The Rule of Four

We dart through the corridor to the dark cellar stairs, when a rush of cold descends from overhead. Two campus police officers have arrived at the foot of the steps on the ground floor above us.

Stay right there! one of them calls down the narrow staircase.

We stop short.

Campus police! Don 'f move!

Paul is looking over my shoulder toward the far end of the hall, clutching the papers in his left hand.

Do what they say, Charlie tells him.

But I know what's caught Paul's eye. There's a janitor's closet down there. Inside is an entrance to the tunnels.

It's not safe down there, Charlie says under his breath, edging toward Paul to keep him from running. They're doing construct—

The proctors mistake the movement for flight, and one comes barreling down the stairs, just as Paul makes for the door.

Stop! the proctor cries. Don't go in there!

But Paul is already at the entrance, pulling the wood panel open. He disappears inside.

Charlie doesn't hesitate. Before either of the cops knows it, he's two steps ahead, moving fast toward the door. I hear a thud as he jumps to the tunnel floor, trying to stop Paul. Then his voice, shouting Paul's name, echoes up from below.

Come out! the proctor booms, nudging me forward.

The officer leans in and calls again, but only silence follows.

Call it in— the first one begins to say, when a thunderous noise conies roaring up from the tunnels, and the boiler room beside us begins to hiss. Immediately I know what's happened: a steam pipe has burst. And now I can hear Charlie screaming.

In an instant, I'm at the threshold of the janitor's closet. The manhole is pure darkness, so I take a wild leap. When I hit the ground, adrenaline is forking through me, live as lightning, and the pain from landing fades before it spreads. I force myself up. Charlie is moaning in the distance, leading me toward him, even as the proctor yells overhead. One of the officers has the sense to realize what's going on.

We're calling an ambulance, he calls into the tunnel. Can you hear me?

I'm moving through a soupy mist. The heat intensifies, but the only thing on my mind is Charlie. For seconds at a time the hiss of the pipe drowns out everything else.

Charlie's groans are clearer now. I push forward, trying to get to him. Finally, at a turn in the pipes, I find him. He's buckled over himself, motionless. His clothes are ragged, and his hair is matted to his head. In the distance, as my eyes adjust, I can see a gaping hole in a barrel-size pipe near the floor.

Hum, Charlie groans.

I don't understand.

Hum…

I realize he's trying to say my name. His chest is soaked. The steam hit him right in the gut. Can you stand? I ask, trying to put his arm around my shoulder. Hum… he mumbles, losing consciousness.

Clenching my teeth, I try lifting him, but it's like trying to move a mountain.

Come on, Charlie, I plead, jerking him up a little. Don't fade on me.

But I sense I'm talking to less and less of him. There's more and more dead weight.

Help! I bark into the distance. Please help me!

There are gashes in his shirt where the pressure shredded the fabric, soaking him to the skin. I can hardly feel him breathing.

Mmm… he gurgles, trying to curl a finger around my hand.

I grab his shoulders and shake him again. Finally I hear footsteps. A beam of light knifes through the fog and I can see a medic-two of them— rushing toward me.

In a second they're close enough for me to see their faces. But when the beams of their flashlights finally cross Charlie's body, I can hear one of them say, Oh, Jesus.

Are you hurt? the other says to me, padding at my chest with his hands.

I stare back at him, uncomprehending. Then, as I look down at the circle of my stomach lit by his flashlight, I understand. The water sprayed across Charlie's chest wasn't water at all. I'm covered in his blood.

Both of the EMTs are with him now, trying to raise him up. A third medic arrives and tries to move me, but I fight him off, trying to stay at Charlie's side. Slowly I feel myself beginning to slip away. In the heat and the darkness, I'm losing my hold on reality. A pair of hands guides me out of the tunnels, and I see the two officers, with two other policemen behind them now, all watching as the ambulance team drags me above ground.

The last thing I remember is the look on the proctor's face as he stands there, watching me rise from the darkness, bloody from my face to the tips of my fingers. At first he looks relieved, to see me stumble out of the wreckage. Then his expression changes, and the relief disappears from his eyes, as he realizes the blood isn't mine.

Chapter 20

I come to my senses in a bed at Princeton Medical Center several hours after the accident. Paul is sitting beside me, glad to see me awake, and a policeman is standing outside the door. Someone has changed me into a paper gown that crunches like a diaper when I sit up. There is blood beneath my fingernails, dark as dirt, and there's a familiar smell in the air, something I remember from my old hospital past. The smell of sickness mopped over with disinfectant. The smell of medicine.

Tom? Paul says.

I prop myself up to face him, but pain shoots through my arm.

Careful, he says, leaning over. The doctor says you injured your shoulder.

Now, as I'm becoming more aware, I can feel pain beneath the bandage. What happened to you down there?

It was stupid. I just reacted. I couldn't get back to Charlie once the pipe exploded. All of the steam was coming in my direction. I came back through the nearest exit and the police drove me here.

Where's Charlie?

In the emergency room. They won't let anyone see him.

His voice has gone flat. After rubbing at his eye, he glances out the door. An old woman skids past in a wheelchair, nimble as a kid in a go-cart. The cop watches her, but doesn't smile. There's a little yellow sandwich board on the tile floor that says CAUTION: WET SURFACE.

Is he okay? I ask.

Paul keeps his eyes on the door. I don't know. Will said he was right beside the broken pipe when they found him.

Will?

Will Clay, Charlie's friend. Paul places a hand on the rail of the bed. He pulled you out.

I try to think back, but all I remember are silhouettes in the tunnels, lit up around the edges by flashlights.

He and Charlie switched shifts when you guys went looking for me, Paul adds.

There's a great sadness in his voice. He traces this all back to himself.

Do you want me to call Katie and tell her you're here? he asks.

I shake my head, wanting to feel more grounded first. I'll call her later.