Inconstant Moon a novel of suspense by Laurel L. Russwurm

Adam walks through the Oval carrying Barbie’s laptop. It is indeed crowded with students sitting, eating, walking, talking and enjoying the beautiful weather.

Adam stops, and starts slowly scanning the sea of humanity. She said she’ would be here. As his eyes travel from group to group, always looking for the brightest blondes, he simply can not see Barbie anywhere.

It is a poser. She said she would meet him here. But it is so crowded. Her cellphone must be switched off. He has already used the cafeteria pay phone to leave messages on her voice mail, so she must know he is trying to find her.

He starts to walk along the path, careful not to trip over students or gear spread out along the way. Adam carefully checks every blonde girl, but there is no sign.

He is getting some funny looks when he makes the circuit fruitlessly a second time.

But now at least he is sure she is not here. He knows Barbie is pre-med, but he has no idea of her schedule. They have no overlapping classes. He doubts the registrar will give out her information.

He knows she does not live on campus so there is no point checking the residences. Wait a minute. He has her computer. He came where she told him to come. He’s searched diligently, and she is just not here.

But she will need the laptop for just about everything.

He smiles as he pictures her making pencil notes in a lecture hall where everyone else is using a laptop.

Barbie will want her computer back. She will come looking for him.

Having a woman like Barbie looking for him, searching him out, asking people if they know where he is, would be good.

Act natural, don’t deviate from normal. Stay in character. Go to the library.

Let her find him. Adam smiles. It is just what his brother would do.

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Tamara pushes open the door of the Med School wing of Christie General, a facility originally built in a sleepy rural backwater in the 19th Century. Deliberately removed from urban centers of industry and disease, quiet and fresh air was more responsible for the high rate of patient survival than many of the dubious medical practices of the day.

Sixty years later the institutional quiet was breached forever with an influx of casualties that no other facility had the beds to accept. Great War survivors of mustard gas, battlefield surgery and shell shock desperately needed housing and treatment. No longer just a quiet place where the railroad petered into a train yard, the town expanded to accommodate an ever increasing flow of visitors, sprawling down the valley to meet the river.

With an end to the war, several military surgeons followed their former patients to Christie, bringing with them surgical innovations developed in wretched battlefield conditions, triggering the transformation from sanatorium to teaching hospital, and it wasn’t long before Christie University grew up around the bustling hospital.

Tamara undresses in the locker room, slipping into scrubs and stuffing her clothes in the locker. She notes the quiet, but brushes her unease aside as she hurries to the Lab. It’s later than she thought. Damn.

Opening the door she’s surprised to find the lab empty.

Nobody here.

Nothing to cut.

WTF? Maybe she got the day wrong? Must have been rescheduled. Wish somebody had told her, given her a call, something. She could have stayed in the sun with her baby. Maybe she can still catch him.

She goes back into the hall when the men’s locker room door slams open and startles her. She whirls to look but it’s only Nick, backing out with a wheelie bin.

“Gee, Nick, you scared me. What happened to the dissection?”

Nick looks at her. He thinks she’s intelligent enough, but he knows if she doesn’t get it together soon she’s gonna be history. Her big brown eyes look so open, so serious. Probably because her pupils are so widely dilated.

“The dissection went off as scheduled at one, Tamara.”

“At one. I thought … it’s after one?”

Nick nods toward the wall clock, “It’s after three.”

She stares at him, aghast. “Oh no.”

Nick starts wheeling the sharps cart away, but he feels sorry for the girl standing there, conflicted. Maybe she’ll pull it up if he gives her a word. She looks pretty devastated. So he stops.

“Look, I know you’re really smart. But if you don’t focus you’re just not going to make it. There are too many people who want your spot. If you want an easy ride you’re in the wrong program, you want to transfer to something else ’cause there just isn’t any slack for a pre-med.”

Her head is bowed and her shoulders are shaking. But when she speaks her words are steady, though her voice is thick with tears. “Can I make up the dissection with another class?”

“Come by the office after five. I’ll see what I can do.” Nick shrugs. “I think you might make a good doctor, Tamara, but maybe not. What you do on your own time is your business, but I can smell the pot from here. And that sure isn’t the way.”

Tamara says. “It won’t happen again.”

Pushing the bin toward the store room he hears her say softly, “Thanks Nick.”

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Quentin snores gently, Barbie and Jose are asleep too. Mouse gathers her things and jiggles Quentin’s shoulder.

“I have to go to a class Quentin, but somebody should be awake. Too easy to rob sleeping people, yes?”

Bleary eyed, Quentin nods, rubbing his head, “I got it, Mousie.” He struggles to sit up. “Man, that was good shit.”

She grins enthusiastically and waves before jogging back toward the main path.

Quentin flips open his phone, and scrolls through the calendar. He’s missed one class already, but probably slip into the art theory snooze without getting busted. School just makes him tired. But he wants Tamara to be happy.

So.

Much as he’d rather kick back in the sun, he knows he has to go, so Quentin reaches over and gives Jose a shake.

“Hey man, Mouse’s gone, and I’ve gotta go too.” Stretching, himself awake. “You guys probably don’t wanna sleep out here, you know.”

Staring up at the soft clouds, Jose says, “Yeah. I know.”

Quentin grins, “Later, dude,” and is gone.

Jose stretches and yawns hugely before rooting around in his backpack and pulling out a water bottle. He unscrews it and takes a swig, then sets it down beside him, crosses his arms and rests them on his knees and watches the water running along the creek bed. Jose does more stretching, then some yawning and now he’s awake. He wants something sweet. And Goldilocks is laying there waiting for him.

He sure likes the girl. What’s not to like? Does she like him though? She seems to, flirting all the time. Not a bad time to find out. Another sip of water, and he lays back again on the grass. Rolls on his side, watching her sleep. Pretty girl all right. White Anglo Saxon Protestant. Doesn’t act it though, smoking up with Catholic boys like him and Q. Hell, he’s the Latin lover type, right? The corner of his mouth turns up as he thinks about that one.

Watching the girl sleep is pretty intimate. Her breath is on him. Better wake her up. He reaches out a finger and runs it along her jaw. She smiles, mumbles something. He leans closer, to hear. Right. He touches her shoulder.

“Hey Barbie, it’s getting late, we gotta go.”

“Mmmm, just a few more minutes.”

He smiles, this time running a finger along her lips. Her eyes open, she looks right at him, “Mmmm, Jose, hey.”

He sees an invitation in those blue blue eyes, and he leans in, kisses her gently. Oh wow, she’s kissing back.

He can’t believe his luck. She pulls him close, really going to town. He hugs her back, enjoys the way she’s so aggressive, the way her curves feel against him, kinda nice. Really, really nice.

Barbie’s legs circle him, pulling him in.

He’s almost light headed from the kissing when her hands grab his and push them under her sweater … Oh my.

He can’t believe this is actually happening, maybe he’s still asleep and this is the mother of all wet dreams, oh much better than he could have imagined. This is the real deal here in his arms, this is Malibu Barbie rubbing all over him and it is sure happening. He’s rising manfully to the occasion and …

Then all of a sudden it isn’t.

Barbie sits up and tugs her sweater down, suddenly modest. Or maybe just awake. Dammit.

“Oh my god Jose, what are you doing?”

“Me?” Jose shrugs, lowering his eyes “I was just trying to wake you up. You’re the one jumping me, girl.” he smiles his soft smile at her. “Not that I mind or anything.”

She sits up and looks at him. His big brown eyes look away, suddenly embarrassed. Cast downward, those gorgeous thick eyelashes veiling those bedroom eyes. “Oh my god,” she thinks, “he’s blushing.” She doesn’t have trouble buying his story because, Jesus, she’s wet. She smiles; he is yummy. And she has thought about Jose, dreamt about him too.
More than once.

And man she’s ready for him. More than ready. He’s a better kisser than she’d expected but. Sexy as the boy is, he is just not a hustler. Jose is hot, alright. But he’s not going to set the world on fire. A hard worker, sure, but he’s not going anywhere extraordinary. And he won’t be so hot when he gets a pot belly, starts balding. He’ll teach elementary school in some nowhere town, married with a bunch of kids, be a good dad, join the Lions, PTA, have a wife, couple of kids in soccer, the works. Great life for some girl.

Just not this girl. Seeing her cousin get hitched this weekend ’cause the silly twit got herself knocked up was bad enough. That is just not gonna happen to her. Bright lights, big city, glamour and glitz, that’s the ticket.

“It’s okay, Jose. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, um, bother you.”

She glances down at his straining jeans then quickly looks away, her breathing shallow. So easy to scratch the itch, but she knows damn well Jose would expect her to be his woman. Which would mean she’d have to chuck her plans. No, no. no.

He nods. Looking over at her with those big dark eyes. Licks his lips, her turn to blush. He’s not being subtle at all as he looks longingly at her. She better watch it or she’ll be the one making babies. Uh uh. No way. No how. Not this girl.

“I gotta go.” She grabs her stuff and takes off without a backward glance.

Jose lays back and sighs. It was too good to be true.

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Natasha, stands with hands planted on her hips, “I think it’s just about perfect.”

Boris chuckles. “You can’t be serious.”

But she is serious, staring up at the black metal statue. The horseman is mightily gripping the reigns of the rearing horse delicately balanced on its two rear legs. The statue’s tail touches the concrete base making the third leg of the tripod but it still looks precarious.

“She wants us to find a new way of looking at the world, a different point of view. This will be different.”

“Well,” Boris says, “Just how in hell do you think you’re going to get up there?”

Natasha tilts her head and looks up at Boris, wearing a mischievous smile.

Boris holds both hands up in front of him, defensively. “Whoa there girl, You think I am going to help you get up on that ancient statue? I don’t think so. I like it here at Christie and I don’t really want to have to transfer out.”

“Aw Boris, don’t be such a poop. I only need a boost.”

“Oh yeah? What happens if you wreck the thing, eh?”

“How am I gonna wreck it? It’s made of metal for gods sake, and it’s bolted to a concrete pedestal.”

“Look, it’s balanced OK now, but the horse is only standing on two feet. You go up there you might unbalance the whole thing. So let me ask you, is it worth the risk?”

Natasha looks into Bo’s eyes. A big smile spreads from ear to ear, and she nods vigorously. “Oh yeah.”

Boris claps himself on the head. “You’re certifiable. Jeeze, Nat. If you get caught they might throw you out.”

“Come on, Bo. I won’t hurt anything … and nobody will catch me. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re missing a really big point though.”

“And that would be?”

“You take your shots from up there it would be evidence. Not a good idea. The pictures you hand in will bust you.”

“Gee, that’s an interesting point, Bo. I never would have thought of that.” Natasha carefully winds the small camera bag around her wrist then scrambles up the side of the plinth, hoisting herself onto the pedestal.

“Wait, Nat, wait, you’re not still gonna do it!”

“Sure I am.” Natasha wraps one arm around the horse’s near hind leg and reaches her other hand to Boris. “Now are you gonna help me or not?”

Boris looks at her outstretched right hand and her expectant face. Damn. “Okay okay.” Boris waves away her hand, planting both of his on the top of the pedestal so he can vault up to join her.

Balancing precariously on top of the damned thing, he draws himself up to his full height and looks around.

From this vantage point Boris does in fact have a better view of the oval, pretty empty now in spite of the fabulous weather. Students are back in class or off campus this late in the day. Nobody is looking over this way. Seems safe enough.

“I just need you to give me a little boost up Bo.”

Natasha extends her arms upward over her head, her fully extended fingers just brush the bottom of the saddle. She won’t make it without him. Unless she jumps, which would be incredibly dangerous. Boris sighs and takes one more stealthy glance around before reaching down and gently picking her up by the waist and raising her above his head. Natasha grasps the horse’s metal mane, gets a good grip then throws her leg over the statue’s withers, squeezing in between horse and general. Boris drapes his arm over the horse’s rump while scanning the Oval, miserably hoping that they won’t be caught and kicked out.

Natasha’s camera is out, she aims here and there, checking the framing on the screen back against her view of the wider world. She looks around until she is satisfied that she is really seeing. Only then does she begin taking photographs. Getting the view from here, the buildings, plantings, scattered students hurrying along the paths.

“Are you almost finished?” Boris hisses urgently.

Making sure she’s got a couple of incriminating shots of Boris, Natasha slips the little camera back in its bag. “All done.”

She slips out of the general’s grip and starts lowering herself down the side of the horse until Bo’s hands encircle her waist. He carefully lowers her half way down so she can make a gentle jump to the grass below, then shakes his head, still surprised he’s been dumb enough to go along with this crazy girl. His head is spinning, his heart racing as he glances around, certain that a contingent of campus cops will be coming for him any minute. But the coast is clear, so he jumps down, landing rather less gracefully. Rolling onto his back on the grass, weak as a kitten, he stares up at the impossibly blue sky, giddy with relief.

Natasha again offers him a hand, and this time he takes it, and she helps him up.

“Okay”, she says brightly, “I’ve got mine, what’s yours?”

Boris laughs, happy no one is slapping handcuffs on his wrists. Oh, it’s good to be a free man. “I have no idea.”

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Cameras slung around their necks, Liz follows Jake up the back stairs of the Art Center. At the top Jake pushes open the door leading into a dimly lit corridor.

“So what’s up here anyway?” Liz asks.

Jake smiles, touching a finger to his lips, then crooking it to indicate she should follow. Exasperated, she follows him anyway. Midway down the hall he stops and pushes a door inward, then walks into the dark.

“What is this brilliant idea anyway, Jake?”

He pops his head out, holding a finger to his lips, this time actually “shushing” her before disappearing inside. Liz doesn’t know what to do, but follows him into the dark anyway.

Liz feels a little guarded. It’s dark and there’s a kind of weird ambiance. And what sounds kind of like … maybe water falling? She just feels more confused. But Jake is already making his way through the darkness. So Liz trails after. It’s a long, room, or maybe a hallway? Hulking shapes huddle along the walls. Some kind of containers. Barrels maybe? It’s weird. Jake was so excited, he wouldn’t steer her wrong. Would he?

Of course that’s what everybody always thinks in the slasher movies. Reaching down to her fanny pack she makes sure she has her cellphone. Just in case. And she has the tripod if she needs some kind of a weapon. And she’s a lot bigger than … Wait a minute, this is Jake here. What is she thinking?

Ahead the dim light from the camera’s screen back illuminates the shadow that is Jake. Light stabs through the darkness and the sound volume swells. Liz realizes Jake is very cautiously opening yet another door. Suddenly she can clearly hear the rumble of a crowd, and puts it all together in a rush of relief. Vaguely Liz recalls Amelia saying something about the drama department hosting a play.

It’s easier going now that there’s some illumination. Liz moves up to stand beside Jake. They look out at a lighting catwalk strung between large theatrical lights suspended from a latticework of metal struts mounted on the ceiling. Compared to the storeroom it’s bright, but it’s realy just the spill, with the lion’s share of illumination pouring down onto the stage.

Jake moves silently onto the catwalk to set up. There’s no one else up here, so Liz assumes the lights have all been preset. Probably being run from a control board somewhere, maybe backstage. She watches Jake. He’s clearly aiming straight down at the audience, sure to get some great shots of the tops of heads. Bald spots, dandruff, who knows what he’ll capture, but whatever it is it’ll sure be different. She smiles as she realizes he has come up with an interesting new perspective.

Liz fires up her own camera, adjusts her settings, feeling a little foolish for being worried.

About Jake.

She feels like an idiot.

Instead of stepping out onto the catwalk herself, Liz crouches and takes a series of photographs capturing Jake at work. Retrieving her cellphone from the fanny pack she turns it off. It wouldn’t do to disrupt the show being put on below. Liz feels a bit of a stomach flutter as she steps out on the catwalk, moving away from Jake, toward the stage.

Jake brought her along so she can’t very well poach his idea. She needs her own spin, make her own distinct images. The Stratford Touring Company, that was it. It is warm here. A little hard to breathe. Overheated by powerful lights and body heat from the audience below. No wonder.

One of the big Shakespeare plays probably. Was there dancing in Macbeth? Doesn’t matter, she feels supercharged as she applies herself to her task, photographing the mammoth lights that are so close she could almost touch them as they cast their magical glow on the stage below.

Liz feels a chill, but she’s too busy, so she pushes it aside. She wants to get some good shots. She focuses on the stage, filled with masked revelers in flashing colours twirling to some kind of medieval music. Following the colour and motion from this angle is interesting. A little dizzying. When she’s got enough pictures, Liz shuts down her camera and stows it in her pouch. Why is her heart racing like this? So hot. Turning back the way she came she doesn’t see Jake at all. He must have finished. Maybe he’s gone.

Now the work is done Liz realizes that she’s having a bit of a problem. She tries to take a step in the darkness but … she can’t make her foot rise. Now that she’s looking through her own eyes and not the camera, she realizes the edges of her vision are ragged.

The dizziness is making her feel nauseous, along with a kind of falling sensation, pulling her to the side, drawing her to the audience. Down there. Now that she’s not taking pictures, she realizes the physical discomfort she feels isn’t excitement, it’s fear. She does not want to be this high up. No. Her hand snakes out and grabs the catwalk railing.

This is silly. She walked out here, she should be able to go back again too. Looking down at her feet she can see the people below. Reflected light from the stage reveals them clearly through gaps in the metal mesh floor. Liz can feel the little holes in the floor through her shoes, she’s mesmerized by the sight.

Heart pounding furiously Liz realizes she can’t stay here.

She can’t move either. Where is Jake? She can’t lift her foot. Not the other one either. Lifting it off the floor is too scary. The nearly invisible floor. Not an option. Maybe she can slide it. Her death grip on the railing helps pull her forward a step. Progress. Slide the hand, slide the feet.

The heat is intense, Liz feels sweat running down her back. Got to get out of here. Dizzy.

The pounding in her chest is bad, now there’s a pounding in her head, the rushing of the ocean, the blue of the water … white froth … Liz slumps to her knees, held upright by her mechanical grip on the rail.

As consciousness wanes, her fingers relax and she sprawls on the catwalk.

In the store room Jake is scrolling through the thumbnails of the images he’s photographed. Looking good. He packs up his camera and wonders what’s taking Liz so long. He goes back inside and takes a peek through the doorway. She’s not there. Where did she go? He heads back out through the store room and into the hall. She must have left. That’s annoying.

Not like Liz to just take off without a word though. Maybe she just thought it was stupid and didn’t want to say anything.

He shakes his head in frustration, but he should be used to being ditched by girls by now. He starts down the stairs, feeling an increasing sense of annoyance. Just he didn’t think Liz was like that. She been a good friend until now. One of the very few here who don’t treat him like a little kid.

As he reaches the exit door, it hits him.

When he was here this afternoon helping the crew set up the lights, he was all over the lighting grid. There is no other way out of there. The only way Liz could have left would have been to go right past him. And she didn’t. So Liz must still be up there. But where was she? He turns and starts back up again.

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