His arm still ached from the way the guy had pushed it far up his back. Would ache forever, it seemed. But it was not as bad as the ache he felt in his soul, his spirit, whatever it was in him that had suddenly come into existence in order to hold his anguish.
Now, in the corridor, he saw in dismay the Finger on the bulletin board. Could he face a meeting today? He only wanted to get through the classes somehow and then drive to Laurie's house this afternoon.
She had sent him away last night in silence. She was calm by the time they reached her house, in control, but a deadly calm, a part of her elsewhere, not in the car, out of his reach, beyond his presence.
"You okay?" he asked, frowning, emotions in a whirl, wanting to say something, the right thing, but confused, not knowing what to do or say.
"Yes," she answered. But the yes was unconvincing.
"Sure?"
"I'm sure."
They agreed to do nothing about the assault, decided not to report it to the police. After all, there had been no rape and no injuries inflicted; they had not really seen the assailants, had no evidence, no clues to their identities. What's more, Laurie said she did not want to talk about the attack, not to the police, not to anybody.
"Talking about it makes me feel dirty," she said. After a long pause: "I don't feel clean anymore."
He kissed her lightly on the cheek, not daring anything else. She didn't flinch but did not respond. "I'll call you tomorrow after school," he whispered. She did not reply. Then she went into the house, walking slowly, robotlike. Watching her go up the steps, he dreaded the possibility that he had somehow lost her, that things would never be the same again. And told himself: Tomorrow everything will be different, will be better. He clung to that thought. That's all he had.
Now, on top of all that, a Vigil meeting. The last thing in the world he needed.
Carter saw the Finger and swore.
He'd avoided Archie this morning, feared somehow that Archie would look into his eyes and know immediately that he had sent the letter to Brother Leon. Carter knew his strengths and weaknesses, knew what he was good at and what he lacked. Confident about his prowess as an athlete, he was no great shakes when it came to Archie's specialties: intimidation, outguessing people, anticipating their thoughts and actions. Archie was always one step ahead.
Frowning at the bulletin board, as if the л would disappear if he stared long enough, he wondered whether he had made a mistake. He'd taken a terrible chance when he'd decided to tip off Brother Leon about the visit That kind of thing was outside his experience. He had painstakingly written the letter in fourth-period study, printing with his left hand. Delivering it to Leon had been easy — he had merely slipped it into the letter box inside his office door. The agony came after the letter had been delivered. The realization of what he had done. The possibility that Leon would know through 'some shrewdness who had written it And would inform Archie. Leaving the school, looking over his shoulder, feeling as if unseen watchers were stalking him, Carter was filled with regret. He should have minded his own business, let the Bishop come, let the chips fall. Jeez. Head down, moving in his muscular, athletic way — movements that always kept people out of his path — Carter began hours of torment. Found it hard to concentrate on his homework. Pushed his food around on his plate at supper. Finally plunged into dreamless sleep. But didn't feel rested or refreshed when he woke up.
He turned away from the bulletin board, blinking away the afterimage of the inverted Y that remained printed on his brain. He spotted Archie Costello heading in his direction, surrounded by stooges, as usual. Carter looked around in panic, spotted the door to the janitor's storage room. He stepped into the room, closed the door softly behind him, didn't turn on the light Listening to the hammering of his heart, he waited, picturing Archie passing by in all his swagger and insolence. What's happened to me? he thought.
Ah, but he knew what had happened to him. Why he was hiding here in the storage room among the mops and brooms and buckets.
Writing the letter had been the action of a rat.
An informer.
A traitor.
He had become one of the things he'd always hated, a thing hiding in the dark now, afraid to face the world.
And all because of Archie Costello.
A German shepherd sat, silent and still, beneath a hovering tree on the sidewalk in front of the white cottage with black shutters on Hale Street, watching the Goober's progress with baleful yellow eyes. He had seen the dog before, and always hurried past. He felt that someday the dog would strike, attacking him swiftly and viciously, without barking, without warning.
This morning he had more than the German shepherd to worry about, however. As he left the dog behind on Hale Street and turned into George Street, he felt as if he were running away from a ghost, the ghost of Brother Eugene, and he shivered in the morning air even though his body pulsed with the exertion of running. He had still not fully absorbed the fact of Brother Eugene's death, although the announcement over the intercom and the memorial mass had taken place days ago. Leon's voice on the intercom was still fresh in his mind. Death, after a lengthy illness. How long was lengthy? As long as the time between last fall's destruction of Room Nineteen and the moment Brother Eugene took his last breath?
Cut it out, he told himself now, as he almost twisted his ankle on a corner of sidewalk jutting slightly higher than the rest of the pavement. You had nothing to do with Eugene's death. It's a coincidence, that's all. Okay, a terrible coincidence, but a coincidence all the same. He had shouted the word coincidence in his mind a thousand times in the last few days. The scene in Brother Eugene's classroom, the clutter of collapsed desks and chairs, and Eugene in the middle of the rubble, tears streaming down his cheeks, his chin wobbling like an infant's, was burned into the Goober's mind.
The Goober had been the student assigned to take Brother Eugene's room apart. Archie Costello had given the orders: to loosen the screws in the chairs and desks — including Eugene's chair and desk — to the point where the furniture would collapse at the slightest touch. He was assisted in the job by masked members of the Vigils during the long night he spent in the classroom. The next morning he had witnessed the destruction of Brother Eugene, a shy and sensitive teacher who often read poetry aloud in the final moments of class, despite certain snickers and smirks. Brother Eugene had stood devastated in the midst of the classroom's debris, unable to believe the assault on his beloved room. Shocked, crying — the Goober had never before seen a grown man crying — shaking his head in a refusal to believe what his eyes told him must be so. He had immediately gone on sick leave. Had never returned to Trinity after that shambles of a day. He had died last week in New Hampshire, but the Goober knew that his death had really taken place last fall. And the Goober was responsible, as if he had held a gun to the teacher's temple and pulled the trigger. No, it wasn't like that at all, a small voice within him protested. A collapsing classroom is not fatal, doesn't bring on a heart attack or whatever physical illness caused Eugene's death. But who knows? He repeated the words now, gasping them out of the depths of his guilt and despair, as he ran blindly through the morning. Who knows?
I know. I should have refused the assignment from the Vigils. But nobody refused Vigil assignments, nobody denied whatever Archie Costello demanded.
He found himself on Market Street, with its rows of high-rise apartment buildings and condominiums. His arrival here was not accidental. Jerry Renault lived in one of the apartment buildings. The Goober refused to look up at the building, kept his eyes riveted on the pavement. The ghost of Brother Eugene following him down the street was bad enough; he didn't need another ghost joining the pursuit. Jerry Renault wasn't dead, of course. Yet something of him had died. Although he looked like the friend he had known last year, that Jerry Renault was now gone. The guy who had been subdued and distant the other day was someone else altogether. Which was just as well. He had betrayed that other Jerry Renault. Just as he had betrayed Brother Eugene. .