Nightmare Academy
To Barbara Jean, my love, as we continue
our wondrous journey together.
NIGHTMARE ACADEMY
Text copyright © 2002 Frank Peretti.
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts in reviews.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Tommy Nelson®, a Division of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations used in this book are from the King James Version of the Bible (KJV).
“Imagine” lyrics by John Lennon, copyright 1971 EMI Blackwood Music/ Lenono Music.
Designed by Brecca Beauchamp Theele.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Peretti, Frank E.
Nightmare Academy / Frank Peretti.
p. cm. â (The Veritas Project ; v. 2)
Summary: Elijah and his sister Elisha go undercover to investigate a mysterious school that is sheltering runaway teenagers for a sinister purpose.
ISBN 0-8499-7617-0
[1. SchoolsâFiction. 2. RunawaysâFiction. 3. Christian lifeâFiction. 4. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title. II. Series.
PZ7.P4254 Ni 2002
[Fic]âdc21
2002070060
Printed in the United States of America
02 03 04 05 06 PHX 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Chapter 1: The Kid in the Padded Room
Chapter 4: Waking Up in Nightmare
Chapter 5: "What's Yours Is Mine"
Chapter 8: Crusades and Inquisitions
Chapter 11: The Mansion and the Monster
Chapter 12: Both/And, Either/Or
Chapter 13: Something True, Someone Blue
H
IS MIND TOLD HIM,
insisted,
that he was running, putting one tattered, bleeding foot in front of the otherâeven though the ground did not move under his feet, turned when he did not, or inclined steeply upward though he saw no slope before him. He closed his eyes, but he could still see. He screamed, but he heard nothing. The pathway became a precipice and he tumbled headlong, falling through space.
He was under water. He tried to swim; suddenly his groping arms were pulling him forward through hot, dry sand. The sky above was red like a sunset, the earth below an eye-buzzing purpleâthen green, then gray, then red as the sky turned green.
Where he was, or why, or when, or who, or how, he could not know, could never know.
There were no days, no hours, no moments, no way of knowing, no chance for knowing how long he'd been here.
Been where?
No place, at no particular time.
He was once a fifteen-year-old boy, cocky and wayward. He once had a brother, a sister, a father and mother. He had a name, a house, a school, and a lifeâand he thought he knew something. Maybe he thought he knew it all.
But that boy, and that time, and that life had become . . . nothing. Non-things.
There was no fifteen-year-old boy here. No knowledge, no thought, no reason. There was nothing here but terror, endlessly repeating cycles of it, layer upon layer of itâwith more, more, more to come, in swirling, kaleidoscoping sounds, images, and sensations, pulsing, pounding, surging, throbbing like a swollen thumb.
The only reality.
He stopped, fell against a gnarled old tree. . . .
The tree toppled unnaturally, crumpling like a wad of paper, without sound. He fell. . . .
And hit the ground. Cold ground. Grass. Stones. They didn't move, didn't change. The earth was motionless under his body, the dew of the night cold and soaking through.
The tree he thought he would lean on, that had fallen . . . was a metal door, now slowly closing behind him, creaking on its hinges.
Without a thought, he was on his feet, running away. He could see nothing in the dark, was not aware of the branches and limbs striking against him, was not aware of the aching in his chest, the pounding of his heart, the gasping for air.
He just ran.
Nelson Farmer was tall, with a long horse face and a worried look that just stayed there, even when he wasn't worried. Right now he was worried, making his face sag to new depths of sourness.
“Harborview,” said the taxi driver, pulling up in front of an immense hospital in Seattle.
Harborview Hospital, part of the Seattle skyline for generations, was known as the place to send the really tough cases. Victims of accidents could be helped in any good hospital; victims of
horrible
accidents were sent here, as were the burn victims, abuse victims, disaster victims, and . . .
Farmer didn't have a label for the victim he was hoping to find here. He might have a name, but at this point he couldn't be sure. He would know in the next few minutes.
Dr. Cal Madison, white-haired, balding, and soft-spoken, met him in Observation and Evaluation. “Thank you for coming, Mr. . . . “ He looked once again at Farmer's business card. “Farmer. My! From the D.C. office! You've come a long way.”
“Not really,” said Farmer. “I was out on the West Coast on business anyway. I just made a little side trip.”
Madison moved through the front office and into a narrow hallway Farmer followed.
“I expected the Bureau would just send a local person,” Madison commented.
“This could be a special case,” Farmer replied. “The local office may not have the records on this one yet.”
“Hmm.” Madison had to think about that one. “Anyway, I'm not sure what information you have at this point. . . .”
“He was found on the highway, somewhere in Idaho?”
“North Central Idaho, I think. A very mountainous region, not much civilization to speak of.”
They entered a darkened room with one large window. The window, of two-way glass, opened on another room. That room was roughly ten feet square, softly lit, and the walls and floor were covered with thick, quilted padding. Against the far wall was a very simple, low-built cot, also heavily padded; in the center of the room, curled up on the floor like a cowering animal, was a boy. He was clothed in hospital pajamas and lay motionless except for a trembling, involuntary curling and uncurling of his fingers. His eyes stared at the floor, unwavering, unblinking.
Dr. Madison explained, “We judge him to be about fifteen years old. We've had to dress him because he can't dress himself. He wasn't carrying any ID, so we have no idea who he is.”
“And I suppose he can't tell you?”
“You need to see this,” Madison said, slipping out the door. He closed the door behind him, leaving Farmer in the darkened room. A moment later the door to the padded room opened, and Madison stepped inside. He knelt beside the boy and asked him, “How are you doing?”
