The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen (63 page)

Where’d the roof go?
Felix wondered faintly as he watched the bedroom walls exploding out into the driveway and the street in front. The frame of the house shifted, twisting, grinding and finally snapping. The floor collapsed, crashing on top of the kitchen below.

Felix looked for the door through the smoke and fire. It was no longer there. The hallway outside his bedroom where his parents had been only seconds before was also gone. The top floor of the house had been obliterated. He stared in disbelief at the empty space where his parents had stood, where they had begged him to open the door. Now there was nothing. They were gone. In an instant, their voices had been silenced, silenced forever.

The sleeping Felix tilted, almost machine-like, until he was perpendicular to the ground far below, then he drifted across the bedroom and out into what was once the hallway. The flaming ruins orbiting his body continued to pulsate with bright crimson energy, burning and destroying everything in their path, shooting off in all directions, annihilating all that they touched. He descended slowly, majestically, down the collapsing shell of a staircase to the lower level of the house where he came to a stop, his feet hovering just above the floor.

Numbly, Felix trailed closely behind, tethered to his past self. He didn’t have a choice. It was as if the memory was forcing itself on him, imposing its cruel will, making him watch until the very end. The remains of the second floor came crashing down, sending up clouds of powdery white dust and smoke that spiraled into the warm summer air in enormous plumes.

The walls twisted and bent, the wood splintering, bulging and crackling against the unnatural torque. The earth shuddered. Massive flaming sections of the house—walls, floors, entire rooms—rocketed into the night sky, circling overhead like burning airplanes in a holding pattern. And then with a sound that was eerily similar to a Fourth of July fireworks display, they all exploded into innumerable scorched fragments, tiny and feather-light, that blanketed the heavens, darkening the stars. The wreckage wafted down slowly, peacefully, like snowflakes on a windless night, forming little piles all across the property.

The sleeping Felix glided through the smoke-filled carcass of the house, crossing the living room and into the back yard where small fires were breaking out in the lawn and flower beds. He hovered above the grass, his back to the smoldering foundation of the house. And then the red cloud around his body faded all at once, like a lamp when the power cord is ripped from the wall. He fell to the ground and his face slammed into the lawn. He lay there motionless, blood trickling from his nose and from a corner of his mouth.

Felix looked down at the sleeping Felix—at himself. He could hear Bill’s footsteps behind him and the sound of sirens far off in the distance.

Bill looked at Felix with trepidation.

“It was me!” Felix cried out. “It was me! It was me! It was—”

Bill clapped twice.

Made of silver, the coin was blackened, dull and scratched on its surface. Felix was reclining in an armchair, watching the coin swinging back and forth in his face; he was in Bill’s office in exactly the same position, doing exactly what he’d been doing before a cursed memory had taken him into its vortex. He fell forward, collapsing to the floor, screaming in agony. He felt hands on his back. Bill was saying something in a low voice, but the words held no meaning.

Felix shrugged Bill away and stood up, then tripped over something—
a stack of books? an umbrella?
—and braced himself against a book-lined wall. As he stumbled toward the door, he heard the thumping sounds of heavy volumes falling from a shelf and Bill’s voice growing louder.

He flung open the door and ran to the stairwell, careening down the stairs without holding on to the banister, crashing into walls, falling, descending each flight faster and more recklessly than the one before until he reached the lobby. He burst through the main doors, staggered down the front steps and lost his footing on the wet slippery surface, sprawling to the footpath bordering The Yard.

Felix pushed himself off the puddled ground and ran headlong into a cold rainy December night. Everything inside him had shattered. He was broken. He felt only pain—an all-encompassing anguish that burned like acid, extinguishing everything in the world but the images of what he’d done to his parents. He needed to get away, to go someplace where he could escape from the memory. He had to hide from it. Bury it. Submerge it in the deepest ocean trench, a place without light and life, a place where he could vanish, lose consciousness and erase the memory forever.

Felix wanted to die.

“Dad, it’s me,” Bill said tiredly. “I know it’s late.” His cell phone was on the table with the speaker turned on. His forehead was hot. He felt like he was running a fever. The jacket he’d been wearing earlier was now lying crumpled on the floor. He’d untucked his shirt and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. His hair, already disheveled, spiked up into wayward clumps as he raked a hand along the top of his head.

“It’s not that late, but I am in bed,” his dad croaked in a voice that sounded even raspier than usual. Bill had woken him up, but his dad wouldn’t acknowledge that because he thought it a sign of weakness that he required sleep. “I don’t want to disturb your mother. Give me a minute. I’ll go to the library.”

Bill sat at the table and waited, unmoving, staring trance-like at his haggard reflection in the window. The same thing he’d been doing since Felix ran out of his office two hours ago.

“Okay, William,” his dad said after several minutes had passed. “I assume you wouldn’t be calling at this ungodly hour if it wasn’t something about the boy.”

“We have an issue.”

“An issue?” His dad was suddenly alert.

Bill described Felix’s cursed memory, sticking to the facts, recounting every detail. When he was done, he checked his watch. Twenty minutes had gone by.

“That’s not an
issue
,” his dad bellowed. “I would characterize it as a full-blown catastrophe! How could you allow this to happen?”

Bill had predicted this. Before hitting the call button on his phone, he knew that his dad would blame him. The last time they spoke, Bill had told him about Felix and Allison’s run in with the Protectors in no-man’s-land. The ‘implications’ hadn’t even surprised his dad all that much—the mobilization of the Protectors (which they’d thought were dormant) and the possible restoration of the Order—but he lambasted Bill for a full hour for nearly getting Felix killed, for failing to protect him. The prospect of being blamed for something beyond his control was so irritating he’d spent much of the past two hours debating whether he should even make the call; in the end, he’d decided it was just too important to withhold.

“I didn’t
allow
anything to happen,” Bill said stiffly through his teeth. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to remain calm.

“No? Then pray tell where the boy may be.”

“I’m sure he’s at his grandmother’s place.” Bill kept his voice steady only with tremendous effort. “He has nowhere else to go.”

“His grandmother’s place?” His dad paused for a beat. “Oh. The cottage in that little coastal town near Washington?”

“Yes. Cove Rock.”

“Well then goddammit, if you know where he is, why aren’t you in your car?”

“Do you really think he’ll want to see me right now after what just happened? He’s as likely to kill me as he is to talk.”

His dad didn’t have an immediate response to that. He cleared his throat with a phlegmy, grinding half cough—like a chainsaw on the first pull of the cord—that required Bill to expend every last ounce of restraint not to end the call. This was how his dad bought time when he didn’t know the answer to something. It was just one of his annoying habits.

Bill sat in silence, leaning back in his chair, staring at the phone, waiting for his dad to speak.

“I’m sure you’re right,” his dad said after a long while. “So what’s your plan?”

“I’ll have Allison get him.”

“Another teenager?” his dad replied with contempt in his voice. “Is that a good idea?”

“Do you have a better one? She’s the only one who knows what Felix is. And he trusts her. He trusts her more than anyone. Nobody else can bring him back.”

“When will you tell her?” his dad asked.

“I think Felix is going to need some time by himself. I’ll give him two or three days, then I’ll talk to Allison.”

“I’d give him four.”

“Fine.” Bill sighed soundlessly at his dad’s incorrigible contrarianism, another of his charming traits. “Four days it is then. I’ll wait until Friday.”

“And William, one other thing before I go back to bed: We can’t lose this war because of your ill-conceived therapy session. Bring the boy back. Let me know when you do.”

“Have you seen him?” Harper burst out as soon as Allison sat down at the table.

Allison had gone out for an early run and studied through breakfast. The time had slipped away from her and now she was late for lunch. Harper, Lucas and Caitlin must have arrived much earlier because they didn’t have a lot left on their plates. Allison’s stomach was rumbling and the turkey sandwich on her tray was making her mouth water. Starvation felt like a distinct possibility. “Who?” she asked, removing the toothpicks from the top slice of bread.

The cafeteria was busier than usual, the air full of manic conversation and the clatter of knives and forks on sturdy bulk-purchased tableware. The rain had finally stopped and pale sunshine poured in through the tall windows, bathing the table in warm streaming light.

“Felix,” Harper answered.

“Uh-uh.” Allison shook her head and took the sandwich in both hands, sizing it up for the first bite. She was too focused on her lunch to notice the concern in Harper’s voice, but she felt Harper’s eyes following her movements so she glanced sideways at her, mouth open, and saw the expression Harper was wearing on her face. She nearly dropped the sandwich.

“What do you mean have I
seen
him?” Allison said to Harper, her stomach turning.

“He wasn’t in our room when we got back from Woodrow’s,” Lucas somehow managed to garble out while chewing on a mouthful of cheeseburger.

“Where is he?” Allison asked.

“We don’t know,” Harper said bluntly. “That’s why I asked you.”

“Oh.” No longer hungry, Allison placed the sandwich on her plate. “But we didn’t get back until like four in the morning, right?”

Lucas yawned and nodded. He was tired. They all were. Sleep reservoirs were severely depleted, drying up from the sweltering pressure of finals week.

“I haven’t seen him since Dirk’s press conference,” Allison said.

“Same,” Lucas mumbled. Then he set about demolishing the rest of his burger and fries.

“So um… who saw him last?” Allison felt a spurt of anxiousness creeping up her throat, but tried not to show it.

“Me,” Harper said. “I think. Right before I met up with you guys at Woodrow’s. That was around what? Six?”

Caitlin nodded, picking at some sliced carrots and apples she’d segregated to one side of her plate.

Allison turned to Harper. “Did he say anything to you? Was he going somewhere?”

“He told me he had to meet with his parents’ attorney. Something about their insurance. He was going downtown.”

“
Insurance?”
Allison said, her voice rising in surprise. “That was all settled months ago. Back before school started.”

Harper’s face flushed and her teeth clenched, then she looked down at her plate.

“Maybe he just went home?” Caitlin suggested, watching Harper from across the table with a look of concern. “He finished his finals yesterday, didn’t he?”

“He doesn’t have a home,” Lucas reminded her. “But I think he’s still on campus. All his shit’s still in our room. Clothes. Bathroom stuff. You can say what you want about dudes and questionable hygiene, but we never travel without a toothbrush.”

“Anyone text him?” Allison asked, as calmly as possible.

Harper nodded, still staring at her plate.

“And you didn’t hear anything?”

“Obviously not,” Harper said sharply, looking up to meet Allison’s gaze. “If I had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

 “Text me if you hear from him.” Allison stood.

“Where are you going?” Caitlin asked, her eyes moving from Allison to her uneaten sandwich. “Why so worried? He probably just went out partying with his football buddies and passed out somewhere.”

 “Probably,” Allison said lightly, and forced a smile as she picked up her tray and backed away from the table. “I’m just going to have a look around. Let me know if you see him.”

Allison set off across campus, trying not to panic. Her friends probably thought she was overreacting. But her friends were oblivious. Only Allison (and Bill) knew that Felix was in constant danger. The Protectors and the Faceman had already tried to kill him (even though Allison still couldn’t remember what had really happened in ‘Martha’s’ back yard). The Faceman was six feet under. But Felix had told her that the Protectors were still out there, just waiting for an opportunity.

Allison checked Felix’s usual haunts—the Caffeine Hut, Woodrow’s Room, the Bryant Center and Satler (the fatassosaurs hadn’t seen him in a few days)—then she went to his secret places, the places she’d followed him to when he wanted to be alone and thought no one was watching him: the little room on the top floor of the Madras Building that looked out onto the stadium and no-man’s-land; the chapel just past the Star Trees—St. Rose—which gave her the chills the moment she stepped inside; the garden to the west of the Student Center hidden behind evergreens and stacked-stone walls and trellises covered in crawling vines where the pathways made their way through clipped grass lawns and beds of finely crushed rock and under ornate archways, all connecting to the center, to a bronze statue of Sacagawea, and the world went silent and still except for the sound of rushing water from the nearby Mill Stream.