The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen (17 page)

“Hey Brant,” Felix said as quietly as he could. “Who are we playing?”

“Seriously?”
Brant’s eyebrows twitched together for a moment. “Bradline. The Cougars. You okay?”

Felix couldn’t tell him that he was losing his mind, so he kept his mouth shut. He jogged over to the north side of the field and huddled up with the rest of the team. Someone slapped the top of his helmet and hopped on his back. He spun around to see who it was and got smacked on the helmet again. He didn’t know what was going on. Felix had played football his whole life. But this didn’t feel like a football game. It had all the trappings of football: coaches barking orders; players shouting at each other, pumping each other up; referees in zebra-patterned shirts; and an off key horn section and overzealous percussionists with
Little Drummer Boy
envy rat-tat-tatting on their snare drums every ten seconds. It all felt totally surreal, more dreamlike than the dream he’d had about almost getting killed in no-man’s-land. Somebody pounded on his shoulder pads and yelled in his face like they were going off to war. He couldn’t wrap his head around any of it.

He went off by himself and tried to concentrate on something other than scar-faced women and swarthy men with black dead eyes. He found a cottony white cloud hanging high above the goal post on the east side of the field. It didn’t seem to be moving. The sun was beating down on the stadium. It was hot.
That’s it,
he told himself.
Focus on the weather.
Then he looked up at the stands. The students were already getting rowdy in their section behind the team benches.
I have to get it together. Just stop thinking
.
It’s just a game. I can do this. It’s just football.

It wasn’t quite that easy. The first half passed by in a confusing blur of violent collisions, shouting, and whistles. It took everything he had, every bit of concentration, just to run the right plays. The world seemed to be moving in super fast forward. Bodies were zooming in and out of his field of vision so quickly he couldn’t keep track of where everyone was. It was like he was stuck in a video game and his settings (and
only
his settings) were set to ‘slow and disoriented’.

Before he’d even adjusted to the idea that he was playing in his first college football game, he was back in the locker room. It was halftime. He hadn’t realized the horn had sounded. Everyone was angry. Jimmy Clay put a fist into his locker, denting it, and upended the Gatorade table. The seniors screamed at the freshmen. The defense screamed at the offense. Coach Bowman directed his ire at everyone, tantruming for a good while, screaming at the entire team for “playing with their heads up their asses.” Felix let it wash over him; he didn’t even know the score.

When they went back out onto the field, the first thing Felix did was check the scoreboard. From the halftime hysterics, he expected to be losing by thirty, but they were only down 7-3. He doused his face with ice-cold water from the cooler, trying to shock himself back to reality. The sense of being trapped in some strange limbo diminished by a fraction, but it wasn’t until Felix’s touchdown catch at the end of the third quarter that things started getting back on track. The catch itself was a minor miracle. He was somewhat conscious of running by the defender and sticking out his arms. Then the ball stuck to his fingers. Touchdown. It all felt entirely accidental, like stumbling upon a hundred dollar bill in the parking lot. But it wasn’t the touchdown that did the trick. It was Salty. During the touchdown celebration, Salty became a little too exuberant and clubbed Felix on the helmet, hard. He knocked Felix off his feet, and Felix sat there in the end zone for a full minute seeing stars, an entire galaxy of tiny blinking lights.

Salty’s blow cleared his sinuses—and his head. The ground beneath Felix’s cleats began to feel firmer, the heat on his neck warmer, the sweat in his nostrils sweeter. Yesterday’s events lost their cohesion, the images in his head disaggregating like a jigsaw puzzle still in its box.

The fourth quarter got under way with the Sturgeons in front 10-7. The two teams went back and forth for most of the period with no points to show for it. As the clock ticked down, Felix could feel the crowd’s anticipation building. The fans were sensing—daring to believe despite so many years of futility—that the Sturgeons might be able to pull off an upset over the heavily favored visitors. But with time running out, the Cougars drove the length of the field for a touchdown. And just like that, the Sturgeons were trailing 14-10. All the excitement and energy in the stadium broke like a raw egg smashing against a rock.

The Sturgeons took over on offense with just nine seconds left and no timeouts. The outcome seemed certain. Another loss for the Sturgeons. Fifteen in a row on opening day. Brant gathered the offense and called the play, a quick pass to the running back. Felix couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The play was good for five yards at most.

“Why don’t we just give up?” Felix blurted out, suddenly angry over the play calling equivalent of raising the white flag. “Throw me the ball!”

The huddle went silent. Larry, Salty, Jonas and everyone else looked at Felix like they thought he was crazy. The coaches signaled in the plays and if the players changed them, there would be hell to pay. Everyone knew that.

Brant cocked his head and chuckled. “You can’t be serious, August.”

“Just throw me the damn ball!”

“Alright,” Brant said. “But you better catch it or this’ll be the last game we ever play. Give me some time to throw, guys.” He broke the huddle.

Brant took the snap from center as Felix sprinted toward the end zone seventy yards away. The offensive line didn’t give Brant the time he’d asked for; the Cougars broke through and flushed Brant from the pocket. Brant rolled to his right and heaved the ball just as a Cougar planted his shoulder into his rib cage and slammed him into the grass.

Felix turned his head and caught a glimpse of the ball leaving Brant’s hand. Instinctively, he knew that Brant didn’t throw it far enough. He stopped and turned back, running toward the line of scrimmage. The ball wobbled and fluttered in the air, then it fell out of the sky at the forty-yard line—right into Felix’s hands.

Two Cougars stood between Felix and the goal line. He ran directly at the closest defender, faked a cut to his right, then cut sharply back the other way, leaving him grasping at air. Felix sprinted along the sideline, juking hard to his left and quickly accelerating back to his right. The second defender barely got a hand on his leg as he flew past him.

Felix tore across the turf at full speed. He could see the end zone through his facemask just twenty yards away. He could hear the opponents closing in on him from behind and the roar of the crowd growing louder and louder with each stride. At the four-yard line he dove toward the goal line with the ball in his outstretched hands.

The clock went to 00:00.

He rolled to his feet as the referee raised his arms to signal a touchdown. Stubbins Stadium seemed to go quiet for a moment as if the crowd believed they were witnessing a mass hallucination, and then all at once, pandemonium ensued. Felix stood in the end zone and watched the students scrambling over the railing like a colony of ants descending on a picnic. They swarmed onto the field, hugging the players, the coaches, each other, and anyone else they could find, even the other team.

Transfixed by the scene unfolding before him, Felix made the mistake of not running for cover. Now the horde was coming at him like an invading army. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. No escape. So he did the only thing he could do. He dropped to the ground and curled up in a ball as the surging mob jumped on him, burying him alive—but he didn’t really mind.

The weight crushing down on him didn’t feel nearly as immediate as the swirling emotions rising up inside him: he was overjoyed and ecstatic they’d won the game; relieved that he hadn’t let his teammates down; and amazed and bewildered at how quickly things could change. Felix’s first game felt like someone had pushed him out of an airplane without a parachute and he expected to crash to earth in a bloody Rorschach blotch only to find that he’d landed gracefully on center stage with an audience on its feet applauding his good fortune.

When he finally managed to squirm out from under the pile, they mobbed him again, but at least this time, the students and his teammates let him stay on his feet. He checked the scoreboard, looking over the top of a hundred cell phones taking pictures of the 16-14 final score.

Through all the commotion, Felix heard someone behind him shout: “Hey! Get away from my roommate, you animals!”

He turned to see Lucas, Allison, Harper and Caitlin pushing their way through the crowd. When they reached him, they smothered him in a fierce group hug. Harper lingered the longest, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. But before he could really enjoy the moment—and he
was
enjoying the moment—his teammates ripped him away and hoisted him off the ground. Then they carried him across the field on their shoulders through a sea of ecstatic adoring fans, a victory procession worthy of a hero.

Bill’s new client was hiding something from him. “Michael,” he said after a lengthy chat about the lovely mid-September weather, “anyone who saw what you saw would be having difficulties. What you’re going through is normal. Perfectly normal.”

Michael’s watery eyes stared back at him from across the desk. He was sitting in the guest chair, silent and brooding, his hands in his lap, folded, his shoulders rigid as if he was cold.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Bill prompted.

“I’m fine,” Michael said curtly and glanced down at his watch. He clearly wasn’t
fine
; dark patches smoldered under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping. Probably not eating well either.

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Bill said in his pleasant therapist’s voice. “But if you do, I can promise you two things. First—you’ll feel better. And second—whatever you say within these four walls stays here. I’m not an AshCorp employee. I’m a consultant. I’ve been doing this for a very long time. Long enough for the folks here to give me a place to hang my hardware.” Bill swiveled his chair a quarter turn and cocked his thumb at the wall to his back. Along with a pair of generic water-color prints were framed degrees (bachelor’s and master’s) and three counselor certifications issued by the state of Oregon. “I take my job very seriously. And I’m very good at it.”

Michael studied his hands for a moment, his expression conflicted. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at Bill. “You won’t tell anyone?”

“Not even if I wanted to,” Bill replied gravely. “Unless I have a reasonable basis to believe you pose a threat to yourself or someone else, I cannot disclose the contents of our conversation to anyone. I’m here for you, Michael. I’m here to help. Now why don’t you talk to me? Tell me about what you saw. Tell me about the bodies.”

Michael dug his knuckles into his eye sockets and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fifty-two. I’ve got two kids in college and a wife who thinks it’s her God given right to drive German cars. I’m going on thirteen years at AshCorp and they pay me like an engineer. But I’m not. I’m not an engineer. And if they cut me loose, I’ll be out competing with guys half my age who
are
engineers. I need this job. And the reason they pay me so well is because…” He faltered, his uncertain eyes on Bill.

“They demand and expect your discretion. They’ve asked you to do things they don’t want you talking about.” Bill paused, taking in Michael’s surprised reaction. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. I’m well versed in AshCorp’s ways.”

“Yeah.” Michael nodded sullenly. “And that’s never bothered me. We’ve cleared miles of forest to build things I’ve never asked about. Buildings. Tunnels. Generators. Water filtration plants. I don’t know what they’re used for. And I don’t care. As long as they pay me.”

“Of course.” Bill gave Michael an approving smile as if to say
we all have to pay the mortgage
. “But you’re not here because of that. No one’s questioning your commitment or your discretion. You’re here because your boss informed HR that ever since the incident you’ve been having
issues
. I think you saw something in the forest. What was it?”

“You know what I saw,” Michael said bitterly. “Everyone knows. That’s why this is so pointless!” Michael was talking tough, but Bill could see the fear in his eyes.

“Humor me.”

Michael blew out a heavy sigh and lifted his eyes to the ceiling as if he was swearing at God for putting him in this position. “Bodies,” he said thickly. “Two. I saw two bodies. Last summer. I… I found them.”

“Tell me about it,” Bill urged.

“There’s nothing to tell. They were dead.”

“And that’s why you can’t sleep?” Bill prodded. “Why you’re not eating?”

Michael stared down at the floor, wringing his hands.

“I can’t help you unless you talk to me. What did you see?”

“Something,” Michael said quietly, his eyes moving to the door as if he was thinking about making a run for it. “I saw… something.”

“Something?”

Michael shook his head, his face pained.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Bill suggested.

“And this won’t get out?” Michael asked in a wavering voice. “You sure?”

“This is between me and you,” Bill promised. “No one else will know. Now tell me about the day you found the bodies.”

Michael let out a long breath and his posture sank, like his bones had grown suddenly weary. “Where I work, it’s not like this.” He turned his head and lifted his chin to the west-facing window that looked out onto a lawn that had just begun to lighten with the changing seasons. “You have these towers, a pavilion, coffee places, bars and restaurants, a park and a lake. Thirty thousand people come here every day dressed all nice to go to their meetings to talk about pie charts and spreadsheets. But I work out there. In the forest. It’s not what people think. If you took your average AshCorp employee and told him to walk a mile into the woods, you’d probably never see him again.”