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• A student named Nina McCulloch lay awake. Above the bed hung a crucifix. Nina believed fervently in God, and she believed that Jesus had died for her sins. In the next room, through the wall, she could hear her roommate, Elizabeth, who clearly didn’t believe in God. Elizabeth had invited friends over to do drugs. They did drugs most every night, and this bothered Nina. Drugs were a manifestation of Satan, and people who did them became incarnates of the devil. Nina found that she could not easily sleep when all that separated her from the Lord of Darkness was one mere dorm wall. All night long Elizabeth and her friends inhaled the satanic white powder while Nina tossed and turned and prayed in snatches for God to protect her from evil.
• A man named Czanek waited in the vacant parking lot. Eventually his client pulled up in a silver Rolls Royce. The headlights flashed. Hokey, Czanek thought. He got into the Rolls. “Good evening,” the client said. “Has the matter returned to normal?” “No,” Czanek said. “Same guy, same moves, and I keep picking up weird stuff on the bugs. They keep mentioning trances.” “Trances?” “Trances. I can’t figure it.” “Keep on it,” the client said. Czanek handed him the manila folder, which contained pictures. The client thumbed through them and remarked: “Amusing.” Why would a guy want to keep seeing pictures of his wife fucking another man? But, hey, it was his money. The client passed him an envelope full of ten hundred dollar bills. “Next week,” the client said. “Yes, sir,” Czanek replied, “and don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. If they try to make a move on you, I’ll know. I’ll protect you.” “Do you really think that’s what’s happening? The insurance, the inheritance?” “Could be,” Czanek said. Suddenly the client was hugging him, sobbing. “Protect me! I’m afraid!” This was embarrassing. Czanek tried to console the old man: “Don’t worry, if that fat scumbag tries to move on you, I’ll blow his shit away from a thousand yards.” “Would you really do that? For me?” Of course he would. What, kiss all this money goodbye? “I’ll protect you,” Czanek repeated, and patted the client’s shoulder. He went back to his own car. The Rolls drove off. The client’s name was Saltenstall.
• A cop named Porker sat at the booking desk, eating a box of cream filled doughnuts. Another cop named Peerce sat at the super’s desk, flipping the cylinder of his Ruger Blackhawk and musing over a glossy mag called Cum Shot Revue. Another cop named White sat in the back office. The door was locked. He was counting this month’s grease. Still another cop named Lydia Prentiss sat alone in her bed, wondering where her life had gone.
• A student named Lois Hartley sat on her boyfriend’s couch. The boy was named Zyro, and he was typing his latest manuscript, “Billy Bud 1991,” which he claimed was about “man’s inhumanity to man, a psychical allegory depicting the suppression of spiritual freedom through capitalistic coercion.” It was also about “the resulting self parasitism of corporate tyranny.” To the publishers, though, it was about bullshit. Lois watched Night of the Living Dead on cable. “It’s about zombies,” she said. “It’s not about zombies!” Zyro yelled back. “It’s about the hunted within the sanctuary of the hunter! It’s about the cyclic futility of the black race trapped in a white supremist world! It’s not about zombies!” Lois Hartley sighed. It’s about zombies, you asshole.
• Two more students named Stella and Liddy were playing Strip Twister with a third student named David Willet. They played lots of games together. Others were Grease the Cucumber, Eat it Off, and Human Sandwich. David Willet’s nickname was “Do Horse,” which he’d earned the first time he took his clothes off in the locker room.
• A handsome young man named Wilhelm exclaimed, “Gott! Was ist dies scheiss?” The TV picture had winked out. “Willy, what’s wrong?” his new American girlfriend, Sarah, asked. “Your Americana television ist piece of scheiss.” “It’s Japanese,” Sarah scolded. “Das right, you Americana do not even support your own economy.” Sarah’s cat, Frid, purred from atop the refrigerator. “Forget about the TV,” Sarah cooed. She dropped her robe and was nude beneath.
• A man named Sladder drove hurriedly toward the campus power station. “Dag power failures,” he muttered. “Blam it!” But suddenly a headache developed. It was so intense he had to pull over and stop.
• Nina McCulloch’s roommate and friends were still in the next room doing drugs and ministering to Satan, the Great Deceiver. Please forgive them, God, Nina prayed. “They’re coming to get you, Barbara,” she heard from the TV. They’re coming to get you Nina, she thought sleepily. She dreamed of something huge falling—Satan. But the closer it got, the smaller it became.
• A sleek shadow moved quietly down the main hall of the admin building. A flashlight played over muskets and powder horns, an exhibit of colonial relics. Keys jingled; the shadow unlocked the last display case. A large object was removed. The shadow moved away as the object cast its own shadow in the moonlight—that of an impossibly large ax.
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Penelope dried off and examined herself nude in the full length. She combed her hair out to dark red lines. Light freckles covered her like fine mist. Her breasts were large, pale nippled. Last Christmas her grandmother had called her a “breeder,” eyeing her breasts and wide hips. “You have a breeder bosom, dear. You’re going to make some wonderful babies someday.” Make. Babies. What a thing to say at Christmas! The image caused her to clench.
Her pubis was a slant of shiny russet fur; pink peeked out from its cleft. She bared the tender opening with her fingers and shivered. How could babies come from something so small?
There was nothing to do in the dorm, and no one around to talk to. Sarah and the Erbling sisters were the only other girls on the floor for the summer sessions, but they were all too busy with boys to bother with Penelope. Her horse posters stared at her. The lights reflected too brightly off the walls; she felt trapped by its blaze, spied on by imaginary peepholes. She dressed quickly, got into her ZX, and left.
She felt lonely even in crowds. Most of her friends were only cursory; they were friendly but they really didn’t consider her a friend. They kept their distance because they thought she was weird. Her only real friend, she guessed, was Mr. Sladder, and he was an old man. At least he was nice to her. At least he cared.
She drove off the campus proper, opened up the ZX. The engine purred softly, her red hair danced in the breeze. The horses! she decided. That’s what she’d do, she’d go see the horses.
The agriculture/agronomy department had six cows, some pigs, sheep, and chickens. They also had four horses—two jet black hackneys and two palominos, one brown, one white. They were special to her. Daddy had arranged with the dean for her to be the stable groom again. It was a good way to keep her from “moping another summer away,” she’d overheard him telling her mother. But that was fine with her; she wouldn’t have to see the psychiatrists, and she loved to care for the horses. She loved brushing them and riding them. They were beautiful, and her only peace.
The campus had the agro site because many of Exham’s students came from rich farm families. The site occupied several dozen acres along the stretches of farmland on Route 13. Thoughts of the horses made her smile. She couldn’t wait to see them. Mr. Sladder, the night watchman, always let her in, even this late. The other security guards were young and leering, but Mr. Sladder was always very nice to her, and never crude. He was skinny and old, and tended to ramble about his past, but Penelope didn’t mind. He was just a nice, friendly old man, and one of the few people who didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. Her psychiatrists, of course, told her it was all subconscious “phallic fear removal reinforcement” precipitated by her “pseudo mandala”: she accepted the impotent old man because he did not contribute to her fear of being penetrated.