The only people who showed up regularly on open lab days were those pursuing graduate degrees and most of them shared my motives, which meant little talking or interruption. I usually found the environment calming, permitting an inner focus that facilitated, maybe even amplified, my efforts. It was also cool as hell. Tory Hall's state-of-the-art facility resembled the set of a science fiction film with its glass and steel construction peppered with bleeding-edge technology in an orderly, functional geometry that inspired the imagination. We even had a small clean room inhabited by two versatile, robotic arms.
That morning, however, less than a minute after sitting down, I found distractions everywhere. They were the kinds of things I had previously noted as abstractions hiding outside the mental fog, but were intruding with unwelcome clarity, and I wasn't conditioned to prevent any of it.
As the other students settled in, the floating sparks from the night before returned and I rubbed at my eyes to dispel them. I could hear Shelly Jacoby, a third year biology student, unpacking her notes at the table in front of me, and the ceaseless paper shuffling soon replaced the strange, visual distortions as my primary annoyance. I dropped my hands to find Shelly staring back, favoring me with a coy smile before returning to her work.
I'd been in classes with her for months. Had she always been so pretty? She had nothing on Katherine of course, but the contour of her profile had left a rough sketch in my mind. Slight overbite. Small, gently upturned nose. Large, brown eyes with long lashes...
"Mister Corwen?" Professor Barnes interrupted my train of thought from the front of the room, and I jerked back into the real world.
"Yes ma'am?"
"When you have a minute can I see you at my desk?" She didn't look up from the open folder in front of her.
"I'll be right there."
I pretended to get my workspace organized while I pulled myself out of my head and back into the classroom. You have a girlfriend, I reminded myself.
Yes, but I'm not dead.
You will be if Katherine catches you looking at other girls like that.
Katherine isn't that insecure.
No, but she's definitely territorial.
Maybe, but it's not like I'm cheating, I hardly know Shelly.
You hardly knew Katherine nine months ago.
Dr. Dang taught me to use internal conversations as a way to order my thoughts, but I was doing it reflexively. I didn't need a complex dialog to conclude that admiring someone other than the woman I was dating felt wrong.
I stepped to the Professor's desk and waited for her to speak. She seemed busier than usual, pulling folders out of a drawer, quickly scanning the contents, then adding them to a growing, tidy stack.
Kelly Barnes had been a huge win for the school. She possessed three Ph.D.'s that I knew of and had won dozens of accolades for her contributions in genetics, and she was still in her early thirties. I'd been called a prodigy, but that was only because I was highly motivated and worked hard to learn quickly. She was the real deal. How she ended up teaching advanced biochem and managing the medical lab was a mystery. BAU was a great school, but she could have had her choice of jobs, and they'd all have been lucky to get her.
"Mister Corwen." She still hadn't looked up from her paperwork and appeared agitated. "There will be a department audit at the end of the month, and I was hoping you would allow me to present your last essay as a representation of this class."
Out of nowhere, flickering motes of light floated across her desk, and I had to force my attention back to the conversation. "An audit?"
"The school is conducting a financial review on behalf of Mr. Bessler that will determine his contribution next year."
"This is about the E.W.?" I asked, wondering how much more there was to the story. Self-made tycoon and alumnus, Edward Weston Bessler, had donated a massive sum to fund the conversion of the west mall into an advanced science wing named after his three children. The lab was part of the awkwardly labeled Victoria Q. Bessler Hall of Biological Sciences, dubbed Tory Hall by the students and staff.
Professor Barnes nodded, "We're compelled to justify the current budget due to cost overruns. We have several professors up for tenure as well, so the issue of ongoing funding is causing a significant amount of tension among the faculty."
She slipped a short stack of typed essays into a pile on her left, pulled another from the folder, and flipped it open. I recognized my recent microbiology paper sitting on top. "This is exemplary work, and I believe a few of the staff are still trying to grasp your primary thesis. I would like the board to see that our department is managing to funnel a little education into its students."
She looked up at me through angular, tortoiseshell glasses with a sardonic smile that suggested a less-than-favorable opinion of the board of regents. More lights flashed and spun through the space between us, and I forced myself to look beyond them, making eye contact. Miss Barnes' angular glasses weren't a style I'd have liked on most people, but they provided a contrast to her round features and shoulder-length hair. Circular lenses would have over-emphasized that softness, making her look like a child. Or maybe a bug.
She opened her mouth, then closed it and narrowed her eyes for a second before speaking. "Are you feeling okay?" she asked finally. My heart skipped as if she'd just jumped through a door and shouted "boo!"
"Yes, why?"
"You seem... distracted."
Not many students knew how sick I was, but it was common knowledge among the university staff. The Dean wanted to be sure a wildcard like me was always being carefully observed. If I was acting out of character, they'd call for an intervention.
I decided to play the hand I'd been dealt that morning. "Yeah I'm feeling more focused than usual. I'm just trying to take advantage of it." My reply earned me a more relaxed, if slightly condescending, smile. Professor Barnes didn't ask for an explanation, she just seemed happy for me.
"Well?" She said as the pause grew awkward.
"Oh! Right. Yes, of course you can have it."
"Are you sure you don't want to keep it as a souvenir?" Her smile teased and I grinned back.
"I'm sure, Professor, I'm not married to my homework."
A brightness that had been growing in her eyes went suddenly dark and she looked back to her paperwork as determinedly solemn as ever. "Yes, Mister Corwen, it's best to discard the relics of our past. Thank you." She shuffled my paper into the smaller stack she was compiling. Had I only imagined the friendly exchange?
"You're welcome." I mumbled and began walking toward my table, but a thought struck me and I turned back before I could change my mind.
"Doctor Barnes?" I asked, deliberately using her professional title.
She looked up again, "Yes?"
I hesitated before beginning, unsure how to phrase my question. "Are there—do you know of any cases where someone's personality has spontaneously, um, changed?" She immediately jumped to the conclusion I'd wanted to avoid, and I instantly recognized the pity that cracked her professional veneer.
"There are many recorded examples, certainly, but they usually involve significant physical or mental trauma, and the change is not often for the better. I'm sorry, Tom, this isn't my field."
"That's what I've read too," I said casually, "I just thought you might have seen something I missed."
"Why not try asking your girlfriend? Forensic psych?"
"Behavioral." I corrected her, and she nodded.
"Even better. If she doesn't have anything for you, maybe she can put the question to one of her teachers on your behalf." Professor Barnes nodded encouragingly. She was trying to keep my hopes up, though she had to know it would be a dead end.
"Thanks, I might give that a try. I was—" I felt the need to cover my tracks before ending the conversation. "I'm thinking of doing my neurology mid-term on spontaneous chemical changes in the cortex, and I'm fishing for case studies. There are only so many times I can cite Phineas Gage."
"Neurology? How many classes are you taking, Tom?"
"Uh, I'd rather not say if I'm going to get a lecture."
Her stoic demeanor collapsed again in a brief, uncharacteristic giggle, but she composed herself immediately. "I won't lecture you, I promise, as long as you keep giving me work like this." She indicated my essay again.
"I'll do my best, ma'am."
"I'm not so old I need a ma'am, Tom. Miss Barnes is more than adequate."
"Yes, Professor. I'd better get to work." I nodded toward my desk, and she gave me one last, quick smile before diving again into her papers. I hadn't imagined the change in her mood after all. She always struck me as stable, composed, and disciplined, with a firm line drawn between her academic and personal lives. Watching her slip across that line was as surreal to me as being off the pills.
On the way back I caught Shelly's brown eyes following me until she realized I was looking back, then she quickly averted her stare. I couldn't understand her behavior. Apart from polite small talk, she had never given me much consideration. Were people really behaving out of character, or was I only seeing them as they were for the first time?
Practice and habit carried me through the assigned work, which prevented me from mulling over questions that had no answers, but when I finished documenting the results I found that I'd finished almost fifteen minutes early. Rather than clean up and leave, I spent the remaining time pretending to look up corroborating studies while letting my mind wander.
My phone buzzed as the class ended. Katherine had texted that she'd be free that evening and asked if my offer was still open. Thinking hell yes, I typed instead, "Maybe. Can you please coordinate with my other girlfriends so your schedules don't overlap?"
She tapped back, "Sure, send me their imaginary phone numbers. I'll be there at 7:00. Have snacks."
The Ford's engine rattled when I turned the key and for the hundredth time I promised myself I'd have it looked at while I fished Miss Gold's envelope out of my bag.
The storage unit wasn't far. About a mile down the frontage road off highway fourteen, a blue and green illuminated sign peered over the top of a sprawling, but otherwise unremarkable, office building, with "MIDWAY" in huge block letters and "Attic" in a smaller script below it. The facility covered several acres, including a large fenced-in lot on either side where campers, boats, and sports cars, many shrouded beneath tarps or heavy canvas, were parked behind a tall chain-link fence.
I had no information except the handwritten "D-26" from the business card, so I parked in the front lot and went inside. Compared with the rest of the building, the office was relatively small, with wide, commercial windows facing the parking lot and concrete floors. In front of the long counter were upholstered mats beneath displays of boxes, tape, tarps, moving blankets, nylon rope, and other convenience items. Behind it, rows of metal shelving were stacked with a mix of plastic bins, cardboard boxes, and additional inventory for sale. An opening at one end of the counter led farther back, and glass doors gave access to the interior storage lockers on both sides.
The office was vacant and I had nearly convinced myself to return later when I heard footsteps on the hard floor. A young woman stumbled from behind the shelves wearing a brown uniform, with her ponytail pulled through the back of a matching baseball cap. She drew up stiffly when she saw me and stared for a second or two as if unsure how to proceed. I gave her my best smile and waved.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said finally, "I didn't, um... I had to..." she looked around nervously, then back at me and cleared her throat, "I—how can I help you?"
She was clearly forcing herself to meet my eyes through through a pair of large, black glasses. I silently reprimanded myself for thinking Shelly was awkward. This girl had turned it into an art form. Her name was etched into a plastic tag, so I used it, hoping to set her at ease.
"Hi, Rebecca, can you point me to unit D-26?"
She shook her head, "No."
"You can't?"
She blinked her wide, pea-green eyes, mouth ajar, then giggled nervously. "Oh! No, no, I'm sorry, of course I can." She swallowed forcefully and glanced around. "I mean no, it's not Rebecca. I mean it is, of course, Rebecca's my name, but it's—it's a family name on my dad's side and my mom never really liked it so she calls me Becca. I'm just Becca." Her words tripped over each other in their hurry to escape her lips.
"I see," I nodded, "Can you tell me how to get to D-26, Becca?"
"Oh, yes! I mean I can, it's just through—" she fumbled with a drawer behind the counter and produced a large ring of jangling keys. "It's there." She nodded at the wall to my left, "I mean not right there, but it's through there, through that door." Her eyebrows scrunched in concentration as she sorted through the keys, finally holding up her prize with a grin, then went blank as if trying to remember what they were for. With a start, she stepped quickly past me to unlock the door.
"You need keys?" I asked, indicating the keypad next to the door handle.
"What? Oh, that. We change the master codes every day but I'm not too good with numbers and I always forget them, so it's easier for me to use the keys. We need to keep these doors locked when we're in the back if we're using the ba—um, I mean on break or something, but when I'm up front I usually leave them open so nobody has to mess with pass codes."
The quick, nervous speech made her difficult to understand, but I found it endearing. Her energy coupled with wide eyes and an innocent expression gave her the charm of a young kitten or puppy, and the effect was magnified by her over-large glasses.
"Aren't you afraid someone might go back there who isn't renting a locker?" I asked.
"Why?"
"Er," I replied, thinking my point was obvious, "because someone might steal something?"
She blinked at me again as if trying to decide whether or not I was joking, but eventually said, "No, all the lockers with anything in them are... well, they're locked, and you can't get to the vehicle lots from inside without a code or a key. The doors are aluminum, and the walls are framed with steel so the most anyone can do before I push the alarm is make a lot of noise."
"I see," I said brilliantly, "I guess that makes sense."
She beamed at me like I'd just given her high praise, then stepped back, hesitated, made a face, and stepped forward again to hold the door open. "Sorry, you can go through now."
"Thank you," I peered down the long hallway, "Which way?"
"D-26, right? Once you get around the first corner, you'll see the lockers and each row is marked with a letter. The doors have numbers. Well, the numbers are next to the doors, but you can tell which—I mean, you just go until you see D and turn left. Evens are on the right." She bit her lip and blushed faintly, her eyes slipping away to stare at the floor.
"Okay, thanks again, Becca. I appreciate your help."
Her face lit up once more and she presented a thankful grin before turning around and marching away. I had to lunge forward to catch the door before it closed on me. Becca cringed, "I'm sor—I mean you're welcome!" she blurted out before making her escape.
It gradually dawned on me why Becca's behavior hadn't put me off. She lived on the outside like I always had on the inside, like a tangle of string with no beginnings and no ends. Her mannerisms felt familiar and I empathized without trying.
The hall turned sharply to the right and went on for half the length of the building while other corridors branched to the left. I turned down aisle D as instructed, then counted up to my goal.
The door to D-26 didn't seem any different from the others, and it was secured with a normal, if heavy, Brinks combination lock, nothing I could use the mysterious key on. I scoured the card, futilely looking for information I might have missed. The code, "in-left-in-right-out-right," wasn't for a combination dial.
"Great," I slumped against the opposite locker and the door clanged, echoing loudly through the halls. Becca had been right, nobody was going to sneak into any of these bays. Could D-26 have meant something else, like part of a license plate on one of the cars out back? I doubted it, but I wasn't ready to give up either, so I scrutinized the lock, the bolt, and the frame of the door, and found nothing unusual.
I let my eyes wander while I wracked my brain for more options and that's when I noticed someone had drawn a tiny, orange triangle just below the number, pointing at the door. I must have looked at it several times without registering the fact that it had been put it there deliberately.
I inspected the door more closely and discovered nothing new, but with a sudden epiphany I looked further down the hall, searching the frames of the other doors until I found another arrow pointing back the way I'd come, under D-32.
Excited, I followed it, passing D-26, examining each door as I went. The third arrow pointed left again beneath D-17. There were my three numbers.
Sprinting back to where I'd begun, I rushed the lock through that sequence, but it didn't open the first time. I tried again, certain I was right but had no better luck. I slowed down and tried once more, dialing deliberately, carefully lining up each number with the arrow on the lock. At last, with a gentle tug it fell open. I was nervous, excited, a bit scared, and maybe a little arrogant over getting past Miss Gold's puzzle. Removing the lock, I pushed the door noisily upward to reveal what waited inside.