Cybil hurried down the fifth floor hallway. Her backpack was slung over her shoulders, and her arms were burdened with several reams of paper. One of her other bosses had sent her to the campus bookstore to pick up several printouts of the manuscript he was working on. The bookstore usually boxed up those kinds of things, but not this time. Her luck had doomed her to rushing around with loose papers stacked in the right order. The copy people hadn’t even stapled the stupid things together.
She turned the corner that led to the south hallway. Her shoes, slick from walking over a mopped floor near the elevator, nearly slid out from under her. This hall always made her a little bit nervous without having the extra burden of a few manuscripts. The baseboards and moldings in this hall were scrolled with strange-looking creatures that resembled goat men. Supposedly when the school had been a military academy well before the Civil War, this floor was devoted to the humanities and especially ancient languages and history. She’d been told the goat men were satyrs from Greek mythology, little gods of mirth. They made her feel creepy not jovial.
Dr. Milton’s office came up on the left. Cybil kept her balance and skidded to a halt just inside his door. The old professor looked up at her and pointed for her to put the stacks of paper on his desk. She did so without being told twice. The muscles in her forearms jumped and quivered now that they were free from the burden.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No, thank you. I hope these aren’t stapled,” Milton said.
“No sir they’re not, and every page should still be in the right order.”
“Good, good. You can go.”
Cybil wasted no time. Dr. Milton’s office smelled like old man, and it bothered her just a little bit. She wondered what Ashe was up to and if he might want to grab a coffee or something. For some reason, the professors ran her ragged today. She started down the hallway toward the side staircase. The route took her past Rogers’ office, which she would have rather avoided, but the spiral side staircase was closer than walking to the other side of the building for the other set of stairs or elevators. As she passed his office, she saw that the door stood slightly ajar. Even though an encounter with the psychology professor was the last thing she wanted, Cybil stopped by the door. Rogers never left his door closed when he was in his office, but he never left it ajar if he was gone.
She stopped and listened. No sounds came out of the office, but then there was clatter, a huff, and some under the breath cursing. She almost pushed the door open to make sure there were no burglars, but then she thought about her own apartment and what might have happened to her if she’d made it home earlier. Instead she listened closer. Rogers spoke, and someone answered. She didn’t recognize the voice, which wasn’t a big shock because there were lots of students at the college. However, this voice sounded too deep and old to be a traditional student.
“How stupid do you have to be coming here?” Rogers asked.
“I had no choice in the matter; I received orders to fetch you. Things require your attention,” the other voice said, sounding clipped and forced.
“I’m busy,” Rogers said. “Tell him that I have other important business to attend to, and that he’ll have to wait.”
“Why should I?” a third voice said.
The third man spoke in a raspy voice that demanded respect. Something about the accent set Cybil’s teeth on edge and made her stomach flop. It didn’t sound artificial like the other, but sinister.
“It’s your business I’m trying to get organized,” Rogers said.
“My business is your business as well,” the foreigner said.
“What is it?” Rogers asked.
“We need more emotional recordings. We lost one the other night when John Balby died,” the man with the forced speech said.
“I’ve given you about half of my collection of emotional recordings. I have to keep some for legitimate research,” Rogers said.
Cybil eased around so that she could see through the crack between the door and the wall. Through the small opening, she saw Rogers at his desk. The other two men couldn’t be seen. Rogers dug around in his desk and brought out what looked like a thumb drive. He handed it over. An olive-colored hand took it from him.
“Ashe is suspicious about the missing engram prototype device,” Rogers said.
“Might I remind you, Dr. Rogers, that none of this would be possible without my assistance,” the foreigner said.
“I know that.”
“I would think that your cooperation would be more forthcoming. Great things await you yet,” the foreigner said. “What emotions are on this?”
“I just recorded and processed that today. It’s genuine self-doubt.”
The foreigner laughed. The sound resonated through the walls. Cybil felt it in her chest cavity. She stepped away from the door hoping that the feeling would subside.
“I love that emotion. It is so powerful,” the foreigner said. “Take this back with you, and do what needs to be done.”
Cybil heard a grunting noise, and the door started to open more. She turned her back and started down the hall at a pace that didn’t seem like she was trying to run away, but didn’t seem like she’d just started walking. The temptation to look over her shoulder to see who came out of the office was strong, but she avoided it and made her way to the stairwell. As she opened the door to the stairs, she took a look behind her. A broad-shouldered man followed her down the hall. He looked familiar, but not in an obvious way.
Cybil slipped inside the stairwell and started up a flight of stairs heading to Ashe’s office. She stopped on the next landing and peered down as the door from the fifth floor opened. The man walked in. He started down the steps, almost hopping on each step as if he couldn’t bend his knees properly. She ducked back from over the rail as he stopped and looked up. His heavy hops down the stairs echoed up to her. Cybil waited until she heard the door on the ground floor slam closed. It echoed up to her. She opened the door and stepped into the sixth floor hall.
Her heart beat fast in her chest as if the man had chased her. She didn’t really know why she was so excited. The only thing too bothersome was the foreign man, and it was just his voice. She walked down the hall toward Ashe’s office attempting to calm herself so that she didn’t burst in ranting.
Ashe and Smalls walked out of his office. They talked with each other as they came toward her. Ashe almost knocked into her before he looked up.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ashe asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I just overheard Dr. Rogers and two men talking,” she said.
“That was scary?” Smalls asked.
“I’ve heard how he talks around other guys,” Ashe said. “It can be scary.”
“I think that he’s involved with the Mafia or something,” Cybil said.
She really wasn’t sure that’s what she actually thought. The broad-shouldered man moved like the woman from the parade, but the two men talked like gangsters in old movies.
“The Mafia?” Smalls said. “What makes you think that?”
“These two guys were hassling him for more recordings of emotions. One of them said they needed a new one because someone died. The other guy, who had an accent of some kind, said that if it hadn’t been for him, Dr. Rogers would have never been able to figure out how to record emotions at all.” Cybil tried hard not to rant, but she felt like she’d failed at that.
“I’m not sure the Mafia is interested in emotional engrams,” Smalls said, “nor do I think that they could help Erik discover them.”
“I know what I heard.”
“I’m not saying that you misheard anything. I’m not sure it was the Mafia is all,” Smalls said. “It must have been disturbing though to get you this worked up.”
“Maybe we should stop by and visit him on our way out,” Ashe said.
“Where are you going?” Cybil asked. She didn’t want to be alone; plus, she’d ridden to school with Ashe.
“We were going to head downtown to that bar we went to the other night,” Ashe said.
“The Bayside Bar?” she asked.
“No, the one that you and Ashe went to after meeting the woman from the parading society,” Smalls said.
“Why?”
“We need to find the Goth Sox,” Ashe said. “Somehow and for some reason, that song you found on Marianne’s computer has been attached to the only downloadable copy of that lecture I assign students. It pops up automatically with all the issues that the copy on Marianne’s computer has.”
“You don’t think that the band is out to get you, do you?” Cybil asked.
Smalls shrugged his shoulders. “All I know is that the song has an incantation on it. When I did some research into that incantation, I found that it is very old.”
“Didn’t you say it was in Latin?” she asked. “I’d think that would make it pretty old.”
“It’s older than that,” Smalls said. “Much, much older. It’s the Latin translation of an ancient Hebrew translation of a Sumerian incantation.”
“Let’s get down to Erik’s office before he leaves for the day. We can talk about all this incantation stuff later,” Ashe said. “I want to settle your nerves, Cybil.” He smiled at her. She felt genuineness in his sentiment. “Maybe when we get to that bar and find the band, I can get mine settled.”
Cybil joined them as they walked to the stairwell. Without saying much they walked down to the next floor and to Rogers’ office. Ashe knocked on his door. No one answered.
“How long ago did you come past here?” Smalls asked.
“Not long. I came right upstairs as soon as the big guy came out,” Cybil said.
Ashe twisted the doorknob. The door opened. He stepped inside. Cybil moved so that she could see in. Smalls stood behind her. The lights were off, and the room empty. A strong odor filled her nose. It smelled almost like rotten eggs.
“Smells like someone farted in here,” Ashe said. “After eating Indian food.”
“More like rotten eggs.” Cybil put her hand over her nose and mouth. The smell was bad, but she could taste it too.
“You’re both wrong. That’s sulfur,” Smalls said.
Ashe pushed past her and back into the hall. She didn’t waste time getting back out either. Smalls pulled the door closed. The smell made her eyes water. She worried that it might make her eyeliner run because she’d bought the cheapest stuff at the grocery store that morning.
“Are you sure that was sulfur?” Ashe asked.
Smalls nodded. “That is one of those smells that once you’ve smelled it you always recognize it.”
“Sort of like pot.” Cybil took her hand away from her face. She noticed that Smalls and Ashe gave her a strange look. “Like you’ve never done it.”
“I haven’t,” Ashe said. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m a bit of nerd.”
“It’s exactly like that,” Smalls said. “I have smoked and been around it many times. Sulfur is another one of those smells.”
“Why would Dr. Rogers have sulfur in his office? Is that part of recording emotions?” Cybil asked.
“It’s all electrical,” Ashe said. “There aren’t any chemicals used at all.”
Smalls rubbed his chin. “Didn’t you say that you smelled something like rotten eggs at your apartment after it was broken into?”
Cybil nodded. “Yeah. I thought someone had taken a foul dump or something, because I didn’t have any eggs.”
“That’s interesting,” Smalls said.
“Why?” Ashe asked.
“I’m not positive just yet, but it’s something to think on,” Smalls said. “I think Erik’s gone for the day. Let’s get to that bar.”
Cybil thought that the priest was a strange duck, but she’d been raised to think that all priests were a bit off. She took Ashe by the hand as they walked to the elevator. Being close to him comforted her some, even though she thought he might be thinking that she was a bit of strange duck right then as well. Why did she say Mafia? Now they’d think she was crazy.
Security Camera: Storage Facility, near Michigan Avenue, Mobile, AL, 5:07 p.m. CST
A group of people work on a large float. The face on the front is grotesque, snarling like a gargoyle on a cathedral. Several men of varying sizes carry boards to the float. Others lift them onto it. None of them move smoothly. They all look like robots in a factory assembling the thing.
A man in a dark hooded sweatshirt comes in. He points to the workers and then somewhere to the side. All the workers stop what they are doing and go where they are directed. The hooded man touches the face of the float. He inspects the underside and taps the structure with his finger. He looks around. No one is there except him. He beckons in the direction he came from. A woman walks toward him. Her movements are stiff. When she gets to him, she looks up at the ceiling. It is Marianne Lenard.
The hooded man unbuttons her blouse and pushes it off her body. She is naked underneath. He cups one of her breasts and pushes it up. At the same time he stoops and puts the nipple into his mouth. She moves her head around as if enjoying it.
He comes up and unfastens her pants. She pushes them down. The hooded man fondles both of her breasts. She stays stiff with her arms beside her. He appears to say something. She moves and undoes his pants. They fall to the floor. She begins to stimulate him. The hooded man pulls her face to his. They kiss.
With a sudden movement the hooded man turns Marianne around and puts her hands against the float. He pulls her hips out toward him. She moves closer to him and they start to gyrate. The movements become so swift that the hood falls free from his head revealing light-colored hair. He doesn’t replace the hood but keeps pumping away.
Just above them, a swarthy man appears. He looks down and smiles.