The Finalists, page 8
“What could be bigger than a young man dying?”
Captain Stephenson points to Milo’s face, the froth coming out of his mouth.
“I believe he was poisoned, sir.”
15
THE WORD HITS MY ears but doesn’t register.
It’s like Captain Stephenson is speaking in a foreign language.
Poisoned.
No, it doesn’t make sense.
It can’t be.
“What are you talking about, dude?” Duffy asks.
“I think it’s poison,” Captain Stephenson says. “The way he collapsed and started seizing. The frothing at the mouth. It’s the only explanation. After all, why else would a healthy young man with no known medical condition just drop dead? It doesn’t add up.”
“What about the irregular heartbeat?” Nicholas says. “You heard her. He fainted in class once.”
“Why didn’t he tell me about his heart?” Sydney asks. She’s sniffling and wiping at her nose with her hand. She stands alone, no one else close. “I thought he was healthy.”
“People keep medical conditions secret all the time,” Nicholas says.
“Old people do,” Emily says. “Like my grandma. She had a stroke, and she didn’t tell anyone for six weeks. She was limping around, and she told my mom she’d sprained her ankle. Young people share that information with their friends.”
“Okay,” I say, standing up. “We don’t know what caused this. And it’s useless to speculate. They’ll do a— They’ll examine him and figure it out.”
Captain Stephenson is still down next to Milo, studying him closely.
“What exactly are you doing?” Natalia asks. Her eye makeup is smudged from crying.
“I’m checking for any sign of poisoning.” He straightens up as well and tugs on the ends of his suit coat, tidying it. “If it were cyanide, there would be a cherry red color on the lips. Also the scent of almonds.”
“His lips are red,” Duffy says.
“They’re always bright red,” Sydney says. “Like, they naturally look that way.”
“Could be strychnine,” the captain says. “Maybe thallium. Potassium chloride does the trick as well if you inject it. Maybe someone stuck a needle in him. Certain rat poisons are highly toxic. And herbs can kill. You know, it would have been easy to add poisonous herbs to the tea. You’d just have to be able to recognize them and pick them. They grow out in the country.”
“I thought that tea was unpleasant,” Natalia says. “I’m a coffee drinker myself. Could it have been expired? Everything is so old here.”
“It was bitter,” I say, “even with sugar.”
“Who are you, with all this poison knowledge?” Emily asks the captain. “Hercule Poirot?”
“Who?” Duffy asks.
“I did some Special Forces training in the army. Covert stuff I’d prefer not to talk about. But we learned about poisons. It’s tough to use those to take down a target, but sometimes it works. Putin clearly likes it. A lot of it depends on how fast it acted, and we don’t know that. Some poisons can take hours to act. We drank our tea—” He checks his analog watch. “We started drinking less than an hour ago. That could be right.”
“Or he ingested something deadly before he got here,” Natalia says.
“Could be,” Captain Stephenson says. “If he ate or drank anything in his room, someone could have slipped it to him. Or injected him. I’m guessing most of us didn’t eat before we showed up since we were told we’d be fed here. Ultimately, of course, an autopsy will tell us what really happened. Poison. A heart condition. Accidental drug overdose.”
“He doesn’t do drugs,” Sydney says. “Okay?”
“People try things for the first time. It’s college,” the captain says.
“That’s true,” Duffy says. “My best friend from home snorted coke at a party once. He ran naked down the middle of the street.”
I look at Sydney again. “You walked up with Milo. Had he eaten or drank anything? Do you know?”
All eyes in the room turn toward Sydney. A flush spreads across her cheeks.
She wraps her arms across her chest like she’s cold.
I immediately regret my question. I’ve put her on the spot.
“I’m sorry, Sydney. If you don’t know, it’s—”
“I don’t know. We just, like, ran into each other on the way here. I don’t know what he was doing this morning.”
“And that’s okay. I understand.”
“Wait,” Duffy says. “If he was poisoned here, then that means we all might be poisoned. We all might be about to collapse.”
“We all drank the same tea and ate the same food,” Natalia says.
“Shit,” Nicholas says.
“Hold on,” Captain Stephenson says. “It’s true we all consumed the same items out there. But I noticed something about Milo while we were in the parlor. He kind of had a funny look on his face, like he didn’t feel well. I thought he just didn’t like the tea. Or maybe he was hungover or something. Does anybody else feel sick? You’d likely know something by this point. You’d be starting to feel it.”
We all look at one another. And I’m scared. If one of them so much as has a stomachache or nausea, I don’t know what I’ll do.
“Anything?” I ask.
Natalia clears her throat. “I’m a little light-headed, but that’s my ADHD medication. It always has that effect on me. It’s a stimulant.”
“How could anyone even get poison in here when we were all searched?” Duffy asks.
“We weren’t looking for poison,” I say. “Just electronics.”
“It could be a very small amount,” Captain Stephenson says.
“That’s solved easily enough,” Emily says. “Just go check the teacups and the food. See if it smells funny.”
“That’s a fine idea, Emily,” the captain says, “but some poisons are odorless. That would be more sophisticated stuff. But you never know what you’re dealing with. I can go have a look—”
“Shouldn’t it be someone impartial?” Natalia is looking at her feet again, but her voice comes through loud and clear. “We all have a stake in this. The students, that is.”
“What are you saying?” the captain asks.
“Shouldn’t it be one of the adults?” Natalia asks. “I mean, I know you’re an adult. You’re somewhat older than anybody here.”
I wince a little on the captain’s behalf.
Natalia goes on. “But you’re a student too. Shouldn’t it be one of these gentlemen?” She points to Nicholas and to me.
“I can go,” I say, and take a step forward.
“Well, hold on.” Sydney rubs her arms again, one hand going over the word Persistence. “No offense, Mr. Gaines, but you do, like, work for the college. You’re not exactly impartial. Maybe it should be Mr. Hyde. He’s the outsider here.”
Sydney’s words have a strange effect on me. She’s right and shows a great deal of wisdom. But I’m still stung by not being the guy to handle the problem. I only want what’s best for the students and the college too.
“Fair enough,” I say.
Nicholas is nodding his head. “Okay, I’ll check. And then I’ll come right back.”
“Don’t worry,” Duffy says. “We won’t go anywhere.”
Nobody laughs.
We all stand around. Waiting. With a dead body in the middle of the room.
“So nobody’s sick?” I ask.
I’m met by silence. A silence I welcome.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay. Good. If anyone starts to feel sick, please let me know right away. Don’t keep it to yourself.”
“Maybe it was the people who work here,” Emily says, adjusting her glasses. “They made the food and tea and put it out. Have you seen some of the people they hire to work on campus?”
“Geez,” Duffy says. “Blame the regular workers, why don’t you?”
“It’s not that. We found out there was a convicted sex offender working as a maintenance guy in our dorm.”
“Ewww,” Sydney says. “That’s so creepy.”
“Did you report it?” I ask.
“Eventually they fired him. But it took forever. It’s amazing the things they let go around here.”
“That’s disgusting,” Captain Stephenson says. “To have someone like that around young women.”
My conversation with Chief comes back to me. He told me the staff is unhappy, disgruntled because of layoffs and pay cuts. I’d never admit it out loud, but I know Emily’s right. The college has hired some questionable staff—and faculty—members over the years. Who’s to say who might have had access to the food or the house this morning while it was being set up? How many people might want to strike a blow against the Hyde family or the college?
We try to maintain a good relationship with the town. And the college is by far the largest employer in the area. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t tensions. Many in town perceive the student body as a bunch of rich kids drinking and partying in a camplike setting. And in some ways, that’s not wrong.
Nicholas Hyde enters the room again. Everyone turns to him expectantly.
“I didn’t see or smell anything unusual,” he says. “The tea, the food . . . I think it’s okay.”
“But you’re not sure?” Duffy asks.
“How can I be sure?” Nicholas asks. “But I feel pretty strongly it’s okay.”
“Isn’t it obvious what’s going on here?”
It’s Captain Stephenson. He stands with his hands on his hips, his chest out.
“What are you talking about?” Nicholas asks, his face paler than when he first pulled up and emerged from his car, when the sun made him react like a wounded vampire.
“Everyone seems to know Milo is the best student in this group. Best grades. Best writer. Highest IQ even. It seems like you all expected him to win, didn’t you?”
No one answers, but a few heads nod.
“And now he’s dead,” Captain Stephenson says, his voice laced with a weary sadness. “And it’s a tragedy he’s gone. It’s heartbreaking. Isn’t it clear someone killed him to get him out of the way of the competition?”
16
“IT’S TRUE.” SYDNEY USES her pinkie finger to dab at the corner of her eye. “He is the best student here. Maybe the best at the school.”
“Dude was supersmart.” Duffy’s voice is full of admiration.
“Let’s not get too carried away with our hagiography.”
Everyone turns to look at Emily, who stares back through her giant glasses.
“What’s that?” Duffy asks. “A poison?”
“It means, don’t turn him into a saint just because he’s dead,” Emily says.
Sydney continues to wipe her eyes. “He’s not a saint. Right? But he is smart.”
“Was,” Captain Stephenson says.
“Jesus, Captain,” Duffy says. “That’s kind of harsh.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I forget where I am sometimes. It’s just that I’ve seen guys die in front of me before. It’s a soldier’s mentality to try to go on as quickly as possible. I know I shouldn’t expect that from all of you. And . . . Well, look, I understand. I have children just a little younger than Milo. I get it.”
“You’re right, though.” Natalia is looking away as though she can’t bear the sight of Milo’s lifeless body on the floor. I can’t say I blame her. “I mean . . . what does happen to the examination now? We were already started.”
“You can’t think of—”
Something rustles to the right, cutting off Sydney’s words. I turn that way. It’s Nicholas. He’s slumped against the mahogany credenza. A pitcher of water and a set of glasses that rest there rattle as his weight leans against the heavy piece of furniture. He’s sweaty and pale.
“Nicholas? Are you feeling ill too?”
He braces himself with two hands, then manages to shake his head. “I’m okay. . . . Just . . . this is all so terrible. . . . There’s been so much death.”
I make sure he isn’t going to fall to the floor. When I think he’s safe, I pour a glass of water for him and hold it out.
“Should we drink anything?” Duffy asks. “I mean, shit.”
I hold the glass up to the light. It’s crystal clear liquid inside.
I sniff it. Nothing.
“We have to trust at some point,” I say. “I think Milo was poisoned before he got here. If he was poisoned at all. We don’t know that.”
“But—”
I cut the captain off. “We don’t know anything for sure, do we? It could have been his heart.”
The captain shakes his head like he doesn’t believe me.
“Here.” I hand the water to Nicholas.
His hand shakes as he reaches for the glass, but he manages to lift it to his mouth and gulp it down. Some water spills out the side and runs down his neck and beneath his shirt.
“Okay, that’s better, isn’t it?”
Nicholas keeps drinking. When he’s emptied the glass, I pour more. And he drinks. He steadies himself like he’s going to be okay. And with that under control, I turn my attention back to the group.
I’m here representing the college, so I need to be worthy of their trust.
“Look,” I say, “it’s obvious what we have to do. It’s going to be very tough for anyone to concentrate on the exam now. So I’m going to go to the front door, and I’m going to try to signal Chief somehow. Like he said, he’s keeping an eye on the place. I can get his attention, and he can unlock the door with his keys. The police will take control of the situation, and we can reschedule the exam for another time. I promise you can all come back and try again.”
A few of the students nod. I assume the ones who don’t are in shock. Or just aren’t sure what to think.
I can’t blame them—neither am I.
“Okay, I’ll go now.”
“Wait.”
The voice stops me. I turn and see Nicholas Hyde pushing himself up to an erect position against the credenza. Some of the color has returned to his face. He looks like someone injected steel into his spine.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“You can’t do it,” he says. “You can’t call the chief. Or anyone else. It’s simply an impossibility at this point. There’s far too much at stake.”
17
NICHOLAS GOES TO HIS briefcase, works the lock, and undoes the clasps.
They snap like firecrackers in the quiet room.
He brings out the leather book again and starts thumbing through. His hands shake as he does, but not as much as earlier when he looked like he was going to slump to the floor.
I move closer and speak so the students can’t really hear me. “Nicholas, we have a dead student here. Our first priority has to be making sure everyone is safe.”
He continues to riffle through the book. He licks his forefinger and keeps turning the pages with sharp snaps. Finally, he reaches the page he’s been seeking. He stabs it with his moistened index finger. One with a dirty nail.
“Here we go,” he says.
He turns to the students with the book open and held in his two hands. He licks his lips.
“Remember what we said earlier, when there was that little upset about my great-great-great-great-grandfather being a war criminal. If anyone leaves, they are disqualified. Not just from the scholarship but from the fellowship as well.”
“We know that, Nicholas. But this isn’t about one person leaving because they are upset or offended about Major Hyde’s activities in the Civil War.”
“Or the fossil fuel money,” he says. “That was the other thing.”
“Yes, that too. But this is about something different. I’m talking about all of us leaving. And regrouping. And then holding the process another day. If you’re concerned that you won’t be in town for it, we can work something out. I mean, there’s always Zoom if you want to appear. Or we can do it quickly while you’re still in town. Maybe you want to spend a little time in Bluefield. This town meant a lot to your family.”
“These bylaws were written by Major Hyde when he created the Hyde Fellowships and the scholarship. And they’ve served the family and the college well over the years.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Look here,” Nicholas says, pointing at the book. “The process must take place on the third Saturday in April.” He looks up. “Major Hyde liked the idea of the process happening in the spring when the seasons were changing. April is also the month that General Lee surrendered to General Grant at Appomattox Court House. Major Hyde was a big admirer of General Grant. Did you know General Grant visited Hyde College once?”
“I did know that. But these bylaws and the date for the process . . . This is an emergency. We can bend them.”
Nicholas reads from the book again. “ ‘If the Hyde Memorial Scholarship is ever not awarded on the third Saturday in April during a given year, then the award shall cease to exist for all subsequent years. All funding for future Hyde Fellows and Hyde Scholars will be discontinued, never to be restored. Thus, the completion of each year’s process ensures the enduring and everlasting continuation of the Hyde family legacy, an unbroken chain from generation to generation.’ ”
“I’ve never noticed that before,” I say.
Nicholas holds the book out to me, his finger marking the spot. It’s right there in ancient quill-and-ink handwriting. Major Hyde’s handwriting, which I’ve seen many times.
“But Major Hyde wouldn’t want the students to suffer this way,” I say as though I’m talking about my next-door neighbor or my close friend and not a man born in the nineteenth century who has been dead over one hundred years.
