Chapter Thirteen
Late that same night, or perhaps, I should say, very early the next morning, I awoke. We had retired rather early in the evening, after I had practiced my music for a few hours. Barry, of whose companionship I was sincerely growing quite fond, seemed to enjoy it, especially the Chopin and the ragtime selections, even though the instrument sounded atrocious and my playing was even worse. At last, I surrendered.
Now, however, I was wide awake and shuddering. I didn't know why. I reached for the clock, but clumsily knocked it off the night stand. The alarm went off as it bounced against the floor. I grabbed for the blasted thing; I couldn't find it. Oh, how i hated that sound, pure noise. Finally, I had to crawl from beneath the covers, get down on my hands and knees, and grope around under the bed for that irritating, buzzing piece of junk. It was one o'clock. I was still shaking, and now very cold. I had been perspiring heavily--- my pajamas and hair were soaking wet. Good God! I remembered. May he bless all alarm clocks forever--- that one had made me realize that I had been sweating.
I didn't even bother to reach for my robe, turn on the lights, or anything else. I simply snatched the wooly afghan from the bed, wrapped it around my shoulders, and stumbled hurriedly out the door and down the spiral to the guest room. On my way across the living room, I jabbed my thigh on the corner of an end table, causing it and the lamp sitting on it to wobble as if there had been an earthquake. I didn't stop to steady it.
I banged open the door, switched on the light next to Barry's bed and began shaking him. He was sleeping deeply. "Barry, wake up! For God's sake, Barry! Wake up!" I myself was shaking almost as violently as I was shaking him. "Wake up!"
At last the eyes popped open and a glassy stare focused on my face. At length, he spoke, though somewhat indistinctly.
"Yeh, what is it?" Then seeing the dampness of my hair and my paleness, no doubt, he abruptly came to himself. "What's wrong?"
"He's going to kill again--- tonight. I know where. In fact, he's there now, waiting. Call Carter!" Now, out of shear nervous excitement, I was trembling more harshly than ever.
Impatience strangled me while he dialed the number and the phone rang. It seemed to take him forever to answer. In reality, I suppose it couldn't have been more than a vew seconds. At last, after an eon, I heard a muffled "hello". Barry handed the phone over to me, undoubtedly preferring that I should receive the first irrate blast. However, I didn't give him the opportunity; there was no time. "He's going to do it again--- tonight. I know where. We have time to stop him!"
"Well, where is it?" responded the anxious voice.
"U.C.L.A.--- between Reiber Hall and Sproul Hall. He's there already." I was gripping the receiver so tightly that my knuckles were turning white.
"You sure?"
"Yah. I've been there enough to recognize the place."
"Tell Williams to call the campus police and notify them that we're on our way. Have them keep their eyes open, but continue their normal routine. Got that?"
"Yes. See you there."
"What? Like hell you will. You're staying right where you are."
"I'll see you there," I said with resolve. "If itweren't for me you wouldn't have anything. It was my dream." I hung up, then relayed the message to Barry, after which I went to dress.
As I threw on the same clothes that I had worn to the sombre scene that dismal afternoon in Baldwin Hills, I wondered why I had been the one that Providence, or the chance of heredity, whichever way one chooses to believe, had singled me out to receive this "gift". I had no physical strengths nor talents, and not even any exceptional moral characteristics to offer. Probably whatever intelligence or usical ability I possessed resulted from the bestowal of that power. I had no time to ruminate over that at the moment, though; it certainly produces a hectic life, full of complications, in any case.
Within thirty minutes of my awakening, Barry and I arrived at the campus, with its modern and Romanesque architecture that I had once intimately known. Police had already been stationed on all the streets and walkways leading up to the hill upon which the dormitory buildings sat. I could see the two T-shaped structures, which would have been considered modern in the 1950s, looming upward in the darkness, increased by the surrounding pine trees and bushes, lit only by the street lamps and an occasional study lamp, possibly of some conscientious, or perhaps not so conscientious, student, in a window. All was stillness. I thought of the many visits that I had made to Reiber Hall, where prety, blond Amy, a young lady about whom I had become quite serious in my junior year, had lived. However, the attraction we had felt for one another was doomed from the onset. Amy was a very conventional person with very conventional ideas, and no one as unconventional as I, despite considerable wealth, could be comprehended by her, or fit permanently into her future.
I was relieved when Barry and I were bet at de Neve Drive by an officers with a serbeant's stripes on his sleeve. I had had visions of blundering up here, being able to find no one, and either blowing the whole thing or confronting this butcher ourselves. Barry rolled down his window and whispered to the man, "I'm Sgt. Williams. We're looking for Lieut. Carter."
"He's up[ there in the bushes near the driveway. I think you'd better leave the car here."
We each had started to step out of the car, after having pulled it over next to the curb, when we were startled by a piercing shriek that was instantly stiffled. Because of the assistance of Barry's rather "soupped up" car, we were the first to arrive at the source of the sound. At the same instant, a shadowy figure darted into the shrubber. My companion took up the chase, and was immediately joined by Carter and the others. I remained with the young student, who, when we found her, was lying face down, her books scattered around her, upon the path between Reiber and Sproul Halls. Evidently, she had been rendered unconscious by her fall, but otherwise she was quite fortunate to be unharmed, except for a scraped knee and hand. This girl too was a tall red-head, freckled faced, and good looking in a fresh sort of way.
After she had revived somewhat, an officer, whom Carter had directed to stay with us, helped me get her into Barry's car. Then we drove her, still hazy and groggy, and defintiely mentally shaken, down the hill to the university's medical center. There the doctors treated her and admitted her for the night, for observation, I guess they call it. It was a wise thing to do, for truly Anna (in the midst of the whole process we had discovered that her name was Anna Johnston) was too emotionally upset to return home. As soon as she had recovered from her stupor, she had begun to realize what had taken place and had begun to react accordingly, trembling, and crying a little.
Around three in the morning, Barry and Carter showed up. The search had been fruitless--- no one had even gotten another glimps of him, nor could the girl provide any new information.
She had been walking, as was her usual routine, though this night she had stayed a little later than was her custom, along the path from Reiber Hall, her best friend's dormitory, back to her room in Sproul Hall. Her legs had been knocked from beneath her. That was the last thing she remembered until seeing me kneeling beside her. Barry and I had arrived in time enough to interrupt.
Eventually, whatever clues that were to be gleaned from this abortive attempt
would lead, as had all the others, to a dead end.
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