Lightning by Dean Koontz Page B

her or drug her, stuff her in a burlap sack, take her away, lock her in a cellar, and no one would know what had happened to her.
    She turned at the second-floor landing, descended the stairs two at a time, and rushed back toward Mrs. Bowmaine’s office, but when she turned the corner into the front hall, she nearly collided with the Eel. He had a mop and a wringer-equipped bucket on wheels, which was filled with water reeking of pine-scented cleanser.
    He grinned at her. Maybe it was only her imagination, but she was certain that he already knew she would be alone that night.
    She should have stepped by him, gone to Mrs. Bowmaine, and begged for a change in the night’s sleeping arrangements. She could not make accusations about Sheener, or she would wind up like Denny Jenkins—disbelieved by the staff, tormented relentlessly by her nemesis—but she could have found an acceptable excuse for her change of mind.
    She also considered rushing at him, shoving him into his bucket, knocking him on his butt, and telling him that she was tougher than him, that he had better not mess with her. But he was different from the Teagels. Mike, Flora, and Hazel were small-minded, obnoxious, ignorant, but comparatively sane. The Eel was insane, and there was no way of knowing how he would react to being knocked flat.
    As she hesitated, his crooked, yellow grin widened.
    A flush touched his pale cheeks, and Laura realized it might be a flush of desire, which made her nauseous.
    She walked away, dared not run until she had climbed the stairs and was out of his sight. Then she sprinted for the Ackersons’ room.
    “You’ll sleep here tonight,” Ruth said.
    “Of course,” Thelma said, “you’ll have to stay in your room until they finish the bed check, then sneak down here.”
    From her corner where she was sitting in bed doing math homework, Rebecca Bogner said, “We’ve only got four beds.”
    “I’ll sleep on the floor,” Laura said.
    “This is against the rules,” Rebecca said.
    Thelma made a fist and glowered at her.
    “Okay, all right,” Rebecca agreed. “I never said I didn’t want her to stay. I just pointed out that it’s against the rules.”
    Laura expected Tammy to object, but the girl lay on her back in bed, atop the covers, staring at the ceiling, apparently lost in her own thoughts and uninterested in their plans.
     
In the oak-paneled dining room, over an inedible dinner of pork chops, gluey mashed potatoes, and leathery green beans—and under the watchful eyes of the Eel—Thelma said, “As for why Bowmaine wanted to know if she could trust you alone... she’s afraid you’ll try suicide.”
    Laura was incredulous.
    “Kids have done it here,” Ruth said sadly. “Which is why they stuff at least two of us into even very small rooms. Being alone too much... that’s one of the things that seems to trigger the impulse.”
    Thelma said, “They won’t let Ruth and me share one of the small rooms because, since we’re identical twins, they think we’re really like one person. They think they’d no sooner close the door on us than we’d hang ourselves.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Laura said.
    “Of course it’s ridiculous,” Thelma agreed. “Hanging isn’t flamboyant enough. The amazing Ackerson sisters—Ruth and moi—have a flair for the dramatic. We’d commit hara-kiri with stolen kitchen knives, or if we could get hold of a chainsaw ...”
    Throughout the room conversations were conducted in moderate voices, for adult monitors patrolled the dining hall. The third-floor Resident Advisor, Miss Keist, passed behind the table where Laura sat with the Ackersons, and Thelma whispered, “Gestapo.”
    When Miss Keist passed, Ruth said, “Mrs. Bowmaine means well, but she just isn’t good at what she does. If she took time to learn what kind of person you are, Laura, she’d never worry about you committing suicide. You’re a survivor.”
    As she pushed her inedible food around her plate,