The Bride Wore Size 12
Page 83
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“No, Magda,” I say. “He lives here. He’s troubled. We want to help him.”
Actually, he’s a murderer and we want to incarcerate him, but it would probably be a violation of his student right to privacy to share this in front of the table of sleepy freshmen girls who are sitting nearby.
“Oh, poor little movie star,” Magda says, looking sad. “If I see him, I’ll let you know.”
“We saw him,” one of the first-year girls chimes in. She has red hair and freckles. “In the Harvard hoodie? He ran over there.” She points in the direction of the door to the kitchen.
Pete sighs. “I knew it. He ran. Okay, I’ll go. You stay here, Heather, in case he circles back this way. Also in case the cops show up. Tell them where I am.” He hustles off—speed-walking more than running—the leather of his duty belt creaking.
“Cops?” The freshmen girls look thrilled and frightened at the same time. “What’d this guy do? Did he rape someone?”
“No,” I assure them, though of course the truth is going to come out soon enough. “The police want to ask him some questions, is all.”
“Oh.” The girls look disappointed, until Red Hair and Freckles points again. “There he is! He didn’t go through the door! He was hiding!”
Unbelievably, when I glance in the direction she’s pointing, I see that she’s correct. Howard is slinking out from beneath a cafeteria table, his gaze on the door through which Pete’s just left. Looking relieved, Howard is straightening up and tugging on his hoodie. He begins sauntering back toward the lobby, apparently considering only the security guard a threat to his freedom.
Well, he’s in for a surprise.
“You!” Magda says, pointing at him with one long, metallic-gold nail. “Stop and talk to this lady.” The fingernail turns toward me.
Howard freezes, his eyes widening in surprise. All his attention had been concentrated on Pete. Apparently, he hadn’t even realized I was in the room until just now.
The entire cafeteria falls silent, including everyone working behind the steam tables. No serving forks scrape. Not even a coffee cup rattles as it returns to a tray.
“Howard,” I say, moving toward him. “I’m not here to hurt you—” I add this as he takes a step back for every one I take forward. “But I’m not going to allow you to leave either. You need help, and we’re going to make sure you get it. That’s why we’re here.”
“That’s not why you’re here,” Howard says in a voice that shakes. “I know why you’re here. To take me to jail. Well, I don’t need that kind of help!”
He whirls around and tears off in the direction of the hot food line, colliding with the fresh-fruit spa water bar on his way, which he destroys—on purpose to keep me and whoever else might be in pursuit—by overturning, one by one, first the watermelon water dispenser, then the honeydew (both flavors of the day).
The oversize glass watercoolers go crashing to the floor, sending gallons of water, sharp splinters of glass, ice, and chunks of melon everywhere.
The silence in the cafeteria is broken. Magda screams. So do the first-year girls at Red Hair and Freckles’s table. By now everyone in the cafeteria is aware that there’s a madman on the loose. They do exactly as we were instructed to do by the crisis management video from Homeland Security: they run, streaming through the open doors to the lobby.
All except for the few people who have the misfortune to be behind the water bar. That includes everyone standing in line for hot food. They scatter as they see Howard coming, some ducking beneath the counter and joining Jimmy, who’s waved for them to join him in the kitchen, and others making a run around Howard for the lobby, only to find themselves slipping and falling on the spilled water and melon, cutting themselves painfully on the broken glass.
Magda, who’s bravely remained behind, rushes forward to help them up, with napkins for them to press against the wounds.
Unfortunately, Howard seems focused on a single area of the dining hall, and one resident standing beside it can seem to neither run nor hide. Kaileigh Harris is frozen in place at the bagel bar, a newly toasted English muffin in one hand (I got the last bagel) and a butter knife in the other, staring wide-eyed at Howard as he lurches toward her.
My heart sinks. Oh, no. Not Kaileigh. Anyone but Kaileigh.
For a second Howard comes so close to her, it seems as if he means to snatch her muffin. Kaileigh, who obviously doesn’t understand what’s going on (who would?), drops the butter knife and holds the English muffin toward him, as if to say, Here. Is this what you want? Take it. It’s a little like watching a child fall into the gorilla pen at the zoo, then seeing the child offer the enraged gorilla his balloon.
Bread isn’t what Howard wants. He slaps the toast from Kaileigh’s hand, reaches past her, and grabs the large serrated knife sitting on the cutting board behind her.
Oh God, no, I think as from somewhere in the cafeteria, I hear Kaileigh’s mother scream in a voice that sounds as if it’s been ripped from the depths of her soul, “Kaileigh!”
It’s too late though. Kaileigh turns huge, frightened eyes in the direction of her mother’s voice. I see her lips murmur the word “Mom?”
A second later, Howard has one arm around her narrow waist, and the edges of the serrated knife at her throat.
35
I love him.
Does he love me?
Enough to last an eternity?
In thirty days, we’ll pledge our troth
Unless something happens
To call it off
“Wedding Jitters,”
written by Heather Wells
I’ll kill her!” Howard shouts at everyone around him, which, it turns out, is only me and Kaileigh. Everyone else has run away, or is keeping a wide, respectful distance.
“Please don’t,” I say to him softly.
I have melon stuck to the bottom of my shoe because I’ve raced through the broken watercoolers. I’m standing only ten feet away from him. I can see each tear as it slides down Kaileigh’s cheek.
“I’ll slit her carotid artery and she’ll bleed out before you can get her to a hospital,” Howard says. “Your common carotid is the artery in your throat that you check for your pulse. If it’s slit, all your blood pulses out, and you die. Is that what you want? For this girl to die right here in front of you?”
Actually, he’s a murderer and we want to incarcerate him, but it would probably be a violation of his student right to privacy to share this in front of the table of sleepy freshmen girls who are sitting nearby.
“Oh, poor little movie star,” Magda says, looking sad. “If I see him, I’ll let you know.”
“We saw him,” one of the first-year girls chimes in. She has red hair and freckles. “In the Harvard hoodie? He ran over there.” She points in the direction of the door to the kitchen.
Pete sighs. “I knew it. He ran. Okay, I’ll go. You stay here, Heather, in case he circles back this way. Also in case the cops show up. Tell them where I am.” He hustles off—speed-walking more than running—the leather of his duty belt creaking.
“Cops?” The freshmen girls look thrilled and frightened at the same time. “What’d this guy do? Did he rape someone?”
“No,” I assure them, though of course the truth is going to come out soon enough. “The police want to ask him some questions, is all.”
“Oh.” The girls look disappointed, until Red Hair and Freckles points again. “There he is! He didn’t go through the door! He was hiding!”
Unbelievably, when I glance in the direction she’s pointing, I see that she’s correct. Howard is slinking out from beneath a cafeteria table, his gaze on the door through which Pete’s just left. Looking relieved, Howard is straightening up and tugging on his hoodie. He begins sauntering back toward the lobby, apparently considering only the security guard a threat to his freedom.
Well, he’s in for a surprise.
“You!” Magda says, pointing at him with one long, metallic-gold nail. “Stop and talk to this lady.” The fingernail turns toward me.
Howard freezes, his eyes widening in surprise. All his attention had been concentrated on Pete. Apparently, he hadn’t even realized I was in the room until just now.
The entire cafeteria falls silent, including everyone working behind the steam tables. No serving forks scrape. Not even a coffee cup rattles as it returns to a tray.
“Howard,” I say, moving toward him. “I’m not here to hurt you—” I add this as he takes a step back for every one I take forward. “But I’m not going to allow you to leave either. You need help, and we’re going to make sure you get it. That’s why we’re here.”
“That’s not why you’re here,” Howard says in a voice that shakes. “I know why you’re here. To take me to jail. Well, I don’t need that kind of help!”
He whirls around and tears off in the direction of the hot food line, colliding with the fresh-fruit spa water bar on his way, which he destroys—on purpose to keep me and whoever else might be in pursuit—by overturning, one by one, first the watermelon water dispenser, then the honeydew (both flavors of the day).
The oversize glass watercoolers go crashing to the floor, sending gallons of water, sharp splinters of glass, ice, and chunks of melon everywhere.
The silence in the cafeteria is broken. Magda screams. So do the first-year girls at Red Hair and Freckles’s table. By now everyone in the cafeteria is aware that there’s a madman on the loose. They do exactly as we were instructed to do by the crisis management video from Homeland Security: they run, streaming through the open doors to the lobby.
All except for the few people who have the misfortune to be behind the water bar. That includes everyone standing in line for hot food. They scatter as they see Howard coming, some ducking beneath the counter and joining Jimmy, who’s waved for them to join him in the kitchen, and others making a run around Howard for the lobby, only to find themselves slipping and falling on the spilled water and melon, cutting themselves painfully on the broken glass.
Magda, who’s bravely remained behind, rushes forward to help them up, with napkins for them to press against the wounds.
Unfortunately, Howard seems focused on a single area of the dining hall, and one resident standing beside it can seem to neither run nor hide. Kaileigh Harris is frozen in place at the bagel bar, a newly toasted English muffin in one hand (I got the last bagel) and a butter knife in the other, staring wide-eyed at Howard as he lurches toward her.
My heart sinks. Oh, no. Not Kaileigh. Anyone but Kaileigh.
For a second Howard comes so close to her, it seems as if he means to snatch her muffin. Kaileigh, who obviously doesn’t understand what’s going on (who would?), drops the butter knife and holds the English muffin toward him, as if to say, Here. Is this what you want? Take it. It’s a little like watching a child fall into the gorilla pen at the zoo, then seeing the child offer the enraged gorilla his balloon.
Bread isn’t what Howard wants. He slaps the toast from Kaileigh’s hand, reaches past her, and grabs the large serrated knife sitting on the cutting board behind her.
Oh God, no, I think as from somewhere in the cafeteria, I hear Kaileigh’s mother scream in a voice that sounds as if it’s been ripped from the depths of her soul, “Kaileigh!”
It’s too late though. Kaileigh turns huge, frightened eyes in the direction of her mother’s voice. I see her lips murmur the word “Mom?”
A second later, Howard has one arm around her narrow waist, and the edges of the serrated knife at her throat.
35
I love him.
Does he love me?
Enough to last an eternity?
In thirty days, we’ll pledge our troth
Unless something happens
To call it off
“Wedding Jitters,”
written by Heather Wells
I’ll kill her!” Howard shouts at everyone around him, which, it turns out, is only me and Kaileigh. Everyone else has run away, or is keeping a wide, respectful distance.
“Please don’t,” I say to him softly.
I have melon stuck to the bottom of my shoe because I’ve raced through the broken watercoolers. I’m standing only ten feet away from him. I can see each tear as it slides down Kaileigh’s cheek.
“I’ll slit her carotid artery and she’ll bleed out before you can get her to a hospital,” Howard says. “Your common carotid is the artery in your throat that you check for your pulse. If it’s slit, all your blood pulses out, and you die. Is that what you want? For this girl to die right here in front of you?”
