Within/Without

chapter sixteen.

Val

I've gone in for office hours before—several times before, actually—so that in itself isn't precisely what's stressing me out. What's stressing me out is the fact I've never met this professor, and from what I've heard, she's terrifying.

Amelia Dunn is a professor of psychology that, from what little research I could gather, apparently worked very closely with this Silas Wade figure. Also from what little research I could gather, she's the human adaptation of a velociraptor. Sharp teeth and everything, with only two moods: mildly peeved and ravenously hungry. Sometimes both at the same time. Needless to say, as badly as I need some sort of lead on this story right now, I'm not sure I'm ready for this.

The hallway smells faintly of cigarette smoke and mildew, and I'm fighting the urge to wrinkle my nose as I walk, eyes darting around, searching for the right room number. I narrow my eyes, squinting underneath the dim overheads. Everything about this building needs a renovation. Maybe that should be my next op-ed.

I stop when I reach room 1121, the plaque beside which reads, Professor A. Dunn, PhD.

"Here goes nothing," I say to myself, and knock briefly. "Professor Dunn?"

I pop my head around the corner, just as the professor looks up. Sure enough, she does remind me a bit of a velociraptor: thin, drooping skin, like a tarp draped over a surprise. Narrow eyes and a sharp nose, mouth eternally bent in a frown. Her sinewy hands fold together, and she regards me from underneath circular wire-rims. "May I help you?"

I can't fight a shudder. Even her voice is creepy.

I clear my throat, stepping fully into her view. "My name is Valerie Love, and I'm with the Terrier's Gazette?"

"Is that a question?"

I expect—or hope, I guess—for her to laugh, but the question ends bluntly, without mirth.

I clear my throat again. "No, ma'am; I'm sorry. I came here hoping you could tell me about a certain Silas P. Wade?"

I could very well be imagining it, but something in Professor Dunn's expression shifts—towards worry, towards furtiveness. She knows something, possibly a lot of things. I can only wonder how many of those things she's actually willing to tell me.

"What do you care about Professor Wade?"

She hasn't offered me a seat, but I take one in front of the desk anyway, discreetly pulling out a pen and pad. Professor Dunn regards me skeptically as I say, "He went missing eight years back, correct? Surely you've heard that people have started to see him around again lately."

Professor Dunn scoffs, tapping away at her keyboard for a moment. "Please. Saying you've seen Silas Wade again is like saying you've seen Bigfoot, or the Loch Ness Monster."

"Well," I say, "we don't have proof those aren't real."

Professor Dunn just blinks at me with her beady eyes. It crosses my mind that I may have said the wrong thing. "I can't help you," she snaps. "The only person who knows about Silas is Silas."

"Why is that?"

"He kept to himself, always. He would come to teach his class or go over some research, but if you blinked, he was gone again. Poof, like a cloud," Professor Dunn said, gritting her teeth. "It was only fitting he went missing. You can't disappear that often without it becoming permanent."

You can't disappear that often without it becoming permanent. I'm not sure what the image of Silas Wade was in my mind, but whatever it was, it changes now: more of a myth than a man, a distant facade, a reflection in a looking glass, or in a puddle. One touch, one move, and it's gone. "Any chance," I ask, my eyebrows knitted, "that you know just where he disappeared to?"