The River (Excerpt)

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

One

She always leads with her heart,” a voice croaked.

Startled by the interruption, Professor Del Hawthorne lifted her head and gasped, shocked.

What the―?

A man stood in the doorway to her classroom, panting for breath. He was in his late seventies and wore a grimy suede jacket over a once-pristine white dress shirt. The shirt was torn and stained with what looked suspiciously like dried blood. The man’s tailored black pants were ripped from the knees down.

He stumbled inside and slammed the door.

Del threw a warning look at Peter Cavanaugh, her young anthropology protégé. Rising slowly from her desk, she faced the old man.

“Can I help you, sir?”

His stringy gray hair covered part of his face and was in desperate need of a shampoo and cut. His mottled, creviced skin reminded her of weathered cedar bark. But it was the man’s glazed yet vaguely familiar eyes that made her heart skip a beat.

Did she know him?

“Sir?”

The man’s eyes flashed dangerously. “She always leads with her heart!”

Del gulped in a breath.

It wasn’t every day that she heard her father’s favorite saying―especially when it wasn’t her father saying it. Instead, the words were coming from a man who looked like he had escaped from the psych ward.

How the hell did he make it past security?

She looked at her watch. Damn!

After six o’clock, security was reduced to two men on the Anthropology wing. And they were probably on rounds or at the snack machine.

She glanced at Peter.

The young man was terrified. He stood motionless at the far end of the room, his head drooping against his chest.

“Campus security will be here soon,” he said quietly.

The man turned half-closed eyes toward Peter. “Who’s that?”

Del took a hesitant step forward. She rested her hands at the edge of her desk, careful not to draw the man’s attention.

Where’s the damn button?

Security had installed silent alarm buttons underneath the lip of every faculty member’s desk. Times had changed. Schools, colleges and universities had become common targets of deranged psychopaths hell-bent on murder.

She pushed the button and drew in a breath, praying desperately that it wasn’t the case today. “Security will be here any minute.”

The old man’s head whipped around, his eyes pleading. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Should I?”

Whatever reaction she was expecting to see, didn’t prepare her for the one she got. Instead of answering her question, the man slumped to the floor, babbling incoherently. His right hand reached shakily into the folds of the jacket.

She stabbed repeatedly at the alarm button.

Where the hell is security?

Terrified, she saw the man pull something bulky from his jacket.

A gun?

Suddenly, two armed security guards rushed into the room.

Then all hell broke loose.