For the rest of the morning, Father McCallum followed the first-grade class as they toured the library, led by his colleague, Rhonda. He added the occasional comment but mainly focused on young Matthew, who remained silent and disengaged. The priest watched him and gathered information: the aide’s name was Samantha, and she stayed close to Matthew. After the tour, Father McCallum watched the class go out the main doors, then rushed to his office for his jacket. He would be taking lunch early today.
The security guard watched Father McCallum hurry toward the west staircase. He stood, moved from behind his desk and laced his fingers behind his back, smiling at the old man’s obvious urgency.
The bulky flashlight on his belt banged against his thigh, and he looked at it casually. He wasn’t used to the guard uniform, but it suited his purpose: keeping watch over the Voynich manuscript.
He made his way to the front door and stepped outside, took a deep breath of the cool fall air, and murmured a quick prayer to God, thanking him for the day. It felt great to be alive.
He watched the children as they walked through the courtyard, making their way to the yellow school bus. One of the children was walking more slowly than the others. The boy suddenly stopped and turned back to the library. He seemed to stare straight at the guard.
The guard matched the boy’s gaze without reaction.
The school aide seemed to realize the boy was lagging behind and stopped, urging him to rejoin the group. A few minutes later the children were all on the bus.
The guard stared at the slowly moving bus. “Soon,” he whispered, “you will be dead and it will all be done. You are the last.”