Grey zone, p.5
Grey Zone, page 5
Dulcie nodded, not really listening. The longer her father was gone, the greater his mythology had grown. Dulcie remembered him as a skinny, nervous man who had left Oregon on a quest, before settling down in an ashram in India. To his ex-wife, Dulcie’s mother, he was alternatively a prophet who would one day return or a wandering spirit who had passed through only to give her Dulcie and to teach them both the importance of a female-centered world. As Lucy rambled on about the latest news – apparently a semi-coherent letter had arrived – Dulcie realized that all these interpretations might have some validity.
‘Merlin came from him, actually.’ Lucy seemed to be winding down. ‘He didn’t spell it out, but for those of us functioning at this level of consciousness, literal communication is no longer necessary.’
‘I’m glad you have a pet, Lucy.’ An adult cat, especially, Dulcie thought, remembering Esmé’s bad behavior. ‘Wait, does Merlin hiss at you?’
‘Not at all. I believe he was simply unable to communicate with Moonthrush, and she didn’t understand why he wouldn’t wear the cute little hat she had made.’
‘Poor cat.’ Dulcie hadn’t meant to speak out loud. She checked her watch; Chris wouldn’t have a shift for several hours yet.
‘It wasn’t only that, dear. He needed to get to me. And last night, he sent me the strangest dream.’
Finally, Dulcie thought. Lucy’s calls almost always had a message. After, should she drop by Chris’s? Maybe pick up some bagels on the way?
‘You see, it’s all about commitment. Care and commitment, Dulcie.’ Lucy waited, to make sure her daughter had heard her. ‘That big black cat sat right on my chest, and he told me that as a teacher, you have to take your responsibilities seriously. And that you could be a great teacher, Dulcie. You. He practically said your name out loud. But you are facing a great danger from someone with commitment issues. From someone tangled up in the idea of love.’
It’s empty nest syndrome, Dulcie told herself as she walked across the Yard a few minutes later. She wants me to find myself, to make my mark as a scholar and a teacher. But she’s lonely, and she’s worried about me. After all, look at how her own marriage turned out.
Our life will be different, she thought as she walked toward the street. But even as she formed the thought, some dark part of her mind countered with a question. Will it? After all, both she and Chris were headed toward academic careers, and those were notoriously difficult to plan. What if he won a position at UCLA – and she could only get on the tenure track at Brown or Tulane? The idea of a cross-country romance made her cringe. Would she have to give up her dreams? Would Chris? Was there any sense in staying together now, when in only a few years—
The gust hit her like a slap, fragments of ice and small stones raking across her face like, yes, like claws. And just as suddenly, it was gone. That was March for you: leonine for as long as it could be. Unless . . . Dulcie laughed to herself. Lucy’s cat might be speaking directly to her mother, but Mr Grey had his methods, as well. That March wind – that was Mr Grey in action, cutting her off when her emotions threatened to drag her down.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Grey,’ she said out loud. ‘You’re right.’ She looked up at a sky that suddenly shone a clear blue. ‘I’m just hungry and, well, everything has been freaking me out recently. If I only had the sense of a cat, I’d learn to live in the moment. Not worry so much about love.’
Across the Yard, a cloaked figure froze and turned to stare. It must have been the stillness, the sudden stop, that caught Dulcie’s eye, but as she turned, the figure also pivoted, away from her, so that its face was hidden by the deep hood. Well, so she’d been caught talking to herself. Harvard Square was filled with weirdos. Some of them were geniuses, and some of them communed with ghosts.
Dulcie felt her better spirits buoy her up as she made her way down Mass. Ave. It didn’t mean anything that Chris hadn’t called her back. He’d probably crashed for a few hours of sleep and turned off his own phone. He’d call her when he woke up, and if he didn’t ring soon, she’d get his favorite – peanut butter and jelly on a raisin bagel – and surprise him at his place. Yes, she had told Suze she’d go to the police, but in the light of day, she was no longer even sure what she’d seen. The cops probably had hundreds of people calling, people who had real information about the missing girl. Besides, how sweet would it be if, just for once, she and Chris were both more or less awake at the same time? The possibility of a romantic interlude began to take shape in her mind, and she felt herself blushing – and speeding up just a bit on her way to the bagel store. Mr Grey, she was sure, would approve.
Chris must be on her mind, she thought as she queued up to cross the street. For a moment, she almost thought she was seeing him on the other side of the street. Tall and gangly, with straight brown hair that fell over his face in bangs, her beau had a look that wasn’t uncommon among the students and bohemians of Cambridge. But that scarf, orange with a black zigzag, seemed familiar, too. It looked like one of Lucy’s offerings: the one she had knitted for him during their first visit out West. It would match his aura, Lucy had said: warm and somehow electric.
‘Chris?’ It was her sweetie, she was sure. And while she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t returned her call, she was filled with joy. As short as she was, however, joy alone would not catch his eye. ‘Yo! Chris!’ Dulcie jumped up and waved, earning a nasty look from a large man in a tweed overcoat. ‘Sweetie!’
The wind was blowing again, though not with the clawing ferocity of a few minutes earlier. Her words were getting lost. ‘Chris Sorenson!’
And with that he turned, prompting Dulcie to squeeze her way past the tweed overcoat and through a gathering of Japanese tourists. ‘Chris!’
He was laughing as she made her way through, his wide mouth open in the generous smile she had come to love. ‘Dulcie,’ he said. But as she drew near, expecting one of his equally generous hugs, she found herself stopping short. Standing to his right, and looking down at her with a frankly critical expression, was a woman about their age. Only, she was as tall as Chris, with the kind of silky auburn hair that Dulcie could only dream about. There were freckles on her cheeks, too, but beyond that, all similarities went out the window. This woman was slender and graceful, and dressed in a camel-hair coat that probably cost more than Dulcie’s computer. And she had slipped her hand around Chris’s elbow, holding on to the tall geek as if she owned him.
‘Chris?’ Her mouth suddenly dry, Dulcie didn’t know if the word was even audible.
‘Dulcie. I thought you’d be stuck tutoring all day.’ Chris was still smiling. Dulcie looked from his face down to his arm. The hand had been withdrawn, but she could picture it: kid-leather glove and all.
‘I had a cancellation.’ She choked out the words. ‘I called you.’
‘I’ve had my phone off.’ He was talking as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ‘I was trying to get Rusti through her fractals program, and we were both having trouble concentrating.’
I’ll bet. The words came unbidden, and Dulcie bit her lip. ‘Rusti?’ She’d heard the name. Knew that Chris had taken on a private student to earn some extra money. ‘I assumed . . . with the name . . .’
‘Ah, you thought that anybody looking to place into Applied Math would be male, didn’t you?’ His smile was broader now, and Dulcie’s heart jumped just a bit. He didn’t seem to be taking this seriously. She had made a silly – a sexist – assumption.
She shrugged. ‘I guess I did. Glad to meet you.’ She held out a mittened hand and waited while Chris’s student reached to shake it. Was there a slight hesitation? Dulcie couldn’t trust herself to judge.
‘Charmed.’ The tall woman had a slight twang to her voice. Alabama? Texas? Somewhere warm, that was for sure. Somewhere where sports were important. ‘You must be the girlfriend.’
‘Yup.’ Dulcie knew she was nodding like a fool, but she couldn’t stop. ‘That’s me. I, I mean.’ She looked from Rusti to her beau, wondering if she could salvage the situation. ‘I’d actually just called Chris to see if he wanted to have some lunch. I mean, I have a little time free. Maybe you’d join us?’ Her smile was as genuine as she could make it.
‘Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.’ Chris seemed to be backing away. It didn’t make sense. ‘We grabbed a bite at the Bagelry already, and I’ve booked some time for us in the Science Center. We’ve got to run. Besides, weren’t you going to stop by the university police?’
‘Um, yeah.’ She choked it out, her smile setting into concrete on her face. ‘Call me?’
‘Of course.’ He bent to kiss her, a quick, almost formal buss. ‘Later, Dulce.’
She stood there and watched them cross the street. A matched pair, they bent their heads together. Another wind brought her the sound of a woman’s laugh and a small, sharp pain, like tiny kitten teeth sinking into her heart.
SEVEN
On autopilot, Dulcie headed to Lala’s. Bagels had lost their appeal, and now nothing but a three-bean burger with Lala’s famous hot sauce would do. If only Chris’s student hadn’t been so slim. She slid into a seat at the window counter and ordered without thinking. If only Chris’s student hadn’t had that accent. If only Dulcie hadn’t been so preoccupied with Mr Grey and Esmé. She gulped down half her water and nearly choked it back up again. If only she’d been more available.
If only— Dulcie realized she was staring at the window, but not seeing anything. People were walking by, going about their lives. Over by the curb, a couple were holding hands. She looked down to see her burger. She took a bite, barely tasting the spicy sauce. If only she hadn’t been so obsessed. With her cats. With her thesis. With an unknown author who’d been dead for two hundred years anyway.
‘Tough morning?’ Lala herself was standing beside her. ‘Because I know that burger isn’t as dry as you make it out to be.’
Dulcie swallowed with a start and realized she’d been chewing the same mouthful of burger for several minutes by then. ‘No, really. It’s great.’ She swallowed again as something stuck in her throat.
‘Here.’ Lala reached over to the counter to hand Dulcie her glass of water, grabbing a handful of napkins as well. ‘Wanna come into the back and tell me about it?’
Dulcie blinked and nodded. Why couldn’t Lucy be like this?
‘We can take your burger.’ Lala reached for the cardboard platter, and Dulcie turned to hand it to her. But as she did, her eye was caught by an olive-green cape, its hood up, moving like a specter along the curb. And right beside it, Dulcie recognized her student, Corkie. The junior was easily a head taller than the figure beside her and clearly visible, talking a mile a minute and waving her hands.
Dulcie stood up to watch as her student stopped at the corner, still gesticulating. As more pedestrians gathered, waiting for the walk signal, Dulcie could see the top of Corkie’s head and, occasionally, her hands. She probably hadn’t checked her email yet.
‘You OK, honey?’ A blast of horn. Someone had run into the street.
‘What? Oh, yes, thank you, Lala.’ She looked up at the kindly face of the chef, and then back out the window. The light had changed, but she could still make out Corkie, her sleek brown hair pulled back in its customary bun. In a moment, she’d disappear, beyond Dulcie’s reach. ‘But I think I’ve got to get one thing right today.’ She shrugged her coat over her shoulders and headed to the door.
‘Hang on!’ Lala shoved a hastily wrapped package into her hands, the paper bag already turning translucent from the dripping sauce. ‘Go get him!’
Dulcie didn’t bother to correct her, but with a smile and a nod, pushed her way through a waiting group and out on to the street. But she had lost her.
‘Corkie?’ Dulcie called and heard her own voice thrown back by the wind. ‘Corkie? Philomena McCorkle!’ A couple in front of her turned, and Dulcie ignored them. Couples! ‘Corkie?’
The light was in her favor, and Dulcie crossed, heading toward the Yard. Too late, she saw that the olive cape – a woman, it had to be a woman – was far down the sidewalk, making for the Coop or the T station beside it. Dulcie stopped in mid crosswalk and watched the green hood recede, trying to make out if Corkie was still with her.
‘Lady!’ The light had changed, and a cyclist maneuvered around her, his mood clearly not improved by the mud splattered all over his legs. ‘Get out of the way!’
Dulcie jumped, landing on what appeared to be solid, gray pavement until her foot sank into it up to the ankle. Slush: the scourge of March. Shaking her foot free of the clinging, dirty ice, she made her way to the opposite side of the street.
‘Watch it!’ Another pedestrian knocked into her, and with a splash, she dropped the paper-wrapped burger that Lala had hurried to wrap for her. She looked down in time to see it run over, its orange-red sauce seeping out of the paper like blood. The final straw. Her foot was wet and cold. Her boyfriend AWOL. Her favorite student seemed to consider Dulcie’s best efforts to keep her on track expendable. And now her lunch was roadkill. Dulcie bit her lip and fought back a sudden rush of tears. It didn’t work, and she found herself blinking up at the sky until she could regain control.
Or be distracted. Sometimes, in the gray winter sky, she’d see one of the red-tailed hawks that had repatriated Cambridge. They made a majestic sight, like something that would have circled Hermetria’s remote castle keep. Lonely, proud, and strong.
Today, though, the sky was empty of everything but mottled clouds. A depressing sky, good for nothing but hiding from. Or, Goddess forbid – at times of stress, Dulcie always heard Lucy’s voice – snow.
Pulling her collar tighter, Dulcie plodded through the yard. The toes on her left foot were half numb, but she had dry socks in her office. If she put her boot up on the radiator, maybe she could dry out the worst of it before heading home.
Head down, to avoid any further mishaps, she made her way across the icy yard. Would this winter never end? But as she emerged near the Science Center, a flash – like a fleeting shadow – caused her to look up. Could it be one of the hawks? She never found out. For not fifty yards ahead, she spied Corkie, making her way up a side street to the new psych annex.
‘Corkie!’ The younger girl had a lead, as well as the advantage of longer legs, and Dulcie lost her in the crowd milling in front of the new building. The fountains had been turned off for the season, of course, but as Dulcie trotted across the stone courtyard, leaving dark, wet footsteps in her wake, she couldn’t help but feel a bit resentful. The humanities never got new buildings. The English department in particular had had to lobby non-stop simply to have the roof of its departmental offices repaired. Martin Thorpe had been saving up mildewed theses for months to show the comptroller.
‘Corkie?’ A church tower tolled the hour, and the students scattered. Anyone heading back to the Square would have to hustle. Inside the glass-fronted lobby, Dulcie saw a coat and a door. An elevator. She was no longer sure it was her student, but followed anyway. At least she’d be warm.
‘May I help you?’ The guard looked Dulcie up and down with a skeptical eye.
‘My student, Philomena McCorkle? Did you see her go by?’ At the end of the lobby, one of the elevator doors closed.
‘Your ID, please?’ With a ping, the elevator began to ascend. ‘Miss?’
At least he was being polite, but Dulcie could not resist a heavy sigh as she dropped her bag on his desk and began rummaging through it. Why, at times like these, was something as simple as a wallet so hard to find? ‘Here.’ She smiled in relief.
The guard took his time. ‘Go on up,’ he said finally, sounding resigned as he waved her by. But before she could get to the bank of elevators, before she could even begin to guess which floor her student had chosen, or why, a dull thud made them both turn. A truck going over a pothole, Dulcie told herself. Someone rough-housing into the glass. Or—
The afternoon was shattered by a piercing shriek.
‘What the?’ The guard turned toward the doors, one hand on the phone, the other on what looked like a baton at his waist.
‘Corkie?’ It didn’t make sense, but Dulcie was suddenly seized by a horrible premonition. Her student was in danger. Her student was hurt. Her student – her charge, a young woman she should have taken better care of . . .
‘It’s Fritz!’ A young woman ran in, eyes wild. ‘Fritz Herschoft! He’s jumped out of a top-floor window!’
EIGHT
What happened next was a blur of noise and confusion. Unlike the multi-storey buildings in the modernistic science complex, the Poche Building didn’t have special locks and alarms. It wasn’t a skyscraper. It wasn’t even that big. But, at seven stories, it must have been tall enough.
Trapped inside the glass foyer by the horror outside, Dulcie found herself slinking back. Until she came to the elevators. No, she didn’t want to go there. Not up. Not now. Although she didn’t have a clear sense of the man who had jumped, she felt the shock of his fall. What would make someone do that? Who was Fritz Herschoft? Who had he been?
Even as her mind reeled, she found herself thinking of a young professor, barely more than a TA. He’d had glasses and thick, dark hair that for some reason she thought of as greasy. He’d built a name for himself – something about the attention he gave his students – but when Dulcie tried to conjure an image, she remembered an ugly man, short, plump, and beetle-like. No, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t his fault if his hair was greasy or his hands clammy.
Dulcie drew back her own hands, automatically, as if afraid to touch a memory, and dropped her bag. Bending to pick it up, she was jostled, as the elevator bays began disgorging the building’s inhabitants. Somewhere, an alarm had gone off. She couldn’t think about the dead professor now. She had come here for a reason. But even as dizziness threatened to overcome her, Dulcie kept enough of her mind focused to watch. Students, researchers. A coterie of lab techs, all still wearing their safety glasses, came down, alerted by the sirens and the panicked screams outside. None of them were Corkie.
