Away From the Sun (9 page)

His face turns red and he looks away.
 

“Love hasn’t really worked out for me, you know that?”

“I don’t,” he says.
 

“People die in this world. Everyone you meet has a high chance of dying before old age. That means, if I let myself fall for you, I’m going to get my heart broken again. That, or you will get yours broken when I’m bitten or eaten, or whatever.”

“I don’t see why it has to be a big deal,” Gabe says. “I told you that I love you because that is how I feel. Ignoring it, or giving in doesn’t change anything. If the feelings are there, then they are there. I’m surprised to see you fight it so much. I could make a counter argument. Life is statistically shorter. Might as well get as much love in there as possible before we go.”

“Do you know how unattractive you just made love sound?” I say. I can’t help but smile, because he’s looking at me with a wry grin.
 

He shrugs. “So what. I love you. If you don’t feel the same, I understand. I don’t need love. It’s just nice.” He stands from the table and walks toward me.
 

I stand a little straighter when he gets within inches of me. He reaches out and grabs my arms, leans in and kisses me on the forehead. My heart is pounding wildly. I want to reach up and pull him to me. I don’t even want to kiss him. I know it’s stupid, but I want him to hold me. I want him to stroke my hair and tell me everything will be all right.
 

“I’m hungry,” I say, pulling away from him. “Want to see if they have anything to eat around here?”

He chews the inside of his cheek and nods, letting out what seems like a frustrated laugh. “Why not?” he says.

We eventually find some guy who knows where the food is. We get ourselves a sandwich and something to drink, sitting alone together in a dim room, our voices echoing off the bare walls. We talk nothing of love, or the fight that is supposedly coming. He tells me stories about things he liked to do when he was a kid. He tells me what his parents were like. I’m interested to know these things, but my mind is elsewhere. I think about the reason I can’t love. I think about why I don’t want to get too close to anyone. I think about how this all started. How I came to be here.

Three Years Ago

The dogwood trees were in full bloom across the university campus. I had never seen such a clear, spring day, and I couldn’t understand why the professor thought it was a good idea to leave the windows shut. I supposed it was because of students like me who were already distracted by the sight of people throwing a disc in the quad, or people walking their dogs on the sidewalk, listening to music. To hear these things as well would be too much. At least without the windows open I was able to hear some of what the professor was talking about.
 

“I want you to delve deep into the mind of Mary Shelley,” the professor said. White tufts of hair crept around his ears, really making his bald head more of a focal point. His glasses magnified his eyes to look much bigger than they actually were. “What could have driven the author to think of such a concept?”

If I have to delve any deeper, I might go crazy,
I thought to myself.
 

I felt a hand nudge my elbow and I turned slightly. The guy behind me was holding a piece of paper folded four times. I raised an eyebrow at him and took the note.
 

What is this, high school?

I didn’t care, though. As fascinating as the life of Mary Shelley was, I was bored out of my mind. The distraction was nice.
 

I looked up at the professor. His white, thick beard flapped wildly as he talked. I didn’t think he even looked at any of the students. I imagined that I could have gotten up and walked out of the room without him taking notice.
 

I unfolded the paper on my desk, expecting the note to ask me about going out, which if it was, I would have ripped the paper in front of him and thrown the pieces in the floor, but it wasn’t. It was actually a very well-drawn caricature of the professor as Frankenstein’s monster, bolts coming out of his neck and everything. The sight made me snort, and I quickly brought my hand to my mouth.

“Oh, you agree?” the professor asked.
 

I could feel my face turn beet-red when I realized that the professor was looking at me.

“I uh…” I had no idea what the professor was talking about, so I just improvised. “Really, I love the story.” This got me several looks around the room, and the professor seemed intrigued by my opinion.
 

Why did I have to laugh?
 

“I love it because I agree with the author,” I said. “I don’t think that humanity can or ever will be perfected. And attempting to do so is irresponsible and not true to ourselves.”

“Tell me more,” the professor said.

I didn’t want to tell him more. I let out a sigh. “Victor Frankenstein should have never tried to mess with life,” I said. “When people play God, things start to go bad. You see it in the news all the time. I think the story is a testament to cloning, searching for cures, vaccines…all of it.”

“That’s an interesting point,” the professor said. He seemed satisfied with what I said and continued to talk as though
he
had made the point. That was fine by me.
 

I turned back to give the guy behind me a mean scowl. He just looked at me and smiled.
 

Jerk.
 

I was ready for class to be over when the professor finally let us go (ten minutes late). The guy that was sitting behind me started walking beside me once I got out into the quad.
 

“Sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t think you would make a show of it.”

“You’re good at drawing,” I told him. With a smile, I squinted at him. “That was a very good likeness of the professor as Frankenstein’s monster.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You doing anything for lunch?”

There it is.

“Not with you,” I said as I started walking away.
 

He followed close behind me. “Oh, I didn’t mean together,” he said. “I was hoping you could buy
me
lunch. You don’t have to stay, I’m just short on change.”

“Oh nice,” I said. “You really know how to get a girl.”

He swung around me, stopping me in the middle of the sidewalk. He held his hands up in the air. “Whoa, there. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m taken.”

I furrow my eyebrows at him.
 

“You see, I’ve got this thing for Mary Shelley,” he said, holding up his copy of
Frankenstein.
“You know, Gothic writers are really my type.”

I rolled my eyes at him, nudging him with my shoulder as I passed by. “We’ve been in that class together for three months, and I’ve never heard you say a word. I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Andy,” he said, trailing behind me again. “And I don’t talk much, because I don’t get this stuff. You seem to love this literature junk. Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m reading. I would really appreciate it if you could sit down with me and let me pick your brain.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned around to face him. “You actually want to talk about the book, or are you just trying to get into my dorm room?”

“I never said anything about a dorm room,” Andy laughed. “The library is a perfectly acceptable venue. Or a coffee shop if you’re feeling particularly hipster.”

“I am
not
hipster,” I said to him.
 

“Until
not
being hipster is suddenly hipster,” he said, flashing his white teeth.
 

“Until then, I suppose.”

“Great,” he said. “How about Thursday at the Book and Bean?” he said. “Eight?”

“How about tomorrow?” I asked.
 

He shook his head. “I’ve got to clean up the science building tonight and tomorrow night. You see, I get the privilege to be part-time janitor
and
student. But I can Thursday.”

“Tomorrow morning, then,” I said. “That’s when I like my coffee anyway.”

“I’ll be there at eight,” he said.
 

I couldn’t help but smile. He was trying so hard, and he had put up a valiant effort. “Fine,” I said. He all but pulled his elbow to his stomach with a fist pump and yelled out ‘
yes’
when I agreed. I rolled my eyes at him and walked by without another word, not knowing that I would never again see Andy alive.
 

I got to the Book and Bean first. I guess I was a little more anxious to meet with Andy than I should have been. I didn’t know why. There was never a shortage of guys in my life, and that fact drove me crazy.

I had already ordered a mug of cappuccino so Andy wouldn’t feel the need to buy it for me. This wasn’t a date. We were simply here to talk about the book. At least, that’s what I told myself.
 

I checked the time on my cell phone. I still had fifteen minutes until eight. I tried texting my friend, Willow, but I didn’t expect to hear from her. I hadn’t heard from her since yesterday afternoon. It was weird. I scrolled through the texts, wondering why she had stopped responding.
 

Me: He’s nice enough. Don’t really want a date.

Willow: I have a date too! Kind of old. He’s a professor.

Me: Scandalous…

Willow: Wear something nice. Maybe makeup this time?

Me: No!!! o.k. Maybe…

Me: When is yours?

But I never got a response. It was unlike Willow to not get back to me. I tried calling her. I was going to call her roommate, Jessi, but I didn’t have her number. Jessi was one of those people that I just never got around to knowing that well.
 

I was starting to worry about Willow, but I was sure that it was nothing. She probably dropped her cell in the sink or lost it. I was supposed to have lunch with her at the dining hall on Friday. We’d figure everything out.

I placed my phone in a side pocket of my backpack, and got about halfway through the mug when I heard a series of gunshots ringing out across the campus. Several people in the coffee shop ducked down from the windows, screaming out in terror. A few others did the opposite and walked to the front windows, looking for the source of the noise. I was one of those few. I grabbed my backpack and found myself standing in front of the glass door. The gunshots were farther away. Whoever was shooting wasn’t nearby.
 

That’s when alarms started screeching all across the campus. I reached for the door at the front of the Book and Bean when a small man grabbed my wrist.
 

“Are you crazy?” he said. “Stay in here where it’s safe.”

I wrenched my arm away from him, scowling until I turned my head back toward the street. Screaming. Alarms. Gunshots. The sounds were terrifying, but I pushed the door open anyway. The warm wind hit me, and with it came a strange smell. Almost like a dead animal but…different.
 

I walked out into the street. I don’t know what compelled me to move forward. I don’t know why I was drawn to the chaos of the noises. I was smarter than that. There had been plenty of psycho shootings at universities—I was sure everyone else was thinking it. But for some reason, I could tell this was different. The feeling in the air had a different sort of panic to it.
 

Everything in me told me I should be hiding away like everyone else, but I kept moving. I felt fear, but it was a fear more for the people screaming. They were the ones that were truly afraid. Was there some way I could help them? Did they need me?
 

When I got across the street, I could see a row of police cars zooming toward me, sirens blaring. The lead officer screamed over his loudspeaker for people to take cover.
 

“This is not a drill!” he said over and over.
 

Of course this wasn’t a drill. People don’t give out death screams in drills. Besides, did he think that any of us had practiced for this? The only drills I could think of were the late night fire drills that got students out of bed in the dorms. I passed by another building and onto the next street over. The screams were much louder. And when I turned to look to my right, I could see a mass of people running in my direction.
 

Fear gripped my throat like a hand had just reached out to choke me. What could they all be running from? It didn’t take them long to reach me. A man rammed into my side, knocking me to the ground, and my bag fell next to me. I let out a curse and looked up at him, but he never turned back. Maybe I was supposed to do what he was doing.
Running.
 

I turned my head around to see a man on top of a woman. She was clawing at him, trying everything she could to get away, but the man was relentless. He wore a janitor’s uniform that was now all bloody.

The woman shrieked when the man reached down and bit into her neck, pulling away strands of tissue and veins. My hand smacked my mouth. I didn’t scream out. I couldn’t do anything. I was frozen to the ground as my stomach churned. The woman struggled, but the man kept biting her until she stopped moving. It was as if…as if he was eating her.
 

A voice behind me made me jump.
 

“Freeze!” It was a cop. He had his gun pointed at the crazed man, but he didn’t seem to hear the officer. The policeman’s hands shook violently and I wasn’t sure he would be able to make an accurate shot. “Freeze!” the officer yelled again.
 

This time the man looked up at the officer and my gut wrenched. As blood streaked down the front of his face, he stood above the dead woman on the ground.

“Andy!” His name passed by my lips, but there was no point in calling out to him. His mind was gone.
 

“Put your hands in the air!”

He’s not going to do it,
I thought to myself. As I studied him for those brief seconds, I could tell there was something wrong with him. This was not the same Andy that had been so quiet through the semester in English class. This was not the same Andy that had been so charming with his funny drawings. This Andy was sick. Apart from the blood all down the front of him, his eyes had turned almost black, his skin a pale, grey color.