His Eye in the Storm
A Boston Public Story
by Stephanie Souders
Author's Notes and Disclaimers
When I was in middle school, my area was struck by a serious storm that knocked out the power for a full twenty-four hours. The power outage occurred during school hours, and it made things rather chaotic. When this story was in its conceptual stages, it occurred to me that such an event might be just the thing I needed to stir things up at Winslow High and make things exceedingly difficult for our poor Scott. The only issue that remained was coming up with a plausible meteorological event that would cause power outages in Boston- for this I turned to my brother, who is studying meteorology at Penn State. Matt deserves all the credit (or blame, if you will) for the hurricane idea. :)
Like my last story, this one is all about Scott. And it is dark- I am not kidding. When I starting writing this, I did not anticipate it becoming so depressing. But, as these characters sometimes do, Scott kind of took control and my story went in a somewhat different direction. This fic is definitely not for the kiddies- thus the PG-13 rating. But I promise, from the bottom of my heart, that Scott will survive this, and will come out a little happier and a little more at peace on the other side. It's just going to take a heck of a lot to get there.
As always, all recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to DEK, Fox, and the actors. I only borrow them for my own personal entertainment, and I promise to put them back in tact, though maybe a bit wiser, when I'm done. All other characters are mine.
*****
Part One: The Storm
Chapter One
With several secondary roads impassable south of Boston, traffic across the Boston metro area is at a near standstill. Bill, when do you think this rain will let up?
Well, Hurricane Gus is making landfall right now near Cape May, New Jersey, moving northward at a very rapid 42 miles per hour, and, as is normal, is quickly weakening. We expect the storm to be downgraded from its current category 1 status to a tropical storm in the next advisory. The storm is expected to move almost due north into eastern New York State by late this afternoon. Its effects on Boston will be limited to heavy rain and gusty winds into the early afternoon and perhaps an isolated tornado. The National Weather Service has issued a flash flood watch for the entire listening area until 5pm, a tornado watch for all of Southern New England until 1pm, and a tropical storm warning from the western tip of Long Island to Eastport, Maine. So, this morning, we expect...
A steady rain drummed against the roof of Scott Guber's car as he pulled into his space in the faculty lot of Winslow High and shut off his engine, cutting off the weatherman's baritone. Pulling his keys out of the ignition, Scott heaved a weary sigh and leaned back in his car seat for a moment, studying his reflection in the rearview mirror.
Fatigue from yet another night of restless tossing and turning seemed to exaggerate the tension lines on his face. Forty-nine years old, Scott mused darkly. Where has the time gone?
Forcibly pulling himself out of his reverie, Scott grabbed his black umbrella and his attaché case from the passenger seat and exited the vehicle into the stormy morning. Almost the instant his feet hit the pavement, a bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky only a quarter of a mile away from the school. Oddly appropriate. It was almost as if the weather was responding to his less-than-festive birthday mood.
The rain picked up in intensity, and a gust of wind tugged on Scott's umbrella, pulling it inside out. His only protection rendered useless by the ferocity of the squall, he rushed towards the building. At the steps, Steven Harper appeared at his side- mired in morose introspection, he hadn't registered Steven's car pulling into the space adjacent to his own. Scott nodded in greeting, and the two men barreled through the heavy door simultaneously. Once inside, they took a minute to ring themselves out.
Scowling slightly, Scott attempted to close his tattered umbrella and growled, "I fail to understand why the superintendent felt the need to keep school in session today."
Steven started walking towards the main office as he spoke, and Scott hurried to catch up. "I called the Dragon Lady this morning and I believe her exact words were, 'I do not call off school on account of a little rain and wind.'"
Scott blew out a puff of air in exasperation. "She's making a statement, Steven. Ever since we received two inches of snow instead of fifteen in that blizzard last year, she's been waiting for an opportunity to demonstrate her commitment to school attendance. She can't stand public ridicule." Stopping in front of the office door, he turned to face Steven. "Her politics could not have come at a more inconvenient time."
"Maybe it won't be so bad today, Scott," Steven said optimistically as he entered the office. "The weather report did say that the storm was rapidly weakening and that we wouldn't get the worst of it."
The sound of the door slamming shut once again echoed through the hall. Scott spun on his heel to find Louisa walking down the hallway squeezing rainwater from her hair. "Ah, Louisa, you made it."
"Barely. Why are we having school today?"
"The superintendent is making a statement."
As soon as the words left the vice-principal's mouth, the phone began to ring. Louisa raised an eyebrow at Scott and quipped, "My guess is I'm not the only one who's unhappy with the Dragon Lady's decision."
"No, you are not."
While Louisa moved to answer the phone, Scott ducked into his own office. It was going to be a long day indeed.
*****
"Mr. Barret, what have I told you about running in the halls?"
At the sound of the vice-principal's voice, Stacey Perkins froze. Then, without thinking, she ducked her head into her locker, praying Mr. Guber hadn't seen her.
"Ah, Ms. Perkins."
Too late. Stacey sighed and shut her locker. "Hello, Mr. Guber."
"We've missed you at debate practice the past few weeks. And I understand that you haven't been attending choir rehearsals either."
"I've had... things to do." Stacey started to walk, hoping that she could lose Guber in the crowd, but knowing he was probably too quick for her to succeed.
"You've been a valued member of our team for a year. I would hate to lose you."
At the top of the staircase, Stacey paused and turned. "I'm not exactly a Kevin Jackson, sir."
"You are a sophomore, Ms. Perkins. You have time to work on your public speaking. But your arguments have always been sound and well researched."
Stacey started down the stairs, Mr. Guber still close on her heels. "You don't understand-"
The vice-principal's voice was edged with desperate persistence. "I understand that you are a bright, conscientious- look at me, Ms. Perkins-"
Stacey rounded on Mr. Guber and suddenly shouted, "Why can't you listen?! I can't be on your team! My father is dying, and if I don't work, my mom won't be able to pay the bills!"
All the students walking within earshot ground to halt. Even Mr. Guber himself blinked in surprise before he stated sternly, "Ms. Perkins, you will not take that tone with me, is that clear?"
Stacey clapped her hand over her mouth, instantly sorry for her outburst. "Oh, my God..." Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. "Oh, God, I'm sorry..." Closing her eyes, she waited for "the Nazi's" wrath to descend upon her.
But instead, a gentle hand guided her into an empty classroom and led her to a seat in the front row. Stacey looked up to find Mr. Guber regarding her with genuine concern. "Your father is dying?"
Stacey had always been a little afraid of the man that stood in front of her, but strangely, she found herself confiding in him. Something in his face told her to trust him- or perhaps it was the disappearance of Mr. Guber's usual severity. At this moment he seemed almost... open. "My father has Huntington's Disease, Mr. Guber. He's dying in one of the most undignified ways imaginable- and it's torturing him. The night after I saw you this summer, I had to stop him before he slit his wrists." She ran a hand through her blonde hair. "Depression is one of the possible symptoms."
Mr. Guber nodded, sitting down in the seat next to her. Stacey continued, "I work six nights a week to help Mom pay the bills- including Wednesdays. Without me, we wouldn't be able to make ends meet."
For a moment, no words passed between them. Then Mr. Guber spoke. "If I were to meet with you individually on a day you could stay after school, would you consider staying on the team?"
Stacey stared at the administrator in disbelief. "You'd do that for me?"
"I see no reason to waste talent because of a scheduling conflict."
"Would I be able to stay on top of what the other team members are working on?"
"I will do my best to keep you apprised."
Stacey smiled through her tears. "Then I will seriously consider it. Thank you, Mr. Guber." She looked up at the clock and realized her next class had already started. "Oh, I'm late." Gathering her things, she got up to leave.
"Ms. Perkins, why don't you visit the restroom first to wash your face. I will write you a pass."
A little bit later, Stacey sat down in her Algebra II class, still mystified at what had just transpired. As she flipped through her notebook trying to find the right page, Andrew Brady leaned over the aisle and hissed, "Hey, Stacey, what are you still doing here? I thought the Nazi was going to fry your butt for sure."
"Well, he didn't," Stacey whispered back. "He was... well..." Searching for a moment for the appropriate word, she finally finished with, "...Nice."
"Yeah, right," Andrew scoffed.
"Do you have something to say about how I'm teaching, Andrew?" Mrs. Chandler suddenly asked from the front of the room.
Caught, Andrew replied with a respectful, "No, ma'am." Stacey rolled her eyes and focused on her work.
*****
After a few hours of fielding phone calls from irate parents demanding why their child was required to go to school in the middle of a hurricane, Scott had decided a mid-morning walk through the school would help clear his head. And indeed, the comfort of a familiar routine did help to renew his confidence and increase his energy level slightly. He was in his element in the role of the vigilant protector- and it was out amidst the hustle and bustle of the hallway that he was the most effective in this capacity. There, he could interact with the students face-to-face, as he had with Ms. Perkins. There he could learn names, faces, and events, storing them in his substantial memory for future reference. There, he could keep his finger on the pulse of the school. There, cloaked in the aura of authority, he could almost forget about everything else.
Louisa flagged Scott down as he made his way back from his patrol. "Scott, Mark Morris is waiting. Something about taking out his eye in the middle of class."
Scott took the sheet of paper from Louisa's hand. "Thank you, Louisa. Send him in."
Scott took his seat behind his desk before the gangly freshman stepped over the threshold carrying a backpack- filled to capacity- on his right shoulder. Putting on his reading glasses, Scott scanned the referral, then peered over the rims at Mark, his expression firm. Outside, a gust of wind slammed against the window.
"Mr. Morris, I thought we made it perfectly clear that you were not to remove your glass eye unless you were having it cleaned."
Mark sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his red hair. "You did, Mr. Guber, but... Look, for the past few weeks, I've had to deal with a lot of strange looks and dumb questions. No matter how enlightened this society may be, some people still don't know how to act around someone with a disability. I just snapped, I guess- I wanted to satisfy their curiosity once and for all."
Scott leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses, thinking for a moment before responding. Mark was an excellent student, and not usually a discipline problem, so he decided a more compassionate approach was best. "Mr. Morris, your frustration is understandable, but I do not approve of the manner in which you chose to alleviate it. Ms. Sudor lost at least five minutes of valuable class time because of your outburst. Such a disruption warrants at least an after school detention."
Mark nodded in honest repentance. "I know that. And I'm sorry, Mr. Guber."
Scott slipped his glasses back on and started writing. Thinking about the inclement weather, he continued, "You will report to room 25 after school tomorrow evening. I will notify your parents." Then, looking back up: "In the future, please refrain from removing your eye unless you are in the nurse's office. You may return to class."
"Thank you, sir."
Mark got up to leave and was halfway to the door when the vice-principal's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Morris, you are a very intelligent young man with a great deal of potential. I have no doubt that you can think of a more constructive way to communicate your concerns to the student body. Perhaps you should use your time in detention for that purpose."
Mark grinned. "I will. And thank you again, Mr. Guber."
Happy at having dodged a bullet, Mark disappeared. Scott smiled slightly, then turned around and thumbed the power button on his tape deck, taking advantage of the brief respite. As the strains of Dvorak flooded through his senses, he relaxed slightly, permitting his emotions to soar- to drift to someplace other than his life at Winslow. His back to the door, he didn't notice Steven enter.
"Scott?"
Starting, Scott shut off the music and pivoted to face his superior and best friend. "Oh, Steven, I didn't hear you come in." Again, the wind drove the rain against the side of the building, nearly drowning out Scott's last few words.
"I seem to be startling you a lot lately. Are you alright?"
Inwardly marveling Steven's astute observation, Scott put on a brave face. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. I'm just... preoccupied."
The principal stared at him for a moment, but, God bless him, he didn't press- discussing his birthday, the prospect of getting older- and everything else that was on his mind- was not something Scott relished. Instead, Steven commented, "It's been some morning, hasn't it?" Sitting down heavily on the chair Mark Morris had just vacated, he added, "The radio says the squalls should end sometime this afternoon, though."
"Your optimism is impressive, Steven. Any word on bus 23?"
"Transportation was able to contact the driver. There's been some flooding on some of the secondary roads, so he's taking an alternate route. The traffic out there is moving at a crawl."
"I'm not surprised. Was he able to give an ETA?"
Just then, Louisa burst into Scott's office, urgency written on her face. "Steven, there's been an accident. Bus 23."
Chapter Two
Steven and Scott were instantly on their feet. "Any injuries?" Scott inquired.
"Most were minor- cuts and bruises. The driver is in the worst shape. They're taking him to emergency surgery as we speak."
"Where are the students now?" Steven demanded, already on the move.
"Everybody on the bus was taken to Boston General," Louisa called out after him.
Steven exited Scott's office, Scott close on his heels. Grabbing his coat in his own office, Steven then walked out into the hall. Reading his intentions, Scott tried to talk him out of it, although a part of him acknowledged that the effort was most likely futile. "Steven, are you out of your mind?" He almost had to shout over the din of students moving to their next class. "You don't even know if you can get to the hospital-"
"I'm going to try, Scott," Steven interrupted, his hand raised. "These are my students. I have to make sure they're safe. Don't try to change my mind on this."
Scott paused, frustrated. He watched as Steven reached the door and opened it. But before his friend stepped out into the gale, Scott ran up and grabbed his arm. "Just... be careful out there, Steven."
Steven smiled. "I will. Keep everything under control until I get back."
"I always do."
And with that, Steven left, the door closing behind him with a bang.
Sighing, Scott headed back to his office, a case of indigestion gnawing at his stomach. This was some morning indeed- and some birthday. "I suppose it can't get any worse," he said out loud to the empty office.
At that moment, the fates proved him wrong. With a buzz, the lights dimmed, then shut off completely.
Splendid.
After a beat, Scott opened his bottom drawer and grabbed his flashlight. While his own office was barely lit by the daylight, other corners of the school would be pitch dark. "Louisa?"
Louisa immediately leaned her head in the doorway. "Yes, Scott?"
"Get the head of maintenance and tell him to check the circuit breakers in the basement." Several very jubilant students ran by the office, cheering and laughing. This prompted Scott to add, "And we need to get a message out to the teachers that all students are to remain in their third period class until further notice for their safety."
Picking up a walkie-talkie, Scott headed out the door. He was gratified to see that the emergency lights were fully operational- at least on this floor. The beacons filled the hall with a weak orange glow. "Contact me regularly with status reports on the power," he ordered before leaving to make sure the remainder of the building was secure.
*****
Dr. Melissa Metcalf was preparing her fifth cup of coffee that morning when the emergency department's automatic doors opened, allowing a tall gentleman- and a spray of rain- passage. His coat dripping on the floor, the man rushed to the desk and introduced himself as Principal Steven Harper from Winslow High. "I understand the victims of a school bus accident were brought to this emergency room. I got here as soon as I could."
Dr. Metcalf came around the desk and held out her hand in greeting. "Ah, yes, Mr. Harper. My name's Melissa Metcalf, I'm a resident here. Some of your students are in the back getting stitches, but most are waiting right over there." She pointed to a group of chairs situated near a pay phone. "A lot of them wanted to call their parents and let them know they're alright."
"What about the driver?"
"Roger Williams is still in surgery. We suspect he may have ruptured his spleen, but that's something we can usually fix." Dr. Metcalf flashed Mr. Harper what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and the man did seem to relax a little. Nodding, he turned and headed towards the clot of teenagers. The physician overheard him asking one young female student what happened before she walked out of earshot.
Another resident, Dr. Arthur Miles, materialized at Dr. Metcalf's elbow and followed her as she walked over to pull a chart from the wrack. "Was that the principal?"
"Yep. Looked like he was having as bad a day as we are. Any word on Mr. Williams?"
"Nope. But I'll let you know."
Above their heads, the lights flickered and died. After an agonizing pause, the emergency generators roared to life. Dr. Metcalf let out the breath she was holding. "I always worry about those."
"Me too," Dr. Miles replied. Then to no one in particular, he muttered, "God bless Mother Nature."
*****
When Steven returned to Winslow a few hours later, he was saying a few words of his own to Mother Nature- and they weren't blessings. When he swung open the door and thundered into the building, he was surprised to see the hallways dark save for a few bands of daylight and the glow of the generator lights. Apparently, the power outage that hit the hospital had hit here as well. Several groups of students were being led in an orderly fashion to the cafeteria for lunch- and in the middle of the hallway was Scott. Though he looked somewhat hassled, he was answering questions and directing the crowds with the finesse of an experienced traffic controller.
Steven approached his assistant principal and was about to speak when Amanda, one of the cafeteria workers, beat him to it. "Scott, the students are starting to complain about the cold-cuts."
Trying to mask his irritation- and not doing a very good job of it- Scott replied curtly, "Alright, I will be over there in a minute to explain the refrigerator situation. In the meantime, try to keep things from getting out of hand."
Amanda retreated, allowing Steven to announce his presence. "Scott?"
"Oh, Steven, you're back. Any news?"
"All the students are fine. Roger Williams lost his spleen, but he's awake and stable. And I think the storm is finally starting to die down."
Lauren walked past and Scott intercepted her. "Lauren, would you monitor things here while I handle the cafeteria situation?"
"Sure, Scott."
With that, Scott walked down the hall and into the men's room. After a beat, Steven followed. The bathroom was much darker than the hallway, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. A few feet away, Scott had turned on his flashlight and balanced it on the sink, casting a shadow of his compact form on the far wall. Turning on the faucet, he stuck his hands into the stream and splashed the water on his face.
"You seem to have everything under control here," Steven joked. "I almost feel unnecessary."
Scott looked up at Steven abruptly, blinking water droplets out of his eyes. "It's not as easy as it looks, Steven, I assure you." Walking over to the towel dispenser, he dried off. That finished, he leaned back against the sink and closed his eyes.
He's exhausted. "Scott, why don't you go back to your office and relax for awhile? If you keep going like this-"
But Scott was already shaking his head. "No, I still have to go to the cafeteria."
"Let me handle that. You need to slow down." Scott opened his mouth to object, but Steven cut in, "If you don't, I will carry you to your office myself."
Scott's jaw stiffened, his face clearly challenging Steven to try it. But just as quickly, he relented, apparently unwilling to tempt a man considerably larger than himself. Straightening and adjusting his tie and jacket, he grabbed his flashlight and exited the restroom. Steven shook his head slightly and followed.
*****
Scott was reluctant to admit it, but the storm- and many nights of sleep deprivation- was taking its toll, the midmorning surge of energy dissipating as quickly as it arose. As he walked slowly down the hall towards his office, it seemed as if everything in the world was moving in slow motion.
Collapsing into his chair, he discovered that Louisa had deposited the mail on his desk. Scott slipped on his glasses and selected a sheet of paper from the top. He tried to read it in the light from the window, but his mind refused to function at its usual rapid pace. After reading the same paragraph several times, he threw it down, defeated.
Perhaps a trip to the teacher's lounge... He was about to get up to leave when he noticed a strange blue envelope protruding from the stack. Mildly curious, he pushed the papers on top out of the way and picked up the envelope to read the return address. Recognition hit- standing suddenly, he dropped the piece of mail as if he had been burned.
Scott tried to remember how to breathe as anger and embarrassment coursed through him. His brother was absolutely the last person he wanted to think about today. He pressed his right hand against his chest and waited for the tightness to pass.
After a few minutes, the pain lessened, and Scott registered for the first time that he had balled his left hand into a fist so tightly that the knuckles were turning white. He took a deep breath and attempted to release the tension in his muscles with little success.
Struck with a powerful need to get away from his office and his brother's letter, Scott almost ran into the hallway, his carefully maintained composure seriously shaken. Unconscious of where his feet were taking him, he found himself in the lounge, which, due to the outage, was thankfully empty.
Scott poured himself a cup of coffee, his hands shaking. Sitting at the table, he took a drink- in the past few hours, it had chilled considerably, and Scott grimaced slightly. His appetite for coffee ruined, he set the mug down, his face falling into his hands.
*****
"Scott?"
Scott felt somebody shaking his shoulder and he bolted upright. Steven was looking down at him, an expression of worry on his face. Above, Scott was surprised to find the lights back on. Did I fall asleep? He jerked his arm to check his watch and knocked over his mug in the process, spilling cold coffee all over the table. Twenty minutes had passed. Oh, God, I was asleep for twenty minutes!
Deeply mortified, Scott stumbled over to the counter and grabbed some paper towels to mop up the expanding puddle. "I-I'm sorry, Steven," he blurted. "I should not have allowed myself to-"
"Whoa, Scott, calm down," Steven interjected, raising his hand to stem the tide. "It's okay. You've had a rough day- it happens."
"Not to me," Scott retorted, leveling a fierce look in his friend's direction. "I've always been able to..." He broke off and stared down, scrubbing furiously. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"I do. You're tired. You've stretched yourself so close to the limit everyday, it's a wonder you haven't collapsed already."
Wordlessly, Scott picked up the sopping towels and deposited them into the wastebasket. "Scott?" Scott purposefully avoided Steven's gaze. "Scott, look at me."
That got his attention. The "look at me" command was one of Scott Guber's most well known trademarks- this was the first time since he began his tenure at Winslow that he had been on the receiving end. He gaped slightly as Steven continued. "I've said it a thousand times, but it never hurts to say it again. No one appreciates what you do here more than I do. You are one of the most intelligent, dedicated educators I've ever had the pleasure to work with. I also love you very much as a friend. If you ever need someone to talk to, please, don't hesitate to come to me."
For a moment, Scott considered talking to Steven about everything- his birthday; finding his brother's letter; the many nights in the past few weeks he had spent staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep; the persistent sadness that never seemed to lift completely no matter what he tried; and the nagging fear that he was finally losing his mind after all these years. But his voice caught the second he opened his mouth, and he knew he couldn't go through with it- at least, not now. Doing so would only increase his current humiliation. Swallowing against the burning sensation in his throat, he said quietly, "I appreciate that, Steven."
A heavy silence fell over the two men. Steven looked somewhat frustrated, and guilt was added to the vast array of emotions warring in Scott's mind. He knew his friend was trying to reach out, and he desperately wanted to reciprocate, but his own cowardice was blocking the way. Finally, Scott couldn't take it anymore, and, feeling more than a little out of kilter, he walked out, abandoning Steven in the lounge. Keeping busy- doing his job- was the only thing that could keep things at bay.
Thus, Scott was somewhat relieved when, just before he stepped into his office, the fire alarm roared to life.
Chapter Three
Though the rain had finally stopped, gusts of wind still buffeted Scott where he stood on the blacktop, watching each teacher take attendance. The speed of the evacuation was quite satisfactory, and the response from the local fire department was equally rapid. For once, events seemed to be moving in an orderly fashion.
After a few minutes passed, Steven approached his friend and asked, "Do we know where the fire alarm was pulled?"
Scott was about to answer in the negative when Amanda appeared at his side and responded, "In the kitchen."
Scott turned around and raised an eyebrow. Amanda continued, "When the power came back on, the fryer caught. David got it under control with an extinguisher, but not before Bob panicked and activated the alarm."
"Thank you, Ms. Forbes."
"Steven. Scott."
Lauren, with Marilyn accompanying her, stepped up as soon as Amanda disappeared. "We're missing two students- Rachel Henderson and Aaron Blomquist," Lauren reported. "They were given bathroom passes just before the alarm went off, and they never returned."
Scott sighed in frustration, resigning himself to the fact that things never remained simple or orderly at Winslow. His emotional state already precarious, anger and irritation welled suddenly within him, and before his rational mind could take over, he stormed towards the building. He only barely heard the protests that followed him.
Once inside, Scott began pounding on the restroom doors. Having no success on the first floor, he charged up the stairs. Reaching one of the second floor men's rooms, he raised his fist, ready to knock on the door, when he heard a noise coming from a nearby closet. Putting his hand down, he walked quietly towards the door, listening carefully. Again, something bumped inside- he definitely had not imagined the sound. Swiftly, he swung the door open...
...and instantly froze at the sight inside.
Ms. Henderson and Mr. Blomquist were nearly naked and kissing passionately. At the sight of their vice-principal, Ms. Henderson screamed and rushed to cover up, while Mr. Blomquist cursed under his breath and zipped up his fly.
Scott backpedaled and closed his eyes. Nearly choking on his embarrassment, it took a moment for him to find his voice. At length, he spoke, his usual clipped, authoritarian tone faltering. "Kindly dress yourselves and report to my office as soon as we are given the all clear."
Without argument, the students closed the door.
"Scott?"
Scott spun on his heel to find Steven walking up the hall, flanked by several firemen. One of the men inquired sternly, "Sir, may I ask why you are in the building?"
"I was looking for two students who... failed to evacuate when the alarm was pulled." Scott felt a little foolish under the fireman's reproachful stare.
"Well, fortunately for you, the fire was well contained. You may give your students and teachers the all clear."
Scott nodded, and the firemen left. "You okay?" Steven asked once they were alone. "You're looking a little green."
"I'm fine."
"Did you find the students?"
"I did. They were in this closet in..." Scott paused, swallowing against the rising nausea, "... in... carnal embrace."
Steven choked back a laugh. "Oh my!"
"You find students engaged in the act of fornication in a janitorial closet amusing?" Scott retorted with annoyance.
"No, of course not, Scott. Forgive me, that was the stress talking." Steven thumped his shoulder lightly. "I'm going to go tell everyone they can come back inside."
*****
After a few minutes, Rachel Henderson and Aaron Blomquist emerged, fully clothed, and were escorted to Scott's office. Both students sat down in front of his desk, but Scott himself remained on his feet, pacing in agitation behind them.
In front of the window, Steven stood silently, his arms folded and his expression firm. He was the one who finally ended the tense silence. "Son, do you realize the seriousness of this situation? If the fire had been any bigger, you would've been killed."
"I didn't think there was any real danger, Mr. Harper. We have false alarms all the time."
Scott leapt abruptly forward, his face inches from Mr. Blomquist's, any trace of his previous mortification undetectable in the fire of his glare. "That's not the point, Mr. Blomquist. It is the policy of this school that all students and faculty are to evacuate the building when the alarm is sounded, and should anyone fail to do so, the offense is punishable by at least one day's suspension. That rule was written specifically for your safety, Mr. Blomquist, surely you must understand that."
The student's response was cool. "Mr. Guber, does it upset you more that we didn't leave the building when the alarm went off, or that we were enjoying something between the two of us that you obviously haven't experienced since Nixon was president? It was a consensual act, and none of your business."
"Aaron, don't," Rachel pleaded, grabbing his arm.
Scott felt the blood rush to his face- he was impotent with rage.
"Alright!" Steven shouted. "Aaron, you will not talk to the vice-principal that way, do you hear me? You will apologize- now."
"Sorry, Mr. Guber," Mr. Blomquist replied not entirely sincerely.
Scott pointed a trembling finger in the student's direction, and spoke very slowly. "Mr. Blomquist, whether or not the act was consensual-"
"It was."
"I'm talking now, sir! Whether or not the act was consensual has no bearing on this matter. Ms. Henderson is three years younger than you, and below the age of consent in Massachusetts. Which means I could call the police right now and have you arrested for statutory rape. Now, would you rather-" Mr. Blomquist looked away. "Look at me, Mr. Blomquist, would you rather deal with the police, or would you rather deal with me?"
The student didn't respond. Scott turned to Ms. Henderson and said, "You are suspended for one day, Ms. Henderson for failing to evacuate when the alarm went off. You are dismissed." Then to Mr. Blomquist: "Mr. Blomquist, you are also suspended, pending further disciplinary action. Now get out of my sight."
After both teenagers exited, Scott sagged slightly, spent by his fury, the pain in his chest returning.
"Scott, I'm sorry-"
"Don't, Steven," Scott interrupted, putting up a hand. "I have work to do."
There was an extended pause before Steven left the office.
*****
The school day at last over, students flooded out of the classrooms, and the hallway filled with the sounds of talking, laughing, and locker doors slamming. Scott observed all of this as he stalked through the halls on his afternoon patrol, his anger boiling just below the surface.
Seeing a minor scuffle out of the corner of his eye, Scott turned and saw Andrew Brady accosting one of the seventh graders. "Mr. Brady!" he shouted over the din. The junior looked up and stopped what he was doing. "Is there a problem?" the vice-principal asked, his tone dangerous.
"No, sir, we were just messing around, weren't we Mike?" The smaller student nodded quickly and ran away.
"Yes, well, don't bother to come to school tomorrow, Mr. Brady- you're suspended for two days for fighting on school property."
"What?!"
"Two days, Mr. Brady! Speak again, and I will make it three."
"But-"
"Three days, Mr. Brady! Don't test me on this!"
"Mr. Guber, I-"
"Four days! Would you like to go for a week?"
"Scott!" Walking by, Steven had intervened. To Scott, he ordered, "My office, ten minutes!"
Drawing a ragged breath, Scott did what he was told.
*****
As promised, Steven appeared in his office ten minutes later. Sitting down, he studied Scott for a long moment before saying, "I suspended Andrew Brady for two days- I believe that is more than enough." Scott broke eye contact, and Steven softened. "Scott, why don't you go home and get some rest. It's obvious that..."
Scott was already shaking his head. "No, Steven, that won't help." Standing, he moved towards the door, indicating that he no longer wanted to continue the conversation.
"God damn it, Scott!" Steven burst in frustration behind him. "Why won't it help? What is going on?"
Scott had no answer to his friend's questions. Stone silent, he left, walking over to his own office and shutting the door. Turning on his CD player, he sat down and closed his eyes, a deep depression overtaking him.
After a few minutes, he realized with some fear that not even the music could bring him peace.
Chapter Four
Steven rubbed his eyes, fatigue blurring the print in front of him until it was nearly incomprehensible. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and glanced at his watch- 9:58. It was definitely time to head home.
Opening his top drawer, he found a wrapped gift and remembered with a start that it was Scott's birthday- why hadn't he said anything? It certainly explained a lot. But there was more going on, Steven was sure of that. Since the new school year began, he had watched Scott sink into a deeper and deeper depression. When Scott left him in his office earlier that day, it took every ounce of self control not to follow the smaller man, pick him up, tie him to a chair, and demand that he tell Steven what was bothering him. Steven sighed again. What ever it was that was upsetting his second-in-command, Steven fully intended to get to the bottom of it.
The faint strains of a symphony orchestra drifting in from the nearby office assured him that Scott was still in the building. Hefting himself from his seat, Steven headed over to Scott's office and knocked on the door, the package concealed behind his back.
"Come in."
Steven opened the door and entered. Scott, who seemed to be staring rather intently at an envelope on his desk, looked up and nodded in acknowledgement.
"It's ten o' clock. Shouldn't you be heading home?" Steven remarked, a small grin gracing his features. This was a routine the two men had repeated countless times- he had hoped it would lighten the mood.
"I could ask the same of you." Scott tried to return the smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"What's in the envelope?"
"It's from George- most likely a birthday card. I suppose he thinks I live here."
"Are you going to open it?"
Scott set his jaw, his expression darkening. "I don't know," he replied simply, bitterness tingeing his tone.
"Scott-" Steven began, but he quickly changed his mind when the other man shot him a warning glare. Clearing his throat, he finished lamely, "I'd like to wish you a happy birthday." Steven revealed the gift and set it on Scott's desk.
Scott's gaze softened considerably. "You remembered?"
"Scott, you are my dear friend. I would never forget your birthday. Now, are you going to open that, or do you plan on waiting until you turn fifty?"
Scott took the package and cautiously unwrapped it- inside was his faculty award, framed.
A long moment of silence passed before Steven spoke. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this before, but I wanted it to be a surprise." He remembered with some guilt how angry Scott was when the award disappeared from his office a week before. "I know how much this award means to you. In fact, I was a little surprised that you didn't have it framed yourself. It's an accomplishment you should be proud of."
Scott opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed momentarily unable to find his voice. At length, he uttered a quiet thank you, then jumped up as if hit by a bolt of electricity. Turning his back to Steven, he stared out the window, his fists clenching slightly. "I suppose... I suppose I was afraid that if I indulged in that success, the moment would end."
"Like the conductor thing?" Scott didn't respond.
Steven's concern finally reached the breaking point. "Scott, what's wrong? Ever since school started... I've seen you down before, but I've never seen you in this deep. And I'm worried about you."
Still failing to look Steven in the eye, Scott sighed and started organizing the paperwork on his desk, putting some into his attaché case to work on at home. "Steven, do you ever wonder what people will say about you after you die?"
Steven was caught completely off guard by the question and didn't respond. Despite that, Scott continued, "I wake up everyday feeling like a visitor from a foreign country. Everyone speaks differently, dresses differently, carries himself or herself differently... and I've tried, Steven. I've tried to make a connection, but I always end up embarrassing myself in some way."
"The fact that you won that award last year," Steven said carefully, indicating the frame on Scott's desk, "proves that you haven't always failed to make that connection."
"I just-" Scott's voice wavered, and he took a sharp breath inward, making a helpless gesture with his hands. "I am entering my fiftieth year, and what do I have to show for it? Will anyone truly remember who I am, or what I've tried to do here?"
Steven didn't know what to say. Speechless, he watched as his friend gathered his things and put on his raincoat. Before Scott started to head for the door, he picked up his brother's birthday card and dumped it into the garbage can. He was halfway over the threshold when Steven stopped him with his hand. "Scott... at least let me take you out for a birthday drink. No matter what you may feel, I believe your existence is something to celebrate."
Scott finally met Steven's gaze, his smile sad. "Can I take a rain check on that? I am not feeling very well this evening."
"Of course."
Scott disappeared out the door. After an extended pause, Steven turned around and rescued the envelope Scott had discarded from the trash. After smacking it against his palm three times thoughtfully, he returned to his office and slipped it into his desk for safe keeping.
*****
Scott was telling the truth to some extent when he told Steven he was feeling unwell. By the time he made it home, his shirt was soaked in sweat. It took several tries before his trembling hands could unlock the door. Once inside, he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The water pounding on his body, he leaned against the tile and squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to shake the feeling of doom that descended upon him.
A half-hour passed before Scott emerged from the shower. After putting on clean underwear, he collapsed into bed, attempting to rest despite the persistent ache in his chest. It was through pure exhaustion alone that he finally fell into a fitful sleep.
*****
A young boy with brown hair and keen blue eyes sat quietly at the edge of the lake, dangling his feet into the water. He was eight years old, but kids two years his junior exceeded him in height and build. In his hand, the child was holding an insect he had just rescued from drowning. He studied it closely as it crawled up his hand, tickling him slightly with its hairy legs.
"Hey, Guber!"
Hearing his name, Scott Guber looked up to find several neighborhood boys standing in front of him in the lake, grinning. "Whatcha doin'?" the one kid asked again.
"Nothing."
"Aren't you coming in, Peanut?" another boy chimed in. "Or are you too scared?"
Scott jutted out his chin. "I am not scared!" he huffed with all the defiance he could muster.
"You know what?" said the first boy. "I think the little Peanut here needs our help getting in. What do you think?"
Before Scott could get away, the boys grabbed him and dragged him under the water. He struggled as hard as he could to get to the surface, but he was far too small to fend them off. Twenty seconds passed- then thirty, his lungs bursting with the lack of oxygen. A stark terror flooded through him...
*****
Scott awoke with a start, his t-shirt and sheets soaked through. Untangling himself from his bedding, he put on his robe and stumbled into the bathroom. He hadn't had this particular nightmare in decades- he thought he had been able to put that day out of his mind for good. But the dream revived the memory as if it had happened yesterday.
In his recollection, forty seconds passed before Charles Guber saw what was going on and intervened, pulling Scott out of the water. On the shore, the child rolled over onto his hands and knees, choking for air. His father slapped him on the back, and he vomited lake water onto the grass. Tears rolled down the boy's face and a sob escaped before he could stop them, and he was ashamed. The elder Guber didn't approve of such behavior in his sons.
Drinking a glass of water, he mentally reminded himself that the incident at the lake was in the past, that he was alright. These internal reprimands did little to quell the lingering panic. He started walking towards his bed when the pain in his chest intensified considerably, bringing him to his knees. As the pain radiated into his arm, he realized with sudden horror that he was showing all the symptoms of a heart attack.
Oh, God, oh, God. Gasping for air, he reached out and knocked the phone to the floor.
*****
Dr. Melissa Metcalf awoke slowly to the sound of someone pounding on the on-call room door. Groaning, she got up and answered it, trying to blink the sleep-induced blur from her eyes. Dr. Miles stood on the other side, looking a little apologetic. "Sorry, Melissa. We've got a suspected heart attack coming in about a minute."
"Okay, I'll be right there."
Dr. Metcalf hurriedly brushed through her hair and ran out into the ER just as the paramedics burst through the doors wheeling a gurney. "What have we got?" she barked.
"Forty nine year old white male, collapsed in his bedroom, complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath." the medic rattled off as the doctors and nurses rushed to take blood to send to the lab.
"Any witnesses?"
"No, the guy called 911 himself. Apparently he lives alone."
"Do you have a name?"
"Yes, he says his name is Scott Guber."
"Okay, somebody get an EKG on this patient." But Dr. Miles had anticipated Dr. Metcalf's request and was already placing the electrodes on the man's chest.
Mr. Guber was conscious, his gaze darting from one doctor to the other. Dr. Metcalf sat down next to the patient's head and tried to keep him calm. "Mr. Guber, we're going to run a few tests to see if you are in fact having a heart attack- if we've caught it in time, we may be able to treat it with medication and stop some of the damage. Is there any family you would like me contact in the meantime?"
The man shook his head and reached for his oxygen mask, pulling it away from his mouth. "Steven Harper," he whispered.
The doctor's mouth dropped open slightly in recognition. "Steven Harper from Winslow High? Is he a friend of yours?"
Mr. Guber nodded. "...Work together..." He gestured towards himself. "...Vice-principal..."
"Okay, I will call Mr. Harper."
Dr. Metcalf moved to leave when she was suddenly grabbed by the wrist. She turned back around to find a terrified look on Mr. Guber's face. "Don't let me die," he choked, his light blue eyes brimming with tears.
The elemental vulnerability of the plea tugged at Dr. Metcalf's heart, and she took the patient's hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. "Don't worry, Mr. G- Scott. I won't. I promise you." Scott closed his eyes, and the doctor reached over and replaced his mask, stroking his forehead lightly in a comforting gesture before leaving to attend to his case.
*****
The phone rang insistently, rousing Steven from a deep slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he noted with some annoyance that it was almost two in the morning- who would be calling at this hour?
Without sitting up, he picked the receiver up off the hook. "Hello?" he mumbled, clearing his throat.
"Hello, Mr. Harper? This is Dr. Metcalf from Boston General."
Steven sat up, instantly awake. "What is it? Has something happened to Roger Williams?"
"No, Mr. Williams is still stable. I'm calling about Scott Guber."
Steven's stomach leapt into his throat. "What happened to Scott? Is he alright?"
"We believe he may be having a heart attack, but we're still running some tests. He's conscious, which is a good sign, Mr. Harper. We may have caught it in time."
Oh, Scott. Images of his best friend in a hospital bed, frightened and alone, flashed through Steven's mind, making his own heart ache. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he croaked, "Thank you, Doctor. I'll get there as soon as I can."
It was only five minutes later when Steven, dressed rather haphazardly, rushed out the door.
Chapter Five
"Mr. Harper?"
Steven woke up and blinked in the band of sunlight that was streaming through a nearby window. He had fallen asleep outside of Scott's room sometime after Scott was admitted, even though he tried as hard as he could to stay awake. In front of his chair, he found Dr. Metcalf waiting patiently. Sitting up straight, he groaned and reached back to massage his aching neck. "Is Scott...?"
"Oh, yes, he's fine. He's asleep." Sitting down next to Steven, she continued, "I wanted to talk to you about his condition."
Steven nodded. "Okay."
"The good news is, the heart attack was relatively minor. The attending cardiothoracic surgeon has looked at Mr. Guber's test results and she doesn't believe he needs surgery. He will have to make some lifestyle changes, however, to prevent any subsequent problems. I've already discussed these changes with him. He was very lucky. Often people do not learn of their heart disease until it's too late to avoid invasive intervention."
"I'm just glad he's alive," Steven replied, sighing with relief.
"So am I- I don't like losing my patients." Leaning forward, Dr. Metcalf continued, "Now, while we are able to treat his heart, I have another concern."
"Another concern?"
"While I was taking Mr. Guber's history, he said that he'd been having trouble sleeping for the past few weeks. He also mentioned some psychological disturbances- feelings of sadness, anger, fear of losing control... Are you aware of any of this?"
Steven looked down. "Well, Scott's always been a little intense, a little solemn. But, yes, I have noticed that over the past few weeks, he's been even more keyed up that usual. I've tried several times to get him to tell me what's going on, but he won't let me in." He once again met the doctor's eyes. "Yesterday was his birthday- and he was talking to me about dying. Did he tell you what was bothering him?"
"I don't think he really knows himself. But what I can say is that trouble sleeping, persistent sadness, loss of energy, and thoughts of dying are all signs of clinical depression. I'd like him to be evaluated by a psychiatrist, first, though, before we draw any conclusions."
"Have you shared this opinion with Scott?"
"I have." Dr. Metcalf put a hand on Steven's arm. "But I think he would be more amenable to the idea if it also came from a friend. One thing he mentioned in our interview was that he valued your input more than anyone else- that he considered you his best friend."
Steven sighed again. "Okay, I will talk to him."
Standing, Steven walked quietly into Scott's room and sat down beside his bed. Scott was still asleep, although Steven could tell by the tension in his muscles that he was not entirely at peace. Above his head, a monitor kept track of his heart rhythm- its steady beep and Scott's shallow breathing were the only noises filling the room.
Steven couldn't help but notice how vulnerable his friend looked. It was as if Scott's illness was peeling away all of his facades- all of his armor- and revealing what was true in this man...
...this man that he loved so much.
"Scott?" Scott stirred, but did not awaken. "I'm here."
*****
Scott could hear someone calling him. Who is that? Steven? No, no, just let me sleep. Leave me alone. He tried to roll over, but something was stopping him. Reaching blindly, he started pulling out tubes, one by one. A pair of hand tried to restrain him, and he fought against them.
"Nurse! I need some help in here!" a familiar voice yelled.
Within seconds, several more people rushed into the room. Another voice, a female, broke into his semi-consciousness. "Sir, you have to keep those in."
Scott continued to struggle. "No...no..." he groaned. "I won't let you drown me..."
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Scott, this is Steven. It's okay, they're trying to help you. Please relax and trust me." Scott gave up and went limp, allowing the nurses to restore his lines.
Twenty minutes later, Scott opened his eyes and pulled slightly against the wrist restraints. "Steven?" he rasped, a little confused.
"You were trying to pull out your IV in your sleep," Steven explained. "I'll go get someone to remove them."
Once Scott was freed, Steven sat back down and touched Scott's arm lightly. "We need to talk."
"She told you?" Scott felt betrayed.
"She was concerned about your health and safety. And so am I. Scott, I won't let you shut me out this time- to tell you the truth, I'm actually a little grateful for this heart attack. Maybe now I can get you to sit still long enough to listen to what I have to say."
"She wants me to see a psychiatrist." Scott laughed cynically. "Of all the ridiculous suggestions-"
"Scott," Steven interrupted, holding up a hand. "I don't think it is ridiculous. I've watched you destroy yourself with self-pity a little at a time over the years- I will not stand by and allow you to continue doing so. Maybe seeing a psychiatrist will be good for you- it's certainly nothing to be embarrassed about." Scott looked away. "That's it, isn't it? That's why you're objecting- somewhere along the line, someone told you that facing your feelings and discussing them with someone else was weak. Well, people who say that are dead wrong, Scott- the real cowardice can be found in hiding behind foolish pride."
Scott's jaw stiffening, he turned and leveled a glare in Steven's direction. Sensing that he was getting through to his friend, Steven continued. "Scott, let me tell you a story about a man I once knew. This man... he was a visionary... intelligent, decisive... always several steps ahead. He was also a man of principle and integrity- a decent human being. Trouble was, people didn't often recognize all that was admirable in this man. What people saw was the stiff, awkward, often angry individual on the outside instead of the good heart within. Even I-" Steven's voice wavered- he broke eye contact for a moment before pushing forward. "Even I took him for granted sometimes. And it was hard for him to be so misunderstood- I saw that everyday in his eyes during those rare quiet moments.
"But what really made this man so amazing- and what made me love him- was that even in the worst of times, he maintained this small glimmer of hope that things would one day get better. I think... I think this was part of what made him such an easy target sometimes- perhaps the easiest thing for an enemy to pray on is a man's hope. But despite this, the hope was kept alive in him- it sustained him, kept him innocent in many ways. God, I wanted to protect this part of him more than anything. It hurts deeply to see that I might've failed."
Tears welled in Steven's eyes, but he didn't bother to brush them away. Instead, he reached out and took Scott's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Scott... please..." he whispered with intensity, "fight for this man. I care for him too much to see him disappear."
"I don't know what to say," Scott murmured. Dangerously close to breaking down completely, he once again turned away, trying to maintain control and preserve his dignity. But before Scott could protest, he found himself in Steven's embrace.
The warmth of the act enkindled emotions Scott had long buried deep within himself. To his profound shame, he could not stop two tears from spilling from his eyes and tracing lines down his face.
End Part One.
A Boston Public Story
by Stephanie Souders
Author's Notes and Disclaimers
When I was in middle school, my area was struck by a serious storm that knocked out the power for a full twenty-four hours. The power outage occurred during school hours, and it made things rather chaotic. When this story was in its conceptual stages, it occurred to me that such an event might be just the thing I needed to stir things up at Winslow High and make things exceedingly difficult for our poor Scott. The only issue that remained was coming up with a plausible meteorological event that would cause power outages in Boston- for this I turned to my brother, who is studying meteorology at Penn State. Matt deserves all the credit (or blame, if you will) for the hurricane idea. :)
Like my last story, this one is all about Scott. And it is dark- I am not kidding. When I starting writing this, I did not anticipate it becoming so depressing. But, as these characters sometimes do, Scott kind of took control and my story went in a somewhat different direction. This fic is definitely not for the kiddies- thus the PG-13 rating. But I promise, from the bottom of my heart, that Scott will survive this, and will come out a little happier and a little more at peace on the other side. It's just going to take a heck of a lot to get there.
As always, all recognizable characters do not belong to me, but to DEK, Fox, and the actors. I only borrow them for my own personal entertainment, and I promise to put them back in tact, though maybe a bit wiser, when I'm done. All other characters are mine.
*****
Part One: The Storm
Chapter One
With several secondary roads impassable south of Boston, traffic across the Boston metro area is at a near standstill. Bill, when do you think this rain will let up?
Well, Hurricane Gus is making landfall right now near Cape May, New Jersey, moving northward at a very rapid 42 miles per hour, and, as is normal, is quickly weakening. We expect the storm to be downgraded from its current category 1 status to a tropical storm in the next advisory. The storm is expected to move almost due north into eastern New York State by late this afternoon. Its effects on Boston will be limited to heavy rain and gusty winds into the early afternoon and perhaps an isolated tornado. The National Weather Service has issued a flash flood watch for the entire listening area until 5pm, a tornado watch for all of Southern New England until 1pm, and a tropical storm warning from the western tip of Long Island to Eastport, Maine. So, this morning, we expect...
A steady rain drummed against the roof of Scott Guber's car as he pulled into his space in the faculty lot of Winslow High and shut off his engine, cutting off the weatherman's baritone. Pulling his keys out of the ignition, Scott heaved a weary sigh and leaned back in his car seat for a moment, studying his reflection in the rearview mirror.
Fatigue from yet another night of restless tossing and turning seemed to exaggerate the tension lines on his face. Forty-nine years old, Scott mused darkly. Where has the time gone?
Forcibly pulling himself out of his reverie, Scott grabbed his black umbrella and his attaché case from the passenger seat and exited the vehicle into the stormy morning. Almost the instant his feet hit the pavement, a bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky only a quarter of a mile away from the school. Oddly appropriate. It was almost as if the weather was responding to his less-than-festive birthday mood.
The rain picked up in intensity, and a gust of wind tugged on Scott's umbrella, pulling it inside out. His only protection rendered useless by the ferocity of the squall, he rushed towards the building. At the steps, Steven Harper appeared at his side- mired in morose introspection, he hadn't registered Steven's car pulling into the space adjacent to his own. Scott nodded in greeting, and the two men barreled through the heavy door simultaneously. Once inside, they took a minute to ring themselves out.
Scowling slightly, Scott attempted to close his tattered umbrella and growled, "I fail to understand why the superintendent felt the need to keep school in session today."
Steven started walking towards the main office as he spoke, and Scott hurried to catch up. "I called the Dragon Lady this morning and I believe her exact words were, 'I do not call off school on account of a little rain and wind.'"
Scott blew out a puff of air in exasperation. "She's making a statement, Steven. Ever since we received two inches of snow instead of fifteen in that blizzard last year, she's been waiting for an opportunity to demonstrate her commitment to school attendance. She can't stand public ridicule." Stopping in front of the office door, he turned to face Steven. "Her politics could not have come at a more inconvenient time."
"Maybe it won't be so bad today, Scott," Steven said optimistically as he entered the office. "The weather report did say that the storm was rapidly weakening and that we wouldn't get the worst of it."
The sound of the door slamming shut once again echoed through the hall. Scott spun on his heel to find Louisa walking down the hallway squeezing rainwater from her hair. "Ah, Louisa, you made it."
"Barely. Why are we having school today?"
"The superintendent is making a statement."
As soon as the words left the vice-principal's mouth, the phone began to ring. Louisa raised an eyebrow at Scott and quipped, "My guess is I'm not the only one who's unhappy with the Dragon Lady's decision."
"No, you are not."
While Louisa moved to answer the phone, Scott ducked into his own office. It was going to be a long day indeed.
*****
"Mr. Barret, what have I told you about running in the halls?"
At the sound of the vice-principal's voice, Stacey Perkins froze. Then, without thinking, she ducked her head into her locker, praying Mr. Guber hadn't seen her.
"Ah, Ms. Perkins."
Too late. Stacey sighed and shut her locker. "Hello, Mr. Guber."
"We've missed you at debate practice the past few weeks. And I understand that you haven't been attending choir rehearsals either."
"I've had... things to do." Stacey started to walk, hoping that she could lose Guber in the crowd, but knowing he was probably too quick for her to succeed.
"You've been a valued member of our team for a year. I would hate to lose you."
At the top of the staircase, Stacey paused and turned. "I'm not exactly a Kevin Jackson, sir."
"You are a sophomore, Ms. Perkins. You have time to work on your public speaking. But your arguments have always been sound and well researched."
Stacey started down the stairs, Mr. Guber still close on her heels. "You don't understand-"
The vice-principal's voice was edged with desperate persistence. "I understand that you are a bright, conscientious- look at me, Ms. Perkins-"
Stacey rounded on Mr. Guber and suddenly shouted, "Why can't you listen?! I can't be on your team! My father is dying, and if I don't work, my mom won't be able to pay the bills!"
All the students walking within earshot ground to halt. Even Mr. Guber himself blinked in surprise before he stated sternly, "Ms. Perkins, you will not take that tone with me, is that clear?"
Stacey clapped her hand over her mouth, instantly sorry for her outburst. "Oh, my God..." Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. "Oh, God, I'm sorry..." Closing her eyes, she waited for "the Nazi's" wrath to descend upon her.
But instead, a gentle hand guided her into an empty classroom and led her to a seat in the front row. Stacey looked up to find Mr. Guber regarding her with genuine concern. "Your father is dying?"
Stacey had always been a little afraid of the man that stood in front of her, but strangely, she found herself confiding in him. Something in his face told her to trust him- or perhaps it was the disappearance of Mr. Guber's usual severity. At this moment he seemed almost... open. "My father has Huntington's Disease, Mr. Guber. He's dying in one of the most undignified ways imaginable- and it's torturing him. The night after I saw you this summer, I had to stop him before he slit his wrists." She ran a hand through her blonde hair. "Depression is one of the possible symptoms."
Mr. Guber nodded, sitting down in the seat next to her. Stacey continued, "I work six nights a week to help Mom pay the bills- including Wednesdays. Without me, we wouldn't be able to make ends meet."
For a moment, no words passed between them. Then Mr. Guber spoke. "If I were to meet with you individually on a day you could stay after school, would you consider staying on the team?"
Stacey stared at the administrator in disbelief. "You'd do that for me?"
"I see no reason to waste talent because of a scheduling conflict."
"Would I be able to stay on top of what the other team members are working on?"
"I will do my best to keep you apprised."
Stacey smiled through her tears. "Then I will seriously consider it. Thank you, Mr. Guber." She looked up at the clock and realized her next class had already started. "Oh, I'm late." Gathering her things, she got up to leave.
"Ms. Perkins, why don't you visit the restroom first to wash your face. I will write you a pass."
A little bit later, Stacey sat down in her Algebra II class, still mystified at what had just transpired. As she flipped through her notebook trying to find the right page, Andrew Brady leaned over the aisle and hissed, "Hey, Stacey, what are you still doing here? I thought the Nazi was going to fry your butt for sure."
"Well, he didn't," Stacey whispered back. "He was... well..." Searching for a moment for the appropriate word, she finally finished with, "...Nice."
"Yeah, right," Andrew scoffed.
"Do you have something to say about how I'm teaching, Andrew?" Mrs. Chandler suddenly asked from the front of the room.
Caught, Andrew replied with a respectful, "No, ma'am." Stacey rolled her eyes and focused on her work.
*****
After a few hours of fielding phone calls from irate parents demanding why their child was required to go to school in the middle of a hurricane, Scott had decided a mid-morning walk through the school would help clear his head. And indeed, the comfort of a familiar routine did help to renew his confidence and increase his energy level slightly. He was in his element in the role of the vigilant protector- and it was out amidst the hustle and bustle of the hallway that he was the most effective in this capacity. There, he could interact with the students face-to-face, as he had with Ms. Perkins. There he could learn names, faces, and events, storing them in his substantial memory for future reference. There, he could keep his finger on the pulse of the school. There, cloaked in the aura of authority, he could almost forget about everything else.
Louisa flagged Scott down as he made his way back from his patrol. "Scott, Mark Morris is waiting. Something about taking out his eye in the middle of class."
Scott took the sheet of paper from Louisa's hand. "Thank you, Louisa. Send him in."
Scott took his seat behind his desk before the gangly freshman stepped over the threshold carrying a backpack- filled to capacity- on his right shoulder. Putting on his reading glasses, Scott scanned the referral, then peered over the rims at Mark, his expression firm. Outside, a gust of wind slammed against the window.
"Mr. Morris, I thought we made it perfectly clear that you were not to remove your glass eye unless you were having it cleaned."
Mark sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his red hair. "You did, Mr. Guber, but... Look, for the past few weeks, I've had to deal with a lot of strange looks and dumb questions. No matter how enlightened this society may be, some people still don't know how to act around someone with a disability. I just snapped, I guess- I wanted to satisfy their curiosity once and for all."
Scott leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses, thinking for a moment before responding. Mark was an excellent student, and not usually a discipline problem, so he decided a more compassionate approach was best. "Mr. Morris, your frustration is understandable, but I do not approve of the manner in which you chose to alleviate it. Ms. Sudor lost at least five minutes of valuable class time because of your outburst. Such a disruption warrants at least an after school detention."
Mark nodded in honest repentance. "I know that. And I'm sorry, Mr. Guber."
Scott slipped his glasses back on and started writing. Thinking about the inclement weather, he continued, "You will report to room 25 after school tomorrow evening. I will notify your parents." Then, looking back up: "In the future, please refrain from removing your eye unless you are in the nurse's office. You may return to class."
"Thank you, sir."
Mark got up to leave and was halfway to the door when the vice-principal's voice stopped him.
"Mr. Morris, you are a very intelligent young man with a great deal of potential. I have no doubt that you can think of a more constructive way to communicate your concerns to the student body. Perhaps you should use your time in detention for that purpose."
Mark grinned. "I will. And thank you again, Mr. Guber."
Happy at having dodged a bullet, Mark disappeared. Scott smiled slightly, then turned around and thumbed the power button on his tape deck, taking advantage of the brief respite. As the strains of Dvorak flooded through his senses, he relaxed slightly, permitting his emotions to soar- to drift to someplace other than his life at Winslow. His back to the door, he didn't notice Steven enter.
"Scott?"
Starting, Scott shut off the music and pivoted to face his superior and best friend. "Oh, Steven, I didn't hear you come in." Again, the wind drove the rain against the side of the building, nearly drowning out Scott's last few words.
"I seem to be startling you a lot lately. Are you alright?"
Inwardly marveling Steven's astute observation, Scott put on a brave face. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. I'm just... preoccupied."
The principal stared at him for a moment, but, God bless him, he didn't press- discussing his birthday, the prospect of getting older- and everything else that was on his mind- was not something Scott relished. Instead, Steven commented, "It's been some morning, hasn't it?" Sitting down heavily on the chair Mark Morris had just vacated, he added, "The radio says the squalls should end sometime this afternoon, though."
"Your optimism is impressive, Steven. Any word on bus 23?"
"Transportation was able to contact the driver. There's been some flooding on some of the secondary roads, so he's taking an alternate route. The traffic out there is moving at a crawl."
"I'm not surprised. Was he able to give an ETA?"
Just then, Louisa burst into Scott's office, urgency written on her face. "Steven, there's been an accident. Bus 23."
Chapter Two
Steven and Scott were instantly on their feet. "Any injuries?" Scott inquired.
"Most were minor- cuts and bruises. The driver is in the worst shape. They're taking him to emergency surgery as we speak."
"Where are the students now?" Steven demanded, already on the move.
"Everybody on the bus was taken to Boston General," Louisa called out after him.
Steven exited Scott's office, Scott close on his heels. Grabbing his coat in his own office, Steven then walked out into the hall. Reading his intentions, Scott tried to talk him out of it, although a part of him acknowledged that the effort was most likely futile. "Steven, are you out of your mind?" He almost had to shout over the din of students moving to their next class. "You don't even know if you can get to the hospital-"
"I'm going to try, Scott," Steven interrupted, his hand raised. "These are my students. I have to make sure they're safe. Don't try to change my mind on this."
Scott paused, frustrated. He watched as Steven reached the door and opened it. But before his friend stepped out into the gale, Scott ran up and grabbed his arm. "Just... be careful out there, Steven."
Steven smiled. "I will. Keep everything under control until I get back."
"I always do."
And with that, Steven left, the door closing behind him with a bang.
Sighing, Scott headed back to his office, a case of indigestion gnawing at his stomach. This was some morning indeed- and some birthday. "I suppose it can't get any worse," he said out loud to the empty office.
At that moment, the fates proved him wrong. With a buzz, the lights dimmed, then shut off completely.
Splendid.
After a beat, Scott opened his bottom drawer and grabbed his flashlight. While his own office was barely lit by the daylight, other corners of the school would be pitch dark. "Louisa?"
Louisa immediately leaned her head in the doorway. "Yes, Scott?"
"Get the head of maintenance and tell him to check the circuit breakers in the basement." Several very jubilant students ran by the office, cheering and laughing. This prompted Scott to add, "And we need to get a message out to the teachers that all students are to remain in their third period class until further notice for their safety."
Picking up a walkie-talkie, Scott headed out the door. He was gratified to see that the emergency lights were fully operational- at least on this floor. The beacons filled the hall with a weak orange glow. "Contact me regularly with status reports on the power," he ordered before leaving to make sure the remainder of the building was secure.
*****
Dr. Melissa Metcalf was preparing her fifth cup of coffee that morning when the emergency department's automatic doors opened, allowing a tall gentleman- and a spray of rain- passage. His coat dripping on the floor, the man rushed to the desk and introduced himself as Principal Steven Harper from Winslow High. "I understand the victims of a school bus accident were brought to this emergency room. I got here as soon as I could."
Dr. Metcalf came around the desk and held out her hand in greeting. "Ah, yes, Mr. Harper. My name's Melissa Metcalf, I'm a resident here. Some of your students are in the back getting stitches, but most are waiting right over there." She pointed to a group of chairs situated near a pay phone. "A lot of them wanted to call their parents and let them know they're alright."
"What about the driver?"
"Roger Williams is still in surgery. We suspect he may have ruptured his spleen, but that's something we can usually fix." Dr. Metcalf flashed Mr. Harper what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and the man did seem to relax a little. Nodding, he turned and headed towards the clot of teenagers. The physician overheard him asking one young female student what happened before she walked out of earshot.
Another resident, Dr. Arthur Miles, materialized at Dr. Metcalf's elbow and followed her as she walked over to pull a chart from the wrack. "Was that the principal?"
"Yep. Looked like he was having as bad a day as we are. Any word on Mr. Williams?"
"Nope. But I'll let you know."
Above their heads, the lights flickered and died. After an agonizing pause, the emergency generators roared to life. Dr. Metcalf let out the breath she was holding. "I always worry about those."
"Me too," Dr. Miles replied. Then to no one in particular, he muttered, "God bless Mother Nature."
*****
When Steven returned to Winslow a few hours later, he was saying a few words of his own to Mother Nature- and they weren't blessings. When he swung open the door and thundered into the building, he was surprised to see the hallways dark save for a few bands of daylight and the glow of the generator lights. Apparently, the power outage that hit the hospital had hit here as well. Several groups of students were being led in an orderly fashion to the cafeteria for lunch- and in the middle of the hallway was Scott. Though he looked somewhat hassled, he was answering questions and directing the crowds with the finesse of an experienced traffic controller.
Steven approached his assistant principal and was about to speak when Amanda, one of the cafeteria workers, beat him to it. "Scott, the students are starting to complain about the cold-cuts."
Trying to mask his irritation- and not doing a very good job of it- Scott replied curtly, "Alright, I will be over there in a minute to explain the refrigerator situation. In the meantime, try to keep things from getting out of hand."
Amanda retreated, allowing Steven to announce his presence. "Scott?"
"Oh, Steven, you're back. Any news?"
"All the students are fine. Roger Williams lost his spleen, but he's awake and stable. And I think the storm is finally starting to die down."
Lauren walked past and Scott intercepted her. "Lauren, would you monitor things here while I handle the cafeteria situation?"
"Sure, Scott."
With that, Scott walked down the hall and into the men's room. After a beat, Steven followed. The bathroom was much darker than the hallway, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. A few feet away, Scott had turned on his flashlight and balanced it on the sink, casting a shadow of his compact form on the far wall. Turning on the faucet, he stuck his hands into the stream and splashed the water on his face.
"You seem to have everything under control here," Steven joked. "I almost feel unnecessary."
Scott looked up at Steven abruptly, blinking water droplets out of his eyes. "It's not as easy as it looks, Steven, I assure you." Walking over to the towel dispenser, he dried off. That finished, he leaned back against the sink and closed his eyes.
He's exhausted. "Scott, why don't you go back to your office and relax for awhile? If you keep going like this-"
But Scott was already shaking his head. "No, I still have to go to the cafeteria."
"Let me handle that. You need to slow down." Scott opened his mouth to object, but Steven cut in, "If you don't, I will carry you to your office myself."
Scott's jaw stiffened, his face clearly challenging Steven to try it. But just as quickly, he relented, apparently unwilling to tempt a man considerably larger than himself. Straightening and adjusting his tie and jacket, he grabbed his flashlight and exited the restroom. Steven shook his head slightly and followed.
*****
Scott was reluctant to admit it, but the storm- and many nights of sleep deprivation- was taking its toll, the midmorning surge of energy dissipating as quickly as it arose. As he walked slowly down the hall towards his office, it seemed as if everything in the world was moving in slow motion.
Collapsing into his chair, he discovered that Louisa had deposited the mail on his desk. Scott slipped on his glasses and selected a sheet of paper from the top. He tried to read it in the light from the window, but his mind refused to function at its usual rapid pace. After reading the same paragraph several times, he threw it down, defeated.
Perhaps a trip to the teacher's lounge... He was about to get up to leave when he noticed a strange blue envelope protruding from the stack. Mildly curious, he pushed the papers on top out of the way and picked up the envelope to read the return address. Recognition hit- standing suddenly, he dropped the piece of mail as if he had been burned.
Scott tried to remember how to breathe as anger and embarrassment coursed through him. His brother was absolutely the last person he wanted to think about today. He pressed his right hand against his chest and waited for the tightness to pass.
After a few minutes, the pain lessened, and Scott registered for the first time that he had balled his left hand into a fist so tightly that the knuckles were turning white. He took a deep breath and attempted to release the tension in his muscles with little success.
Struck with a powerful need to get away from his office and his brother's letter, Scott almost ran into the hallway, his carefully maintained composure seriously shaken. Unconscious of where his feet were taking him, he found himself in the lounge, which, due to the outage, was thankfully empty.
Scott poured himself a cup of coffee, his hands shaking. Sitting at the table, he took a drink- in the past few hours, it had chilled considerably, and Scott grimaced slightly. His appetite for coffee ruined, he set the mug down, his face falling into his hands.
*****
"Scott?"
Scott felt somebody shaking his shoulder and he bolted upright. Steven was looking down at him, an expression of worry on his face. Above, Scott was surprised to find the lights back on. Did I fall asleep? He jerked his arm to check his watch and knocked over his mug in the process, spilling cold coffee all over the table. Twenty minutes had passed. Oh, God, I was asleep for twenty minutes!
Deeply mortified, Scott stumbled over to the counter and grabbed some paper towels to mop up the expanding puddle. "I-I'm sorry, Steven," he blurted. "I should not have allowed myself to-"
"Whoa, Scott, calm down," Steven interjected, raising his hand to stem the tide. "It's okay. You've had a rough day- it happens."
"Not to me," Scott retorted, leveling a fierce look in his friend's direction. "I've always been able to..." He broke off and stared down, scrubbing furiously. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"I do. You're tired. You've stretched yourself so close to the limit everyday, it's a wonder you haven't collapsed already."
Wordlessly, Scott picked up the sopping towels and deposited them into the wastebasket. "Scott?" Scott purposefully avoided Steven's gaze. "Scott, look at me."
That got his attention. The "look at me" command was one of Scott Guber's most well known trademarks- this was the first time since he began his tenure at Winslow that he had been on the receiving end. He gaped slightly as Steven continued. "I've said it a thousand times, but it never hurts to say it again. No one appreciates what you do here more than I do. You are one of the most intelligent, dedicated educators I've ever had the pleasure to work with. I also love you very much as a friend. If you ever need someone to talk to, please, don't hesitate to come to me."
For a moment, Scott considered talking to Steven about everything- his birthday; finding his brother's letter; the many nights in the past few weeks he had spent staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep; the persistent sadness that never seemed to lift completely no matter what he tried; and the nagging fear that he was finally losing his mind after all these years. But his voice caught the second he opened his mouth, and he knew he couldn't go through with it- at least, not now. Doing so would only increase his current humiliation. Swallowing against the burning sensation in his throat, he said quietly, "I appreciate that, Steven."
A heavy silence fell over the two men. Steven looked somewhat frustrated, and guilt was added to the vast array of emotions warring in Scott's mind. He knew his friend was trying to reach out, and he desperately wanted to reciprocate, but his own cowardice was blocking the way. Finally, Scott couldn't take it anymore, and, feeling more than a little out of kilter, he walked out, abandoning Steven in the lounge. Keeping busy- doing his job- was the only thing that could keep things at bay.
Thus, Scott was somewhat relieved when, just before he stepped into his office, the fire alarm roared to life.
Chapter Three
Though the rain had finally stopped, gusts of wind still buffeted Scott where he stood on the blacktop, watching each teacher take attendance. The speed of the evacuation was quite satisfactory, and the response from the local fire department was equally rapid. For once, events seemed to be moving in an orderly fashion.
After a few minutes passed, Steven approached his friend and asked, "Do we know where the fire alarm was pulled?"
Scott was about to answer in the negative when Amanda appeared at his side and responded, "In the kitchen."
Scott turned around and raised an eyebrow. Amanda continued, "When the power came back on, the fryer caught. David got it under control with an extinguisher, but not before Bob panicked and activated the alarm."
"Thank you, Ms. Forbes."
"Steven. Scott."
Lauren, with Marilyn accompanying her, stepped up as soon as Amanda disappeared. "We're missing two students- Rachel Henderson and Aaron Blomquist," Lauren reported. "They were given bathroom passes just before the alarm went off, and they never returned."
Scott sighed in frustration, resigning himself to the fact that things never remained simple or orderly at Winslow. His emotional state already precarious, anger and irritation welled suddenly within him, and before his rational mind could take over, he stormed towards the building. He only barely heard the protests that followed him.
Once inside, Scott began pounding on the restroom doors. Having no success on the first floor, he charged up the stairs. Reaching one of the second floor men's rooms, he raised his fist, ready to knock on the door, when he heard a noise coming from a nearby closet. Putting his hand down, he walked quietly towards the door, listening carefully. Again, something bumped inside- he definitely had not imagined the sound. Swiftly, he swung the door open...
...and instantly froze at the sight inside.
Ms. Henderson and Mr. Blomquist were nearly naked and kissing passionately. At the sight of their vice-principal, Ms. Henderson screamed and rushed to cover up, while Mr. Blomquist cursed under his breath and zipped up his fly.
Scott backpedaled and closed his eyes. Nearly choking on his embarrassment, it took a moment for him to find his voice. At length, he spoke, his usual clipped, authoritarian tone faltering. "Kindly dress yourselves and report to my office as soon as we are given the all clear."
Without argument, the students closed the door.
"Scott?"
Scott spun on his heel to find Steven walking up the hall, flanked by several firemen. One of the men inquired sternly, "Sir, may I ask why you are in the building?"
"I was looking for two students who... failed to evacuate when the alarm was pulled." Scott felt a little foolish under the fireman's reproachful stare.
"Well, fortunately for you, the fire was well contained. You may give your students and teachers the all clear."
Scott nodded, and the firemen left. "You okay?" Steven asked once they were alone. "You're looking a little green."
"I'm fine."
"Did you find the students?"
"I did. They were in this closet in..." Scott paused, swallowing against the rising nausea, "... in... carnal embrace."
Steven choked back a laugh. "Oh my!"
"You find students engaged in the act of fornication in a janitorial closet amusing?" Scott retorted with annoyance.
"No, of course not, Scott. Forgive me, that was the stress talking." Steven thumped his shoulder lightly. "I'm going to go tell everyone they can come back inside."
*****
After a few minutes, Rachel Henderson and Aaron Blomquist emerged, fully clothed, and were escorted to Scott's office. Both students sat down in front of his desk, but Scott himself remained on his feet, pacing in agitation behind them.
In front of the window, Steven stood silently, his arms folded and his expression firm. He was the one who finally ended the tense silence. "Son, do you realize the seriousness of this situation? If the fire had been any bigger, you would've been killed."
"I didn't think there was any real danger, Mr. Harper. We have false alarms all the time."
Scott leapt abruptly forward, his face inches from Mr. Blomquist's, any trace of his previous mortification undetectable in the fire of his glare. "That's not the point, Mr. Blomquist. It is the policy of this school that all students and faculty are to evacuate the building when the alarm is sounded, and should anyone fail to do so, the offense is punishable by at least one day's suspension. That rule was written specifically for your safety, Mr. Blomquist, surely you must understand that."
The student's response was cool. "Mr. Guber, does it upset you more that we didn't leave the building when the alarm went off, or that we were enjoying something between the two of us that you obviously haven't experienced since Nixon was president? It was a consensual act, and none of your business."
"Aaron, don't," Rachel pleaded, grabbing his arm.
Scott felt the blood rush to his face- he was impotent with rage.
"Alright!" Steven shouted. "Aaron, you will not talk to the vice-principal that way, do you hear me? You will apologize- now."
"Sorry, Mr. Guber," Mr. Blomquist replied not entirely sincerely.
Scott pointed a trembling finger in the student's direction, and spoke very slowly. "Mr. Blomquist, whether or not the act was consensual-"
"It was."
"I'm talking now, sir! Whether or not the act was consensual has no bearing on this matter. Ms. Henderson is three years younger than you, and below the age of consent in Massachusetts. Which means I could call the police right now and have you arrested for statutory rape. Now, would you rather-" Mr. Blomquist looked away. "Look at me, Mr. Blomquist, would you rather deal with the police, or would you rather deal with me?"
The student didn't respond. Scott turned to Ms. Henderson and said, "You are suspended for one day, Ms. Henderson for failing to evacuate when the alarm went off. You are dismissed." Then to Mr. Blomquist: "Mr. Blomquist, you are also suspended, pending further disciplinary action. Now get out of my sight."
After both teenagers exited, Scott sagged slightly, spent by his fury, the pain in his chest returning.
"Scott, I'm sorry-"
"Don't, Steven," Scott interrupted, putting up a hand. "I have work to do."
There was an extended pause before Steven left the office.
*****
The school day at last over, students flooded out of the classrooms, and the hallway filled with the sounds of talking, laughing, and locker doors slamming. Scott observed all of this as he stalked through the halls on his afternoon patrol, his anger boiling just below the surface.
Seeing a minor scuffle out of the corner of his eye, Scott turned and saw Andrew Brady accosting one of the seventh graders. "Mr. Brady!" he shouted over the din. The junior looked up and stopped what he was doing. "Is there a problem?" the vice-principal asked, his tone dangerous.
"No, sir, we were just messing around, weren't we Mike?" The smaller student nodded quickly and ran away.
"Yes, well, don't bother to come to school tomorrow, Mr. Brady- you're suspended for two days for fighting on school property."
"What?!"
"Two days, Mr. Brady! Speak again, and I will make it three."
"But-"
"Three days, Mr. Brady! Don't test me on this!"
"Mr. Guber, I-"
"Four days! Would you like to go for a week?"
"Scott!" Walking by, Steven had intervened. To Scott, he ordered, "My office, ten minutes!"
Drawing a ragged breath, Scott did what he was told.
*****
As promised, Steven appeared in his office ten minutes later. Sitting down, he studied Scott for a long moment before saying, "I suspended Andrew Brady for two days- I believe that is more than enough." Scott broke eye contact, and Steven softened. "Scott, why don't you go home and get some rest. It's obvious that..."
Scott was already shaking his head. "No, Steven, that won't help." Standing, he moved towards the door, indicating that he no longer wanted to continue the conversation.
"God damn it, Scott!" Steven burst in frustration behind him. "Why won't it help? What is going on?"
Scott had no answer to his friend's questions. Stone silent, he left, walking over to his own office and shutting the door. Turning on his CD player, he sat down and closed his eyes, a deep depression overtaking him.
After a few minutes, he realized with some fear that not even the music could bring him peace.
Chapter Four
Steven rubbed his eyes, fatigue blurring the print in front of him until it was nearly incomprehensible. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and glanced at his watch- 9:58. It was definitely time to head home.
Opening his top drawer, he found a wrapped gift and remembered with a start that it was Scott's birthday- why hadn't he said anything? It certainly explained a lot. But there was more going on, Steven was sure of that. Since the new school year began, he had watched Scott sink into a deeper and deeper depression. When Scott left him in his office earlier that day, it took every ounce of self control not to follow the smaller man, pick him up, tie him to a chair, and demand that he tell Steven what was bothering him. Steven sighed again. What ever it was that was upsetting his second-in-command, Steven fully intended to get to the bottom of it.
The faint strains of a symphony orchestra drifting in from the nearby office assured him that Scott was still in the building. Hefting himself from his seat, Steven headed over to Scott's office and knocked on the door, the package concealed behind his back.
"Come in."
Steven opened the door and entered. Scott, who seemed to be staring rather intently at an envelope on his desk, looked up and nodded in acknowledgement.
"It's ten o' clock. Shouldn't you be heading home?" Steven remarked, a small grin gracing his features. This was a routine the two men had repeated countless times- he had hoped it would lighten the mood.
"I could ask the same of you." Scott tried to return the smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"What's in the envelope?"
"It's from George- most likely a birthday card. I suppose he thinks I live here."
"Are you going to open it?"
Scott set his jaw, his expression darkening. "I don't know," he replied simply, bitterness tingeing his tone.
"Scott-" Steven began, but he quickly changed his mind when the other man shot him a warning glare. Clearing his throat, he finished lamely, "I'd like to wish you a happy birthday." Steven revealed the gift and set it on Scott's desk.
Scott's gaze softened considerably. "You remembered?"
"Scott, you are my dear friend. I would never forget your birthday. Now, are you going to open that, or do you plan on waiting until you turn fifty?"
Scott took the package and cautiously unwrapped it- inside was his faculty award, framed.
A long moment of silence passed before Steven spoke. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this before, but I wanted it to be a surprise." He remembered with some guilt how angry Scott was when the award disappeared from his office a week before. "I know how much this award means to you. In fact, I was a little surprised that you didn't have it framed yourself. It's an accomplishment you should be proud of."
Scott opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed momentarily unable to find his voice. At length, he uttered a quiet thank you, then jumped up as if hit by a bolt of electricity. Turning his back to Steven, he stared out the window, his fists clenching slightly. "I suppose... I suppose I was afraid that if I indulged in that success, the moment would end."
"Like the conductor thing?" Scott didn't respond.
Steven's concern finally reached the breaking point. "Scott, what's wrong? Ever since school started... I've seen you down before, but I've never seen you in this deep. And I'm worried about you."
Still failing to look Steven in the eye, Scott sighed and started organizing the paperwork on his desk, putting some into his attaché case to work on at home. "Steven, do you ever wonder what people will say about you after you die?"
Steven was caught completely off guard by the question and didn't respond. Despite that, Scott continued, "I wake up everyday feeling like a visitor from a foreign country. Everyone speaks differently, dresses differently, carries himself or herself differently... and I've tried, Steven. I've tried to make a connection, but I always end up embarrassing myself in some way."
"The fact that you won that award last year," Steven said carefully, indicating the frame on Scott's desk, "proves that you haven't always failed to make that connection."
"I just-" Scott's voice wavered, and he took a sharp breath inward, making a helpless gesture with his hands. "I am entering my fiftieth year, and what do I have to show for it? Will anyone truly remember who I am, or what I've tried to do here?"
Steven didn't know what to say. Speechless, he watched as his friend gathered his things and put on his raincoat. Before Scott started to head for the door, he picked up his brother's birthday card and dumped it into the garbage can. He was halfway over the threshold when Steven stopped him with his hand. "Scott... at least let me take you out for a birthday drink. No matter what you may feel, I believe your existence is something to celebrate."
Scott finally met Steven's gaze, his smile sad. "Can I take a rain check on that? I am not feeling very well this evening."
"Of course."
Scott disappeared out the door. After an extended pause, Steven turned around and rescued the envelope Scott had discarded from the trash. After smacking it against his palm three times thoughtfully, he returned to his office and slipped it into his desk for safe keeping.
*****
Scott was telling the truth to some extent when he told Steven he was feeling unwell. By the time he made it home, his shirt was soaked in sweat. It took several tries before his trembling hands could unlock the door. Once inside, he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The water pounding on his body, he leaned against the tile and squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to shake the feeling of doom that descended upon him.
A half-hour passed before Scott emerged from the shower. After putting on clean underwear, he collapsed into bed, attempting to rest despite the persistent ache in his chest. It was through pure exhaustion alone that he finally fell into a fitful sleep.
*****
A young boy with brown hair and keen blue eyes sat quietly at the edge of the lake, dangling his feet into the water. He was eight years old, but kids two years his junior exceeded him in height and build. In his hand, the child was holding an insect he had just rescued from drowning. He studied it closely as it crawled up his hand, tickling him slightly with its hairy legs.
"Hey, Guber!"
Hearing his name, Scott Guber looked up to find several neighborhood boys standing in front of him in the lake, grinning. "Whatcha doin'?" the one kid asked again.
"Nothing."
"Aren't you coming in, Peanut?" another boy chimed in. "Or are you too scared?"
Scott jutted out his chin. "I am not scared!" he huffed with all the defiance he could muster.
"You know what?" said the first boy. "I think the little Peanut here needs our help getting in. What do you think?"
Before Scott could get away, the boys grabbed him and dragged him under the water. He struggled as hard as he could to get to the surface, but he was far too small to fend them off. Twenty seconds passed- then thirty, his lungs bursting with the lack of oxygen. A stark terror flooded through him...
*****
Scott awoke with a start, his t-shirt and sheets soaked through. Untangling himself from his bedding, he put on his robe and stumbled into the bathroom. He hadn't had this particular nightmare in decades- he thought he had been able to put that day out of his mind for good. But the dream revived the memory as if it had happened yesterday.
In his recollection, forty seconds passed before Charles Guber saw what was going on and intervened, pulling Scott out of the water. On the shore, the child rolled over onto his hands and knees, choking for air. His father slapped him on the back, and he vomited lake water onto the grass. Tears rolled down the boy's face and a sob escaped before he could stop them, and he was ashamed. The elder Guber didn't approve of such behavior in his sons.
Drinking a glass of water, he mentally reminded himself that the incident at the lake was in the past, that he was alright. These internal reprimands did little to quell the lingering panic. He started walking towards his bed when the pain in his chest intensified considerably, bringing him to his knees. As the pain radiated into his arm, he realized with sudden horror that he was showing all the symptoms of a heart attack.
Oh, God, oh, God. Gasping for air, he reached out and knocked the phone to the floor.
*****
Dr. Melissa Metcalf awoke slowly to the sound of someone pounding on the on-call room door. Groaning, she got up and answered it, trying to blink the sleep-induced blur from her eyes. Dr. Miles stood on the other side, looking a little apologetic. "Sorry, Melissa. We've got a suspected heart attack coming in about a minute."
"Okay, I'll be right there."
Dr. Metcalf hurriedly brushed through her hair and ran out into the ER just as the paramedics burst through the doors wheeling a gurney. "What have we got?" she barked.
"Forty nine year old white male, collapsed in his bedroom, complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath." the medic rattled off as the doctors and nurses rushed to take blood to send to the lab.
"Any witnesses?"
"No, the guy called 911 himself. Apparently he lives alone."
"Do you have a name?"
"Yes, he says his name is Scott Guber."
"Okay, somebody get an EKG on this patient." But Dr. Miles had anticipated Dr. Metcalf's request and was already placing the electrodes on the man's chest.
Mr. Guber was conscious, his gaze darting from one doctor to the other. Dr. Metcalf sat down next to the patient's head and tried to keep him calm. "Mr. Guber, we're going to run a few tests to see if you are in fact having a heart attack- if we've caught it in time, we may be able to treat it with medication and stop some of the damage. Is there any family you would like me contact in the meantime?"
The man shook his head and reached for his oxygen mask, pulling it away from his mouth. "Steven Harper," he whispered.
The doctor's mouth dropped open slightly in recognition. "Steven Harper from Winslow High? Is he a friend of yours?"
Mr. Guber nodded. "...Work together..." He gestured towards himself. "...Vice-principal..."
"Okay, I will call Mr. Harper."
Dr. Metcalf moved to leave when she was suddenly grabbed by the wrist. She turned back around to find a terrified look on Mr. Guber's face. "Don't let me die," he choked, his light blue eyes brimming with tears.
The elemental vulnerability of the plea tugged at Dr. Metcalf's heart, and she took the patient's hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. "Don't worry, Mr. G- Scott. I won't. I promise you." Scott closed his eyes, and the doctor reached over and replaced his mask, stroking his forehead lightly in a comforting gesture before leaving to attend to his case.
*****
The phone rang insistently, rousing Steven from a deep slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he noted with some annoyance that it was almost two in the morning- who would be calling at this hour?
Without sitting up, he picked the receiver up off the hook. "Hello?" he mumbled, clearing his throat.
"Hello, Mr. Harper? This is Dr. Metcalf from Boston General."
Steven sat up, instantly awake. "What is it? Has something happened to Roger Williams?"
"No, Mr. Williams is still stable. I'm calling about Scott Guber."
Steven's stomach leapt into his throat. "What happened to Scott? Is he alright?"
"We believe he may be having a heart attack, but we're still running some tests. He's conscious, which is a good sign, Mr. Harper. We may have caught it in time."
Oh, Scott. Images of his best friend in a hospital bed, frightened and alone, flashed through Steven's mind, making his own heart ache. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he croaked, "Thank you, Doctor. I'll get there as soon as I can."
It was only five minutes later when Steven, dressed rather haphazardly, rushed out the door.
Chapter Five
"Mr. Harper?"
Steven woke up and blinked in the band of sunlight that was streaming through a nearby window. He had fallen asleep outside of Scott's room sometime after Scott was admitted, even though he tried as hard as he could to stay awake. In front of his chair, he found Dr. Metcalf waiting patiently. Sitting up straight, he groaned and reached back to massage his aching neck. "Is Scott...?"
"Oh, yes, he's fine. He's asleep." Sitting down next to Steven, she continued, "I wanted to talk to you about his condition."
Steven nodded. "Okay."
"The good news is, the heart attack was relatively minor. The attending cardiothoracic surgeon has looked at Mr. Guber's test results and she doesn't believe he needs surgery. He will have to make some lifestyle changes, however, to prevent any subsequent problems. I've already discussed these changes with him. He was very lucky. Often people do not learn of their heart disease until it's too late to avoid invasive intervention."
"I'm just glad he's alive," Steven replied, sighing with relief.
"So am I- I don't like losing my patients." Leaning forward, Dr. Metcalf continued, "Now, while we are able to treat his heart, I have another concern."
"Another concern?"
"While I was taking Mr. Guber's history, he said that he'd been having trouble sleeping for the past few weeks. He also mentioned some psychological disturbances- feelings of sadness, anger, fear of losing control... Are you aware of any of this?"
Steven looked down. "Well, Scott's always been a little intense, a little solemn. But, yes, I have noticed that over the past few weeks, he's been even more keyed up that usual. I've tried several times to get him to tell me what's going on, but he won't let me in." He once again met the doctor's eyes. "Yesterday was his birthday- and he was talking to me about dying. Did he tell you what was bothering him?"
"I don't think he really knows himself. But what I can say is that trouble sleeping, persistent sadness, loss of energy, and thoughts of dying are all signs of clinical depression. I'd like him to be evaluated by a psychiatrist, first, though, before we draw any conclusions."
"Have you shared this opinion with Scott?"
"I have." Dr. Metcalf put a hand on Steven's arm. "But I think he would be more amenable to the idea if it also came from a friend. One thing he mentioned in our interview was that he valued your input more than anyone else- that he considered you his best friend."
Steven sighed again. "Okay, I will talk to him."
Standing, Steven walked quietly into Scott's room and sat down beside his bed. Scott was still asleep, although Steven could tell by the tension in his muscles that he was not entirely at peace. Above his head, a monitor kept track of his heart rhythm- its steady beep and Scott's shallow breathing were the only noises filling the room.
Steven couldn't help but notice how vulnerable his friend looked. It was as if Scott's illness was peeling away all of his facades- all of his armor- and revealing what was true in this man...
...this man that he loved so much.
"Scott?" Scott stirred, but did not awaken. "I'm here."
*****
Scott could hear someone calling him. Who is that? Steven? No, no, just let me sleep. Leave me alone. He tried to roll over, but something was stopping him. Reaching blindly, he started pulling out tubes, one by one. A pair of hand tried to restrain him, and he fought against them.
"Nurse! I need some help in here!" a familiar voice yelled.
Within seconds, several more people rushed into the room. Another voice, a female, broke into his semi-consciousness. "Sir, you have to keep those in."
Scott continued to struggle. "No...no..." he groaned. "I won't let you drown me..."
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Scott, this is Steven. It's okay, they're trying to help you. Please relax and trust me." Scott gave up and went limp, allowing the nurses to restore his lines.
Twenty minutes later, Scott opened his eyes and pulled slightly against the wrist restraints. "Steven?" he rasped, a little confused.
"You were trying to pull out your IV in your sleep," Steven explained. "I'll go get someone to remove them."
Once Scott was freed, Steven sat back down and touched Scott's arm lightly. "We need to talk."
"She told you?" Scott felt betrayed.
"She was concerned about your health and safety. And so am I. Scott, I won't let you shut me out this time- to tell you the truth, I'm actually a little grateful for this heart attack. Maybe now I can get you to sit still long enough to listen to what I have to say."
"She wants me to see a psychiatrist." Scott laughed cynically. "Of all the ridiculous suggestions-"
"Scott," Steven interrupted, holding up a hand. "I don't think it is ridiculous. I've watched you destroy yourself with self-pity a little at a time over the years- I will not stand by and allow you to continue doing so. Maybe seeing a psychiatrist will be good for you- it's certainly nothing to be embarrassed about." Scott looked away. "That's it, isn't it? That's why you're objecting- somewhere along the line, someone told you that facing your feelings and discussing them with someone else was weak. Well, people who say that are dead wrong, Scott- the real cowardice can be found in hiding behind foolish pride."
Scott's jaw stiffening, he turned and leveled a glare in Steven's direction. Sensing that he was getting through to his friend, Steven continued. "Scott, let me tell you a story about a man I once knew. This man... he was a visionary... intelligent, decisive... always several steps ahead. He was also a man of principle and integrity- a decent human being. Trouble was, people didn't often recognize all that was admirable in this man. What people saw was the stiff, awkward, often angry individual on the outside instead of the good heart within. Even I-" Steven's voice wavered- he broke eye contact for a moment before pushing forward. "Even I took him for granted sometimes. And it was hard for him to be so misunderstood- I saw that everyday in his eyes during those rare quiet moments.
"But what really made this man so amazing- and what made me love him- was that even in the worst of times, he maintained this small glimmer of hope that things would one day get better. I think... I think this was part of what made him such an easy target sometimes- perhaps the easiest thing for an enemy to pray on is a man's hope. But despite this, the hope was kept alive in him- it sustained him, kept him innocent in many ways. God, I wanted to protect this part of him more than anything. It hurts deeply to see that I might've failed."
Tears welled in Steven's eyes, but he didn't bother to brush them away. Instead, he reached out and took Scott's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Scott... please..." he whispered with intensity, "fight for this man. I care for him too much to see him disappear."
"I don't know what to say," Scott murmured. Dangerously close to breaking down completely, he once again turned away, trying to maintain control and preserve his dignity. But before Scott could protest, he found himself in Steven's embrace.
The warmth of the act enkindled emotions Scott had long buried deep within himself. To his profound shame, he could not stop two tears from spilling from his eyes and tracing lines down his face.
End Part One.