Paul in the Room

"How did you get into my room?" Paul asked.

Hope answered, "I slipped in before you came back. You know what I can do. Once I've been somewhere, I can return whenever I want."

"What are you doing here?"

Hope looked at Paul. Paul stared at the ceiling.

The blond young man was visibly weak. The sudden tragedy had left him half dead. Even as he lay there, an oppressive air of exhaustion filled the entire bedroom.

"Do you remember that day in my bedroom?" Hope asked.

"Of course."

"Do you remember how Robert died?"

"I didn't see it, but you said it was a transparent monster."

Paul's breathing grew ragged. Hope knew he had guessed something, so he went on:

"It 'ate' Robert. All of him, clothes and bones included. Robert didn't even have time to struggle—"

Paul thrust out a hand and slammed it against the wall with a thud, cutting Hope off.

"Stop. I don't want to hear it," Paul said.

Unlike the wooden walls of Old Williams House and Whateley House, these were made of real brick and stone. Paul's hand was scraped raw the moment he struck one.

The sound carried outside. Someone heard it, and hurried footsteps approached. A knock came at the door.

It was Colin. "Are you all right, Paul?"

"Not bad," Paul said, forcing a light tone.

Colin hesitated. "Let me in. We can talk."

"Give me a little longer. I need some time alone. I'll come find you soon," Paul replied.

"How did they come into contact with it?" Paul asked Hope. "My parents and that monster. How did they run into it?"

"An accident," Hope answered. "No one expected anything like that. The thing seemed to have been growing all along, until it burst out of its room that day and flooded over here."

Paul nodded. "Just my luck."

Hope said nothing. Paul asked, "Did it hurt when they died?"

"No. It was over in an instant..."

Hope froze. He suddenly realized he had no right to say that. He hadn't been the one eaten. How could a bystander know what the victims had felt? He shook his head.

"I don't know. But Mr. Corey was still cursing that transparent monster right up to the end."

At that, Paul smiled. "That sounds like him. He could really lay into people. He chewed Sawyer out so badly a few times that Sawyer didn't dare raise his head."

Silence fell between them.

Hope tried several times to speak, but no sound came out. Paul's pain left him feeling suffocated.

At last, Paul spoke first. "You seem to have something else to tell me."

"What did Mr. Sawyer say at the funeral? You looked pretty upset." Hope knew that wasn't what he wanted to say, so he avoided Paul's eyes.

"Nothing much. That old bastard said in his eulogy, 'Although Mr. Corey was an outsider, we should still mourn him.' Hell, Dad had lived here for twenty years, and he called him an outsider... I lost my head and grabbed the groundskeeper's gun to make him come to his senses. Then I ended up passing out first."

Hope didn't tell him Wilbur had done that. Paul probably didn't want to hear anything about the Whateleys right now.

He drew a breath. "There's something I have to say."

"I could tell. Your mind's been somewhere else from the start."

Hope nodded. "I had a chance to save Mr. Corey..."

Paul gave him a pat. "I don't want to hear that either. Don't dump your regrets on me. It happened, so spare me the 'it didn't have to turn out this way' talk. Just tell me this: did you do what you could as a friend? Did you try?"

Hope closed his eyes. "I think so. I did everything I could. Mr. Corey almost took me for a thief and shot me, but I still warned them to get out of there... I was just a little too late."

"Then that's enough. You did good. That's my friend." Paul spoke lightly. "Dad held that gun steady, didn't he? He used to be a sheriff somewhere. He came to Dunwich for Mom."

"He looked incredible," Hope replied. He relaxed at last. The emotions he had held back for three days finally found an outlet, and Paul's "That's my friend" brought him immense comfort. "How much leave did you take?"

"A whole month," Paul answered. "I'd gone there early anyway, so I have a full month off. And like I said before, if you need help during that time, I hope you'll come to me."

"Of course."

"One more thing," Paul said. "I can't pretend my parents didn't die. Now that you've told me who killed them, I'll come find you in a month with Dad's gun on my back. I don't care what you're doing or planning to do, and I won't be coming for a chat.

"That day, I'll aim Dad's rifle at Wilbur's head or Old Whateley's. If I can take them both out, great. One would be good too. Even if I can't kill either of them, I can't do nothing. I'm sorry if that causes you trouble, but I can't make it up to you."

His voice was utterly calm. By the end, he even sounded a little teasing.

But Hope didn't think he was joking.

Hope licked his lips. He wanted to talk Paul out of it, but couldn't find a single reason to give him.

He patted Paul's shoulder, then rolled across the bed to where Paul couldn't see him. He closed his eyes and activated Uncertainty.

The last thing he heard was Paul crying. All the exhaustion, confusion, and helplessness in the room seemed to vanish, flowing out through Paul's tear ducts as tears.

It was June 11, five days since Elizabeth had left.

She hadn't returned. Neither had the esteemed Professor Armitage, of course.

Hope no longer expected Professor Armitage to arrive and save the day. No matter how he tried to reason with himself, he had to admit he felt somewhat resentful toward Elizabeth.

But that afternoon, something changed.

That day's Arkham GG-Man contained an article that caught Hope's eye: Philip Library at Miskatonic University—The Largest Library in the Bay State.

A photograph accompanied the article. It appeared to show the library's main entrance, though from an odd angle, probably to avoid the crowds. Taken from the side, it also showed the lawn and the shade trees beside the library.

It was remarkably clear.

Hope realized he could visit that renowned campus himself.