The Name of the Star - Maureen Johnson [90]
He held up the phone and looked at it with admiration.
“A terminus?” I said. “That’s what it’s called.”
Callum nodded.
“The very first thing I did was go back to that building site. By the time I got there again, the new flats were up. Shiny glass ones, with a gym up top, all full of bankers. I had to look around for a little while, but I found him. I guess he didn’t like the new building much. He was down in the car park, just wandering around, looking bored. I actually felt sorry for him for a second, poor bastard, doomed to walk around some car park, and whatever monstrosity comes next. He didn’t recognize me. Didn’t think I could see him. He paid me no mind as I walked right up to him, took out my phone, pressed one and nine, and fried him. He’ll never hurt anyone again. But that’s the first day I knew—this was my real calling. I don’t know what I would do without it. It’s the most important thing in my life. It gives you back some control.”
“When Boo walked up to him, she had her phone out,” I said, putting this together with the memory that was playing over and over in my mind. “I thought she was handing me her phone.”
“She finally tried to use it,” Callum said, stopping. “God . . .” He leaned over and put his head in his hands. “She doesn’t believe in using the terminus,” he explained. “We fight about it all the time.”
I’d been so wrapped up in my own part of this that I hadn’t really noticed how Callum and Stephen and Boo felt about each other. I saw they were upset, but . . . now it hit me. They were friends.
“So,” he said, lifting up his head. “Now you know how we can take care of him. Do you feel better?”
I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know.
Jazza was out when I got home, so I was on my own, listening to people talking and laughing in the rooms around mine.
My desk was a nightmare—an altar to all the work I hadn’t done over the last few days. It was amazing how quickly your academic future could crumble. A week or two and you were totally out of step. I might as well have missed the entire year. I might as well have never come to Wexford. Of course, now I had bigger things to worry about, but I allowed myself a few minutes of panic to take in the enormity of how screwed I was, Ripper stuff aside. It was almost like a mental vacation from the stress of the ghosts and the sight and the murders.
The dark came fast, and I had to switch on my desk light. Then I heard people getting up and going to dinner. It was already five. I had no appetite, but I had to get out as well. I wasn’t staying here by myself. When I got outside, Callum was gone and the police car had taken his place. Stephen sat in the driver’s seat. He waved me over and opened the door. As soon as I got in, he drove around the corner, away from the prying eyes of people going to dinner.
“It’s time to go over the plan for tomorrow,” he said. “It’s very simple. You stay at Wexford. We’ll cover the building at all times. Boo’s well enough to come. She can’t walk, but she can be here, in a wheelchair. She can keep her eyes open. Tomorrow morning, I search your building from the top down. I’ve got special permission from the school. Once we’re sure it’s clear, you stay inside your building all night, with Boo. I’ll be at the front of the building, and Callum will be at the back. He won’t be able to get in without one of us seeing him. You’ll never be alone, and you’ll never be undefended. And you’ll have this.”
He held out a phone—specifically, Boo’s phone, which was the same low-tech model they all carried. This one still had the white scratch marks on the black plastic from when it had skidded across the road after Boo’s accident.
“I know you know what this is,” he said.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied.
“I followed you two,” he said simply. “I saw