THURSDAY 8:28AM
Jerry carried his tray of French toast and sausage across the Student Center cafeteria. Mike, Darla, and the twins sat at a table near the center of the room.
Darla wore a beige blouse and matching skirt that ended two inches above her knees. Strappy sandals wrapped halfway up her calves. From this angle, Jerry had a perfect view of her legs. He swallowed hard. He’d known Darla for a week but getting over her was going to take a lot longer than that.
Before any of the group spotted him, Jerry turned and headed toward the far wall where, until this week, he used to eat. At his old table sat Busby, Miranda, Dmitri, and a pair of girls he didn’t recognize.
He changed direction again. Maybe he should settle for an empty table and dine alone.
“Jerry!” a voice called out.
He spun. Fallon was waving at him. Was this better than eating by himself? Possibly? He maneuvered through the confusion of chairs and tables to Fallon.
She wore an unbuttoned, red-and-yellow checkered plaid shirt over a navy-blue tee. On her tray: a granola bar, a bowl of oatmeal, and a glass of orange juice. “You looked kind of lost, wandering around out there.”
Jerry forced a smile and sat. “Thanks. Things are kind of in flux with my friends.”
“Still sore at you because of my articles for The Underground?”
“That’s resolved. It’s other stuff.”
An Asian girl with close-cropped hair and wearing a gold VBU sweatshirt arrived at the table, set down her tray of oatmeal and coffee, and sat across from Jerry.
Fallon nodded. “Jerry, this is my girlfriend, Vicky Tran. Vicky, this is Jerry Williams, second-best reporter on campus.”
Vicky grabbed a Sweet’N Low packet and dumped the contents into her drink. “The guy behind the bad luck stories?”
“I see my reputation precedes me.” Jerry folded up a half slice of French toast and crammed it into his mouth.
Fallon sighed. “It’s over though, right? The bad luck?”
“I don’t know why everyone thinks that. Nothing has changed.”
“We’re still in danger?” Vicky shuddered. “I was in the class when that creepy Professor Johnson broke all those superstitions. I thought he was dead.”
“He is.”
Fallon sipped her juice. “If the professor is out of the picture, but you think it’s not over, what’s the angle?”
“I admit I’m stumped on how to proceed. There’s this old reporter in Saratoga that put me on to Professor Harding and Peggy. But he doesn’t hear too well, so I can only talk to him in person.” Jerry checked his phone. “The retirement home has visiting hours this afternoon. I could drive over after class and try to learn something more.”
“Anything else?”
Jerry lowered his voice. “You were one of my leads, but it didn’t pan out.”
“Me?” Fallon’s eyes went wide.
“Fallon?” Vicky laughed.
“Yeah. Fallon, you were on the list of students from Professor Harding’s class. One of them asked about magic. But Rachel cleared you.”
“Imagine my relief.” Fallon mock-wiped her brow.
Vicky leaned forward. “What’s this about magic?”
“A way for women to finally level the playing field with men.” Fallon rested her elbow on the table. “We’ll have to play around with it sometime.”
Vicky looked unconvinced.
Jerry whipped out his phone. “Rachel claimed she was going to whittle down that list of names. I wonder if she’s made any progress.” He lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Rachel. Jerry. I’m sitting here with Fallon at the SC. How’s it coming with that list that Professor Harding gave me? Or the relatives of the football players?”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Heh, sorry. It’s just that I’ve hit the proverbial brick wall doing about sixty. Not sure how else to continue.”
“No problem. I admire your dedication. No leads on the families of the players. I’ll check with Steph and see how she’s doing with the list. Keep in mind she has other responsibilities at The Underground. Plus classes, like the rest of us.”
Jerry sighed. “I appreciate that. But tomorrow is the 13th.”
“I’ll let her know it’s top priority. And when she gets the results, I’ll have her email them to both of us. Sound good?”
“Great. Thanks. Bye.” Jerry disconnected the call. “Rachel’s putting a rush job on the list. That’s something.”
“Tomorrow is the 13th?” Vicky furrowed her brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know, Friday the 13th. Based on what happened in ‘84 and in the past week, it could be bad.”
“Should we leave campus?” Concern filled Vicky’s eyes, and she looked at Fallon. “We could go to my parents’ place in Westchester.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” Jerry checked at his watch. “Hopefully, I can figure this all out and stop it in the next fifteen hours.”
Fallon and Vicky raised their eyebrows.
“Wow, I guess that sounded overly dramatic. I meant, I’m on the case and not giving up. Guess I should get to class. It was nice meeting you, Vicky.”
“Nice meeting you too, Jerry. Despite all the gloomy talk.”
“See you later, Fallon.” Jerry stood and grabbed his tray.
* * *
While Professor Joslin droned on about the Taiping Rebellion, Jerry replayed the events of the past week, hoping he’d discover something he overlooked. He sat through an hour of Chemistry and couldn’t recall a single word Professor Gray said. The pages of his notebook were uncontaminated with any notes. Maybe he should ask Darla for help to get up to speed?
Darla!
The thought of her name was like a kick in the balls. He really needed to push her out of his head, permanently. Or it would be his high school junior year all over again; mooning over Sara Duffy for months after she dumped him at the Halloween Dance.
After Chemistry, Jerry headed to the library. Nothing new on Professor Johnson or Harding in today’s edition of The Whig. He spent the next two hours browsing copies of The Whig from 1984 but couldn’t find any new leads. And still no updates from Rachel on Professor Harding’s list. Maybe it was over. Whatever it was. If so, he might never learn what exactly happened, but that would be more than a fair tradeoff, if no one else died.
At one o’clock, Jerry was walking into the Student Center, semi-confident he wouldn’t run into Darla or Busby at that hour. As he climbed the steps to the second-floor cafeteria, four girls descended. Three on the left side of the silver metal railing. One coming down Jerry’s side.
Jerry mentally ranked the girls. Would this help him get over Darla more quickly? Couldn’t hurt. On the left, a blonde in a white sweater and black skirt looked best. Not much competition: the other two girls were in sweats and sans make-up. The girl coming down Jerry’s side wore shorts and had cute legs. She tapped her phone, not watching where she was going. Jerry moved to the side, giving her room. Her feet became entangled, and she tumbled forward.
Jerry was too far away to grab her. All he could do was watch as the girl’s momentum carried her forward. The phone went flying. The girl careened down the twenty or so stairs ending on the floor at the foot of the steps.
Jerry squinted. The girl’s leg looked odd. Like she had a second knee. No, it was her shinbone: broken and protruding through the skin.
The girl had managed to sit up. She didn’t cry out. She stared in a daze at the jagged ends of her fractured left tibia as blood oozed onto the floor.
“Kate, are you okay?” the blonde in the skirt shrieked. She and her two companions hovered over the injured girl, paralyzed with inaction.
Jerry rushed down the steps, pushed through the trio, and knelt next to Kate. “Call 9-1-1!” He pulled the knife from his backpack, sliced off his shirtsleeve, and pressed it to the wound. “I need someone to keep this in place for me.”
The trio of girls, tapping on their phones, didn’t look up.
Another girl, a brunette in a leather jacket and jeans, rushed down the steps. “I’ve got it.” She knelt next to Jerry, placing her hand over the improvised bandage.
Jerry turned his attention to Kate. Her breathing had become rapid and shallow. He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Kate, don’t look at your leg. Look at me.”
Still puffing, she directed her gaze from her leg to Jerry.
“My name is Jerry, and I promise you everything is going to be okay. But I need you to get your breathing under control. Regular, slow breaths.” He placed his hand on her chest. “Breath with me. One in, and two out. One in, and two out.” Jerry repeated his commands. Slowly, her breathing was returning to normal. “Great job, Kate. Keep with it. Slow and normal.”
A crowd of students had assembled in a circle around Jerry and Kate.
Jerry shouted at the crowd, “I need something soft to put under her head!”
“You should wait for the paramedics.” The blonde’s voice quavered.
Jerry ignored her and looked at the crowd. “Please, someone.”
A guy pulled off his blue New York Giants sweatshirt and tossed it to Jerry.
He balled it up and placed it on the floor behind Kate, then grabbed her shoulders. “Kate, I’m going to have you lie back. Nice and slow.” He eased her down to the floor.
“How we doing?” Jerry asked the girl holding the makeshift bandage.
“Fine, I’m a nursing major. I got this.”
Jerry turned his attention back to Kate. “What’s your name?”
“Kaitlin—er, Kate Fletcher.”
“And where are you, Kate?”
“On the floor?”
Despite the circumstances, Jerry couldn’t help but smile. “On the floor, where?”
“The Student Center.”
“Very good, Kate. And can you tell me the day of the week?”
“It’s Thursday.”
“Perfect. You’re doing super fine. Everything is going to be okay.” Jerry held her wrist, checking her pulse. Strong. That was a good sign. Ninety-six. Fast, but to be expected. He pulled a water bottle from his backpack. “Kate, I’m going to give you a bit of water. I want you to take tiny sips.” Jerry held the bottle sideways and allowed a bit of water to trickle into her mouth.
A campus cop ordered the onlookers to get off the steps, and a pair of paramedics pushed through the dispersing crowd.
The first EMT knelt next to Jerry. “What happened?”
“Kate fell. Suffered a Grade I or II compound fracture. We tried to stop the bleeding first. She’s aware and lucid, knows her name and where she is. Pulse is strong at ninety-six. She was hyperventilating, but I got it under control. Probably in shock. Haven’t moved her, except to rest her abdomen and head on the floor.”
“We’ll take over now.” The EMT turned his attention to Kate.
Jerry and the nursing student stood and joined the crowd, now hovering at the top of the steps.
The guy who offered the Giants sweatshirt fist-bumped Jerry. “Very epic under pressure.”
The blonde in the skirt approached Jerry. “Sorry for doubting you. We were all concerned for Kate.” The other two girls nodded.
Something clicked in Jerry’s mind. The girls weren’t just walking down the steps at the same time as Kate. They were her friends. Three on one side of the railing and Kate on the other. Like Darla had described with Cassie.
Split the group.
Jerry’s mouth went dry. He was right. This wasn’t over. Everyone was still at risk. Less than eleven hours until the 13th.
He mumbled his way past the trio of girls and pushed his way through the rest of the crowd, taking the back steps to the first floor. He called Rachel for an update but got her voice mail.
“Rachel, some girl at the Student Center split the group with her friends and ended up with a seriously broken leg. It’s not over. I really need that list.” As Jerry spoke, his email notification chimed.
He ended the call. In his inbox was an email with the subject line Re:list. The message was cc’d to Rachel.
From the list Rach gave me, four female students were in the general vicinity (250 feet) of the Whitmore Building between one and two on Tuesday afternoon. That’s as much as I can narrow it down. - Steph
Jerry downloaded the attachment and opened the file. As he read the names, his chest tightened, and he couldn’t breathe. Was this what a heart attack felt like?
His hands shook as he reread the list:
Davenport, Allison L. – SIN# 210-96-6521
Jaggard, Darla T. – SIN# 385-80-2273
Munroe, Kris W. – SIN# 128-54-1793
Tollefson, Amanda B. – SIN# 133-23-5896