The Select

But now he had to tell Quinn. She had to know what was going on, what they were doing to people's heads here.

Funny thing about that, though...Quinn seemed unaffected. She'd stayed the course...

...which might explain why Verran kept returning to her room. Maybe the thing in her headboard wasn't working.

He had to tell her. He glanced at his watch. Late, but this couldn't wait. He snatched Quinn's room key off his dresser and shoved it into his pocket. They'd traded keys awhile back—he'd given her a set to his car and she'd given him one to her room so he could use it anytime he wanted to be alone when she was out.

But he couldn't talk to her there, or anywhere else in the dorm. Where? He grabbed a scratch pad and a pen as he left. He hoped he could figure out a safe place to talk by the time he reached the second floor.

*

'Wha—?'

Abruptly, Quinn was awake and she didn't know why. She lifted her head and looked around the darkened room, listening. She felt extremely vulnerable in the dark, especially since she was wearing only an oversized T-shirt and a pair of panties. But nothing was moving, nothing—

She head the hall door click closed.

Someone's here!

She reached for the phone beside her.

'Who's there? Tim, is that you?'

The light went on in the front room and Tim's voice drifted through the open door.

'Just me, Quinn.' His voice sounded strange...strained.

She glanced at the radio alarm. The red LED display read 2:34.

'Do you know what time it is?'

He stepped through the door and flicked on the light.

'I'm sorry it's so late, but I couldn't sleep.'

Quinn squinted in the sudden glare. 'Must you?'

'Yeah. I want to look at you.'

When her eyes adjusted, she stared at him and gasped. He looked ghastly—pale, haggard, and...frightened.

'Tim, what's wrong?'

'Nothing. I just had to see you.'

As he finished speaking he held his index finger to his lips and thrust a note pad toward her.

'What—?'

He tapped the finger against his lips insistently and pointed to the pad. Quinn stared at the block printing.

THE ROOM

IS BUGGED!!!!

'What? You've got to be—'

He was frantically jamming his finger against his lips now. She looked at him and shrugged, completely bewildered. Was this one of his gags or had he gone off the deep end completely?

He took the pad and scribbled lengthwise on the next sheet.

MAKE SMALL TALK!

Quinn gaped at him. He appeared to be in genuine distress. She fumbled for something to say.

'Uh...you ready for the anatomy practical?'

He gave her the O-K sign and began writing on a third sheet as he spoke.

'Sure. You know me. I'm a quick study. Nothing to those practicals.'

He held up the new note.

MEET ME IN THE

ANATOMY LAB

MY CAR AND I'LL

EXPLAIN EVERYTHING

'Yeah. I wish I had a memory like yours,' Quinn said as she grabbed the pen and pad from him and jotted her own note.

ARE YOU FOR

REAL???

His slow, grim nod gave her a chill.

He yawned loudly as he retrieved the pad, scribbling as he spoke.

'Well, I've bothered you long enough. I'll leave you alone and see if I can get some sleep.'

He handed the pad back to her.

I'LL WARM

UP THE CAR

She nodded. 'Good idea. See you soon.'

Tim flashed her another O-K sign, waved, and left her there in her bed, wondering what on earth had come over him. She sat for a moment or two, staring at the pad he'd left with her, flipping through the bizarre series of notes. She decided the only way to find out what was going on was to meet him in his car.

She jumped out of bed and began to get dressed.

*

'Can you hear me, Chief?'

It was Elliot's voice, transmitting via the pick-up in room 125.

Louis Verran stood in the control room with his face all but pressed against the fabric of the speaker.

'You know damn well I'm listening,' he said irritably, though he knew just as damn well that Elliot couldn't hear the reply.

'Listen, we're in the bedroom of one-two-five. We couldn't see anything through the window—he almost caught us doing the Peeping Tom thing—so we came inside when he left. I was right, Chief. He's got the whole place torn apart, including the headboard.'

'Shit!' Verran said. 'Shit, shit, SHIT!'

'We don't know where he is now, but we can guess. We're going to go looking for him. Out.'

'Yeah,' Verran muttered. 'Out.'

This was bad. Very bad. Kurt and Elliot would have to find Brown and bring him in before he talked to anyone.

And Louis Verran would have to pick up the phone and call Dr. Arthur Tightass Alston and tell him that the nightmare scenario from two years ago was starting a rerun.

His intestines coiled into a Gordian knot as he reached for the receiver.

*

Tim checked his pockets as he galloped down the stairs, and realized he didn't have his car keys. He'd have to stop off at his room.

When he opened his door, the room was dark. Had he turned the lights out? He didn't remember. As he reached for the switch someone grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. The shock and sudden terror of it stole his voice. He heard the door slam behind him and now he was in complete darkness. He started to yell but someone rammed a fist into one of his kidneys and all that escaped him was an agonized groan. As the pain drove him to his knees, gasping, retching, his arms were pinned behind his back.

Here it comes, he thought. A bullet through the brain.

But then something—a rag of some sort—was forced into his mouth. He heard the scritch of tape being pulled from a roll and then a piece was pressed over his mouth. He had to breath through his nose. Air whistled in and out of his nostrils. He fought panic as he listened to another piece of tape being torn from the roll. If they covered his nose he'd suffocate. But this piece went across his eyes. And then he felt metal bands tighten around his wrists.

Handcuffs. His panic ebbed toward mere terror. They weren't going to kill him.