Faith by Archie Hellshire

Author:Archie Hellshire [Hellshire, Archie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: NineStar Press, LGBT, college, friends to lovers, scientist, athlete, political
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2018-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five: Caught in a Courtyard

THE UNIVERSITY OF Northumberland campus wasn’t designed so much as grown. At its founding, the buildings were laid out in a grid and the roads were wide enough to enable the smooth flow of traffic.

However, time passed, the student body increased, whole new fields of study were invented, and the city surrounded it on all sides, leaving no room to spread out. With space in short supply, and common sense uncommon, new buildings were added with the careful planning of a frantic game of Tetris. They were wedged in wherever geometry permitted them to fit, and if a new building was so close to an old building that it was blocking the front door, then so be it. The clutter of structures formed a maze of alleys, side streets, dead ends, cloisters, shellders, and tunnels. Not only could a person get lost on campus, they could starve to death.

Tuck ran through this labyrinth, in the early hours of the morning, stopping every so often to let his pursuers catch up. The longer they chased him, the further away they went from Sam, and the further away they were from Sam was…better, he supposed. He really didn’t want to think about it, as he was fairly sure that if he did, he’d spot some terrible flaw he’d overlooked earlier.

He was sprinting down an unlit alley, making his way to an open space he could see up ahead. Bursting out, he found himself in a small plaza dotted with misshapen pillars. His eyes adjusted, and he recognized the place; he was in the courtyard of the arts department. The misshapen pillars were artwork that had been made by students over the years and left behind to be inflicted upon future generations.

Tuck walked among them, catching his breath and waiting to hear his pursuers catch up. The sculptures ran the gamut from passably palatable to what Tuck supposed was considered “abstract” or “postmodern”. He had his own word for it, but up until now, he had established a détente with art: he didn’t bother it and it didn’t bother him. He saw no reason to upset that truce now, not with everything else going on tonight.

In the middle of being perplexed by a sculpture of what looked like an eggplant up-shitting a horse, Tuck realized he wasn’t hearing anything. He squinted his ears, but still nothing: no pounding feet, no raised voices, no sirens, no gunshots, nothing. Either they were sneaking up on him, or he had somehow lost them.

He spared a moment to wonder how you could accidentally lose someone who was following you. He surmised that, if he had honestly been trying to get away, he’d be in handcuffs by now.

The exhaustion he had been holding back since the full practice he had run that afternoon came crashing down on him like a bookshelf. Slumping against the horse/eggplant, he slid to a sitting position on the ground. There was no more imminent danger to keep his adrenaline running, and no more distractions to keep away the nagging doubts.

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