“That’s what he told me. That he doesn’t have to worry about exams, doesn’t have to study at all. Schoolwork is easy for him.”
“Yes, and that’s often a problem.” Dr. Agress sighed. “Students need to work and accomplish something. Otherwise life becomes boring, and they go looking for a challenge in other ways. That is exactly what’s happened to Brandon, and that’s not good news.”
“No, and he also has this group of other young people with him.”
“Yes. And guys, like Brandon, they tend to collect people he would consider beneath him, people who won’t challenge him in any way.”
“But that just perpetuates the same issue, doesn’t it?” She went on. “Still no challenge and completely bored, so he gets them into trouble with him.”
“Perhaps because it’s more fun that way because he can watch the downfall of their careers,” he said quietly.
“It really sounds like Brandon needs to talk with somebody about his life goals and his methods of handling the challenges of life.”
“Not all kids from rich families are useless, but all too often we get those who have had a far-too-easy pathway in life. In this case, because he’s already very smart—which is something that money didn’t buy him—but it goes right along with it.”
“Right, so, if he applied himself, he could really be a huge asset to the family and to the university—and to the world in fact—but why bother, since he’ll never have to work for a living anyway.”
He nodded slowly. “Exactly.”
“So, about that complaint file?”
He looked at his file cabinet again. “I know we’ve had a few,” he said cautiously. “I just can’t have any of this become public.”
“We are the police, and I am looking into multiple problems on this campus.”
“That’s what concerns me. If I were to let you have that information, what are the chances that it would get out into the public or that you’d be questioning people, after this was done in confidence?”
She responded, “Whenever people write letters complaining about others and hand them over, it’s not in confidence. I can get a warrant, but it would be much better if I didn’t have to.” She quietly studied him. “I get that you’re all about trying to be effective and about protecting privacy and the reputation of the university, but what about protecting everybody else? What about protecting the ones at risk, but who don’t even know about all these problems?”
“Let me go through them, and I’ll hand you any that appear to be possibly relevant.”
She winced at that. “The trouble with that is, something you think I should look at and my own interpretation are likely to be very different.”
“I still need to go through them first,” he said firmly. “I can’t just hand over this information blindly.”
“That’s fine. I want it by tomorrow close of business then, or do you want me to go through the RCMP and have them process this through official channels?” He stared at her, and she stared back. “It’s that important,” she said quietly. “We don’t want to lose any more students.”
He swallowed hard at that. “You’re serious? Is that a possibility?”
She nodded. “Yes, I’m serious. I am concerned that there could be more deaths.”
He swore. “Fine.” He picked up the phone. “Noreen, please reschedule my afternoon. I’ve got some things I need to do here.” With that, he hung up, then, turning back to Kate, he said, “You can expect a call from me.”
“It’s an email I want, with attachments. Scan in the information and email it all to me by tomorrow at six p.m.” Then she stood, laying her card on his desk, and nodded to him. “Thank you very much.”
And she turned and walked out.
*
His day hadbeen pretty decent. Simon appreciated a break from all his weird psychic symptoms. Today he had grabbed the tools of the trade and had worked on the roof of one of his buildings, with the rest of his rehab crew. Then he came down, nodded at the foreman, who looked at him with added respect, and headed home.
As he walked toward his penthouse, he heard the sound of a bicycle. He was now finally able to pinpoint what that weird background noise had been—the sound of somebody pedaling a bike—and he heard the faintest of whirs as the wheels turned. Even now he wasn’t sure why that’s what he’d been hearing, but it had gone on and on in his head, like somebody doing miles and miles. He felt the breathing, the hard breathing of somebody moving on a bike. Yet no sound of gravel or wheels on pavement. No slowing down or stops and starts. Yet maybe not someone on a bicycle outside. He frowned at that. It was just odd. So maybe it was a stationary bike? Then he realized it was likely her. “Hello?”
But he got no answer. What did he expect? It’s not like anybody was listening to him just because he was listening to them. That was always the trick, realizing when you heard somebody versus somebody who heard him. Still, he was walking and listening, and then he heard the hard breathing and the harder breathing yet again. And finally a heavy sigh, almost a groan in his mind. And he knew how she felt. Whatever it was she was doing was really exhausting. He smiled, mentally gave her a high five. “Good job.”
Then more heavy breathing came, as if she were slowing, yet out of breath. She never talked—well, except for one word earlier. That was the thing he found odd. And, even now, he had no vision to go with the sounds, with her feelings. He had connected with her emotions, but he couldn’t see anything, just that shadowy world out there again. He struggled with that because, at least with the boy from the pedophile case, Simon could see something clearly.
With this, the longer he tried to peer into the darkness, the less he saw. It was frustrating as hell. He just kept sending her positive thoughts and happy affirmations. And finally she calmed down, drifted away. He wasn’t even sure that she knew what she was doing—projecting psychically—and suspected that she had no clue she was transmitting or that he was receiving.