"Dude!" exclaimed the agitated college freshman. "I've got a report due. I need to get some materials!"
Brandon shrugged his shoulders, "We close at nine. System's already down. Go to Reeves. They've got a bigger collection and they're open until midnight."
The freshman slammed his hand against the wall and yelled in anger before stalking off leaving Brandon to return to locking up.
As Brandon headed down the stairs, he felt a little nervous, causing him to look around. Sunday night, when the stairwells were empty, the building didn't look quite right. There was something odd about it. As if it were a maze or something . . . Since it had been a hospital during the Revolutionary War, he sometimes wondered if it were haunted.
"General Washington?" he whispered half in jest before nearly jumping out of his skin when his ringing cell phone surprised him.
"Hello? What? No. No. I didn't take notes, you can't borrow them because I didn't take them."
As he stood there, Brandon saw a small roach scurry across the wall.
Brandon watched it disappear and then headed down the hall, still on the phone talking.
One of the reasons Brandon chose Moravian College was because it was close to the nursing home is Nana was in. She was sent to the home by Wade shortly after Wade became his step-father. Though Brandon's mother was against it, she never said a word, just drank a little more each day. And Nana went off to a nursing home that was a three hour drive so, more often than not, no one bothered to see her.
Now he lived barely thirteen miles from the nursing home. It was thirty-six minutes to get there if everything went right. That meant the first bus was on time as was the transfer bus. It meant that people were getting up to depart after they hit the button for a stop. It meant that some woman didn't stop to kiss the bus driver or the bus driver didn't stop to holler at someone on the street.
Rarely did everything ever go right which was especially irritating when the monthly pass for the LANTA Metro cost $55. With no college student discount, incidents like today's where the woman with her baby stroller got on and, as she was headed down the aisle, her stroller tipped spilling all the empty cans she'd gathered -- presumably for recycling -- and other litter onto the floor, sending it all rolling while she hollered, "Stop the bus! Stop the bus!" Which the driver did, thinking the woman or someone was having a heart attack. By the time it was straightened out, Brandon's trip took 56 minutes, not 36. And 20 minutes lost meant 20 minutes less for the visit because he had an exam in his afternoon class.
"I just don't trust that man," his Nana said, referring to Wade. "Your mother is a smart woman. I can't believe it's lasted this long but, mark my words, it won't last much longer. This is just a phase."
Though not really believing one way or the other, Brandon nodded.
"It's like that time --"
Brandon tuned out. He'd heard most of these stories before and right now was really worried about the geology exam. He was better at lab tests and the tests on lectures threw him. He needed a B on this test, really needed it.
"-- and she was covered with blood and I said, 'Rosemary, what did you do!'"
Brandon looked over at Nana who was nodding.
"Huh?"
"I never told you about when your mother was fifteen? She dressed all in black, even in the summer, dated this boy who wore bigger earrings than she did and was heavily into 'dark magic.' That's what she called it and don't you dare ever call it witchcraft or black magic. She would explode. So that boy, what was his name? I called him 'Jailbird' when he wasn't around -- because he'd been arrested for shoplifting. Well anyway, it was Halloween and I figured they were going out -- but who knew since they both dressed dramatically all the time? And a little after midnight, she came running in the front door covered in blood."
Nana grabbed her glass of water and took a sip enjoying the fact that she now had Brandon's full attention.
"And?"
"And I said, 'Rosemary! What happened? Are you hurt?' See, I thought she'd been in an accident. But it wasn't her blood. It was a cat's. Mrs. Cooke's cat. What was it's name? Snowball? Or Midnight? I guess if I could remember the color of the fur,, I'd know. But there was your mother covered in cat's blood. And I said, 'Rosemary, did someone run over Snowball or Midnight?' And she said no. She and Jailbird had taken the cat to the graveyard. And she said she didn't know Jailbird was going to do what he did and I asked her what that was -- even though I already knew, I mean, she was covered in blood. So she explains that she held the cat down and Jailbird pulled out a knife and she thought he was joking but he wasn't and he quickly cut the cat's throat. 'I thought he was just joking,' she kept repeating. Over and over, she said that. Like she was trying to convince herself."
Brandon shook his head and checked the clock on the wall. Standing he walked over to kiss Nana good-bye.
"I'll visit later this week," he promised, "but I've got to take a test today. Is there anything I can bring you?"
"How about some comet and some roach traps?"
"Nana, you know they clean here."
"They say they do, Brandon, but the roach problem says they don't."
The exam didn't go well. And maybe that's why he was in a funk as he ate dinner with Julie. She was a management major who wanted to open her own restaurant after college where she'd also be the chef and, if you were to taste her creations made via just a hot plate and a small microwave, you'd realize this was no pipe dream. Her campus dream was to get into the Burnside complex because she loved its exterior and also because it offered a kitchen for the five women sharing a living space.
"This sauce is really the key," she was explaining. "I slit the shell of the shrimp to let the seasonings in while they're 'grilling' on the hot plate. But the sauce really is the key."
He wanted Julie. He'd wanted her from the day he saw her hauling her stuff from Dorm Circle into Hassler Hall. But she was attracted to men who provided Wagnerian Opera and that was more notes than Brandon could hit. So instead they were friends and he kept his wants of something more to himself.
"How was your grandmother?"
Brandon sighed as he pulled the shell off a shrimp. Looking at the tail and the pleopods -- yeah, he'd aced Anatomy and Physiology, even if geology was proving to be a struggle -- he felt the shrimp could be a cousin of the roach.
"You're not still having those nightmares, are you?"
He could tell her about nightmares, he just couldn't tell her he loved her.
Actually, he hadn't had the nightmare last night.
In his dreams, it was as though he were living in a doll house where the paper walls were ripped apart and something was trying to get him.
"It's probably from the Bratz Mansion my sister had. She set that thing up in the backyard and the dog was always knocking it over, wasps were putting in hornets nests and bugs were making it home."
"See, that provides me no point of reference. My parents became Native American-wanna-bes when I turned five. After that, the only toys I ever had were corn husk dolls."
He went to sleep thinking of toys which found him recalling the loss of all toys, when his parents split up.
"We're not going back there. Deal with it."
A cigarette dangling from her lips, his mother walked in and out of the living room moving the few things they still owned.
But his toys, his sister's toys . . .
"You've got some clothes, quit complaining."
Tina, his sister, lay on the carpet with a small set of Crayolas and lined notebook paper she was using to make drawings while Brandon just started at the boxes labeled "kitchen" and "bathroom." They didn't have a couch. There were no beds. Why did they have to leave? And why couldn't they take their toys?
"What is with all the questions? Look at Tina. Tina's drawing. Get some paper and draw. Quit being such a little baby."
"I don't want to draw! I want my Hot Wheels."
"Well guess what? You can't have them. They're gone. You don't want to draw? Sit there and close your eyes. You've got a special gift. Like a TV in your head. Close your eyes, sit still and think. And you'll see something very important."
He knew she was just trying to get him to fall asleep but he had nothing to lose.
So he closed his eyes.
And waited. And the blackness was replaced with the orange-ish amber of the ceiling light on his closed eye lids.
And he sighed and he inhaled and he counted to ten and then counted sheep and then . . .
Bugs were crawling over him, their feet tearing at his skin as they moved, biting him. And the more he squirmed to get away, the more bugs landed on him.
He was screaming and his face flushed and wet when he saw his mother shaking him awake.
As he babbled away about what he'd seen, his mother told him to stop and told him it was just a game to shut him up.
And he knew she was telling the truth and he didn't try to do that ever again.
While he was awake.
But now, in his dream, he found himself closing his eyes and counting to ten and counting sheep and . . .
Bugs everywhere. Bugs on everything.
Millions of bugs.
Nothing but bugs.
He awoke hurling himself out of bed. In the bathroom, still shaky, he looked around nervously as he drank a glass of water. Stepping carefully down the stairs, he went into the lounge, grabbed a blue couch and stared out the large window. He kept glancing around the living room in that state of panic where you know it should be a dream but it was vivid you're really not sure.
Mainly though, he stared out the window, at the rain still coming down. April showers bring May flowers . . . But April had just begun and already, a week in, people were talking about the rain. There had been 4.44 inches which was not only more than they usually got in the entire month of April, it was more than they usually got in the summer months which were always saw the most downpour. Closing his eyes, he listened to the rain continue to fall.
And thought about being on Adams last week, outside The Bookstore Speakeasy. It was raining then too. And he saw a large water bug about four feet away. He'd always thought these roaches came out after the rain. But there it was. And although there was no way in the world that the bug could be looking at him, it seemed as though it was. Brandon stood there wondering if he was in a stand-off with a bug and, if so, how long this would last? He stamped his right foot thinking that would send the bug scurrying but instead it sent the bug hurtling towards him. What was this an attack roach? He raised his right foot again and this time stomped the bug.
Somewhere around 4:30 a.m. Brandon finally fell asleep on the couch and slept so soundly he wouldn't have woken at all if other students weren't coming through the lounge. Take a shower or be late for his morning class?
He opted to skip the shower which left him feeling grungy and like he was rushing to catch up all day as he went from one class to another. In geology lab, a number of people were talking about the lecture test with the general feeling being that it had been too difficult and hadn't matched what they were learning in lab.
He listened while attempting to remember the question that threw him. By the time lab ended, it finally hit him: What insects are most abundant in fossils?
He caught up with two classmates but they were discussing the limestone issues on the test.
"Lehigh Valley? Like I'm going to spend my whole life here? And like if I did, I'd be obsessed with the limestone deposits, you know?" asked one.
"Look," said the other, "I'm just taking this class for a science credit. I don't plan to retain a word of it after the final."
He didn't feel good. He wasn't in the mood for work. He called and offered the weak excuse of a cold which was at least believable with all the wet weather of late. He stopped at the Marketplace and grabbed some soup. Clearing his throat, he thought about how sometimes you lied that you were sick and then you got sick and was it all karma or was it --
He had a fever. He knew he had a fever because he couldn't straight think. Think straight. So he finished the soup and headed to his hall. He was feverish and wet. And the rain had poured down all morning and gave no indication that this afternoon was going to be any different.
The lounge wasn't packed but it was busy. He grabbed a chair and sat staring out the window before dozing off to the dripping sound of the rain drops.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The fossils. What was the question?
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Professor Layton had spoken of limestone and how weather effected it. What had he said?
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Okay, they lived in the Lehigh Valley which was famous for its vast amount of limestone.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
And limestone wasn't like shale. What did shale do?
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Shale could form a barrier to moisture. But limestone -- limestone dissolved in water.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
And the insect most typically found in fossils?
Plink. Plink. Plink.
He could feel the anger coming from somewhere.
It was a burst of red and raw pain.
They had been made smaller. Their wings reduced by time, their body flattened.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
The vegetation had drawn them in originally, he could see them running and flying towards it. The humid summers and water had been good too, allowing them to breathe more easily. In places like the Upper Carboniferous Fossil Deposit in Linton, Ohio, they had been imprisoned.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
But the rain was dissolving the limestone and those that had been caught with air bubbles were coming back to life. It was a variation on their modern ability to slow breathing down to the rate of one breath every forty minutes.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
That wasn't the sound of rain.
Brandon awoke to see six foot roaches -- with yard long wingspans -- zooming through the air and and crawling across the quad. There was one chewing through the glass of the window and another knocking its head against the outer wall.
They were roaches from centuries ago. Buried in the limestone. Unearthed by the rain. And they were about to eat everything and everyone on the earth.
