iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第72部分

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　〃For　God's　sake；〃　Gil　demands；　〃how'd　you　let　him　get　that　drunk？〃
　She　looks　at　him　blankly；　expecting　pity；　getting　fury。　Partygoers　nearby　whisper　to　each　other；　holding　back　satisfied　smiles。
　Brooks　is　telling　an　attendant　to　raise　the　bar　and　restock　the　shelves　from　the　wine　cellar；　while　Donald　Morgan；　looking　newly　presidential；　tries　to　calm　Parker　amidst　the　hecklers。　From　the　crowd　e　coos　of　Lush！　and　Drunk！　and　worse。　Laughter　at　the　edges　of　insult。　Parker　is　across　the　room　from　me；　cut　in　half　a　dozen　places　by　the　shrapnel　of　upturned　bottles；　standing　in　a　great　puddle　of　mixed　drinks　like　a　child；　mashing　out　the　lees。　When　he　finally　turns　on　Donald；　he　is　full　of　rage。
　Katie　covers　her　mouth　as　it　unfolds。　Parker　lunges　at　Donald；　and　the　two　topple　over　onto　the　floor；　wrestling　at　first；　then　hammering　each　other　with　fists。　Here　is　the　show　everyone　has　been　waiting　to　see；　Parker's　euppance　for　a　million　petty　offenses；　justice　for　what　he　did　on　the　third　floor；　violence　to　end　two　years　of　mounting　hatred。　A　server　es　out　with　a　flat…faced　mop；　creating　the　spectacle　at　the　fight's　edge　of　a　man　shoveling　liquid。　On　the　hardwood　floor　the　currents　of　wine　and　liquor　careen　past　each　other；　reflecting　off　the　oak　walls；　and　not　a　drop　is　absorbed　by　anything；　not　mop　nor　carpet　nor　even　tuxedo；　as　the　two　men　continue　to　fight；　a　great　throb　of　black　arms　and　legs；　an　insect　trying　to　right　itself　before　drowning。
　〃Let's　go；〃　Gil　says；　leading　us　around　the　brawl　that　is　now　someone　else's　mess。
　Paul　and　I　follow　him；　wordless；　sloshing　through　the　wake　of　bourbon　and　brandy　and　wine。
　　
　The　roads　we　travel　are　thin　black　stitches　on　a　great　white　gown。　The　Saab　is　surefooted；　even　with　Gil　leaning　on　the　gas　and　the　wind　shrieking　around　us。　On　Nassau　Street　two　cars　have　slammed　into　each　other；　lights　flashing；　drivers　shouting；　shadows　flickering　against　a　pair　of　tow　trucks　on　the　curb。　A　proctor　emerges　from　the　security　kiosk　at　the　north　of　campus；　pink　in　the　haze　of　safety　flares；　gesturing　to　us　that　the　entrance　is　closed…but　Paul　is　already　navigating　us　away　from　campus；　westward。　Gil　throws　the　gearshift　into　third；　then　fourth；　passing　roads　in　streaks。
　〃Show　him　the　letter；〃　Gil　says。
　Paul　pulls　something　from　inside　his　coat　and　hands　it　back　to　me　in　the　rear　seat。
　〃What's　this？〃
　The　envelope　is　torn　open　across　the　top；　but　the　upper…left　corner　bears　the　imprint　of　the　Dean　of　Students。
　〃It　was　in　our　mailbox　tonight；〃　Gil　says。
　
　Mr。　Harris：
　
　This　letter　serves　to　notify　you　that　my　office　is　conducting　an　investigation　into　allegations　of　plagiarism　lodged　against　you　by　your　senior　thesis　advisor；　Dr。　Vincent　Taft。　Due　to　the　nature　of　the　allegations；　and　their　effect　on　your　graduation；　a　special　meeting　of　the　mittee　on　Discipline　will　convene　next　week　to　consider　your　case　and　render　a　decision。　Please　contact　me　to　arrange　a　preliminary　meeting　and　to　confirm　receipt　of　this　letter。
　
　Sincerely；　
　Marshall　Meadows　
　Associate　Dean　of　Undergraduate　Students
　
　〃He　knew　what　he　was　doing；〃　Paul　says；　when　I've　finished　reading。
　〃Who？〃
　〃Vincent。　This　morning。〃
　〃Threatening　you　with　the　letter？〃
　〃He　knew　he　had　nothing　on　me。　So　he　started　in　on　your　dad。〃
　I　can　hear　it　in　his　voice；　the　accusation　sneaking　in。　Everything　returns　to　the　moment　I　pushed　Taft。
　〃You're　the　one　who　ran；〃　I　say　under　my　breath。
　Slush　sprays　the　undercarriage　of　the　car　as　the　suspension　dances　over　a　pothole。
　〃I'm　the　one　who　called　the　police　too；〃　he　says。
　〃What？〃
　〃That's　why　the　police　took　Vincent　in；〃　he　says。　〃I　told　them　I　saw　Vincent　near　Dickinson　when　Bill　was　shot。〃
　〃You　lied　to　them。〃
　I'm　waiting　for　Gil　to　react；　but　he　keeps　his　eyes　on　the　road。　Staring　at　the　back　of　Paul's　head；　I　have　the　strange　sensation　of　looking　at　myself　from　behind；　of　being　inside　my　father's　car　again。
　〃Is　this　it？〃　Gil　says。
　The　houses　before　us　are　fashioned　in　white　clapboard。　At　Taft's　address；　all　windows　are　unlit。　Just　beyond　them　stands　the　tree　line　of　the　Institute　woods；　its　canopy　tinseled　in　white。
　〃He's　still　at　the　police　station；〃　Paul　says；　almost　to　himself。　〃The　lights　are　off。〃
　〃Jesus；　Paul；〃　I　say。　〃How　do　even　you　know　the　blueprint　is　here？〃
　〃It's　the　only　other　place　he　could've　hidden　it。〃
　Gil　doesn't　even　hear　us。　Shaken　by　the　sight　of　Taft's　house；　he　lightens　pressure　on　the　brakes；　letting　us　roll　in　neutral；　prepared　to　go　back。　Just　as　his　foot　begins　to　engage　the　clutch；　though；　Paul　yanks　the　door　handle　and　stumbles　out　onto　the　curb。
　〃Damn　it。〃　Gil　brings　the　Saab　to　a　halt　and　gets　out。　〃Paul！〃
　The　wind　hisses　around　the　door　as　he　opens　it；　muffling　his　words。　I　can　see　Paul　mouth　something　to　us；　pointing　at　the　house。　He　begins　hiking　toward　it　in　the　snow。
　〃Paul　。　。　。〃　I　get　out　of　the　car；　trying　to　keep　my　voice　at　a　whisper。
　A　light　in　the　neighboring　house　es　on；　but　Paul　pays　no　attention。　He　paces　up　to　Taft's　front　porch　and　puts　his　ear　to　the　door；　gently　rapping。
　The　wind　whips　through　the　columns　of　the　fa？ade；　licking　puffs　of　snow　from　the　eaves。　The　window　next　door　goes　black。　When　Paul　gets　no　answer；　he　tries　to　turn　the　knob；　but　the　lock　holds　fast。
　〃What　do　we　do？〃　Gil　says；　beside　him。
　Paul　knocks　again；　then　pulls　a　ring　of　keys　from　his　pocket　and　cradles　one　into　the　slot。　Putting　a　shoulder　into　the　wood；　he　sweeps　the　door　forward。　Hinges　squeal。
　〃We　can't　do　this；〃　I　say　as　I　walk　toward　them；　trying　for　some　authority。
　But　Paul　is　already　inside；　scanning　the　first　floor。　Without　a　word；　he's　deep　into　the　house。
　〃Vincent？〃　es　his　voice；　feeling　out　the　darkness。　〃Vincent；　are　you　here？〃
　The　words　bee　distant。　I　hear　feet　on　a　staircase；　then　nothing。
　〃Where'd　he　go？〃　Gil　says；　moving　toward　me。
　There　is　an　odd　odor　in　here；　distant　but　strong。　The　wind　es　at　our　backs；　snapping　our　jackets；　making　the　fingers　of　Gil's　hair　twist　in　the　updraft。　I　turn　and　shut　the　door　behind　us。　Gil's　cell　phone　begins　to　ring。
　I　flip　a　wall　switch；　but　the　room　stays　dark。　My　eyes　are　beginning　to　adjust。　Taft's　dining　room　is　in　front　of　me；　baroque　furniture　and　dark　walls　and　claw…legged　chairs。　At　the　far　end　is　the　foot　of　a　staircase。
　Gil's　phone　rings　again。　He　is　behind　me；　calling　out　Paul's　name。　The　odor　intensifies。　Three　objects　sit　in　a　tangle　on　the　credenza　by　the　staircase。　A　tattered　billfold；　a　set　of　keys；　a　pair　of　eyeglasses。　Suddenly　everything　es　into　focus。
　I　turn　back。　〃Answer　the　phone。〃
　By　the　time　he　reaches　into　his　pocket；　I'm　already　climbing　the　stairs。
　〃Katie　。　。　。　？〃　I　can　hear　him　say。
　Everything　is　overlapping　shadows。　The　staircase　seems　fractured；　like　darkness　through　a　prism。　Gil's　voice　rises。
　What？　Jesus　。　。　。
　Then　he's　racing　up　the　stairs；　pushing　at　my　back；　barking　at　me　to　hurry；　telling　me　what　I　already　know。
　Taft's　not　at　the　police　station。　They　released　him　more　than　an　hour　ago。
　We　reach　the　landing　just　in　time　to　hear　Paul　screaming。
　Gil　is　pressing　me　forward；　forcing　me　up　toward　the　sound。　Like　the　shadow　of　a　wave　at　the　moment　before　impact；　it　settles　over　me　that　we　are　too　late；　that　it　has　already　happened。　Gil　pushes　past　me；　moving　down　a　corridor　to　the　right；　and　I'm　aware　of　myself　in　flashes；　in　the　gaps　between　instincts。　My　legs　are　in　motion。　Time　is　slowing；　the　world　is　cycling　in　a　lower　gear。
　Oh　God；　Paul　moans。　Help　me。
　The　walls　of　the　bedroom　are　shot　with　moonlight。　Paul's　voice　es　from　the　bathroom。　The　smell　is　here；　of　fireworks　and　cap　guns；　of　everything　out　of　place。　There　is　blood　on　the　walls。　In　the　tub　is　a　body。　Paul　is　on　his　knees；　bent　over　the　porcelain　rim。
　Taft　is　dead。
　　
　Gil　stumbles　out　of　the　room；　but　my　eyes　trip　over　the　sight。　Taft　lies　on　his　back　in　the　basin；　his　gut　flattened　on　top　of　him。　There　is　a　gunshot　in　his　chest；　and　another　between　his　eyes；　with　a　well　of　blood　still　seeping　across　his　forehead。　When　Paul　extends　a　trembling　arm；　I　feel　the　sudden　urge　to　laugh。　The　sensation　es；　then　fades。　I　feel　sleepy；　almost　drunk。
　Gil　is　calling　the