Trouble. Nothing but trouble.
And if Elliot was right about Brown opening up the back of his headboard, the shit was really going to hit the fan.
EIGHTEEN
All right, Tim thought as he stared at the maze of wires running throughout the rear section of his headboard, I've found it. But what have I found?
It hadn't been easy getting into the base of the headboard. Steel bolts with recesses in their heads had been used instead of conventional slotted or Phillips-head wood screws; they'd been wound tightly into steel bushings. Apparently these headboards had been custom made to take a lot of punishment. But Tim had found an Allen wrench in his tool box that did the trick—not with ease, but after an hour of cursing and earning a few fresh blisters, he'd managed to loosen the panel and expose the innards.
He knew something about electronics—he'd poked through his share of PCs, stereos, and VCRs—but he'd never seen anything like what lay behind the panel. Wires and circuit boards, okay, but what was that big, black, shiny disk facing the bed? It reminded him of a giant sub-woofer.
Whatever it was, he knew he was out of his depth. Something big was going down here. He was too beat to open up Kevin's headboard, and besides, he was sure he'd find the same thing. The same damn science-fiction rig was probably inside every damn headboard in the whole damn dorm.
Something clinked against the window then and Tim jumped. He stared at the drawn curtains. Was someone on the other side? His was a first-floor room. The window sill was chin level to a man of average height. If someone wanted to check out what he was up to in here, the first thing to do would be to try to look in the window.
Steeling himself, Tim stepped to the curtain and pulled it aside. Cold air trapped between the glass and the curtain swirled around him, raising gooseflesh on his arms, but thankfully there were no faces peering through the panes. Nothing but darkness out there.
I'm getting jumpy.
He closed the drapes and turned back to the exposed workings within the headboard. Maybe he had good reason to be jumpy. What if there was a trip switch of some sort within that mess of wire in there that set off an alarm somewhere when the headboard was tampered with?
Maybe he should get out of here.
Tim was scared now. He felt himself shivering and his hands shook as he pulled on a sweater. He wished he'd never begun this search, wished he'd left well enough alone.
But dammit, things hadn't been well at all. Somebody had been tampering with his mind, skewing his values. How could he have let that go on?
But now he had to tell Quinn. She had to know what was going on, what they were doing to people's heads here.
Funny thing about that, though...Quinn seemed unaffected. She'd stayed the course...
...which might explain why Verran kept returning to her room. Maybe the thing in her headboard wasn't working.
He had to tell her. He glanced at his watch. Late, but this couldn't wait. He snatched Quinn's room key off his dresser and shoved it into his pocket. They'd traded keys awhile back—he'd given her a set to his car and she'd given him one to her room so he could use it anytime he wanted to be alone when she was out.
But he couldn't talk to her there, or anywhere else in the dorm. Where? He grabbed a scratch pad and a pen as he left. He hoped he could figure out a safe place to talk by the time he reached the second floor.
*
"Wha—?"
Abruptly, Quinn was awake and she didn't know why. She lifted her head and looked around the darkened room, listening. She felt extremely vulnerable in the dark, especially since she was wearing only an oversized T-shirt and a pair of panties. But nothing was moving, nothing—
She head the hall door click closed.
Someone's here!
She reached for the phone beside her.
"Who's there? Tim, is that you?"
The light went on in the front room and Tim's voice drifted through the open door.
"Just me, Quinn." His voice sounded strange...strained.
She glanced at the radio alarm. The red LED display read 2:34.
"Do you know what time it is?"
He stepped through the door and flicked on the light.
"I'm sorry it's so late, but I couldn't sleep."
Quinn squinted in the sudden glare. "Must you?"
"Yeah. I want to look at you."
When her eyes adjusted, she stared at him and gasped. He looked ghastly—pale, haggard, and...frightened.
"Tim, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I just had to see you."
As he finished speaking he held his index finger to his lips and thrust a note pad toward her.
"What—?"
He tapped the finger against his lips insistently and pointed to the pad. Quinn stared at the block printing.
THE ROOM
IS BUGGED!!!!
"What? You've got to be—"
He was frantically jamming his finger against his lips now. She looked at him and shrugged, completely bewildered. Was this one of his gags or had he gone off the deep end completely?
He took the pad and scribbled lengthwise on the next sheet.
MAKE SMALL TALK!
Quinn gaped at him. He appeared to be in genuine distress. She fumbled for something to say.
"Uh...you ready for the anatomy practical?"
He gave her the O-K sign and began writing on a third sheet as he spoke.
"Sure. You know me. I'm a quick study. Nothing to those practicals."
He held up the new note.
MEET ME IN THE
MY CAR AND I'LL
EXPLAIN EVERYTHING
"Yeah. I wish I had a memory like yours," Quinn said as she grabbed the pen and pad from him and jotted her own note.
ARE YOU FOR
REAL???
His slow, grim nod gave her a chill.
He yawned loudly as he retrieved the pad, scribbling as he spoke.
"Well, I've bothered you long enough. I'll leave you alone and see if I can get some sleep."
He handed the pad back to her.
I'LL WARM
UP THE CAR
She nodded. "Good idea. See you soon."
Tim flashed her another O-K sign, waved, and left her there in her bed, wondering what on earth had come over him. She sat for a moment or two, staring at the pad he'd left with her, flipping through the bizarre series of notes. She decided the only way to find out what was going on was to meet him in his car.
She jumped out of bed and began to get dressed.
*
"Can you hear me, Chief?"
It was Elliot's voice, transmitting via the pick-up in room 125.
Louis Verran stood in the control room with his face all but pressed against the fabric of the speaker.
"You know damn well I'm listening," he said irritably, though he knew just as damn well that Elliot couldn't hear the reply.
"Listen, we're in the bedroom of one-two-five. We couldn't see anything through the window—he almost caught us doing the Peeping Tom thing—so we came inside when he left. I was right, Chief. He's got the whole place torn apart, including the headboard."
"Shit!" Verran said. "Shit, shit, SHIT!"
"We don't know where he is now, but we can guess. We're going to go looking for him. Out."
"Yeah," Verran muttered. "Out."
This was bad. Very bad. Kurt and Elliot would have to find Brown and bring him in before he talked to anyone.
And Louis Verran would have to pick up the phone and call Dr. Arthur Tightass Alston and tell him that the nightmare scenario from two years ago was starting a rerun.
His intestines coiled into a Gordian knot as he reached for the receiver.