Larry.

Mitchell had asked Keith Audley, his assistant principal, to take over. Dave Licata was lending support as well. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds and the minutes. The hour hand made its slow, steady progress, and Mitchell tried to understand how his world could fall apart so quickly.

What’s next?
the question echoed through his thoughts.
Is Dave right? Is it all because of Weiss? Did Brian really see something?

Mitchell’s basic beliefs were shaken, and there was a level of danger, a threat he had never believed could ever exist. He had trained his staff about what to do in the event of a mass shooting. Had sent them to seminars on how to turn the school into an emergency collection point for a natural disaster. He had made certain there were enough supplies, in case the school ever had to serve as a shelter.

But how in God’s name do you get ready to deal with ghosts?
he thought.

Mitchell still had trouble believing the school was now haunted. Part of him rebelled, violently, at the idea of Nathaniel Weiss back from the grave. It was the stuff of horror movies and cheap, pulp fiction.

And yet here I am,
he thought, depression sweeping through him.

As much as he didn’t want to believe, he had to. There were too many strange occurrences. In addition to them, no poisonous or otherwise hazardous gasses could be detected on the school grounds. The fire department and the plumbers had all run tests. Each test had come back negative. Mitchell had to accept the Academy was now haunted.

He tapped his feet on the floor and wondered if Brian had found anything. If Brian
would
find anything. Mitchell didn’t want anything else to happen. He didn’t want to speak with the police about any other incidents. Footsteps in the hallway dragged his attention away from his depressed thoughts, and when someone knocked on the door, Mitchell looked up.

“Come in,” he said.

The door swung wide, and a man stood in the doorway, nearly filling it from side to side. The man wore a suit which would have looked good in a Bogart film, and he had a gray fedora placed rakishly on his head. The man grinned at Mitchell.

Mitchell was about to smile back at the man when he realized the man wasn’t quite in the doorway. It was as though Mitchell could see the occasional bit of hallway through the man.

The stranger smiled maliciously. He pointed a thick finger at Mitchell and said, “Don’t come downstairs. It’s mine. Got it?”

Mitchell nodded dumbly.

“Good,” the man said. “Keep everybody out, or else I will deal with them the way I dealt with the janitor. Tell ‘em I said so.”

“Who are you?” Mitchell asked, dazed.

The stranger chuckled. “I’m Greg Weston.”

The man turned, and as he did so, he faded away.

Mitchell sat in his seat, shivering. He looked out to where the man had been and started to shake uncontrollably.

Chapter 20: The Messenger

Herman had not gone home.

He’d rather deal with some sort of punishment from Principal Roy than go home. Instead of leaving the school grounds, he had gone to the Academy’s small chapel. It was barely big enough to fit thirty kids in the pews, but it was always unlocked. While he would have preferred to hide in the library, he thought it might be pushing his luck. And he was still trying to figure out why he had been in the Admin building.

Herman was terrified of the administration, as most freshmen were. It didn’t matter he was only a few weeks away from officially being a sophomore at the Academy. He could still get in trouble.

Herman sneaked into the chapel, made his way to the front and laid down on the first pew on the left-hand side. He made himself comfortable and tried not to think about how he had made it from his house to the school. Herman closed his eyes, yawned and relaxed as best he could. He was tired.

Within a few minutes, Herman was asleep, and he dreamed again of Nathaniel Weiss.

Chapter 21: The Academy’s Graduates

Brian put a bookmark at the end of the chapter on Gregory Weston before he closed the book and set it aside. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. After a few moments, he released his grip, stood up, and stretched. Brian walked down an aisle, turned around, and walked back. His knees popped, and his back ached.

Definitely feeling my age today,
he thought. He scratched the back of his head and looked at the Academy’s book.
This isn’t good.

For several hours, Brian had read the history of the Academy and gone over the section on Gregory, twice.

Once more, he reached out, picked up the book, opened it and read the last section again.

Despite his remarkable service in the war against German aggression, Gregory Weston could not return to peace. His previous life as a criminal was too alluring. Within a matter of months, Gregory was once more working as an enforcer for the Italian gangs seeking to take control of New London and Groton. He was known for his disturbing preference to use his hands as a quick method for ‘convincing’ people.

It happened several times that he was nearly apprehended by the police, but he proved far too skilled at close quarters fighting. It wasn’t until 1923 that Gregory Weston was stopped. He was not apprehended. The Groton, New London, Northfield, and Connecticut State Police had cordoned off an entire neighborhood in an attempt to capture him. Gregory Weston was killed in a gun battle with Naval Shore Police after he had slipped through the dragnet and fled to the submarine base in Groton.