The Headmaster's Wife(38)

“Better quitting than killing yourself,” Gregor said. He looked back at the clothes in his suitcase. “Look, we’re more or less the same size—I’m heavier than you are and a bit taller, but I’ve got some things that will work. Sweatpants.”

“You wear sweatpants?”

“Sometimes. It seemed like a good idea to bring some. You could fit into those. And I’ve got a sweatshirt. And some brand-new boxer shorts still in their store bag. Go take ashower, and I’ll order us some room service. When was the last time you had something to eat? You look like you’ve lost twenty pounds.”

“I went to lunch,” Mark said. “I think we had pasta. I don’t remember. Did I tell you about that on the phone? I can’t remember anything.”

“You said something about it, yes.” Gregor got up and started looking through his things. The sweatpants were black. The sweatshirt was a deep maroon. Bennis must have picked it out for him. He put both of those on the bed and went looking for the bag with the boxer shorts in it.

“It’s not just that Michael died,” Mark said. “I can still see it in my head. It was incredible. And they wanted to put me back in that room. Did I tell you? The police are finished so they wanted me to move back in. They still want me to move back in. The dorms are all full. They don’t have any place else to put me.”

“Where have you been staying while the police did their work?” Gregor found the shorts. Socks, he thought, and went looking for those.

“I’ve been staying with one of the houseparents. He’s not married or anything, so he’s got some extra space. But that’s not a good situation because he hates me. God, I sound stupid. I sound like one of those complete fuckups who are always complaining about how everybody hates them, but the real truth of it is that they’re fuckups.”

“What is it you’ve been—screwing up while you’ve been staying with this houseparent?”

“What? Oh well, I’m sort of a slob. I’ve always been a slob. That’s not new to Windsor. But the thing is, I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. They think I’m not smart enough to be here. And they think—”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Mark said. He tried straightening his spine, but it was a halfhearted effort. “I know Michael committed suicide, Mr. Demarkian. I know it’s not a murder, okay? But there are things, things I think I saw—”

“You only think?”

“I could have been hallucinating,” Mark said. “I think I do that sometimes. I’m not sure. And sometimes I black out. Did I tell you about that, about blacking out?”

“No.”

“One day I was crossing the street right out on Main Street here, or I think I was, I think I must have been. The thing is, I can’t remember it. I don’t know how I got there. It was the middle of the afternoon and there was a lot of traffic and I just sort of … came to in the middle of this intersection. And people were honking at me and giving me the finger and screaming at me. I don’t know how I got there. I don’t know how long I was standing there. I was just standing there, not moving. And I don’t know why.”

“Mark, listen to me.” Gregor sat down on the edge of the bed again. “You really do need to be in the hospital. There’s got to be something physically wrong with you.”

“I think so, too, but I can’t imagine what,” Mark said. “I must have looked through that medical book twenty times. More. Huntington’s chorea was the only thing I came up with. And I feel like such a jerk, do you know what I mean? I don’t fail at things. I really don’t. Except now that’s all I do. And then Michael—His hand came up and fluttered in the air. He shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it. But there’s something wrong. And there was that thing I saw, and maybe it was a hallucination, but I don’t think so. So I thought, you know, you could come up and check into it”

“I did come up.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you. I’m sorry to be such a… whatever. To be so out of it. I’m not all the time, you know. Sometimes I’m half-sane for a couple of days, and then it goes back like this.”

“Take a shower,” Gregor said. He got up and threw the boxer shorts and sweat clothes into Mark’s lap. “You’ll feel better when you get cleaned up. I’ll call for room service. Is there something you’d particularly like to eat?”

“Just coffee,” Mark said. “I don’t have an appetite much these days.”