The Faculty Club

29

Miles handed me the phone.

“Dial,” he said.

“Who am I supposed to call?”

“Call Nigel.”

“Miles, I don’t know… after what happened…”

“Listen to me. You’re going to call him.”

He told me what to say.

I steadied myself and dialed. The phone rang, but no one answered. I hung up and shook my head.

“Okay,” he said to me. “Try again.”

“Call Nigel again?”

“No, I want you to call Daphne.”

I nearly choked when he said her name. I felt a burning shame that I tried to press down. My last conversation with Daphne involved stealing her purse and some borderline stalking. Not a part of my life I was eager to revisit. Then again, it occurred to me that Daphne-that Daphne-didn’t even exist anymore. Miles pushed the receiver into my hand.

I still knew her number from the long weeks of trial prep. I pressed the digits in, lingered over the last one, then felt it depress. I closed my eyes.

“Hello,” came the milky voice. It set off a firestorm inside me. I tried and failed to ignore the image of her coming out of the shadows outside my room, grabbing me and brushing her lips across mine. I looked at Sarah and encouraged myself to focus.

“Hello,” I managed.

A pause.

“Jeremy… is that you?”

It was disturbing how much power she still had over me. Deep breaths…

“Yeah. It’s me.”

Another pause.

“I was just thinking about you,” she purred into the phone. I could picture her, curled up by the window, legs tucked under, her long hair in a ponytail slung over her shoulder; those fire-blue eyes. “I want to see you.”

I bet you do.

“Daphne, I need you to listen to me.”

“Come on, why talk on the phone? I miss you.” Her voice was melodic. “I want to see you.”

“Listen to me. The situation has changed.”

I repeated Miles’s words exactly. We’d protected ourselves. We wanted to meet. No details. No fear. My voice was confident, firm.

This time there was a longer pause on the line. I heard voices in the background. Then Daphne spoke to me. All the purring and silkiness was gone. Her voice was all business now. I listened to what she said and nodded. Miles and Sarah looked on, eyes wide. Apparently, Miles was just as surprised as I was that his words hadn’t led to hysterical giggles on Daphne’s end. Glad I didn’t know that before I’d spoken them. “I understand,” I said, and hung up the phone.

I realized I hadn’t breathed in a while. I exhaled and rubbed my eyes.

“Well?” Miles said.

“They want to meet us tonight.”

“Really? Where?”

I smiled wearily and made a face that said, Where else?

“In my room.”

I’ve never been on the victim’s end of a burglary, but I was pretty sure this was how it felt. I hadn’t been back to my dorm since coming out the hatch under my bed. Everything was in the exact same place, but it all felt different, foreign and contaminated. My Albert Einstein poster-the one that says “Do not worry about your troubles in mathematics, I assure you mine are still greater”-used to be cute (a little juvenile for law school, maybe, but a concession to the fact that I never had a college dorm room to decorate with clichéd posters). Now Mr. Einstein’s face, larger than life on my wall, looked sinister, as if the benign genius in his eyes had slipped into lunacy while I was out. The troll dolls in a line along my desk used to guard my computer; now they struck me more like a druid assembly, here to hack at our shins with tiny adorable axes.

When we arrived, the door was still locked, but of course I expected to see Daphne waiting for us on my bed anyway. Locked doors had never been a problem before. But the room was empty and eerily silent. The only relief from the darkness was the moon shining through the blinds, splashing old Albert in silver light.

I flipped on the fluorescents, and the shadows vanished and the room became much, much closer to normal. I forced myself to sit in my old chair, a nice leather one that rotated and complemented the Stickley furniture. It felt the same, creaked in all the same places.

Sarah sat on my bed. There was one other chair in the room, wooden, yellow, and surprisingly uncomfortable. I bought it at a thrift store for seven dollars, the last chair from a long-gone kitchen table. Miles tried it, said oomph, and joined Sarah on the bed.

We left that chair open and waited.

No one spoke.

My mind started messing with me again. Were they standing us up? Did they think we were bluffing? Was this a trap? Why the hell did we come?

How many times was I going to lower my fists and show my neck?

How many more times would I get away with it?

I was about to curse Miles for… for something… (not fixing the mess I’d created?)…

And then I heard it:

Three knocks-slow, soft, and polite.