Lumley took a few steps back from Gabriel’s desk and gestured toward the door at the top of the classroom. Two figures stepped in and looked down.
Gabriel Kennedy recognized the woman from a few days before, the young producer from UBC. With her was a face he had never wanted to see again. Julie Reilly still had an arrogance about her that only seemed to have intensified over the years, and its aura travelled from above to inflict itself upon Gabriel.
“Ladies, will you join us please?” Lumley called out. “Gabe, listen, they have an offer for you to consider. I wouldn’t ask if it was only for the grant, you know that. I’m asking it of you because you’re a friend, and this is your one chance to redeem your credibility.”
Kennedy looked from the two women walking slowly down the steps to Lumley.
“I’m sure Judas had something similar to say — that he only did it because he was a friend, and it was all for the best. That makes your betrayal justified in your mind?”
“That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
“No — but this may be.” He pulled out his keys and opened the bottom desk drawer. Out came all his research on Summer Place. He closed his briefcase and, with everything under his arms, walked past Lumley.
“What are you doing?” Lumley asked.
“Harrison, you can kiss my ass, and shove your tenure up your own.” He brushed past Kelly Delaphoy and Julie Reilly.
“What about your class? What about my offer?”
“I already told you what to do with your offer. The lesson plan is by the blackboard.”
With that, Gabriel Kennedy left his classroom for the last time.
“I’ll give him at least that much credit,” Julie Reilly said. “He does have his standards. Which is far more than I can say for you,” she added to Kelly, “or the Professor, here.” Frowning, she started back up the risers and left the classroom.
“Fucking great!” Kelly said, glaring at Lumley.
Gabriel Kennedy chose not to return to the studio-sized prison he called home. Instead, he found the nearest sports bar. There were a few that stayed open round the clock, catering to the students who found themselves wanting diversion at any hour.
The server didn’t even flinch when he ordered a bourbon and water. Her reaction, or non-reaction, was what was nice about college towns across the nation; no one gave a damn what you did with your personal time.
“Can I join you for a minute?”
Gabriel looked up and could not believe the woman had actually followed him. It wasn’t everyday that you could look into the beautiful face that had ruined, or helped to ruin, your professional life — twice. For him, that face was Julie Reilly’s. He had hoped never to see it in person again.
“Once wasn’t enough for you? You had to track me down to zap me one more time?” He snatched his drink from the server’s tray. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t stand on ceremony.” He took half the glass down in one swallow.
“I’ll have the same as the Professor,” Julie said. She removed her bag and squeezed in beside Gabriel. She unceremoniously bumped him over and settled in. “And bring my friend another.”
Kennedy shook his head and raised the glass to finish off his drink, but instead reined in his temper and eased the glass down to the booth’s tabletop.
“Friend…Is that what they call victims nowadays?” he asked.
“That’s what they call someone who’s in the same boat, which we are.”
“I don’t follow, Ms. Reilly,” he said, stringing her name out.
“You lost your job over Summer Place, and now my career is hanging on that same damnable house.”
“I don’t see how one connects with the other, especially since I don’t give a flying fuck about your career. Here’s to your health.” He finished his drink and then, again, grabbed the next before the server could place it on the table. Julie did the same and downed hers without hesitation.
“One more please. I have a rather long and disheartening plane ride back to New York with company I really don’t care for.”
“Where’s your little friend — being punished for failing to land the big one?”
“Professor, don’t give yourself too much credit. No matter what you may think of yourself, Summer Place will always be the star of your story.”
Kennedy was taken aback by the strange comment.
“So you actually believe the house is at the center of it all?”
“Of course. Now ask me if I’ve changed my view about you being guilty of negligent homicide?”
Gabriel didn’t say anything, he just waited.
“Why am I to blame for you losing your student, Professor? Can’t you admit that you took them into that house, and then afterwards there was one less than before?”
“I was always able to admit that. However, I will never admit to being a part of his disappearance. As I remember, the other participants backed me on that. Hell, it was they who reported it to me. There is a difference between being responsible for a thing, and being the cause of it.”
“From a man who, before he went into that house, didn’t really believe the bullshit he was researching, you just can’t get past that story about the house taking him and ruining you, can you?”
Kennedy downed half of his second drink and looked into Julie’s green eyes.
“That’s your problem, Ms. Reilly. I always believed in what I taught. The lesson of Summer Place was a lesson of the mind — how one inanimate object, and how it’s perceived, can influence the thinking pattern of a viable and otherwise intelligent person. It was never about haunted houses. But then again, my ancestors never thought the world was round, either.”
“One million dollars, Professor,” she said, swirling the ice in her glass.
“Excuse me?”
“Eight hours of your time. I host, and you are, well…the color, so to speak.” She didn’t smile at her obvious joke.
“I know you’re not asking me to return to Pennsylvania.”
“No, I’m asking you to fight for what you believe in — or once did, anyway. And I’m offering you one million dollars to do it. You get what the university was offered, plus a chance to show the world on live television what you couldn’t show them years ago.”
“You are out of your fucking mind!” He stood suddenly, almost knocking Julie out of the booth. He dug in his pocket and threw two twenties on the table, then thought a moment, reached out and took the money back. “You can use part of that million to pay for the drinks — I’m unemployed.”
Julie opened the passenger door and climbed into the rental car. The air conditioning felt like heaven as the morning gave way to the early afternoon.
“God, I forgot about the humidity here.”
“Well, I saw Kennedy leave in a huff, so I guess your charms failed to sway him,” Kelly stated flatly as she buckled her seatbelt.
“My charms, as you put it, had nothing to do with it. I planted a seed and now we’ll see if anything grows. Let’s head over to Kennedy’s apartment building. This is the part where he figures out he’s in deep trouble. Fertile ground will encourage the seed, and make my offer a little more attractive.”
“Offer?” Kelly asked, putting the car in gear.
“One million dollars to a man with $625 in his savings account can be very good fertilizer, don’t you think?”
“Does the network know about this offer?”
“Unlike you Ms. Delaphoy, I have the power of negotiation.”
Kennedy sat in his apartment, staring at the chipped top of his rickety table. He opened his personal journal from that night at Summer Place — the one with the evidence tag still stuck to its cover — and turned to the last page. He read and re-read the mocking words through the police cellophane. It had taken a full year after the night in question for them to release the single detached page back into his custody. The transparent word—EVIDENCE—was almost as bad as the words the plastic protected. However, the words were meant as a challenge just for him.