If a new BMW in the school parking lot gave you clout at Dan’s high school, then Apple products and sheer volume of books seemed to grant the cool factor at NHCP.

That’s what they were supposed to call the program, as Dan quickly learned. The college student volunteers who were there to hand out room keys and help kids move in kept saying, “Welcome to NHCP!” and the one time Dan actually called it “New Hampshire College Prep,” they gave him a look like he was sweet but simple.

Dan walked up the front steps and found himself in a large entrance hall. The enormous chandelier couldn’t overcome the darkness caused by all the wood paneling and overstuffed furniture. Through a grand archway across from the entrance, Dan spotted a wide staircase, and halls leading in on either side. Even the students bustling in and out did nothing to dispel the feeling of heaviness.

Dan started up the stairs with his suitcases. Three long flights later, he arrived at his room, number 3808. Dan put down his bags and opened the door, only to discover that his assigned roommate had already moved in. Or maybe filed in would be more accurate. Books, manga magazines, almanacs of all shapes and sizes (most tending toward biology) lay in neat, color-coordinated order on the provided bookshelves. His roommate had taken up exactly half of the space in the room, with his suitcases zipped up and tucked neatly under the closer bed. Half of the closet was already filled with shirts, slacks, and coats on hangers—white hangers for shirts and jackets, blue for pants.

It looked like the guy had been living here for weeks.

Dan hauled his suitcases onto the unclaimed bed, then checked over the furniture that was his for the summer. The bed, bedside table, and desk all seemed to be in good condition. He opened the top desk drawer out of idle curiosity, wondering if he would find a Gideons Bible or maybe a welcome letter. Instead, he discovered a small slip of what looked like film paper. It was old, faded to the point of being almost completely bleached out. Faintly, he could see a man staring up at him, an older, bespectacled gentleman in a doctor’s coat and dark shirt. Nothing about the photo was all that remarkable, except for the eyes—or to be more accurate, where the eyes had been. Messily—or perhaps angrily—someone had scratched them out.